Page Twenty-nine
It’s Thursday. It’s the 17th of July in 2008. I have to keep reassuring people (mainly psychobabble boneheads who desperately need me to be delusional and schizophrenic and who knows what other garbage) that I know these relatively meaningless things. Meaningless to a homeless bum who has no particular schedule to keep. People who think I’m hearing voices and seeing Matthew on the street, when he really isn’t there at all (I can assure you, he’s there; many other people see him, and speak to him, and tell me about it). What day it is, what date. And even when I know all of these things, and even when I swear I’ve never heard voices in 55 years or seen a hallucination, they refuse to believe that Matthew Lacoy said the things to me that he did in fact say.
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Here’s a message for someone looking in a mirror, wrapped in a lime-green towel, living in a palace: can’t call you tonight, as I’ve left the spa and haven’t yet caught up with the person who can repair the electronic cold in my cell phone. You really did read the large-print edition, didn’t you? I’m sliding into a different phase of autism here, but not to worry, I like it. There’s less pain. So maybe you can reach that friend of yours, and I’ll try to do likewise. You might want to talk to your cousin, who worries. And the large-print book? I don’t really know what to say, as I am always left in the dark. (The person for whom I wrote this message knows exactly what I’m talking about, and she really exists. Kindly don’t label this message as nuts just because YOU don’t understand the references.)
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The iron fists of more than one control-freak band have me perpetually in their grip. It seems it will never end. Hence the new phase of autism: less pain. I am not a human being to the good cititzens around me, and that is more true now than it’s ever been. Maybe teacher (or some other authoritarian, neurotypical control-freak) will make me write on the blackboard 100 times: I am not a human being.
Update 26 Sept 2009: It has been admitted to me recently by my therapist (who’s done a little digging) that there was a plan by the DMH and the CSS last year to give me a home and return some of my animals, and that it fell through. He said I was “screwed by the system.” So I didn’t imagine any of that. As far as federal protection goes, I didn’t imagine the words Matthew said to me or the things he did in my presence. I still believe I have been grossly mistreated by two sets of iron fists over the last 18 months.
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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008, 2009, 2010 by anne nakis, unless stated otherwise.
dreams of walking free (greeting card) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
braon, a journal 
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