I rolled my eyes and turned back to my book. Here we go again. I moved my lips along with her next statement, parroting it word for word:
“Really, she does. It used to be that when you turned someone over to the loony bin, they’d give you $50. I hate they don’t do that anymore. I could definitely use the money and you could definitely use the help. Heh, heh, heh.”
My family just loves this “joke”. It makes the rounds every so often, along with:
1) You’re just like your father.
2) Men won’t date you because you have sex with them too soon.
3) We sometimes think you’re a lesbian, but it might be preferable to being a whore.
4) You’re not a nurturer. Just move out and leave the kid with us. You know you want to.
That last one is my favorite. It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. But I digress; let’s discuss this insane theory, hmm?
Mental illness runs in my family – manic depression, bipolar disorder. And I’m relatively sure my cousin is schizophrenic. No one ever knows who the fuck he’s talking to.
Aside from all that, I’ve always considered myself the “normal” one. While I might be weird to the general public, especially women, within my family I like to think that I collected all the marbles they lost and stored them up to use when needed.
I’ve seen my share of therapists, it’s true, but I attribute the majority of that to dealing with the neurosis of others. When you’re always around whack jobs you start to question your own sanity, to get drawn down into their rabbit hole of floating furniture and talking caterpillars that smoke the ganja.
My second to last therapist diagnosed me with ODD – oppositional defiant disorder. That’s about as crazy as I get. According to The Grandmother, this is enough to make a “vacation” necessary. Even though the diagnosis is from several years ago, it’s the only thing they have to cling to right now. Desperate people – grasping at straws!
But they have nothing left to fall back on because there’s no way I still have it.
Symptoms of ODD:
- Actively does not follow adults' requests
See? Equal opportunity refuser – that’s healthy, not crazy.
- Angry and resentful of others
For example: If you just received a ridiculous sum of money from a dead relative I’m going to be resentful, I’m going to call you a lucky fucker, and I’m probably going to be angry that all my relatives are poor. It’s totally natural. But I’ll be happy for you as long as you share. Nevermind about your dead relative. You got money, ass cheese. Crying is for pussies.
- Blames others for own mistakes
“It’s not my fault she said ‘damn’ at school! You said it four times the other day and I usually just say ‘fucker’, which she didn’t say so there!”
“It’s not my fault that my car payment is late. The barman seduced me with Jack Daniels and karaoke!”
“It’s not my fault he likes me better. You should have slept with him first. I mean....”
- Has few or no friends or has lost friends
- Is in constant trouble in school
I’m not in constant trouble. I occasionally get reprimanded for being late (and by occasionally I mean three times a week) and for occasionally wearing “unprofessional” attire (and by occasionally I mean three times a week) and I occasionally get the “oh, no you din’nt face” for saying things like “eff that shit in the ahole” and “your mom likes sausage” (and by occasionally...ok you get the point).
And just for the record, that last one is not fair at all. My boss is always saying things that cause me to make the “oh, no you din’nt face”. Like when she refers to lesbians: “licky splity”. Just...no.
- Loses temper
For example: When my sister, the soul sucking twig of perfection, says something incomparably rude like “You’re a sucky mom” (I’m paraphrasing, but trust me, that’s exactly what it boils down to.) I respond with a bland facial expression and a quietly spoken:
“You listen to me you little asshole (soft smile). What you know about parenting could fit into your – A cup bra. When you push an 8lb squalling chunk of human out of your fucking vagina, in front of assorted strangers and one nurse turned paparazzi, then you can give me parenting advice. That may be happening sooner than you think since you can’t seem to keep your legs closed. Zing. Now, I suggest you turn around and toe-touch your little cheerleading ass out of the general vicinity before I decide to karate chop you in the face (innocent eyelash fluttering).”
- Spiteful or seeks revenge
Spiteful? All women are spiteful to a degree, even my 75 year old grandma.
Me: “I don’t want to go to church. I like gay people. I don’t care about politics, it’s boring. No, I don’t know anything about Al Gore and global warming because I don’t watch the news.”
G-ma: “I made this beautiful chocolate brownie pie with cream cheese icing. It’s absolutely delicious! You should try a piece. Mmm maybe a smaller piece, dear. *Hip poke, hip poke*. Actually, you know what, (takes back pie) you might just want to eat this piece of lettuce instead.”
“How do you feel about gay people now?”
- Touchy or easily annoyed
“What’s that clicking? Are you clicking something?” Cheeky grin from child in question. “You don’t fool me, I hear clicking.” 5 minutes later: “OH MY GAWD WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE?!”
“Put your pants on. Put your pants on. Put your pants on. Put your pants on. OH MY GAWD WHERE ARE YOUR EFFING PANTS KID!”
Kid: “Mom, what are those?” Points in the general direction of a million different objects.
Me: “What are what?”
Kid: “Those!” Still pointing.
Me: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Which thing are you pointing at?”
Kid: “That right there!” Finger wavers over a plethora of things and stuff.
Me: “Seriously, kid.”
Me: “Don’t start with the why stuff, please.”
Kid: “But why?”
Me: Deep breath...”holy mother...”
Kid: “Mom! WHAT IS THAT?!”
Me: Tugging on hair, eye sockets exploding - “I DON’T KNOW! I DON’T KNOW! CHRIST ALIVE, I DON’T KNOW!”
That kind of stuff goes on all day, every day. I’m thinking about having the closet sound proofed.
Obviously there is no need for me to be committed. I’ve been looking into new therapists, but I probably wouldn’t need one of those either if the stupid doctor would just give me some pills that make me deaf for 14 hours a day and every other weekend.
On second thought...how quiet are those padded rooms?