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It's so nice to be insane
No one asks you to explain
Radio by your side, Angie Baby
Angie Baby, you're a special lady
Living in a world of make-believe
Well, maybe...
Well, maybe...
From the song "Angie Baby" written by Alan O'Day and sung by Helen Reddy in 1974
This series of stories is inspired from my own struggle with marginal Borderline Personality Disorder, but none of the persons, incidents, or depictions are real - in everyday reality or in my own personal realities. Each story stands on its own, but uses characters and references from other stories in the series. You might understand this story better if you have read previous stories in this series.
The over-riding theme of the series is BDSM, so I am posting them here, even though some of the individual stories more properly belong in fantasy... but then, isn't the "Borderline" between bondage and fantasy rather blurred anyway?
The Technician
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Pony prancing up the middle of the street naked resulted in me being sent back to in house treatment until I was once again "no longer a threat to myself or others around me."
Dr. Henderson testified at the committal hearing. I'm not sure if he was for the defense or the prosecution. He explained that when I am in one of my states, I am not an overt threat to others or myself, but I am not aware of the reality around me. Thus, I could significantly injure myself or others. In his most expert-witness-called-to-testify voice, he explained to the judge, "During these episodes, he almost seems to be in his own personal reality."
Detective Mendes stated it a little more clearly, "Yeah, I am familiar with nutjob. For the most part he is totally harmless, but weird shit happens around him and to him. And for some reason they always call me when he flips out somewhere."
One of the two arresting officers also testified - the one who ran alongside me until I came back to this reality. "He wasn't threatening anybody, but he had definitely placed himself in danger. We got a 911 from a citizen that someone was frozen up at the bus stop and they were concerned about him. As we approached, he was just sitting there on the bus stop bench. Then all of a sudden he is out in the middle of the street prancing like a show pony, naked as a jaybird. We pulled up behind him to keep him from being struck by traffic and I ran along side him shouting at him through our bullhorn. He didn't seem to be able to hear me even when I was almost in his ear."
"We went about four blocks before he snapped out of it. Never did find his clothes. He told us to call Dr. Henderson and take him out to the psych hospital on the west side. I recognized his name from talk at the station house and knew that Detective Mendes had experience with him. We checked with Detective Mendes, and he said.... well, I won't repeat exactly what he said, but he told us to just take him back to the ward."
That was a couple months ago. If I can make ninety days with no episodes, they will have to hold a review hearing, and maybe I will get to go home again. I have been trying to stay on my best behavior so they won't have an excuse to cycle me through another course of treatment.
On day 67, I was sitting in the day room after supper pretending to watch TV. They normally leave us more or less alone for a couple of hours after supper while the staff catches up on paperwork and what not. The ward clerk behind the glass has the remote control, so we have to watch whatever he or she wants us to watch, but since a happy ward is a quiet ward, they usually let us watch whatever most of us - or at least the loudest of us - want to see.
Evidently none of us were loud enough because "Bleeding Heart Heather" had some sappy movie on that I had no desire to watch. Neither did most of the other residents because there was an unusually high level of conversation and chatter, and no one was complaining that they couldn't hear the TV.
That high level of background buzz must have made Cassie feel safe enough to come sit next to me and start a conversation. Usually whenever we sat next to each other, the ward clerk would start flipping the switches at the desk that would activate the "patient safety monitoring system."
According to Dr. Henderson, Cassie and I were "high risk residents" with "episodic manifestations of delusions dangerous to ourselves and to others."
The judge agreed, and that gave them carte-blanche authority to monitor and record any of our conversations. They even had a code word that we weren't supposed to know to tip off the clerk that the monitoring system should be turned on. Code words are nice, but you only have to hear "fire and ice" spoken into an attendant's radio handset a couple of times to figure out what it means - especially since they only said it when Cassie and I were sitting close to each other somewhere. Cassie claims that she is "Fire" and I am "Ice." Whatever.
Once, we intentionally sat right next to each other on the far side of the day room directly across from the ward clerk's window. We moved our mouths as though we were speaking, but made no sounds. The next day, a technician came to repair the "paging system." One repair tech carefully checked each "speaker" while another tech sat at the clerk's desk with headphones plugged into the console.
While they were working, Mike, the orderly, saw us sitting together on the couch watching and giggling. He came over to us, leaned in close, and said in his deep voice, "You know, one day they're going to figure out that crazy ain't stupid." He gave us both a big grin and added, "Until then, have fun." Then he laughed again and walked on into one of the hallways.
We had our proof that they were monitoring us, and now we knew for certain where all of the microphones were located. Tonight Cassie was relying on the buzz of conversation, and the fact that we were not sitting near any of the paging speakers. She leaned in close to me and said quietly, "cold water." That was the supposedly secret code word for the clerk to shut down the monitoring system.
She moved slightly so that we were facing each other. Like most people who have spent a lot of time in various institutions, we could both read lips fairly well. It helps you keep track of what they are saying behind the windows. It also means that we can talk very softly and not be picked up on the monitoring system even if they did go all "fire and ice" on us.
"What's on your mind?" I asked.
"Do you think there are more of us?"
I looked at her rather quizzically, and she continued, "I thought I was the only one, and then I met you. Perhaps there are others out there like us. You know, people who are sometimes somewhere else with... or inside someone else. Do you think there is any way that we could find out?"
"What did you have in mind?"
She grinned, and I knew that she already had a plan hatching in her mind.
"Both Kelly and Debbie say that they can summon us by thinking of us when they need us. What if we tried to think of someone like us - or someone like Kelly and Debbie. Maybe they could come here or we could go there. I'm afraid to try it alone, so it hasn't worked. But if we both try at the same time, maybe we will stay together."
I glanced over at the desk. The clerk was filling out daily forms and not paying any attention to us. "When do you want to try this?"
"No time like the present," she replied and spun to plop down and sit right alongside me. "Let's do it. I've given this a lot of thought. All we have to do is close our eyes and concentrate on finding a slave in need. There has to be one out there somewhere."