Mental Health Support

... once by jumping out of a moving car but it's rarely been an instant improvement.

My crazy grandma could say the meanest, most horrible things imaginable. It was almost like her superpower. Eventually she had to be removed from her home, a danger to herself and others. Half of her neighbors loved her, half were terrified of her. No "assisted living" place would keep her long so she'd end up living with my parents.

One year I was home from college for Thanksgiving when my grandma turned it on, mostly directed at my mom. I fled. That was followed by the worst weekend of my life. I was sharing a crappy student apartment with a bunch of other guys who'd gone home for the holiday so I was there alone. First the Jehovah's Witnesses came by looking to save lost souls. I have a history with them. My mom was a Jehovah's Witness (no birthday celebrations) until she got kicked out when I was in grade school.

Then some young woman my good Christian roommate knew from his church (and I knew as an acquaintance) came knocking at the door drunk and filthy having vomited all over herself and I led her to the bath. She was in there too long, wasn't answering, so I forced the door and it was immediately apparent she'd been trying to kill herself. She was the first naked woman I ever touched, to see if she was still alive. I'd had some first aid training. (My own girlfriend at the time eventually married her, but that's another story... If I was a catalyst for that it was a positive thing. These days you see Lesbian brides on Say Yes to the Dress, that wasn't the case then.)

While I was still sorting all that out in my head I got in a bad car wreck. Then I was "asked" to take a time out from school for fighting with a teaching assistant...

At my lowest point I was a crazy guy living in his car in a church parking lot and dumpster diving for food. The ultimate in breaking free, I suppose.

Currently I'm "between doctors." The wait times to get proper mental health care in the U.S.A. are disturbing and not something anyone should suffer in a presumably "first world" nation.

I'm not sure where I'm going here. If you receive a box of crazy on your doorstep, from the dark closets of your own mind or from someone else, you have to deal with it as best you can, or even refuse delivery, but you can't let it knife you in the heart.

I have no idea how to accomplish that. It's always messy, but I'm still here.