i hate facebook: reason #800,346.
i guess i have been fantasizing about what it would be like to be mean lately. or what it would be like to be not myself. recently—like in the past two days—someone i really never wanted to talk to ever again has been using facebook to send me messages. and it is so obvious and cold to block someone. i wish this girl-woman well, basically, and the basic most reasonable reason i have for never wanting to talk to her is that i met her in a mental institution and (thus) she reminds me of a dark part of my life.
i actually befriended her whilst in the mental institution. actively. it was not the nicest place—the locked-down psychotic-proof floor of a very urban mental hospital—it was not, you know, progressive—and this girl was so thin and pitiful and obviously crazy and afraid, i just kept thinking how horrible it was to be in this place, and how much more horrible it would be to be in such a place and be crazy. (because i, of course, was not crazy*.) so i stood in between her and the big scary men when it was time to stand in the med line and sat next to her protectively during morning harangue announcement time and oh what a coincidence it turned out we were both attending branches of the same university and lived right around the corner from each other so we got to spend time with each other every week! until i left the country**. she would come over to my apartment while i was listening to the dies irae or june tabor or something and ask me if i ever listened to any “positive music” and show me charts she had filled out of her positive activities during every day of the week hour by hour and generally terrify me with her psychotic disconnect.
she was in med school. going to be a doctor, this one. once she described debriding someone’s foot while they were not adequately anesthetized. slash not anesthetized at all. she had a lot of enthusiasm for “the clinical setting.” i don’t know if they actually let her become a doctor God forbid—but i feel like i am probably going to find out, since she asked me if i still had the same phone number and i said yeah.
*i actually wasn’t. i was just really miserable because grad school really sucks. and i got talked into committing myself. and and and—and this is another story—a good one, but sad and long.
**(say what you will—leaving the country works.) (i left england because a guy with bad breath was courting me. i didn’t know what to say. he also had no sense of humor. this is also another story.)