March 22, 2004
A short entry today. Last night, on my way out to see a movie, he had an episode. A schizo moment, he called it. He was at the grocery store, and there were too many people, too much going on, people in his way, and he wanted to strike out, and he wanted to collapse in a pile in the seafood section (only because he was in the seafood section, the location was not important) and cry, or withdraw, or be alone in a sea of people. Psychotic episode number 372. Not that anyone's keeping track, mind you.
He tried to call me, once he got himself out of the store, but I was on the phone. I was still on the phone when he tried a bit later, my friend being rather the verbose type who can't seem to let me off the phone once has me there. But when I did hang up, telling my friend I really had to go, and it was also time to meet my date for the movie, I called him back. But first I called my date, who had left me a message, saying he was certain I would kill him because he was late.
As if something like that would alarm me in the least.
Then I called Stew. And he told me about his episode. And he felt better talking to me, had felt better just hearing my voice on my voicemail, a friendly voice, someone he knows won't hurt him and will listen. Often all he needs is someone to talk to who won't freak out over the small stuff, who won't exaggerate and make a big deal out of it all, but who will be reassuring and compassionate.
We joked about getting him a medic alert bracelet, something that would say, "in case of emergency or meltdown, call monique at 555-5555 or Dr Geiger at 555-5555." (Numbers changed to protect the innocent and the guilty.) I can always make him laugh. He worried about making me late for the movie. He always worries about inconveniencing me, about taking too much of my time, but there's no need for that, and I told him so.
He was safe inside his apartment (safe being a relative term, but the apartment is relatively free of demons these days) with Honey the Dog, and he would make himself dinner and he would be okay. And he is. His episodes do not last long these days, do not require intervention except in very rare cases, and it is often enough that he have someone to talk to. I wish there were others he could call in times of crisis, not that I mind him calling me at all, but I am not always reachable, I turn off my phone at movies, I meet with clients, I go on dates, I have friends over, and he does not want to disturb me at any of these times, though he may leave me a voicemail, sometimes just so he can hear my voice. Sometimes that's enough. I wish he had more of course, but we can only do what we can. It's all we can do.
He tried to call me, once he got himself out of the store, but I was on the phone. I was still on the phone when he tried a bit later, my friend being rather the verbose type who can't seem to let me off the phone once has me there. But when I did hang up, telling my friend I really had to go, and it was also time to meet my date for the movie, I called him back. But first I called my date, who had left me a message, saying he was certain I would kill him because he was late.
As if something like that would alarm me in the least.
Then I called Stew. And he told me about his episode. And he felt better talking to me, had felt better just hearing my voice on my voicemail, a friendly voice, someone he knows won't hurt him and will listen. Often all he needs is someone to talk to who won't freak out over the small stuff, who won't exaggerate and make a big deal out of it all, but who will be reassuring and compassionate.
We joked about getting him a medic alert bracelet, something that would say, "in case of emergency or meltdown, call monique at 555-5555 or Dr Geiger at 555-5555." (Numbers changed to protect the innocent and the guilty.) I can always make him laugh. He worried about making me late for the movie. He always worries about inconveniencing me, about taking too much of my time, but there's no need for that, and I told him so.
He was safe inside his apartment (safe being a relative term, but the apartment is relatively free of demons these days) with Honey the Dog, and he would make himself dinner and he would be okay. And he is. His episodes do not last long these days, do not require intervention except in very rare cases, and it is often enough that he have someone to talk to. I wish there were others he could call in times of crisis, not that I mind him calling me at all, but I am not always reachable, I turn off my phone at movies, I meet with clients, I go on dates, I have friends over, and he does not want to disturb me at any of these times, though he may leave me a voicemail, sometimes just so he can hear my voice. Sometimes that's enough. I wish he had more of course, but we can only do what we can. It's all we can do.
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