Not sure if I'm a loner or shy to the point of it being a disability.

[hunter]

10. I hate my meds, but I've long since abandoned all hope of "fix myself."

Every day in my life is a new adventure.

Any morning I might choose not to get out of bed, to stop eating, to stop talking, to stop breathing...

Been there, done that.

At my very worst I've closely orbited the black hole as a six foot plus homeless skeleton man suffering pneumonia.

Fortunately for me, Hunter, "off his meds," I've never experienced a long wait in the E.R.., not more than six hours.

I've always had advocates. Friends, family, and occasionally cops who counted me among the amusing and mostly harmless.

I do not venture silently into the darkness. Suicide has never appealed to me. I've always been gifted with many utterly useless OCD tasks I must complete. I've always known that "if I was dead" then my fingers, hands, arms, and eyes would no longer be functional. And then I couldn't do all my useless OCD things.

There's an itchy hair follicle on my skin demanding attention, failed hair shedding, or twisted multiple shaft ingrown hair, I pick at it, I pluck it out, score!!! Blood! Waxy puss! A BB sized cyst! Many extra points!

If that sounds disgusting, then you don't want to know about my computer stuff.

Once upon a time, long ago, myself a naive innocent, was abused by bad people who paid me well, used me.

The last E.R. time for crazy ass Hunter self was early 'eighties. At first they thought it was illegal drugs.

Hah, hah, it was drugs they'd prescribed me. Steroids make me crazier than I am normally.

Prednisone family are my favorite drugs. For a few days I'm thinking, "wow, is this everyone's normal? I like it! I like it a lot!" My skin and my mucous membranes and my lungs and my guts, all the noisy parts of my body and mind stop screaming at me 24-7! I sleep. I have ordinary dreams.

But inevitably, after about five days later, things always got crazier.

I like to think it's me even further normal, and the world at fault, but that doesn't explain my bloody bare feet or losing my clothes past midnight on the beach.

I suffered early 'eighties.

My last crazy E.R. visit was 1987. Meds since then, both asthma and crazy, have improved immensely.

Beyond early 'eighties, my E.R. times have been utterly boring and mundane. Ordinary vascular, lung, and mumps-scarred-testicular plumbing issues.

I will confess, I sorta miss my youthful crazy days, but hell yes, I still think some still owe me.