Don’t Bullshit with a Badge

Lukas Allen

            I went for my routine blood test for the medication I am taking. I want to get off this certain medication, Clozaril, as the blood tests are quite annoying. Every week, I have to get blood drawn to make sure my white blood cell count isn’t lower, because of that medication.

            It was routine, I talked with the nurse a bit about my predicament, hearing voices, about what medication I’m taking and the like, and that she had a niece who heard voices too. That, hearing voices, is the main symptom which I want to get rid of. The medication kind of gets rid of it, but I want to be on Abilify now and maybe something else, instead of Clozaril. Even other hallucinations are at bay because of my current medication, but the Clozaril does make things uncomfortable.

            Clozaril side effects for me include sleeping 14 hours or so, unpleasant weight gain, and the feeling like my body is shutting down when I first take another dose. I can’t tell if it helped with the symptoms of my illness, but I think it has stopped a lot of them. I just dislike all the side effects, with the weekly blood draw. They are all very irritating.

            I got my blood drawn, said bye to the nurses, and waited around for my dad to pick me up.

            The guard asked me if I worked here, and I said no I was a patient, just waiting. I was waiting inside because it was warmer.

            I went up to him, to bullshit. I thought about it, and wondered if I could learn something about medicine, especially about my illness. I could take some classes or something, and asked him if he knew of any place I could learn from.

            I told the guard that I had schizophrenia, which was a mistake.

            He asked me other questions, how long until my ride would be here, but I went to the front desk woman and asked her for sources of learning I could find. She was very receptive, and we talked like civilized people.

            She called for more sources, including the “fourth floor” which worked a lot on people with mental illnesses. She got me their number if I needed to call, as well as a pamphlet for NAMI. I said I didn’t have a primary, a doctor which is the regular one to go.

            The people she called asked her if I needed to go the emergency room.

            I talked with her some more, and she said to them it sounded like I did not need to go the emergency room, based on how we were speaking. It made me frustrated that once I say what my illness is, SCHIZOPHRENIA, that everyone instantly freaks out and thinks I need to be strapped down or something.

            The guard was waiting to ask more questions, but I was talking with the front desk and I suppose he was satisfied. Damned badge must’ve thought I was an escaped lunatic.

            Once I told the woman I was seeing a psychiatrist, and who it was, she seemed much more relieved. She sympathized with me about the prejudice given towards me because of my illness, SCHIZOPHRENIA.

            I walked outside quickly when her and I finished the conversation, and I waited outside, asking my dad by phone to please come and pick me up quickly, as I had to get out of here. I didn’t want to be “detained” for having my illness.

            Even as a straight white man, I get prejudice regarding my illness of schizophrenia. People immediately think I might be violent, or am about to do something crazy. It frustrates the fuck out of me. My dad joked with me about it on the car ride back, and that made me feel a bit better. People who know and care for me understand, while most people, unless they know someone in a similar position, do not. From cops, guards, nurses, doctors, random acquaintances, or other, does schizophrenia immediately scream DANGER.

            I will learn in spite of their prejudice, and figure out my illness on my own front.

            But just in case, I learned not to bullshit with a badge, something my dad told me on the car ride home. They are not your friend, buddy, or best pal. They are authorized to use force against what they see as dangerous, even lethal force.

I hate being labeled as a criminal for my illness. I am not a criminal, nor do I deserve special unorthodox treatment for having a disease that ruins my life in ways. I am the victim and not the perpetrator of whatever schizophrenia means to people.

I got a Philly cheesesteak at a gyro spot, and went home, happy that I could.