The Whimsical and Incomprehensible Life

Greek food and other various badly told anecdotes...

It's amazing what people can do nowadays. The mistreatment of myself
was something I considered a great injustice. Did I take a stand? Well
I tried. But for some reason I just ended up getting stoned and/or
drunk, to be honest, I can't remember how many substances I consumed.
Drinking wasn't really my thing, but desperate times call for desperate
measures, as they say. I think that was my reasoning at the time.

"They're all slags" I recall my neighbour telling me. Yes, slags they
were. They were whores to conservatism. They could not comprehend me as
a person, I was too, am too different. Different being a very vague
word to describe myself. The prospect of finding a word to describe
myself seemed like a very daunting task, especially when I couldn't
stand up straight, and I was too busy yelling, "Where the hell am
I?"

My best friend Lucy often wasn't there to witness me on a mindful of
drugs, maybe that's why she remained my friend. Many times I had acted
like an imbecile, and the little dignity that I had disappeared into
oblivion. I never cared what anyone thought, was that a blessing or a
curse?

Anyway my reasoning when something went wrong in my life was usually,
fuck it, lets get wasted. And at least I think it worked, not that I
could remember much, which was good. I only remember little obscure
moments that are like pieces of a puzzle, a puzzle I will never
complete.

The injustice, I thought, was that I was being punished for something I
could not help. An apparent mental illness. Sometimes the strange and
unusual are confused with being mentally ill. But if I said I wasn't
mentally ill, they would think I was, so if I accepted my apparent
mental illness, well, hopefully they'd reconsider. They never
did.

I remember one particular day when I was surrounded by things I could
not comprehend. Every moment, every movement baffled me. I was lost in
a state of utter confusion. People's faces scared me. I was acting like
a deranged idiot and yet I did not realise it at the time. I was
definitely paranoid, I thought people were standing in a circle around
me, judging me, planning a devious diabolical scheme in an effort to
cause my demise. I was sure of it. And as I look back on that moment, I
still have my suspicions, perhaps the drugs were giving me a greater
insight.

I remember people asking me, "Are you alright?" and in response I
mumbled on about my untimely death.

"My throats closing up! I can't breathe!" I managed to say, between
gibberish. And so a kind adolescent boy rushed to get me some water.
Was the water poisoned? Was it even water? I took a risk and drank the
liquid. Maybe it saved my life, maybe I'll never know.

But anyway, lets resume where I started. I was treated unjustly.
Unfortunately the Mental Health Act is more against the mentally ill.
There are no discrimination laws that I know of that can benefit me in
anyway. So I can't explain the reason that every time somebody treats
me unfairly I shout "discrimination!". I should never have been taught
that word, should I?

My dear Mother decided that I needed cheering up, and invited me to go
and smash plates at a Greek Restaurant in South East London. It was my
Mother's masseuse's birthday celebration. I had never met her before,
so maybe I shouldn't really have been there. So I was sitting amidst a
cramped table of cigarettes, booze and Greek food. I was sitting next
to my neighbours, I only talked to them. I was too tired to talk to the
people I had never met before, and if I did try and start a
conversation I would end up saying something incredibly stupid. My Mum
had brought her lover-man along. I didn't get the chance to talk to
him, as the damn Greek music was so bloody loud. You literally had to
shout in the others person ear. The food was alright, but the drink was
better. Since I couldn't talk to anyone I drank the wine like water,
and the effect of it started to kick in. "You shouldn't drink when
you're on medication" my Mother had said. Yeah, one glass of wine had
the effect of two. Couldn't those scientist invent a mood-stabiliser
that could accept alcohol? No, they had to make things difficult.

The belly dancer got on my nerves after a few minutes, her constant
chiming of bells, her wiggling hips. I had to get out for a breather. I
went to the toilets and emptied out the contents of my bag. I had a
small bit of cocaine left over. I got it from some freakish hobo man,
in exchange for a cigarette. But this fucking Greek place was getting
to me, I needed a distraction. The alcohol wasn't doing much good. So
after having a reasonable discussion in my mind I snorted it all up, a
strange but familiar tingling sensation in my nose. I almost toppled
over, this was quite strong stuff. Okay, I just had to act as normal as
I possibly could. Even if I acted strange, I would blend in with the
drunk Greek people and belly dancers.

In a disorientated state I made my way back to the table. A Greek man
with a moustache was dancing around, balancing a bottle of wine on his
head. Was I imagining this? This place was definitely not a good place
to be when you have Prozac, anti-psychotics, wine and coke mixing
around in your bloodstream.

"That's a plastic bottle, and it's attached to his head with Velcro"
said my neighbour. This proved that I didn't imagine the dancing, wine
bottle-balancing Greek man. I had the tremendous urge to walk over to
him and push the bottle off his head. Yeah, that would shut him up. My
ears were being tortured by crazy Greek music. The people around me
were making me feel uncomfortable, but still, I smiled and
laughed.

When the main course was brought over I didn't feel inclined to eat it,
I would have preferred to throw it at somebody. Maybe if I had more
coke I would gain the confidence to. Damn, that hobo didn't give me
much.

My bra started feeling incredibly tight. Was I swelling up? It felt
like it was trying to suffocate me. Okay, I thought, think sane
thoughts, sane thoughts. If I sit here quietly, soon it will all be
over and I can go home, I thought, otherwise I will kill them
all.

My neighbour looked at me with her heavily mascara-covered eyes. She
lent over to my ear and shouted, "This is crap, we'll go home soon".
Thank God. That was the best thing I had heard all night, even though I
hadn't really heard much, except the loud Greek music and the
irritating chiming of the belly dancer.

My neighbour, having mixed four glasses of wine with her
anti-depressants was in a slightly restless mood. She tried to balance
a glass of wine on her head, unfortunately, it didn't work out so well
and it spilled all over her and me.

A long treacherous hour of watching the floor and walls move like
liquid went by. Peoples faces started looking very weird. Thankfully my
neighbour and I went home early. The cab driver was a friendly Lebanese
man. My neighbour talked to him about Lebanese food, saying he should
open a restaurant. She just ordered a stranger to open a restaurant. I
wasn't too surprised, and anyway, I was too busy trying to keep
sane.

Finally I got home, my neighbour invited me in for another drink, I
politely declined and staggered toward my front door, falling over as I
entered my house. "I challenge you to a duel sir!" said my cat. My cat
had said something, how unusual. To my recollection I had never heard
my cat talk before. I quickly realised that the TV was on, and my
fucked mind interpreted the sound of the TV to be the voice of my cat.
It was a typical night really.