"OH. So that's what they mean."

 It sucks that two people, both blond women, in two successive decades, tried so hard to talk sense into me, and failed. I'd love to be, respectively, 13 and 23 again, and actually get it. But it took till the early 1990s, after a few years of psychiatric pharmaceuticals, for me to catch on. "OH. So that's what that means."

I can't prove the pills made me any better, but they have made me feel, and act, very differently. As some might notice.

By the way, if those drugs did no good for somebody they'd take them off the market. Or they're supposed to anyway, because of federal and peer-reviewed oversight. Right?

But now the United States secretary of health and human services is a(n ex-?) junkie with a worm-eaten brain. (So it really does happen. Sorry guys.)

I wonder what that means? Put it this way: I have very often in my lifetime been a prophet and have been mostly ignored. And don't forget that even a busted clock is right twice a day. (Or at least it is here.) But now I can tell you that it's the obvious truth, my fellow Americans are in for HARD time, especially those (however few) who might feel "spiritual kinship" with me. Or who might agree with me that I should have listened to not just them but my father. Even if they never met him they saw his side, or would if they could. Some "common sense" might even be necessary, even for me.

So if I can catch on anybody can.

The fact is those who are "abnormal" in the eyes of J.D. Vance are in hazard for our lives. He wrote that book for a reason, okay?

I have nothing, and no one, holding me here. And nobody I know has any use for me, which has gone on for so long that it seems like my general condition. And maybe even if they did I wouldn't be up to it, it's so much easier to sit here alone with the door locked. Albeit on fucking Facebook.

So. This will probably never apply, but just in case (and note the case): don't you dare pretend I deserted you. How long am I supposed to wait? And wait for what? If you had anything for me I'd have known it by now. Okay, I'll admit I'm only thinking back about 15 years, and by then I was middle aged (but still troubled). But that's even more reason to not need me anymore, because my looks had faded. Fourteen years ago, so it's even worse now. And in some particular ways my physical functioning ain't for shit no more neither.

And now I'm almost out of money, with credit card debt worth two month's pay. For that San Diego trip, the one I had to go on or I'd pitch myself off the roof. The one where I had a "mystical" experience, which amounts to "OH. So that's what they're talking about." Golly. Okay, I really am dense. (At least it's not terminal. So far.)

But still. I plead a mental malfunction. I did not set out to be this dense on purpose. That was not part of the plan. I was supposed to be a prophet, a voyant, and not such an idiot. Something happened. Perhaps from heredity, or from hard knocks (including on the inside from drugs), or (most likely) both, I seem to have misplaced my mind. ('Misplaced.') My brain don't work like it's supposed to. Maybe it broke off too. 

So. I can't claim to be a total naif. Far from it. But your dog will probably like me. And I stand alone. Here. Where it's lonely. Out in space. And I think I've got it this time.