Do You Feel As Though You Are Sane?

You should know this wont be fun for either of us, Mr. Robinson.
I am not here willingly, you see. I will be one of your trouble cases, for I am not merely in denial, I am free of any therapy-requiring issues excepting, of course, ego. I, my dear Mr. Poe, am not depressed, suicidal, masochistic, sadistic, homicidal, or satanic. I have no extreme mental cases, so Mr. Barnaby, if you would, allow me to leave in peace and deem me mentally stable, for otherwise we shall have tedia (did you know thats a companyIm really inspired to work there) filled and taxing Monday afternoons. Do you feel as though you are sane? Thats like asking the kettle whether its full of piping hot tea. Never, because kettles never contain tea, just the boiling water of the pre-tea stage, before you insert the invasive and tradition-destroying bag of instant flavor. Steep is only a minutewhatever happened to delayed gratification? But perhaps I shall instead liken it to asking the kettle whether it contains boiling water. A rather pointless question, to say the least, for it depends upon the time of inquiry? Recently, within the last 24 hours, have you felt sane and rational? Well now, Mr. Nocebo, thats an interesting question. You see, this very visit makes me question my sanity. I have already spelled out my lack of a condition or case, but I remain seated in the abhorrently squishy armchair trapped in a room decorated in warm earth tones Who thinks thats soothing? But anyway, labeling me as one requiring serious mental medical attention makes me feel irrational, as though perhaps I have done something to warrant this, though I certainly have not, Mr. Simpson. This assertion of my dementia and danger to myself and others could have the effect of making me so. I am a hormonal easily influenced teenager after all. However, prior to the last hour when I was so rudely informed that I was scheduled to see you, I do not feel as though some poor Brit went insomniac. No, sir, I did not contain one bit of boiling water. Instead, Mr. Corduroy, I let it all pour out, and so I am no longer in need of your services. My pillow is likely still shaking with the force of my screams and sobs, my long-dead teddy bear terrified of the admissions and entries of some juvenile journal ensconced in its never-forgetting fur. Are you troubled by something that you admitted to you teddy-bear and not to others? Why, w-why yes, Mr. Gilligan. Would you like to tell me? I-I suppose. You see, its me mother Yes? She-she k-k-keepssending me, sending me to these idiot psychiatrists! I see, Ms. Johnson. Oh, you do? Thats good, youre the first one. Mr. Redding told me that I needed to let my anger out, and that once I stopped holding my emotions in then I would feel free. But do you know what, Mr. Harlowe, I feel so free. Free to say what I want and do what I want and show you who I am behind a mask of earnest and a veil of selfloathing. For thats what I amgloriously free, and Mr. Icarus, I aint coming down yet. Theres no way to get too close to the sun if you are the stars. Tethered and shining like always before, waiting for a hopeless romantic to dimly appreciate your light before being distraced by their lovers jealous affections. I am a million miles from you all and just something to grasp at when the going gets tough and the tough are dead. Because I am alonewhat friends I have are afraid of my outbursts,
when they have so much they need to hear. Oh, Mr. Render, you have no clue the things I should tell youhave to tell you. The things you must discover on your own, lest you become like me. We wouldnt want that! My second shrink urged me to make peace with all the things I have done and let go of, to join her and live together in harmony with all Gods children on the earth, sharing and loving each other. But that was unnecessary for her to ask, for I am not Gods child, for it seems obvious that he sucks at parenting, and how would I turn out as I did with that upbringing? Satan spawn! They shout. Satan spawn! He cried. Satan spawn, thats the common consensus among the lovely group of people I call the poeple of Earth. Theyre probably rightI am the daughter of the devil. Maybe thats why He punishes me. Thats why I caught that ledge and why I cant swallow pills and why they only have twine at Wal-Mart. I shall find my way! There is no alternative, for to remain in the limbo that is this messed-up party of a messed up life I will need a better hand. Sorry, re-deal, I wanted to pass go. But not anymore. Theyre probably rightI am the blood of Beelzebub. Maybe thats why when I scream for myself, thats when they decide to listen. And when they are made to scream for themselves, others listen. Where were they when she screamed for herself, why didnt they listen? Why dont they see, all I want is to be free, and they should too. This is all I can do, and a sacrifice in blood is a low price to pay. All I want is to be free, a star.

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You should know this wont be fun for either of us, Mr. Robinson.

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