But not anymore.
Our Mayor shot himself in the head Monday. A tragic beginning to an unusual week. I have made an A in Comp II. This is surprising. I was asked to leave high school as a sophomore, and at the time I was failing English, and everything else miserably. Too, In the first grade, Miss Suzuki (I shit you not. That was her name.) told my parents I was retarded.
There was never a formal retraction of this statement from a representative of the educational system.
So there you have it.
Though my mother swore in broken English that this was not the case, I may be a retard. (Don't worry, it's like the 'N-word'...it's politically correct if you are a member of the offended category. I defend my right to use it).
Hell, what was she supposed to say?
We moved from Grand Heights to Yokota Air Base before they could treat my ah, condition, so I never had to actually ride in one of the little buses. (Ironically, now I have a CDL with a passenger edorsement. I can DRIVE the short bus.) At the Base school, I did well, except for scrambling my letters, and writing backward. They sent me twice a week to special class. I guess I was a borderline 'tard. I don't remember special teacher's name, but he had a puppet.
The puppet was named Dooso. (DEW soh).
Dooso was a dolphin, and Mr. Special Teacher would put his arm up Dooso's um...posterior during my special class (It looked like fisting.), and sometimes even in front of the normal kids, for special occasions. (I think Mr. Special Teacher was also Mr. School Mental Health Professional).
A couple times, Mr. Special Teacher would give Dooso a break, and do other things with me. Like shine a light around the room, and ask me to follow it.
Really. In the seventies, that's one of the ways they helped us.
I've really gone off into left field. Sorry.
So my week has been interesting. My amazing grade in English, I attribute to the grace of God, and much exposure to the written word, not the least of which was shown to me by the bloggers I have browsed so much this past year. I am grateful. Academically I have knocked it out of the park this quarter. I can make as low as a 50 on my history final and still pull a 4.0, which is why I am allowing myself to blog at 8:30, two and a half hours before my test.
Anyway, I am no stranger to suicidal thoughts or thoughts about suicide in general, and Mr. Walker's choice is sad to me, and contributed to a strange flavor for my interesting week.I figure anybody thinks of suicide from time to time, (That's what the poll is about) but most of us stop before we walk any distance down that path, which is what the poll is about( are you getting the hint about the poll?)...
I speculate some people glance in the direction of suicide, and chuckle at their foolishness and move on. Some people pause.Some people pause for a long minute.
Some people pause for a cigarette and a cup of coffee.
Some people go down the path a step.
You can do any of these repeatedly, and the further down the path you walk, the deeper the understanding as you peer ahead, to the next more desperate level. If you have only been a glance and chuckler, you may be able to relate to Mr. Pause, but Ms. Ten Steps may be a little more different. Harder to identify with. This is a good reason not to judge.
Some people go all the way. Of course, you can only do that once.I've never gone far enough down the path to say how much of that is their fault.
The Nueroskeptic says most people experience mental illness by age 32. My own layman's opinion is that ya got something wrong with you. It's just a matter of how bad it is. As John Ortberg says "Everybody's normal til you get to know them".
Studying for psychology, I came across this:
According to my psych textbook (Intro to psychology, eighth Ed. James W. Kalat. Thomsom Wadsworth, Belmont Calif.), People with Shizophrenia have difficulty picking the faces out. Yeah. And it took me several minutes.
There you have it. I'm