General Non-Fiction posted June 12, 2018


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Meeting the right people is not easy.

The Cat's out of the Bag

by pbomar1115

The author has placed a warning on this post for language.

The cat's out of the bag or should I say the information, I encountered a mental collapse (schizophrenia) and I have needed medication since 1986; the varied responses increased my confidence in individuals even though authentic relationships declined. They are a hodgepodge, so I triumphed.  

Schizophrenia produces doubt. It causes an individual to see, hear, or sense things that no one else can. It did for me, in the starting point, years ago, before I took medication for the condition. Although I've maintained an honorable existence, many won't advance to the well-being I've maintained. But I contribute my mental condition to weeding out unsuitable people. I've limited patience with Haters. At least that’s what I call them. Haters endure whether you are normal or cuckoo.

Now, enduring trickster adults is one warning of the disorder a sufferer has to combat, along with maintaining sound judgment. Haters abuse one weakness they know. Sufferers of the illness "lose touch" with reality at the height of the mental complication. Haters take pleasure in this attribute to secure a dominant spot in the life of the person affected by the illness. 

Haters study you before they make a move on you. The grapevine is bulging with intelligence on individuals in its jurisdiction. If you've got a vulnerability such as mine, the Haters will Google your issue and stalk your way of life.

This statement is the classic symptom of a person with schizophrenia, " losing touch" with reality.

Sufferers believe something even after it's a confirmed error. A popular idiosyncrasy Haters use as a ruse for the person with the history. The Haters play on the imagination using this attribute. I won't go into details on the who, what, and when to its use, I'll just tell you what developed and exclude my experiences.

I visited the green room several times. Clean and appealing décor, with comfortable cushioned chairs to absorb the ladies fat asses which eventuated from the cookies, donuts, and carbonated drinks served while they watch their favorite soap opera on the giant, flat screen TV.  

While I lounged on the sofa, relaxed, and prepare to strengthen my connection to the tightly knitted clique in the Greenroom, I acknowledged the Developing Relationship, started two months ago because it appeared to be elevating. 

On one occasion, the Developing Relationship had a visiting friend I'd seen there once. But on this visit, the Developing Relationship introduced me to the Friend. The Friend sputtered in a husky grumble, "Oh, we've met many times."

What she said stunned me.  As I squeezed my eyes shut, seated on the sofa, she unnerved me. I mulled over whether to leave. I've faced this tactic too many times. This woman knows we never met. The relationships will go downhill from here. This Developing Relationship knows I faced the illness and colluded with her friend. Damn, here we go again. I now must exit this relationship.  

Cautious not to show I felt so offended that I could spit as I gazed into the Friend's dull eyes, hiding I'm aware of this game playing, which I'll stop. It exhausts me to go through this routine. I collected myself to get more knowledge by remaining calm then repeated a statement as a question. "We met many times."

She replied, "Yes." as an air of superiority energized the smile.

"We met many times?" I repeated.

"Don't you remember me? I'm the one with the Cadillac."

Up to this stage, I'd considered I gained ground with the Developing Relationship. Courteousness and respect, I'd illustrated on each occasion we chatted. As a result, it produced the wrong individuals. As God is my witness, I'd repulsed at the allure of the Friend. Only this incorrect Developing Relationship cultivates people like the Friend. Then again, carrying a "Brand" is not the poorer of my experiences. I'd reached a stronger grade of favor to show who I am. I got up and left.



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