Nothing Better…
As a person suffering from Insanity, I have a grave fear of watching anything that relates to psychiatric hospitals. This has been my fear since the first few times I suspected that I wasn’t right ‘in the head’: if I mentioned it to anyone, I would be immediately descended upon by large, burly men with restraints and syringes full of Haldol. And while I do typically find myself in a trance over large burly men, and I am a proponent of the use of presecription sedatives, I’m not so big on the restraints.
Tonight Mal and I are settling in for a quiet night of stuffing our faces and lazing on the couch in unflattering pajamas. Mine are so unsettlingly hideous that her father accused me of stealing jogging pants from his closet. Because clearly, only a family man in his mid forties would be seen wearing some of the clothes that I wear.
I happen to be a horror movie fanatic. By fanatic, I mean someone who can spend three months of her life watching only those movies that pertain to chainsaw, axe, serial, and posessed-by-demons movies, and I rarely ever flinch.
By the end of Girl, Interrupted, I fully intend to be hiding under Mal’s mother’s kitchen table, clutching my CrazyMeds and crying out for mercy, in a manner akin Mel Gibson in the final scenes of Braveheart.
But I think I can do it.
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