Mannequin Planet

A story about the time I spoke to a doctor when filing for disability

Mannequin Planet - 10/31/2016

Once when attempting to get on disability after collapsing into beach chairs at lowes while having a panic attack I drove to this strange building down the street from the highway entrance and even further from the ihop where I had my last panic attack. 2015 had been a raving b***h, a horrid w***e of a year that chased me around the apartment looking for me under the covers of the bed and chasing me with it's water faucet mouth as I tried hiding on the roof top. This is the year that pushed the boundaries of the amount of pain I could endure. The office was a hole in the wall. Ugly colors splashed on by city painters high on whip-its, and the ego they bled into their paint cans came up nothing but short. This is a doctor's office for psychiatric evaluation? This is the place the government sent me to prove that I have panic disorder? What kind of flippity-flop horseshit is this? Locked my door after parking on the cracks and made sure the windows we're rolled up all the way. Made my way in and slowly regretted wearing all black and a studded leather jacket. The inside looked just as insignificant with cracks in the walls and staleness vibing in the air like unwanted mosquitos. 

    "Sir, are you Sean Stucki?"

    "yea..."

    "The clock states 9:20. You had an appointment time at 9:00 a.m. It says on the form no late entries."

    "I apologize, my GPS kept sending me in different directions. The suite # wasn't the same on the forms as it was on the brown envelope. I left an hour ago."

    "It says on you're form 9:00 a.m. sir. I'll have to ask you to leave." 

    "It wasn't my intention to be late, like I said, I left at 8 and it should have taken 35 minutes to get here but you guys gave me the wrong suite number. That's not my fault."

    "Is that Mr. Stucki?" came a voice from the back room. A person also wearing all black with black heavy make up walked out of the room, past me. She looked me straight in the eyes without saying one word then walked out the front door. 

    "Come on back."

I walked past the rude receptionist into the back office. Her name sat on a desk that reminded me of those teacher's desk from elementary school.

    "My name is Dr. Sparrow. You're 15 minutes late."

    "You're slave up front told me 20 minutes."

    "My slave? You really do need help."

    "Yes, mam."
     "My name is Dr. Sparrow as i've stated and i'm going to be asking you a series of questions which most will be seen as upsetting. We have to collect enough evidence that would prove your mental state."

    "ok"

She had papers on her desk. A very unclean office with a sting of neglect in the air. So many people we're made homeless because of these 'doctor's offices'.

    "Ok, here is the first question. How do you feel about your local establishment?" 

I held my paper work in my lap uncomfortably with both hands. 

    "I'm an anarchist in Noam Chomsky's sense of his words. So, to take a guess I don't feel too well about the establishment." 

*writing*

    "How often do you get heart murmurs?"

    "Once a day."

    "And have you ever attempted to commit suicide at any time in life?"

I sat there thinking to myself. If I give the wrong answer a loony bin van will pull up to this place in a couple hours to haul me off. 

    "Yes." I chose my words carefully. "When I was 16." 

    "By way of?"

    "Drowning."

*writing*

    "Last question Mr. Stucki. How do you feel about your fellow man?"

    "Disappointment. All politicians don't have the balls to walk in real heat like me. They can't walk across the suns in the galaxy. Life isn't difficult when i'm alone for a while but when coexisting among people it becomes so. This world is dead for the most part and most people either don't want to think for themselves or they don't want to care. Just act accordingly and raise of demons in flesh to be our leaders because they see them as gods."

    "You didn't answer my question." 

    "Walking talking mannequins mam."

    "Do you think they need a savior?" 

    "Well." I put my hand to my mouth and looked at the ceiling. "Even as a child I knew there was something wrong with the world and my fellow man. Knew that there was something terribly wrong with our world. Like I can see and feel sin way before I got saved." 

    "Have you ever tries ministry work? We're you ever called to be a pastor?"

    "I was"

She drew circles on her paper with lines connecting words. I don't believe that I am a complicated patient as I watched her hand work. I'll tell you whatever you wanna here and keep nothing secret but maybe i'm more complicated than previously thought. 

    "So I just want you to know, because I can see a light in you, that you should consider hiring an attorney if this doesn't go through. You're a bright young man and if Jesus called you to lead a group of people then you should think it over."

I was petting the papers in my lap like a small dog. What the hell was happening? 

    "Uhm, thank you." I said with a trembling voice. 

She bowed her head with a smile then continued writing in my profile. He's not clinically insane he's got a church to run, something like that. I walked out and gave a slight bow to the secretary and muttered to myself 'slave'.

Opened the car and as I was peeling out put on a band I haven't listened to in years. Popped a velvet acid christ cd into the cd player, put on the song 's**t' then drove into the long line of vehicles waiting to get across the line and to congress st. I drove past that ihop I had my last date at but this time didn't feel my heart jump in my chest.