Foreign Philosophy

“How many times have you been admitted to psychiatric hospitals since you came over to Texas after Hurricane Katrina?”

“Three or four times every year. Just like I did when I was in New Orleans. I would go into a psychiatric hospital to get some shots for my nerves."

“When you are not being admitted to psychiatric hospitals, what do you do? Do you have a job?”

“No, man. I’m on disability.”

“You look pretty healthy to me. What are you on disability for?

“My nerves, man. They’re bad.”

“As we say in Texas, ‘Work cures misery.’ Working would make you feel better. It would give you something to do and you would feel better about yourself.”

“But if I worked I would lose my disability and my mother needs my disability money.”

“You are 27 years old. You still live with your mother?”

“Yeah. She needs my disability money.”

“If you worked you would make more money than you get on disability and you could give your mother more money. There are lots of jobs around here. Getting a job would be good for you…and your mother.”

“Hey. You’re supposed to have sympathy for me. Why are you talking to me about getting work? I need some shots. I need sympathy.”

“My job is to help you get well. Work would help you get well. It would be good for you. Work would give you something to do. Work would build your self-esteem. You could make some money, move out of your mother’s house, and become independent. You would even have more money to give to your mother.”

“I need a shot, not work. I’m allergic to every kind of shot except Ativan. I’m not allergic to that and I need a shot of Ativan to settle down. I can’t take medicines by mouth. My stomach is too tender for pills. It’s been tender since I was a kid and went into psych hospitals. If I don’t get any Ativan shots I start to lose it and the nurses get scared.”

“Let me introduce you to our Texas nurses. Come on over to the nursing station and meet some of our finest nurses. This is Fender. He’s 6’2’’ and weights about 250. As you can see—all muscle. This is Billy Bud. He’s smaller, but wiry. Wrestles steers in local rodeos for a hobby. Broke a steer’s neck once. It was an accident, of course. His feet got tangled and he twisted too hard trying to get his balance... and pop. Ever hear a steer’s neck pop? Weird sound. You never forget it once you hear it.”

“Maybe I’ll try one of those nerve pills. My stomach might have toughened-up some since I was a kid in the hospital.”

“That’s a good idea. Those pills will help you settle down as you are making out a list of Louisiana towns you’d like to live in. They don’t have any work to speak of in Louisiana, but they make up for it with lots of sympathy. Fender and Billy Bud will take you down to the bus station when their shift is over. And don’t forget to call your mother and tell her to meet you at the station. She will need your disability money when you get to Louisiana.”