him.
"Can I ask you a question?"
Troy looked suddenly grim. "Why am I living on the streets?"
Juicy nodded. Troy was crazy in some ways...but really, no more than anybody else that she knew.
"It's like a process, Juice. Not one thing puts you out on the streets." Troy slid a forkful of pancakes slowly through the syrup pooled on his plate. "For me it began when I lived in my parent's house. To make a long story short, I was diagnosed as bipolar. But even before that I already had plenty of problems. I have seizures. I also have very bad migraines and tics.” He peeked at her. “I guess I’m a mess. The medicine didn’t help; made me into a zombie with migraines and tics."
Troy dropped his fork and nibbled on bacon. Juicy watched him curiously.
"Honestly, Juice, I'd rather have all my other problems then be a drooling zombie. So I stopped taking them; cold turkey—which is a big no no in the mental health world. Afterwards, my symptoms became worse than ever. It's like being on those heavy narcotics for all those months messed up something inside of me. I started having seizures more often and the headaches were worse than ever before." Troy's lower lip twitched and he self-consciously covered his chin with his hand.
"My p-p-parents insisted that I get back on the m-m-medication. But you can't understand how horrible it is to be someone else...to know that your f-f-eelings, and your thoughts are all being filtered through drugs. And guess what?! The entire world is okay with that, Juice! Your p-parents are happy that you are someone else!" He looked into her eyes as if he were pleading for her to understand.
Juicy nodded. "I do understand. It has to suck to be something other then what you are."
Satisfied with her response Troy continued. "So I left home. Don't get me wrong. My parents are good people. They really are. I'm not schizophrenic, though. I don't hear voices. I do NOT need to be on hardcore narcotics like lithium. But those doctors' had them convinced that I was a danger to myself...and just all kinds of crap! I had to leave home."
Troy's left eye twitched along with his lip and Juicy nervously looked elsewhere. It was time to change the subject, but he continued to talk.
"You'd be surprised at how distrustful employers are just because someone has a hand tremor or a facial tic, not to mention just blacking out for no reason. It's hard to get a job even at a fast food joint. I tried telemarketing but there were times that I'd start stuttering then out the door I'd be."
"I haven't heard you stutter." Juicy replied, trying to think of something positive to say. Troy picked up his plate and scraped the uneaten portion into the trash.
"A lot of-a lot of the-the-" He blew out a frustrated breath and stared at the trash. He took a deep breath. "A lot of the symptoms that I used to exhibit have faded over the years."
A lot, but not all, Juicy thought.
He returned to his seat at the table. "I stutter, but only when I’m stressed, same with the tics." Troy's lip curled up in a slight smile. "The seizures aren’t that bad, really. I just get a little confused after, and then I start saying strange things."
Juicy didn't know what to say. Her pancakes had grown cold and she didn't have much of an appetite anymore.
"So that's why you're on the streets?" Juicy rose to dump her food into the trash.
"Not really." She turned to look at him curiously.
"Well, I get a social security check once a month and I can stay in a residential care home. It's paid for by the state. They give you your own place and a home health care aid comes by to check on you at regular intervals." Troy frowned and began drumming his fingers on the table. "But they'll make me take medication...I'd rather be on the streets." Troy shrugged.
Juicy was still holding her plate as she watched him. "Social Security isn't enough to pay for an apartment-?"
"It's enough." Even if he didn’t want the residential care he knew that he
"Can I ask you a question?"
Troy looked suddenly grim. "Why am I living on the streets?"
Juicy nodded. Troy was crazy in some ways...but really, no more than anybody else that she knew.
"It's like a process, Juice. Not one thing puts you out on the streets." Troy slid a forkful of pancakes slowly through the syrup pooled on his plate. "For me it began when I lived in my parent's house. To make a long story short, I was diagnosed as bipolar. But even before that I already had plenty of problems. I have seizures. I also have very bad migraines and tics.” He peeked at her. “I guess I’m a mess. The medicine didn’t help; made me into a zombie with migraines and tics."
Troy dropped his fork and nibbled on bacon. Juicy watched him curiously.
"Honestly, Juice, I'd rather have all my other problems then be a drooling zombie. So I stopped taking them; cold turkey—which is a big no no in the mental health world. Afterwards, my symptoms became worse than ever. It's like being on those heavy narcotics for all those months messed up something inside of me. I started having seizures more often and the headaches were worse than ever before." Troy's lower lip twitched and he self-consciously covered his chin with his hand.
"My p-p-parents insisted that I get back on the m-m-medication. But you can't understand how horrible it is to be someone else...to know that your f-f-eelings, and your thoughts are all being filtered through drugs. And guess what?! The entire world is okay with that, Juice! Your p-parents are happy that you are someone else!" He looked into her eyes as if he were pleading for her to understand.
Juicy nodded. "I do understand. It has to suck to be something other then what you are."
Satisfied with her response Troy continued. "So I left home. Don't get me wrong. My parents are good people. They really are. I'm not schizophrenic, though. I don't hear voices. I do NOT need to be on hardcore narcotics like lithium. But those doctors' had them convinced that I was a danger to myself...and just all kinds of crap! I had to leave home."
Troy's left eye twitched along with his lip and Juicy nervously looked elsewhere. It was time to change the subject, but he continued to talk.
"You'd be surprised at how distrustful employers are just because someone has a hand tremor or a facial tic, not to mention just blacking out for no reason. It's hard to get a job even at a fast food joint. I tried telemarketing but there were times that I'd start stuttering then out the door I'd be."
"I haven't heard you stutter." Juicy replied, trying to think of something positive to say. Troy picked up his plate and scraped the uneaten portion into the trash.
"A lot of-a lot of the-the-" He blew out a frustrated breath and stared at the trash. He took a deep breath. "A lot of the symptoms that I used to exhibit have faded over the years."
A lot, but not all, Juicy thought.
He returned to his seat at the table. "I stutter, but only when I’m stressed, same with the tics." Troy's lip curled up in a slight smile. "The seizures aren’t that bad, really. I just get a little confused after, and then I start saying strange things."
Juicy didn't know what to say. Her pancakes had grown cold and she didn't have much of an appetite anymore.
"So that's why you're on the streets?" Juicy rose to dump her food into the trash.
"Not really." She turned to look at him curiously.
"Well, I get a social security check once a month and I can stay in a residential care home. It's paid for by the state. They give you your own place and a home health care aid comes by to check on you at regular intervals." Troy frowned and began drumming his fingers on the table. "But they'll make me take medication...I'd rather be on the streets." Troy shrugged.
Juicy was still holding her plate as she watched him. "Social Security isn't enough to pay for an apartment-?"
"It's enough." Even if he didn’t want the residential care he knew that he
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