I remember Ken Jennings, the guy who played Jeopardy for a month or something, earning a shit ton of money and showing off his intellect on tv to wanna be game show contestants and after dinner couch surfers. In November 2000, or was it 1999, Ken was in control. I was not.
I watched Ken steer his money ship from the milieu, the common area, the couch I shared with a cutter, a manic depressive, a schizophrenic, a drug addict, a criminal. Which group I belonged to was yet to be decided. The weekend felt like a month as I reluctantly waited for global positioning. Apparently, asking for help on a Friday is a lesson in futility. I learned that madness has no patience.
The psych hospitals you see in the movies are scary and people think they can't be that bad. Minus Jack Nicholson's twisted scowl, not much is different when you're locked up voluntarily and choose to leave your two small children and husband in search of sanity. Scary is an understatement.
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