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In the last few years that I worked VPD’s Mental Health Emergency Services unit I’ve gained a new perspective on the mentally disordered. Not that I’ve needed to go looking for mentally disordered people. They seem to come flocking to the door of the police station looking for me. One of the problems with being a publicly Wiccan cop is that all sorts of delusional people try to contact you to enlist your help in weird causes. Desperate people who think that they are victims of curses or evil spells call you and leave you voice mail. Some call hoping that I can magically cure their illnesses. I had a person write to me once asking my assistance in her effort to get her state to require all drivers to learn how to have “out of body experiences.” She figured that this would make everyone better drivers. I’m wondering how having your body behind the wheel and your mind in the Bahamas makes you a better driver? This woman had sent copies of this lengthy diatribe to several state agencies, educational institutions and companies. I’m sure that they found the letter as interesting as I did. I sent it to the local police agency in her state, asking that someone do a psychiatric assessment on her before she hurt herself. I went to check on a de-compensating schizophrenic one day who was making bizarre phone calls to 911 demanding that the police feed the poor and requesting that police take him shopping for furniture. This schizophrenic then went on to phone complete strangers, threatening to shoot them or send bombs in the mail. A phone trace had revealed the address that this person was calling from: It was a residence for mentally disordered people run by a local mental patient‘s association. This gave us the identity of the caller as well. Local mental health agency records showed that he was diagnosed as psychotic and paranoid when off his medications. I went with the psychiatric nurse and two rookie cops to find out what was happening with this psychotic male. Once we got his door open and shoved his barricade (an empty bookcase) out of the way, the psychotic came charging across the room at us, fists flying. It took all three of us to take him down and restrain him. Once in handcuffs with us sitting on him he began screaming. The conversation between the mental patient and me then goes something like this: “I’m going to get God to destroy you!” “OK, you call your God and I’ll call mine and we’ll see what happens.” “God! Destroy them!” Nothing happens “God! Destroy them!” Still nothing. “God! You’re not listening! Nothing’s happening!” At this point I quietly commented, “I |
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And They Think I’m Crazy |
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