I guess it all started after I got cancer.

Well, maybe before then. I don’t know. I mean I always had imaginary friends when I was little; but I never thought I was schizoid, you know. It wasn’t until I had the cancer though, that I got the wigs. I lost my hair you know. I just felt different when I wore the wigs.  I had so many make-believe friends when I was a kid. Then I grew up and got even more make-believe friends. When I felt agitated and ready to fight, I wore the red one. The red wig. One of my invisible friends when I was a girl had red hair. Her name was Heather. And Carley had blonde hair. And another had black. She was Mindy. Mindy was always such a downer and would burn dolls with her dad’s cigar lighter. The brunette now, my natural color by the way, was of course, when I felt smart and confidant. I had it all covered with the wigs. I just can’t help it that I don’t want to have sex. And it’s not like voices, voices in my head. I know what they’re saying, but I’m not hearing a voice. I just know. The blonde wig, well the blonde one is a funny story actually. I got so depressed after I was diagnosed. Sex was the last thing I thought about. But Phil on the other hand… Poor Phil. And when I put on the blonde wig, sex with Phil wasn’t so bad. Phil has been there through it all and I wish I could do better for him. I really do love him. When I had the blonde wig on I felt flirty. And the black was when I was depressed. The pills really weren’t the big deal everyone made them out to be. I was taking them for years with the cancer. Then I really didn’t want to have sex with Phil. You get a tolerance to medication you know. They’d always freak out on me about taking so many pills and I tried to tell them it wasn’t the same for me. Then they’re always nagging. Then the voices chime in. It’s just crazy you know. That’s what’s crazy not me. Go lock up the crazy doctor that’s peddling these things to people. I had been taking so many different pills for so many years I just get lost in what I‘m saying. I’m not some kind of junkie. I’m not out stealing to get the stuff. It’s my medicine right? Then that jerk Phil, I really hate him sometimes, goes and says something to the doctor and the doctor gets a wild hair up his rear and launches a crusade to take me off the pain pills. And I’m like, just give me my black wig and get away from me Phil. And I did good for awhile, thank you very much. Not a single pain pill for a couple months. But I’d just lay in bed you know. I didn’t even watch T.V. I’d just stare at the walls and think about how much I hated Phil. Even the blonde wig wouldn’t cheer me up. Who wants to live like that? In a bed twenty-four hours a day? I would’ve killed myself then if  I’d went on like that. So I went back to the doctor. Actually, I went to a couple different doctors. Of course I was scared to get into trouble, but that’s why I’d wear the red wig when I went into the pharmacy.  Yeah, I did write a little extra on a few scripts, maybe make a five an eight you know, but I mean really… prison? Poor Phil. I remember how he held my hand the whole three hours on our first date. Look at me now. He can’t even look at me. I couldn’t go to prison. No way. I can’t even stand staying in a hospital for very long. Well, except this hospital. But we’re not really in the hospital-hospital. You know what I mean. Phil says he doesn’t even know me anymore. I tell him that I know how he feels. I tell him that’s okay, I don’t really know me anymore. I never did know me. So yeah, I did take a bunch of pills. But I’m in here now and I’m getting better and I’m around people that understand me and thank Jesus they let me have my wigs. I always wear a wig.

I wouldn’t know who I was without one… said Melinda.

(reading at:)

http://youtu.be/zkEwpA4XSY

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/deadBEATpoetry

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