New Jersey state police officers arrived at the motel just as I was shouting ‘the end is near’. Before they ordered me to get into the back seat of their patrol car, they asked what room number was mine.
I thought I had died and gone to hell. The voice of the policemen comforted me. In my ‘delusional’ mind, I believed that for all of eternity I was destined to be a prostitute, pimped by none other than Lucifer himself. I was condemed to be a demonic male- whore forever. Suddenly, I felt sorry for making thousands of dollars from old gay men in New York City who paid me to get naked with them.
When the the police arrived, I realized that perhaps I was not dead yet.
The environment of Elizabeth, NJ was the perfect setting for my ‘schizophrenic break’. There were hookers at the motel, real ones, not simple ones like me who turned tricks for the thrill of being worshiped. They turned tricks for cash there. I met one of them outside of door number nine. She asked me if I wanted a $50 head shot. I laughed and told her that I did not like having my picture taken. She told me that I just might like it and if I didn’t want to experience the thrill of a woman that I should at least give her a cigarette. We laughed at my preference and smoked a Newport together. Eventually we got into an argument which is why the police came.
“Do you have anything in your room,” one of the officers asked as his partner shoved me into the caged back seat of the patrol car.
“Yes, a blue Adidas gym bag,” I informed.
“We are going to play some music for you,” the officers joking remarked just before turning their police car radio to full-blast. Incredibly loud heavy metal music echoed from the speakers located behind my head. I held my ears. I was terrified and screamed to be set free.
What more did Satan have in store for me, I asked myself as I carefully studied the bright flashing lights from the equipment located at the front of the patrol car. I wondered what the strange blinking green lights were for. Was it a radio? Were they aborting my fetus with secretive CIA equipment? Was the music a part of a governmental abortion?
The entire ordeal was strange and not simply because I have ‘schizophrenia’. Why the loud music? Even if I am offically a nut case, what right did officers of the law have to poke fun of me and torture my soul with loud heavy metal music? They seemed to get off during the ordeal.
“Please, let me out of here,” I screamed when they returned from my room with my bag. The music made me sick.
They laughed from outside the car before eventually turning down the awful music. It must have been Iron Maiden, but I was not sure of the artist. They permitted me to stand outside the car as we waited for an ambulance. Finally, I thought, I was about to give birth to the demon child that was inside of me.
“Look at the hairs on my arms. They are standing on ends,” I said to the friendlier of the two officers. “What do you think is causing my hairs to stand on ends like this?” I asked him.
“That’s strange. I do not know,” the officer said as the EMS workers arrived.
“We have a lunatic here,” the officer with a beard said.
“You’re going to have to ride back there with him,” the driver of the ambulance said to his partner.
“He is really freaking me out. Look at the hairs on his arms,” the medical technician said as he checked my pulse. “I have never seen anything like this. The hairs seem to be dancing. He seems rational to me. Do I really have to ride back here with him?”
“Yes,” his partner ordered.
“I will not hurt you,” I promised as I willfully climbed into the vehicle and sat upon a stretcher. I knew it was all true. I was pregnant with the anti-christ. I was the one! The police and the EMS workers confirmed my delusional fears. The entire event was not simply something I was imagining. The officers and the EMS workers had merged with my delusion. Little did they know, but they were as shepherds in the fields of Bethlehem that day. Time and eternity will show them that.
“My legs really hurt in here,” I said to the man in white. “I feel like my soul is being torn from my body. What is this truck. Is it a UFO?” I asked.
“You are going to be alright,” the man said. “Just stay calm for me please.”
* * *
Inspired by the new translation of “Bhagavad Gita, The Beloved Lord’s Secret Love Song” by Graham M. Schwieg.
Thus from Vasudeva
whose self is exalted,
I have heard this
which causes a state of
*rapturous bliss translated from the word ‘romaharshana’: “Body hairs standing on end” or “Thrilling of bodily hairs”
More has been written about my schizophrenic arrest in my blog. Click here…