This is a cathartic post. Never in my life have I crapped so much in one go at one place. This is going to be a sumptuous banquet for my dear readers. Bon appétit! Also, I strongly recommend parents who have children that they make their progeny read this to turn them into confident adults so that they have a balanced personality and do not suffer from an identity crisis the kind I am suffering from…
In a psychiatry lecture I attended more than a week back, we were taught about personality disorders. And as our teacher described the typical features of each kind of weirdoes, which the perfectly normal people like you would call them for want of a cooler sounding term, I jumped with joy that familiarity brings, and shouted, “Wow! That’s me!”.
Now you people might think that my enthusiasm would have led to my ouster from the class. But hey, no, that didn’t happen! We medicos are compassionate and empathetic. So, I was merely gagged with my socks, which I had fortunately washed just ten days back and restrained with shoelaces and the like.
Then on, any psychiatric disorder that our professor would try to teach would end with his scratching his beard and saying, “Well, the patient would present like [insert a massively pregnant pause and grating sound of finger
claws nails against four-day-old-stubble]… HIM!” pointing at me. That would have me grinning from ear to ear with pride, just not sure if others in the class could make that out what with my stuffed mouth and sutured lips. Well, which brings me to another matter of greater gravity—the taste of my socks. Umm… well umm… it was a bit salty, but mostly bland. Well to give you a very rough idea, you could try stuffing your mouth with socks you would have worn for last ten days without washing of course and suturing your lips. But I do understand your predicament—yes, the socks could suffer irreversible damage. So don’t do that. It’s wasteful! Okay, let me think of another example. Umm…well umm… yes! They tasted like Maggi noodles. Like, you’d cook two cups of Maggi with only one pack of TastemakerTM, and then eat it after ten days. Believe me, they taste exactly the same. And you know what, I’ll feel bad if you try it yourself, ‘cuz that’d mean you don’t trust my judgement in matters of taste 😦
Well, let’s come to the point! As the lecture ended after 5 hours, I was brought down from the centermost ceiling fan of the classroom from where I’d been hung upside down, and I did feel a bit disappointed for I always love to be the *center* of attention, but also felt a bit relieved, as now I was allowed to put on my clothes. Didn’t I tell you medicos are compassionate and empathetic? But for the socks I decided they were not any good for wearing over the shoes, and that henceforth, I’d wear that particular pair only inside my shoes.
As I reached back my room, I experienced an unprecedented surge of energy. That extra bit of blood as I was hung upside down must have fired up my neurons, I guess. To cool myself, I went to the close by bar. I mean, the juice and icecream bar. I don’t remember what happened there properly, but I was beaten up, and I can’t remember anything beyond events of last 12 hours—not even my age and gender.
But as I try to recall, I am remembering 11 different occurrences. But my acquaintances tell me that it’s the first one that best fits my general attitude and *personality*. So well, you could take the first account as the prototypical normal personality.
PROTOTYPICAL NORMAL PERSONALITY
I had ordered for myself a milkshake, and as I was sitting, and sucking on the milkshake through a plastic straw, enjoying it, a she-housefly, presumably of female gender (and waist so slender [rhyming alert]) kissed me. This, she accomplished by sitting on my upper lip. What can I say! That was the most passionate lip lock that any she-housefly had ever blessed me with, and I had no choice, but to reciprocate. Then she entered my right ear and asked me in the most melodious sound that had ever fallen on my right ear, “Do you love me, Amit?”. Or wait, did she call me John? No, I’m positive it was Batman! Didn’t you get the hint that I even wear my underwear and vest over my clothes, when I told you about wearing my socks over my shoes? So, she must have fallen for my wings. Now don’t you try telling me bats have patagium, and not wings, and all that. What would a blinded-by-love-she-housefly know, anyway!
And as I opened my mouth for the first time before that she-housefly to say, “I do! I very much do!”, her hitherto-fluttering-with-excitement-wings stopped fluttering, and her three pair of shaky, sexy legs gave way, and she fell in my milk. I mean, the one I had ordered. I guess, that had something to do with my halitosis. The last I must have brushed my teeth must have been exactly 10 days back. Yes! Yes! Exactly when I must have washed my socks. My hostel acquaintances tell me I wouldd put my socks one-by-one in my mouth, pour some toilet cleaner into it and brush my teeth and socks with the same toilet cleaning brush I’d use to clean the toilet. You see, even Einstein used to believe in that kind of economy (just search for “Einstein” on the page)!
Well, so you must be convinced beyond doubt that my halitosis must be too good for even a she-housefly to survive, more so with those socks in my mouth taken out just some 2 hours back.
I was disappointed.<—-[Understatement alert]
I’d fallen in love with that she-housefly, and all she managed to fall in return was my milk! I again mean, the one I had ordered. I was going to drink that milk along with her as a token of her love so that she could live on in my
intestines memories, and become a part of me. But then I had a rare flash of recollection from my academic studies, which told me that both he- and she-flies sit on other people’s fecal matter (shit), urine (piss) and vomitus (puke) and suck on them and puke it back on whatever they sit. That’s when I realized, why I’d found her kiss so enchanting. But then I also remembered that those things that houseflies sit on are considered to be unhygienic by the self-proclaimed normal people, and as a good medico, who’d first practice and then preach, I reluctantly decided to abandon the milk and the housefly—just like some kind of *Neglected Serendipity*.
But, as I was leaving the place, I reckoned, my life would never remain the same. I was filled with irrepressible rage for all she-houseflies, as one of their kind was responsible for the misery of a jilted lover, I had become. I kicked a she-housefly in the butt, which was sitting on the butt of the restaurant-owner.<—-[Understatement alert] And beyond that I don’t remember anything for reasons I can’t remember [DUH!]. But as I told you, I’m remembering even other events, too—all involving milkshake and a housefly. All of them evoke in me the same feeling I had in the psychiatry lecture listening about personality disorders—“Wow! That’s me!” So, here I present before you an account from each of the individual disordered personalities residing in me, and wanting to take control over me!
CLUSTER A [ODD, ECCENTRIC]
1. PARANOID PERSONALITY DISORDER:<—-[These things in blue are click-able]
characterized by irrational suspicions and mistrust of others.
Psst… I want to tell you something. Don’t tell it to anyone, okay? Go! I won’t tell you! You’re looking too interested.
Okay, I can tell you, but I won’t tell you the complete details.
I was sipping a milkshake. Don’t ask me which flavor! That’s personal! And, something with two wings and six legs trying to pass off as a female housefly landed in my milkshake. But I’m no fool! I didn’t consume the housefly. I’m sure it was actually a drone sent after me by my hubby to spy on me. I mean tell me, what’s the point spying on me when he’s just sitting opposite me on the table? Shit! Where’s he? He was there just 22 seconds back. Oh yes, he’s under the table with my best friend—Champakali. They always do that. And I mean, it annoys me no end to know, they get under the table and share the cakes and cookies just so that they don’t have to share them with me. And when I ask them they tell me they were just having a small talk. Of course, I’m no fool to believe them.
Just two days back, when I’d returned back home from shopping, I heard some sounds coming from my bedroom. Like sounds of moaning with pleasure, and slurping of tongues exactly the kind I produce when eating those cakes and cookies that I’d kept hidden. I immediately went and looked behind the toilet seat where I wouldd hide them. I frantically counted and re-counted. There were exactly 73 cookie s and 16 cupcakes as I had left them 64 days back. But something was different! They looked and tasted different. Then it struck me! Those clever people had eaten all of them and replaced them with inferior-quality ones. But, I was not the one to take it lying down. So, I got up. So, I got up from behind the toilet seat, and flung opened my bedroom’s door. And exactly as I had expected from my past experiences found them between the sheets without their clothes on, and confronted them as to what they were doing. They got up, hung their heads shamefully, and Champakali said they were playing “reproduction-reproduction”. Now don’t think I’m a fool to believe them. Just ‘cuz she says they were playing ‘reproduction-reproduction’, and were not wearing their clothes, and were sweaty and sticky, doesn’t mean they were actually playing ‘reproduction-reproduction’ and not eating my cakes and cookies. I frantically searched below the bed, below the mattress, and found nothing. I realized they’d finished all my cakes and cookies, and those moans were simply postprandial orgasms that my treasures induce.
I flatly told them I wanted my treasures, by which I mean, my cupcakes and cookies back. They gladly agreed and bought me those cakes and cookies I’d asked for. Psst… they think they’re smart, but you know what, I’m smarter! I made them buy 90 cookies and 20 cupcakes, and also a cherry, which my hubby had never taken in the first place 😉
But I won’t reveal any more details to you. What if you come to my house on pretext of playing a trilateral ‘reproduction-reproduction’, but actually take away my cupcakes, cookies and cherry? Ouch! That’d hurt
*Some names in the account have been changed, but won’t tell you which one 😛
lack of interest in social relationships, seeing no point in sharing time with others.
I was sipping my milkshake, and a housefly, male of female, I don’t care, dropped in my glass. I kept on sucking, and there was a point the fly got stuck in my straw. So I blew back into the straw, ejected the fly back into the milk, discarded the straw and drank it directly from the glass. As I was about to leave, the cashier asked me for eighty rupees. I asked him if I wasn’t interested in him, why should I pay him? He called all the waiters and cleaners, who gathered there, and I don’t remember what happened beyond that.
characterized by odd behavior or thinking.
ii wwss ssiippiinngg mmaa mmllkksshhkkee nn hhee–hhssffllyy wwss ssttnng oonn nneebbrriinngg ttaabbll nn ii rrmmbbeerrdd ssttrryy aabbtt hhww pprriinnccss kkiissdd mmaallee ffrrgg nn hhee ttrrnndd iinn22 cchhaarrmmnngg pprrnnccee ii ggrrbbdd ddaatt hhee–ffllyy nn kkiissdd hhiimm ppaasshnn88ttlly nn wwttff ii ttrrnndd iinn22 sshhee–hhssffllyy
Thank God (of course I believe in Him, if I could believe *that* story; I’m supposed to be schizotypal, right?)! The cast is over and I’ve turned back into a she-gorilla that I was before kissing that he-housefly. Well, as I was turned into a she-housefly, to type out my blog post, I’d to jump over the individual keys on the keyboard, and as I would leap into air to jump onto some other key, the first key on which I would be perched, would get pressed again by Newton’s Third Law of Motion (“Every action has equal, opposite and simultaneous reaction”). And, hence the duplication of all the characters I wanted to type. 😦
CLUSTER B [DRAMATIC, EMOTIONAL]
pervasive disregard for the law and the rights of others
I was seeting ina shithole ofa joosbar ‘cuz I dont do drugs da day I get outta ma rihab. And dont ya fuckin tel mi hou tu yoose ma englis. Jus keep ya propah English 2 yaself and shove ‘t up yar pink ass.
Nau dont fukin get me startid aun yar peenk ass. Me not lyks it n thanck me for dat.
Dis whore-endous houseflay came n shat on ma tabel. Amin da fakcin whore ahd jus ricived a blowjaab frm dat nerd waerin soddaglasis of spects thru his plasteek strau.
Aider shi bi ma gal-fly or his. I thru ma ciggy at hor n told her to kees ma ass.
And y’kno wat ya, yu juhk ridding dis shitt! Everivan was beetin da shitt outta dat nard. I was in no muud 2 bitt him n fuckd off lukin bak as ma ciggy turnd da joosbar in2 fukin infurno. And doode, I’kno hau kewl I am!
FUNGICK<—-[Why this ‘FUCKING’ you ask? Ans: Har paanch ‘FUCKING’ ke saath ek ‘FUCKING’ free! Hindi for, one ‘FUCKING’ free with every five ‘FUCKINGS’; count the number of ‘FUCKINGS’ in my antisocial personality’s account]
extreme “black and white” thinking, instability in relationships, self-image, identity and behavior.
Now please, please, please read this! Pleeeeaaasseeeee! I’ll feel so lonely if you leave me alone like this.
But you may as well buzz off, you rascal if ya feel I ain’t no good for ya.
Listen sweetie, there was this cuuuute looking she-housefly. She was chooo chweeet. I mean, I’kno I’m supposed to like males, and particularly, human males and all that jazz, but this was the first time I felt *that* way for a she-housefly.
But you know, as I tried to grab and kiss her, she escaped, and flew to another table and kissed a weird looking guy on his lips, the went inside one of his ears, and that guy started screaming frantically, “I do! I very much, dooo!”
I’d felt as empty as the eighth glass of milkshake I just finished.
All I now remember is feeling lightheaded from the worst stench that had ever abused my nose when that happened.
I feel so empty. 😦
Hey you, sweetheart, one reading this! Will you marry me? Just remember this: religion, gender and species is no bar. If you refuse, I swear, I’ll kill myself drowning in your milkshake.
pervasive attention-seeking behavior including inappropriate sexual seductiveness and shallow or exaggerated emotions.
[For best effect, sing to the tune of any random hip hop *song*; they all sound the same, anyway]
I’m that beauty
You always looked for.
You leave me and you’ll be sore.
Fancy a roll in the hay
With a glass of wine?
Or role-playing as a gay
Would be just as fine.
No? All you’ll manage
Would be to whine.
Dude, come off your age.
Now what was that pickup line!
Well dude, get this straight, even if you’re not.
I’m hot. And I mean haaaawt…
And don’t you gape at the screen, silly.
But you can’t help it. It’s me, Champakali!
I’ve this friend, she’s too paranoid
Yet for all she’s worth, She’s a retard.
She got in her drink, a she-housefly.
And that nincompoop thought herself to be sly.
Her hubby and I were making out under the table
And she thought were sharing some stupid eatable.
When she found her hubby and me between the sheets,
What still beats me is her naivette
I told her point-blank with all my gumption,
“Dearie, we’re just playing ‘reproduction-reproduction’.
The trick as usual, did work like charm of a fairy,
And all she wanted were cakes, cookies and cherry!
Come to us, and I promise you, handsome,
We could’ve the most wonderful threesome.
At the end of this post, you’ll find my address.
On second thoughts, you’re useless, and I just did digress.
a pervasive pattern of grandiosity, need for admiration, and a lack of empathy.
[Checks his hair in the mirror for the first time in last 10 sec]
Oh well! So, you want to know about *that* incident? Why, pray? I’ve certainly been involved in more important scandals! Oh it was nothing, really! Okay, well I’ll tell you about it, and not boast about how important and smart and popular among females of all species I am!
There were three she-houseflies all vying for a liplock with me. Not that anyone else apart from me can really turn me on, but do you get the picture? Three. She. *Desperate
HousewivesHouseflies*!!! Well, I couldn’t resist!
I set individual tasks for them. First–I challenged her to get the lousiest guy I’d known to say: “I do! I very much, do!”
For the second one, the task was to provoke one loser drugster into setting this place on fire.
And well, for the third one, it was to do something that I see those Fugly losers do sitting before their peecee ‘cuz no one would want to see them for real–BLOG!
The first one died under mysterious circumstance after apparently accomplishing her task successfully.
The second one was hit by well, hold your breath, the fact’s not as wonderful as me, a cigarette! Could you believe it! She was so blinded by my love that she couldn’t dodge a cigarette! I just loved the sight of her singed right wing and mangled left middle leg. Well I know, I ought to feel sorry. But then, don’t you think I’m worth dying for?
Well the third one… she won! She actually completed a blog post, which was to say the least umm… a bit on the imaginative side. But again, nothing as worthy of mention as me!
As I was just about to kiss her, she turned into a she-gorilla and screamed so hard out her repressed post-traumatic stress disorder that all the windows shattered and my ears started bleeding. Did you hear that?
CLSUTER C [ANXIOUS, FEARFUL]
social inhibition, feelings of inadequacy, extreme sensitivity to negative evaluation and avoidance of social interaction.
I’m a lonely girl (Duh!),and was sipping on my milkshake in the quiet dark corner of the juice bar, where I usually sit alone. I really wish I had some company, but I don’t want to burden anyone with my company. I mean, had someone liked me, won’t they tell me, how really beautiful my pigtails are. Or how much my braces make my smile look beautiful, so what if my upper left canine and lower right incisor are missing? Or how my voice would remind them of someone as famous as Popeye the sailor?
But well, people are conservative with compliments, nowadays, I guess.
What I wanted to tell you about was this really cute-looking he-housefly that had landed on my table. He was the typical Hero–tall, dark and handsome. Okay sorry, not tall. That was just a slip of my tongue I have as I’m on pills. Oh no, not *that* pill, which also I’m on, though never had any use of. I meant, my antipsychotic medication.
Okay, so this dark and handsome he-housefly sat on my table, and I was thinking of all the pickup lines I’d memorized with my nursery rhymes.
I’d decided on: “Will you be my friend, honey?”
I cleared my throat, and “Will you be my Johny, Johny?” is what I blurted out.
He wasn’t amused. He looked like he’d fly away with another word that I’d utter. But yet, I was determined and rehearsed my lines well.
This time it was gonna be:
“The whole wide world, dear is but, one big Ball.
And I wanna dance it away with my heart and my soul.
Just for one night, would you be my dance pole?”
I was sure that was subtle enough for what was to be our first encounter.
But my slippery tongue had her way yet again, and this’ what came out:
“The whole wild world, dear is but, one big Ball.
Humpty-Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty-Dumpty had a night fall.”
And he replied, “Buzz off, you asshole!”
Wow! I mean, awesomely wow! He could rhyme at the drop of a chant.
But, as I’d anticipated he lept in the air, from where suddenly he was grabbed by a very hairy hand that forcibly led him to the mouth of the thing to which the had belonged, and kissed him, equally forcibly. That thing turned into a she-housefly, and straightaway headed to a guy sitting at the center of the floor with five mirrors surrounding him, and a floodlight shining on his face.
Well for my Hero, he couldn’t bear the shock, and headed for the drink of a meticulously dressed gentleman, and tried to drown himself in it. But somehow, a waiter came and sqashed my object de desire between his two palms. 😦
As for me, hey will you please marry me because I had a little lamb?
pervasive psychological dependence on other people.
Today, my dad decided to sit on a separate table with mom and her best friend–Champakali aunty. So, I was left alone to fend for myself. I summoned the waiter uncle and asked him what I should order. He politely opened the menu and pointed out–“This is snacks. This is teas. This is mocktails. This is milkshakes. This is icecreams.”
I asked him, “Am I supposed to have this all, uncle?”
“No ma’am, of course not! But I appreciate your humor. I’ll help you make a choice.” was his cool reply.
“But I wasn’t joking!”
“Well in that case, our specialties for today are ‘deeply burnt garlic bread’ for snack, ‘Coconut on rocks and pebbles’ for juice and ‘Shaken but not stirred potato milkshake’ for shakes. Shall I bring them for you?”
Those things didn’t sound very appealing, but I couldn’t disagree, now could I?
I confirmed his suggestion as my order and requested him–“Uncle, could you please sit with me as I finish my meal so that you could ensure that the Garlic bread doesn’t eat me err I mean, harm me in any way, please!”
And suddenly his demeanor changed. Wow! He looked so protective. Just like my dad when I’d ask him to accomapny me to the loo at nights while he’d be playing ‘reproduction-reproduction’ with Champakali aunty and mom would be watching them from the living room through real time feeds she would get from 16 hidden cameras in the bedroom to ensure they wouldn’t eat any cakes or cookies leaving her alone. And then, my understanding dad would try to counsel me like every nice dad should counsel her teenage daughter, except that I’m not a wimpy teenager. I’m 22(!)–“You imbecile bitch! When will you grow up? I should’ve known Champakali’s genes were no better than your mom’s! Turn around now! I’ll smack you!” That’s what dad would say lovingly.
And guess what! The waiter uncle also said exactly the same thing, except he also said something about how his own genes had disappointed him, but luckily he had managed to deceive my dad into believing I was his daughter and not waiter uncle’s.
Now all this was really confusing. I mean, what had my disputed paternity, maternity and undisputed insanity anything to do with deeply burnt garlic bread staring down at me like it would eat me, or the straw threatening to poke me like it would *poke* me?
The waiter uncle said now sounding even more d
ead-ly, “The only thing that suits you is a mug of toilet cleaner. Wait! That’s what I’ll get you and watch you drink it, you pathetic retard!”
Now, it’d been quite sometime I’d tried any toilet cleaner. The last time I did was when my grandpa would make me brush my socks and teeth with it some more than 15 years back. And, its taste hadn’t been particularly pleasing, and I wasn’t sure of the brand they’d serve. But the prospect of his protective overseeing won over my apprehensions. And anyway as you know, I can’t disagree.
He brought me the Sparkling Blue Toilet Cleaner, and I watched disappointedly as all the other toilets err tables were occupied by people having some or the other kind of fun with houseflies. Alas, my Sparkling Blue Toilet Cleaner didn’t attract any! 😦
characterized by rigid conformity to rules, moral codes and excessive orderliness.
Time is money. It was 21:36:25 yesterday, and I was sitting there for 12 min 43 sec. Two min 16 sec back the waiter had brought me my order. An apple a day keeps the doctor away. My order was Apple juice in apple cream with apple sauce with a hint of apple. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. I prayed to God that he take bath regularly err wrong line! Wait! A he-housefly fell in my Apple juice in apple cream with apple sauce with a hint of apple, and I did not like that.
Do unto others what you would have them do unto you. So, I took the housefly to the nearest basin, and washed him thoroughly till I counted A to Z 52 times, then took him to a bucket (since bath tub was not available), and washed him again and counted my alphabets 17 tims–9 times in CAPS ON mode and 8 times in caps off mode. Then I put 25 drops Savlon on him. By now the he-housefly was very clean. So I decided to resuscitate him. But he looked like he did not wish to live on. Only a wing and a leg was all that was left of him. But I must tell you, they both looked really clean, now.
Now there was a problem. Law of conservation of Apple juice in apple cream with apple sauce with a hint of apple states that: “In a closed system, Apple juice in apple cream with apple sauce with a hint of apple can neither be created nor destroyed, but can only ne transferred from one organism to the other in various physical states.” Which meant, the he-housefly, I had washed and my fingers I had used to pick him out from the glass, had some finite quantity of Apple juice in apple cream with apple sauce with a hint of apple stuck to them. Consumer rights must be taken seriously. I wanted that much Apple juice in apple cream with apple sauce with a hint of apple replaced. I summoned the waiter, and explained the matter to him.
He coolly took the he-housefly from my hand and squashed it. That was really cruel. He had no right to destroy my evidence like that. Precision is the driving principle of my life. I am going to find a similar looking he-housefly and weigh a glass of Apple juice in apple cream with apple sauce with a hint of apple before and after dipping him in the glass, and that would tell me how much Apple juice in apple cream with apple sauce with a hint of apple I am supposed to get back from the juice and icecream bar. Law is blind. If they do not return that much Apple juice in apple cream with apple sauce with a hint of apple to me, I am going to sue to them. God helps those who help themselves. No one, not even God can take away the Apple juice in apple cream with apple sau…
Divine intervention! That was God doing his bit to shut up this pest.
As you could see dear reader, all the accounts I remember of what happended at the juice bar on that fateful night sound perfectly tenable. Which one appears to describe me the best? Please, please help me see through this identity crisis.
And which personality disorder are you?
The best answer gets an autographed used sock from me, and each respondent gets a glass of Apple juice in ap…