[Based on a real life event]
I, D and a friend C, were in a beer garden mindlessly chatting the day away when a tall sharped suited man wearing a rolex and some expensive shades rolled up and said.
‘Hey C, haven’t seen you in ages …’ he then eyed me up and down ‘… Oh your … D!, the man who had the mental breakdown.’
There was an awkward pause and I summoned up the courage to say;
‘I don’t know you, yet you seem to know something about me, are you in any way a qualified Psychiatrist, community mental health nurse or any way qualified to back up that statement?’
[awkward pause as I guess A was expecting me to fold straight away] … ‘No it’s alright mate, I just heard from a friend that you, you know had, had been in the ayslum.’
‘Is your friend in any way a qualified Psychiatrist, community mental health nurse or any way qualified to back up that information? … no? … Yet you think it’s acceptable to come up to me and use that as your opening for conversation with me?.’ … ‘If I had an obvious disability would you roll up and say, ‘oh how you doing Mr no arms?’ … ‘Lets swap this round shall we … Hiya A, aren’t you that guy with a really small dick?’
‘What the fuck?’
‘Perfectly reasonable statement, going by your rules, a friend told me. She’s got a polaroid and a ruler and everything, and all the girls know about your small Phallus. Even Dr Minimus Phalusnus signed it off as true …’
‘I don’t need to hear this shit from madmen ….’
‘…. and I don’t need men with expensive rolex’s making up for there tiny dicks interrupting my pleasant evening with my friend.’ … I lean over ‘This is the bit where you leave.’
I return to my cider with my friend in the sunny Surrey summer.
[Although this is paraphrased, this did happen and versions of it over the years. It’s called stigma. And no one should be ashamed of their mental health or have it used as a conversation piece for the masses. Go bug the Kardashians]