Berserk

A couple of months ago, Cleve and his mom moved in. He was here to provide physical care and assistance for her. I don't think I ever saw her, but he came to the dining room from time to time. Our resident automobile mechanic and self-appointed diagnostician determined that Cleve is a manic-depressive.

He might be right.

I sat with Cleve one time only - at breakfast. Our lay diagnostician spent the entire meal laying on Cleve a bunch of "shoulds" and "oughts" to get him out of his blue funk. Sounded like commands to me. Later, I told our amateur diagnostician I would have not handled things that way. Seems to me a counselor should wait until help was asked.

I saw Cleve several times at meals. With his head down and shoulders slumped his body language always expressed despair. He always avoided communication and tried to sit alone.

Then one day, he hit the peak of manic. Cleve broke a lamp in the apartment and knocked a hole in the wall with his fist. In the seventh floor lobby, he broke a lamp and cut himself before boarding the elevator.

When the door opened on the first floor, there were three ladies waiting.
There stood Cleve in all his birthday glory.
The first lady was mortified
The second nearly needed a mortician.
The third lady was titillated and keeps hoping the medics will bring him back.

His mother said he had never behaved that way before. Somehow, I doubt that.

AsA

Now leading the world in global warming.