So, Timmy is in the closet. Ferb has suggested that I head over there and check on him.
I knock on the closet door. Nothing. I knock again, “Timmy? You good buddy?” Nothing. As I look over at Ferb and Peaches and shrug, the closet door opens.
Timmy is sitting cross-legged on the floor. “FUCK OFF! GET OUT OF MY OFFICE! GEOFF! FUCK! OFF! MY OFFICE!” His face turned beet red and spittle flew from his mouth. Ferb stepped in the room. “Timmy, Timmy. It’s ok, Geoff isn’t in your office. You’re in your office. Geoff is in reception. He’s your receptionist, so he’s where he needs to be.” It was like an off switch.
“Oh. OK. Good.”
After a moment of thought, “Geoff. Would you show my first patient in please?” What? I don’t know what I was expecting, but that was not it. I looked to the doorway. Peaches looked as confused as I was. Ferb shrugged and gave me a big thumbs up.
“Uh… Ok Timmy, hang on.” Ferb is now giggling his ass off in the hallway.
“Right this way sir…” From the closet “Ma’am.” “OK, right this way ma’am. Timmy will see you now.”
I walked “her” over to the door and Timmy closed it.
Silence. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Thirty. The blitz was not over. Timmy is screaming “I’m gonna fucking kill you!” He’s banging the walls. I swear to god it sounded like there were four people in there with him. A stream of swearing could be heard. It felt like minutes had gone by, but was more like 20-30 seconds. Then silence.
The closet door opens. Timmy is sitting cross legged on the floor. “Thank you ma’am. Geoff could you show in the next patient?” “Uh…” Ferb, still grinning, gives me another thumbs up. “Sure Timmy.” Timmy then tells me that it’s a male patient.
“Right this way sir. Timmy here’s your next appointment.” “Thank you Geoff.” Silence.
The bombs fell again. An almost exact copy of his first appointment. “I HATE YOU! I’LL KILL YOU! MOTHERFUCKER!” There was a brawl going on in that closet. Twelve large men were pounding on each other. About thirty seconds after it started, silence. The only sound was Timmy, breathing a little heavier than before. Throughout I’m looking from the closet to Ferb and Peaches. Mouthing “What the fuck?” Ferb is shaking his head and shrugging. “I don’t know.” The door opens. “Thank you sir. Have a good day.” “Geoff can you show the next patient in? It’s a new patient.”
The new patient was not killed right away. Timmy spent about five minutes getting to know him. He asked questions and appeared to listen to the “responses”. After he was done, Timmy thanked him. After a minute of silence, Timmy killed the new patient, or at least beat the hell out of him. Timmy again thanked the patient and asked me to see him out. “Uh… sure Timmy.”
We were baffled. This was so far out of our experience. Ferb was rolling with it, but he admitted that he’d never seen anything like it. There were longer gaps between patients. We talked about possibly not bringing him any more patients. Ferb really wanted to see where it would go, if anywhere. Over the next hour I brought four more patients to Timmy. He screamed at, threatened them and sounded like he and many others beat them up.
After the last patient, Timmy stayed in the empty closet for about 10min. He opened the door and exited, into his equally empty room. He turned to Peahes and I and said “Hey guys, I’m tired. Can I have my bed back?” Before we could answer he added “I’m really going to go to sleep. I’m not going to block the door.” Once he had his bed back and had taken his evening meds, Timmy was asleep in minutes.
About the only thing that we could agree on afterwards was that Timmy did not belong in our care. As wonderful as he could be, this was not the placement for him.
He did get to the placement he needed and years later I heard that he was doing very well. I never did find out if there was ever an actual diagnosis for Timmy, but he certainly provided me with some of the best stories I have about the time I spent working in group homes.
This post (including part one) was inspired by another blogger’s encounters with crazy and the prompt they gave to tell our own story.