Well. While the rest of you gang bang @Sid ”Butters”, I’ll tell ya’ll a high tale about the humour of our Lord.
I was a schizophrenic taking medication and I decided not to take my medication. After three days of laughing uncontrollably (we can talk about that later) I fell into a catatonic state (I won’t go into that on this occasion).
So, here I am, locked away in an isolation room, trying my best not to move or breathe for fear of eternal repercussions. The room fills with a thick fog of darkness and I lose consciousness.
When I wake up, I’m somewhere else. The walls are moving around me and forming a box. The cage door is moving into place and I start to see something like a foam appearing from under the door.
As I watch it carefully I see that it is made of tiny little people; little gnomes carrying pitch forks and shovels. And they’re slowly, slowly coming down the floor towards me. I notice that I’m on a mattress on the ground. But other than that, my attention is fixed on the little, tiny people moving my way at a snails pace.
They reach the drain in the floor. And they slowly falls into it, as if spelunking down it. My attention turns to the industrial strength toilet in the northwest corner of the room. Somehow, the toilet is aware and somehow it informs me that under no circumstances am I allowed to lift one foot off the mattress onto the floor. In fact, the toilet telepathies, if I do, It will send a rocket out of the toilet bowl which will fly through the room, go right up my ass, and transport me through a little red light in the southeast corner of the room.
That light is a portal to Hell. And for the first time I am cognizant of both the reality of Hell and the unwavering certainty of the deal that has been made with the toilet.
I agree, naturally. I am dressed in my hospital gown. And I look on the floor beside the mattress where I see:
- a juice box
- a yogurt
- and a banana
Assuming this to be the very last items I will ever eat, I make the idiotic mistake of eating all of them as quickly as I can. I ask the toilet if I have been taken here to die by starvation. The toilet informs, by thought transmission, that I will not leave this place until I have reached enlightenment.
“Oh,” I think. “I have plenty of time then. I think I’ll take a rest.”
And I lay down and quickly fall asleep. When I wake up, I’m back in the hospital isolation room, where my mother is in tears begging me to move my limbs. I acquiesce. I have been keeping still for over 24 hours. And there is a terrifying idea in my head that if I move off the mattress my fate is sealed in that other realm I was just in.
But, I figure that, since I’m not actually there, there won’t be any harm in my moving. And, at the very least, my mother would stop wailing over her youngest child. So, I move.
Years later, I realize that - of course! Food would be brought to me every day. And then I wonder, “But how will I piss, not being able to leave the mattress for fear of eternal damnation?”
The drain in the floor! Of course! And, then I think, “but where will I shit? How will I shit? On the mattress? That’s disgusting. Maybe I’ll squat over the floor? Still gross.”
And, then it dawns on me. Had I simply trusted in God, perhaps he would have come to me. He was a toilet, after all. Perhaps He loves me so much that … yada yada yada. That’s the joke 
To this day my fear of Hell lingers and the thought that I will return to that room after death haunts me.
This is how fucked up my illness is! This is the extent to which I “hallucinate”! So … fucked … up.
Couldn’t resist.
I’m not well versed enough in psychology to give it a reliable diagnosis, I have appoints in the works, now that I am not high, I can actually organize such things.
Ropes and suffering? Thanks for the “advice”!!! HA!!! I’m joking.
