Bureaucracy

Nine o’clock 🕘. Aesop has been panting and wheezing in the heat, so we got up again. Tomorrow I will buy some ice 🧊 in the bags they have at the market, or buy a couple of trays for making my own ice in the freezer. It only occurs to me today that I have none… I am quite thrilled with the Ayn Rand books I received this morning, but why did I get three copies of the same title? I wanted to solidify the story for myself, making it more real. But this behavior is compulsive, as Bonnie understood when I described it to her. She wanted to diagnose me with OCD on top of schizophrenia, but I left her care and things were rather unresolved. To be honest, her own behavior had become very strange and forced for some reason. She was under pressure from her supervisor not to just visit with me anymore, but instead carry out a structured program. It was a lot of bureaucratic red tape. Looking back, I feel bad for Bonnie now. The organization she worked for was very weird. It treated Iris badly as well, and who knows who the people were in charge. Anyway, Bonnie’s assessment was probably on the right track if she’d been allowed to be human in her job. Bureaucracy is a crappy thing when it distorts people out of human shape, constraining them against their will and their beliefs. Maybe someday P—Health will get it together, but it will require a lawsuit against them first. They really need to treat their employees better so they can care for their clients better. My impression of the organization was always right, and now I’ve put my finger on the problem a bit more. Everyone who worked there was a robot 🤖 except for Iris, and they moved her to a different department, a sort of demotion from being a private psychiatrist. It was just awful. Now I’m a total dissident of P—Health. They control two of the hospitals in the area, but I hope I can be admitted to the third one the next time I need help. I fired my PCP with this bureau and last December started seeing a new one somewhere unrelated. I hold out hope that the more independent organizations can thrive and maintain a semblance of humanity in doing their work.

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The Sinister

Quarter of four. I’ve just been dreaming about things that happened a year ago; about Bonnie and Stephanie, and Tina and Kelly; Lola and Channing and Jonah. It was indeed like a dream to have spent so many hours at the old S— H— Hospital. The taxi rides made it seem like I was never there under my own power. Just hop in and hop out and sit down for group eight or nine miles away from home. What a jerk I must have appeared to Bonnie, always asking questions that could collapse her house of cards. Underneath the guise of superiority, the staff of P—Health was human and fallible. But I couldn’t rid myself of the impression of bureaucracy gone wrong, like the Third Reich or something. All those blue bicycle rentals placed throughout the city. The long arm of the bureau. Of filthy rich businesspeople. If it hadn’t been scary, it would’ve been absurd. Everyone working there was snooty and complacent. The attitude spoke, We are the best. We have the best of everything. Who could ask for more? Like Nazi nationalism: the best women, the best beer, the best music, the best mythology, are all right here. Look no further. P—Health was a microcosm of an eternal verity: that pride en masse leads to world catastrophe.