"Do not proffer sympathy to the mentally ill; it is a bottomless pit. Tell them firmly, "I am not paid to listen to this drivel -- you are a terminal fool!" Otherwise, they make you as crazy as they are. "
Burroughs didn't take his own advice of course and spent most of his life hanging out with the out-there. I hadn't really noticed that at the time though, and tried hard to avoid situations in which I felt I could offer no real helpful advice or give no real comfort. I couldn't reason with them, I figured, and reason was a big deal to me then. Also, despite drinking fairly heavily myself and using non-prescription drugs on occasion, I was skeptical about psychiatric medication. Romantic notions of the swivel-eyed artist and a rudimentary impression of R D Laing picked up during drunken conversations with student friends who had actually read him lead me to think that you were better off flushing the meds and enjoying the ride (and staying the hell away from me, ideally).
Then, around the turn of the century, someone very close to me became quite seriously mentally ill. Hmm. Suddenly two things changed. I couldn't (and didn't want to) change seats to get away, and I started seriously appreciating the good that medication can do. Perhaps it helped that I was older, and that as a result I was less absolutist. Seeing someone I loved in pain and terrified because of something in their own mind made me a little more prepared to compromise.
So now I'm waiting to hear if my friend is OK. I don't really know them, but my own experiences mean that whereas before I'd leave well alone, now I pry and fret a little.
