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In Broad Daylight

by Ethel
(Nogales, Arizona Santa Cruz County)




It is not unusual as a Mental Health Professional to come to understand that “voices” in people hear are unmistakably “imaginary”. No one else hears that which seems to come from some “pit” unknown to this surface we call reality. Then there are “imaginary friends” who enjoy sharing this reality with people who for the most part are unaware care, or are their watching out for our backs. Some people believe these occurrences to be maybe disillusionment, or illusion. Some prescribe medications and call them delusions or hallucinations. We all stumble and somehow believe we can, are better than someone else. And what better way to make that point by asking “Have you taken your meds today?”

This story began hearing of a man reported off the rope, gone nuts, and completely over the edge. So the words are tough and I asked why do you believe the Homeless Shelter Staff are psychotic?

You can not believe in ghosts, but if I do, what is out of the ordinary for you? This is the story, true I claim, a story of this nightmare called reality of? Reality is where the fine line is that normal or abnormal, this nightmare called insane?

He is definitely psychotic a young mother of two explained. She pronounced psychotic with the Chicano voice of Mexican Americans. Could she relax and then told why this man was “loco”. Tossed the TV against the wall, pushed the evaporative water cooler out the kitchen window. He seems caught and tied. Can’t seem to untangle the TV cord. I hear him screaming . “The nigger is talking to me!” “Make her stop!” “Help me throw the TV back.”

For two centuries rumors have been told that the Homeless Shelter is haunted. Haunted by a ghost of a woman, a slave, who was hanged for the crime of drunk in public. She an escaped slave it is probably likely she died for a mouth “to slopped to shut”.

This the young mother explains. She can feel a cold chill, living above the graves where once those “hanged” were buried. “Indicative” her word. She announces she believes in ghosts. She believes he is “loco". She explains. This particular ghost, delusion, or hallucination seen she says by so, so many has never harmed, as always warmed and then often comforted.

Do the dead clatter, and fumble? Struggle to gain the upper voice of command? Do those gone to yonder need to lie or twist? Too soon I am talking with his wife. She has taken command of the phone but not before the young mother struggles to warn. “She is a fake senorita!” Gruff of voice explains to me her husband has spells. It is PTSD, and it is the voices of the TV, it is not voices in his head. “If I was real, and he not a fake, if the TV did not lie, what case to have you make? He is not crazy, and soon the police will stop him from running in the streets.”

We have she said a problem here that is two fold in its nature. One these Mexicans can’t control themselves and sneak in TV’s, and then he hears that voice, that Afro American voice. I’ve told him again “ There really isn’t a ghost! There really is a ghost.”


I can hear him shouting, talking with her the one so many believe exists. Is she real, what does she say that would frighten a man that way? “Oh my darling his wife says.”

So when you come down this way, so close to equator, remember there’s more than one strange ghost. Warned you are insanity claims; warned you are reality can change. Warned you are that ghost likes to win. He pleads; he screams she wants my life.

What is insanities claim when the policeman is to blame? The TV broken, tossed by them out the door. They reassure him she won’t be back to take your life. It’s just a mistake of noise in the dark, and in the broad daylight..

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