BY REV. JEN MILLER | If you’ve been following my column, you know that, in the past year and a half, my boyfriend Joe got cancer and I lost my job and my apartment of 21 years (which also served as the Troll Museum). Therefore, it should come as no surprise that I am writing this shortly after being released from a psych ward!
But, despite this terrible shitshow we call 2016, there are still things to look forward to (namely, 2016 ending). Hence, I will focus on the positive, starting with my trip to the nuthouse.
THE NUTHOUSE | In 2007, I was diagnosed with Panic Disorder, Agoraphobia, and PTSD. There are days when it takes courage just to walk from my bed to the kitchen sink. This year, I also developed major depression, the kind where you tell the bartender, “I’ll have whatever Dylan Thomas had.” I promised Joe that I would get better. For richer and poorer, in sickness and in health becomes real when one of you has cancer and the other is mentally ill. “Amor omnia vincit” — love conquers all; and love was the catalyst for getting help.
There are two major obstacles regarding mental health care. The first is the stigma. If you have a broken leg, people visit you in the hospital and bring you flowers. If your mind is broken, no one visits and no one brings you shit. The second is lack of beds. I went to three states over the course of a month, looking for care and couldn’t get it. Once back in NYC, a friend (George) took me to Beth Israel’s emergency room. A kindly nurse gave me scrubs, took my vitals, and sent me to a facility where I didn’t see the sun for five days.
Immediately upon my “imprisonment,” breakfast was announced. I waited in the cafeteria line until a man put eggs on my tray along with Rice Krispies. I thought about how my Chihuahua, JJ, is afraid of Rice Krispies because they snap, crackle and pop. I missed JJ and wished I could cuddle with her. Finding an empty spot, I sat down.
A boy I’ll call “Benny” sat across from me.
“Hi. I’m Benny,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Jen.”
Soon, everyone introduced themselves.
“So, what did you do to end up here?” Benny asked.
“Nervous breakdown, I replied. “What did you do to get in here?”
“Let’s see. I’ve been an alcoholic since I was 10. Joined the army and drove a tank in Iraq. Too much death, and when I got back my girlfriend died. So I started doing heroin.”
Little, red pinpoint dots connected by tracks covered his arms. Maybe I’d never win the Pulitzer for being a great war correspondent. Maybe I’d just keep writing books about sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll — but I felt, at that moment, like I was a war correspondent and that I was staring at a battlefield, written all over his arms.
Soon, everyone shared their stories and we all became inseparable. We played Bingo, did art therapy and even stole the nurse’s remote so we could watch horror movies. When I was discharged, I cried my eyes out and gave Benny a picture I’d done in art therapy of a cobra, a creature that sheds its skin and grows new skin, as we all needed to do. On it, I wrote, “Thank you for making what I thought would be the worst experience of my life one of the best.”
“WEREWOLF BITCHES FROM OUTER SPACE” | Speaking of horror movies, I made one. As this newspaper was going to press, it was having its premiere; 7 p.m., Nov. 22, at Lucky 13 (644 Sackett St., Brooklyn.). The film is about crazed werewolf bitches who fly to Earth from the plant Uranus to attack a bevy of douchebags. Everyone from art snobs to Goldman Sachs employees are shown no mercy in this bloody masterpiece! The film took longer than “Jaws” to make, and we didn’t even have a mechanical shark! It almost never made after the original director, Courtney Fathom Sell, dropped out. Luckily, my Goddaughter, Dylan Mars Greenberg, stepped in and co-directed along with me. It stars Janeane Garofalo, Rachel Trachtenberg, Faceboy, Robert Prichard, Dave Hill, and about a hundred other great art stars.
“TROLLS” (THE MOVIE) | As founder of the famed Troll Museum, I was offended that DreamWorks didn’t invite me to the premiere. Being avant-garde means you do everything first and make no money. However, my friend, Chris Prynoski, whose animated feature “Nerdland” premieres soon, went to the LA premiere of “Trolls” and sent me some swag, including a Troll wig and Troll sunglasses, which my pal, John, wore. In these ridiculous getups, we marched to the movie theater carrying a hand-painted sign featuring a Troll where individuals could poke their heads through it and pose as a Troll. We didn’t get in free, but we got the “child discount.” Appropriate, because we laughed and cried like children. Though not half as awesome as the Troll Museum was, “Trolls” is still a fun flick.
The best part: When went out into the lobby, a little girl pointed at me and said, “Look! It’s Poppy!” Poppy is the heroine Troll in the film who eventually saves all the Trolls from being eaten by monsters.
Best. Compliment. Ever.
So when, pondering what exactly tied all of the above together, I thought of Poppy being serenaded by her Troll paramour to the song “True Colors,” whose lyrics include “It’s hard to take courage. In a world full of people, you can lose sight of it all.” Not a dry eye in the house. The world had made me crazy. But despite my fears, I got help. When it seemed like my movie would never get done, I managed to finish it. Maybe I am like Poppy. Maybe we should all strive to be like the Trolls — who, despite their diminutive size, conquer hate with love. If the news, politics, and hate are making you crazy, remember love really does conquer all.
