My Crazy Lady

There's a crazy lady who lives on my block, probably my age or a few years older. I've seen her deteriorate over the years from interestingly offbeat to pleasantly eccentric to just plain eccentric to strange to crazy.

And, over the years, I've struggled with what my response to her should be. She knows my name and always is very solicitous. She compliments my hair and outfit and asks me how my work is going.

At the same time, she is totally paranoid. Tells me how people break into her apartment and steal her diamond earrings. These earrings have been stolen dozens of times! Her underwear is stolen, and the police won't do anything.

From time to time she has asked to borrow money from me. The first time she asked I gave her five dollars and then I gave her a few dollars the next time and then I realized there is no comprehension of whether I give it or not and so I just say "Sorry, I don't have any extra money." I heard from a reliable source (really) that she has a trust fund that pays her rent, and she has told me that herself.

No matter what time of day I'm out, she's there. Midnight on Tuesday. 6 am on Monday. 3 pm on Sunday... and I realized that spoke to her own restlessness, running in and out of her own apartment, at all hours of the day and night.

I came to peace about her a few months back where I decided all I have to do is be kind to her. I don't have to save her, rescue her, cure her, get her back on medication, intervene with social services, etc. My only duty was to be kind.

That was working until today. I was walking up the steps to my building when I heard shouting. Our ears can differentiate friendly shouting from angry shouting, and this was angry shouting. It was my crazy lady furious shouting to someone/something unseen, her face was contorted in anger, and there I was. She saw me. I held my breath as she approached me.

"Hi Pat" she said with her usual friendly calm. She then told me how she had bought a new pair of sandals and how they had been stolen and how "they" beat her up again. She said, "I'm so tired of getting beaten up; I can't take it anymore." She said she went to the police precinct but they won't do anything. She asked me what she should do.

I told her I was sorry, but didn't know what she should do. I've seen crazy people talking to themselves, but I don't think I'd ever seen the angry, violent side of it. I put myself in her shoes, how horrid it would be to believe, as she truly does, that people are stealing from her and beating her up. Seeing her red faced and screaming was really frightening.

All of a sudden she turned on her heels and walked away and a few moments later she was shouting again in such a tortured way. When I realized a few months back that I don't have to save her, I was actually sort of, kind of enjoying her company for the few moments we would chat on the sidwalk with that burden of responsibility lifted. I've never seen her like I did today and it just plain made me sad for her.