I am crazy like a diabetic is diabetic. I technically have Bipolar I. This is the more severe version of said disease.
I have studied my craziness.
I have always known I was different from the rest of you, but I didn't like being crazy.
In fact, it sux.
However, there are things to be learned.
I have a gift given to me that few of you have had: I have shown my ass to every loved one I have. I have shown my ass to people I haven't loved.
A gift you ask? Quelle horreur!
Yes, a gift I answer. I have nothing to hide. I am free. You still have to maintain being "cool" or trying to fit in and be accepted and loved by your fellow man.
I have metaphorically peed on the floor and pulled my pants down and shaken my moneymaker.
I am not alone, and I thank all of you who have made me feel that way. A brief list would include: carrie fisher, patty duke, henry miller, that painter dude that did etchings, linda hamilton, alec, blaine...).
Upon researching, I realize that there are many forms and degrees of my malady.
Crazy and Locked Up Part One: Well, i was reading a lot of buddhist philosophy. I was miserable in my path in life. I had love and a fulfilling marriage, but I was dead artistically and in a town full of content stoners and coke addicts (well I love them).
After the Bush Election of 2000, I started to unravel. Florida. Oh god. I could still stir up a bit of shocked horrified angst. You see, Florida gave me hope... and hope was taken away. Structure was lost.
One of my t-shirt ideas at the time was for high schoolers: "I learnt that the supreme court can be bought".
On that new year's eve. Sandy Summers (who would never mind publicity) had a prom party. I had a great red dress obtained from Vintage Values. Mike, Kent, Mark, and I took ecstasy. It was the second time for all of us.
I felt enlightened. I remember dancing like a professional. Others remember this too. I remember being comfortable in my own skin. I didn't touch a drop of alcohol. I remember proclaiming loudly to all in hearing range that my father had molested me and it didn't matter a bit that you know.
I remember telling Jason Summers (who also would not mind the publicity) that we had to have Prince's "Let's Go Crazy" as our 3,2,1... HAPPY NEW YEAR! song.
I am embarrassed to tell you that I felt enlightened from that point until the time the cops came and threatened to forcibly escort me to the crazy waystation if I didn't allow spouse to do so at that very moment.
I had read about enlightenment. I had meditated. In my head, I loved you all and I felt like I was alive and alight.
I would listen to music and dance. I would tell mark that he was smothering me. I would tell him that he was holding me back. I would tell him that I was dying. [pb] Mark took this hit the hardest. Much like (was it Emerson?), my friends thought it was entertaining and interesting at first. My spouse took the hit the hardest. It destroyed him. It destroyed us (although we are just realizing the wound never healed).
I cried everywhere. I picked up trash. I berated police officers. I cried in front of St. Mary's Catholic church and prayed that the world would get better - get saner.
On the fourth? day of this (I didn't have to work as my job revolved around schools - and the holidays were in full effect)... Mark took me to greg's. (As an aside, Mike ((who had shayna to deal with this with years earlier)) confirmed that those involved with the crazy go crazy too... and mark was going insane. I would try and break him down. I would try and tear the mask off with my black magic words)... I was taken to the half-way house.
This is a place near new hanover regional medical center where they take crazy homeless, crazy drunks, and just plain crazies.
I sobered up very quickly when faced with unfeeling authority.
My compassion was aroused by the homeless man next to me who had no shoes. We were chained to beds with cubby hole like partitions. I could only hear the others rail and see their feet. We would be escorted to the bathroom when needed.
I was scared to my gourd and truly realized that we are born alone and die alone.
Upon being processed, I was again chained and taken in a paddy-wagon type deal-y to Duplin County Psychiatric Ward. There was more room there, and I could get in the system faster.
I was scared, but to be quite honest - the workers around me were all so compassionate and cooly kind. What a fucking heart-rending job they must have.
In the Ward (which mark and I call 'the home'), I was placed in my room - shared with two others. One was a drugged out aging hippie woman who had done this sort of thing before. The other was a private and very sad suicidal black old woman.
We were awoken every morning at 8am. We then were sent to the feeding room (yes, the food sucked, but I lost tons of weight so even ray of sunshine there)... where we had our vitals taken... and were asked about our stool movements.
I have never had a more sad sad sobering look at my fellow humans on the underbelly of our society.
Never. [pb] We would have group meetings. Although we weren't required to go, it looked good on the record and we all wanted out of there (except for the suicidals... and homeless depressed). I met with an abused fat black teenager who was so sad. I met a senile sweet old lady with white hair who had no idea why she was there (they had nowhere to put her. she had no family and her house had burned down). I met a 50-ish suicidal black man who had no insurance (and would have to pay out of pocket for the pleasure of being here). In group his biggest concern was how to pay for his meds and how vexing it was that they kept changing and he would have to buy more all the time.
I met a simple fat 40-ish child man who had no where to go after being released. The overworked social worker tiredly was trying to find section 8 housing but was being met with full houses.
God this is sad.
I would become an honorary smoker. Although I didn't smoke, I went out with them because it was the only time we could be outside the walls.
On the second day, the doctor allowed me writing utensils (apparently you can kill yourself with a pen). I have not read what I wrote in this place, but I'm sure it was helpful for me to write. I didn't feel so alone.
We had art therapy, and this was the best. At night, we would have snack time.
I watched a lot of teevee in the lounge. The child-man loved teevee and knew all the shows.
I'm not sure why, but I was released at the ungodly short time of five days. I believe it is usually two weeks.
Mark was a trooper and god I hate that I did this to him. I was so ashamed.
The nicest thing that I remember was that on my first outing, Kristen Shag just hugged me. It was so kind. This brings tears to my eyes as I write this.
Also, I remember getting drunk on my first outing out. We ended up at fred's place where a band that was friends with marty was playing. I got stoned in the band room. I think people liked me, but I was as brazen and scared as a child.
I was afraid of myself, I was afraid none of you would ever like me again.