a kiss on the cheek

hold me now and please
don’t let me go,
i’ve come a long way
this day and all
i want is sleep

but, your eyes are bright
and inquisitive
so i will stay up,
we can talk for a while

put you hand in mine
feel it tremble with our
fingers entwined

i am not as i once was
i am not as expected,
i am as i fully am,
there’s nothing to
hide from you,
i couldn’t do it
if i tried

i have had days
confusing days
that i barely emerged from

i mean to tell you
about them,
explain them to you
from my perspective

my hope is that
in telling you my tale,
you will know something
more about me

if i am successful
you will know where
i come from,
the fires that made me,
and the demons that
still haunt me

give me a kiss
on my cheek
when you are ready
to begin

— glb

7 Minutes

Originally written 3-17-2018

PART I

There is a blank space
Not a slate to draw plans on
No foundation,
Not a place for hope or dreams
There is no starting place
No ending place, either
A middle space
Before the end
After the beginning,
I search for
The calm
A darkness
I pull back nothing,
An absence
That not even light can escape

PART II

There is an empty space
Not a window
Not a floor
There is no port of egress
Not even a door
There have been times
I passed this place
Never knowing it was here
I was headed somewhere different
With a plan in my mind
Looking for something different
Not a hint of where I would land

PART III

Spoken plainly…

There was no empty space
To go when I died
There was no tunnel
No bright white light
I did not experience anything
On this I can go no further
There is nowhere to go
For 7 minutes I was gone,
But I didn’t go anywhere

— GLB

a night in the desert (actually Des Moines, IA)

so we’re barreling down this road and we pass a cop, we must not have been making the wrong sounds because he doesn’t start to follow, then you shout something obscene out the window, instantly there are lights in the mirror, that’s just swell, it’s 3 something in the morning, we are completely messed up and you’re shouting at a cop….oh yeah and we’re going something like four hundred miles an hour, don’t worry he’ll never catch us….

the next thing I know, there’s that cop, standing at my window asking for my credentials, I ask him how he caught up to us and how he’s even standing there because I’m going like seven thousand miles per hour, then he gets to being not very nice and pulls me out of the car through the window, he starts to walk me over to his car and you are sitting in your window throwing bologna at us like they were Frisbees, the cop threatens you with arrest too and you quite nicely switch to cursing him out but in a language neither of us understand (I could tell by the intention and inflection)

we get to his car and puts me in the back and asks me questions like what’s my name, where do I live, where was I going tonight and I answer every one of his inquiries except the one about our destination, for some reason, I didn’t think “The Moon” was a proper response, I must not be as messed up as I thought I was, so I get brave and ask him why he pulled us over and he says it’s because we were doing twenty in a fifty-five and you were hanging out the window with your boobs sticking out

he tells me that if I can get you to put your shirt back on and stop cussing that he’ll take us home, let us off with warnings and we can walk back to get the car tomorrow, the house is only a half mile away

“A Bipolar Life”

After my break, I floated around for a while.  My parents were there to take care of me, I was not in the psych ward.  I’m not really sure what I did, except try to piece together what had been going on for the previous two years.  I remember little pieces of things but not very much.  I also know I hunted around for quality psychiatric care.  Other than that, I come up empty.  Six or seven months after the break, I had found a psych doc and therapist. My meds had changed and I was starting to feel the fog lifting a bit.  I had started Cognitive Behavioral Therapy on an outpatient basis at the psychiatric hospital.  I had been going for a month and I really wasn’t seeing any benefit.  My biggest complaint was that I was still hearing voices telling me to do all kinds of things, the least of which was to crash my car.  One of the counselors took me aside one morning and talked to me about ECT.  I went home and talked to my parents about it and we set up an appointment at the hospital.

The next thing I remember clearly is being taken off the unit I was on and walked down to the ECT department.

The first ECT went like this:
After the lengthly talk with the nurse, blood pressure, blood sugar, pulse, temp, etc. etc.
Walk down the hall to the ECT Room
Hop up on the gurney
Hello to the Nurse, Doc, Orderly, Anesthesiologist
Nurse hooks up a bunch of electrodes, then finds the vein, hooks up the IV
Doc puts electrodes on your head
Anesthesiologist administers heart rate drug (downer, feels a little good, I could stay on this for a while)
Anesthesiologist administers knock out drug (it felt like my heart stopped and I died, I don’t need to or want to experience this again)
Wake up on the gurney in a long line of gurneys and curtains (ECT Recovery)

The way I experienced ECT for the first few months was to black it out.  This was made easier by the anesthetist.  Having to go for treatment on a regular basis meant that my regular life was pretty much blacked out as well.  I remember doing things in and around San Diego, but they’re a little fuzzy.  When the treatments got farther apart the three of us would go on weekend then week long trips.  Yosemite was a favorite and I know we went two if not three times. (I’ll have to look back at the pictures I took).  We also went up the coast to Santa Barbra, and further North to go whale watching.  Most of my in between treatment memories are held in pictures and video that I have on my computer.  Other than those trips, my memory of that time is empty.  I don’t know if it was because of the way I was approaching ECT or if it was the ECT itself.  I have nothing.  Though I will say, the ECT appeared to be doing its job.  My mood was better and the voices had stopped.

Then the disability from my job ran out and I was officially laid off.  We needed to find a new place to live.  I did, and my parents were coming with me.  So, we moved to my aunt’s house in Elk Grove, VA.  That’s about an eight hour drive North of San Diego.  We moved there and still “commuted” to San Diego for ECT treatments.  They were getting further apart so we didn’t have to go too many times.  Still, those trips were a blur.  I think we drove down the day before, stayed in a hotel, had the treatment the next day then drove back to Elk Grove.  I float in and out of the early days in Elk Grove too.  After a little while we made arrangements with the Psych Hospital in Sacramento to take over the ECT treatments.  They required that I go in patient to start so I could be monitored.  I remember three things about that stay.  Gray,  the cafeteria made me want to retch, we had to walk through the gym to get to the ECT trailer and it smelled of sweat, rubber flooring and rubber balls.  After the initial treatments I went to outpatient again.  Once my government disability and Medicare was available we moved out of my aunt’s house and into an apartment close to the hospital.  My memories of this time are better.  For one, I had an outstanding therapist who just “got me”.  Also, all the relatives I had around provided a constant source of interaction and I was finally coming out of the fog I had been living in for a long time.

Looking back on that time of my life, I can now see how I pulled myself through some horrible experiences.  The only way I can describe it; I was present but I wasn’t always there.  I found myself in a sequence of situations that I didn’t want to be in, so for all intents and purposes, I went on auto-pilot and just got through.  I am greatly and sincerely sorry to anyone this may have hurt, inconvenienced, put-out or mislead during that time.  I was trying to survive the best way I could.

Reading “Madness: A Bipolar Life”  by Marya Hornbacher for the past week and a half has made me look at my own relationship with Bipolar Disorder a lot differently than I have been.  Marya’s experiences with Bipolar are very different from mine.  To begin with she has Bipolar I, rapid cycling, meaning she goes from depression to mania very quickly, she also suffers from mixed episodes where she experiences depression and mania at the same time.  I have Bipolar II and suffer mainly depression (though I am not a stranger to mania and psychoses).  She has also been in hospital many more times than I have.  Where our experiences do cross how Bipolar has affected things in our lives like relationships with family, friends (gained and lost), jobs and careers (won and lost).  Mental illness affects these things and many, many more, in all who suffer from it.

I learned a lot about myself reading this book, I saw a lot of myself in those pages and I think that I am better off for having read it.  One thing I will take away from it comes from the Epilogue (that’s right you should always read the Epilogue) where Marya talks about who we are and what we can become.  She writes:

“How do we know who we are or what we can become? We tell ourselves stories.  The stories we tell are what we know of ourselves.  We are a creation, a product of our own minds a pastiche of memory, dream, fear, desire.  My memory looks like a child’s collage, or a ransom note, incomplete and full of holes.  All I have is today, this moment, to work with.  I am writing my story as I go.  I am inventing myself one moment, one experience at a time.

And that’s all right.  It means I can choose who I become.  It means I can write my future.  I can create a person, write a story, full of hope.”

I sincerely hope you get a chance to read “Madness: A Bipolar Life”  by Marya Hornbacher.  It’s a gripping, funny, maddening, harrowing, human story that could possibly change your life.