HOME FROM HOSPITAL
11/23/05 (as noted in my journal)
It is two weeks after spending two, almost three weeks in the hospital. Mom flew over to be here for me when I got out, adding a steady and calming presence to what could have been chaos and more tragedy. It reminds me of the time when my one and only son, O, was born. I don't know what I would have done without Mom here to help out. But only this time, I am the needy child. This time Mom is not taking care of a newborn baby, but looking at her own child with concern and love. At me, a grown up woman with a new illness. A mental illness.

Here at home I feel safer than I did at the hospital, but I still feel scared. I want to do something to burn off my creative energy. I want to get on my laptop. But that's what got me into trouble in the first place. And now everyone (Mom, husband) keeps looking at me funny. Strange looks of sympathy and puzzlement.

When I was in my manic state, I was convinced that I, "Dr. L," was the human representation of creative energy: e=mc2
One male and 2 creative "Y’s – a male “elle” -- Missy Elliot raps that. Boogie and swerve. Let me move to the left. Move twice and you will find the energy.

Go to the left! When I was manic, I was convinced that I had moved into another dimension. I believed that I held the key to understanding the intersection of rational and creative thought, of chaos and complexity theory.

I spent nearly 3 weeks thinking about this (and more) in the psychiatric intensive unit of El Camino. I thought it was funny, the name of the hospital. I was trapped in/on The Road. To where? To what? Well, I didn’t get far with my theories, or who knows what I came up, based on what notes I made. I gave my notes away to a woman who was bipolar like me, an educator and teacher like me, convinced and certain that she would safeguard them. Did I simply want to give her some ideas that could help her understand and navigate her place in the world? Who knows? Why did I give them to her? Who knows? Will I see her again? Who knows.

When I thought I “knew” everything, I wrote everything in code, trying to express relationships between ideas through numbers. (Why are we able to represent the power of numbers through equations, but haven't figured what to do to convey the meaning and strength of emotions? Why can't we quantify and measure our emotions like our body temperature?)

See how my brain works?! I would sit facing the psychiatrist with my notes explaining that I would publish them someday. She said, "Sure. Keep your notes. Keep writing. I am sure you will be famous one day."

When you are bipolar, I think you find yourself moving from east to west from south to north and back again. Picking up pieces of cool stuff -- cool ideas, neat things -- and flying back forth like a magpie at supersonic speed, building nests of understanding and trying to find meaning at each pole. Sometimes you can be very efficient and productive. You seem highly prolific and effective. But then sometimes it all unravels and you are surrounded by unfinished tasks and daunting ideas. It's like me and my performance of late at a rather presitigous university, which is why many bipolar people are probably unable to hold onto their jobs. It is really difficult for linear, rational, non-bipolar people to understand and live with. My husband, for example, is one of these people. We bipolar people look like we are chasing our tales, going off in many inexplicable directions. We're flightly, unreliable, but passionate about the things we are able to do. Unfortunately, for some bipolar people, I think when they hit a brick wall of depression, they literally tear their hair out – depressed and enraged that they cannot accomplish their goals or convey their ideas.

I am wondering how “bi” got attached to "polar" and used with "disorder." Surely there is another way to describe this rather complex condition. I think that the bipolar people who go "crazy" are probably really lost and not anchored by the support of friends and family. They are repressed by life and made to move linearly and at a maddeningly slow pace. The BPs are told, “You need to slow down.” But the world is going by too quickly. And no one seems to know how to help.

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CLOUD CUCKOOLAND
November 22, 2005

It is now nearly a month later and I feel considerably different – better, clearer, stabler. Is is the medications that are finally working? I’d like to think so. Oops. I forgot to take this morning’s medications. So I will take my Abilify at 11 am before I shoot off to the university to spin cycle.

I should have been writing while I was at El Camino – to track my emotions. Maybe I’ll list out some of the key events and people I met which will help me remember for later:

I remember Lady Diana – the high school teacher who I am still trying to find.

I remember feeling special with special powers – and others confirming that feeling. I thought and did some rather strange things, which I'll have to elaborate upon...another time.

I remember communicating with aliens, who I believe had landed outside my window.

I remember feeling outraged at any lack of compassion and the extreme confusion that many patients felt around their medications and rights.

I remember feeling very upset with my husband for not visiting me regularly, and for not being strong enough to bring my son, O.

I remember music helping a lot, and helping a lot of people including Lady Diana and other women I met. I am still in touch with the woman across the hall from me. I wonder how they all are doing.