A First Time For Everything

I’m having a bit of blogger’s block, so I thought I would pull this out of the archives. As a lot of you may already know, I have Bi-Polar Disorder. I found this out in September of 2010, although I have probably suffered from it for most of my life. While driving to work one day last September, during a particularly bad morning for me, I had what the doctors told me was a mixed episode. During this mixed episode, I was both manic and depressed, a very dangerous combination for anyone who experiences it. As a result, I spent 4 days in a hospital psychiatric ward under suicide watch. A few months ago I decided to write about it, but I have only shared what I wrote with my partner. Now I have decided to share it with the rest of you. Without further adieu, I give you “A First Time For Everything.”

A First Time for Everything

“Baby? Where are you?”

My wailing serves as a reply

“Baby I’m getting in the car now, stay on the phone ok?”

“Ok” I whisper in between sobs.

“Please tell me where you are.”

The fear is evident in her voice.

“I’m at the rest area off the highway.”

The pain is evident in mine.

“Which rest area sweetie?”

“The one by work, how did I get back here?”

“I know which one, are you ok?”

“I don’t know how I got here, I see lots of trucks.”

My shrieking escalates, I feel reality ebbing away.

“Who’s going to pick up our son at day care?”

“Honey he’s 16, he’s in high school.”

“Oh”

“I’m at the rest area, where are you?”

“I see lots of trucks.”

She pulls up; I cling to her for dear life.

“We’re going to the hospital, ok?”

“Will you call Ernie and tell him?”

“Baby, Ernie hasn’t been your boss for four years.” “Arnold is your boss now.”

“Oh.”  The car is moving now.

My mom talks to me as the car rolls along.

“Did you call my mom?”

“Your mom has been dead for 30 years sweetie.”

“Oh.” The sobs return.

We pull into the E.R. parking lot, I hear music.

“Honey, are we at a carnival?” “I hear music.”

“No baby, we’re at the hospital.”

“What the fuck are we doing here?”

“Your having an episode baby, we need to get you some help.”

“Oh.” I sink back into delusion.

The triage nurse asks “do you feel like hurting yourself?”

“Every day” My chin sinks back into my chest.

“Do you have a plan?”

My eyes sparkle, my head rises. “I have a lovely spot picked out on the highway.” “ I’m going to drive into it.”

My gaze focuses on my feet again.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” “We need to admit him for a few days.”

“To the psyche ward?” “That’s a first.”

Related Articles

• Half the patients with bipolar disorder suffer work, social or family disabilities (eurekalert.org)
• Bipolar Disorder (education.com)
• Being a good psychiatric patient. Avoid trouble at all costs (hopeworkscommunity.wordpress.com)

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