psychotic break

It was tough being washed up at my Parents’ house in Seattle after my sixth manic episode. I remember being depressed, and having messed up sleeping habits. I would race to look like I was up and ready when I heard my mom coming up the driveway from work. I would sneak 24oz cans of beer into the basement, pound them, and hide the evidence. A friend had turned me onto “whipits.” I recall buying cans of whipped cream, with my food stamp card, and casually getting high as I walked away from the store. I was also still into weed at this point in my life.

Three or four times a week I would drive across town to drink beer and smoke weed with my friends. One night my friend and I decided to rent a couple flicks. Before heading to the video store we hit the bong. I took a fat rip, and for some stupid reason I took another before heading out the door. I said to my friend, “are you ready to go battle the stage?”

At the video store things were fine at first. Then reality “tweeked” for a second. It seemed like time stopped, and everybody around me froze. I watched the clerks nudge back and forth like time and space got stuck for a second. Right then a voice showered over my spirit saying, “I’m giving you a second chance.”

Like a record player starting with it’s needle down, reality began to function once again. I engaged with it cautiously. My next memory is my friend saying, “let’s go.” We got into the car and went to exit the parking lot. An uncomfortable feeling began to well up inside me. I told my friend to take a right out of the parking lot, which was the opposite direction from the house. It was like I was trying to escape destiny. My friend brushed off my request and headed for the store across the street.

I have no memory of the short drive to the store. I was starting to panic. When the car stopped we I looked over at my friend and thought he was the Devil. I could see imperfections on his face that I normally wouldn’t notice. I said to him in an utter state of fear, “I forgive you. I forgive all of you.”

My comment didn’t phase him much. He asked me if i wanted anything from inside the store. I replied no. He then said, “How about a chocolate milk?” I said sure. He then got out of the car and started to walk away. Then he stopped, turned around, and threw the keys in the window. They landed on the seat and I thought for sure that they were the keys to Hades. I begun to pound on the windows, a cop drove by, and I tried to get his attention.

Finally I realized that I could get out of the car. I was so freaked that I had to realize that I could pull a handle and exit the vehicle. Outside I became extremely cold. All I wanted to do was walk to my parents house, which was across town, but I was too cold.

At this point I decided to take the vehicle. It wasn’t even my friends’ car. He was borrowing it from his sister, but I was desperate. Once inside my situation didn’t get any better. I headed out of the parking lot and down the street. The radio was messing with my mind. I heard ZZ Top singing the lyrics, “should I go to heaven?” I quickly turned the station only to hear Santana singing the lyrics, “don’t turn your back on me.” It’s safe to say I was having a “panic attack,” to say the least.

The next thing I knew an intense “ball of energy” popped into my stomach. I had thoughts of a book on Zen Sickness” that spoke of holding on to a certain state of mind for ten years, in order for things to become one. I decided against it and relaxed. The energy pocket burst and filled me.

Finally I reached a stop light. I turned off the car, bowed my head, and told myself that I would stay right there for eternity. Some time passed and I opened my eyes to find the light green. I turned on the car and zoomed up the street. I felt a little bit of hope slip in regarding making it home. I made it only around 100 yards before the life slipped out of me. What was going on was just too heavy. I remember saying to myself, “eternal peace… ecstacy…,” and then everything went black.

My foot must have went down instead of off of the gas pedal because the the car raced up the hill, off the road, and into a telephone poll. My next solid memory was waking up to a bus driver knocking on my window. To his left were two Mormons, wearing name tags that included the name Jesus Christ, in large letters. I had a concussion, and thought I went to hell, and was being judged.
I got out of the totaled car, to find a sparking telephone in the middle of the street. The Mormons and I discussed salvation. I started to walk home, but they convinced me to stay and wait for help. Finally, a female police officer showed up. She asked what had happened, and I told her I was Bi-Polar. She later asked if I would like her to call an ambulance. I was still so scared that I agreed.

At he hospital they put me through through the works. They cut my pants off, put a catheter in me, stuck a finger in my butt, gave me x-rays, etc. I stayed the night and somehow didn’t get put into the psych ward. I have never been as scared as I was that night.

The Saint of Consciousness

It had been about four years since I had crashed my friend’s sister’s car into a telephone poll, and was put on Risperdal (an anti-psychotic) full time. I had gotten fed up with the weight gain, lethargy, and general loss of drive, so I voiced my complaints to the Doc. He offered two solutions for relief. A) reduce the Risperdal. B) reduce the lithium. I went with option A.

Not much time passed before i moved back to Chico. My girlfriend of 2yrs and I had separated, and i still had some solid bros left in my old stomping grounds. Besides, in Chico it would be easy to take another crack at my last class. As i write this i still stand one course short of my BA.

That summer I recall a couple week shwoosh of energy that ran through me. I remember helping friends move out of their place in Sacramento. I had an unusual amount of inspiration. It had been quite some time since i had felt some real inspiration.

Back in Chico a couple friends and myself shared a room while we looked for a house. Again, I felt a swoosh of energy. This time I channeled it into a script for a film. I would sit and write large chunks at a time. I remember my friends calling me inspiring.

Later in the Summer we found a place to live. Soon after i was taking my last course, as well as another course in order to get financial aid. I had a new doctor now, and he decided to take me off of Lithium and Risperdal and put me on Depakote. Not too much time passed before I was staying up late, writing music, and having thoughts of God, Church, and the Devil. I started attending Church services, and then a weekly bible study. There were weeks where I would do church related activities three or even four times a week. I began to write music that one of my friends said, “carried weight.” I had totally dialed into the local theater scene and had begun to interview actors for roles in the script i wrote. My mood was becoming more and more elated. I would go on late night walks with the desire to sleep outside. It would seem like God was talking to me in the form of my roommate, then the Devil.

At some point I checked into the County Psych Facility. I couldn’t figure out how to get service at “Crossroads,” the nice Facility, so I settled once again for the dungeon. Once inside it was like I remembered; dingy, and dark. I remember going into my bathroom and trying to pray in “tounges.” I also remember staying up late and writing about my experience, in the style of a Saint or an Apostle.

Finally, I tried to check myself out. They called in a “mental health professional” to assess me. The woman decided that since I wanted to leave at 3:00am that i was a danger to myself or others. The best thing i could do to distract myself was to smoke cigarettes and play an occasional game of ping pong. Then, while outside, i had an idea.

There was a movable basketball hoop in the back patio area. Just tall enough that it could lean to the top of the fence that was built to keep the loons locked in. I leaned it against the fence and somehow maneuvered my 240 pound body, like a monkey, up and over the fence. I happened to have a credit card on me so i stopped a couple blocks down for some Asian cuisine. In my mind were thoughts of the Chinese new year, the year of the dragon, and the dragon for the book of Revelation.

I grabbed a bus home and found that nobody was there. I then walked to the nearby mini-mart and picked up some beer. Back at home I enjoyed a couple of them and then took off to Church. At Church I remember rambling to people about my recent experiences. I must have stuck out because one of the Pastors, and another guy I knew led me aside into an empty room. They questioned me and wondered why I smelled like beer. I thought one of them told me, “your carrying the flock.” Anyway, they drove me back to the loony bin.

Once i got out it wasn’t long before things just got too weird, so I made a run for my Parent’s house in Seattle. I told my friends that I wanted to be closer to family. My ride up was intense. I smoked a lot of cigarettes, and was having thoughts about Heaven, Hell, and The Spirit World all existing simultaneously here on earth. I was having Apostolic-like thoughts about the spiritual related work that was ahead of me.

Once in Seattle I found myself out and about quite a bit. I was frequenting about four churches, and catching up with old friends. I was manic to say the least. I was having thoughts about how I was an Apostle on a mission to bring unity to the Church. A Saint that would act as the glue between the various denominations. I was the token “white boy” at an all black Baptist Church, I took communion at Catholic and Lutheran Churches. I would show up at a reformed Presbyterian Church, and by this time thoughts had been whispered into my head saying that I am a “power Saint.” With one of my friends in the Seattle area I would relax and let the Spirit of God speak to her directly.

However, the energy in me began to get mixed up. I got really into doing this thing that i referred to as the Jack White/Jack Black impression. I recall walking down Broadway Street in Seattle, stopping people, and asking them if they want to see my Jack White/Jack Black impression. I would jerk my body around with an “air” guitar, and a ridiculous face. The acting was Jack Blackesque, and the song and vocals were like Jack White. I eventually got fed up with the “standoffish” Seattle vibe and darted back to Cali.

Before leaving to Cali I called my old roommate in Chico and asked him if I could crash there for a little while while I look for my own place. He approved of my request and made some sort of joke about out drinking me under. I stopped at my sister’s on the way out of WA. My 3yr old nephew and 7yr old niece helped me clean up my half broken jeep and sent me on my way.

Upon arrival at the Chico house I promptly acted out my Jack White/Jack Black impression. I don’t think they really “got” it, but they laughed. Then again what was there to get? It was totally wack. Anyway, I was all about going out. However, one of my friends seemed stern and controlling, and the other seemed “dead.” In my partially delusional mind one friend had mafia-like characteristics, and the other one’s natural mono tone style made him seem like a robot or man with no soul.

It was the robot friend who had talked some sort of “smack” regarding drinking, so he and I headed into town to meet up with another friend. After having some casual beers at one spot we moved to another. It was at this place that I ordered six tall whiskey-cokes and challenged my friend to a pound off. Now I was the one talking smack. My buddy did his best, but I ended up pounding about four of them. I later found out that he was making trips to the restroom to spit out most of the whiskey that he had.

Not too much time passed before I was feeling buzzed. I imagine I was talking mixed up spiritual related gibberish, and i told my friend that seemed like a robot that i would kill him. He took off on foot for the house, and I made a run for the Jeep.

Back at the house there was a stand off between me and my friend that seemed like a mob boss. I danced around him like an animated boxer while talking “smack.” He finally flicked his cigarette at me and hit me right in the face. He then followed the cigarette with his beer, which i partially dodged. He told me later that the beer toss was done in order to put out the burning cigarette cherry that was stuck to my cheek.

Here’s where my memory starts to fail me. Thinking back it seems like the cops came out of nowhere. My roommates tried to get them to take me to the Psych Facility, but these days you have to be homicidal or suicidal in order to be taken in. My friend plead that he felt that his life was in danger, but the police’s hands were tied. They told me to go and hang out in my room. My room had not been taken over yet, and I was still on the lease. I believe that less than a month had passed since I bolted to Seattle.

Eventually I ended up in the house and all the old roomies were outside. I was guarding it like a fortress, staring at them through the window with intensity. I was on this trip about how I organized that living situation, and how my roommates weren’t being sensitive to my condition. They finally called the police. When the police arrived they knocked on the door. When I opened it they told me to step outside. When I did so they said, “drunk in public,” and threw the cuffs on me.

They transported me to the local police station where I was eventually loaded into a paddy wagon with a bunch of gangster-looking individuals. During the ride to the county jail I found myself having to take a pee really bad. My hands were cuffed in a way that I was able to get my fingers to my zipper. It was dark in there and a number of seconds later I was relieved. The problem was that we were all in our socks. Everybody started throwing shoulders. What can i say? I had to go really bad.

At the drunk tank the officers asked me if I was going to hurt myself. I was scared to be seated by the wet footed thugs so I replied, “I’m worried about myself.” After them asking me that a couple times and me giving the same reply they had me get naked, and put me in a cell with a straight jacket for a blanket.

In the cell I did the usual things: bang on the door, piss on the floor, plug the toilet. It was tough to get sleep naked, on a hard bench. Thoughts swirled in my head about thousands of moons passing. I was having thoughts of the book of Revelation, Purgatory, and the Devil.

The following morning I was released, and a sheriff took me to a nearby hospital for evaluation.  I sat in a exam room and waited to see what was going to happen next.  They fed me a sandwich and some sort of beverage.  After I finished my snack I told them I was going outside to have a smoke.

Once outside I realized that I could be free if I wanted, so I headed out to find a bus stop.  While walking down the hospital driveway I had an experience where I was speaking with my mother in my head.  It was like she was in Heaven.  I believe she said that she fell.  My mother has Parkinson’s disease.  The sun was round and bright in the sky, yet there was a cool, brisk, breeze.  It comforted me to know that I could speak with my mother this way, even if it was delusional.

Eventually I made it back to Chico.  I went to pick up my Jeep at the house to find that it was packed with a bunch of the stuff that I left behind.  I was greeted by a different friend who was visiting my old roommates.  We decided to head to one of our favorite bars to belt out some karaoke.

Later that night I ended up at a Motel 6.  There was

I also recall that I did check into Crossroads around this time, but only for part of a day. I’m not sure if it was before or after my stay at the county facility. I remember being assessed. I went in depth about all the abstract and deep spiritual thoughts that I was having. I asked the staff member if she’s ever heard of thoughts like the ones I was having. She told me yes, but not from someone with as clear of a mind as me. I was admitted, but left at bedtime. Crossroads allows people to come and leave Voluntarily.