I always hear about the complaints of the police, and some is justified. I wanted to write about my encounter with not just the police, but the Metro bus employee’s. I was in my manic episode and one morning about 4am I went out the door to, in my mind, overcome my fear of taking the bus. The only problem was I didn’t take any money, wallet or phone with me. The bus driver let me on anyway and gave me a transfer. At first I thought I was meeting my partner at a Storm game, then downtown, but I stayed on the bus. Finally the bus was at it’s last stop and the driver asked if I was getting off, but I wouldn’t. I was very afraid, and so confused because my Partner still hadn’t shown up. The driver got his supervisor, and he called the police. I finally got off and the police questioned me, but it took awhile before I was able to remember my Partners phone number. The Sheriff called her and left a message, then called a mental health service which sent two guys to help me get home. They drove me all the way from Centurylink back to Redmond. Everyone I encountered was polite, kind and I felt it is important to write about my experience. I decided it might be a good idea to get a medical bracelet with my name, my partners phone number and Bipolar written on it just in case something like this happens again. Thanks to those involved in keeping your cool, I think it’s important when dealing with mentally ill people. A lot of the time encounters like this end badly.
In honor of my Jaz I made this configuration mixed media box. I miss her so much, and I try to think of the good times, and what better way then to make art about her.
I finally got in to see my Psychologist and he put me back on antidepressants. I feel like I am being held hostage, my regular Dr wanted me to get back into therapy and my Psychologist said he wanted to be the one prescribing my meds. I have to go to three different Dr’s to get my medications. Part of me wanted just to stop them all so I didn’t have to see anyone, but the rational part of me decided for now I would jump their hoops. Anyone else feel like that? Like your life isn’t your own? It made me angry for awhile until I realized that I am only punishing myself. Bipolar and Lupus isn’t my fault, but being bitter is. I choose to make something of my life, through my art and writing is a great way to channel the good, and having a loving partner and our three cats is the key to my happiness.
There is no cure for Bipolar or Lupus, but I do know that my body responds to my emotions, exercise, eating as healthy as I can and learning to create art even when I am depressed all lead to as healthy a body as I can be.
When I was six and my Dad and I were visiting a friend who found some wolf puppies, their mother had been killed. My Dad let me adopt one; I named her Little Bear. We lived in a small town with a lot of wilderness so she was not confined to a yard. We would go hunting together, me, my bow and arrow. We terrorized cows, caught prairie dogs, squirrels and chased our chickens. That was some of the most fun I had as a child, animals do not betray or hurt you, and she just knew when I was hurting or sad. Sitting patiently as I shared with her my secrets.
This is my second in a series. Gathering Nations by Kendal Rooney