TRIUMPH OF SPIRIT IN LOVE, NATURE & ART

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Bootsie's avatarBeing Bipolar

Crazy.  Nuts.  Bonkers.  Loon.  Insane.  Cuckoo.  Delusional.  Psycho.  Bipolar.  Fruitcake.  Cracked.  Lunatic.  Whack.  Bananas.  All of these words have been used at one time or another to describe me.  Sometimes I am offended and sometimes I am not.  Heck, I even use these same words about myself but I try to use them to describe my actions not my being.   I am not Bipolar.  I have Bipolar Disorder.  There is a difference.  The English language is a funny thing.  Words have become so interchangeable and depending on the situation or person you are describing and your intent some of these same harsh words could even be used as a compliment.  That Bootsie is crazy.  She just cracks me up! 

Most people do not really understand Bipolar Disorder.  They believe it is a character flaw.  It is a medical condition.  It is a chemical imbalance.  If you have no problem…

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Mania Free-flow


This is the mind in mania, a sampling of the free-flow of racing thoughts and rhyming words that occur.  On first glance, the meaning may seem random but in the context of the memoir, themes of paranoia and the flip side of mania, depression, are apparent.

I catch the Number Four bus.  The bus is crowded.  The motor in my head starts racing again.

IT’S PANIC.  AND THEY’RE PUSHING.  PUSHING AND SHOVING.  AND THE STREET LIGHTS ARE FLASHING— GREEN VENOM/BLOODY TEARS ALTERNATELY ON THE RAINDROP WINDOWS OF THE BUS.  AND THAT WOMAN OVER THERE IS STARING, DAMNED BITCH!  AND THAT HAIRY MAN— THE EYES ARE PROBING AND LOCKING.  IT’S SHOCKING.  THE MIND MOTOR’S GOING FASTER AND FASTER STILL.  NERVE ENDINGS FIRING.  AXONS AND DENDRITES SYNAPSING ALL OVER THE GODDAMNED PLACE.  AND THE STREETS CRAWL BY.  FLIP FLOP.  THE CAMERA SHOP.  GOTTA MOP THE CAMERA SHOP.  FLIP FLOP.  THE BUTCHER SHOP.  CHOP.  CHOP.  RAW MEAT DROPS AT THE FEET OF FAT FLESH.  TICK TOCK.  THE ROUND, WHITE INSTITUTIONAL CLOCK TICK-TOCKS TO THE CHOP CHOP OF THE BUTCHER SHOP.  A SEAT.  SIT DOWN.  CLOSE THE EYES.  YEAH.  THAT’S BETTER.  NICE AND EASY DOES IT.  TRANQUILITY.  SENILITY.  DEBILITY.  THE MIND MOTOR’S RACING.  THE HANDS ARE SHAKING.  GRAB HOLD OF THE BAR.  YOU’LL GO FAR IF YOU GRAB HOLD OF THE BAR.  KEEP THE EYES CLOSED AND GRAB HOLD OF THE BAR.  THE BLACK HOLES IN SPACE TAKE THE PLACE OF THE RAY OF HOPE WHICH LIES LIKE A DOPE BURIED UNDER THE FALLEN STARS.  A MURKY MIASMA AT THE BOTTOM OF THE UNIVERSE. REHEARSE THE HEARSE.  ANOTHER STAR IS DYING AND TRYING TO REST AT BEST IN THE BOTTOM OF FOREVER.  AND PEOPLE ARE LEAVING.  AND THERE’S MORE SPACE.  AND I’M DOWN IN THE VALLEY OF THE DESPAIRING DAMSELS, SITTING WITH THE DOTTED, SPOTTED DALMATIANS, IN THE PURPLE PANTRY PUDDLES OF THEIR PISS.

From Chapter 2 of my Bipolar/Asperger’s Memoir.  For more information see: 

http://www.amazon.com/Eye-locks-Other-Fearsome-Things-ebook/dp/B007TOOF56/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1363364264&sr=8-1&keywords=eye-locks

Also available on Barnes & Nobles Nook, iBooks and Smashwords

Homage to Mondrian


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Piet Mondrian (1872-1944) was a Dutch painter who believed in the spiritual in nature.  His art was an expression of that spirituality.  He believed that the trees, the verticals in nature, were the masculine principle, and the earth, the female.  Together the union of the male and female constituted the beauty of creation.  He started out painting vibrant trees and eventually wound up painting complete abstractions of vertical and horizontals with primary colors– very unlike his early landscape painting, but the underlying principles were the same.

At the Brink


This excerpt from Chapter 2 of my Biolar/Asperger’s memoir of finding love shows the beginnings of a psychotic breakdown.

I feel the electric light glowering at me.  I look around the room in my basement apartment.  The men following me.    The phone call from Yvonne.  Nothing is making sense.  Obeah island witchcraft?  Danielle’s thing.  Danielle is the island woman.   The room spins again.  I feel like someone is watching me.  I feel someone here— looking in the window.

Jumpy thoughts.  Buzzing mind.  I know the signs.  Feeling the victim of a plot.  Fear of being followed— of being watched— of evil spells coming out of an inanimate object— panic—  magical thinking— paranoid ideation.  I have made the break with reality.  I have entered the deep, dark hollows of the paranoid’s world.  Terror!  I pick up the phone and dial.  242-6637.

“Hello, Dr.’s office.”

“Hello, may I please speak to Dr. Agostinucci?”

“Hold on a minute.”

“Hello, this is Dr. Agustinucci.”

“Hello, Joey.  It’s Ellen.  I’ve got to talk to you.  Can you talk?”

“Yeah, you got me at a good time.  I’m just in between sessions.  What’s up?”

“Joey, I don’t know.  I’m flipping out.  I can’t sleep.  I called Danielle last night and told her.”

“You told her what?”

“I told her what I told you— that I loved her.  And then she told me that she wasn’t ‘that way’.  And then . . . ”  I start crying.  “Oh, Joey, I’m so scared.  I mean it means that all along I couldn’t see reality.  I’ve been living in this fantasy world all this time, thinking Danielle’s in love with me and gay, and I’ve been drinking and drinking because I haven’t been able to sleep.  And then today I started thinking that spells were coming out of the elephant that Sundra gave me.  So I took the bus up to Columbia to throw it away.  And then I thought two men were following me home.   And Yvonne called me up from work and, Joey, I think it’s all a plot . . . ”

“Wait a minute, calm down.  You’re all upset!”

I continue.  “Yvonne and Danielle are in cahoots.  Maybe they’re both testing me to see if I’m gay.  Joey, I don’t know how I’m going to go to work tomorrow and face Danielle and face Yvonne . . . ”

“Calm down.  One thing at a time.  You’re overwrought.”

“But, Joey, I don’t know what is real and what’s not real anymore.  I can’t sleep and I can’t stop crying.”

“Okay, look, I’ll give you a prescription.   I’ll call in the prescription to the pharmacy.  They’re probably still open.  I’ll have it delivered.  Just give me the name of the pharmacy you use—  the one nearest you.”

“Uh . . .  I’ve got to look it up— just a second . . .”   I run to the bathroom to find a prescription bottle.

“Joey, it’s Rexall on 76th  Street.  The phone number is 663-7684.”

“Okay, look, I’m going to give you a prescription for Valium, 2 mgs.  Take one pill and see what happens.  If you still feel very anxious, take two.”

“Okay.”

“Listen, I think you should go to work tomorrow.”

“Joey how can I?  I keep bursting into tears.”

“Look, the Valium will help calm you.  It’ll be a whole lot worse if you stay home.  I suggest you call the Health Service first thing in the morning and make an appointment to see someone.  Tell them it’s an emergency.”

“Okay, Joey, I guess you were right.  You always told me I needed therapy and I always told you that I felt I’d go to pieces one day and now it seems that day has come.”

“Listen, you’re extremely upset.  Take the Valium and try to get some sleep.  If you need me you know where to reach me.  And if things really get bad you know you can always go over to the emergency room in Lenox Hill.”

“Yeah, that’s right, I can always go there.”

“Listen, when I call in the prescription I’ll arrange for them to deliver it, too, so you don’t have to do anything.  You have enough money to pay for it?”

“I don’t know.  Let me see.  Yeah, I think I do,” I say as I scramble through my purse.

“Okay, look, are you going to be able to answer the door?   Or are you still scared of those men?”

“No, the doorbell only rang twice.  Whoever it was is long gone.  I’m not scared of that anymore.”

“Good.  So just wait for the delivery.  I’ll tell them to speed it up.”

“Thanks a lot, Joey!  Thanks for everything!”

“Okay, take care, get some rest.  I’ll call you tomorrow to see how you are.”

“Okay, thanks a lot, Joey, bye.”

“Bye, Hon.”

For information on the memoir see: http://www.amazon.com/Eye-locks-Other-Fearsome-Things-ebook/dp/B007TOOF56/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1345051643&sr=1-1&keywords=eye-locks  The book is also available on Barnes & Noble Nook, iBooks and Smashwords.


Paul F. Lenzi's avatarPoesy plus Polemics

creation

 

I carelessly cut my finger while preparing lunch. For several days thereafter I found myself scrutinizing that finger under bright light in order to keep it clean and surgically redressed for healing. And in the process it occurred to me that the distinctively mapped form of my fingerprint evokes similar patterns seen elsewhere in nature.

I’ve seen them in the formative grain of new-sawn oak or a knotty pine board, stemming from the very concentric rings that enliven any tree. I’ve seen them in the pattern of water finding its drain, in the stone-thrown ripples on the surface of a pond, in the conforming ridges of a seashell.

I’ve seen them in radar depictions of isobaric pressures or a gathering storm, in the topographical contours of land elevations or sea depths. I’ve seen them in the illustrations of concentric arcs of light waves and sound waves, when I was…

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Darkness Falls


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Darkness falls

shoving my precious blues and violets

down the black hole of depression.

I no longer remember

how to smile

or create

or spar.

I wish to disappear

into the darkness

until the light returns.

Now or Never


Fri., October 28, 1977

I hardly sleep at all.  Ever since yesterday I am totally confused.  I am no longer sure that Danielle is interested.  Danielle talks again to the department head.  She says something about love in a very loud voice to catch my attention.  I am so upset and nervous that I don’t hear what she is saying.  All I can make out are individual words: “she . . .  love . . .  candy.”  Then when I walk by her desk she gives me a big smile.  I am panicked.  I don’t know what she is smiling about.  Was I supposed to hear what she was saying?  Did I miss my cues?  I am somewhat cold and distant because of her statement yesterday. I ignore Danielle and she runs out of the office and goes to the ladies room.  I follow her in there and see she is crying.  “What is wrong?” I ask, wanting to throw my arms around her and comfort her but I don’t have the courage to do it.

Danielle says, “Ellen, please just leave me alone.”

I am panicked.  I go over to the department head in desperation and ask, “What is wrong with Danielle?  She’s in the ladies room crying.”

Sheila says, “Oh, she’s upset because they’re reducing the retirement benefits.”

I think she is lying.  I don’t know what is going on.  I tell Yvonne I think people are lying to me.  Everyone is all upset.  I overhear Dr. Lencek, the medical cataloguer who trained as a psychiatrist, say that I am a troublemaker and a flirt.  I want to say I am not.  I am desperate.  I leave a note on Danielle’s desk when she is not there saying, “Don’t you know I can’t hear or see when I am so nervous?  I am sorry.”  I hear Yvonne say, “It sounds like a heart-felt apology.”  But Danielle shows no response.  I feel rejected again and go home in a panic.  Now I have really made a mess of things.  Everyone seems to know what is going on except me.  I have made a scene with the head of the department.  I have hurt Danielle’s feelings.  They think I am playing games and hurting Danielle’s feelings.  Am I?  I don’t know.  I don’t know why I turn so cold and hard at times.   Yvonne, Dr. Lencek, Nina— they all seem to want me to love Danielle. I have to do something.  No sleep now.

I close the diary after reading Friday’s entry.  Joey was so negative about the whole thing I didn’t dare tell him all this and I certainly didn’t dare ask him what I should do.  Why hadn’t I been able to explain the whole story to Joey?

YOU WERE TOO NERVOUS.  YOU COULDN’T THINK STRAIGHT.  JOEY JUST DOESN’T UNDERSTAND THIS KIND OF THING.  YOU HAVE REJECTED DANIELLE A FEW TIMES NOW.  AND NOW SHE IS REALLY GOING TO THINK YOU ARE PLAYING GAMES.  YOU MADE DANIELLE CRY.  DANIELLE WASN’T CRYING ABOUT THE RETIREMENT BENEFITS.  GET REAL.  YOU HAVE TO DO SOMETHING AND YOU HAVE TO DO IT NOW.  IT’S CLEAR YOU HAVE TO FORCE YOURSELF TO COME CLEAN TO DANIELLE.  YOU HAVE TO PROVE TO DANIELLE YOU’RE NOT PLAYING GAMES.  YOU HAVE TO SHOW HER YOU WERE JUST SCARED— THAT YOU DIDN’T WANT TO REJECT HER— THAT YOU ARE INTERESTED.  YOU HAVE TO TELL DANIELLE THE TRUTH.  BLUNTLY.  OVER THE PHONE.  TODAY IS SUNDAY.  DANIELLE WON’T BE IN TOMORROW.  SHE’S TAKING A VACATION DAY AND TUESDAY IS ELECTION DAY.  YOU WON’T SEE HER UNTIL WEDNESDAY.  THAT’S TOO LONG TO WAIT.  TONIGHT WOULD BE THE PERFECT NIGHT TO DO IT.  YOU HAVE TO DO IT.  THERE IS NO OTHER WAY.  DO YOU WANT TO LOSE HER FOREVER?  REMEMBER THAT LOOK ON HER FACE WHEN SHE CAME OVER TO YOU AFTER HER VACATION?  THIS IS REAL LOVE AND MAYBE YOUR ONE AND ONLY CHANCE.

I pour myself a Scotch.  Then another and another.  I take out my phone book.  I am still shaking.  I dial Danielle’s number, then before it rings, I hang up.  I drink the last of my third drink and dial again.

Danielle answers.

***********

This excerpt from Chapter 2 of my Bipolar/Asperger’s memoir illustrates a manic love and an Asperger’s difficulty with social cues.   For full information see:

http://www.amazon.com/Eye-locks-Other-Fearsome-Things-ebook/dp/B007TOOF56/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1345051643&sr=1-1&keywords=eye-locks

Also available on iBooks (iTunes), Barnes and Noble Nook and Smashwords.

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