In the kitchen,
electric suns and a scorched
rain roiling up from the metal
crust like the flood Noah would
not have survived.
Hungry, I still turn away
from the last few seconds
of deserved and unearned life.
My life lays over me like a bib.
What bullets does it block
from my breasts?
Through the window,
filthy afternoon trudges in
from the rails like a hobo.
Every table in the dining room
is set to the music of
scoundrels naming their children.
From the kitchen,
streaming remnants of
The blooms along the
pearlescent highway have something to say.
Something hard, heavy, fragile as
a newborn Monday.
Pastel clowns zoom past me in minivans,
with children in the back,
their desperate faces pressed to the glass
like cling wrap.
There was a rehearsal for the
unification of everything,
but I could not find my third
piece among my things,
which found me tangy
and burnt like pie.
Bees drink the oily nectar,
imagine heaven swelling up
from the soil in a
and something sweeter than honey.
The clowns roll past with
children ensconced in their nightmares.
Nothing is unified, but more
and more steel is soldered
together by errant bakers.
The flowers breathe,
begin to speak their piece.
I had a horrible week last week. My mood began to plunge badly. I called my Psychiatry office to see if they could prescribe me anything to hold me over until my appointment scheduled for two weeks from now. They said that they couldn’t do that. I finally went in for help. I went up to the office and asked if anybody could help me, even the back up doctor I saw before. I said I really wasn’t doing well. Then the girl at the front desk, and you can’t make this crap up, looked at me and said, “Well you look well put together so you’re fine.”
I kid you not. They have someone that ignorant and condescending working in a psychiatry office now. She’s a new girl. I’m going to be taking this up with the practice manager. I was doing pretty badly and I really needed help. She told me I looked fine, and then sent me away with nothing after giving me a lecture about how they have to do things the correct way, as she called it, and couldn’t give me any meds without me seeing my practitioner. Well, I know the correct way to jump off an overpass so would she rather I have done that? And it was a whole bunch of crap to be honest. I’ve been seeing psychiatrists for about 10 years now. If you’re a new patient, then yeah they can’t help you until they’ve seen you. But when they’ve been seeing you for a while and know about what you’ve been on and know your history, it is not uncommon at all if you call with a really bad problem for them to either get you in ASAP or if they can’t get you in maybe the next day, they call in something for you to get started on and see if it helps you. While my request was undoubtedly a pain in the ass for everybody involved, it was not uncommon or unheard of and I am not the only psych patient to make such requests. It’s pretty much the norm.
Finally I got a call from the nursing assistant saying that my provider would see me a week before my regular appointment by seeing me over her lunch break. That’s still left me with more than a week of medication that wasn’t working. I started off depressed and then for several days I was suicidal and could not function. And I was just left like that. The only reason I have perked up and become more productive in the middle of this week is because I have been doubling up on both my stabilizer and antidepressant. They don’t always like it when you mess with your drug dosages on your own, but the fact is they wouldn’t help me and I couldn’t get through another week in the terrible state that I was in. I couldn’t do it. It was absolutely beyond me. So until I see my practitioner next Monday I am doing what I can to keep myself functional and able to live a good life. Or at least able to live. Today was actually a pretty good day. I don’t know what tomorrow holds.
I was and am horrified by the girl at the front desk. And the weekend that ensued was an absolute nightmare. For me and for my husband. I was doing really badly. And to think that no one would help me is really upsetting. I am a Rapid Cycling Bipolar 1. Bipolar 1 means that you can go psychotically Manic and that you have as many manic episodes as you do depressed episodes. Rapid or ultradian cycling means that your mood changes much more quickly. For some people who are bipolar depression comes on gradually. They don’t get up one day without the will power to live anymore when they were okay the day before. It comes on more gradually, and although they certainly shouldn’t be blown off either they don’t tend to drop off the deep end in the blink of an eye. I’m a rapid cycler. I can go from good to bad very quickly and from bad to worse even quicker. For me, and for other patients who are in the same situation as me, it is not okay to say gee just wait another week and a half and we will get to you. That’s unacceptable. That’s a lot of days to commit suicide between now and then. I was definitely discouraged because I realized how alone I can be when I drop or if I go too manic. My doctor back home was really on top of things and if I called her with a problem she would either get me in right away, or she would call something in to help me. She would give me something to get through the night so to speak. She did not leave me hanging day after day, and her wonderful desk staff Bruce would never say something so stupid or condescending as what the desk staff had to say at this office here. Bruce was smart, compassionate, and kind.
Previously, I have liked my provider. She’s personable and she’s a good listener. But I have no way of making sure that my severe mood swings match up with a hole in her schedule. And her lack of availability and her rigidity really scare me. Right now taking those double doses of stabilizer and antidepressant are holding me up enough to do okay. I actually even had a good day today. But the truth is these drugs are wearing out badly and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to string that along. On top of that I found out that my provider is only working one day a week now, although she is considering working two days a week. So she will have very little availability to make regular appointments, and on top of that I really don’t have a hope of help. She could have called in a prescription without being in the office, so her short working hours are not entirely to blame for her not helping me. But even if she was willing to get me in quicker to help me the reality is the woman works one day a week now apparently. So it’s going to be a week of waiting at least before I see her. I hate to give up a provider, and every time you switch to someone new it’s scary. But that’s just not enough availability.
Craig is a wonderful romantic. Our babysitter is back in town now, and Craig designed a lovely date for us. We started off by going to this cute little French restaurant that we like in Old Colorado City. The cheese fondue with the wonderful French bread is to die for, and the cheesecake is sublime. After that Craig surprised me by taking me to the art gallery. He knows that’s my favorite place to be, that and the bookstore. So after we went to the art gallery he took me to a used bookstore I had never gone to before. Although I like ordering new books off of Amazon, or going to Barnes & Noble, used book stores are really cool because you can find some interesting things for good prices. He bought me four new books. One is called Unequal Childhoods, and it’s a sociology book profiling kids from different families and how they turn out differently based on upbringing and their place in society. Then he bought me The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron, and her other book The Golden Vein, or something like that. And then there’s a nice book with profiles of each woman in the Bible including those who are unnamed.
After that we went to a few stores to shop for some new glassware as some of mine has recently been broken. Unfortunately I didn’t find anything I liked so I’m probably going to have to try my luck online. But it was fun to go shopping with Craig just the same. I even got to run into Staples really quickly. I love office supply stores! They are just wonderful! All the organizers, pens, folders, special books, notebooks, Etc.
I feel so grateful to have a husband like Craig. He supports me in everything. He always shows that he loves, desires, and respects me. He surprises me with little gifts that I like. He goes out of his way to make me happy. When we moved to Colorado and I had a hard time because I was lonely and in a new environment, he went out of his way to create a home for me. He bought church pews for me to make the formal living room complete. He bought us a brand new bedroom set with all the features I could ever dream of. He bought me a vanity. He bought a shoe tree for the hall to keep our jackets and shoes in one place. He has bought me beautiful lamps and other things that really make me feel at home. Now he has bought me a new sofa as of last month. He bought me beautiful blue rugs for the floor. There’s more that I’m not even naming. He knew that I missed home and missed the wonderful little house that we built in North Carolina. So he went out of his way to make our home in Colorado perfect for me, and he has. I am so joyous in my home every way. I am so pleased with my lovely home. It makes me tremendously happy. It’s decorated how I want, and it’s comfortable for me and I think for the whole family. It has a lot of personality in it and no shortage of wonderful things. My husband is so good to me.
Our date was so nice. I’ve been having a hard time lately, which I have been fixing by taking a double dose of my meds. I was so grateful that I perked up enough to be able to go on a date. Craig always knows how to cheer me up. It’s wonderful that we’ve been married more than six years and honestly it’s still like we got married yesterday. The spark is still there. Sometimes literally. There’s a lot of static electricity around here, so when we kiss there’s usually a little bit of a zap. I still feel like a newlywed. We know each other better now, although we knew each other pretty well then. We’ve built a life together and had a child together and had so many experiences together. All of those things change a person. But we’ve grown together rather than apart, and I’m so grateful.
After going without dates for a while it felt really good to get back in the swing of things. Usually we try to go on dates at least fairly often, but with the Christmas holidays and then with our wonderful babysitter being gone for 2 weeks after that there just wasn’t really much time. Now we want to get back to our somewhat regular dates.
When the man who makes moths
asked me what I thought of independence,
I told him it had already been cleared away,
a spill on aisle 90 of the syphilitic
warehouse on I-25.
There is a question in my purse
and an answer hiding in the
milk I won’t drink.
I bound my breasts and thanked
God for tension and pressure.
For his newest moths,
he asks me to raise orange lights
from the depths of my instincts.
But I have poured my instincts
like wishing wet water
into the mouth of a butterfly,
who even in the dark seeks
flowers on someone else’s estate.
This was my favorite volume of poetry in high school. I had read one of Baudelaire’s poems in my 10th grade honors English class, and when I saw an entire collection of his poems at Barnes & Noble one night I just had to buy it. At the time I was not supposed to be spending any money on books, but I went ahead and bought the book. I snuck it into the house and then for a very long time I kept it hidden under the clothes in my dresser. I would wait till everybody had gone to bed and sit by the dim light and read Baudelaire’s poetry.