Emancipation

He was a mensch of a man despite of, maybe because of, the mental illness that consumed him and his beloved family. There will be no service, no notice in the newspaper of his death, no gathering of friends and family, no one to throw the first mound of earth on a casket, no flowers, no one to cry for their loss or to celebrate his life. Rest peacefully. You deserve it. We shall meet again, Brother. Of this, I am certain.

The autopsy is complete. His body is to be cremated for $1,300 dollars and another $500 for the rabbi. Thankfully, he has a mother-in-law with the means who loved him, too. Thank YOU, Father Almighty God. There are spirits and souls we meet on this journey who are simply kin. Love, it's there in a flash, and it can not be undone. There is no judgment. It doesn't matter about choices, appearances, lifestyle or station. So it is between him and her and me.

His wife, a long time girlfriend, is now desperately, hideously, and ridiculously beyond the reach of reason. It is she who calls with the news. She is in an almost "forever" manic episode or state.  Her story about the end of his life, his death, her inappropriate response and attitude startle.There is the ever present over-talk in conversation and the need for street drugs is reflected in her voice's volume, tone and intonation. The friends, if she has any left, just overlook the affairs and promiscuity. She breaks hearts and provides fodder for the gossip mongers.

These are the hallmarks of a manic episode and behavior. Everyone has an opinion but few understand what is really going on.


My girl is in a very serious crisis. Her mood is over-the-top, sky-high. This is what untreated, mistreated, "non-compliant" mental illness looks like. One big fuck up. She should be hospitalized immediately but won't be. They'll be no intervention. I can't help but shake off the sadness. I've been here before feeling the profound helplessness of this cruel disease claiming yet another bright light. 
 
I wonder what will happen to her when she comes crashing down and feels the deep loss of her soul mate? I wonder if she has another recovery in her? Will I ever hear from her again? Will she make it?

Ours is a story of an adult friendship shaped by different New England ethnic and religious cultures. Ours was a time in the 1980's when being a single, independent woman with a career and living in the city meant freedom - emancipation. We broke down barriers to women. Our story is also about being diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder as we neared 40 years old. To have made it that far, without dying, is our shared miracle.

Our's is a mutual story about doing battle with a disease that has a long history of winning. It claims its victims by suicide and overdoses and in conjunction with other maladies. Ours is also, a cautionary tale about choosing a path and staying committed to it despite the circumstances. Ours is an awareness that the disease is in control. It wants to kill us, one way or another. The choice of treatment options and tools are limited. Neither path leads to a cure.

Despite what the doctors and statisticians say, the frequency of lives lost to Depression is like the US Census....tremendously unaccounted. The waiting begins. Regrettably, I've been here too many times before. The cumulative losses leave an indelible mark and an internal space to wait and to pray.

I chose the Western medical and drug (pharmaceutical) path. She chose the well-worn path of the ancestors, a bit of therapy mixed with alcohol and drugs. Drugs, pills, and all sorts of alternative, complimentary remedies are available today to quell or moderate the intolerable pain and anguish. These have always existed.

We choose different paths. However, our journeys merged and converged in surprising ways. Over 25 years we lived some good stories. She is missed so I pray.