Libby's Journal - October

October 6

Hay everyone. I haven't felt like writing in a while, so I guess we got some catching up to do.

As many of you already know, I had an episode last week. That's the word used in families of mentally ill people for when we are behaving worse than usual. Most of the time, we are quite functional, and you can hardly tell we're crazy. But if, just as an example, we have been off our meds for a legitimate reason like, say, trying to have a baby, but then we get a little agitated because it's not working out, then it may only take some little stress from ordinary life to tip us over from being functional to non-functional, and whatever weird shit we then do is called "an episode."

In my case, an episode could happen at either end of my bipolar cycle. Usually, it happens when I am manic and I go off the rails in that direction. This time, however, it happened at the low end. A depression episode is way less fun than a mania episode, though on the plus side, it is less likely to result in property damage or bad haircut decisions.

Okay . . . here is what happened this time:

The day after my last entry, it was my day to volunteer at the food pantry at my church. The church is in a poor neighborhood and does a lot of outreach, and people come from all over to get non-perishable food at the pantry twice a week, once on Saturdays and again on Wednesdays. And me and two other women from the church were supposed to do the midweek pantry, but one of them was out of town, so we knew it would just be the two of us.

But when I got there and was setting up for the opening, I got a call on my cell, and it was the other woman saying her son had just been injured in a skateboard accident and she was rushing him to the hospital to get stitches in his chin. So that meant I was doing pantry by myself that afternoon, which I had never done before. AND it turned out to be a pretty busy day. When I opened the doors, there was already a line of people and they just kept coming and I had to deal with it all by myself. And I did! Something clicked in me, and I was ON -- putting those manic juices to good use for a change.

People are only allowed certain numbers of items at pantry, and everything is a certain number of points. Normally, there have to be at least two workers so that one person can check people in and the other can count up their points and pack up their bags. But I had to run back and forth doing both jobs. The people were all very understanding and did what they could to make things easier on me. Nearly everyone is nice, but as in any group of people, there is the occasional jerk. In our case, it is this old man who is always drunk no matter what time of day it is, and he moves very slowly and acts angry if you try to help him move along. I had always needed help dealing with him before because he made it clear he had no respect for a skinny young white girl.

But ya know, when a skinny young white girl has got her mania meter on full throttle, you just better watch out. I felt like those strong, church-going women in the neighborhood who sweep their sidewalks and don't take no guff from no strutting young men. So when that old dude started causing trouble, I told him to wait his turn and show more respect for all these other people, and if he didn't follow the rules, his shopping privileges could be revoked. I didn't even know if that was true. Maybe we were obligated to serve everyone, even if they were jerks. But it worked on him, and he went through the line without causing any more trouble.

Near the end, there was a woman from the neighborhood who started helping me. She had come for the food, and I had seen her in church a few times. Her toddlers politely sat on a cardboard box while their momma helped me finish. We stayed open an extra 15 minutes so we wouldn't have to turn anyone away, and when we finally shut the doors, the shelves were almost bare and it was like closing time at the Bailey Building & Loan after the run on the banks.

When I got home that evening, I was so completely ON that I literally could not sit down. I told Mona all about it -- pacing in the kitchen while she sat at the table. She did what she could to ratchet me down a notch or two -- making me a stiff vodka tonic and then taking me to bed where she distracted me with two orgasms. Afte that, we talked some more -- or I talked, and she struggled to stay awake. I was still chattering when I realized she was sound asleep. I finally shut up, except in my brain, and an hour later, I was still wide awake. By this time, it was about 3 a.m., so I got up, and went looking for something to do. At six, Mona came downstairs and found me busily cleaning each of my little spice jars (which, you know, get dusty after a while).

When she left for work that morning, she held me by the shoulders and looked me in the eye and asked if I was sure I'd be okay, and I said, of course, that I would probably take a nap. She made me promise not to go anywhere and to call her at work later.

A couple hours after she left, I crashed. I felt the power draining from my body like Supergirl suddenly exposed to Kryptonite. It was all I could do to climb the stairs and crawl into bed. But I wasn't just sleepy, and I knew it. I was also coming Down, as in depression. The less fun other side of the pendulum swing. And I thought, oh shit here we go . . .

I've actually been fortunate in my illness. My manic periods usually last two or three times as long my periods of depression, and when I do get depressed, I do not get it as bad as many people do. Mostly, I just can't command the energy to do anything, and it passes in a day or less. When I am at my very worst -- as I was this time -- I can't feel any of the joy I normally feel -- and I have zero hope that I will ever feel it again. Normally, I LOVE daylight, but when I am really depressed, I close the blinds because the sunlight is so harsh it is painful. And it is painful because I know that I am unable to feel the beauty of things I love. People trying to help me often tell me to go sit in my garden or pet my dogs, but what they can't understand is that doing those things doesn't help -- and in fact it hurts because I would sit there looking at my gardens KNOWING that I feel NOTHING of the joy that I supposedly should be feeling. It is as if these gardens belong to someone else, and I can't imagine how that person could put the effort into all of the digging and weeding and planting that must be involved. But of course, I know it was me who did all that work, and that knowledge fills me with absolute dread -- and in fact I am more likely to think about death at that moment. I think: I'm responsible for these gardens; I can't possibly take care of them; I would rather be dead than have this responsibility.

So I don't go outside, I just stay in bed. My dogs curl up nearby, heaving sighs. They want to be outside on such a beautiful day, but they know I am sick so they stand guard. And I don't want them to. I want them to go away so I don't have to see them and feel the burden of their devotion.

Mona comes home to a dark, quiet house and no dinner. And I am barely capable of flushing the toilet after I pee. I am ashamed to look at her, humiliated to be seen by her.

And time passes. She takes the next day off work, and I sleep through most of it, and when I am awake, I feel guilt and shame for having tricked her into marrying me. I write her a letter suggesting that my mother could take care of me so that Mona could be free to find someone better and that she could go ahead and do so because we are not legally married anyway. She rips up the letter, yelling angrily at me, her cheeks wet, and she flushes the bits of paper down the toilet. I watch her and feel sad but I can't cry.

Another day goes by -- and then something clicks again, and I open my eyes and think, I'm hungry. And my next thought is, yuck, I need to brush my teeth. Both of these are good signs.

Mona is asleep on the couch, and I move quietly like a ghost in the kitchen making a bowl of cereal. I consider slicing a banana into it, but decide that is overly ambitious. I carry my bowl outside, squinting in the autumn sunshine and feeling the heat of the sun on my skin. I sit cross-legged on the cool, wet grass, and I eat as leaves fall around me. I am suddenly famished, and every bite is an individual experience. And then it is all gone but the milk, and I drink it like from a cup, wanting it all. And just when I am finished, bringing the bowl away from my lips, a small yellow leaf twirls from the sky and lands in the bowl. And this seems to me a gift from God, and my eyes open as if layers of crust have just fallen from them -- and there is the world, right in front of me.

* * * * *

October 7

Thank you for the notes and phone calls, everybody. I am FINE now, really. I'm sorry if I spooked some of you with that last journal entry, but keep in mind that by the time I am actually writing about something like that, I have already gotten through it. cause when I am in the middle of it I don't write, see? So the time to worry about me is when you haven't heard from me in a while -- not that you need to worry about me at all, of course, but you know what I mean.

This episode was a bit worse than what I have experienced in recent years, but I know that is simply because I have been off Depakote for nearly a year, so naturally my bipolar symptoms have been getting more extreme. Not "cornfield" extreme, but just a little worse. If we decide not to resume the pregnancy effort (which seems likely), then I will just go back on my meds and be a little less crazy again. It is actually good news that I have done as well as I have.

Anyways, as always, I have been well looked after. In addition to the ever-reliable, always-puts-up-with-me Mona, I had my Mom visiting for a few days this past week and my local buddies have been swarming all over me this weekend, just forcing me to enjoy myself. Andrea and Dana and Jayne and Margot have been over here a lot this weekend also, as have several other friends. Jack has been in Oregon the past week, partly to visit his mom but also because he is involved in an organization that buys old industrial land and converts it to forests. I don't know if Leslie is with him, but it is none of my business.

* * * * *

October 10

There was a risk of frost last night, so I went out and cut lots of flowers that I thought would get zapped. Mainly, I was worried about the cosmos that I planted from seed kinda late in the spring. They just got going a few weeks ago and were splurging madly all over the place just as the weather started to get too cold for them.

I didn't think they'd take the frost very well, so I cut a BUNCH of them, and now I have about 20 vases all over the house with purple and pink and white cosmos. Although my veggie garden kinda faded early this year because of the late-summer drought conditions, my flowers all did just fine, and I was able to have fresh-cut flowers in the house constantly, which has become important to me.

* * * * *

October 17

When I was in the deep hole of depression recently, I was mostly worried about Mona leaving me, or staying with me only out of duty. As for Jack, I assumed I would never see him again. He had gone to Oregon, probably with Leslie, and I was convinced he would never come back.

He did come back, at least to this part of the country, but had not been here yet. Even as I started feeling better generally, I continued to believe that I was losing him and that there was nothing I could -- or even should -- do about that. But then my mind would shift again, and I would pick up the phone to call him, and then put it down and start composing a letter in my head. Sometimes in my imagined letter, I would nobly tell him I wished him a blessed life without me, and other times I pleaded to retain just one tiny place in his life.

Last weekend, he was scheduled to have a regular visit but sent an email saying he had a work-related conflict and that he could probably come the following weekend. I was convinced this was the beginning of the end. I did not express any of this to Mona because I felt she had already put up with enough of my fears lately.

So a week went by, and today it was Friday again, and I was darkly waiting for the other shoe to drop, but not saying anything to anyone. We were having our usual group of friends over for dinner, plus Molly and (supposedly) Jack.

Mona knew I was in no condition to cook for that many people quite yet so she ordered takeout, and we drove together to pick it up. There was some problem at the restaurant and they were behind so we had a drink at the bar while we waited. Mona called Andrea and Jayne to tell them we'd be a little late.

When we finally got back to the house, we saw Molly's car, but she was not in the house. I called her cellphone, and when she answered, she said she was up at Jack's. He had apparently also arrived while we were gone, and I was relieved to know that he was at least here now, whatever might happen next.

Everyone else was arriving, and Mona was unpacking the food. I told Molly on the phone to bring Jack down because dinner was about ready.

That's when Molly blurted out the news that he had just told her, which was that he'd broken up with Leslie weeks ago -- maybe before that day I met her, so maybe that's why she gave me that look that I analyzed for days. And Molly said he told her he would never have a girlfriend who didn't accept me being in his life. I was on the back porch for this conversation -- the sound of the party coming through the kitchen window -- and after we hung up, I walked out in the backyard so no one would hear me sob.

So Molly and Jack came over, and we were all around the big table, everyone laughing and talking over each other. I wasn't seated close to Jack, but my heart would flutter with joy every time our eyes met, and it was all I could do to keep from crying.

Later, Jack was getting ready to leave, and I walked him out. Now that Leslie was out of the picture, I was trying to get back in matchmaker mode talking to him about how great Molly is.

But Jack wanted to talk about something else. He told me I am a permanent part of his life and that he would never let any other relationship get in the way of that. Molly had already told me he had said that, but I really needed to hear it from him. Weeks of worry and fear fell from me, and I threw my arms around him and cried for a long time as he patiently held me in his strong, dependable arms.

When I was finally all cried out and wiping my eyes, he said, "and yes, I think Molly is pretty great too."

* * * * *

October 18

So that was yesterday, and this morning I called Jack and asked if he could spare a couple of eggs. I didn't actually need them, but what I said was not a lie.

Naturally, he offered to bring them right down, but I said there was no need because Molly and I were going for a walk shortly. That wasn't a lie either because she and I would certainly go on a walk eventually.

Then, when Molly came downstairs still wet from her shower (neither of us likes to dry off much), I asked her if she'd do me a favor and walk up to Jack's to pick up those eggs. She grinned and said she would be happy to do so. As she went out the door, wearing only shoes, I told her to take her time up there because I wouldn't need the eggs before dinner time. This was not technically a lie either, but it didn't matter because Molly knew exactly what I was doing.

She was gone for three hours.

When she came back, carrying an egg carton containing six eggs (because Jack always contributes two or three times what he is asked), I teasingly asked her what could possibly have taken her so long. She said they mostly just talked. And I said, "mostly?" And she said, yes, mostly. And then she giggled, and I could get nothing further out of her.

* * * * *

October 20

It will be Halloween soon and that is our favorite holiday so we have been planning our costumes. Last year, Mona went as the pope and Andrea was absolutely stunning as Wonder Woman.

I went as Seven of Nine from Star Trek. I found a plastic version of her Borg eyepiece at a costume shop, and to achieve her ultra-skintight uniform, I used this thick rubbery latex that you paint onto your body. We got it from a friend of ours who is in the movie biz, and she specializes in turning actors into aliens and monsters. It is not really "paint" and doesn't stick to your skin the same way as paint. It is thicker than paint and adheres to your skin like rubber but will peel off cleanly when you are ready (or sometimes when you are not ready). Although I am not as busty as Jeri Ryan, the actress who plays Seven, my costume had the sexy advantage of showing the precise shape of my boobs and butt. So when I danced, I was bouncy. And when I was cold or horny (and I was both at various times) my nipples would stand out even more pronounced than if I'd been wearing a wet cotton dress on a cold day. (They really should have done that with Jeri's costume).

Other than the latex makeup itself, the only thing I wore was the business portion of a thong with the straps cut to a few inches so they could be pasted to my skin. Partway through the evenings, I learned that the disadvantage to this approach was that I had to detach the thong to pee, and then it did not stick back as well. Plus, when I sat for a while on a chair and then stood up, patches would come off of my butt cheeks.

Other than that, I loved the latex and was going to use it again this year as Supergirl. She has a little skirt, and I figured out how to replicate that by spreading the red latex on wax paper, letting it mostly dry and then peeling it off and wrapping it around myself. This solved the problem because I would be able to lift up the back of the skirt to sit down or pee.

But now I am thinking I may save that idea until next year. Mona and several of the other girls want to go as Vikings, so we have been busily making Viking horn hats and breastplates. It is all out of paper mache, but you'd never know it. We found fake fur and fake leather at Joanne Fabric to use to hold the horns together on the hats. Jayne used herself to mold the breastplates and she is the boobiest member of the group so all these Vikings are gonna be pretty well stacked. Jayne said she probably won't be a Viking herself but might go as a "wench." I'm not sure what the costume requirements are for that, but I think it's safe to assume that cleavage is involved.

I could, of course, still go as Supergirl -- which would definitely be a fun and sexy costume. But at the moment, I am not feeling particularly sexy or super, so I think I will braid my hair and blend in with the Vikings.

* * * * *

October 29

Jack has been here this week and today the three of us went to the fertility doctor to get this show on the road! And now on my bedroom dresser, we have a little cardboard box filled with tiny glass vials of Pergonal.

For the next two weeks leading up to my next ovulation, Mona will administer the shots twice a day in my butt. And then when I am as fertile as I can possibly be, they will do this 'gift" procedure where they pick my best eggs and basically slather them with sperm so something is bound to happen. Yes, I still worry that these drugs will give me cancer or make me crazy or cause my ovaries to balloon up and explode (that last one is an actual risk which they warn you about). But I am ready to do it this way. I have dilly-dallied around long enough. Time to bring in the big guns and get me knocked up.

My fertility doctor is absurdly handsome in a Ken doll sorta way, and I usually refer to him as "Dr. Ken." He's kinda full of himself, I think, but he's apparently very good at getting women pregnant so I guess it's okay with me if he's a little big-headed.

Jack stayed for dinner, and then he and Mona watched the World Series. I watched it with them a little while, but found it really boring so I busied myself in the kitchen. I could hear their conversation, and Jack was explaining to her his plan for building his own solar-powered water heater. She laughed her deep belly laugh and said "you just keep thinking, Butch. That's what you're good at."

This afternoon, after we came back from the doc, I walked with Jack up to his little house, and we passed the fallen tree which we had talked about using as a treehouse tree one day. I had been so dejected the day it fell in the storm, but he laughed and said there were plenty of other trees on this property. And then, as we went to look at it, he asked how long it had been since it came down, and I told him, and he said it wasn't dead because the leaves hadn't withered. They were starting to change colors but were still healthy looking. So even though the tree is sideways on the ground and a big ball of dirt and roots is sticking out of the ground, it isn't dead, and maybe it will keep growing like that. You still can't put much of a treehouse in it, but the fact that it was still alive made a big difference to me.

* * * * *

October 30

It has been cold and rainy a lot lately, but part of the time, it has been warm enough for me to sit out on the screened-in porch working on my mosaic tile table,which is almost done. While I was working on it recently, I noticed some pencil marks and realized that it was a sketch of something with some numbers and dimensions. Most of the pencil had faded, and I had already covered up some of it, but I started wondering about the person who put it there. I'm sure it was just some project the old farmer was working on in his little shop, nothing of significance to me, but I was just really aware of the fact that this was HIS table and I am living in HIS house.

But more specifically, it was his wife's house I think. This land was her family's farm, and she grew up in the original farmhouse which is where Margot and Jayne now live. It was built about 1900 or 1910 and is quite Victorian in style with all of the angles and ornamentation. When we bought this property, it hadn't been occupied in decades and was driftwood gray with here and there a bit of peeling yellow paint. Margot and Jayne have really fixed it up, painting it multiple shades of green.

This was all one big farm then. I don't know how many children they had, but at least one was a daughter whose name was Mae. After she married, she and her husband probably spent the first ten years or so of their marriage living with her parents in the big farmhouse, but then in the 1940s they built their own house on the property, which is this one where me and Mona live. She raised five or six children here, while over in the other house her parents grew old and died and then their house stood empty.

Mae's children all grew up and moved away, none of them wanting to continue the farm, and Mae and her husband started to grow old also. He apparently died in his mid to late 60s, but I know Mae lived on, well into her 80s, alone here in this house.

I think of her sometimes, and I picture her in a Norman Rockwell kind of way in different places around the house, mostly in the kitchen or in the original garden where I have my herbs. But until I noticed those pencil marks, it never really occurred to me to picture her husband. I don't even know his name. But now I have an image of an old man in a worn flannel shirt puttering around in that little room that we eliminated to make our kitchen larger. I see him at his work table, maybe making one of the many bluebird houses that have been attached to fence posts since long before we moved here.

And in the next room, there was Mae. She had no microwave oven or electric breadmaker. She didn't get her biscuits out of those little tubes that burst open when you poke them with a knife.

Sometimes, I picture them when they were younger -- their kids scrambling around the house and filling it with noise. And her husband -- I'm gonna name him Ed -- would go out to the fields as soon as the sun was up and Mae would be busy all day cleaning and cooking and ironing and mending the hand-me-down clothes her older children passed along to the younger ones. I picture her singing while she worked, and I am pretty sure she had a nice voice.

And then overnight her kids were all grown, and the house was quiet. Ed tinkered with something at his table, his back turned to the doorway that opened to the kitchen where Mae kept herself busy.

Then Ed was gone too, and she was alone.