invisible
“my name is S. i am 23 years old. 33 years ago. i divorced my mother. because she left me for a better man. i don’t have kids. it is my birthday on tuesday. i will divorce my husband. my mom is coming to get me. i will divorce my mom. i’m going home. i want orange juice. your mother is coming. she is under the bed. your mother is dead. you killed her. i know how to count. my name is S. i am 23 years old. 33 years ago. i want orange juice. i will divorce my husband. it is my birthday on tuesday. it is my anniversary tomorrow. i divorced my mom. i love my husband. they are japanese. spanish speaking only. spanish speaking only. my name is S. i am 23 years old. your mother will get you. your mother is dead. you killed her. i want orange juice. i know how to count. they are japanese. my name is S. i am 23 years old. i love my husband. spanish speaking only. my mother is coming. she is behind you. you killed your mother. i will divorce my husband. i don’t have kids. i love my husband. my name is S…”
i apologize for the loud, redundant statements.
i was listening to this the whole night as i was sitting at the bedside of a bipolar patient who was obviously on her manic state. at about 2 in the morning, i was getting scared that all these things she was saying actually made sense. not the part about me killing my mother, but the fact that there are things that she is preoccupied with.
mental illness is so complicated. i don’t know which is more difficult. to be the patient, or to be the one who loves the patient.
when you have a damaged heart, liver or lungs, and nothing is working, either you get a transplant and survive. or you don’t, and you die. when you have a damaged mind, either you go to therapy and take meds, and exist. exist with that haunting fear that you are never the same again. you live, terrified. all the time.
S laughed and smiled at every sentence she said. she had all this energy coming from nowhere, but she is the object of everybody’s pity, or embarassment, or disgust. there is no difference between being mentally ill and being physically ill. that fact is out there, but there are still a lot of people who look at mentally ill people and think unpleasant, judgmental thoughts.
most human beings have sincere compassion towards those who lost a limb, a gallbladder, or a breast, but we usually have a vague, incomprehensible feelings towards the ones who lost their mind. i think this is sad, but it is the truth.
S’s husband was very caring and supportive. but it must be worse than hell, to see your wife like that…there, but not really there. it must be heartbreaking…to see somebody you love disappear, taking all your memories with her, not knowing if she will ever come back. and when. and if she will, will she “leave” again?
that uncertainty must be mind blowing.


may, this is a haunting & unforgettable snapshot of what you see, but what makes it worse is, her family lives with it 24/7…i can’t even begin to imagine how awful it must be for HER to live with…
Comment by libby — June 22, 2006 @ 11:15 am
My first husband was bipolar. It is a terrible illness. You are right about the stigma that goes with mental illness, that most physical illnesses do not have. The worst part about mental illness is that when the person you love is ill, they essentially cease to exist. Their personality, who they are, is gone. If someone is physically ill, they are still there.
Comment by Lisa — June 22, 2006 @ 6:13 pm
These are my greatest fears.
What a kind and gracious gift our sanity is.
This has reminded me not to take it lightly.
Comment by Veronica — June 23, 2006 @ 1:05 pm
This is my biggest fear. My mother passed away of end-stage alzheimer’s. It was so very hard to see day in and day out what that disease was taking of her mind.I love your blog.
Comment by Cathy — June 23, 2006 @ 9:37 pm
How sad for S. and her family.
This one gave me chills May.
Comment by kimmyk — June 24, 2006 @ 2:45 am
Nicely written post. As a surgeon, I agree it’s easier to deal with that diseased gallbladder: take it out, everyone’s happy. But mental illness is an ongoing and, more often than not, unreachable problem. Many is the time that I’ve wondered, at least with some I’ve encountered, if the illness came from seeing things too clearly — an ability to see life as it really is — and finding the clarity too much to handle. That’s how I saw it, at any rate, in medical school. I suppose I’m less romantic about it now.
Comment by Sid Schwab — June 25, 2006 @ 9:29 pm
[…] i am not usually cranky. usually. but i’m only human, and being in a room with a patient that talked and demanded attention for 12 hours made me loose it. she slept for a total of three hours, waking up every 15 minutes, saying the same nonsensical things. i was thinking it must be divine intervention that i was off for three nights, and on the next two nights that i was back, she was my patient again. maybe, the gods of patience education were trying to give me a lesson. […]
Pingback by thou shalt not… » about a nurse — June 26, 2006 @ 10:04 am
I think people are less accepting/compassionate towards mental illness is that it is frightening, so best distance oneself from it as much as possible.
I don’t find it scary, I find it tragic, and like you, I’m able to see the human being underneath it all.
Not everyone can do that.
Comment by Kim — June 27, 2006 @ 10:45 am
….and I think I better have another cup of coffee so I can write logically…..I’m leaving out words!
Comment by Kim — June 27, 2006 @ 10:47 am
As a woman who struggles with BPD II herself, I can relate to the fears of losing one’s mind. Even as the most compliant patient with regards to medications and with all the great things I have to live for and do in this world, I continue struggling with the pain of depression and (when the Risperdal isn’t boosted enough) hallucinations. Hypomanic episodes are few and far between, but enough to garner the BPD II designation.
I am filled with shame about my illness, but am trying to be brave and let people know I need meds just like a diabetic does - and just like meds need to be tweaked, so, too, do mine off and on. It’s still so hard, though.
And as someone in the healthcare profession, I have more than my share of women who struggle with depression. I know they feel safe with me - there is no judgement.
Thanks for writing this. It’s always good to re-visit the distress of providers and family members when it comes to mental illness. I especially am glad, though, you don’t forget the pain of the patient. It sucks.
Comment by Navelgazing Midwife — June 28, 2006 @ 6:50 pm
As someone with bipolar, I have been manic and psychotic. The thing that has helped the most is the people that have simply been there for me. Never underestimate how much you help someone simply by being there for them, by listening to them and accepting them.
Comment by Nutty — July 2, 2006 @ 10:55 am