“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.