The Pill Box

 

Each morning I start my day at the pill box. 

As far as I can tell, nothing seems to happen when I take my medication, and nothing seems to happen if I forget to take them for a day. 

Bipolar runs thick in the family roots.  It assaults some of us more than others, and all we can do is deal with it the best we can. 

It reared its head in my life in my thirties, and it’s still a juggling act.   

A nine year, happy streak, ended winter of 2021 and I could not get back to normal. 

 

A trip to Target provided an unexpected panacea.

“Mom, come with me to Target.” My eighteen year old invites.

“Nah.” I answer unapologetic. I have no desire to leave the house, and want the day to end so I can go to bed.

“Please come with me.” She begs.  “I don’t want to go alone.”

Every fiber of my being hates the thought of being in public.

“That is the last thing I want to do right now” I say bluntly, feeling irritated with my mood.

“It will be fast, I promise. P-l-e-a-s-e don’t make me go alone.” She pathetically tries again.

I give in, and mope to the car.

 On the way we stop by Twisted Sugar to say hi to a friend and she gives us two speciality drinks, for free.  I’m not a soda drinker but drink it anyway.  Soon we are at Target and the World is right. I feel great!

 “Mom, it’s not right that you need caffeine to be normal.” She observes as I ride a cart down the aisle. “You need help.” 

 

“Caffeine?” I question.  “The drink did this?” I am genuinely surprised. Could it be? Something as simple as caffeine changed the rainy forecast of my life to clear and sunny skies in a matter of minuets?  I know this makes me sound naive. In the soda realm I am. I am not soda drinker.  I don't like the taste of Coke, Pepsi, or Dr.Pepper. I never have. My drink preferences are water (no ice) and if dining out, Rootbeer. 

The rest of the day the caffeine makes me feel like I have reconnected with an old friend.  It is good to be back.  I am motivated to return to this life.  I decide I need medication.

For the next few months I supplement caffeine tablets with bipolar medication as I ease into the right dose.  Migraines appear out of nowhere and I realize the caffeine is sabotaging my progress.  I give it up and painfully wait for the meds to kick in.

On the way to a routine visit with my Psychologist, a year later, I feel I have successfully climbed out of my pit.

I am annoyed I needed to arrange a babysitter to drive to his office, only to tell him everything is fine, and then pay him…for nothing.

“How did the winter go?”  He asks as I plop down on his couch, on a bleak day in March.

“You mean it’s over?” I reflexively turn to the window to observe the skies.

I sailed through winter and hadn’t realized it. This is very unusual for me. 

“I guess that means the medication is working.” He declares while scribbling in his notepad.  

 

“It is a big change from Winters past, right?” He continues, not looking up at me.  

He is right!  I had a fantastic fall and winter. Nothing about it bothered me.  January and February flew by and I have been my productive, happy self. 

It embarrasses me that I haven’t thought to give the medication credit for the improvement, just as I had naively overlooked it with the caffeine.

“I thought I felt 100% normal because I am back to normal.” I admit only to myself. “I just need tweaking to get back on my feet.” I ignorantly justify.

He reminds me feeling normal is our goal so every thing is working.

“Every thing is working?” I criticize him in my thoughts.  “Nothing is working because nothing is wrong.”

Feeling deflated that I cannot take credit for my own happiness, I agree to continue the meds.

“Why do others observe me more accurately than I see myself?” I wonder as I drive home.  “Why does my “normal” exist only through fabrication, and why am I the last one to see it?”

Despite not a cloud in sight, genetics remind me, dark days await if I don’t return to the pill box each morning. Happiness feels like mine, but my reality is, it’s a gift.  

Family missteps

"Blue Valley" 2023

 Dad and I casually walk along a cliff's edge enjoying Aeriel views outside Capital Reef National Park, Utah.  He calls the place "Blue Valley", his home away from home. I would call it... a Desert.

He see’s beauty, refuge, potential and respite.  I see dirt, dead trees, some mountains and a dried up river. 

 This is the first thing he wants to show me.  “Take a good look at it”. He says.  “It’s your family inheritance.”

I look to him to see where he is directing his gaze and realize, we are indeed, looking at the same thing.

I’m not sure how to respond.  Are we metaphorically speaking? Is he telling me my inheritance is like  this dried up desolate land?  If so, I wouldn’t expect anything different. I didn’t know there was a family inheritance. 

“All of this is ours!” He says with pride as he traces the land between the mountains with his finger.

“Dad and I purchased it back in 1968.”  He remembers.

I smile at him.  We don’t call him “Crazy Kelly” for nothing.  

We haven’t spent meaningful time together since I was 12 years old.  This is our first personal connection since.  

I came out here to get “reacquainted.”  It is just the two of us for the weekend.

I don’t have any expectations for the trip.  My plan is to step into “his world” and see what comes of it.

Meeting him is not awkward.  Dad is approachable as a puppy. 

Our relationship is odd, I guess.  I have described him as an Uncle figure.  We see each other at family functions, greet each other with hugs and smiles, chit-chat and I introduce the new kids I have had since the last time we saw each other, then go our separate ways.  

I hear bits and pieces about his life through the family grape vine between our next run in, and the process starts over again.  

No hard feelings, no expectations, and no real connection.  

A few months ago I sent him a text.

And that is what brings us to this spot.

I follow him along the ridge jumping over crevice’s as we go. 

Some steps require a little leap.  I calculate my footing to ensure a clear jump. In one of my efforts, the leap didn’t happen. I was mid stride across the gap when my planted foot broke through the earth and I went DOWN instead of advancing forward!   

The crevice is wide enough that my body easily falls inside, but narrow enough that I can cling to the edge of the other side- where I was supposed to land.  I am able to stop my immediate fall with my right knee, but it only helps me stick to the wall. I can’t use it as leverage to pull myself up. The only part of my upper body above ground is my head and arms.  I’m hanging by my armpits.  The ground is too soft to get traction.  I’m scratching like a cat at the dirt.  In this moment I am struck with terror. The thought of falling to the bottom is a reality and I know bones will break.  I am bracing for pain, and hoped not death.  

“Dad!” I call out wondering if it’s too late. The dirt under my left armpit is crumbling under my weight. 

He is about 5 steps ahead of me with his back turned.

“Oh Emmy!” He panics, lunging back at me. 

At this point my momentum is going backwards.  

I am eye level to his boots running at me, praying his 76 year old body will be strong enough to lift me, or that he won’t go down with me in the effort.  Everything depends on him.  

The last time I spent time with him was 33 years ago!  I do not know his current health condition. Thoughts like: “Will he be fast enough?  Is strong enough?” and “Am I going to DIE?” shoot through my head at lightening speed.

He reaches me in time and I brace myself for the results.  Will I be going down or will I be going up?

He pulls me out with more power than I expect, and without struggle.  I am so relieved to be on solid ground and already wonder if that really happened. 

I am embarrassed at the situation.  At surface level it looks like I had put more effort into falling into that space than it took to simply step over it.

Dad shakes it off easily.

“How would you have pulled me out if I fell in there?!” I yell in a panic looking down into the death trap.

“I wouldn’t have”. He laughs.  

Pointing back into the pit he says: “I’d say, this is the last place I saw her.” (Hands up in the air proving innocence)

I appreciate his humor.  That was terrifying. 

Of all the days of my life; this is the day I need him most.  And he was here.

I guess it is not my time to go...after all, I have a desolate desert to inherit!

I didn't get a picture of the exact crevice. (can't imagine why) but it's like this spot.