Witness to Withness

Why am I here?

I keep asking why I am here
There is silence that screams
There are moments of being numb
I am about to become unglued until...
I realize: Why Not?!

In the course of recovery Existentialism became a place to sort through the whole idea of meaning and purpose. I have had a few favorite writers. Soren Kirkgaard talks of a "leap of faith". That pretty much sums it up.

         I am still at Taunton State Hospital as I am sorting this matter of purpose as it relates to my journey. At this stage of my healing I am on this island that includes me among persons who seem "crazy". Am I doomed to be one of them. I came into this milieu being told that I was mildly depressed. I was studying to be a pastor and in the course of coming to this hellish environment I have found that there is no one out there (in my perception) that is there for me wanting to give me hope. It is hard to not get caught up in the idea of purpose and meaning.
         Very few people took me seriously early on in my hospital stay. I had a bed by myself and lots of empty time. I do not recall any structured activity or groups for at least for the first two or three weeks. My mind was ripe for searching. I began my search by looking for spiritual cues that I had taken on early in my journey of identifying what it meant for me to be bipolar. I came back to those images. They are intensely theological. They continue to inform my journey today. One of the personas I took on was that of witness. I realized then as I realize now that even if I could not do anything that was of significance I could bear witness to what God was doing in my life or the life of another. The persona was an escape to what I saw as a very depersonalizing environment. I had been given a psychological(DSM II)label and was treated like that label. I may have known hurt and yet who will take anything that comes out of the mouth of a "crazy" person seriously even if it is true.
         The spur to the next level of trying to sort through the purpose of existence was the administering of medicine that had a bad side effect. As I stated earlier in a previous chapter. I came to the hospital diagnosed with bipolar disorder. When they did the intake they put me on any number of medicines for something entirely different. I went to the nurse thinking there was bleeding in my mouth and was told to go to hell. It was an awful feeling. I was still new. Even today it puts a knot in my stomach. Maybe he was just having a bad day?!

         I came back to a previous persona. I was one of the two "witnesses" written about in the book of Revelation. This persona took on a life of it's own in the first two months. I learned that taking on a persona was a way to be safe. If I could not be accepted for who I was, maybe I could be accepted as the special person I wanted others to see me as. Many other patients took on these personas: there was one person who saw himself as John the Baptist, another as Jesus and even another as the Virgin Mary. As one of the two Witnesses I went through the hospital delivering letters, as if to the churches mentioned in the beginning of Revelation. They were mostly papers with scant or no writing. It felt like the right thing to do. It was as if I was driven to do it. I also found myself looking for the other witness, who I had identified as the person I had the infatuation with in college. I even made up an acronym that worked. Her initials in my mind were SEW and mine were GAP. Thus it was a matter of sewing the gap. Much later I found her middle name never had an "E" in it, which goes to show what lengths a mind will go to in order to sustain an allusion. Along with the letters, I looked for keys, clothing and things to send to the persona of Sue as I understood this other witness to be. Who knows if they ever got there? In my mind they did. I kept changing my own clothes as if to let others know that change was what it was all about. Like magic I changed into this guise and over time I could change into another. I will admit to getting out of control, when people invaded my world. I was put in my room and given a shot of thorazine. That was the magic drug. I was left alone to indulge in fantasy as long as I knew if I misbehaved I would get a jolt and the falling of me of all manner of bodies that let me know that I was not the boss in this place.

         As I look back I find myself wondering why all the fuss about a girl/woman I barely knew. We had one date at the Mug and Muffin and a peck on the cheek was given at the end of the date. It was the first date that I had had. I was twenty two years and the energy to stir up courage to ask was unreal. I believe my psyche was letting me know that I could not know my purpose apart from relationship with another person. In my case it was a female, because that was the sex that I was attracted to. Which does not mean that there were not times I wondered if I was gay. I think that there were others that thought so too right or wrong. I went with the flow. I had been exposed to pornography. As soon as I became a Christian this became a taboo. In my teens I can recall reading out of my dad's secret stash a book: "All Screwed Up". That was how I felt about the whole man-woman thing. I was in this wrestling match as I sorted out my identity and purpose. Part of me wanted to eliminate the problem by changing from a male to a female, even mutilating my genitalia to create the illusion that I could. I continued to struggle internally and do not recall any concrete visits at this time. Maybe because I was so caught up in my world. I do recall the Catholic chaplain coming into my space. I have been disturbed by all that happened during my stay at the hospital. Why? Maybe the bigger question is why not? I needed to learn why I was here and for this time in my life this was the best I could do.