House of Reviews

(I'll assume you don't have time to read Parts 1-3--quick intro: Bebe is a 36 y.o. bartender living with bipolar disorder. She lives frugally in Boston and has a reasonably manageable life, all things considered.)

Feedback that would especially help:
What else would you like to know about the secondary characters?
What do you think of the shift to 1st person p.o.v. in Part 6?



Bebe Installment 4—Bebe Contemplates College

The Bipolar Bartender at the Ups and Downs Bar and Grill

Bebe realized Jon’s advice about online programs was dead-on. She couldn’t afford to quit her job to go to school full-time. One night after work she clicked through some websites of programs that had degree completion options. Ah, to be a “Returning Adult”. Returning to what? Scene of the original crime? It was no crime to drop out of Wisconsin; it was something that had to happen. Her depression was almost paralyzing back then and it amazed her that she actually finished almost three whole years there.

The best online option turned out to be in her own backyard. Umass-Lowell now offered an online B.A. in Psychology—she would qualify for the in-state tuition and could theoretically enroll for the January semester.

Excited by this new information, Bebe started scrambling around to find the materials needed for the application. Where are those transcripts? Ah yes, filed under “My Personal Failings”. It could be tough to get a letter of recommendation—certainly Dr. Smith or her therapist could testify to her ability to persevere on a task but it seemed oddly inappropriate, or maybe too ironic, to have ones psychiatrist write a college recommendation.

What about Frank? He could say that she engages well with the customers (good for a future psychologist) but then there’s the piece about how her moods affect her job performance. The letter might go something like this:
“Bebe is a conscientious employee with excellent bartending skills. Her regular customers enjoy her witty banter. She is quite energetic and completes all necessary tasks with great determination.”

Or, the version for when she is depressed:
“Bebe is a loathsome slug who makes me wonder why she is taking up space on this planet. Customers wonder why she acts like a zombie when serving them; she can’t seem to manage a smile or even a friendly look.”

Well, her moods shouldn’t matter much for online classes. She’d be able to post to the discussion boards and her instructor wouldn’t know if she were sobbing while writing. Maybe she could ask her support group facilitator. It’s not like she only exists as a bipolar; she has friends and it helps to live near her sister Sarah (at least, it helps when she doesn’t have to interact with Mitchell, her jackass of a brother-in-law). Part of the problem is that no professors from the University of Wisconsin would remember her (if any of them are still there) and her employment history since she moved to Boston wasn’t exactly been stellar until she went to bartending school and settled in at the Ups and Downs. Frank will be the best option but it’s going to be hard to find the second person for a recommendation letter.

“Once again,” Bebe thought, I’ve set a goal I can’t reach. 36 years old, no husband, no degree, biggest failure compared to my brother and sister, can’t even find two people to write me a letter. Get out of this negativity right now, Bebe!” She grabbed a pad of paper and scrambled to list some positives:

1.I understand and acknowledge that I have bipolar disorder
2.I’m in excellent physical shape (except for my brain)
3.I’m a really good bartender and my customers like me
4.I can stand my ex-husband and after nine years I’m not too bitter over our break-up


Is four enough? Try to get to seven; it’s a lucky number.
5.I’m a fun aunt for Sam and Lily
6.I have some supportive friends who know how to help me when I need it


The seventh was the hardest to fill in. Finally it came to her:
7.I live within my means.


Good list, Beebs. She was satisfied as she reviewed it. Your life has ups and downs, but so does everyone’s. The bad things don’t automatically happen just because you’re bipolar. Sometimes bad things just happen. If you don’t get into this program, so be it. The infinite wisdom of Mel Brooks in his 2000-year-old man incarnation popped into her head. “Never run for a bus—there will always be another. It worked for him—he lived to be 2000. You’ve made it to 36 and you’re still standing (cue Elton John). My thoughts are too racy, she realized. It’s already 12:30 and I’m wide awake. What to do, what to do. OK, get your cozy pjs and find those fluffy slippers. Light a candle? No, I’m not in the mood. Eat some toast? The carbs could calm me down. What about oatmeal? That would give me calcium too if I make it with milk. Wait, do I even have any milk? OK, use the powdered milk. I can put in extra water to offset the potential grossness. Three deep breaths and then make a decision. She wrote down the steps:

1.Take three deep breaths
2.Make oatmeal with powdered milk (note to self: buy more milk tomorrow, maybe at Trader Joe’s). Does she need enough there to justify a full shopping? She crossed out all the extra notes and printed clearly:
MAKE OATMEAL—USE THE POWDERED MILK
3. Eat the oatmeal in the living room—keep the lights down
4.Brush teeth and floss
5.Choose a meditation CD and get into bed

You know, I ought to keep this list posted so I could refer to it more often. That way, I wouldn’t have to recreate it every time. Make the oatmeal, follow the list and just stop thinking. Make the oatmeal, follow the list and just stop thinking.


Bebe Part 5—Bebe Has a Day with Lily

The Bipolar Bartender at the Ups and Downs Bar and Grill

“Body Slam!” Lily and Bebe greeted each with delight. They fake body-slammed each other down to the tasteful and environmentally friendly bamboo-covered foyer. Bebe was at Sarah and Mitchell’s Huron Village condo; she planned to have a fun day with Lily while the “grown-ups” shopped for nursery furniture. Baby #2 was due in another two months and Sarah had passed from the pregnancy glow phase into the pregnancy-I’ve had enough-already-phase. Sarah and Mitchell felt Lily was too young to give up any furniture to her future sibling, so they were on a quest to drop a chunk of change at whatever the children’s furniture store du jour was.

I really have to get past my dislike of Mitchell, Bebe realized. He’s likely going to be my relative long into the future. It’s not his fault that he introduced me to Gary and to be honest, it seemed like a good idea at the time. True, their marriage broke up, but it wasn’t because of Mitchell and it’s not like Mitchell turned around and introduced Gary to Diane. Gary and Diane were happily married and living in Columbus, Ohio, and Bebe had finally matured enough to stop calling Gary in the middle of the night when she was either manic or depressed. Initially Diane tolerated those phone calls but then decided it was waking up their young children and it was time for Gary to cut the cord. Would she and Gary have had children if they had stayed together? Who knows? That genetic aspect of bipolar worried her and maybe they would have decided it’s too risky. Plus being off all her meds for so long could have been a roller coaster experience. At least Lily lived close by, and now there would be another niece (nephew? For some reason, she could only visualize Sarah having another girl and keeping up the frilly pink scene as much as possible). Sam was a terrific nephew; his adolescent cynicism never bothered her, but she only saw him a few times a year.

Now that Lily was somewhat older, “Three and a third,” as she liked to point it, she was rebelling against the pink tide that had dominated her clothing choices up to this point. She refused to wear dresses to pre-school and wouldn’t dress like a china doll for any formal get-togethers. Bebe secretly applauded Lily’s decision—Bebe had never been much for skirts although she enjoyed the fun (but affordable) trinkets, earrings and necklaces that she overbought at Target and HMV.
Today Lily was in overalls over a long-sleeved shirt and a very cute hooded sweater Mitchell’s mother knit. This new opportunity to knit for a grandchild had ratcheted Phyllis’s knitting output into overdrive and there were baby mittens, caps and scarves strewn all over the future nursery.
Sarah and Mitchell were finally ready to go. “Here are the car keys, Bebe, in case you guys decide to go someplace. Our cell phones are on. Lily should take a nap before 3:00, but don’t let her sleep longer than an hour…blah-di-di-blah-di-di-blah.” Give it a rest already! I’ve taken care of Lily a zillion times and nothing bad has ever happened. Plus I know CPR and the Heimlich. And if her nap starts at 3:15, she’ll be fine. What Bebe actually said, with some insincere joviality, was, “Good luck with the shopping! We’ll be just fine. Have fun and hope you guys find what you want.” Lily hugged her mom and dad, Mitchell and Bebe tried mightily to give each other a pleasant look, Sarah waddled into her extra wide Land’s End moccasins and they were on their way at last.

“Want to see the picture I drew of you?”
“You bet, kiddo.”

Lily marched her down the hall. Her bedroom was fairly small but Consuela worked hard to keep it clean. Sarah had recently changed the bedspread and curtains to pale blue with a design of bright balloons. Lily had a L’il Tykes desk, a huge dresser and a rack of toys kept in clear drawers. Someone, presumably Sarah, had valiantly labeled the drawers according to each toy’s category. For a formerly touchy-feely art therapist, Sarah sure seems like an uptight bitch now. OK, not a fair assessment. I don’t know what it’s like raising a child and I certainly don’t know how I would handle being married to Mitchell. I’m just here to enjoy a day with my niece and that’s what to focus on.

Bebe made grilled cheese for their lunch. There were organic biodynamically farmed red grapes and Bebe made sure to cut each grape into quarters so Lily wouldn’t choke. “Hey, want to go get some ice cream?” Lily could easily have responded, “Duh, Aunt Bebe. What kid says no to ice cream.” Instead she took the high road and ran to get her jacket.

They stopped at the playground on the way home. Ever the conscientious aunt, Bebe had made Lily wash her hands after the ice cream so she wouldn’t be sticky on the climbing equipment (not to mention when her parents came home—Bebe was pretty sure she hadn’t heard “Take Lily for ice cream” on the day’s agenda). They chased each other around some trees and pretended to race back to the swings. Not surprisingly, Lily won every time.

This is a really good day for me. I’m with a person I love and she loves me. The sun is shining, the leaves are beautiful and I just had pistachio ice cream. Remember this feeling for the next time I need it. Time to put Lily into the Nap Zone. Bebe had the latest Jonathan Kellerman mystery with her and figured she could knock off a few chapters during that “nap of no longer than an hour.” Lily held her hand as they crossed the street and they held hands comfortably all the way home.




Part 6: Bebe at the Therapist

The Bipolar Bartender at the Ups and Downs Bar and Grill

Jane, my current therapist, has an office on Lincoln Street in Newton Highlands. I'm enough of a Bostonian by now that I can eat ice cream year round, so the proximity to Ice Cream Works works out well. I usually alternate between pistachio and ginger— mint chip for those rare times that I'm in the mood for chocolate. The annoying thing about Jane's office is that she has to change offices depending on the time of day—daytime appointments are in one office, evenings it's down the hall. A small change, but disconcerting enough to a creature of habit like me. One thing I know for sure by now—we bipolars like routines, predictability and stability. Not that having a therapy session down the hall should trigger a mood shift for me, but I know it irks me more than it should.

Another plus of the Newton Highlands location—my friend Antonia lives just a few blocks away and we can sometimes meet at Baker's Best for one of their awesome pastries. Sometimes Antonia brings Connor, her reasonably cute 4-year-old. Other times, we meet when he is at Plowshares Pre-school. This is easier for me—then we can speak freely and I don't have to worry about spilling my extra hot low fat decaf cappuccino on Connor. I don't know much about ADHD, but can't a kid sit for 40 minutes without throwing a total spazz attack? Antonia always brings books and a Koosh ball; it's only minimally helpful.
“Hello, go on in—I just need to refill my water.”

This is Jane's customary greeting and I was already settled on the couch when she re-entered her office. The yellow lined pad is poised, the pen is ready, the sincere, “I'm here to help you” expression is in place. Welcome to Therapy! Today might be a personal milestone: my zillionth therapy session of my lifetime, but I have to admit that Jane is a helpful person in my life and I trust her.

“I have some pretty big news today—I'm going back to school next semester.”

“Interesting...I know you had been considering that. Tell me more.”

“I found out that UMASS-Lowell has a BA in Psychology that you can do completely on line. An adviser looked over my UW transcript and almost everything will transfer. I can finish within two years as long as I take classes over the summer too.” I was so excited about this news that I had to pause and remember to breathe. It felt great to have a specific goal and actually be making progress toward it.
“Interesting.” It's amazing that therapists can charge over $100 an hour (it's not even a full hour!) for making supportive “um, yes, go on” kinds of comments. But she's right, this is an interesting idea.

“Obviously I can't realistically schlep to Lowell several nights a week. I think I can deal with the autonomy of on-line work and my computer set-up can do the video links and that stuff.” I wouldn't call myself a technology maven, but I can always call Gary in the middle of night—or maybe not!

I had to think about that. I was crystal clear about my reason for going back to school—have a college degree so I can have a better job.
“Well, need to figure out which two classes I'll do once I start. Get the books, get the information about how to log in.”

“So you decided to take 2 classes. Is that a workable option?”
Was Jane challenging my ability to make good decisions? Jesus Christ, I did as well as I could in college. I hung on until it was clear that there was no point. But I had liked most of my classes, especially the more advanced Psychology courses. Learning about personality interests me. Ed Hallowell's book is right—people want to “only connect”. I see that all the time at the Ups and Downs. Our Happy Hour serves a valuable purpose. Sometimes big office crews come over from wherever they work in the Prudential Center. It's a hoot seeing how alcohol lubricates people in their business suits and frees them up to show a more relaxed side. Sometimes it reminds me of evenings on the terrace at the college's Memorial Union, sharing a pitcher with some friends. It actually kind of sucks that I can't drink anymore. Alcohol plus anti-depressants plus mood stabilizers plus the occasional anti-anxiety pill definitely wouldn't work in my best interests. It's not like I was a huge drinker before—I wasn't part of the Greek system at Wisconsin and when Gary and I went out it was usually to the theatre. With my tighter post-divorce budget, that obviously had to go. Sometimes I see the cheap “alternative” shows in Cambridge and no-longer-Slummerville-it's-now-truly-Somerville, or to a friend's kid school musical (the ones at Brookline High and Newton North are surprisingly good).

So the issue of taking 2 courses right away...
“I sort of want to jump right in and prove to myself that I can do it. It really bothers me how much I'm stagnating compared to Aaron and Sarah.”

Scribble, scribble, the pen raced on the yellow pad. Jane stayed quiet for a few minutes.
“Let's talk about your need to compete against your brother and sister.”

I resented the implication. “It's not so much competition. But I look at them and it's obvious to everyone how successful they are—both are in established careers, have families, are happily married. I continue my long tradition as black sheep—I'm certainly not established in a career, I shouldn't ever have kids and I couldn't stay married even though I loved Gary.”

I was getting teary and grabbed for some Kleenex. Gulped water and took a deep breath.
“Do you have to take 2 classes right away? Are there other options to consider?”

“I don't need to decide until probably mid-December. Are you saying I should only go with one class?”

By this point, I started to feel this whole UMASS idea sucked. If I had to take one class at a time so I don't pull a nutty, I'd be, oh, maybe 50 by the time I graduate. 32 years to finish college seems ridiculous. I'm by far the best bartender at the Ups and Downs and I could move up the chain eventually. Maybe the hotel bars are a nice place to work. The Westin and the Sheraton are both walking distance from my house. Actually, those bars are probably dead during the day, no real lunch crowd, and the tips would only be good at night. Argh, I can't stand how my mind loops around on itself. This session won't be over soon enough for me. I don't like having to constantly question my judgment, think about whether I'm putting myself at risk for a mood swing, get stuck in the endless mind loops.

Jane took out her red leather appointment book and we set up the next session.
“Honestly, I feel more confused than when I came in today.”
“We have a few minutes left. Let's talk about how you might handle the confusion.”
Argh—let's not! Time is up and I can meet up with Antonia; she's probably already waiting at the cafe.
Enough therapy for today. When will it be enough for this lifetime?
Over at last.