Bip Reality Pt 1

8:15 Friday night, I am jolted out of bed by a BANG on my door.

It's my neighbor (Vanessa) - crying hysterically, and partially frozen. She hands me the phone. It's her friend.

The friend ask if I can check in on Vanessa periodically because she has issues with her nerves, she's in some pain, and really doesn't want to be alone.

Well, the friend lied to me because she didn't know how much I knew. Vanessa has bipolar disorder as well as a couple other things including hypochondria. When she gets upset or stressed, she shakes and then becomes catatonic.

So, I get her to her bedroom, gave her 2 Tylenol for her leg pain, and ordered food for both of us. While waiting for the food, I made her some chamomile tea (to calm her down), and went back to my apt because hers was FILTHY.

She had more newspapers, magazines, tissue boxes and dust than I had ever seen in my life! It instantly made me wheeze, so despite her desire not to be alone, I physically couldn't do it.

She ate 1/2 of the sandwich I ordered, and I encouraged her to relax. She seemed to be doing better, so I returned to my apt.

10:45ish I am JOLTED out of bed by screaming. You know the sleep where you hear something, but can't readily connect that it's not a dream and that it's actually happening?

BINGO!

My sleep is shot, my nerves are on end. She's back, slumped at my door, and screaming.

"I'm in pain, I can't be alone, my parents left me and went to Atlantic City, I hate them, please don't call the police, you must hate me, they're gonna put me in a home, I wanna die, I'm not a drug addict, its was just a little pot, can you sit with me, I hate my life..."

I share this because I'm a couple months removed from my last depressive or manic episode, and this night held a mirror up to my Feb, March, April.

I called her father, who was less than enthused,and had ZERO desire to return immediately Atlantic City. He told me to call 9-1-1 and "have them come take her".

Callous? Much, but here's why:

She's 58.
Her parents are 88.
Diagnosed 1970.
Has had shock therapy.
"Carried" a baby for 7 years.
4 non-supportive siblings.
Taking klonopin (Clonazepam), Ambien CR, Celexa
Physically abused for not behaving.

The sad laundry list goes on.

I called 9-1-1 after I discovered she drank a bottle of Robitussin for non-existent emphysema, an after realizing that the best thing for her was the ER. The best thing for me was also her being in the ER.

I had to be honest with my limitations. It wasn't a matter of "it's not my responsibility", but seeing her as I did, made ME stressed.

She was non-cooperative with NYPD and paramedics unless I was there. I even got angry with one paramedic because he yelled at her and screamed that he needed to take her blood pressure.

I grabbed him by the arm the same way he did her and scolded him not to ever do it again. Then I showed him exactly how to get her to cooperate; which she did.

I ultimately went to the ER with her, and stayed until 2am until she gave blood work, took meds, and relaxed.

Before I left the ER, Vanessa apologized to me (she called me every obscenity on the planet and made some up as well, but I'm used to that). I told her an apology wasn't necessary. What she said next crushed me:

"Natasha, I'm trapped in my own body. I want to be normal, I want to have a life, a boyfriend, friends, but I feel like I can't be alone. I don't trust myself to take care of me. No one listens to me or knows how to take care of me. My family is sick of dealing with me. What do I do?"

I've been there, but I had no answers.

I told her that I, too was bipolar, to which she SCREAMED that she was not.

I've learned in the last couple months that sharing what made me better, at times appears judgmental, so she didn't want me to, but I prayed with her, and assured her that I'd call the next day.