You Don't Know Crazy

You Don't Know Crazy

My Life Before, During, After, Above and Beyond Mental Illness

Wambui Bahati

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2009 by Wambui Bahati

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***

All content in this book is commentary or opinion. This book is not a book that gives, or attempts to give medical advice. THIS BOOK IS NOT DESIGNED TO, AND DOES NOT PROVIDE MEDICAL ADVICE. The information in this book is provided for educational, motivational and inspirational purposes only. It is not intended as a substitute for professional advice of any kind.

Dedication

To my mother and father

Eva Athenia Davis Washington

and

John Louis Washington

Acknowledgments

I am grateful for everyone who helped make this book a reality. I thank all of you who believed in me when I couldn't, or (I suppose I should say) wouldn't believe in myself. I thank my spiritually beautiful daughters, Marie and Julie Blondina, for raising me to be the fine person that I am today. I thank them for their unwavering love, immeasurable support for this book and all of my projects, and their brilliant sense of humor.

I thank my mother and father, to whom this book is dedicated. I thank my sister Roberta, my brothers Joel and Justin, my aunt Thelma and my favorite ex-husband, Tony Blondina. I cannot tell my story without also telling part of their stories.

I thank my friend Kerry Nesbit for insightful feedback and countless hours of tedious editing of the original draft. I thank Bill and Grace Liberman, who provided a watchful eye and loving care for my children when I was not around to do so. I appreciate all of the kindness and support they have shown me and for letting me know they were there to help me in any way they could. I thank Cathie Holcombe for the endless support she has given me and my family and for not giving up on me when I gave her good cause to do so. I thank Tom Murray for not only being an extraordinary son-in-law, but for his kind, generous and immeasurable help and support for this book.

I thank Elaine Purple, Beth Melcher and The National Alliance on Mental Illness (Guilford County and North Carolina) for believing in the power of my story. I thank the numerous mental health associations, affiliates, clubhouses, treatment centers, conferences and conventions that not only showered me with love and hospitality; but also allowed me to share my story and encouraged me to get it on paper. I thank all my friends, acquaintances and others who never walked away or hung up the phone as I continuously (for nearly 10 years) talked about the book . . . the book . . . the book.

A big shout out to Frances McNair, Deborah Shanks, The Greensboro Playwrights Forum, the Greensboro Dudley High School Class of ‘68, Mary Annecelli, Dr. Ridgely Abdul Mu'min, Eric Krebs, Jim Janek, Luis Montero, Tom Mallow, Sandra Carlson, Beverly Wideman, Lucy and Carroll Teeter, Vanessa Brown and Brenda and Hillary (from DC), Nancy, Janice Wise and dear Janet Werner.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Introduction

PART ONE - My Story

Down Home

God and Me

Segregation

Daddy

Summer Time

We Shall Overcome

Me, Nervous?

A Star Is Born

One Hundred Dollars Please

Tips Are a Good Thing

Groovin'

Girl, You Better Straighten Yo' Hair

New York City Girl

He Wasn't A Stranger

Winter Angel

I'm Feeling Nothing

Hollywood

Sister Fun

Day By Day

Hello Old Friend

Love In the Air

Queen Of The Road

Italian Love

Baby Love

Good News / Bad News

I Shop, Therefore I Am

Dark and Then Dawn

I Lost That Lovin' Feelin'

They Are Trying To Get Me

They Wanted My Bed

Number 23

Bags Of Money

Right Back Where I Started

I Killed A Boy

Census Bureau Blues

The Joint Is Jumpin'

Crowns War and Art

It's Called Bipolar Disorder

As-Salaam Alaikum

Black until Further Notice

Worse Day Ever

Ain't No Sunshine

A Tape A Day

Suicide on Hold

New Wavelength

Willing To Take That Chance

On My Own

Say My Name

Stepping Out On Faith

On With the Show

Friends and Strangers

I Forgot About My Power

New York State of Mind

On the Road Again

Through the Fire

My Livelihood?

Run and Tell Somebody

Welfare Blues

The Award

We Will Not Fail

Are We On Candid Camera?

Synchronicity

Wet and Wavy

Thank You

Epilogue

PART TWO - Lessons I Learned Along the Way

It's an Ongoing Process

Know Your Value

Establish a Spiritual Relationship

Turn the TV Off

Forgive

Eat Life-Giving Foods

Stop Trying To Please Everybody

Laugh

Meditate

Investigate Energy Healing

Explore Pure Essential Oils and Aromatherapy

Work For Yourself

Build a Friendly Relationship with Money

Drink Pure Water

Move Your Body

Say Thank You

What Now?

About the Author

Prologue

The following is a letter I received from a Social Security Administrative Law Judge in February 1995.

ISSUES

The issues in this case are whether the claimant is under a disability as defined by the Social Security Act and if so, when her disability commenced, the duration of the disability, and whether the insured status requirements of the Act are met for the purpose of entitlement to a period of disability and disability insurance benefits.

EVALUATION OF THE EVIDENCE

After a thorough evaluation of the entire record, it is concluded that the claimant has been disabled since July 12, 1991, and met the insured status requirements of the Social Security Act on that date and thereafter, through the date of this decision.

The claimant has a bipolar disorder and a personality disorder, which are considered to be severe under the Social Security Regulations.

The medical evidence of record reveals that the claimant has a diagnosed impairment due to a bipolar disorder, with a history of episodic periods manifested by the full symptomatic picture of both manic and depressive syndromes.

She also has a diagnosed impairment due to a personality disorder, characterized by inflexible and maladaptive personality traits which cause significant impairment in social and occupational functioning. This impairment is evidenced by intense and unstable interpersonal relationships and impulsive and damaging behavior.

The claimant has a long history of psychiatric hospitalizations and long term outpatient psychiatric treatment with counseling and medication. In spite of this treatment, the claimant continues to experience regular relapses.

Most recently, she was hospitalized for diagnoses of Bipolar Disorder II, Depression, and Personality Disorder. (Ex. 40) xxx xxxxx, M.D., performed a D.D.S. psychiatric evaluation on December 30, 1994, and diagnosed the claimant as having Bipolar cyclic (disorder) with a history of psychosis and a Borderline Personality Disorder. (Ex. 42)

Dr. xxxxx completed a Medical Assessment of Ability to Do Work-Related Activities (Mental) form, on which he indicated that the claimant had from very good to no ability to make occupational, performance, and personal-occupational adjustments, depending on illness and decompensation.

He noted that the claimant experienced frequent decompensation with at least 9 long term psychiatric admissions.

The claimant is disabled within the meaning of the Social Security Act and Regulations because she meets Listing 12.04.

* * *

I, the claimant, was successfully branded disabled and awarded disability insurance. Isn't that a strange term—awarded. It didn't feel like an award to me. I was compensated, drugged, and institutionalized and my life revolved around mental hospitals, therapy, court hearings, and the social security office. And I hated everything about all of it.

Introduction

It is estimated that more than 54 million Americans are diagnosed with a mental disorder in any given year. Of this number, more than two million are diagnosed with bipolar disorder, also known as manic-depressive illness. I am familiar with this so-called disease. In 1993, at the age of 43, I received a medical diagnosis that officially placed me among the two million with bipolar disorder.

I know there are many who cannot speak openly about their mental health issues. Our society accepts many things these days—but mental illness still carries a stigma. I was able to speak openly because I didn't have a job, so I couldn't be fired. I didn't own any property where the neighbors could ostracize me. No one in my family was running for public office. I was sure that I had already been to hell and back, so I had nothing to lose by speaking about my experience with mental illness.

Wow! When I think of my life, as it was 15 or 20 years ago—when I think of the years when I was experiencing mental illness and how I was living and thinking then, it's as if I'm thinking of someone else. I'm no longer that same person. Who was that person?

* * *

If you are reading this book because you saw one of my performances, I thank you for coming to see me. It is an honor for me to tell my story—live and in person. Performing is one of my greatest joys. The desire to perform put me on the path to recovery. I remembered something that I loved to do and I found a way to do it.

As I travel around the United States telling my story, as I speak to mental health care consumers, their families and others, I am repeatedly asked two questions: 1) What are some of the details of your story you're not telling because of time constraints? and 2) What did you do to turn your life around? This book addresses both of these questions.

Because we are all different, not all of my answers may work for you or your loved ones. However, I can assure you that just looking for answers and taking control of your situation will change your life. I hope that I will, at the very least, persuade you to take charge and assume responsibility for your own life.

When I was at my lowest, I challenged myself to look at my lifestyle, mental attitude, and my will to live a good life. I'm here today in front of you in the words on this page to tell you that lifestyle changes restored my health.

I know that the specific steps I took may not be the specific steps you should take, but I am sure that positive, healthy lifestyle changes will help you (or anyone for that matter). Even if you still need traditional treatments, you will be far better off for asking questions, examining options, investigating alternative and natural therapies and taking control of your health.

I know there are people born with certain developmental issues and others who may have suffered a physical trauma that may not allow them to take full charge of their lives at this time. However, if you can read the words in this book and understand them, then I believe you can recover and heal your life—mind, body, soul and spirit. You have the power to ‘rise above' (I did not say cure) any mental, physical or emotional challenges you have and have a joyful, peaceful and healthy life.

* * *

I know there may be some who are reading this and thinking I hope she doesn't start with that ‘love yourself, you have the power, you are magnificent, be grateful and get over it' crap. Or you may be thinking, ‘I hope she's not going to tell me how we all create our own reality and that I created my life and everything in it; therefore, I created this life situation and all my life pain that I hate.'

I'm not going to start with any of that stuff. I'm going to start by sharing my story. I'm going to start by telling all of you that I was where some of you may be today. There was a time when I was angry and frustrated, depressed, and financially and spiritually broke. I remember the day I threw a book entitled Faith In The Valley by Iyanla Vanzant across my living room at the wall. I shouted to no one there, I don't need any positive quotes and inspirational messages! I need some food. I need a decent place to live! I need some money!

I'm going to share with you how I rewrote the script for my life. Part of it involved tearing out pages filled with drama—that for the longest time I thought was not only important, but also necessary. Sounds funny to get rid of drama in a script. Well, drama is great for the theater, however, in real life, drama is a drain, a drag, and stressful. Drama and being a Drama Queen are highly overrated.

I had to fire some of the actors in my life story and rewrite my script so that I was the star. I realized I could have more control over the scenes than I thought possible. I also realized that if I did not become the producer of my own life show, someone else would produce it for me. If I did not take charge of my script, I would continue to re-act instead of act. (No pun intended). I decided I would be the one who would have the final say about my life script. I eventually found out what part a positive quote and an inspirational message can play in rewriting one's life script.

My periods of mental instability were severe. They threatened my happiness, my family, and my life. My life was a disaster. I had doctors diagnosing me with all kinds of things. For a long time, I wasn't even sure I wanted my life. In fact, many times I was sure that I didn't, and I tried to end it.

However, at the last minute, someone would always save me from myself. Once, a doctor told me he didn't know how I could still be alive. He said, When they brought you into the hospital, there was nothing we could do. I didn't do a thing. He told me to thank God. God was why I was alive.

I'll tell you the whole story later in the book, but I want to skip to the good part right now. I'm ok! And I have been for years. With a lot of work and reading and learning and trial and error, I pulled myself back from the brink. I am living proof that you can dig yourself out of an emotional hole and come back out into the light. It was sometimes challenging work, but it was worth it and I'm going to tell you how I did it, why I did it, and why it was worth it.

* * *

You might be wondering why I'm qualified to write a book about mental health issues. I will admit that I have been timid about sharing my story and discussing mental health because I'm not a doctor. However, as I have been reminded so often, I am a former patient. I know what it's like to be shackled and put in a sheriff's van and driven to a state mental hospital when I was not violent and my only crime was depression.

I know what it feels like when your own doctor and other caretakers will not even look at you when they speak to you, and how they can have a conversation about you while you are in the room as if you are not even there. Or, worse yet, assume that somehow my identity has merged with theirs. How are we doing today? Did we sleep okay? Do you think we're about ready to go home?

I know what it's like to hear mental health hospital staff say to each other—loud enough for patients to hear, Why do they call 911 when they feel like killing themselves? Why don't they just die? Why do they call 911 and come here and get on our nerves? I know what it's like to witness horrific scenes in a mental hospital and keep quiet because to tell someone would mean I would first have to admit that I was a mental patient and then of course it would be my word, a person with mental illness, against a normal hospital worker's word.

I know what it feels like to be admitted into a hospital, shown to my room and told to unpack only to have someone from hospital administration say, You're going to have to leave. We just checked, and your insurance is not accepted at this hospital.

I know what it's like to have to take four medications for behavioral and emotional problems, and eight medications to control the emotional and physical side effects caused by the first four medications. I know what it feels like to take a whole bottle of antidepressants with a bottle of scotch on a sunny day in October and wake up in the psychiatric ward of DC General Hospital. I know what it feels like to not eat or sleep for five days in a row. I also know what it's like to sleep for five days straight.

I know what it feels like to cry uncontrollably for no visible reason. I know what it's like to keep telling my story over and over and over again to a new therapist because the staff at my outpatient clinic keeps changing. I know what it feels like to make a key chain during in-patient arts and crafts and feel so proud because I cut out the flower and glued it to a block of wood all by myself.

I remember that day. I was in a state hospital in North Carolina. These two young college women had come in to have art therapy with us. I assumed they had come because of some college requirement. I had never seen them before.

I liked them because they were friendly, their voices were soothing and they looked at us and listened to what we had to say as if it really mattered. One of them asked, Is anyone interested in making a key chain? I was like a five year old.

I would like to make a key chain.

I sat down at a table that was covered with colorful pages from magazines, a few bottles of Elmer's glue and a few pairs of tiny round-tipped scissors like the children use in kindergarten. I found a page with a pink flower that intrigued me. When I was on a lot of medication, it was sometimes hard to keep my hands from shaking. So, this was going to be a bit of a challenge.

I slowly and carefully cut around the petals of that flower. I felt hypnotized by the flower and edging the scissors around ever so gently so as not to snip a petal too closely. I barely allowed myself to breathe. I wanted it to be perfect.

Very nice. One of the college students said when she saw my flower all cut out. Would you like to glue it to this piece of wood now?

I was ready for that task too. I concentrated. The idea was to use just the right amount of glue. Too much and the whole thing would look tacky and be ruined. I held my breath. Positioning the flower just right was very important. I had to work quickly. I didn't want the glue to dry before I had it in just the right position.

When I was finished gluing, one of the students put a tiny chain through the hole in the wood and fastened it. She held it up so that the others could see. What about this one? This is also a very beautiful key chain. If I were ever to win an Academy Award, I cannot imagine feeling any prouder.

I lived through mental illness and now I tell my story to patients and professionals around the country. I am qualified to talk about mental illness because I lived it. I believe my opinion counts and yours does too.

* * *

I do not take mental health lightly, and in no way do I discount the many honorable mental health professionals out there, or anyone who may be dealing with mental health issues at this time. I just want to expand the conversation to include everyone and to include all parts of us—our whole bodies, our minds, and our spirits.

Each of us has been born with the challenge of remaining balanced and sane in an insane and unbalanced world. We live in a world of wars, hunger, inequitable laws, unenforceable laws, laws written on our behalf that we cannot interpret without paying for a lawyer's help, an artificial calendar and manufactured time, devitalized food, impure water, prejudice, fear and anger. Wow! How does anyone remain sane, whole, happy and disease-free?

I'm not going to focus on the stigma of mental health, or why we don't have better mental health coverage, or whether or not psychiatry is art or science. I know that as I'm writing this book, laws and systems are being put in place to deny us, or block us from having a say in the type of mental health treatments we receive. This makes it even more important for each of us to understand who we are, what we are capable of, and how innately powerful we are.

I want to focus on what we can do for ourselves. I want to focus on our individual talents and strengths and all that we have control over. Remember: do not get caught up in worrying about what is wrong with your life, the system, or the world. Focus on what is right in your life and the one thing that you can control—YOURSELF.

* * *

I have wanted to write this book for a long time. At first I wasn't sure if I could do it—that is tell my story—and tell the truth. I know I'm totally exposing myself. This book is an example of being totally honest with you and myself—totally open and vulnerable. I was afraid of what the doctors might say, what the pharmaceutical companies might say, what my ex-husbands might say, what my neighbors might say and what you might say. Well, I grew past that.

Now, here is my story:

PART ONE - My Story

It's a bit like a musical I was in, The Wiz, which is an African American stage version of The Wizard of Oz. Like Dorothy, the lead character, I had to travel a long road and face many challenges before I learned enough to appreciate my life and how to not just survive, but live. And like Dorothy, the greatest lesson I would learn is that I too had the silver slippers (in The Wiz they were silver), the power—the whole time, and did not realize it. I was busy searching for answers everywhere except within me.

Down Home

Life started out good for me. I had a mama, a daddy, two brothers, and a sister. My sister Roberta was the oldest. I made my entrance two years after Roberta. My mother says, before I was born, she thought she could predict whether I was going to be a boy or a girl. She predicted I would be a boy. She also thought I would be her last child. Therefore, she decided to name me after my father. I was to be John Louis Washington, Jr.

After my birth at 7:51 on the morning of January 26th 1950, it was confirmed that I was a girl. However, my mother decided to just go ahead and name me John Washington anyway. She did change my middle name to Ann. My official birth records said, ‘Child's Name: John Ann Washington.'

My brother Joel followed two years after me. My brother Justin arrived five years after Joel. We lived in a small, two-bedroom house in Greensboro, North Carolina. Greensboro is in the northeastern part of the state of North Carolina, close to the Virginia border and a few hours south of Washington, DC.

The year I was born, 1950, the price of a new car was around $1,750 and the average price of a new house was about $14,500. A loaf of bread was 14¢ and milk was 82¢ a gallon. A first class stamp was 3¢ and the minimum wage was 75¢ per hour.

This is also the year the president of the United States, Harry S. Truman, ordered the construction of the hydrogen bomb. Television was still a relatively new invention. A new table model would have cost about $200, which was a lot of money for my family. My family would not own a TV until a few years later. We also did not own a car at this time.

I have only two memories of my life between birth and first grade—and even first grade is sketchy. I remember going with my family to visit one of my