Beware the Ides of March

I have to admit, I am a sucker for Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, A Midsummer Night's Dream....and of course, Julius Ceaser. If you will remember, the soothsayer warned Ceaser of the Ides of March. And this was the day that his own men, even his friend Brutus, stabbed him to death. I had no idea that the Ides of March held a foreboding for the Princess as well.

On the Ides of March, I woke up as usually, even though I was off work for the week. I did not pay heed to the date; I was focused on the task at hand. I had thought it through, planned it well, and was dispassionately committed to following it to the letter. So I took the dozen of so bottles of current and old medications: Geodon, Abilify, Serquel, Klonopin, Ambien, Lithium, Lamictal.....tossed them in a Wal Mart bag, told my child I was going to run some errands, and left about 8:00 a.m.

You have to understand, this decision wasn't made lightly. In short, I was worth more dead than alive. A failure as a wife, a failure as a mother, and a failures in my career, it made more sense for me to give what I had left. I was off work for a week. The proceedings, the funeral, all could be neatly taken care of, and life would go on. I wasn't pitying myself; that was over. My greatest pity was for those who still had to endure me. I felt nothing. I knew those who loved me would mourn; those who did not love me would continue as normal. But it wouldn't matter because I would not be there to see it, to hear it, to sense it everywhere I turned.

At about 3:30 my spouse found me at the hospital. I knew he was hurting. I couldn't connect. All I knew was that I would have to continue living. And I was angry. More angry than I could ever remember being. Ever. I was also afraid. I don't remember a lot about that day. I remember feeling dead inside, I remember the guard posted outside my room so that I wouldn't try to leave, and I remember being wheeled to place where I would spend the next....who knows.

At my first meal, I was accidentally given real silverwear. I don't think I have ever seen a nurse move so quickly. When my family member brought me some clothes, they were first inspected for buttons, zippers, and drawstrings. My toothbrush, comb, and small bottle of baby shampoo was pocked up except for shower time. Each day the beds were checked to make sure no one snuck out a plastic fork or knife. Medicine was given in a little plastic cup and blood was drawn each morning. There was group therapy, individual doctor visits, and lots of dead time. It was the longest four days of my life. But by the end I believed again that living was preferable to dying.

It is not uncommon for a person with bipolar disorder to attempt or succeed at suicide. In fact, bipolar disorder carries the greatest risk. But even with BP, a trigger or triggers are required before the trip over the edge is taken. I had many triggers. Some are gone, some I will soon leave behind. But the triggers for living are greater and more important. So I will live.

A Modern Tribute to Agatha Christie

One of my children is reading And Then There Were None, the Agatha Christie novel that explores one man's sense of karmic justice. But that novel was set in the past, so here's a modern day version:

Ten little idiots feeling just fine,
A computer erased one, and then there were nine

Nine little idiots thought they were great,
A Prada stomped on one, and then there were eight

Eight little idiots thinking of Heaven,
A rosary strangled one and then there were seven

Seven little idiots with problems to fix,
A camera stole one's soul, and then there were six

Six little idiots spreading some jive,
One OD'ed on Rogaine, and then there were five

Five little idiots all keeping score,
A sandwich board squashed one, and then there were four

Four little idiots off on a spree,
One got deleted, and then there were three

Three little idiots stirring the stew,
It got too hot, and then there were two

Two little idiots thinking it's fun,
They lost the game, and then there was one

One little idiot starting to cry,
Shook off the dust and then said goodbye.

Remembering how to believe the best

I just returned from helping to facilitate an annual arts conference. We sang, danced, banged drums, read music, and learned how to implement it into the classroom. I have had the privilege of teaching with several wonderful ladies for seven summers now. But I realized quickly that I had grown uncomfortable with something.....praise. They were so thrilled to see me...to hear ideas. So quick to recognize enthusiasm and effectiveness. One of them sat for a few moments in my first session and hugged me as she detailed the things she saw me doing. At the end of the day as we read the participant comment/evaluation forms, I read comments in dozens of styles of handwriting that said, "music was my favorite today," "I will be able to use the note reading lesson in my math classes," "The music facilitator was enthusiastic and knowledgeable." In many ways it looked light a foreign language that what vaguely familiar but not quite intelligible.

Participants stopped during lunch and in the hallways to ask questions, to clarify web sites I had shared with them, to ask me if I might come to their school to share with their faculty. They asked if I had a blog or web site bout music integration they could explore (note to self - work on that) Then a former colleague came to share with our organization. He was singing my praises to the ladies I work with and the participants, even referencing me in the remarks he made to the whole group.

And then, the most precious and sometimes the toughest audience of all...the children. It was like a tall class of cool water on a long hot day. I have not taught a group of children since May 26. It was time! They laughed, and danced and occasionally just couldn't contain themselves, though thankfully there were no casualties. They sang and danced and performed original lyrics and original poetry. Took Carl the puppet along for the ride.

All in all, the women and men who had spent 3 days with me and/or seven years with me were quite emphatic about my essential role in their organization. I was a success....with no buts.

So why would this make me so uncomfortable? Because it was so contrary to what I have learned to experience. So opposed to what heard when I listened very closely and invisibly, when I watch looks back and forth when a dear 4th grader stumbled over a line...one line out of dozens of lines. The trust in my competence, my creativity, and my honesty I experienced this week was in juxtaposition to the unsettling feeling that somewhere in my life a clock was counting down. But in the end...I remembered. And I believed the best. I believed those teachers and ladies and children when they I was creative. When they say I was effective. When they said I was relevant and had expertise and helped them to become braver teachers. They said it with great specificity and sincerity. And I believed them. I believed again what I am.

There is s song from the Musical rent, that issues a challenge. It is a challenge I take up within myself and those around me. It does have one harsh word, but it makes the point well:

Take me for what I am
Who I was meant to be
And if you give a damn
Take me, baby, or leave me.

When it's time to change, you've got to rearrange!

I am embarking on a journey. I know the destination, the timeline, the names of a few we will get to know. The only major directions left off the map were the guarantee that we will enroll our kids successfully into the preferred school The guarantee that any job I get will help to make what we need. The age old question...who has to (gets to) ride with LADY???

So wee will hire some help, pack, load a large truck and our cars. Drive southwest until we reach our destination. We will unload boxes, set up beds, place furniture, fill cabinets in a logical manner, Hang pictures in a pleasing manner, hook up the internet, cable (or satellite). Then we will pull our cars (for the first time in 10 years) UNDER the carport.

The outside of the house will have two cars. If I can wing it, it will have a flag flying. The outside of the furniture, the floors, the bedding, the curtain in the bathroom. The delicate wallpaper will ad to the decoration. How things look will cause a smile.

And that will be step one. After step 1, the real, vulnerable, eternal work begins.