abigail414's diaryland diary
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Me and Britney
I�ve been reading old diary entries, and, overall, it has been cathartic to write here. Much of it has been borne of loneliness and stress, but much has been from some kind of internal mandate that things come out of my brain and onto the keyboard. I still have the first two, but the last one has become less pressing. I think it is from meds and therapy (and perhaps from settling into a relationship with a kind man).
At times, it feels like I have a mute button on my craziness. It is still there, but so much less, so much more manageable. I can have four patients needing treatment at one time, and still maintain a semblance of cool. I can have an emergency show up and more clearly assess what the next step is, if any. The medication slows down the synapses in my brain to prevent overload, giving me focus when multi-tasking. And preventing me from standing in the center of the treatment room yelling "where the fuck is a functioning otoscope!!". But I wonder if the cost of this improved behavior is a loss of genius. I don�t mean I�m dumber, just that the edge where miracles take place feels rounded, with a fence.
I see why creative-type people go off their meds. Such as in the case of Britney Spears�, where she reportedly doesn't want help or meds. Perhaps it is because she feels like a has-been, and what�s her chance of getting back onto that creative edge if she gets therapy and medication and settles down closer to normal? Yes, getting treated could help her focus enough to not fall off the stage, and perhaps see her children, but she has a boatload of money and can just let her train run amuck. No need to show up at a job and behave. No need to worry about paying bills. In fact, no need to get dressed, put on makeup, or wear underwear. And, if things don't go your way, just barricade yourself in the bathroom with a hostage. Part of me envies these things (except the latter is a bit much).
About 8 years ago, I was married with a 10 year old stepdaughter. We were eating dinner and read the �conversation starter� under the lid of our ketchup bottle. It was �if you could choose, who would you be�. I said �Britney Spears� because she was at her height then and was having such a good time. We all laughed. Then my husband said he would be the Dalai Lama, which caused even more laughter. I countered with �Well, if you�re going to be the Dalai Lama, then I�m going to be fuckin� Mother Theresa�. This became a family joke forever.
My therapist thinks Britney is a poster child for Borderline Personality Disorder/Bipolar Disorder, which I also have. So, in that way, I am �like� her (not actually her � I know the difference). I keep remembering the sobering statement that said �20% of mental hospital patients have Borderline Personality Disorder, and with intensive therapy can go on to lead productive lives�.
I am glad to be leading a productive life, but miss writing diary entries like �Darkness and Light and Everywhere Inbetween� or �It�s Raining Men�. They had a voice that appealed. They flowed out in a kind of quasi-literate introspective burst of energy. (If you like that style of writing, you would enjoy a book called �A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius� by Dave Eggers). I remember driving around and hearing things being written in my head. It was exciting. And then I was lonelier and sadder and driving people crazy at work. And then another high. This is better.
I hope that my manic voice was also an authentic voice - that it will show back up when least expected and lead me into flights of fancy that thrill and amaze and then swoop down to lick the pool in my yard (That was a good try, wasn�t it). Regardless, I will attempt to continue my observations on inner and outer life here in Palm Springs, California. Perhaps to be compiled someday into my own �Heartbreaking Work�.
8:10 p.m. - 2008-01-11
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