...i might have known what you would find...

....under the milky way tonight....

i went Home this weekend. i didn't know i'd be going Home, and i was only there briefly, but it was sweeter than i can say. it had been some time since i'd been there, and it is always the way i remember it, but somehow better. i never seem to idealize the Holy City, never seem to remember her better than she is; she is always better than i remember.

before the Holy City, all things fall away. within the Holy City, all is right, all is clear, everything in its place. all the bullshit, the anger, the longing, the guilt, the confusion, the emptiness: they pass away in the face in the Holy City. they disappear: perhaps in absolution, perhaps in euphoria. it doesn't really matter where or why - it means peace. and i have little known peace, so that i know it when i find it, where i find it. i remember the places that offer this, and remember them vividly and always with deep, undiminishing love and longing.

we did the touristy things, but somehow those are the things i find most purifying: parking near the River, catching a bite at Cafe du Monde, then wandering the Market, just wandering the City. we drove around after that, and we saw places none of us could recall ever seeing - suburban parts of the City, unknown neighborhoods in the shadow of the City, between the interstate and Lake Pontchartrain (which is holy, but not my holy lake: Maurepas).

we followed the old highway, through the swamps, before rejoining I-55, and that, too, was purifying, consecrated. i love the swamps outside the City as much as the City and recognize that it is from the swamps that the City rose, and that one day the swamps will take the City back. this does not make me sad; it is a matter of course. it rose; it blooms; it will whither; it will die. and the swamps and the lakes and the rivers have made this all possible; they deserve their due.

words leave me, when i try to describe what my City means to me, when i try to convey the holiness of the City, the spirit that infuses my own when i am Home. it bypasses mania, it bypasses melancholia, it bypasses everything, goes to the heart of me...all that is good and right and focused and efficient and compassionate and beneficent is accessed and brought to the fore; all those things which are not good and wrong and unfocused and destructive and angry and selfish dissipate.

it calls me even now, to come back, to stay. would that i could, would that i could...

...hello, I've waited here for you...

....everlong...
...out of her head she sang...

It's been a long time since the soul/mind complex was thrust into the furnace of mania, made malleable, unpredictable, in fierce currents and unimaginable heat. Yet it's another day in the blue: the melancholia persists, unabated. It has been weeks and weeks, it seems, since it came, and it has not departed. I embrace them both, mania and melancholia, though it gives me little pleasure; self-awareness become a two-way mirror in a dark room.

The technical term for this profound emotionally charged state is dysphoric mania. And it is its own kind of heaven/hell dichotomous complex - seemingly limitless mental power; uneven physical stamina; unpredictable emotional and psychological reserves; the sense that I can accomplish whatever I put my mind to; the sense that I will fail at whatever I attempt. Hopelessness; restlessness; euphoria; despair; hope; agitation; anger. Can't seem to ride an even sea; it's all storms and tidal waves.

...down with me....

I have dreams, which I enjoy, but I wish did not affect me. I wish I could enjoy them like art, like a story: an encapsulated experience that has little or no potential. Like looking at "The Last Supper" - it is what it is. It will not change. One may look at it and enjoy it, and that's that. It cannot hurt one, nor physically take any action. A dream, on the other hand, can motivate, can encourage desire and longing, can make one reckless and productive, can promote hard work and unmitigated disappointment.

I don't know how to slow the complex down, and I feel helpless to mitigate the effects of this mood.

I might try my secrets to reveal

....if I didn't feel like burning them all, like so many letters from a boyfriend long gone and disappeared into a traditional marriage and three kids, subsumed in the embarrassment that the American dream can be...

Will is simply not enough to make things happen the way I need or want them to happen. Oh, and I have a will that, when applied, is rarely defeated. But alas - I cannot bend the world to *my* will. It's probably a good thing that I cannot, but there are times when I wish I could, through sheer force of will, make things happen the way that I envision. Then perhaps I could affect the happiness, the overall quality of life, for those that I love.

...for you are a magnet, and I am steel...

What is this soul good for, besides burning and longing, restlessness and sleeplessness and a pathless passion that does not understand God or the universe, much less fulfillment? I don't know what to do with this vision, with this spirit: these fires never stop. I do not ask why I am on earth; I ask - what purpose might I serve?

....I am a woman who's lost in her song...

...you are a woman who's lost in your song....

one of these mornings...

....i'm gonna rise up singing...

this morning, we were awakened by the sound of the phone. if our phone rings early in the morning or late at night, we assume something is wrong, since most family and friends know that i am a late sleeper, and most folks won't call late at night, unless something is wrong.

but this morning, at 8am, the phone rang. at first, i thought it was my mother-in-law calling to say that our sister-in-law had gone into labor (she's suffering from preeclampsia, and the doctor is afraid that the baby will have to come prematurely; our niece is not due until June 2). the husband got up and answered the phone, then came into the bedroom and said, "it's your sister, something's wrong." i bolted up, grabbed the phone. "what's wrong?"

my sister could hardly answer me, she was crying so hard. she had to repeat herself several times before i could understand her. apparently - due to a misunderstanding, as i later found out - my mother had blown up and flown into one of her famous rages, and it was apparently bad enough that it really and truly scared my sister. my sister is 26 years old; she said she was so scared, she was hiding under the bed, afraid to come out.

there is nothing one can do when my mother is in one of her rages. if there is anything about my childhood that i would change - and there's not much i *would* change, truly - i would wish that my mother did not have the temper she has. she's always been bad about bottling things up then flying off the handle, unable to listen to reason or explanations. in most cases she will apologize later...several days later, when she finally calms down. she'll stay in these rages for days. she won't talk to anyone at home, she won't interact with anyone at home. she still functions, just not in the family setting. she'll slam doors, scream obscenities and profanities, throw things (just in general, and at us), and lock herself in her bedroom.

my father and i took the brunt of most of these rages, when i was growing up. we both seemed able to anger her enough to set her off. it's never deliberate, mind you. my father is a smart man, but he's still human, and sometimes she can't forgive him for his humanity. she and i are a lot alike, and we butted heads frequently, particularly when i was in my late teens.

and when these rages coincided with her monthly cycle, she was a force of nature, downright terrifying. luckily that's no longer an issue, as she's gone through menopause, but she's still something to be reckoned with when she's like this.

in the last few years, my sister and my mother have gotten to where they butt heads a lot. unfortunately it's because my sister is starting to be more like my mother and less like my father. this morning's blow-up is partially my sister making some bad decisions with regard to interacting with my mother, and partially my mother being who she is - it's as though she willfully misunderstands things sometimes, like she chooses to be angry.

i have my mother's temper - i believe i am the only one of her three children to have inherited it. i am quite capable myself of flying into rages, too. sometimes small things add up, and i reach my limit. when i was younger, i would indulge those rages, though i never threw things or slammed doors, but i certainly would scream at my siblings. i certainly would refuse to interact with the family and would lock myself in my room. as i grew up, i realized that i didn't want to have my mother's temper; it was not something to be proud of, it was not a behavior that benefited anybody. i could not get rid of the temper, but i could certainly control it. consequently, i do not get truly angry very often; anger is tiring, impotent, useless. and i truly try not to reach the tantrum level, though my mother will go all the way there, obviously.

that's what she did this morning: full-on tantrum mode. but you know what's sad and funny at the same time? i called mom this morning at her church library, since i knew she'd be working. she answered the phone cordially, sounded tired but happy to hear from me, and in general behaved as though nothing were the matter...though i knew differently.

home will be hell for the next few days, for my sister and father. my sister texted me, told me mom was "crazy mad" and doing all the tantrum things she does when she's like this. my sister feels like shit because it's mother's day, and here's our mother ranting and raving because of a simple misunderstanding - a small, inconsequential misunderstanding that could have been easily rectified if my sister had made some better decisions and my mother had not assumed, or had been calm enough to listen to reason.

this all seems really sad when you consider that it's mother's day. it's sad because i thought the days of her rages were behind us. it's sad because my sister is terrified and guilty and sad, and all i can do is assure her that it's okay, that mom will calm down soon, and that all will be well shortly. tell her that i love her and she can come stay with us, if she wants. tell her to stay out of mom's way.

i can do nothing for my father, innocent bystander though he is. he will have to endure mom's wrath, though he's done nothing. it is the price he pays, for love.

mom will be 61 this year, though she neither looks, acts, nor seems like she's in her 60s. she seems like a woman in her 40s. the point is, though, that she is not likely to change now, and though she's intelligent and more self-aware than your average person, she's not self-aware enough to realize the damage she does when she's like this. and even though most times she apologizes for her behavior later - makes amends - it does not change the damage she's wrought.

during one of these rages she told me she didn't love me and didn't give a damn what happened to me, and to get the hell out of her house (her words, not mine). she had a right to be angry at me - I'd missed curfew and hadn't called - but when i tried to defend myself against her anger, she'd lost it, and spat those words at me. needless to say, i left the house. when i came home later that night, my sister greeted me at the door and begged me to forgive mom, that she knew mom was sorry for what she'd said and that she hadn't meant it. i went to my room and got in bed. soon my mother came into my room and apologized for what she'd said, though she said she wasn't sorry she'd gotten mad, that she had a right to be mad. and i told her she was right: she had a right to be mad but no right to say what she'd said. we made up that night, and things were okay afterward (it was probably one of her shortest rages), and i know she loves me and does care about what happens to me...but i've never been able to get that night out of my head. did it leave emotional scars? no. i'm tougher than that, have endured worse psychological torment. but i certainly have not ever been able to forget that night. i don't know what it means that i cannot forget it, even though i have forgiven her, but it's certainly an unforgettable moment.

i wish i could call mom and clarify the situation, calm her down. but i can't; that would only make things worse. i wish i could make her see how awful she is when she's like that, but i can't; it would only make things worse.

i'm pretty sure my mother suffers from bi-polar - more specifically cyclothymia. it's a mood disorder on the bi-polar spectrum. actually, i'm pretty sure my mother, both of her sisters, two of my cousins, my sister, and i all suffer from either bi-polar or cyclothymia. only once in her life has my mother even conceded this possibility, and that was some 6-7 years ago, when my sister went through a really bad depression and exhibited signs of dysphoric mania. mom called me and said, "i think your sister is bi-polar, and i don't know what to do!" i told her then: therapy and anti-depressants. it's sad and funny, though; my mother has a master's degree in counseling and therapy, but she's never been good at understanding her own children, and she doesn't like the idea of using medication to treat mental illness (which is a mistake, but that's another entry). but she got my sister into counseling, and they tried anti-depressants.

i've said to her since then, on several occasions, that i believe that bi-polar runs in our family, and that her middle sister suffered from full-blown manic-depression, and it's likely that's why her grandfather - my great-grandfather - committed suicide, but she doesn't really want to hear it.

my sister and i recently had a conversation about bi-polar. she used to not respond when i would say that bi-polar ran in the family and that it was part of the reason mom is the way she is. but on this occasion, she nodded her head in agreement. when i told her that i thought that she and i were both also bi-polar, which she usually did not respond to, she nodded her head again. she asked me if i'd ever taken anything for it, to which i said no, i'd always employed cognitive behavior therapy in order to manage my mood swings, and i felt like she - my sister - had probably done that, too, though not as deliberately or methodically as i had, since she was not familiar with CBT. i told her how i managed and that i would continue to manage in that way because i had no intention of ending up on medication. my one foray into medicating mental illness did not go well nor end well, and i'm not anxious to repeat it.

admittedly, though, on the one hand, it is difficult to be this way - even i can't always predict my mood swings. i hate the depression, i hate the mania (though i actually suffer from hypomania, since true mania involves psychotic features), i hate the mixed states. but on the other hand, the depression, the mood swings, the mania - they've all contributed to the person i am and the creativity i possess, which is characteristic of individuals who suffer from cyclothymia (and other disorders on the spectrum): they often go undiagnosed and untreated because they don't realize they have a mood disorder - they attribute how the feel and behave to the forces of creativity. i can understand and appreciate that; that's why i wouldn't want to be on a med for it, i would want to run the risk of dampening or interfering with my creative force.

i think my mom is the same way. but again, she's not likely to change at this point in her life, or employ CBT, or try medication. i wouldn't really want her to medicate, but i certainly would appreciate the use of CBT. i know this unlikely, though, and we must endure.

all that being said, though? i love my mother dearly, and i am blessed to have her.