Defying the Verdict Read online

  I went to counseling sessions with Elder Hickey at The Abundant Life Counseling Center for a year. Mutually, we decided my therapeutic process had run its course. I placed myself squarely in an imaginary box with just enough space to sit, stand, lie down, and walk. Though breathing stagnant air, I was neither ready nor willing to explore the circumstances that controlled my thoughts. I would continue to pray and study my Bible, following the rules for living as taught in my Baltimore congregation.

  I supposed, nobody could have an episode living in this medicated stupor. Perhaps my present existence is as abundant as it will ever be.

  Still, I mourned my former life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me All day, I feel its soft feathery turnings, its malignity”

  —SYLVIA PLATH, “ELM”

  THE LITHIUM THORAZINE mix was intended to normalize—read: dull—my moods. Thorazine was used to treat schizophrenia. The doctors were covering their bases.

  It was hard for me to enjoy the new version of myself, yet I was coping. I went to work and church, including services in other states, but I really missed being energetic. I placated myself with the reminder, the medications are working. The therapist I saw each month at the Mt. Pleasant clinic agreed. I selected this hospital for psychiatric care because it was reputable and offered a sliding-scale fee. My temp job did not provide insurance. Although I hoped nobody would see me coming or going, I did not miss appointments.

  Life continued. I vegetated in the accounts payable department at The Johns Hopkins University. Karen married her long-time boyfriend, John, in September 1983. I was a bridesmaid in the wedding. Teaching Sunday school provided a glimmer of joy.

  On a Sunday in mid-October, I arrived at service late, having missed the Sunday school class, wearing a tabooed red silk blouse with my acceptable purple pencil skirt. During the morning message, the preacher spoke of taking burdens to the Lord and leaving them there. I decided I was healed of bipolar disorder and thought, I’m taking my pills to the Lord and leaving them here. At the end of the service, I knelt at the altar, placed my pills on its rail, and left them there. I informed my pastor I would not be needing the medication anymore and went home. After Mama called him, Bishop Byron brought the medication back to me the next day.

  That week, I called out sick for two days. On the first day, I visited the recreation center around the corner and skated with the kids. I shared my imagined upcoming wedding with the center’s director before leaving. On the second day, I visited a neighbor and shared my good news with her too. Completely out of character for me, I missed prayer service on Tuesday night. When Wednesday came, I missed my ride to work and rode public transportation to the Hopkins Homewood campus. I decided to get off the bus before my stop and walk three quarters of a mile to the campus, singing the song “Home” from The Wiz. I scampered along, sometimes singing in full voice, sometimes whispering, but always evoking the emotion of the song.

  I stopped at an apartment building on my way to check on residents I did not know. No one was at home. I happened to have a religious tract in my purse, which I pushed under the door of one of the four units. When I got to my building, one of the women from human resources summoned the director of accounting services, a very kind man who took me into his office, having my supervisor join us. I vaguely remember being put into an ambulance, which took me to the emergency room at Union Memorial Hospital, at the intake department of Springfield State Hospital. Having no insurance, I was shipped to Springfield hospital once more.

  How could I become manic while taking such a strong dose of medication? I had taken my medication as scheduled until I left the pills at church, at which point I was already cycling. I found my answer in a Yale University research study. Investigators discovered that some bipolar patients who suffered relapses while compliant to their medication routines experienced manias triggered by the feeling they were compelled to lead lives that ran counter to their inner desires.

  As in 1982, one of the intake doctors thought I was schizophrenic rather than bipolar:

  SPRINGFIELD HOSPITAL CENTER HISTORY SHEET

  NAME COLE, Charita Lynette CASE NO. 106242

  OCTOBER 11, 1983

  This is a 23 year old, black female sent to Springfield Hospital Center with two physicians certificates citing: “Patient brought to Emergency Room by fellow employees at Johns Hopkins University because of unusual behavior. Patient has been employed at Hopkins since May, 1983 in accounts receivable.

  At Springfield she is suspicious, she wants to read her paper then she stands up and yells “hallelujah” in a manicky manner. Although she has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, patient gave impression that she is suffering from schizophrenia. She was given Haldol 5 mg. IM at sending emergency room; most of the time patient was sedated, unable to answer any further questioning.

  PROVISIONAL DIAGNOSES:

  Axis I:

  295.20

  Schizophrenia, catatonic, unspecified Bipolar disorder/

  This patient was received on Hitchman D-Ward.

  I Esendal, M.D.

  Some doctors, convinced that African-Americans are neither smart enough, nor creative enough to have bipolar, misdiagnose us with schizophrenia. This happened each time I was committed to Springfield. Fortunately, the doctor I saw the following day maintained the correct diagnosis of bipolar disorder, as the second doctor had in 1982.

  SPRINGFIELD HOSPITAL CENTER HISTORY SHEET

  NAME COLE, Charita Lynette CASE NO. 106242

  OCTOBER 13, 1983

  This is a 23 year old, black, single female who was admitted to Springfield Hospital Center on October 11, 1983 for the second time on two physicians certificates from Union Memorial Hospital. She was taken to the above hospital’s emergency room by fellow employees at Johns Hopkins University because of unusual behavior. At the above hospital, she was described to be grandiose, delusional with flight of ideas, and showed elated mood and manic behavior. She could not sit still, singing, dancing, smiled inappropriately and was preoccupied with religiosity. According to her family, she was doing well until one week prior to this admission when she stopped taking medication and became restless. She has not slept or eaten in the past two days. The patient has been previously hospitalized at Connecticut Valley Hospital in 1980 and she was here in March, 1982. She has been attending Sinai Outpatient Clinic and treated with Lithium and Thorazine.

  When the patient was seen on the ward, she refused to relate herself and no full information is obtainable at this time.

  -J. Park, M.D.

  SPRINGFIELD HOSPITAL CENTER HISTORY SHEET

  NAME COLE, Charita Lynette CASE NO. 106242

  OCTOBER 13, 1983

  The patient is well groomed, colorfully dressed, nice looking, young, black lady who appears resistive upon approach by giving incoherent answers to the questions. She appears alert and oriented, but her answers are unnecessary and disconnected issues to the questions. She appeared pleasant in her mood and her affect remained elated and inappropriate. She was rather manipulative and appeared to be dramatic in her behaviors. She avoided direct questions by pacing around and asking the name of each staff member, and no reliable information was obtainable from the patient. On gross observation, the patient appears bizarre in her behavior, smiling and laughing inappropriately, and appears to be preoccupied with her own thoughts. It was not whether the patient deliberately refused to answer questions or she was unable to engage in spontaneous conversation. Thought content cannot be tested, and no further interview is available at this time.

  PROVISIONAL DIAGNOSES:

  Axis I:

  296.40

  Bipolar Disorder, manic, unspecified.

  TREATMENT PLAN:

  Problem:

  1.

  Elated behaviors of singing and dancing.

  2.

  Resistive to approach, refusing to answer questions.

  3.

 
; Poor compliance with outpatient treatment.

  Treatment:

  1.

  Haldol 5 mg. t.i.d. to reduce psychotic behaviors.

  2.

  Resume Lithium therapy.

  3.

  Milieu and activity therapies for inappropriate interaction with others.

  4.

  Individual counselling to recognize her need of treatment including medication.

  NOTE FOR HEARING OFFICER:

  The patient is stated to have become bizarre and manic after she stopped taking medication two weeks ago and she is unable to engage in coherent conversation at this time. She is elated and grandiose and behavior is grossly psychotic in hypermanic state. The patient suffers from mental disorder and requires further inpatient treatment until her condition further stabilizes for outpatient treatment. She is markedly impaired in her judgement due to manic behaviors and she will be a potential danger to her own welfare unless her condition stabilizes further.

  -J. Park, M.D.

  This commitment lasted longer than its predecessors. The doctors stopped the thorazine dosage and increased the lithium dosage. There was no behavioral counseling, just medicine lines in which I was given pills and juice under a nurse’s scrutiny. Before I was to be released permanently, I had to travel home by bus to prove my independence. Karen drove me back from that humiliating experience I thought of as flaunting my craziness on public transportation. I saw someone I knew on the ride home; I’m glad he did not ask where I was coming from.

  Sometime before Christmas, I slunk back to work. No one in the office mentioned the nature of my illness as they expressed their happiness over my return. The accounts payable department celebrated everyone’s birthday simultaneously one day every November. They sent me a birthday card, and when I returned, I received a raise.

  At least once a week, someone would need to be present in the accounting services office during their weekly staff meeting. My supervisor assigned the task to me, giving me a break from microfilming during which time I meditated and read my Bible. The following May, I was hired to work in the Acquisitions Department at the Eisenhower library, the Homewood campus’s central library. As a full-time employee, I received benefits, which included health insurance and an opportunity to take courses, free of charge. Using this perk, I completed the two courses needed to receive my degree: Hemingway In Our Time and Advanced Writing Seminar. I was awarded a degree from Wesleyan University in May 1985.

  In the summer of 1985, I took a basic counseling course for which I was required to write a self-evaluation of my skills as a helper. My instructor and I found it very insightful. Introspectively, I identified my strong desire to control every situation that involved me. Part of the behavior grew out of my role in my family of origin; a greater part manifested from my attempts to avoid mania. I needed to relinquish the need to be in control of every situation. Rather than seek solutions for this shortcoming, I pulled the walls of my box closer to my body, leaving eyeholes for visibility.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “Even the darkest night will end, and the sun shall always rise.”

  —VICTOR HUGO

  BY THE END of 1986, I had been episode-free for three years. I was working in the Acquisitions Department at The Johns Hopkins University library. According to the Meyers-Briggs Personality Type Indicator, this job was a terrible fit for me. However, it was sufficient while I lived in the invisible box of my own creation. I inwardly repeated, If I can keep myself small, the illness can’t overtake me. I took my medication, taught Sunday School, sang in the choir, performed motivational skits at church, and spent time with family and friends.

  One Friday in early December, I noticed my thoughts were speeding up, accompanied by a gnawing, fearful sensation in my gut. For the first time, I recognized I was beginning to cycle. I spoke privately to my supervisor and our department head, Bev, in her office. When I revealed my bipolar diagnosis, Bev empathized with me. One of her close friends suffered with bipolar disorder. She asked what we needed to do. I decided to take a bus home where I would rest. One of my work friends took my bank card and withdrew money from my account so I could get home. I was unsure about what I would do next.

  That Sunday, the Sunday School Department was in charge of the evening service. I was so tired that I spent much of the service in a room above the sanctuary. During his remarks at the end of the service, the pastor jovially commented on the ratio of single sisters to single brothers in the congregation—probably six to one, if not more. Then he added, “And Brother X. won’t be single much longer.” Oh Lord, the pastor had just provided one of the necessary elements for my improvisational manias. That brother was planning to be married, but, of course, I was not his fiancée.

  The following day, when I called Brother X. on the phone to ask a question—after all, in my mind, we were about to be married—he wisely suggested I pose my question to my father. I hung up, forgetting the question.

  I had spent the morning studying the latest issue of Essence magazine. As a teen, pre-salvation, I had expected to grace that cover one day. The model on December’s cover was a young woman I knew from college. I took the magazine into the kitchen so my sister Ernestine could see this glowingly beautiful woman. After I finished gushing over the pictures, I relaxed in the living room, sipping the chamomile tea Ernestine made for me.

  The next day, I went downtown and met a man who was selling beautiful leather bags at City Hall. I engaged him in scintillating conversation, which included my upcoming marriage to my imagined groom. Thinking and understanding through my hypomanic reverie, I convinced him I would be a profitable local distributor for his wares. After shaking hands on a business deal, I caught a cab home with ten handcrafted leather bags in my possession. I laid them out on my bed.

  What did I do to deserve all of these beautiful bags? I asked myself. When Ernestine asked where I got all of those pocketbooks, I remembered some guy I met downtown had given them to me. I recalled he had said something about perceiving I was a “powerful woman.” I told her she could have one. She looked at me skeptically. I told her I was going around the corner to visit my friend Sue. Maybe she’d want to come over and pick out a bag. When I returned a couple of hours later, my sister informed me I had just missed the bag designer. He rethought his decision to commission me as his merchandiser. Ernestine gave him all the purses, except the red leather bag I had taken to Sue’s house. He was allowing me to keep that one. I now presume he figured out I was unstable after rethinking our interaction and decided he would be satisfied with recouping ninety percent of his loss.

  That night, I walked to the apartments down the street to visit one of my sister’s friends for the first time. In his absence, I invited myself in to chat with his sister. I don’t remember how the visit devolved, but I ended up giving her a style lesson, changing in and out of the clothes in her closet. Taken aback by my behavior, she didn’t stop me. She was relieved when I left for home.

  The following evening, I felt like going shopping. I had one dollar. I stopped at St. Ambrose and borrowed enough money from Father Henry to buy an all-day bus pass. I boarded the bus and traveled to the Lexington Lady store in Mondawmin Mall. They sold lovely clothes in my size, fourteen. I had the greatest time in the store that evening. The sales women enjoyed my effervescence. We chatted as I tried on one outfit after another. When it was checkout time, I had spent nearly one thousand dollars on clothing and a necklace, although I never wore any jewelry beside broaches. I explained to the clerk that the money to cover the check had been placed in the account by my father, a wealthy businessman. I assured her it would clear that night. Accepting this fantasy as truth, she accepted my check with the proper identification.

  I collected my bags and left the store as it closed. I waved goodbye to the sales clerk as warmly as I would if separating from a close friend. Then I used my bus pass to catch a bus downtown.

  Having no money, I walked around downtown for a couple of hours
. By this time, it must have been eleven at night. As I sat on a bench, a young man approached. He sat down and engaged me in conversation. By this time, I was becoming quite agitated, not knowing how I would get home. As we talked, I revealed my sister Linda worked at a downtown dance club, The Power Plant. The young man told me to turn around and look at the building behind the bench. It was the place where my sister was working. He instructed me to go inside and find her. I followed his directions as if he was the angel Gabriel and I was Mary, the mother of Jesus, while he rose from the bench and walked away.

  Linda was shocked when she saw me at her job. Sanctified Charita never hung out at dance clubs. In my dancing euphoria, I grabbed and broke Linda’s friend’s necklace. Humiliated, as her friends called me crazy, Linda took me back to our Finney Avenue home. Very tired, I went to bed and immediately fell asleep.

  The next morning, Dorothy Hurst, the sister from Calvary who my mother called my church mother, arrived at my house with a couple other concerned church sisters. Apparently, the night before, when no one was sure of my whereabouts, a contingent of family and church members had driven through the city looking for me. After I dressed, as Sister Hurst instructed, they drove me to the Mount Pleasant clinic.

  For the previous three years, I kept monthly psychiatry appointments, had my blood tested at prescribed intervals, endured twenty-four hour urine collection and visited a therapist I didn’t like. There was nothing particularly wrong with her; it was that I resented having to consult a therapist, period. And she never said anything I found meaningful. Then again, I never quite heard her because I was put off by what I perceived as a condescending manner. Bipolar or not, I found her tone intolerable.