dawn

i haven't watched the sun come up in a long time. didn't really this morning either, except reflected off the townhouse siding out the window, because i can't see the sun from any room in the house--just the reflections and long shadows, the glare of it on windows. we don't really have any windows that show it to you--except maybe dan's window, which faces west. sometimes you get a glimpse.

the last few weeks have been terribly exhausting. i told a gal on the dbsa forum (depressed and bipolar support alliance, it's a lovely website and everyone is SO helpful and supportive!) anyway i said the other day that living with dan is often like holding marbles in your mouth--you never know what's going to happen next.

yesterday i think was a long time coming. and in the end it's right, as green day says.

serena gave dan an answer, one he'd been wanting for a long time. they talked and dan's disorder took over, amplified what he was feeling a thousandfold, and i got the email at work: i'm thinking i might hurt myself.

he called the crisis line, who told him to go to united hospital, up in st paul. i was at work and trying to finish things, so dan made himself drive up to work and then we drove to united's emergency room. i think it was one of the best and hardest things we've done in the 5 weeks since his break--the therapist has been amazing, and i think in the long run will continue to be helpful. but when you get to the point dan was at, the only thing i can say is thank god--thank god that he kept his promise and told me that he was thinking of hurting himself, thank god that united hospitals help you before they ask about insurance, thank god for general medical assistance, thank god for the kind and considerate social worker, linda.

we were there for about two and a half hours. it was the most and least painful trip i've been on to a hospital in forever, i think. most because it's hard to see someone else in pain, and know that there is nothing you can do but hold the kleenex box and pray, in your soul, that something will put a bandage on that hurt you can't see. and least, because there are no stitches, no abrasions, no poking and prodding of my own self. sometimes it's the extension of yourself that is most painful, though--just the knowing and the hand holding.

i called my sister, while dan and the social worker were talking. the beauty of any type of health care system is the blessed and cursed waiting--over two hours dan went from suicidal thoughts, without a plan, to just plain depressed, to manic, to evening out. i'd swear that was part of the treatment at the er--you're suicidal? well, sit here, you can watch the security guard watch you to make sure you don't make a run for it, oh, five hours have passed and now you just want some jello? what's this?

but everyone was nice. no one gave us the stares for not having a noticeable hurt between us--i'm sure they see all kinds, i've heard about the er waiting room extensively from my other sister, who used to do admissions there. it's the compassion that maybe tempers your fear, and makes it into something you can deal with.

at any rate i called my sister sara because i couldn't think of anyone else to call. and then had to leave a voicemail. called my friend nathan, who--and i cannot thank him enough for this--said, where are you, i'm on my way. i hate to be the person asking someone to drop everything and run to them, because i always feel like an imposition. but it gave me such a sense of relief when he said just tell me where you are, i'm coming. like i'd been alone but not known it. right now as i type this i'm crying, because i know that if i had called any of my friends or family, they would have done the same. but thank you nathan, thank you a billion times over, for being there when i needed you.

i always think back to when corey died, dan's brother. 6 years ago now. i remember standing in the church, right before the funeral started, and looking out the back doors and seeing my sisters and brother, all walking towards the building. i was filled with such an overwhelming sense of relief and joy, that they were there. i remember walking out the back door and into their arms and just sobbing.

this is humanity at its best--the hugs and the love, given freely, asking for nothing in return.

the social worker came out and talked to me too. she was exceedingly sympathetic and understanding--which i suppose comes with the territory--and asked questions that made sense: how long has he been like this, how are you holding up, what are your fears for the situation. after conferring with the doctor and seeing what was available, they offered dan some options--he could go to a crisis house up by hamline university, hewitt house, or he could go home and they would have some people from a place called EMACHS come over today and set him up, possibly today, with meds and someone to stop by regularly to check on him.

we both felt, at that point, that it would be best to go home; he'd calmed down and was hungry and tired, both signs that something was passing, probably the flare or whatever it is that bipolar disorder causes.

the marbles in your mouth part--that's today. that's not knowing if later tonight he'll feel overwhelmed again and need to be held and kleenex applied, or turn manic and plan thirty-three things, in addition to cleaning the bathroom and taking out the garbage and watching a movie. that's the part that is the scary part for me.

so we had dinner with nathan at cassetta's, which was nice and kind of settling, and then we came home. dan spoke to serena and i spoke to my sister sara, and we went to bed at about 1015, just holding each other. sometimes that is the best comfort you can take, the closeness and familiarity of a body that loves you.

about 430 he got up, bit sick to his stomach. still thinking about serena and what has gone on, and probably a bit ill because of spicy pizza after nothing in his belly but hospital water and crushed ice since (we think) wednesday night. so we laid there, talking, watching the room get lighter and lighter, watching the ceiling turn white from dark gray, watching the cat get ready to sleep in the sunny-ish window, hearing birds and neighbors moving around.

it's a new day. it's a sunny day. sky's blue, air's chill and much drier than it was for the last few weeks, shiva's clawing my hip in anticipation of breakfast. right now, momentarily, i wish she didn't have claws, because her lack of claw control is a bit stinging. i need to shower and call my sister; we're supposed to have coffee and banana bread this morning. dan's sleeping again, and i don't want to wake him. once i'm up in the morning, it's difficult to go back to sleep. but i think i might find it in me to take a nap yet, this afternoon. (: