From Zero Possibilities to Picked Up – From Bipolar Depression to Functionality
It was about five days ago that my bipolar brain decided to show mercy and end the 3.5 months of psychosis and depression. It was a fight for my life at times and lots of Netflix watching. Bipolar depression is THE WORST. Nothing feels possible in depression, unlike the juxtaposition of recently riding the energy of the universe in a hypomania like a surfer dude. I fought off my shadow of negativity and thoughts of suicide. I made plans, solid plans, but I couldn’t get past the notion of no longer breathing. I felt suicidal when I woke up right to the day before it stopped.
It stopped on Monday. On Monday it was sunny so I decided to go for a walk in the park. I did 4 laps of a half an hour loop. That was nothing after working in a warehouse for a month walking 10 hours a night. That was the day I left my lights on, even though it was sunny and it wasn’t necessary to turn the lights on my old ’92 Toyota Corolla. She’s a trusty thing that recently turned 200,000 kilometres old. I know right? Only 200,000km on a ’92 Corolla? She’s just a baby.
The park had no reception and I couldn’t reach BCAA. Luckily a text snuck through the spotty reception to a recipient who came to help. My baby was running and I took her for a half an hour drive to charge the battery. The next night, my baby wouldn’t start. It was the starter. Luckily she started once after many tries with no answer and I drove her to my trusty auto repair guy in a use-to-be-my neighbourhood some miles away.
I sat waiting for my trusty car to be fixed drinking this exact cup of coffee. That is my exact change sitting next to it. As I sat working away on my iPhone on important matters that my newly restored brain executive functioning could handle with comparative ease, I at some point looked up to see a man on the other side of the glass. He looked up and we met eyes. Thinking nothing of it, I went back to typing.
Some time later, and I can’t tell you if it was 5 minutes or 2 hours, the man on the other side of the glass was now sitting on a stool beside me. There was one stool in between us. He asked me where the nearby Starbucks were, and I clumsily mentioned 3 while pointing in the and moving my eyes relative to the picture in my mind. He said he dropped off his mom to go grocery shopping as she said to meet her at Starbucks, and he was like, “which one”, but after they’d already parted.
He wasn’t at Starbucks and neither was I. I remembered this particular coffee shop when walking away from the repair shop as having particularly delicious coffee. It was particularly delicious.
He then started to ask me questions. He didn’t have a coffee or any other caffeinated or decaffeinated beverage in front of him. He didn’t have a goodie either. I had both a coffee and a goodie wrapper in front of me. I was peckish at the 2 hour mark. I could have eaten that Larabar in my purse but I did happen to read the inconspicuous sign that said “no outside food or drink” tucked near the cork board that said “business cards only”. Wanting to head this advisory, since the coffee was so good, the room temperature so right, and the general ambiance so nice, I got up and purchased a home made looking ginger snap cookie after asking if it was soft. When I got that confirmation by asking and not risking bending it myself, I paid with a five dollar bill.
Fast forward 2 hours of digesting the cookie, there was a man sitting beside me. I told him about how I was waiting for my car to be repaired and we chatted for an unremembered amount of time. After the chit and the chat, the man suggested we go to Starbucks and chat more so I could wait for the traffic to die down. We decided on one of the three Starkbucks’.
I left to get my car and the bill was $120. He apparently went get his mom and drop her off. I drove in the direction of the Starbucks and the highway home. It was one and the same way until the crossroads. Do I meet this man that I’m not interested in if he is trying to pick me up? After being locked up in a prison of my own mind for 3.5 months, I decided to go. And, the traffic indeed didn’t need to die down. I don’t know his motivations and he doesn’t know mine. We have the luxury of this privacy for now.
He seemed happy to see me and I got a juice and decaffeinated tea. He got a tea that was caffeinated. He asked questions and I did the same. He was recently back from a 3 month trip. He loves to travel and suggests that if I buy just the plane ticket, we could go to South America together. We spouted out destinations like Panama (me), Argentina (him), and perhaps Brazil. I didn’t mention that my brain resides in a place called bipolar and needs to remain near major Canadian hospitals, unless there is a whole lot of planning. At some point we did the usual pausing and looking around the vicinity knowing our time together is ending. He suggested we go somewhere else for 10 minutes for the traffic to further die down. Then memory of those 100 episodes of Forensic Files on Netflix kicks in and I tell him thank you but I’m ready to go home. He gives me his number and says I can decide, as his voice trails off. He doesn’t ask me for mine, the proper gentlemanly thing to do, and likely part of his game. I was happy to play his game for my own social contact needs. I was indeed being PICKED UP. And then I left.
Besides the obvious “how many girls does he try this with”, that was all pretty brave, so I went for tea with him all the while knowing I wasn’t interested in anything other than a friendly chat with a friendly stranger after 3 months of a darkness stranger than non fiction.
The point being, it’s infinitely fascinating how my experience of life can go from the experience of three months of zero possibilities and the possibility of an infinity of zero possibilities for eternity if I suicide, to the possibility of soon being in South America days later. All it takes is a broken starter, a brazen man, and a repaired brain.
Note to self, don’t end it until it’s over as depression and zero possibilities regresses and progresses to the infinite possibilities of being picked up, or picking myself up and then the pieces.