St. Patrick's Psychiatric Hospital + I'M ON LITHIUM in Denver
Hey there, Psychos!
Here’s the latest entry in my “Insanity in Ireland” series. If you’re new to the newsletter or want to catch up, you can jump into the beginning of this particular chapter right here.
Also, I’ll be performing I’M ON LITHIUM on Sunday, June 9th at The Denver Comedy Lounge. Reserve seats here.
Now I’m institutionalized. I’m in St. Patrick’s Psychiatric Hospital for the entire month of March 2003. Irish people who have been committed nickname it the “Pencil Factory.” That’s what they call all psych wards. I don’t know why. It sounds cool, though. St. Pat’s is the oldest private hospital in Ireland. Compared to my 2008 stay at Elmhurst State Hospital in Queens, New York, St. Pat’s is a dream vacation.
I can’t remember the first few days. I’m heavily sedated. I sleep. I sleep. I sleep. I wake up. I’m still manic, but I’m not acutely psychotic. Slowly, the coming down has begun. My Uncle Patrick travels from America to Dublin and stays with me for the entirety of my hospitalization. For years, after the fact, I can’t talk about this display of love without breaking out into tears of appreciation and reverence. He brings me a portable cassette player along with tapes. “Astral Weeks” by Van Morrison and “Blood on the Tracks” by Bob Dylan. He brings me midnight purple Hyacinths. Their scent calms me. To this day, they’re my favorite flower.
Most of the other patients in the hospital are depressed. I’m still elated. My relentless positive energy demands a target. I find that target in Andrew. Andrew is 18 years old. He has long red hair and a long red beard. His wrists are bandaged. When I meet him, he’s close to comatose. A zombie. I play him some of the music that my Uncle brought me. I sit with him and try to make him laugh. I tell him this too shall pass. Over the course of the next week, hints of his spirit return. He begins to regain his balance. He whispers coherently. He reciprocates my kindness by presenting me with a mango. Where did he get that mango lol?! I’m still coming down from being manic. Andrew’s coming up from being depressed. We meet in the middle. Beautiful.
I certainly don’t want to glorify my mania, but I’m a force for love in St. Pat’s. My Uncle bears witness to this. Due to a combination of my now approaching hypomanic state and kind-hearted nature, my empathy receptors are working overtime. (Hypomania is mania light. There’s still elation and hyperactivity, but there’s typically no psychosis. For people with Bipolar 1 Disorder, hypomania is a precursor to full-blown mania. When somebody is hypomanic they may still have some self-awareness of their condition. Once the threshold is crossed, however, that insight is gone. For me and many others, hypomania occurs on the way up and the way down.) My empathy receptors deduce that the other patients need to learn my family’s favorite card game, ‘Pitch.’ After an initial skepticism of my jarring exuberance and insistence, they take to it. We proceed to play everyday. We pass the time. We become friends. We make the best out of a rough situation. We smoke Johnny Player Blue cigarettes. That’s what real Dubliners smoke. We have fun.
Not everybody wants to play, though. Not everybody is having fun. There’s a young man with long, curly blonde hair in a ponytail, dressed all in black, wearing massive buckled boots. I can’t remember his name. He has a terrible case of OCD and agoraphobia. I know exactly what he needs: A flower. I attempt to hand him one. HE COMPLETELY FREAKS OUT! He screams at me to get away. I do so. I feel bad. I never in a million years want to scare him. My idealism has, yet again, become misguided and frustrated.
Sure, the “Young man with OCD and the flower” incident is minor, but it still reflects the broader theme of my mania manifesting as misguided, frustrated idealism. It’s misguided in the sense that it’s insane. It’s frustrated in the sense that I can’t convey it to others. It’s idealistic because it comes from a place of love. The underpinnings and intentionality of my mania are to create a better version of reality for humankind. The thoughts, however, that compose my mania are racing, spurious, grandiose, and delusional to the point of psychosis. I believe that there is an impending “Heaven on Earth” scenario OR “Hell on Earth” scenario about to occur in the world, and it’s up to me to make sure that “Heaven on Earth” is ushered in and “Hell on Earth” is thwarted. I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. It’s not fun. It’s important to understand that mania certainly isn’t always euphoric. Sometimes it’s emotionally overwrought. Sometimes it’s terrifying.
Throughout my 2003 manic episode, I truly and deeply believe that I’m supposed to stop the impending invasion of Iraq by the United States. Of course, that’s deeply delusional and patently absurd, but it comes from a humanistic place. It comes from a desire for world peace. Also, I believe that I have the understanding and skillset necessary to become the megalomaniacal overlord of the world. But I have the enlightened insight to understand that Mother Earth can strike down my hubristic self at any time. Therefore, I have to prove my humility by shedding all of my possessions and walking the earth as a homeless beggar. The underpinnings of this delusion are a rejection of the corrupting nature of absolute power. During my first manic episode in 2000, I crash a Hindu woman’s 50th birthday party. She’s a spiritual leader in the community. At the time, I believe that I’m a spiritual leader, as well. I deduce that we need to get together to combine our forces to help others. My intent is kind-spirited. My intent, again and again, is misguided, frustrated idealism.
Now it’s the end of March. I’m back in my right mind. I get released from the hospital. I don’t plan on being medication compliant. Depression is right around the corner.
Love,
JFOD
P.S. If you’re in Denver or know anybody who is, come check out the show and/or spread the word! I appreciate ya!
Nice memories, John. I hope that you’re doing well!