I’m not home ten minutes before the switch goes off! I transform into a raving lunatic. For two hours I babble nonsensically and crawl all over the house. My husband tries to get me to take the valium. “No, no, no, no. Me’cine bad. Bad, bad, bad, bad.” I repeat this over and over again in a child’s voice. I honestly do try to say yes, but I can’t speak the words as I know them. Finally, after another hour of insanity, I collapse in the kitchen and fall asleep.
When I open my eyes ten minutes later, the switch is back on. I nearly sob in relief when I recognize the kitchen floor. The ugliest kitchen floor known to mankind. Speckled linoleum, the color of vomit. I’d always hated it, but now I’m willing to wrap my body in it and proudly display it outside. As I stand up, my husband and children hover over me. Oh no. The children! My heart drops further than the deepest fathoms of an ocean. I’ve ruined them for life! What to do now? Run and hide? . . . No, not just yet. First, I will garble false reassurance to the little darlings, then fly up the stairs and crawl into bed, throwing the sheets over my head and hope I disappear forever. Or die. Don’t care which. Don't wanna live like this. My thoughts begin to gyro out of control as I go through the motions of talking to the kids, and then leave the room. Got to slow my thoughts down! But I can’t. I begin to rock. I tell myself it’s going to be ok. Psycho Voice begs to differ.
“Nope, never gonna be ok again. You are one sick little potato, Lizzie. Hmm . . . that reminds me . . . One potato, two potato, three potato four . . . five potato, six potato, seven potato more. Icha bacha, soda cracker, Icha bacha boo, Icha bacha, soda cracker out goes Y-O-U.”
Panic hits and I’m off the bed crawling and wailing again. Another hour goes by. My husband tries to get me to take the medicine. But I shake my head, no, no, no, no. Even though, I want to nod, yes, yes, yes, yes. Anything for relief. My husband asks me if I want to go back to the hospital. I try to answer, but Psycho Voice erupts from within my mind, “HELL NO, SHE WON’T GO!”
Somebody, knock me out for good! Fear mushrooms into nausea. I crawl into the bathroom and puke up my soul. As I flush the essence of me down the toilet, the switch goes back on. Staring into the toilet bowl, I contemplate my future as a human lightbulb. From where I’m kneeling, it don’t look so great. What happens when that sucker goes out for good?
Oh dear. Dr. King Kong is very wrong wrong. I have so many bats in my belfry, it would take a large cathedral to hold them all in! . . . Ok. Time to call in the cavalry.
“Or . . . N-O-T.”