Will I Go Crazy?

 
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Bipolar Zombie

The old Louisiana woman grasped the chicken by the neck and lay it on the chopping block, a flat-topped tree stump. The poor bird flapped its wings violently and squawked in protest, but the woman didn't mind. She severed the chicken's head from its body with one chop of her hatchet. 

When the old woman let go of the headless chicken, it scurried and scrambled away from her. It flapped its wings as it ran, as if to avenge its own death. Around and around the yard the headless body ran. 

Todd, five years old, backed away from the horrifying sight, trying to hold back tears of fear. "Grandma!" he cried. "Grandma!"

"Do not be afraid," the old woman said. "The spirit has not yet left the chicken. There -- see?" She pointed as the chicken finally lay down and died properly. "It is dead now."

"Was the chicken possessed?" Todd asked.

"It looked possessed," Todd's grandmother said. "But it was not. Wait until tonight. That is when the spirits will come out."

"Tonight?"

"Yes, my child. Tonight I will be the mambo, and I will call upon the spirits."

Ten years later, Kathleen McCall, a tall, attractive blonde, walked slowly into the New Orleans Mental Health Rehab Center, thinking, "I'm 30 years old and I still haven't managed to get a halfway decent job." 

This was Kathleen's first day working at the rehab center. She was to teach life skills and lead psychiatric support groups. She dreaded working with mentally ill people, but she had no choice but to take the job. It was the only one she had been offered.

Kathleen sat down, glum and uneasy, in Room 14. Rehab center clients came in, formed the chairs into a circle, and sat down on either side of her. They remained respectfully silent until she spoke.

"OK," Kathleen said when it looked as if everyone was present. She nodded to the friendliest looking person there. That person happened to be Todd, a short, slender man who had a smile for everybody. "Um, why don't you start? On a scale of one to ten, how has your week been?" She spoke distinctly. She wanted to make sure that even the slowest client understood her.

"I'd say a nine, thanks to Marisse." Todd put his arm around the small, slender brunette sitting next to him. His smile became even broader. 

"My week was pretty good too," Marisse said, "thanks to Todd."

The next participant, Jose, had been plagued by many schizophrenic symptoms and had been having a very bad week.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Kathleen said, trying to prove to him that she cared for consumers. "Have you been taking your meds?"

Jose's eyes filled with anger, but he kept his voice low and calm. "Yes, of course I have," he said. "But the meds aren't helping. I feel really down. And the meds make me hungry all the time; that doesn't help much either."

"Do you believe in voodoo?" Todd asked Jose.

"Voodoo?" Marisse asked before Jose could answer.

"Yes, voodoo," Todd said. "You ought to try it. My grandmother is a mambo -- a voodoo priestess. She once created a zombie using voodoo."

Marisse asked,  "What's a zombie?"

"A dead person brought back to life -- a sort-of life -- by voodoo," Todd said.

"Do people who believe in voodoo believe in God?" Marisse asked.

"We believe in one God but we don't pray to Him. Instead we talk to the Lwas; that's what we call our saints. We have altars for them, and we say prayers at the shrines and leave offerings for the Lwas."

"Todd," Kathleen said, "talking about voodoo and zombies is inappropriate in this group."

"But our congregation doesn't practice violent, curse magic," Todd said. "We practice healing, positive magic."

Marisse said, "Then you could heal bipolar disorder -- "

"That's enough," Kathleen interrupted. "Let's get back to the topic. Jose, you were saying that you feel bad. I'm so sorry to hear that."

Jose rolled his eyes at Kathleen's show of alleged sympathy and said, "I've tried several different meds. None of them worked for me. Todd, sometimes I'm tempted to try voodoo, I really am. But I can't because it's against my religion." 

"It's not against mine," Marisse said.

"Want to come to a voodoo ritual tonight?" Todd asked her.

"Let's get back to the topic," Kathleen said.

"This is the topic," Todd said.

"OK," Marisse said, ignoring Kathleen's frown. "Let's do it."

"Meet me at the liquor store down the street this evening," Todd said.

"Right in the middle of Mardi Gras?" Marisse asked.

"Why not?" Todd said.

Marisse met Todd as arranged and gave him a long kiss. Around them, the narrow New Orleans street was filled with Mardi Gras colors, music, and shouting. Revelers, most dressed in costumes, laughed at nothing as they drank large quantities of alcoholic beverages.

Todd began leading Marisse to his grandmother's home. They walked past a woman screaming so loud that Marisse covered her ears. The woman, standing on a balcony, succeeded in attracting the attention of just about everyone on the street. She took that opportunity to pull her top up and display her breasts to the crowd. Men jeered, "Take it off!" Women snorted with self-righteousness.

As they continued to walk, Todd asked Marisse, "Would you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Show your breasts like that girl did?"

"No way," Marisse said. "She's crazy."

"Wait a minute!" Todd said. "We're the ones who are supposed to be crazy."

Todd's grandmother was an incredibly old woman now. Her home, sacred ground tonight, was packed with people. Candles provided the only light; it was hard to see the small, wiry, woman. There must have been one hundred candles in the room, casting eerie red light on the many statuettes of the Lwas.

Mambo held a gator-head staff in her right hand. Behind her a man began beating on the Petro Drum, beating the intricate rhythm used to call Danbhala, the Lwa who was Mambo's principal patron. She called upon Danbhala to possess someone in order to impart his wisdom and blessings to the congregation.

As Mambo drew sacred symbols on the wall to call other Lwas as well, the members of the congregation sang Haitian Creole prayers. Soon, Danbhala mounted a young woman, and for that short time he spoke through her. The possessed woman acted like Danbhala, writhing on the floor like a snake. After the Lwa left her body, the congregation danced joyously.

Some people were still dancing at 4 a.m., but Mambo didn't look the least bit tired. "I know what is troubling you," she said to her grandson. "You are upset about your mental illness."

"This is Marisse," Todd said. "She's mentally ill too. Can you cure us?" 

"Be careful what you wish for, child."

"What harm could come from being cured of mental illness?" Marisse asked. "Please?"

The old woman looked even older as she pondered the two young people's request.

"You are in love," she said.

"Yes," Todd said. "So?"

"Your love is enough. Go out and be happy."

But Todd and Marisse insisted that they wanted to be cured of their illness: bipolar disorder. Finally, the mambo said, "OK, I will cure you. But I can only cure one of you this evening, and you may not like the way I do it."

"Only one of us?" Todd said. "Then cure Marisse."

"No, cure Todd," Marisse said.

"Marisse will be first," Mambo said. She turned to the young woman. "You must die to the world. Then you will rise again and be free of your illness."

Marisse, frightened now, lay down on the sacred pallet. Mambo slaughtered a chicken, a blood sacrifice which was sure to draw the spirits who could heal Marisse. The headless chicken fell off the altar and flopped toward Todd. But now Todd was accustomed to this phenomenon; he caught the chicken's body and brought it back to his grandmother. She then used the chicken's blood to paint the sacred symbols on Marisse's body. Again, she called on her patron, Danbhala the snake god. 

Marisse felt herself losing consciousness.

Kathleen went to bed early, hoping to get a good night's sleep. It didn't work; she awoke at 3 a.m., dreaming of Jose rolling his eyes at her. She was dead tired. Every bone in her body ached, yet she couldn't get back to sleep.

She stretched and rolled over to the right. She would get back to sleep any time now.

Still awake. She groaned and rolled to the left. Her insomnia problem had started the first day of her new job, and it was getting worse. What had she done wrong?

She got up, put her clothes on, and dragged herself to the all-night grocery store. She might as well do some shopping; she was awake anyway.

At 5 a.m., Kathleen left the supermarket with two bags of groceries. Now she was tired; she hurried toward home to get the remainder of her night's sleep. Her fatigue prevented her from seeing the Kenworth diesel truck. The truck driver's fatigue prevented him from seeing her. Her body caught on the truck's axle and was dragged one hundred feet. Kathleen was dead before she knew what had hit her.

Kathleen opened her eyes. Above her, she saw distorted red faces against darkness. She tried to move, but she couldn't. She tried to talk, but she couldn't do that either. She was trapped here, listening to the faces talking to each other.

No, they weren't talking. They were screaming and fighting. This was -- had to be -- hell. She was being punished for her treatment of Jose and the other consumers. For all eternity, she would lie here paralyzed, listening only to people who hated each other.

But now Kathleen could move. She struggled to sit up.

"It's awake!" one of the red faces cried. The faces shrank away from Kathleen. Terrified of their terror, Kathleen fell back onto the sacred pallet.

"Don't be afraid, my child," one of the faces, a very old one, said. The face belonged to a woman, a real person.

"Maybe this isn't hell after all," Kathleen thought as the old woman helped her sit up.

This definitely wasn't hell. This was just a dark room filled with candles that flickered on the faces of the old woman and a young man. The young man was crying. 

"Ma -- Marisse," the young man said to her.

"No," Kathleen croaked. "I'm not --" She stopped. Her voice seemed different, alien.

"This is not your lover, grandson," the old woman said.

"Then where is she?"

"You must search for her among those who have risen," the old woman said. She turned to Kathleen and said gently, "You need to eat. I will get some food." She went into the kitchen and shut the door.

"Wait!" the young man shouted after her. "What do you mean 'among those who have risen'?" But the woman was gone.

After the discouraged young man had left, the woman returned with a cup of thin soup, which she patiently spooned into Kathleen's mouth. Once Kathleen had finished the soup, she asked the woman, "Is this your house?"

"Yes," the old woman said.

"What's your name?"

"I am Mambo."

"My name is Kathleen."

"I know, child."

"Why am I here?"

"You will remember when it is time."

Todd sat, grief-stricken, on a bench in a deserted park, oblivious to the rain drenching him. Last night he had hardly recognized the grandmother he had always trusted. She had been so distant, so cold. Maybe some evil creature had taken over her body.

"Look among those who have risen," Mambo had said. Risen from the dead? Todd ran to the nearest convenience store and bought a newspaper. There was nothing in it describing a resurrection. He started to cry. His tears mingled with the rain dripping down his cheeks.

"Marisse," he whispered. "Marisse! If only I'd asked my grandmother more questions, found out what she was up to. What good is having you cured of bipolar disorder if we're never going to see each other again?"

His mind slipped back into the past. Marisse was present at one of Todd's parties. She sat on his lap as other young people milled around them, laughing and drinking. Although Todd was the party's host, he felt no obligation to get up. His guests knew where everything was; they didn't need him to show them.

Todd held Marisse's cuddly body throughout most of the party, listening only half-heartedly to the conversation around them. He loved the fresh detergent smell of her clothes and the faint scent of her shampoo. Marisse, and no one else, was worthy of his attention.

Todd lifted Marisse's face to his and wrapped his arms all the way around her. He forgot everyone else in the room. It was a kiss of timeless ecstasy. After the kiss had ended, Todd's friends applauded them.

"That kiss lasted three hours and thirty-five minutes," a guy with a watch said.

Todd's mind returned to the present. He wiped his eyes and again looked at the newspaper. It was open to the obituaries. That was it! He would check out each person who had died around 5 a.m. the previous morning. Maybe he would find Marisse in one of those bodies.

Kathleen looked in the mirror. She had been doing this a lot lately. She couldn't get over her new body: shorter, more shapely -- and darker, especially her hair. It looked vaguely familiar, somehow, but who cared?

She didn't resent the change of body; she remembered the accident now and believed that a new body was better than death. She was just shocked every time she looked into the mirror.

The door opened with an ominous creak. Kathleen jumped and turned around. It was just Mambo, poking her head in. "Come, have breakfast, child," she said, her voice low and kind.

Kathleen turned her attention to the inside of this new body. She felt no hunger, just an unfamiliar, very unpleasant, sensation in the pit of her stomach.

"I'm not hungry," she snapped. "And will you please stop calling me 'child'?"

"You have forgotten who brought you back to life," Mambo said.

"I didn't ask to be brought back, especially trapped in this dingy house with strange creatures coming in and out."

"You cannot go outside until you know who you are and where to go. Be patient. Soon, your memory will come back to you."

"Leave me alone, bitch!" Kathleen shouted.

Mambo disappeared, and Kathleen, shocked, looked back into the mirror. Never in her life had she used the b word; that much she remembered.

What was happening to her? Her feelings were different now, harder to control. Her angry thoughts had not ended when Mambo had left. Rather, they still repeated themselves in her head: "I don't deserve this kind of treatment. I deserve to be treated like an adult, at the very least. I'm an educated person; I must be. I'm no fool. I know that mambo woman's trying to get something out of trapping me here. What is it?"

After she thought each of these thoughts once, that should have been enough. But her mind just wouldn't stop. No matter how hard she tried to stop her thoughts, they continued moving in round robin fashion through her mind.

And why was she so angry anyway? Mambo had only invited her to breakfast. Kathleen simply could not understand why her rage over trivial events was so severe or lasted so long. When she felt afraid, the same thing happened: more fear than usual, for a much longer period of time, and less control over it. 

It was harder to get out of bed now and even more difficult to get to sleep. She still had nightmares, but they were different, more frightening, than before her reincarnation. They woke her up in the wee hours of the morning and wouldn't let her get back to sleep. Yet, strangely, those few hours of sleep often seemed to be all she really needed.

Kathleen found that, once she got started talking, she talked loud and nonstop. She had never acted like this before; she, Kathleen, was a quiet, calm person, she was sure. Loud, angry music quickened her heartbeat now, and classical music bored her almost to tears. And music was virtually the only thing that could relieve the unremitting pain – fear? loneliness? Both? -- at the pit of her stomach.

She dug through Mambo's sewing kit and found a razor blade. That night, while Mambo slept, she crept into the bathroom and filled the sink with warm water. Again she looked into the mirror. Alongside her own image she saw the hazy image of one of Mambo's dark creature friends. Terrified, she picked up the razor blade slit both her wrists. She fell onto the floor, both her fears of the strange creatures and her roiling thoughts calmed at last.

Todd put his head in his hands. Around his studio apartment were scattered newspapers from every city and town in Louisiana, open to the obituary pages. He had searched for Marisse for days. He had combed wakes and funerals with no luck. His resulting depression made him want to give up and crawl back into bed. But he would never find Marisse that way. He converted his fear to anger, a trick most bipolars know well, and stormed out of his apartment to Mambo's house.

He gasped in shock as Marisse opened the door. "No," he told himself. “Remember? It’s not Marisse."

"The boy -- I saw you before -- so lonely -- I tried to die, but I can't --" The person in Marisse's body went on and on. Todd couldn't quite seem to follow what she was saying.

"You remember me, don't you?" he asked her. "I was there when you woke up."

"You were there before," the Marisse person screamed. "You did it!" Her eyes turned bright red and shot hate at Todd.

Mambo came quickly from the other room and gently led the woman away. When Mambo returned alone, Todd lit into her.

"Where’s Marisse?" he demanded. "The real Marisse, not this fake."

"In a psychiatrically healthy body, child, as she requested." 

"Damn it, you know what I'm asking. Where is she?"

"Go back and live your life as you have done before, and you will find her."

Nothing Todd said could convince Mambo to tell him more. Finally, he slammed her door shut and ran blindly through the New Orleans streets, trying to burn off his anger before he harmed someone. Finally exhausted, he threw himself onto the park bench. For an hour he brooded over what Mambo had said. What the heck, he might as well take her advice. He had nothing to lose.

He showed up late at the rehab center and walked to the room where Kathleen had always held her discussion group. No one was there. He went to the day room. Jose sat there, looking bored. Three emptied coffee cups sat on the table in front of him.

"What happened to Kathleen's discussion group?" Todd asked him.

"The question is: what happened to Kathleen," Jose said. "The answer is she was run over by a truck over a week ago, and they still haven't found anybody to replace her."

"She's -- dead?"

"Yep. I can't honestly say I miss her. She was prejudiced against us. They had no business hiring her in the first place."

"Exactly when did she die?" Todd shouted.

"Hey, man, chill," Jose said quietly, accustomed to calming excited people down. "I don't know. Really early in the morning, I think." 

"Do you have a copy of her obituary?" Todd asked, using a quieter voice.

"Nobody wrote her an obituary. She was new here, and we didn't know what to write. We couldn't locate her family. We can't even locate her body."

"Thanks, Jose," Todd said. “I owe you one.” He rushed off toward the director's office.

The director informed him that Kathleen had died at 5 a.m. a week ago last Tuesday.

"That's the same time -- " Todd stopped himself.

 “I mean -- uh -- thank you. Thanks." And he rushed off to the nearest hospital.

"She's got to be in Kathleen's body," he thought. “Alive.”

No woman -- body -- named Kathleen McCall was registered in the first two hospitals he visited. But in the third one, a nurse pointed Todd to the intensive care unit. There was Kathleen's body lying, inert, both legs and one arm in casts. Her skin was a pale greenish color. 

Todd approached the bed cautiously. Kathleen's body opened its eyes.

"Marisse?" he whispered.

Kathleen's body blinked but didn't answer. Todd's heart beat faster.

"Marisse?" he asked again. "Is that you?"

"Todd?"

"Marisse!" He reached out to hug her, then thought better of it and took her one un-bandaged limb, her left hand. "I've been looking all over for you."

"You called me by my own name," Marisse said. "Everybody calls me Kathleen McCall."

"That's because you're in Kathleen McCall's body. Remember how you asked Mambo to give you a mentally healthy body?"

"I can't get to a mirror, but I can tell this body isn't mine. There was a voodoo ritual or something."

"Yes, there was."

"But how did you find me -- recognize me?"

"It was hard. I looked for you at funerals and wakes. Then Grandma -- Mambo -- told me to go back to the rehab center, and they told me Kathleen had died. So then I started looking for Kathleen's body, and here you are. I missed you so much."

"I thought you'd never find me. I wanted to die."

"I don't blame you. Look at the body you're stuck in!"

Marisse tried to roll over to see Todd better, with no success. "I don't want to live the rest of my life in somebody else's body," she said. "I loved my own body. And besides, I'm in so much physical pain, who cares if I don't have bipolar disorder any more?"

"My God, Marisse, you're depressed!" Todd said. "You've been so lonely that you've traded bipolar disorder for unipolar depression. At least with bipolar disorder you're happy sometimes. Don't give up, please. When you can get around again, I'll take you back to Mambo and get her to put you back in your own body. I promise." 

"I'll stay alive -- for you," Marisse said. "I love you." Marisse's eyes slowly closed in sleep.

Kathleen stepped outside onto the porch. She looked up at the sky, so blue and so beautiful today! The trees were greener, the air fresher, and the birds' songs sweeter than they had ever been. She smiled and sat down on a green plastic chair to enjoy her ecstatic thoughts. This body had been so irritable and unhappy, but now the worst was over. From now on it would be smooth sailing.

Mambo came outside and sat down near her. "Feeling better?" she asked.

"Yes, I am. Thanks for not letting me kill myself. I'm going to be OK now."

"You will be cranky again pretty soon," Mambo said.

"What? Why?"

"Because you are a manic depressive now."

"I'm -- this body is -- bipolar? God, no!" Kathleen jumped up from the chair. But she knew then that Mambo was right. First, she had been angry and loud. Then she had been frightened and suicidal. Just now she had been on top of the world. And all for no real reason. Mood swings!

"What am I going to do?" Kathleen cried. "I can't stand to live in a bipolar body. I wish I were still dead."

Mambo said nothing.

"You're a conceited idiot!" Kathleen hissed. She ran into the house.

Mambo smiled. Two weeks later, when Todd and Marisse knocked on her door, she smiled again.

Kathleen opened the door to Todd, the rehab-center client she had seen before, and a crippled woman in a wheelchair. Scars covered the poor woman’s face and arms, but Kathleen could see her own body through the damage. Thank God Mambo had prepared her for this.

"Marisse?" she said.

"Kathleen?" Marisse was stunned to see her own body, the body she had missed so much. Never had it looked so attractive to her. "I see you've been taking good care of -- my body," she said as Todd wheeled her into the room.

"I've been to a psychiatrist," Kathleen said. "I'm taking Zyprexa. It's controlled my -- the mood swings --pretty well."

"Zyprexa can cause tardive dyskinesia," Marisse thought. "I don't want to risk getting that." But, to be tactful, she didn't say it out loud. At least Kathleen had been getting her -- her body -- medicated. She knew that it's easier to change your medication than it is to start it from scratch.

"Are you taking anything?" Kathleen asked. "You know, for the pain?"

"No," Marisse said. "I'm off the painkillers. The doctors say I'm healing pretty well, considering."

"Considering that Kathleen's body was dragged one hundred feet by a truck," Todd said. "Don't forget to tell her about the internal damage."

"Internal damage?" An alarmed look came over Kathleen's face.

"One kidney was damaged, but the other one's taken over just fine," Marisse said.

"I deserve an injured body," Kathleen said. "I'm sorry I treated all of you so badly at the rehab center."

"Let's get started, my children," Mambo said.  

"When you switch our bodies back," Kathleen asked, "will I be dead again?"

"If it is God's will, you will die, my child," Mambo said. "And if it is His will, you will live. I think you will live."

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