INLAWFEEDBACK

INLAWFEEDBACK:

I trusted my life to my sister and my brother-in-law who shall go nameless at this point in time. In 1992, penniless, carless, clothesless, addressless, respectless, wifeless, childless and licenseless, I came back to Canada with my tail between my legs, after an absence of 30 years. I had graduated in May of 1961 and finished my internship in June of 1962. I did not plan to be living back in Canada, again. I lived with my growing family in Denver where my first son was born, in Chicago, where my second son and my only daughter were born, in Berne, Switzerland, in Chicago and suburbs until 1990, and finally in Marshfield and Milwaukee, WI, where I had discombobulated again after my second divorce. My sister, 2 years younger than myself, and my brother-in-law, 4 years younger, took me in and put me up and put up with me and my severe mood swings until I got my license re-instated in Ontario, Canada, by waving my wonderful old credentials from the 1960's, and having them pay my dues and other expenses until the money started coming back in in 1992. I bought a small house in Fonthill and got 2 dogs and 6 cats.

In the tumultuous years that following which included multiple foreclosures and repossessions and making and losing of several small fortunes, I gave up in 2000, at age62, bankrupt and dysfunctional, on welfare. My sister and brother-in-law were saints about me. My younger sister and brother outwardly stated they wouldn't have been able to do what, lets call them S&BL, had done and continue to do. I'm not sure what they discussed amongst themselves, but I do know it was in an atmosphere of guarded sympathy. My mood swings posed a real threat to all of them and their status quo. When I could, I avoided causing them embarrassment.

My father lived to age 84. He reflected, I believe, the prevailing family attitude toward me, the whippersnapper, smart ass, black sheep of the family. At age 80, my dad was living alone as a widower in a condominium in North Toronto. My brother, 5 years younger than I, adored him, spoke Yiddish with him in his singular Galicianer accent, and revered him and spent a lot of time with him. They went to the horse races together and bet together. One evening, I was visiting my brother and we had supper at a kosher restaurant with my dad. I asked my dad why he didn't attend a single one of my basketball games in my 13th year when I made the varsity team as the 12th man on a 5 man team. He became red and visibly angry and blurted out something like, "Who could get along with you? No one could get along with you!" My brother became visibly agitated and said something like, "Why'd you do that, eh? Look! You've upset him!" On the way back to my brother's, in silence, he quietly said, "I think I know what you're doing. It must be part of your treatment, eh?"

Recently, I recovered from a depression that lasted more than 18 months. I'm happy to be alive and writing and painting again. I'm now officially back into the 5 pees: poetry, prose, photography, pottery and painting. I started writing my memoirs and found that I didn't know any of the major facts for sure. It was as if I was writing a fictional account of a life full of memory blocks and mood swings, unbelievable triumphs and formidable defeats. This is my 2nd drug free severe Major Depressive Episode in 5 years. In between there has been significant Hypomania and Mania, Rapid Cycling and Mixed Episodes of very disturbing characteristics. I have been treated with and treated to the wonders of Lithium, Tegretal and every class of anti-depressant available. Luckily, I also received wonderful family and community support and advanced CBT, Adlerian Psychoanalysis, Game-playing Analysis, Gestault Therapy, Art and Music Therapy, Pet Therapy, Message Therapy and Sympathy Therapy. I've been attended by psychiatrists since 1970, including psychoanalysts in Chicago and Toronto and a psychiatrist here in Welland, since 1992.

I don't know who I am... Am I the long-faced pessimistic bore of my depressive reactions or the happy-faced ever-laughing imp of my manic reactions or am I both or am I neither? When I'm depressed, I sometimes remain functional and safe, though very quiet, for long periods of time. When I'm really "high" I manifest extreme denial, irritability, impulsiveness, hyperactivity, hypersexuality, hypervigilence, forced speech, little sleep, little food, nightmares, fantasy dreams, "brilliant ideas" for painting and writing, invention and entertainment and what appears to be infinite lucidity. I can be more or less functional in both these extremes especially when they are superimposed or when the severity of the reaction is mild to moderate as opposed to severe or very severe. On a scale of 100, where -100 is the most severe of severe depressions and where +100 is the most severe of mania and maniacal behaviour, I'm probably a +12 or +13 at this time, where -10 to zero to +10 is "normal."

So who am I? Am I Dr. Jekyll or am I Mr. Hyde? Am I both? Am I neither? This is where the feedback comes in. My S&BL, saviours of my life, literally and several times over and who knows how many times again, say I'm high and I'd better be careful. My sons say my emails are more lengthy and more frequent and indicate they are somewhat bothersome. An old girlfriend just dumped me because of some impulsive behaviour related to her friend's daughter. The dumping alerted me to some residual problem this woman has with her estranged husband, but it doesn't give me a snowball's chance in July to be meaningfully helpful to her, or to me, in her regard. A recent renewal of an old relationship with a younger more glamourous woman has pointed out how impulsive I can be if I allow it and how entertaining I am, to her and myself, when my thoughts are given air. I like to think I'm the renaissance man, inventive, classically educated in music and the arts, able to defend myself verbally and with physical verve, heroic to my children, energetic, sexy, stable, dependable, reliable, stony-cold steady or able to cry at weddings and movies. Am I such a man or is this just a temporary phase of my yearly or monthly cycles? Will the truth ever be known?

It seems to me that as with many other things, inside a family or circle of friends or coworkers, it's a matter of control, tradition and convention. Certainly, I sometimes work at being uncontrolled, nontraditional and unconventional, purposefully, for effect and my own amusement. After all, it's boring to have things so predictable, controllable, traditional and conventional. After many years, I think I see that I am out of control in the eyes of my relatives, even those that adore and admire me. In not such nice terms, I would be seen as a troublemaker, a shit-disturber, a black sheep, a dishonouror, and dishonouree, of the family image, a smear on an otherwise perfect picture of family harmony and bliss, a fleck of black on the families clean linen and lacey stuff and an impish upstart who needs to grow up. So be it. I accept the indictments.

But, does this make me ill. The Russians are famous for dubbing their revolutionaries as mentally ill and confining them and treating them appropriate to the diagnosis. Camille Claudet was put away for 50 years in an asylum, perhaps the same asylum in which the Marquis de Sade
was interned. Both Claudet and de Sade were later judged to be geniuses, by conventional criteria of language and artistic, communicative and mathematical skills. Both of them died in their 50+ year confinements. Their writings and artwork remain as testaments to their genius. How many other "geniuses" have been put away for less and confined for life. How many have been ostracized or barely tolerated by their closest of kin. Right off the bat I can think of MarkTwain, Pyotor Ilyitch Tchaikovski, Ludvig von Beethoven, Franz Kafka, Gustav Klimt and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. I'm certain there are millions of unheralded and unrecognized others. Am I such a tragic figure? Am I just a figment of my own imagination? Do I just need to pull myself up by my own bootstraps and be enlightened to the Tao or to Jesus or to the Military-Industrial Complex?

I don't deny it anymore. I'm a Manic-Depressive with Bipolar Affective Disorder, Seasonal Affective Disorder, the tendency to Rapid Cycling, the tendency to having mixed Episodes of both Depression and Mania and a regular Mr. Hyde and Dr. Jekyll. Am I missing several anxiety disorders of which I have all the symptoms, including PTSD, OCD, GSAD and Panic Disorder with multiple phobiae including Agarophobia. And, which personality am I? I have signs of at least half of them and hints of being in the descriptions of the other half pretty solidly. I am definitely Histrionic at this time but I think I'm also Paranoid, Borderline, Schizoid, Avoidant, Obsessive-Compulsive, Passive Aggressvie and Schizoaffective, to say the least. Only my psychiatrist knows for sure and only my psychologist has a real clue, but they're not telling me or anyone, yet. Maybe they're waiting to write me up as a true MPD with at least 12 personalities which are well designed and partially controlled by me. I've seen several movies based on this premise including THE FIGHT CLUB, THE TROUBLE WITH BOB, MATRIX, VANILLA SUNSET, THE LOST WEEKEND, THE THREE FACES OF EVE, [all of Ingmar Burgman films,] and PSYCHO.

Finally, I would like to give my friend Jacob, whom I call Jakob with a pronounciation of Yakkobb, the most credit for seeing me for whom I am and giving me tremendous feedback so that I can see me for who I am. I wanted to buy a very expensive bicycle one time and he said, "I would go to Walmart or Canadian Tire, first." When I wanted to get a Nissan, her said, "this Ford Taurus is a great car." He gave me a huge thumbs up for the decision to buy a used Honda Civic and a Walmart $99.93 bicycle and a flower for his wife Maria, with whom I clash constantly. He loves my writing and painting even though it is totally foreign to him. He delights in my German and Dutch, my jokes and my imitation of a serious, constipated man or minister. I believe he confirms that I am much like my friend, a PhD, NP, RN, whom I've known for 44 years. She has written 1000's of papers, edited 1000's of articles and still does from China via electronic communication to Medscape and WebMD, NP and other magazines. Her texts are still standard throughout the nursing community, practical and academic and her business of advising nurses about nurse practioners is thriving. She is most proud of her growing family of multiple grandchildren and her working within the Church of the Latter Day Saints for the erstwhile downtrodden and disrespected women of the Mormon community. her feedback is that I'm Izzy and that I'll always be the Izzy she knows, a chess player, letter writer, author, painter, imp, joker, squash player, bicyclist and man about town, a doctor that never hesitated to look outside the box for management and diagnosis of very difficult cases, a doctor to whom she liked giving gold stars because he stopped all the medications and sent the patient home with new hope for the future.

I think it is an oversimplification to say that a relative's feedback is coloured by his own need to control the situation and gain a foothold in an otherwise chaotic family setting. It is in his own interests to declare that my artwork is maniacal and my writing is either too sex-filled or too provokative otherwise. It is in his own interest to say, "You'd better keep your day job." It is in his own interests to say to a teacher about my near perfect report card, "He'll do better next time." It is obviously in his own interests to say that my judgements are not safe or healthy, especially if it doesn't fit the image he has created. I sometimes think the closest to me are in a creative mode and that I am a disappointment to them that I don't stick to their creation and insist on my creation of my mold and my personality and my possessions and my dreams and aspirations. Yes it is an oversimplification, but I think it's a strong reality.

Thank you for listening.

THE END, but not really...

Izzy Sommers,
Welland, Canada
march 27, 2008