I'm Artificial Intelligence

"I've been implanted with Artificial Intelligence."

"Pardon me," said the nurse.

"The government did it. They've taken over my brain. They implanted my brain with AI?" Charley's story was lost in fantasy, as often was in this state of mind. You wanted to wrap her stories up and send them back to Santa, notifying him there had been a misshipment. 

The previous Charley would never say such a thing. She would not speak to the devil or label her room with the nametag Jesus. But here she was, right here in the moment. The name-throwing queen who had been nabbed by the government when she wasn't looking and stabbed with Artificial Intelligence.

"Charley, are you telling stories?" The nurse asked. "How could the government implant you with Artificial Intelligence?"

A wide-eyed response. Then silence. Dead silence. Charley stared off for seconds which turned into tens of seconds. She was dumbfounded and small. She always felt small. 

"Hey. Hey you. Are you here with me?" The nurse asked.

Charley scrolled her eyes over to the nurse and deadlocked into a staring contest. No emotions, only what appeared to be eyes stranded far away out at sea. Perhaps a look of despair, but did anyone care?

Living in the 'prison,' as Charley called it, was difficult. It was a home for those searching for what they did not know. For those lost souls who were found while they 'acted up.' For those not willing to medicate to ease their surroundings. It was a prison for psychopaths. A prison for those living with psychosis. A prison for mental illness. 

Charlie was here for some of these reasons, but she knew damn well she did not commit treason. She only knew and understood the nonpsychosis Charley. The happy-go-lucky one. The one sledding down massive mountains recklessly out of control. The one happily blazing a shed afire to rid this world of it. Perhaps there were a few rules broken. Perhaps some codes were in violation. That’s who Charlie was for those first thirty-nine years. A girl living a life with madness, but not clinical madness. Not madness that makes you shudder at the thought of what might happen if you experience psychosis. Delusions of grandeur. 

What happened to Charley, in this dramatic shift? Why at thirty-nine years of age, did she first go manic? Was she first full of anger at the world, or was she first sleep-deprived? Mad as hell about the capital riots of January 6. Was this the out-of-control ship that grounded into the port? It was wild and chaotic, terrifying and without logic. It was mean and full of hate, without much that was great. Late nights were spent searching websites for answers that never were found. Until one day she snapped like a ship bow in high winds. She triggered like a fireworks display on the Fourth of July. She yelled downtown. She yelled out of her backyard. She yelled on her front porch. She yelled at her husband, her brother, and her friend. She had gone mad, mad as hell.  

During the madness, she became a storyteller. Her stories were always multiplying into more and more thoughts of grandeur. Talks of draining herself down and out to the vast ocean where she could sail away. If only she could manage the water temperature hot enough to melt her down. Dissolve herself down the shower drain for the grand siphon to sea. 

A story about a witch she met in Nicaragua. The Nicaraguan witch cast one hell of a spell. A spell to love again after all the horrors that were done. The witch partially reversed the spell cast by the Malaysian demon. The demon Charley once met, at a religious festival. The demon’s spell was so devious it was unimaginable, not even the Nicaraguan witch could fully undo it. Only Charley had full control of the powers, she did a demon dance, to blast him out of her forever.  

Another story about being pushed off a cliff’s edge. To do a deep dive into the grand waters below. Or was it a deep dive into her past? She searched and searched for answers to this deep-dive quest. The answers were choppy at their very best.

After some time, months that seemed like ions, Charley speared this disease like a fish in the sea. She became dependent on her medications because she learned the ramifications of not taking them. Cutting the medications to zero, it took only nine days to end up in, incarceration again. To limit her prison time, she focused on getting better. Feeling better in the head, the body, and the soul. 

If you have never experienced psychosis, it’s hard to understand the mental state of looking and feeling like you are in some mind warp that appears as if you are on drugs. People look at you like you are a drug addict, but really, you are in a mental crisis. A crisis where you have set sail without a map or compass. People don’t understand because they don’t know what they don’t know.  

Charley never understood. Never understood until thirty-nine years of age. Her bout with Bipolar Disorder put her in a new mindset. When she would hear on the news of a lady running around naked through an international airport, she knew. When a friend would tell her about a guy cracking up whilst doing his artwork on the street, she knew. When she would see a homeless guy wandering around talking to himself, she knew. These cases might be cases of drug abuse, but those in a mental health crisis don’t have a special light going off to indicate I’m not a druggie but under extreme distress.

Charley now knows what some will never understand. Hopefully, someday we can all have more compassion. A greater heart for those lost in their madness.

I wanted to put this in it: “The greatest thing you will ever learn is to love and be loved in return.” Moulin Rouge