Mixed State

“My name is Tabatha Green. My name is Tabatha Green. My name is Tabatha Green. My name is Tabatha Green. My name is Tab-a-tha Gr-ee-n,” I repeat five times, emphasizing the last one with giggles spilling out of my mouth at the same time as tears tumble down my cheeks simultaneously. I have locked myself inside of my parent’s master bathroom, unbeknownst to them and I stare at the image of a face I should know so well but it looks foreign and almost fake. I reach out to touch it, feeling the cold glass of the mirror, laughing because it is exactly that, fake. I am not real in this moment, how can I be when I feel this way and nobody knows where I am. If they can’t find me they can’t stop me. They all look at me like I’m crazy when I try to explain to them how this feels anyway.

Ever since the twins were born, my regular old boring bipolar II disorder that was pretty ,manageable except for the occasional suicidal thoughts went straight up bat shit. I could even admit that. Now it was depression and mania tangled in a toxic french kiss and there wasn’t any cure but time. When I would beg for my husband to admit me to get the help I felt I needed all he did was dump me at my parent’s house and peel off like I had some sort of contagious disease. So much for in sickness and in health. I guess a respected DA’s wife can’t be seen in a looney bin. In this state of mind, staring at this face that seems to change rapidly with eyes twisting like an eager child with a kaleidoscope, I wonder if his reputation would be better suited as a widower who can cover up his wife’s suicide. I flirt with the idea in my head, as I float my way over to the jacuzzi tub, saying goodbye to the strange woman in the mirror with tears ruining her makeup, feeling pity for her but then letting out a big laugh into the silent air as I remember I am she.

The tub feels inviting and suffocating all at once.

“My name is Tabatha Grrrreen.” I whisper, growling when I say the grrrr sound.

Tears start falling again as I let out another laugh and hold myself tight. I feel my body start to rock back and fourth, I have begun to comfort myself without even realizing it.

I can fight this. I can’t fight this. I can fight this. I can’t fight this. My name is Tabatha Green.” I gulp the words down this time, sobbing as in this moment I am defeated and want nothing more than it all to end. The pain is debilitating, as if good and evil themselves were having an eternal debate within me. I reach to turn the faucet on, fully clothed, hoping the weight of it will start to relieve even a little bit of the pressure. The noise triggers something on the outside but it's too late, even the cold water at the beginning feels like a welcoming hug.

“Tabby, is that you in there dear?” I hear my mother’s voice, but I am too deep into my own head to reach her call.

Not even her gentle knocks can stir me from the lullaby soothing me now in the tune of water flowing over me. Now hot, but not scalding. Just enough to transfer the pain, physical pain is much more tolerable anyhow.

“Tabatha, let us know you’re ok in there, now!” demanded my father, but I was still unable to directly respond to him, my head now heavy and starting to sink below. The only words able to escape my lips as they sank below the water’s edge:

“My name is Tabatha Gre…blubbbb,” I blubbered as I closed my eyes and imagined

what it would feel like for the world to finally close around me. I could hear the water start to splash around the edge but nothing inside of me could move my body, the weight of it all was finally feeling too heavy.

I didn’t hear the door burst open, nor did I feel my dad scoop me out of the water and dump me onto the floor. I could feel his body over mine, but I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes.

“Tabatha, TABATHA, sweetheart! Can you hear me?” he begged as my mother softly sobbed behind him.

I mustered up the strength to wrap my arms around his neck, but not enough to open my eyes as I whispered to him,

“Daddy, help me. My name is Tabatha Green.”

“Tabatha, darling. Do you remember who you are?”

His question made me open my eyes wide. What did he mean by his question? Of course I knew who I was. I lay there, flat on the tile floor, sopping wet and shivering yet unable to feel the cold.

“My name is Tabatha Green,” I replied, confused.

“Honey, no.” daddy sighed, putting a towel over my body. “You’ve never been Tabatha Green, sweetheart. Your name has always been Tabatha Sullivan.”

My body shot straight up. I didn’t understand. Sullivan was my maiden name. What about my husband? What about the twins? I didn’t understand.

“What about my husband and the twins?” I screamed, shooting daring looking at both of my parents. I was already in such a vulnerable state.

My mothers sobbed harder as my dad tried to put his arm around me.

“Tabby, what is your husband’s name?” Daddy asked softy.

I sat stunned for a minute. I shook my head and looked back and forth at the two of them.

“I don’t understand,” I started, clearly confused by what was reality and what was rapidly cycling through my brain as figments I filtered into it.

“Let’s get you up to your room so you can put on some dry clothes and we can talk some more about this.” mom suggested.

“I’m fine, please help me understand.”

“Sweetheart, you are in an episode. You are experiencing psychosis. This happened before, you thought you were married to someone but a real person. You tried to walk into his house and play with his children. You scared his wife. They decided not to press charges as long as we got you help. We think you are mildly experiencing this again.” daddy explained with tears in his eyes.

I slowly picked myself up and walked myself out of the bathroom door. I looked around, this was my parents house, my house. I didn’t have anyone but them at 25 years old and probably never would if I couldn’t get my brain right.

“My name is Tabatha Sullivan,” I said out loud, still not completely convinced but trying to figure out reality from fiction.

My parents were right. I did live here. All of my things were here. I put on dry clothes and sat on the couch, staring into space as if God or the Universe would give me some kind of answer to this all.

“Tabby, do you want to go to the hospital?” my mom asked, gently stroking my cheek.

“What will my husband’s colleagues think? What about his reputation?”

I could see her trying to hold back tears as my dad sat down to help. She was always too emotional to handle my situations.

“Everyone in the family thinks it is best that you get the help that you need. Whenever you’re ready, they have a bed ready for you.”

“My name is Tabatha Green,” I cooed, “My twins will be so happy their mommy is getting the help she needs. “My name is Tabatha Green.”