I drove to the township building to pay what's called the business privilege tax. Don't get me started on whose privilege it is to be headquartered in Upper Moreland, PA. Personally, I think it's their privilege and they should pay me. There are over 2,200 businesses here, said the nice lady, half of them rental properties (whatever that means).
A short walk inside the township building is the police station.
I just love cops! They have personally helped me in many ways.
Now, the buzz in my small circle of friends is that Ruth Deming is writing a spectacular piece about her first manic-psychotic episode. Marcy read it and told Helene. Helene told me. So, we've got three folks excited about it and Scott makes four. And now we've got YOU, Dear Reader.
I'm writing a 20-page handout to be given out at my Bipolar Talk on March 7. It can only be 20 pages so it can fit into an attractive little booklet. I AM PSYCHED!
So far, I've got 10 good pages written. It's divided into 2 parts - My Life - and Keys to Recovery. The Life part is enormous fun to write. This is the story of a nice Jewish girl of 38 whose mind goes haywire one night and she becomes a raving maniac.
C'est moi!
Twenty-two years later I'm writing the story. I take great pains to be accurate and write strong compelling prose. I labor over it. I work on it day and nite. I bring it up to bed with me and make tiny changes with my black pen. I've got to get it right. In the back of my mind is an image that somebody else might do it better than me. I'VE got to be that somebody else. I'VE got to do it better.
In my piece I mention that I'm taken to a mental hospital by the Upper Moreland cops. First we stop by the police station - the very same one I visited today - so we could fill out..... paperwork so they can lock me up in Norristown. My sister Donna, who accompanied me, said they wanted to put me in a jail cell for safekeeping - I was totally out of control, talking nonstop nonsense - but she talked them out of it. I was cussin something fierce.
So today after I met with the Privilege Tax-me without representation People, I swaggered into the police station.
Two dispatchers were behind the bullet-proof glass. First I asked, "What color were the police cars in 1984?" That's the year I had my episode. They were white w/a gold stripe across them, unlike today when they're a frightening black and white. However, as Officer Scott said, They are immediately recognizable.
Next I asked Officer Scott if I might view a jail cell. He checked first and then said he'd show me the female cell. He held the door open and we walked into the back room and then he unlocked a door with no window and inside was a tiny jail cell. The door stood open. A video camera on the ceiling kept watch.
My god, I said walking inside, it's so small! There was a stainless steel toilet and a sink in one corner and a large platform with no mattress that served as a bed. White shiny cinder blocks formed the walls.
I told him I was almost jailed in '84 and told him why. He was a very nice man wearing a sports shirt and a holster with a big black revolver inside.
I've said before that your average cop has an enormous knowledge of human nature. It's up to them how they want to use it. Officer Scott could see how grateful I was he let me into his prison so he was gracious enough to let me sit on the empty bed. "My god it's so boring in here," I said. This is so the 'criminal' has time to contemplate their deeds. No tv, no reading material, no laptop. The room was so tiny you could barely even pace the floor.
The stainless steel sink and toilet operated with buttons, similar to on airlines. A roll of forlorn-looking toilet paper sat on the bed.
I stood up and felt the bars on the jail cell. I wrapped both my hands around the bars and felt the tough cold metal. I shook them. They did not budge. All the while young Officer Scott was looking on, a very kind man.
When he saw me out he wished me good luck in my presentation on March 7. Perhaps I'll give him a copy of my 20-page booklet, if I ever stop blogging long enough to finish the piece.
