Page 64… in a fiction series
Author’s note: A bipolar manic episode is bad. A bipolar mixed state is worse. The loss of Harry Stowe, Miranda’s one true love, combined with an already unstable mood, sets the stage for a devastating condition that combines the worst symptoms of both mania and depression occurring simultaneously. Impulsiveness, poor judgement, and suicidal ideation, characterize a mixed state. Morbid thoughts, pressured speech, and substance abuse also can occur. Miranda is sick, so please don’t judge her for what happens next.
Emerson James Tiller, while always the consummate professional, hurt deeply for Miranda. He said she should take as much time as she needed, take on less responsibility, or maybe work closer to home. But Miranda needed to get away… away from her little house where she last heard Harry’s voice, Harry’s smile. She wanted to be a safe distance from the office, where her coworkers wouldn’t see her crumble.
Tiller didn’t know she was an alcoholic, about the chaos and trouble that followed her everywhere when she was drunk. The last thing she wanted was to cost Special Services an important job, and at the same time, she didn’t want Tiller to see her real, damaged self. She thanked him for his kindness and asked for her next assignment.
Miranda was given the relatively easy task of overseeing a security install at a law firm in downtown Detroit. It was Friday and she was too tired to make the long drive home. Her hopes of being with Harry again were gone, stolen by a drunk driver on Mallard Point Drive. She wished that the knives of her imagination had been real, that she would be relieved of her suffering.
She was staying at the luxurious Atheneum hotel, a place she frequented with Harry when they were in town. She liked the dramatic entrance, bordered by imposing Greek gods done in life-size stone relief. They fueled her dark mood. She made the reservation not realizing that the memory would only sharpen her grief.
The lawyers in the firm were bright and flirtatious, and they always invited Miranda to join them for lunch. One day, they were talking about a club they liked to frequent. A handsome young preppy type said, “Yeah, but Miranda wouldn’t like a place like that. She’s too conservative and shy.”
The preppy laughed, the others joined in. She was not in the mood for their teasing. Her navy blue suit was conservative, but it belied her true nature, especially now that she was under the influence of the most dangerous bipolar condition of all.
She started the evening with a double McCallum at the hotel bar, then another. The alcohol brought a warm familiar rush that begged for more. She passed through the entrance way, asked the doorman to hail a cab. She told the driver where to go. When he questioned her, she told him firmly to take her there.
When Miranda arrived at her destination, the driver said, “Are you sure this is where you want to be, Miss? Maybe I’ll wait out here for just a minute, no charge, in case you change your mind.” She dismissed his kindness, paid him, and waved him on.
She stepped out of the cab, tripped up the curb, stepped out of her shoe, and was caught by a man in a long velvet cloak. Normally, this would have troubled her. That kind of contact with a stranger was out of her comfort zone. But the scotch reassured her that he could be trusted. Miranda’s troubled mind, Harry’s fatal crash, and her declining sense of judgement would be her downfall. She heard the mania hissing, beckoning her to go in.
To be continued…
*This story is based on some true events, however, has been fictionalized and all persons appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2012, Shoes for an Imaginary Life. All rights reserved.