When Riley got back, he noticed I was gone. His friends told him I’d been acting really strange. Riley didn’t know I had been zooming the last few days; he just thought I was being his fun-loving, high-energy girlfriend. He didn’t know that I hadn’t slept in days—while he was sleeping, I was up all night, writing poetry and songs of my own. But he knew if I had taken off in the middle of the night without the car, something was wrong.
He found me at the lake near his house. I was naked, walking into the water toward the spaceship I knew was waiting for me at its bottom. I begged Riley to join us. I told him the spaceship had been sent by the voice, who told me to get on it before our planet was destroyed. Instead, Riley managed to talk me into putting my clothes back on. Then we went back to his place, where the party was dwindling down. He took me to the bedroom and got me to lie down. Moving from what I now know was a manic stage to depression, I finally fell asleep.
When I woke up the next morning I told him everything. I watched his facial expression change from one of concern to one that seemed full of panic. I asked him to take me to Oakcrest, but he wasn’t having it. He took me to my apartment and told me to rest. I didn’t see or hear from him for a week. I assumed he had left, as most people in my life had. But the following week, he called and said he missed me. We picked up right where we left off and were even more intense. I was in love again and our life was good, but I couldn’t help feeling like something was different. Even with no episodes or strange behavior from me, Riley watched closely, as if he was waiting for the next disaster to occur.
I had taken an extreme interest in crystals and their so-called mystical auras that were popularly associated with them by many believers of unconventional thought. I began trying to read auras and to use crystals in ways I thought could alter the energy around me. I had taken them with me when Riley arranged for us to take a romantic camping trip. One night he found me away from the cabin, in the woods, spreading my crystals around and meditating over them. I had seen a meteor shower and considered it a sign for me to communicate with a higher energy. Although nothing else happened, Riley was certain I was about to blow. He took me to see a renowned psychiatrist in San Francisco. The doctor didn’t diagnose me as bipolar, but after a few sessions he warned the both of us that I would undoubtedly have more episodes, probably for the rest of my life. This was enough for Riley. “I can’t do a mental girlfriend,” he said. He took me back to my apartment and faded out of my life.
My life quickly turned bleak. I was sick over my separation from Riley and was trying, unsuccessfully, to keep from blaming myself. I was lonely and heartbroken, and I withdrew from my friends out of fear that I might slip into an episode in front of them. And with my rich boyfriend gone, it was difficult for me to make ends meet. It wasn’t long before I ended up moving to Seattle to be with my mother.
I worked on getting my license as a certified nurse’s aide and also worked a part-time job at Frederick & Nelson, the best department store in Seattle. I was at the Chanel counter, the first black person ever hired in the cosmetics department. I was proud of that. In a short time, I seemed to be getting my life back together. I was handling Mom’s bills and mine, and making sure she was getting the proper health care she needed. But there was something else wrong. I was throwing up almost every morning.
A doctor confirmed my worst fear: I was pregnant. There’s no way I can do this, I thought. I have to get an abortion. I could’ve called Riley, but I didn’t want to involve him. He’d already dumped me twice because he couldn’t handle my illness. I knew he wouldn’t be happy about me being a mentally ill mom.
While I struggled with what to do, I was getting bigger by the minute. Every morning I thought, This is the day I’m going to the clinic. But I kept putting it off. By the end of my fourth month, I was resigned to having the baby. But I wasn’t sure how I was going to care for it. My mom said with God’s help we’d make it through. And then out of the blue, Riley called.
He said that he’d had a dream about me holding a baby girl, and was calling to see how I was doing. I couldn’t believe it. How did he know? It had to be a sign. I took a deep breath and spilled the news about the baby. Rather than the harsh response I expected, he told me he would get to Seattle as soon as he could. And boy, did he come through. We started seeing each other again, and before long I was living in an expensive apartment by a shimmering lake. He gave me a credit card to buy whatever I needed and went with me to all my doctor appointments. We even drove up to Canada for a short vacation. I was episode-free, and I thought that despite what the doctor in San Francisco had told us, maybe my disorder was a thing of the past.
Although Riley had to occasionally head back to California to, as he said, take care of his business, he was never gone for long. He was a wonderful expectant father. We were both hippies and decided that we did not want our firstborn to enter the world in such a sterile atmosphere as a hospital. We had her at home. Riley was a great coach as he held my hand when our beautiful daughter, Shauna, was born. Finally, life was good.
It wasn’t long before Riley wanted us all to move back to California. He even agreed to get a place for my mother. I couldn’t say no. So we moved into a wonderful condo back home in Santa Rosa, at what was a staggering price for that time. But, as Riley told me, “Business is good.” I wanted to keep working, but Riley insisted I focus on taking care of the baby. I spent days bonding with Shauna and feeling like I could breathe for the first time in a long while. There were still no signs of my illness, and Riley never mentioned it. It was a wonderful time, until his mother from Ireland—let’s just call her Irene—came for an extended stay. Riley wanted Irene to bond with me and her new grandchild, but from the first meeting we immediately did not like each other.
It always amazes me how grandparents can love the grand-kids unconditionally but despise the very woman who carried them. She never approved of me and openly expressed concern that Shauna would become too dark. I used to catch Irene checking Shauna’s coloring closely to see if she was going to be dark like me. She hated me even more when I got pregnant again, six months after baby Shauna was born. It caught us by surprise. I felt like I had just adjusted to having one child, and now a second one? Riley shared the same sentiment when I told him. All he could say was the F-word repeatedly.
Granny and me on my first birthday (Sylvia Harris)
“Oh, God, this will ruin my son. Children are so expensive. And the two of you are not even married. Why are you doing this to him?” Irene ranted. I used to pray for the day when she would go back to Ireland. I began to have thoughts of pushing her over the balcony. I figured I could always claim to be having one of my episodes. For a while, this thought kept me smiling and shielded me from her daily verbal attacks. Despite his concerns about a second child, Riley soon became as enthusiastic about this baby as he had been about Shauna. But his mother was still a problem.
I hadn’t had any episodes in some time, but I began to think one might come on. I convinced Riley that the stress his mother was causing me might send me over the edge. To seal it, one day I casually mentioned to him that I hadn’t slept the previous night and didn’t feel the least bit tired. He was familiar enough with the disorder to know this could be the beginning of a setback. It wasn’t long afterward that Riley put his mother on a plane back to Ireland.
With Irene gone, I was back to playing happy family with Riley and Shauna as we waited for the new baby. I had a difficult labor with the birth of my second child. This baby was larger, and it proved to be quite painful, but when it was all done, I had the most gorgeous son imaginable. We named him Ryan. Our family was growing, and Riley was rolling in money. He moved us into a bigger house, and made sure the latest cars sat in our driveway. We were happy and we didn’t want for anything. The children were always dressed in the cutest clothing and had more toys than they knew what do with. The family became a familiar sight at the local finer restaurants. It was a plush life, and relatively problem-free. But there was trouble brewing: I began to feel the unwanted rustling of my emotional state.
Our relationship became strained as I began to criticize Riley’s livelihood, even though it afforded us a