Christmas is a struggle for the whole Read family. Jane challenges Dan to learn a new Shakespeare monologue. To access previous chapters, visit Jane Read’s Author Page.

Chapter 26

DAN

           

“If you are going to be crazy, you have to get paid for it or else you are going to be locked up”

Hunter S. Thompson

 

Christmas day goes down like a lead balloon. Even the present opening lacks its usual energy and laughter. Mum is arguing with me and Dad all the way round the block during our afternoon walk. After swearing loudly,

‘It’s Christmas Day for fuck’s sake!’ she ends up in tears, disappearing upstairs as soon as we arrive back. She lies on my bed for some reason. It’s as if I’ve died or something. Dad goes to make us both a cup of tea, so I stay with her for a while with my arm around her, wondering what to do. The others are all watching Shrek in the lounge downstairs.

The following day everyone is packing up to leave, and I can feel myself sinking into depression, an indescribable tiredness dragging me under. I hate the way I am now. I badly miss the feelings of power, confidence and energy and would do anything to get them back.

Tom has a long chat with me in the lounge about bipolar disorder and ‘mania’. He explains how the depressive feelings are a normal fluctuation of mood after the high and euphoric state I’ve been in. He describes a bit about how the medication works, then he draws a graph of the curves of a bipolar mood cycle.

Whereas on the one hand, I am proud of my brother’s intelligence and medical knowledge and I enjoy watching him play his role as the doctor so well, I have to admit that I still think it is all a lot of scientific nonsense and that I am in fact controlling my own thoughts, (or at least God is) Certainly not the medication, nor anything to do with any ‘bipolar cycle’. The proof is the fact that I still hold the same beliefs, despite everything.  Tom sighs, hugs me, then goes into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.

I hear him talking to Mum and Dad in the kitchen. He is making them promise not to give up on me. Dad gets his laptop and looks up some more information online. He clears his throat and reads aloud,

‘The delusional beliefs of a psychotic person are sometimes deeply entrenched and whilst the medication might be working to treat the brain’s dopamine receptors, the beliefs are often the last thing to disappear or in a few cases, they persist more permanently.’

Well, I know that in my case they will persist for ever, because they are the truth. It can only be a matter of time before everyone else gets it.

A few days later some of my friends come round for a meal. Mum has organised this independently through Carl. She has also prepared all the food for it and set the table with Christmas crackers and serviettes (which is slightly annoying and gives me the uncomfortable feeling that she is pretty much taking over my life) The lasagne and garlic bread is very tasty though. Everyone appears to enjoy themselves, but I notice that I am feeling more like a spectator than a participant. All the way through the meal, I struggle to keep up with the conversation. I can’t seem to string my thoughts or my sentences together. I don’t engage properly with anything anyone is saying. What is wrong with me?’

Em returns home from her skiing trip. She says she’s had a great time but some of her friends got ill, and she is exhausted and has a very sore throat which makes her grumpy and anti-social. She is clearly not thrilled to be back home at all and ends up being the unfortunate target of Dad’s negative mood as he launches in, accusing her of being ungrateful, spending too long in the shower and always leaving her stuff around the house, her laptop, cables, clothes and bags. She storms upstairs and slams the door of her bedroom. (Can’t say I blame her. I would have done the same. It wasn’t a great welcome.) Tom and Cath have been blissfully shopping in Mothercare for baby paraphenalia but the second they open the front door, Em rushes down to meet them in floods of tears;

‘Mum and dad hate me. They want me to leave home!’

Tom works out what has happened and pushes the guilty parents out for a walk by themselves in order to spend a bit of quality time with his sister.

By New Year, I expect to feel better, but I don’t. Everything is worse if that’s possible. By now I’ve caught Em’s cold. The sun is out and Dad suggests a good walk in the fresh air but this time I can’t find anything to talk about. I am like a zombie; having lost all the joy I experienced such a short time ago. I can hardly even recall it now. Thinking itself has become too much effort.

‘If this is what life is going to be like, then what’s the point?’

All I want to talk about is how to get off my medication. Dad gets noticeably agitated whenever I talk about this, but Mum assures me that she won’t leave me on it for any longer than necessary because she hates seeing me so down. She promises to get in touch with someone and ask about reducing the dose as soon as she can.

Later that afternoon, she says that she wants to try a little experiment with me and asks if I can remember some lines from any of my audition pieces. I can’t be bothered to argue. As it happens, I can remember two of my monologues word for word, which surprises us both. Almost three years have passed since I performed them.

Mum is smiling and gives me a little spontaneous clap when I finish.

‘Well, I certainly don’t think you’ve lost any of your abilities Dan, we just need to work on getting your energy back. How about challenging yourself this week to learn a new speech? Maybe one you have never tried before? What about that one from Macbeth, you know, Act Five, scene Five?’

She grabs ‘The Complete Works’ and urges me to try it. I am too tired to object, so I begin, groaning and sighing as I read.

‘Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

To the last syllable of recorded time

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death.

Out, out brief candle!

Life is but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more.

It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.’

I slump back onto the sofa, closing my eyes.

‘See what I mean? You totally get it. You identify so well with Macbeth’s feelings. You are telling the audience what a complete drag life has become. Now, I want that speech learned off by heart, word perfect by tomorrow afternoon!’

I can see that I am not going to be left to sulk in bed or idle the New Year away, what with Mum’s bright ideas and her undying determination to make me into an actor coupled with my dad’s non-stop programme of action-packed challenges.

They are putting structure into my week whether I like it or not.