Today I woke up under the auspices of 5 mg of Zyprexa. This was performed as a test by my psychiatrist to see if it would take the edge off my mixed states, or hypomanic depression. Hmmm, while I am unsure of the success of it's intended purpose, I am quite sure that I now understand the inspiration for Coleridge's Kubla Khan.

I awoke somewhere between delirium, hallucinations, and a semi-conscious state. Whether I was in the domain of Dream or in this world I do not know. I do know that I saw my doctors standing around me, except that my GP's hair was a different color and in a different arrangement. They wore lab coats and crouched along the edges of my bed. They swirled and I reached and my hand spiralled away and disappeared. Things were gone and I didn't always feel my body or my sheets, which always envelope me like a cocoon due to my sleeping habits. But my arms were always there; that I am sure of.

Sometimes I was slurring and sometimes I was competent. At these times I spoke to another doctor on call and I was dizzy and delirious and scared and at a strange peace with myself, probably because I was so detached from myself that I could have looked down and watched the whole scene that was or was not occuring. This was no dream. Or it was, and I was a strung-out rubber band or slightly damaged satellite, slowly falling in and out of atmospheres and realms.

It was at this point that I told my mother about the voices and sights. They didn't tell me they were agents of G-d or a god or that I was an angel or anything of the sort. They did not compel me to commit acts of violence or impossibility or convince me that I was the only one left in this false matrix. They were just there, speaking where there was (physical) darkness and silence.

The sights were not of revelation. They were beautiful patterns I could see in the dark, like fractals and parallelograms and the tiles on mosques and the complex symmetries in nature. I just lay down and watch; they are that spellbinding.

Sometimes I can see the veins in the back of my retina. I think that has nothing to do with being manic-depressive. I can see the colors of heat like the fresh new models of warfare that have been prohibited for use in obtaining search warrants. Infrared? I have that when I close my eyes. During car trips, I'll shut my eyes and look out the window and can perceive what is outside by the colors I'm "seeing" on the inside of my eye, bouncing off my retina or whatnot. It's kind of like phosphenes, but better and more intriguing. If I press the tip of my finger against the outter edge of my eye, a spot, usually neon yellow, appears on the other side in perfect bilateral symmetery. This is so entertaining that it puts my intelligence in doubt. (The Moonies used this concept to brainwash people into believing that they (the followers) were receiving messages from their gods).)

It took delirium to tell my mother this. I don't know what it will take to tell her the rest. I hope that it never happens.