Manic Wars

By Trina Ann Pion

Trina Ann Pion's 300 page semi-autobiographical novel, Manic Wars, tells the story of Christina Wars, a single mother in the midst of a manic bipolar episode.

 

While in and out of the mental hospital, Christina finds herself getting sicker and losing touch with reality until psychosis takes over her whole life and she is arrested for the most bizarre crime. 

 

Christina finds herself not only fighting for her freedom but also fighting for her safety behind bars with unstable inmates and shady guards pushing her buttons at every turn. 

 

At any moment, Christina's nightmares could become reality with her life crashing down to its end. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaded Moon Publishing
• Release date: Jan 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781777045500

Book preview

Trina Ann Pion

Manic Wars

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Jaded Moon Publishing

Montreal, Quebec, Canada

Copyright © 2019 by Trina Ann Pion

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

This is my story. No one else’s story. It is semi-autobiographical to protect other individuals. As far as the main character goes, I have re-created events from my memories to the best of my ability. In order to maintain the anonymity of others, I have changed the names of individuals and places, and the details of some events. I have changed identifying characteristics, such as physical descriptions, occupations, and places of residence. Some characters have been combined and some events are not in proper order for dramatic effect.

Trina Ann Pion/JADED MOON PUBLISHING

www.jadedmoonpublishing.com

Edited by Len Richman

Cover collaboration between Denise Audette and Trina Ann Pion

Photograph by https://unsplash.com/@yejinghan

Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

Manic Wars/ Trina Ann Pion.—1st ed.

ISBN 978-1-7770455-0-0

For Momma,

Who spun words into gold,

And painted images out of thin air.

I wish you were here to read this book.

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I’ll tell you a secret. Old storytellers never die. They disappear into their own story.

―vera nazarian

BIPOLAR STRENGTH

Blinded by the raw emotions that course through my veins

I face each moment feeling elated or as if trapped in chains.

Perhaps today will be one of those days I float up onto Cloud Nine

Or maybe it will be the day I end up in the middle of a chalk line.

Living from extreme to extreme, from nightmare to dream.

A life filled with ecstasy, uncertainty, frustration, and sorrow

Really leaves me no choice but to push through till tomorrow.

Stripped down to my very core, leaving my heart for all to see

Tired of the ignorant preconceived notions that fall upon me.

Rebelling the social norms by standing up and speaking my truth

Everyone should step up and educate their elders, peers and youth.

No more hiding in shame of what apathetic people will think

Great minds like ours should join together to tighten the link.

Together we must stand proud no matter what our arm’s length

Harnessing our power to show the world our BIPOLAR STRENGTH.

—Trina Ann Pion

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter One

When the ambulance attendants approached, I didn’t resist. A subconscious part of me realized it was time to visit the Bradley Hospital for the mentally ill.

Over the last few days, music videos and social media have bombarded my brain with secret messages. Once the CTV’s news broadcasters redirected their spiels towards me, I knew I was teasing the flames. 

"C’est quoi ton nom, madame?" a blonde attendant with a thick Québécois accent asked as she bent to touch my knee.

Saying nothing, I stared at her hand, irritated by its weight. 

Ma’am... what’s your name? she asked in broken English.

My only response was a glare so fierce it’d shake the Earth’s core. 

My mom sucked her teeth before stepping forward. Annoyed by what she’d witnessed, Mom spat, Christina Wars. Her name’s Christina Wars. I’m her mother, Brenda.

The blonde nodded and diverted her attention back to me.

"Bonjour, hi, Miss Wars, the attendant said, focusing on my eyes. Tu parles anglais? Oui? D’accord. Could we ask you a few questions, please?"

The attendant and her handsome Latino co-worker made their inquiries with velvety voices. It was evident they were trying to control me. Their quiz went unanswered. They weren’t deceiving me. Divulging any information to them would just add more fuel to the fire.

What happened here? the Hot Latino asked. The question hung pregnant in the air. No one moved or said a word. Everyone waited for my reply. Miss Wars?

The haze lifted. The living room came into view.  What it revealed startled me. I examined the room with fresh eyes: broken glass, shattered sculptures, ripped books and a cracked computer screen littered the floor. I’d forgotten that. The sole culprit of my living room’s destruction was me.

Mom stood cross-armed on the sidelines, shaking her head in disapproval. My disappointment in myself mirrored hers for a minute until an overwhelming sensation of betrayal hit me. Betrayal towards Mom for calling 911, for not trying harder to bring me in herself, and for not having faith I could take care of this episode on my own. 

My kids ran off somewhere... Mom probably forced them to leave. My oldest daughter, Lily, had brought her baby, Amber, with her, but I didn’t get a chance to greet them. I don’t think they even came inside before the screaming started. 

After taking my vitals, the ambulance attendants escorted me outside and had me lie on a gurney. The blonde wrapped a blanket around me, tucking me in like a newborn baby, pulling the blanket up high around my head to hide me from the world.

So, your nosy neighbours won’t see, she whispered with a smile. 

I don’t care, I said at last, moving the blanket with my chin. They’re used to seeing me crazy. Not like it’s my first time getting sick, lady.

They wheeled me to the rear of the yellow ambulance and lifted me into its shadowed mouth. The two attendants jumped in and sat beside me. 

Different gadgets crowded every surface in the ambulance. Big red and green numbers lit up above the door. I studied them, trying to guess what they measured. Anything to distract me. My confidence in going willingly was waning. Were they keeping me this time?

Two older male ambulance attendants spoke with my mother in hushed voices on the sidewalk.  I tried listening through the open door, but their muffled words made it too difficult. 

My four kids came from the sidelines up to the foot of the ambulance and peered inside it. Lily struggled to deter her baby, Amber, from jumping out of her arms towards me. Jenna, my second daughter who had special needs, swayed back and forth, knocking her head with her fist as she held onto her brother Eddie. My youngest, Mia, gawked at the attendants with wide eyes before shifting her gaze. She stared at me, blushed and looked away.

Don’t worry, Mommy, Lily said. We’ll get Jenna home on time and clean up the mess.

I’m sorry, baby. I ruined Mother’s Day.

Everyone, except Jenna, shook their heads in unison. 

Don’t worry about it, Eddie said. It’s not your fault.

Two attendants talked with Mom before shooing my kids away. They closed the doors and hopped into the front of the van. The engine rumbled with a calm hum. Outside, at least a dozen neighbours made their way onto our small street to see what the fuss was. I let out a sigh of relief as we turned the corner and disappeared from their judging eyes.

I don’t need to go to the Bradley, I said to break the silence. I just need some sleep. 

The blonde nodded, gave me a reassuring smile, whispered something to the Hot Latino before studying her clipboard. I strained to read the form and written notes, but she kept it out of my line of vision. I didn’t trust her. She was collecting information to keep me locked up. 

She’s working for him.

The blonde had to be working for the father of my kids, Ricky White. He’d been recruiting people to spy on me. The blonde was one of them; I was sure of it. Either that or she worked for the Big Bosses—a tiny group of men who secretly controlled the world. 

I gave her a dirty look and rode the rest of the way in silence until I saw what street we were on. Alarms rang in my head. I’d taken this trip enough times to recognize that we were in the wrong part of Montreal.

Where are we going? This isn’t the right way! Panic rose and pushed on my chest. My breath became shallow. Ice cold fear spread through my lungs. 

Your asthma pump’s somewhere in that mess you created at home. What if you have an attack or die right here in the ambulance?  

Frantic, I opened my mouth to ask for help when I noticed an oxygen tank in the corner. It was even better than a pump, but I didn’t ask for it. I slowed my breathing until my lungs were good.

Good for nothing.

The Hot Latino attendant’s eyebrows rose in concern, but I didn’t want to satisfy him by letting him see me hurt, so I pretended to breathe normally with a small smile on my face. Any ammo they accumulated could help keep me locked up. 

Don’t worry. We’re going to the hospital, he said. We’ll take good care of you.

That didn’t make me feel any better. It sounded downright ominous. I knew how the attendant would take care of me. Lock me up for who knows how fucking long; that’s how he’d take care of me. 

I rattled my head to release the racing thoughts that flooded my brain. I needed to decipher between what was actually happening and the tricks my ill mind was playing. Everything seemed so real that I wasn’t even sure if I was psychotic or if it was a sick, evil joke. 

This is all Ricky’s doing. He’s using them to keep you a prisoner; to keep you from telling everyone the truth.

The intrusive thoughts of my ex-boyfriend and his plot drilled my brain. For the past two years, his sole mission had been to make my life a living hell.  

Ricky wants you back. He wants the kids back. The asshat wants to tighten the walls of control over your lives until you’re crushed into the ground. What a sight that’ll be!

Fuck, I wished my brain would shut off for a minute.

Here we are, ma’am, the blonde announced. She patted my arm and gave me a big smile. I wanted to slap it right off her face. 

We weren’t at the Bradley. I wasn’t sure where we were and it scared the crap out of me. I peered through the small windows, trying to figure out exactly where they’d taken me.

Where are we? Please, you must tell me. Where are we?

Hell, you’re in hell. This is your home now.

We’re at the hospital, Miss Wars. Don’t worry.

Then I recognized it.

The Butcher Shop? The panic sprang to full alert. No way, man! I don’t want to be here. Bring me to the Bradley! That’s the hospital I always go to! Hello? I need the Bradley!

We’re just going to give you a check-up, the blonde said. She rubbed my shoulder like one did to a younger sibling. Don’t worry.

Don’t worry? I wished they’d stop saying that because it had the opposite effect. They brought me to the fucking Butcher Shop. I couldn’t calm down even if my life depended on it, which might have been the case. None of the other hospitals I’d been to could set my dopamine aflame, but I’d never been to this one. I heard stories about the Butcher Shop. I know they got more things wrong than they got right.  There’s no way I’d spend time in their mental ward, of all places, if they had one... 

A wave of ice clenched at my stomach and climbed my spine as my throat closed in on itself, making it hard to breathe. The beginnings of a major panic attack pressed on my chest. I counted to ten and kept telling myself unsuccessfully everything was okay. I wanted them to bring me to my hospital and get me away from this hellhole.

The ambulance stopped and backed up into the hospital’s concrete garage. The building loomed over the ambulance like a giant monster, ready to pounce on its prey. They opened the doors and lowered my gurney out. I made a futile attempt to find a way to escape or get someone to help me out.  I held back my frantic protests as they wheeled me further into the mouth of the beast. 

#

My breath laboured as we made our way through multiple doors and corridors until we reached the nurses’ station. On the surface, it looked like any other hospital. Sick people around every corner, filling up both the examination rooms and hallways. I’d say it was a busy day, but this was the norm for Montreal hospitals. Not enough money, doctors or staff, but plenty of patients. 

I strained to understand what the attendants and nurses said. It was bad enough my foggy brain lapped the racetrack at a thousand miles per hour but add the French jargon they spoke to the mix? Understanding them was impossible.

People gave me puzzled glances. Curiosity ate at them. Another patient’s despair always made the long wait a bit more interesting. They wished to learn about me. They wanted to know what made me tick. 

More and more people stared at me.

But why? I asked myself. Was my head growing like a balloon, ready to explode? Was my skin changing colours?

Suddenly, I snapped my mouth shut. I was talking out loud. I couldn’t control it sometimes when the psychosis flared up. 

Several nurses and orderlies came over and pushed my gurney into a small room across from the nurses’ station. Instantly, I noticed differences in this room. 

The door had a big glass window, making me visible to anyone who cared to glance inside. A bed crowded the center of the room with straps poking out from its four corners. I’d encountered restraints like those before at another hospital. Many years ago, they trapped me for extended periods of time in straps like those. 

No way were they going to do that to me—here in the fucking Butcher Shop? Hell, no!

Get on the bed, please, a roly-poly nurse said. 

I shook my head and I crossed my arms, pouting with my brow furrowed. I wasn’t budging for anyone. 

Get on the bed. She repeated herself several times. The men already had their marching orders because all they needed from her was a glance and a nod. Get on the bed now. If you don’t get on it yourself, we’ll be forced to move you.

Big hands gripped my legs and armpits. I fought back, but the men were too strong. They lifted me off the gurney and transferred me over halfway when I jerked out of their grasp, landing back down with a thump, narrowly missing the gap in between the two gurneys. 

Okay, okay! I’ll do it myself! I glared at them as I changed positions. There! Are you happy now?

Yes, ma’am. Now take off your shirt and put this on. She tossed a hospital gown onto my lap. I refused. She glanced pointedly at the men again.

Fine, fuck! I took off my sweatshirt, which I figure smelled since I hadn’t showered for two days. I scowled at one of the orderlies. His eyes transfixed on my bare chest as I fumbled with the stupid gown, humiliated and exposed.  

Once the gown was on, they left the room with the other gurney. I jumped up as if on fire and rushed towards the door as it shut behind them. I grabbed the handle and knocked on the window. 

Hey! Don’t leave me in here! What the hell, man! I yelled as my knocking turned into banging. The glass rattled but wouldn’t shatter. 

The room was closing in on me as I looked back over my shoulder. The giant straps grew with each passing moment, threatening to grab me and trap me. Hot tears poured down my face as I wondered how long they’d keep me there. People peered into the room and stared at me in awe as if I were some ferocious lion trapped in a zoo cage. That was exactly what this place made me feel like—a lion confined in a cage with those normal humans watching me pace and attack at the door. 

What the hell are you looking at, huh? I screamed at them. 

This scene lasted a few minutes or a few hours. I wasn’t sure. Time froze though my brain raced at top speed. I wanted to calm myself down because the longer I acted out, the longer they’d keep me. If I wanted to get out, I had to be on my best behaviour. 

Ricky’s going to win if you don’t smarten up, Christina. 

I pushed the intrusive thought out of my head. I needed to unclog my brain of him if I wanted to get back home to my kids. If I stayed locked up, he’d get back into the house and weasel his way back into our lives. We didn’t need his manipulation or abuse. We were doing great without him... Until now, anyway.

My legs wobbled as the room spun, but there was no way I’d lie down on that death trap. I lay down on the floor instead and tried falling asleep. Sleep and medicine were my only weapons. 

At first, nothing happened. I forced myself to close my eyes and rub my feet together, as I normally did to comfort myself into slumber, but then I realized I didn’t even have any shoes on. If by some miracle, I escaped, I’d have to run around barefoot. 

Like that won’t look suspicious. Admit it, you’re screwed! 

My temper rose again. I’d come up with my own plan. Fuck Ricky. And the Big Bosses, fucking bastards. 

I tried visualizing myself slowing down my mind by pulling the words to a halt with a large rope until my brain was free of the racing thoughts as empty as a big black hole. I breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. It worked because once the doctor, a Dr. Desjardin, and the other medical staff came back in the room, I was sleeping. 

How long did I sleep? I had no idea. It wasn’t too long, but long enough for a new surge of energy to power me up. Time for a new game plan; do whatever’s possible to get home. 

What the hell do they want now? I mumbled under my breath as I scrambled to a standing position. 

What are you doing on the floor? Dr. Desjardin asked. It mustn’t be very comfortable.

I don’t enjoy being strapped down, I whispered. That’s what you guys want to do to me. Cage the wild one. Put her on display for everyone to see.

No one will strap you down. I promise you, Christina. 

I believed him. He reminded me of a beloved fourth-grade teacher I had as a child, so the resemblance relieved my initial angst.  

To accomplish the plan, I had to be as agreeable as possible with Dr. Desjardin or any other medical staff. I needed to remember to keep my mouth shut, and to give deliberate answers when asked questions; I couldn’t tell them what was really going on with me. 

I walked over and tentatively climbed onto the bed, giving the straps a wary glance. The taste of fear engulfed my mouth. I ignored its bitterness. 

Remember the plan, Christina, or else who knows when you’ll ever get out of here. Maybe never. Maybe they’ll keep you here in this room on permanent display.

The doctor smiled and patted my foot. 

There now. I bet that feels better, he said. 

The leather straps are alive!

Images of the straps growing in size and snaking their way around my limbs played in my mind in a quick loop. Memories of being pinned down were so vivid that my muscles moaned in protest as if my limbs were strapped already. I gave the doctor a small smile. 

Do you understand why you’re here? he asked me.

No, I don’t. I’m fine.

Your mother called 911 because she thinks you’re having an acute manic episode, he peered over his thin specs. You have a bipolar disorder, correct? 

Yes. I have a type one bipolar disorder.

Your medication’s probably out of balance, but we’ll run some tests to make sure that nothing physical is wrong with you first.

It’s a waste of time, I sucked my teeth. Nothing’s wrong.

Let’s hope not, but something’s going on with you. You need help.

No shit, genius. 

He gave me two small pills.

What’s this? I asked suspiciously. They weren’t my regular medication. 

It’s Lorazepam, he said patiently. It’ll help you sleep. 

That made little sense to me since I was just sleeping. I was asleep, wasn’t I? I wasn’t sure anymore. I took the pills hesitantly and answered the standard questions any doctor threw at a patient who was believed to be mentally ill. 

What’s your full name? How do you feel? Do you know where you are? When is the last time you slept? What medication are you taking? Are you followed by a regular psychiatrist? Do you hear voices? Do you see things that aren’t there? Do you think you’re special? Do you have any suicidal thoughts? Did you take any drugs or alcohol? Can you explain what happened? Blah, blah, blah.

I fired back a few of my own.

How long will I stay here? Why did you bring me here? When can I go to the Bradley? When can I go home? Can I have some of my medication? Why did you wake me up? Can I run to the bathroom? Can I have a cigarette?

I wanted to tell him he was no psychiatrist, and I wanted my doctor, but I kept silent because I didn’t want to piss him off. He was my ticket home.

Remember the plan! 

I kept my answers to the standard ones he’d want to hear. It was an easy task. I rolled my eyes, involuntarily, hating these questions. Slowly, the pills he gave me took effect. Nodding off, I barely noticed the medical team leave the room. I fell asleep with the straps forgotten underneath me. 

Chapter Two

I slept long enough for my body to be sore. I favoured my arthritic hips as I stretched my tender muscles just as the same group of people entered the room, lined up along the foot of the bed and solemnly stared at me.

Dr. Desjardin handed me water and my regular medication. I peered at the pills carefully, making sure he didn’t mess up and give me the wrong ones. 

Thank you for your help, I said to everyone. Been having trouble sleeping for a few days, but I’m a lot better now.

Why didn’t you go to the hospital yourself?

I wasn’t sure if it was severe enough. I was going to call my doctor today for her advice.

It sounded reasonable enough. A part of me knew that it was what I should do when I’m sick, but I wasn’t sick now, was I? Not to the point where I needed to be hospitalized. 

The sleeping pill worked beautifully. I slept like a bear in hibernation. I feel excellent.

You only slept for two hours, Dr. Desjardin said. He frowned and wrote something on my chart. I’m glad you’re better though.

As they left the room, I stopped the doctor before he escaped.

Is it all right if you leave the door open? I hate being in closed places.

I’m not sure about that, he said. His eyes narrowed as he stared into mine. You might run away and make us chase you.

I won’t leave this room. Promise. Please, Doc.

I’m taking you at your word, Christina Wars. Do not leave this room.

He walked out, leaving the door wide open. 

I got off the bed and stood in the doorway, noting the large orderly that stood nearby. He was staring at me from the corner of his large bubble eyes as the doctor whispered something to him. 

Bubble Eyes’ smooth head shone from the lights. Three hundred pounds of fat jiggled when he moved. One would think he could hardly budge, but his limbs were quick and determined.  His hands flexed in anticipation, large enough to swallow someone’s head... I just hoped it wasn’t mine. 

Poor guy got stuck on Wars patrol. He must be new or made his boss mad to get such a shit job. I laughed to myself. He was going to be disappointed if he was hoping to tackle me because I wasn’t going to give him the chance. Getting home was my main concern, but I didn’t want any police or some enormous man chasing after me.

Ricky’s winning! Ricky’s winning!

I commanded the thoughts of Ricky to stay out of my head. I needed to forget, for the time being, that he wanted me locked up, so he had an excuse to take care of us. He didn’t care about us. He only cared