Jury Duty?

You guessed it, today I have jury duty. What were they thinking? All I can say is, they're in for a surprise when they put me up on that stand under oath to see if I'll be one of 12 jurors (I think) that they will possibly choose. Please, don't. Do you want someone who has racing thoughts and who most likely won't be able to pay attention to what the lawyers are saying? 

Somehow, I doubt it.

This morning, I will, however walk in with my head held high in hopes of some sort of sympathy. But I screwed up, because had I actually read the summons in advance, instead of tucking it away for a month, I would have noticed that I could have been excused if I presented a doctor's note explaning my condition. But I didn't. Now I'll have to go in there, spend the time this morning and describe my condition—most likely in detail—as the lawyers on the case will have to decide whether or not I will be chosen as one of the jurors to hear and decide the case.

God, help me (and them).

As I walked into the courthouse, my palms felt sweaty and my mind was racing with thoughts of nervousness. I didn't know what to expect because I had never been chosen for jury duty before, so regardless of this being an entirely new experience for me, I knew it was something I wasn't ready to undertake. Could I, even if I wanted to? That's a question I may never know the answer to.

After the interviews of potential jurors started, I was relieved I was a part of the first group of 28 for questioning and inquiry. As soon as the judge asked us if there was anyone who believed they were unable to undertake jury duty for whatever reason—medical or mental illness—please raise your hand. After I raised my hand, I immediately became nervous as well as embarrassed. I wasn't about to announce to the lawyers on the case and the judge who was hearing it what my "issue" was. As I approached the bench, I asked the judge politely if I could speak with him privately in his chambers. There were at least 100 potential jurors sitting in the courtroom waiting to be heard, just like me. This was the last thing I needed any of them to hear.

He understood and immediately obliged to my request. As I followed the judge and the lawyers to his chambers, I sat down with my head held high and hoped they would all understand. It's not that I was trying to get out of being a juror for this case, because I knew for a murder, sexual assault and domestic violence case, I would have needed to pay close attention. Due to my regular manic episodes, I couldn't guarantee that I'd be able to do that, so I reluctantly sat down and told my story. Explained that I had Bipolar Disorder and frequent manic episodes, as well as a regular dose of racing thoughts. It was a common, daily occurrence. I knew for this type of case, it'd be a challenge for me to be a juror. One of twelve that held this man's life in my hands. 

Or so I thought.

I was questioned. I was prodded. The lawyers on the case needed to know if I could handle such a responsibility and would I feel comfortable letting them know if I needed a break as I could possibly "doze" off at any time during the trial.

I assured them that I could, and most importantly, that I would.

As I spoke to them intimately about the details of my illness, I immediately wanted to run out of there in shame; embarrassed that I had to succumb to such details about my life. An intimate part of my life that only a few have been blessed with knowing. As the questioning continued, so did my mind. At that point, I had no problem answering their questions, because I knew what they were doing was in the best interest of their case, as well as the defendant. I knew this and I understood it, so I tried my best to be as cordial and eloquent as I possibly could to aid them in their inquiry.

After several minutes of back and forth interest in me and my illness, I knew it was winding down to the end, and as I was asked to go into the courtroom and take my seat, I patiently waited for their decision. I felt in my heart that I would be excused; released of my jury duty obligation. But a part of me wanted to be a juror on this case because a case like this doesn't come along everyday, and it's something that has always fascinated me, but as they all came out of the judge's chambers and into the courtroom, the judge sat down and succinctly excused me.

As I was confused by my disappointment, I knew it was for the best. I felt it in my heart and understood their reasoning. It wasn't personal, it was professional. Ultimately, in the best interest of their client. 

The next day I woke up as if jury duty never happened. As if I wasn't questioned until I lost interest and gained satisfaction for knowing that I could possibly be released, because I went about my day as if none of that existed. That experience has given me a great deal of perspective on life, and as a result I now realize that even though I wasn't' chosen to be a juror, I was chosen to appear for jury duty, therefore it was an honor to give what minimal time I experienced in that courtroom for the possibility of becoming a juror on an important life-changing case.

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The Rat Race

I mean this legitimately—the rat race in my head and my thoughts. They're always racing, so much so that I cannot sleep. It feels like my mind and my thoughts are going 100 miles a minute. Sometimes I can control it, especially when I go for my morning run, but most of the time, I cannot. Unfortunately, it prevents me from sleeping, and this isn't good for my disease, my bipolar disorder. My therapist and my "drug dealer" (as I like to call my psychiatric nurse who prescribes my medication), always tell me that I need my sleep; it's imperative I get a good night's sleep. But how can I control it? How can I control my racing thoughts?

Most of the time, I'm always thinking of ways to improve my solitude and give me projects to work on, especially for my art. But there are so many ideas that I honestly don't know where to start, or worse, how to execute them. I know I have discussed this through one of my prior posts, Therapy Through Art, but it's something that continues to affect me even today, several weeks later.

I sometimes feel like my mind is in the middle of New York City running through rush hour as though I was part of the "rat race." It gets beyond frustrating because I just can't seem to concentrate on anything—not even my art, which means the world to me right now. Again.

Yesterday I had my daughter's friend come over for a sleepover, and since I had never met her mother, she eagerly came upstairs to introduce herself. Nice enough lady, just couldn't seem to stop talking. Well, for most people that may be OK, but for me, someone who suffers from bipolar disorder, my mind wanders if you've lost me; lost my interest—which unfortunately happens a little too often these days, and with her, it was just too much; too in depth.

As I'm standing there trying my hardest to listen, my mind continued to wander—round and round about everything and anything to zone her out. I couldn't help it, but I lost interest not far into the conversation.

How do I overcome this? The past several days, I have been shaky in the mornings, and now exhausted. I credit the exhaustion to my lack of sleep these days, but the shakiness, I just don't know what to do. Thankfully I have my appointment tomorrow with my "drug dealer" so hopefully he can recommend something. It's tough, kind of like this dichomoty in my brain telling me that although my depression and mood swings have diminished exponentially, I'm shaky and exhausted regardless.

The polarity is frustrating for me. No pun intended.

This tells me one thing—I'm still not 100% like I had hoped. The last few weeks have been such a huge transformation, as we had immediately thought, finally she's back.

Not yet.

After starting this painting a few weeks ago, I finally completed it this morning. Although I haven't done the finishing touches to date—a shiny gloss coat—but I can still display it proudly to share with you for this post.

I hope you like it. If not, that's OK too, I realize my art is not for everyone. That's what makes it art. More abstract in nature which demonstrates my current state of mind; my racing thoughts.

Skyscraper of a Scattered Mind – Artist, me – 2012

Thank you for reading, and thank you for allowing me to share my recent painting with you.

P.S. Please understand that my paintings are amateur as I have had no professional training in fine art painting with acrylic. But it's something I do for myself. I typically don't sell my paintings, would consider it.

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