This one time, when I was manic…
I went to Niagara Falls on a mission with the best of intentions. Of course I was denied access into the Country and handcuffed, but that is a story for another day.
I ended up back on the US side and at a Blues Concert. I met a few guys in a group who pointed to this really swanky hotel in front of us that looked like a castle. They pointed to the top of the building that was glowing royally in all its purple glory.
They said, “You know, you can rent the pent house if you want! It overlooks the Falls.”
Yes sir! Okay! Challenge accepted.
It was key access only. Apparently it wasn’t a hotel at all, it was an apartment building. By that time it was raining. I had to wait in the rain for a while until someone with key access strolled by. Once they did, they let me slip in front of them.
I ran to the top of the building in search of the pent house.
I came across a couple and I asked why we couldn’t get out onto the balconies. They said, ‘Suicide prevention.’ It was a really high building.
I climbed so damn high that I actually ended up in this small cramped space with a latched-door above my head. This was after I had opened someone’s door because I thought it was the pent house. Yes, someone’s home…I opened their door and walked inside. Who does this? It wasn’t the first time, nor the last. I walked right out.
Back to the latched-door at the top of the building. It wouldn’t open on my first try, so I busted it open. It opened up towards the sky and dropped down onto a platform as loud as a barge hitting another. Imagine that sound.
The rain started falling through the building and cutting into my skin, sliding down my face like the Falls themselves.
To my surprise I was on the rooftop of this royal purple, castle-like, apartment building.
I looked around and was in complete shock and awe. Niagara Falls, right there…and the river in the night. The rain poured down and saturated my clothing…the cold piercing my skin.
I had no music. I had no one to dance with. So, I danced with the tunes playing in my head and I danced alone. I spun and spun with my arms in the air, whirling a tornado of rain around me. My face to the sky and my arms outstretched over the river. My cares slipped away over the edge, and all was right with the world again. I was ecstatic. I was high on life. I was euphoric. I was manic.
I never did find the pent house.
I found something much better suited for me … No limits. No restraints. No ceilings.
For that night, I was the Queen of that Castle and of that Land.
The next morning I woke up, sedated in a mental institution, in the suicide-watch room … not knowing who the hell I was or what had transpired the day and night before. Again, it’s simply another story … for another day.
(I could have ended this on a good note, but that is just the reality of psychosis, folks. One minute you are soaring and then the next, you are captured and plastered in a hospital bed somewhere across the States, not knowing how you got there.)