• Note to readers: The following story depicts a bipolar hypomania. In this state, notice the racing thoughts, paranoia, ideas of reference, and the detachment from the physical self (i.e. being physically inside an Uber, versus being mentally in the mountains).

I climbed into the car, as it pulled up, hoping that this drive would be my escape from reality. Lately, that’s all I ever looked for — escape.

I wanted escape from my thoughts. Escape from my truths.

Escape from my very existence. Maybe if I ceased to exist, so would these heavy truths, I reasoned.

I stared out of the Uber window at the hills as I drove down the Interstate 880. I eyed the peak and yearned so badly to climb it. Find a cave, if there were even any.

As I stared at the peak whiz by that morning, I thought about turkeys.

Yes, turkeys. As in the funny looking bird with the red beard-like bib around its neck. I’d seen a bunch of them out there a few years back, when I’d taken a wrong turn. There were lots of wild turkeys up in the Mission Hills.

I remained almost certain that there were also rattlesnakes there. Maybe even tarantulas.

Who am I kidding? Of course there were tarantulas! It was Northern California and that was Mission Peak. Yes, tarantulas, snakes, mountain lions. Even bears.

Lions, tarantulas, bears, oh my.

I shuddered. There goes my cave plan, I thought to myself.

A chill came over my and my muscles jerked in spasm. I wrapped my shawl even tighter around my shoulders and torso, so that it could protect me from the beasts that roamed Mission Peak.

No cave would save me from my terrors. There was to be no Fortress of Solitude. No Cave of Hera. No solace from the noises and sounds that permeated my existence. No blinders or earplugs to the haunting shadows that danced in my brain and sang in my ears.

These burdens have been tasked on you, my child. They are yours to bear and yours alone, Mom’s voice whispered, in Elvish.

But I was not Frodo, from Lord of The Rings. And I didn’t carry a ring of power around my neck, that hung there like a heavy, burning weight.

I carried these revelations. These secrets. These pains.

They say that knowledge is power.

For me, knowledge was pain. There are some truths that are fluffier when they remain untold. There are some realities we can’t bear.

There are some rings that aren’t rings of power or blessing. They are handcuffs to agony.