Emotional Pickpocketing

Yesterday was the Rockstar's last day. Last week, I went to his farewell outing - a bowling extravaganza filled with shouts and razzing and toasts and a definite sadness tinging the whole affair. A part of me absorbed it...felt sad because he is leaving, and after a year, I'd like to think I could call him a friend. But it was also the memory of all that I went through last year seeping from the corners of my mind. As the departure was unfolding, I could see little flashes of my own life layered over his. When he hugged me yesterday, and I wished him luck, I felt like I was talking to myself a little bit...a little bit letting go of that person I was then and wishing her luck as she tries to become the person she is now.

***
More and more lately, I've been feeling the quiet beginnings of the panic. The disrupted stomach. The irrational anxiety of anticipating "it." I went to the doctor last week who asked if I wanted to up my dosage. And I said no, I should try and do this. I should try and do this life thing without having to adjust my medication up and up and up. So I'm pushing through, pushing up the threshold of discomfort and willing myself to work through it, one deep breath at a time.

***
I turned 29 earlier this month. And while I flogged my coworkers for the lack of festivities surrounding my birthday, it was really me that caused the disappointment. It was really me who didn't celebrate myself. It was really me who let my birthday be a reminder of all the things I'm not, all the things I lack, instead of all the things I am and all the things I have. What an empty feeling to be consumed by absences on a day that should be spent building a totem of great memories and accomplishments.

***
My laptop has been a source of immense frustration of late. One of the hinges has cracked and the lid won't stay upright, falling instead into an almost horizontal position. On top of that, some part of Microsoft Office is malfunctioning, auto-launching, and utilizing 99% of my CPU capacity. And it's like, Really? Is everything in my life broken?

***
Yesterday, on the drive home, I felt restless. I shifted in the seat. I peered through the grubby windshield at the searing cerulean sky. I saw a few blue-black crows perched in the naked branches of a dying tree. It felt like someone might cue the classic Sergio Leone whistle in the background. It was a showdown between me and waiting. It's been so long on this precipice, me perched, angled forward, looking for what's next. And held back by the gravity of all that's happened. I'm waiting for something - something good and hopeful. Something that gives me an indication that there is a way out of this valley of the shadow of death and not just endless wandering.

***
We start looking at the weekends coming up through the end of the summer and the fall and planning out who has to do what when and where. I realize how scheduled we are with this and that family obligation - things I would normally look forward to, but now seem like just another outing that will perpetuate our togetherness. I could stay home, stay away, but even the thought of it starts the guilt to gnawing away at me. In my mind, coulds and shoulds and wants and needs get so tangled up that I don't know what to do. So I stay tied up in where I am right now, resenting all the hands on the other ends of the strings that are pulling me in every direction.

***
Despite my bravado, I realized the other day that there's almost no chance that I'll even be married before I'm 30. And that's okay. Really. It is. I know that. But sometimes - just sometimes - I want to let my guard down and say that's not how I imagined things.

***
Last week, I had a really, really super important client meeting with the client I landed awhile back. I thought everything went well. I was nervous leading up to it, felt pretty A-game in the midst of it, and relieved as soon as the meeting participants filed out the door. I headed from the office to have a beer with some friends. I missed a call from my boss while I was in the bar. I called him back to find that at least one of the participants was disappointed and felt like we didn't deliver. And that fragile euphoria came crashing down around me, and I felt 16 tons of disappointment fall upon my shoulders.

***
This weekend, I woke up early to go to the salon with Anna, and when I got back home, I said, "I have to take a nap." And it was true. I was bankrupt.

With every passing day, it seems there's emotional thievery going on. These unexpected strains slip in and steal little pieces of me. There are those things that I face everyday that I know I'm going to spend my time and energy and willpower on - some that I even choose to exert some emotional funds for. But these stealthy hands that swipe my reserves are tearing me down a piece at a time, leaving me penniless. I'm utterly broke, with nothing left to give and not even enough for myself.

Jumping the Gun

jump the gun (idiom) - to begin prematurely; act too hastily

@ Blockbuster - Selected Feast of Love based on the co-starring power of Greg Kinnear and Morgan Freeman and assumed from the description that it was a Love Actually-esque film with multiple story lines - or as the box suggested, "A romantic feast for anyone who loves love." We decided to watch this film while enjoying delectable birthday treats like ice cream cones and brownies. Within the first fifteen minutes, there was a naked-to-the-waist lesbian sex scene. Um. Did I mention I was watching with my parents?

@ Work - After lamenting the neglectful behavior of my co-workers last Thursday, I had to consume an enormous slice of humble pie today. They marched in at 4 p.m. to The Beatles "Birthday" with an ice cream cake and a gift of Notable Author Finger Puppets. We enjoyed said ice cream cake while the Rockstar's birthday mix played on in the background. (It included Lil' Wayne and Kansas.) I felt incredible remiss in having been so irrationally upset.

@ the Mental Level - Right now, I'm deep breathing through what I'm hoping is indigestion. I've been hoping that I've had indigestion a lot lately. I just chewed up a Pecid AC...and the taste took me back to the place my brain seems to be wanting to go. Like a little this-time-last-year party trick. With the shrink and the doctor and the medication - let's face it: I thought I was done with all this. Perhaps it's just an allergic reaction to getting old.

The Arsenal

Here's the arsenal to combat the very persistent itchy rash on my upper chest and back:


*Benadryl taken before bedtime to get some antihistamine and alleviate the itching
* Erythromycin (a.k.a. pills the size of horse tranquilizers) twice a day to fight infection
* New soap - Cetaphil Antibacterial, which is what dermatologists recommend for babies

Post-shower with the new soap and before bedtime, apply...
* Sulfur-based lotion to reduce the inflamation
* Prescription-strength hydrocortisone to keep the itching down to a minimum

Diagnosis? Dry itchy skin scratched a lot leads to inflamed hair follicles which get infected...all exacerbated by getting hot and sweaty.

The good news is I am not alone. My Cosmic Twin is using the same soap, taking the same antibiotic and applying sulfur-based lotion for his skin woes. Dermatologist nightmare, activate!

The Beginning

Getting on the plane at 9:45 a.m. * Must take Dramamine * Please don't seat me next to a "talker" * Plan on Nick Drake and a semi-conscious state * Eva says I'll need a snack * Landing on the west coast at 12:45 * Taking the BART to the hotel - it's a snap, I'm sure * Overwhelmed with what I want to see first - everything * Must find See's Candies immediately upon arrival * Take a million pictures * Ask the locals where to go dancing - must shake junk in the trunk * Will wear new dress and new top despite any less-than-seasonable weather * See the Golden Gate * Hope it feels Golden

March Madness

In the aftermath of Ronnie's death, I thought I would need to talk. I thought I would be going through my cell phone and calling everyone, finding someone to talk to every night. I don't know what I thought I would say. But I certainly didn't think I would say...nothing. The truth is, I think about calling my friends - all of the wonderful people who said, "Call me if you need me." And I want to call, if nothing else to just say thank you for the offer. But I can't. It's like I am rendered speechless at the very thought of trying to express anything to anyone. I have been struck dumb by this situation, unable to find words that have any meaning.

***
Last night, Mom wanted to know if I wanted anything to eat before bed. I said no, I would be fine. What I meant was, no my stomach is revolting. I'm taking my medicine dutifully every morning, but it's just...not enough. Under the circumstances, what could possibly be enough? And so, everyday, there is some point in the day that it fails me. There is some moment when I think about Anna being alone, I think about what she's going through (or try to imagine it) and it comes at me in a huge wave. My face burns, the acid pours into my stomach, and my mouth quivers. It's coming - The Panic is coming and I'm too tired to fight it. Most of the time, it just hovers there, threatening, as though it might be taking pity on me.

***
The last week, I've been having terrible nightmares. I don't know what they're about...they're not storied dreams. Rather they're like bright flashes and scenes, some real and some conjured from the darkest parts of my subconscious. Whatever they are, they are terrifying. I wake up sweating - not perspiring - sweating with rivulets running down my torso, my shirt wet, my sleep pants soaked. And the waking is always sudden, always as though I have just gotten to that moment where I can't take anymore and I have to tell myself, "This isn't real." And I lay in the darkness, eyes open, panting softly, miserable in my damp pajamas, and think that what is real isn't that much better.

Seeing It Both Ways

Half Empty
* I had to get up today at 5:25 to go to the ATL office.
* On my way to meet The Goofball for our ATL trek, the full moon was still out.
* While handling the giant post-it note pad in today's meeting, I accumulated numerous paper cuts.
* I seem to have carried home Dillon's cold, manifesting in slightly stuffy sinuses and a niggling soreness in the back of my throat.
* Tomorrow I have to catch up on all the work that did not get done today or yesterday while I was in meetings.
* I must start thinking about having my taxes done.
* Control top pantyhose.
* Aching lower back from picking up Dillon a lot over the weekend.

Half Full
* After today's meeting one of The Clients asked me if I will be assigned to their account team long term.
* Everyone was in generally good spirits tonight at dinner, laughing easily.
* Rescheduling the daily dosage of The Medicine is helping me to actually sleep at night.
* Tonight is Pro Run.
* Excellent discussion with The Goofball about books to read.
* Tomorrow is THURSDAY.
* Elastic waistband pants
* Mom bought me a heating pad today for my aching lower back.
* Kudzu is snoring.

Weekend Update

Moment: Friday evening, driving home, black trees arterial against the pale peach sky, Sarah McLachlan singing "I'll Be Home for Christmas" and a beautiful sadness washed over me

Saturday: Out of bed and then back to bed. In pajamas until 3 p.m., watching A Christmas Caper starring Shannon Doherty on the ABC Family Channel.

Dosage: Up, working, chasing away the "I don't cares"

Office Christmas Party: Tasty food, warm welcomes, good conversation and another Awkward Moment with The Big Boss to add to my collection

Sunday morning: Cold dry wind whipping my hair up, my dad saying, "When it blows like that, you know you're alive."

Publix: Old home week running into parents of friends (Heather, that's you), old teachers, family friends

Lunch: Dad helped Mom make chili - the only thing he knows how to make; very charming

Nap: In the sun on the couch for two hours...ahhhhh.

Evening: Christmas music in the car on the way to meet Eva, Justin and Dillon. He was tired and sat in my lap with his head on my shoulder. That's happiness right there.

Baking: Cinnamon raisin sourdough bread...Mom's heavenly concoction. The house smells heavenly.

Carol of the Day: "Gentle Mary Laid Her Child"

Christmas spirit: Lifting?

Creativity: Low, hence another list post. More tomorrow...promise.

The Merry Malaise

Christmas time is here. Happiness and cheer. Or not so much. I don't mean to sound so Scroogish. It's just that the holiday season is turning into the holiday sadness, such as

* Total annoyance with the Secret Santa game at work - the complex logistics, the forced clue-dropping, having to make dip for the big "reveal" party. Yelch.

* Inability to shop. At all. I finally gave in last night and dropped a load at Amazon just to get some of it done.

* Counting down the days until Christmas...is over.

* Irritation at the onslaught of Christmas commercials with the Rockwell-esque and Courier & Ives Christmas scenes that don't exist but that I somehow feel like they should.

* Repulsion over the excess...the recent tour of a very big home with very expensive furniture, art, decor...millions invested in it all...for a family of three.

* The anticipation for the childlike wonder to flicker and flare inside me somewhere...and the simultaneous knowing that I'm waiting in vain

* Telling Mom every day that I'll help her finish decorating the Christmas tree...and not doing it

* Investigating the box of goodies from FudgeyNut that Dad brought home and thinking about devouring the whole lot in a fit of depressed binge-eating

* Having to call the doctor, ask for more of The Medicine, because, well, bah humbug

Somebody Fed the Mogwai After Midnight

So maybe it wasn't after midnight. Maybe it was around 4 o'clock on Saturday afternoon, and the culprits were a giant Coke Icee and an entire bag of Reese's Pieces. But whatever the case, The Panic made a resurgence right in the middle of McDreamy's fairytale adventure in Enchanted. Right there in the Mayfaire Cinema, the acid poured into my stomach, the heat rose up into my face, and there was a vague ringing that was probably caused by the incessant beat of my pulse against my eardrum.

And I may have pushed it to the side, shoved it to the back, tried to forget about it as I chased K.Lo through the living room as she squealed to be tickled and listened to her charming performance of the ABCs (often sans T, U and V, but who needs those letters anyway?) and held the Sesame Street book while she reverently pointed out Elmo and Grover and The Count (who she will tell you says, "ah ah ah"). But all that time, they were loose in my brain - cutting the wires and crossing them, revving the engine and leaking the chemicals into my system. I persevered - held tiny baby N. Lo who is very darling -chatted, had dinner.

And then there was later...there was the gagging. But as promised, the gloves came off. I battled back for all I was worth. Through Saturday night and Sunday brunch - and I pushed through and had a great time. And I gave it the old one-two in the car...Sunday evening...I was winning. Until Monday morning. And then, I gave in and let it all go. I sat on the cold bathroom floor with my back against the tub, sweating slightly, and somewhere in the distance, I think I heard someone count me out.

Thank You

* Family, for letting me live at home, for understanding the place I'm in, for trying hard to recognize that I am different than I was, for loving me even when they don't understand me, for supporting me and being there.

* Friends, for knowing when to ask how things are and when not to, for calling and emailing to check in, for reminding me that -whether here or elsewhere - they are there for me, for encouraging me to do what I need to do, for telling me I'm not crazy, for making me laugh

* Rain, which fell fast and hard this morning making puddles, which I hadn't seen in months

* Good books, which take me anywhere I want to go, and writing, in which I can take myself anywhere I want to go

* Health, both the kind The Medicine seems to be giving me and the general kind - I really do forget just how lucky I am

* Kudzu, dear sweet furry toilet-paper-strewing creature who warms my heart

* Dreams, the kind that entertain me - sometimes inform me, scare me, thrill me - while I sleep and the kind that give me hope for the future, anticipation of what Could Be.

* Today, it's all we get. All we're promised. I recently heard someone say that worry is using today's energy to carry tomorrow's burdens. I should pay heed to that advice. Say thanks today. Say I love you today. Laugh today. Eat well today - make sure you have dessert.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

Moment of Acceptance

Right now, I am sitting alone in a hotel room with a king-sized bed on the sixth floor that overlooks the Savannah River. Right now, darkness is squeezing the last of the color down to the horizon so that the skyline is black as charcoal against the blush of pink. Right now, I am looking down at a river, flowing fast past old buildings, new buildings, boats docked at its edge. Right now, there is a bridge in the distance. Right now is a very odd reflection of my old life looking back at me. And fittingly enough, I am on the other side of the Savannah from the city...so it really is like looking at my old life across the Cape Fear from a different vantage point.

Earlier, I sat in a meeting where people said "we" a lot. And about halfway through, I realized that I'm included in that we. I am part of the we. I am a cog in this machine. I stand under their umbrella. And when they talk about the company as a family, they consider me part of that tree. At first, it was odd. And then someone said something funny, and I got it because, after three months, I finally sort of understand how we work. And I laughed and looked around me, and thought, Okay.

That's all...just...right now...okay.

Don't Call It A Comeback

Quietly, cautiously, I mark off the fifteenth day. The incessant hum in my brain seems to be lessening...a distant buzz. My heart is calm, its regular steady pulse instead of an erratic skid. Slumber goes on uninterrupted, and my biorhythms seem to have time to sink into the dark quiet instead of dancing around while I have my eyes closed.

And aside from that, life is getting, perhaps, easier? It is easier to breathe. And to laugh. And to make it through the day without thinking about purposefully stepping out into oncoming traffic.

At the same time, I'm afraid to consider this thing knocked out. Is it just wishful thinking? Is it just a blissful placebo effect? Or is it truly down for the count? One thing is for sure - if it comes back at me, the gloves are coming off.

Jellyfish

One Week Later, I am a jellyfish. A soft translucent membrane, weightless in cool indigo water. I ascend slowly and concentrate on the movement of air and water: in and out, in and out. Sound is a thick murmur. Light is a quick flicker.

Below me trail tentacles, streamers of sensation and feeling. They dangle quietly, waiting. I have finally gathered these moments of tranquility, but there is still the threat that, though hanging idle, those tentacles will tangle with some mysterious something, electrify and strike.

Hotwired

On Monday, I sit through the staff meeting jonesing to get out of my skin. I can almost hear my thoughts accelerating, chipmunking like a record played at too-high RPM. The sunlight in the conference room is bright; I laugh too loud. And I feel like everyone can tell that I am different.

On Tuesday, I sit at my desk fighting sleep. Not just I didn't get enough sleep last night nodding. Drugged sandbag eyelid sleepy. I lean my face into my hand, shielding my eyes from the door, so that it looks to a casual passerby like I'm reading the screen intently. I fall asleep for five to ten minutes.

On Wednesday, I am in a meeting an I am talking and in the middle of the sentence, I falter...the thread I was following goes down a rabbit hole...but I keep talking and I have no idea if I am making sense. I stop talking and everyone looks like they understand, but I don't.

On Thursday, I get out of the bed and it starts: fingers trembling (it's hard to put in contacts) and pulse racing and the nausea. And I take breaks - sit down between the shower and drying my hair, taking deep breaths.

And somewhere in my brain, the wires are crossing, the sparks are flying, the motor is revving, and I'm going...whether I want to or not.

Side Effects: Mercy

When I was little, Justin and I used to play a game we called "Mercy." Mercy involved bending the other player's hand back at the wrist in an effort to touch the fingers to the forearm - until the pain became too much and the player called, "Mercy!"

Mercy meant "Stop, it's hurting too much." Mercy meant, "You with the upper hand, please take pity on me." Mercy meant, "I can't take anymore." Mercy meant, "I give up - you win." Mercy was about finding a threshold, the fine line between tolerance and intolerance. Mercy was a plea.

And now, I find myself emotionally bent backwards. Just when I thought the worst was over, I feel my fingers touching my forearm, everything in my wrist tight to the point of breaking.

Mercy. Please, please, mercy.

The Good Doctor

Yesterday, I had an appointment with The Doctor about The Panic. It was no small accomplishment to get this appointment. It required getting a list of referrals from The Other Doctor. Cross-referencing the referred doctors with those covered by The Insurance, which was a little tricky because I changed my plan two months in based on the recommendation of the HR consultant.

And when I called those who double qualified (referred and covered!), I found one doctor who wasn't accepting new patients, one whose first available appointment was in December, and one who required some personal information and a description of symptoms for a sort of MD audition before he would accept me as a patient. This is The Doctor with whom I had an appointment.

But, through some snafu with the entire health care system in America, when I arrived to see The Doctor, I found that The Insurance was not accepted. Because of two tiny words printed under the plan line. The Nice Receptionist offered to let me cancel without paying the cancellation fee, but I knew I needed to see The Doctor. So I opted to self-pay, closing my eyes briefly so as not to envision what the bill would be.

And there in the waiting room, I felt bitterly ironic that The Panic was rising the moment I was called to see The Doctor.

But fate took another little twist. The Doctor was actually a wonderful, wonderful person who listened to what I had to say and told me that I am not crazy. We made plans for Right Now and we talked about Next Steps. And then he told me there would be no charge. I went to The Doctor for free.

As I was leaving he said, "If you have any problems - any at all - call me. I mean it. And don't worry about the insurance thing. We'll work something out."

I walked out of The Doctor's office feeling a small bubble of hope rising against The Panic and the autumn afternoon light was so clear that I swear I could almost see The End in sight.