Showing posts with label Short Story. Show all posts

I know this isn't expected, or funny, or about my writing, but I've been thinking about it alot since I signed up on meetup.com, and its on my mind now that my first meeting with the Writers Group is 3 hours away. Most of you know that I have Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder, and if you've been on Twitter later in the evenings you've seen how hilariously crazy I can get. And I like it, when I'm not writing. I love saying funny things back and forth between tweeps and laughing my butt off. But thats only a small part of what goes on inside my head. This is the story of when I had my first full blown panic attack, and I haven't been the same since.

It was at a viewing for my then fiances, now husbands, grandmother. I’d never liked funerals, the dead bodies meaning nothing to me compared to the souls that housed them. My parents always kept me at the back away from the coffin, but this time they weren’t there, this time everyone was right by the body, and I hated it. I began to tunnel, huddling into my own body, hoping it would swallow itself up and take my mind with it and away from this rigid, cold flesh. I hardly heard a word, my mouth clamped ove the screams that wanted to escape, and my fiance knew I wasn’t well, so he was able to get me out as soon as it was ‘appropriate’. I began to shake in the car as he drove, and the farther we got from the body the worse it became until I was finally in full pseudo seizure mode. My whole body flushed, I couldn’t speak, I was in danger of breaking bones and it took hours and a shot of something that didn’t work to try to relax my muscles and calm me down. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning after almost 12 of them shaking, my muscles tired themselves out, and I lay there in that hospital room, staring at the wall, unseeing.

And thats when I broke.

I had to quit my job as a tour guide at my favorite job because at times, I could barely finish my sentence and I’d race to a place to hide. I had to drop out of college because my mind would race so fast I would whimper, I couldn’t concentrate and my grades plummeted. I’d had mild depression before, but after that night it took over me. I became irrational, hateful, and so so sad. I began cutting, drinking excessively and taking unprescribed medications to sleep for the days I couldn’t and then sleeping for days afterward. During my wedding a month after that episode at the funeral I had to tunnel myself through the ceremony, concentrating as hard as I could on the words and my groom. I steeled myself during the reception and we left early. But after that, my panic attacks only came more frequently, though none have been as bad as the first. I wanted to kill myself, wanted for this all to go away and everyone I loved forget the horrible effects I'd unintentionally forced on their lives, on their hearts and minds and personalities. Things got so bad I was admitted into acute psychiatric care three times in as many months.

After being diagnosed with Bipolar and given a slew of medications, it only got worse. As it turns out, I’m freaking ADHD, with maybe a touch of Bipolar, but we didn't find that out until just a few months ago. The depression has gotten better, as has the concentration, though the meds wear off halfway through the day or sometimes don’t work at all. Through these last two years, however, I’ve since developed a social phobia, from the shit my friends, my parents, even my coworkers and bosses put me through, telling me I’m being dramatic, stupid, this illness doesn’t exist. One by one all my friends from Real Life dumped me, and now I no longer have friends, other than the wonderful people on Twitter, who can't see me, who can't tell when I'm truly at my worst because I can control what they know. I can’t work anymore, the thought of messing up and being told I'm a bad person like the boss from my favorite job too much. I get shaky at the thought of going back to school, where I used to flourish but now worry I won't be able to keep up, though I miss it. I write my stories and blog and stay in my home for days at a time. I only go out for something to eat if I absolutely want to or have to, and then it takes me hours to get up the nerve.

Hardly anyone knows what I go through, what we who suffer from these illnesses of the mind must work through. People love me, roll their eyes and laugh when I say or do funny shit, but when it comes to the dark stuff, the painful stuff, the normal ones just don’t know. And they never will understand our fears, because sometimes we don’t either. I see the hurt and confusion in my husbands eyes when I get bad, when I want him to hold me one moment only to get disgusted with myself the next and shove him away. But he tries, so hard, the most patient man I’ve ever known. I've wondered, at times, when he’ll give up on me, when I’ll go through completely with the half-assed attempts of giving up on myself. I'm fortunate enough to have gotten better, and these thoughts don't come nearly as often as before.

But even with all of that, I've become extremely self aware. I know now when I'm being stupid or when its a panic attack, when I truly feel angry or if its just me being irrational for no reason. I can tell my husband, my parents, when I know I'm being irritable and apologize ahead of time, tell them I'm trying to control it, tell them I'm aware. I've learned so much about myself, some welcome, some I don't like and I'm working on. With every pain, hardship, and loss of reason I suffer I become better, and sometimes a structure once sturdy must be torn down before it can be rebuilt, stronger and longer lasting than before.

Somehow, I felt it was time for you readers to be aware about me too.

“Hmm. Cabernet or Chianti?” I can’t decide. I know Steve loves Chianti, but its not my favorite - not even close. And we had it last week, so... Cabernet it is!

I love shopping at Gucci HEB. Well, its really called HEB Central Market, but when me, my twin sister Blaire and best friend Lindsay walked in our sophomore year of high school, it somehow felt to us like a couture store. There were all these gorgeous women in amazing suits and dresses picking out the best wine for dinner that night, or what bread smelled the freshest. One was debating with the butcher on which cuts of meat to buy, and she reminded me of the old-fashioned housemothers that were very well versed in things like that. Overall, it became a symbol of success for the three of us, a place were we all wanted to shop at all the time when we became rich and fabulous and could actually afford to shop at stores like Gucci.

Is that my phone? Ugh, I have got to change that ringtone. Sarah? She was supposed to be in the country with her man.

“The fucking bastard has a GIRLFRIEND!!!! For two fucking years!!! And you know what else? She’s five months PREGNANT!!!”

“No.”

“Yes! I can’t fucking believe it!” Sarah loves the word fuck when she’s pissed.

“Where are you.”

“At home.”

“Your apartment or your moms?”

“My apartment. Mom is in Colorado visiting her parents.”

“I’m on my way.”

I dump out the contents of my handcart in the refrigerated beer section, grab another bottle of Cabernet and two of Chardonnay and head over to the frozen section for pizza and those breaded, deep-fried cream cheese filled jalapeño poppers, then off to the bakery for cheese cakes, all the while calling the rest of the Calvary.

Here’s the thing about the Cavalry. We’ve been the closest of friends as early as middle school and as late as seniors in college. It started with me, Blaire, and Lindsay, writing notes with those cool colored gel pens on black paper, and it sort of just grew from there. We get together every month to catch up, gossip, and bitch. When one of us hit’s a rough patch, we all work together to get her out and back in the game. And for something like this, every one of us drops as much as we can to support her.

Dashing off to the twenty or less registers, I finish off a call to Sydney, who will make it in two hours after she gets out of a presentation. It’s a good thing I have the day off, or else she would be alone until one of us got off work. I pick up speed as I see a woman laden with three kids screaming for sweets headed towards the register and practically throw the frozen pizza at the cashier.

“Party tonight?” Is he flirting with me?

“Is it invite only, or is anyone allowed?” A wink? Ok, he needs to be shut down, and fast.

“My best friend ditched a guy she really liked not ten minutes ago because she just happened to find out that he had a serious girlfriend of two years who is five months pregnant.”

“Oooooh. Yeah, I’ll take a rain check.”

“You never had a check to begin with.” I flash my wedding ring and give him an apologetic smile as I swipe my card. “Sorry, but when one of my girls is down, everything else is on hold until she’s functional.”

“Wow. That’s kinda cool. You have a good day.” How is that possible with a girl in hysterics?

“Thank you.”

I rush to my car, throw my purchases in the passenger seat and gun it toward Sarah’s apartment complex. As I pull out of the parking lot of Gucci HEB I continue with the calls. I can’t get a hold of Elsie, so I switch to text, marking them urgent. She calls right when I turn onto the street that Sarah’s apartment is on.

“I’m just down the block, I was on my way back to the office. Its no biggie, I was on an audit and the company was surprisingly prepared and efficient.”

“I got goodies. It seems like its gonna be a long one.” I hang up and punch in the code to open the gate of the apartment complex and we park by Sarah’s car.

“Shit yeah. I wonder how far she is on the voodoo doll.” Elsie grabs the bottles of wine and I get the rest. Climbing up the stairs to her door, I fumble for my emergency key and unlock the bolt and doorknob in one smooth motion, shoving the door open in the process.

And there, in the middle of her living room surrounded by all the gifts, pictures, and memorabilia of her time with the ass fuck, is our girl Sarah. Dressed in tattered sweats and her hair a birds nest, she looks up at us with puffy eyes red with tears of rage and sadness. We haven’t seen her so thoroughly wrecked since the new years party our freshman year of college, when she learned how to play beer pong very, very badly. In front of her, she already had a voodoo doll dressed with a pin stuck in the genital area.

This was bad.

“Oh, honey.”