A few years ago, right before I started this blog, I was experiencing the worst mental health episode of my adult life. The anxiety and the depression were insatiable. The emotion was constant and paralyzing and physically excruciating. I couldn't get out of bed. I couldn't go outside of the house. I didn't buy groceries for a week. I showered once, maybe twice in 18 days. I didn't answer phone calls or text messages. I locked myself so deep in the pit of my fear, that some around me wondered if I would ever be able to find my way out.
I don't how what motivated me to get out of bed on that frigid April morning, two years ago this month. Of course, I don't really know what triggered the 18 day isolation that came before that either. Regardless, I got out of bed on Monday April 21, 2013. I took a shower. Put on some makeup. Threw a banana at my kid. Got in the car and drove to work. I shook uncontrollably on the 9 mile trip down Bodega Avenue, forcing myself to not pull over or turn the car around. When I walked into work, I was met by about 20 pairs of glaring, critical eyes. I could hear the thoughts of everyone I walked passed "Where the fuck have you been for the last three weeks?" Their judgment was deafening.
Of course, it wasn't judgement. It was more concern. Or confusion. Maybe even a little surprise that I was still alive. After all, the only thing that had kept me connected to the outside of my house for the previous 18 days were the text messages I got from people who reminded me to shower and the meals that showed up on my front door step from neighbors who thought I was turning into Howard Hughes. But I did go back to work that morning.
I remember very vividly being so self conscious about having to explain my absence. But as soon as the phone rang at 7:02, I forgot about trying to make excuses for myself. I logged in. I looked at my desk. I checked my email. I remember being astounded that people were still calling the clinic, still leaving work in my "to do" box, still stealing all the good pens off my desk, and still sending emails to me. It was round mid-morning when I went outside to smoke that I actually thought to myself "That's weird. Even though I haven't done anything for the last three week, the world is still doing its thing."
I keep thinking back to that morning on April 21st, two years ago. The only reason I remember it was April 21st is because I wrote it down when I got there. With a green ball point pen. Because that was the only pen I could find. I wrote "21APR" I don't even know what prompted me to write it down, but I kept that piece of scratch paper in my purse for a very long time. I can't tell you why, but I have held on to it like it was the Holy Grail. I didn't look at it very often, but when I rummaged through my purse and came across that green hen scratch, it always made me think.
So now, almost two years later, I was sitting in my kitchen this past Sunday night. Cleaning out my purse, because my motto is "clean purse, happy heart." It's stupid, but I can never find anything in there, so I always feel like I need to clean it out. Anyway, last Sunday at the kitchen table, I pulled out everything and put it all into two piles. Just like I always do. The shit that I need. Things like my wallet, key, and wine tool. The other pile was the shit I don't need. Like receipts, gum wrappers and half eaten granola bars. I immediately took the pile of shit I don't need out to the trash can. As I organized the shit I do need, I realized that the green scribble was missing.
I looked. I looked again. I check all the pockets. I checked the pockets of purses I haven't used in months. I couldn't find it. So back to the trash can I went. Like a shameless fool, I started pulling things out of the grey bin. Sifting through last weeks garbage, even though I just thrown the shit I didn't need away. I dug through all of it. ALL. OF. IT. When I was elbow deep in coffee grinds and chicken bones, I had the good sense to have Radley open the door and turn on the shower for me. You know, that way I didn't leave e coli and salmonella in my wake.
I got in the shower and washed it all away. Got up the next morning and went to work. Like I knew what I had been doing all along. But, I don't know what I am doing at all. I have been finding myself really close to that place I was two years ago. I have been having a hard time functioning and feeding myself. I have been overcome with fear and sadness a lot lately. Feelings I hate. Feelings that I have been able to keep at bay, for so long, with that fucking piece of paper. But it's gone now. So how do I remind myself that I survived the worst of it two years ago? How do I remind myself that I am strong enough to beat it again. How to I tell myself that adversity is a part of survival?
Then it hit me this morning. It's other people. Other people are the reminder. It's not a security blanket. It's not two numbers and three letters. It's other people who are the reminder. Just as that first day back at work after after my fear and sadness almost consumed me, now I have to look at the universe and see how it doesn't stop just because we stop. Two years ago, my withdrawal from humanity didn't stop the work from piling up. It didn't stop the bills from being paid. It didn't stop one of my best friends from losing a baby.
As I sat there this morning, at the same smoke pit that brought all the clarity to me two years ago, I looked back on the events of the past week. Monday, I got a call from my girlfriend who got laid off from her job in private practice, due to "budget restraints." They told her she could collect on her vacation on her unemployment benefits. Just like that. Same fucking day. They didn't even give her a slap on the ass on the way out. Also on Monday, I found out that the program, and the educator, that have been most influential in my child's life are both on the bureaucratic clock. Tuesday,a dear friend of almost two decades, lost his first born grandchild to a three year battle with cancer. Same Tuesday, a baby arrived. The first born to two really fucking amazing human beings. Wednesday. I couldn't get out of bed. Well, to be fair. I did get out of bed. I even got in the shower. But by the time I got out of the shower, I was so overcome with nausea and fear that I just sat in the shower until I could compose myself to find clothes.
Yesterday started to feel a lot like that April two years ago. I got a couple of text messages from my girlfriends. One said "you aren't at work. How are you?" Another said "Do you want me to stop by tonight?" I had dinner made for me by friends who just wanted to make sure I was "OK." It was really eye opening. Not just because I have really fucking amazing people in my life. But also because they see my pattern. That pattern kind of started to scare me.
So, yet again, I woke up this morning. Got in the shower. Threw some makeup on my face. Got two human beings dressed. Shoved a banana at my kid. Made coffee and drove to work. Listened to NPR and learned about two fabulous new bay area plays on "Second Row, Center." No sooner did I get out of the car, did I get two new photos and a text to accompany them that read "the newest addition." Another baby. I smiled as I walked by the front desk, cold as hell and yelled "It's 35 degrees! Sleeves up, boys!" I went to my desk. Did work. Remembered it was Tim's birthday.
I drove down to his building at lunch to tell him "happy birthday" I stepped out of the car and found my footing, I was cussing at my skirt for always riding up in the car. As I slammed the door, I heard a soft voice call after me: "Hey Ang." I looked up from my shoes and my skirt and I saw him. I saw my friend. Of nearly two decades. The one who just lost he first born grandchild to a three year battle with cancer. I had been avoiding him. Because what do you say to someone who just lost a child from their life?
The first thing I did was hug him. The second thing I did was demand: "Why the fuck are you at work?" He looked at me as if I should know the answer. I told him "you are all in my heart. All of you." He said "I took a couple of days off. But what am I going to do at home?" I had no answer for that. I had no insight or cunning advice. I had nothing. We talked for a couple more minutes before he looked at me and said "The worst part is that I can't do anything to ease the pain of my daughter's loss."
I looked at him in the eye, like I only do with people I love, honor and respect and told him "Mart. There is nothing you can do. Losing a child is the most unnatural experience we can have as parents." He hugged me again and walked away without another word.
That's the weird thing about life. As much as you life it,..As much as you hide from it...As much as you try to beat it...Life keeps happening no matter what happens.
-Inner Peas
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