I don’t know what my readers think of me, but let me tell you where I’ve been.
About two weeks ago, I started having to drag myself to class. With it being the middle of the semester, I assumed that it was just that mid-semester lulll in motivation. Perhaps I was just getting lazy. My classes felt even more exhausting than usual.
Normally, running cheers me up. I hopped on the treadmill, hoping to kick some joy into my veins. Running only made me angrier. I nearly burst into tears upon returning to the locker room.
At first, I thought that I might be pregnant (I’m not). I had two panic attacks in one day. Damon held me while I freaked out, hyperventilating, feeling my body temperature fluctuate. This had never happened to me before, well, with the exception of one bad episode of Lie to Me three years ago. Perhaps, this was just hormones.
I realized that it wasn’t that I was too lazy to go to class, I was afraid of going. The usual routine of getting dressed and driving ten minutes scared the crap out of me. There was a brick wall in my brain with a huge red STOP sign painted over it. Dead End. Do Not Enter. Being alone with my children brought that same feeling of dread. Ty’s screaming little face would cause me to curl into a ball and sob.
We went to the doctor while Damon’s sister watched the kids; berating Damon stupidly the entire way there. I liked the doc. He was a nice guy who had a sore throat that day. I felt like the room was on fire, both mentally and physically. I kept messing with my hair and fanning myself with a People magazine. The magazines seemed to be staring at me. My hands were shaking. There was no chance in hell I was going to work that day. He wrote me a note for class and work. Thankfully, this past week has been Spring Break, so at least attending class hasn’t been on my list of “things that I suck at right now”.
Being medicated seems to help chill me out a little bit. The doc upped my dose of “Let’s get out of bed today” medicine a little bit. I don’t feel like the room is on fire, but it doesn’t make me any happier. It just puts me at a flatline. At work, I’m normally a semi-annoying little buzz of erratic energy. Not yesterday. I did my job, dead-faced when I didn’t have to smile for residents. I didn’t chat with my coworkers. Working did help distract me, but I could feel a chunk missing from my puzzle.
The upside is that the compulsion to steer myself away from the crushing loneliness motivated me to write two short stories in less than a day. They’re only first drafts, but they were pretty good. I’ve been noticing more in the green grass outside and the pink flower buds on the trees. I’ve been writing more; the one upside of this crapped up situation that is my brain.
I haven’t driven by myself in two weeks. I haven’t been to class since last Tuesday. I cling to Damon’s arm the entire time we’re out grocery shopping. I can’t watch my favorite detective show anymore because it scares me. I don’t sleep well anymore. My poor kids have to deal with my moody outbursts. Damon has to hold me and deal with me while I freak out over nothing. My house has gone to pot, which makes me scream…literally.
I don’t know where I’ve gone and don’t know what’s happening to me. Maybe this is a sign that I need to chill out. Maybe it’s a sign that I need a break. A break from what, though? I can’t take a break from my kids. I can’t take a break from school. I can’t take a break from life. That’d be great, but life doesn’t work that way.