Someone put me back in my padded room. I’m done. I’ve had it. I can’t take it no mo! Yes, I said it that way. Sad, huh? I’m dragging ass today, feeling like a pile of crap. Is it seasonal affective disorder? Is it manic depression/bi-polar? Can I be going through a weird sort of depression and not know it, but yet—know it? Insomnia kills my sleep. Sleep kills my ability to wake up. I’m stuck. I can’t get out of bed. I’ve fallen asleep and I can’t get up! Why is Madelene so effin’ cheery this morning?
“Good morning sunshine? How you feeling today?”
“Mmm. Good.” I mumble; hoping she finds her way out of the bedroom before I scream.
“Do you want me to bring anything home for dinner tonight?”
“Ughhh…I can’t even think of dinner right now.” I slur out of my lazy mouth.
“Want me to cook? Want some Chinese take out? You want some---“
“NO!!! I want some sleep! I can’t think of food 6am for the love of God!”
She gets off the side of the bed and starts getting ready for work. Wait—isn’t it snowing like ten feet today? She can’t get off this hill that’s a mile long—no one even plows.
“Madelene! How can you go to work when the hill isn’t plowed?”
“Oh don’t worry, that truck is good in the snow!”
“Ugh.” I flop back into the pillow as if I were exasperated.
I struggle to get myself out of bed and head downstairs to surprise Madelene with breakfast. Eyes half closed and my sweatpants’ line on my ass has shifted somewhere near my hip. My hair is tied up, pulling it all the way to the top of my head—looking much like a nuclear mushroom. Lovely. Maybe this explains my non-existent sex life?
Why can’t she be a simple girlfriend and drink coffee like the rest of the world in the morning? No, she has to drink tea. So I boil a tea for her, and I brew myself coffee for me. I start cracking my eggs. It’s like they don’t want to cooperate with me. They all break, or leave some sort of mess on my stove. I managed to finish everything in sync, and head upstairs with our breakfast.
“Sweetie! This looks gourmet! Wow! Thank you!”
“Mmm…yeh.” It was all I can get out of my mouth. I was too fricken lazy to talk.
“It’s snowing.” I said, as we watched the news together and of course the snowflakes falling outside. NO shit it’s snowing genius! This is what I had to say to her??? Hmm.
“It’ll be alright, I’ll just go into work early, and by that time, it will fizzle down into nothing.”
“Can’t you call in?”
“No. They’re a bunch of cry babies over there. I have to go.”
“No one’s gonna buy a car today in this weather though.” I try and discourage her.
”Well I have one guy coming into pick up his vehicle.”
“We’ll see about that.” I said, pissed off that she was about to take a risk in this weather and leave me here with an anxiety attack.
She leaves, and of course, I get an anxiety attack. I have anxiety normally. Wait, normal and anxiety do not go together in a sentence. I have frequent anxiety attacks. There, much better. I have suffered with them for many years, and it has really affected my quality of life at certain times. After the anxiety is gone, the exhaustion that sets in afterwards is nothing to fight against. I give in. I then pass out. No, not pass out and drop to the floor—I simply just fall asleep wherever the anxiety attack left me sitting.
Now people who know me personally, know I am a chatty sarcastic lil’ psycho. Lately, I’ve been stuck inside my head. I can’t get any words out. If I do have words to say, they remain inside. It’s not like me. I don’t feel like myself anymore. It’s a struggle to even have a conversation with me.
Last night, Madelene and I went out to dinner at our favorite place, and sat at the bar. We know all the people there, and they usually come sit down with us, and talk. I said nothing. All I could do was sip my soup and drink my beer. Madelene was Chatty Cathy last night, talking up a storm. She’s usually the one that’s quiet. My friend quickly noticed this and asked if I was feeling okay privately. No, I’m not.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” I said to her. She just gave me this deep intense look as she tilted her head somewhat---like if she was analyzing my freakish behavior. She always knows when something’s up. I can tell she wanted to talk to me more, but I kept staring over at my lonely beer over at the bar.
“I’m fine, really.”
“Okay, you would tell me, right?”
“Of course—just tired from shopping.” Meanwhile, haven’t shopped for a thing yet.
I’m not even answering my editor’s phone calls. He tried calling me twice this morning. Not interested. My book? What? I wrote something? Oh…whatever. I’m tired. I’m too tired.
My darling chiropractor was fixing the last remains of my painful back. He was stretching me and trying to press my back down.
“You feeling okay, Deb?”
“Uh-huhhh.” I said, as my face lay flat on the table—of course padded with extra paper.
“Are you stressed out or something? Anything bothering you?”
“Well Deb, life can be very challenging. As I see it, we create our own anxiety and fears. Did you know you have two different shoes on right now?”
“You have two different boots on. One’s from Nine West and the other, I can’t tell, but one heel is chunkier than the other. They’re totally different boots. Are you okay? Do you have anything on your mind?”
“Doc- you’re not my shrink!” Then I began to laugh of how ridiculous I felt about wearing two different boots. What an ass I am!
Doc felt the tension in my back and started giving me a massage. He does this periodically when he feels that I am too tense. It was the first time I felt at ease in a long time. He talks to me, he understands me, and he even tells me personal things about himself. I really like this guy. He’s so compassionate and caring. Why is he single at the age of forty-seven? That has to make you wonder.
“All done sweetie, I will see you Tuesday then?”
I get up, and accidentally caught a glimpse of his waist, and noticed that he was pitching a major tent. Okay, okay, this is normal for men, right? I mean, I have nothing to worry about—right? He didn’t do anything perverted or insinuate anything other than getting my ‘back better’. I walked out of there with this fuzzy look on my face, and Madelene was sitting in the waiting room. As I paid for my visit, I noticed he was hiding his waist under the desk somewhat, and writing out my next appointment.
I am now about to grab my bottle of wine, and lay down. I’m so tired. Someone give me suggestions here. I’m running out of fuel and believe me---I have had blood work done, I have had people analyze the hell out of me to come to the conclusion that---
~Now back to my padded walls, where I belong. Talk to you all later.~
"Nurse! Nurse! Come back here with my meds!!!"