Today started rough. Really rough. Once again, I didn’t sleep well. I just woke up feeling like ass, with all the buzzing and the fear back, and I was like, “Oh, shit.” My dad had worked the night shift before, so he was still sleeping, and I just had all this anxiety inside me about the things that had to get done today. You know, horrible things, like going to shopping and lunch with my mother. This is obviously not something horrible, but I just have such anxiety around it. I had told my friend D I’d be at her place around 3 to visit her, because she’s on bed rest with her pregnancy right now, and I was just like “How am I going to get all this done AND go to see D AND not disappoint anybody?”
It worked out fine, of course. My mother and I ate lunch at a restaurant called Press, in a new upscale shopping development called City North that doesn’t quite look like it’s gonna make it right now. The food was unimpressive at best, but we did see a group of older women sitting a couple tables across from us. “Do you know who that is?” asked my mom. I told her I didn’t. “That’s a group of your old retired teachers from elementary school. Look, there’s Mrs. F and there’s Mrs. C and there’s Mrs. P…” and, sure enough, all my old teachers were having lunch right across from us. I would have gone up to say hi, but I looked crazy.
I always know when I look crazy. There’s a haze over my eyes, an emptiness there. I can see it myself when I look in the mirror. Other people can too. I went to buy some more clothes later on in the day, and as I was chatting with the sales girl I took off my glasses, and her reaction to me changed. It’s something that’s been happening since I was in my early teens. When the crazy is in full force, people can see it in me, even if I’m wearing makeup and a nice dress. I don’t think they know what’s wrong, but they know that something is. I’m off-putting.
After lunch and shopping, I headed off to D’s house. She’s 26 1/2 weeks into her pregnancy and, God willing, she’ll be on full bed rest for another two months or so. They’re hoping to keep the baby in there until 34 weeks, or, ideally, even 36. It’s her second high-risk pregnancy, and her second time on bed rest. Her first baby was born at 29 weeks, and it was very terrifying for awhile there, but today he’s a totally normal 2-year-old. He looks like the other kids and plays like the other kids. It’s such a miracle. It gave us the opportunity to talk a lot about surrender and acceptance. I realized that these are concepts that apply to all battles. What D’s going through is something I don’t know that I’d survive, but she got through it the first time and she’s prepared to do it again, and it’s just forced her to let go of control and be grateful for all the people in her life who are helping her right now. We talked a lot about spirituality and about how to endure these battles with grace. I didn’t feel crazy at all while I was talking to her.
Then I left and, per usual, the crazy came back almost immediately. It was really bad, and I was shaking, and didn’t really know what to do. I drove back to my dad’s house and sat in the shower, which is usually a safe place for me, then packed up my stuff and headed up to my mom’s for the night. We ordered pizzas and I made her watch Toddlers & Tiaras with me, and, really, my mother’s need to pass judgment on everything within a five-mile radius is normally really annoying to be, but, tonight, it was glorious. We squeaked and squealed and rolled our eyes together at the obnoxious mothers forcing their small children into parents. Mom had a comment for everything. It was awesome. Great bonding experience.
Meds seem to be working tonight because I’m starting to fall asleep. They’re working in that weird way where I have trouble with visual processing and tend to run into walls and trip over things. One time when I was in the hospital they hooked my brain up to all this equipment and started asking me silly questions, and asking me to identify lights and sounds, etc, etc. They were trying to see if they could pinpoint where my brain was malfunctioning. When the results came back, the only thing that was even marginally abnormal was my visual processing. They said I processed visual input about half a second slower than average. Like, the light gets to me right away, but it takes my brain extra time to process it.
“That’s bullshit,” my dad said at the time. “I’ve known you your whole life. You process visual input just fine.”
But it occurred to me tonight that, when they tested me, I was on a shitload of meds. And sometimes these meds do screw up my visual processing ability, and I notice because I trip over nothing and fall into walls. So probably what they were measuring was just the effect of the meds and not my actual brain.
Science is so stupid.
Tomorrow I meet with not one but two doctors to discuss my “condition.” Per usual, I have unreasonable expectations about what they can do to fix me, and will probably be very disappointed when I leave. Fingers crossed!
