To say that I’ve been dealing with a lot of stress of late would be a gross understatement, but I’m not interested in listing the multitude of ordeals that have occurred in the past couple of months. Besides, we all have multiple ordeals these days, most days actually, but we manage to find a way to cope and move forward with our lives. However, considering my emotional challenges, I may or may not struggle more than the average person, if such a creature exists. I contend that I remain fully functional at all times…mostly.
I do love my dirty martinis and I know, thanks to personal research that 3 martinis are usually a good place to stop. However, I didn’t have to work the next day and I was sitting in a hot tub, so when the 4th martini was handed it me, it went down like mother’s milk. I now know, 4 martinis are too much, especially when combined with exhaustion and a hot tub. It only took a moment for my internal mechanisms to trigger my alarm system and I immediately climbed out of the hot tub, changed into my pajamas and got into bed before I wouldn’t be able to do it on my own accord.
Oddly enough, I wasn’t spinning and I didn’t even feel ill, but in my already heightened emotional state from coping with the past month or so, I knew I was going down. After I climbed into bed, a bed not my own because I was visiting my brother, a gazillion thoughts sped through my numbed mind, including, but not limited to; What was I thinking, trying to keep up with my brother’s drinking? I need to get out of here. I could do it, I could pack and get out of here, but that would be highly irresponsible of me to do, after all, I am drunk. I don’t want to be here. Why did I come out here? I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere.
All the while, I kept scratching and clawing at the bed sheets and the metal bed frame, like I was trying to dig my way out of the mess I had gotten myself into. My brother and my friend came to check on me and get me to drink some water, which was greatly appreciated, but I knew what I really needed to do, I needed to sleep. However, my mind kept saying; I need to get out of here. I don’t want to be here. Why am I here? As I continued to claw at the sheets and bed frame, my thoughts finally slowed and I managed to get some sleep. I woke up a few hours later and thought it might be a good idea to use the bathroom. I sat up with ease, but standing was not going to happen, so I laid back down and slept it off.
In the morning, I was fine, a little tired, but not hungover. I got up to use the bathroom and, on my way back to the bed, I noticed something behind it. What is that? It wasn’t the handle of my suitcase, what is that? When I realized what it was, my heart skipped a beat. Thank goodness I didn’t reach for what was behind the bed with all my clawing and grabbing because if I had, I might have shot a gun. Fully loaded and ready to fire, mounted onto the bed frame in a holster. It would have shot into the floor, but what if I had actually gotten it out of the holster. In my state of mind…I don’t even want to think about it.
After weeks of untold stresses, yesterday I encountered one of such proportions that if I had been a pinball machine, my eyes would have had the word “tilt” in them. While at work, I received a phone message from my heart doctor’s nurse. I don’t know which is worse, receiving a message with no details, but told to call the office immediately or to receive a message that spells it all out, I received the later. In a nutshell, the monitor in my bedroom told them that I needed to have the batteries in my pacemaker changed sooner than later, but not to worry. Okay, yeah, right, I won’t worry that I have a 3-month window to get this done. I called the office because I had some questions and the nurse literally said, that I have 3 months of juice left in my batteries, so comforting to have that much “juice”.
I took a handful of ashwagandha gummies looked at the calendars and then went to talk to my team about my needing some time off. According to the nurse, I could go back to work the next day, depending on my threshold of pain. My team agreed that I should take a couple days, so I’m hoping I will be able to finagle a chunk of time off the last week of November to get me a new battery pack.
I work in the natural/health business. I am not a purist by any measure, but when given an option, I’d rather keep all my parts and not have anything foreign inserted into my body. When I first received my pacemaker, I worried that I would go crazy and try and cut it out of myself. I was told that if I did, it would be the last thing I do. Thankfully, I didn’t go crazy, about that anyway. I realize that this is a procedure that is done daily in all parts of the world, but not in mine. My anxiety kicked in big time, so much so that shortly after heading home, I had to pull my car over and eat more gummies and call my friend, my doctor friend who is very matter of fact, the one I want to have drive me to this procedure because if there is any funny business going on, she will know and ask WTF in a very professional, yet passionate manner. Basically, she’s the one I want at my side when going through something like this, just in case…
When I got home, I became panic stricken. I managed to get the key into the lock and on to my back porch. If I haven’t mentioned it before, I still have my father’s coat and hat hanging there. It oddly gives me comfort to know that it is there. I reached for the hat and for a moment, thought about donning it, but instead I placed it over my face, hoping that it still had some smell of his. Even if it smelled of dirty old man hair, it would have been reassuring that I wasn’t alone, but I couldn’t smell a thing. It’s been hanging there for six and half years, I guess it’s to be expected, nothing last forever, not even dirty old man hair smell.
I have a few coping mechanisms; writing is one of them along with cleaning and cooking. I also have a habit of moving furniture when dealing with stress, but the best remedy I have found is cooking. I thought about having a drink, but I didn’t really want one, so I cooked up some fresh Polish sausage with sauerkraut instead. I made myself a sandwich, slathered with creamy horseradish and watched an episode from one of Anthony Bourdain’s series. I always wonder about him, having so much and still, it just wasn’t enough to make him happy/sane/satisfied. That will not be my story. I finally felt calm and went to bed.
I had today off from work, but my anxiety kept flaring up. I didn’t experience a full-fledged panic attack, just a series of baby ones, creeping up on me with no cause, just because they could. I had already planned on using some items from my deep freezer that were running out of time to make a seafood chowder, but I had to stop at the grocery store for a few things. I did okay, but just okay. I needed to get out of there. I don’t belong there. I don’t belong anywhere, except the safety of my own home. When I’m home, I have a sense of control that I don’t have anywhere else, especially when I’m in my kitchen, prepping vegetables.
So, I made a seafood chowder, loosely following a recipe I found on the internet, using the ingredients I had, including some parsley from my garden. Even after all the cold nights, it was still okay, it has managed to survive and so will I. I thought I had till April, but I’m thinking all the stress I’ve been experiencing, stole some of my “juice”. No matter, in about six weeks, I’ll get myself some new batteries and be good for another 7 to 10 years. Maybe by then, they’ll invent a way for me to be solar, I’ll just have to wear a funny hat and sit out in the sun to charge my batteries. Until then, I will limit my martini consumption to 2 and have some seafood chowder, I made in my kitchen, someplace I belong.
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
Leave a Reply
Your email is safe with us.