Superfluous Baloney

Once the symphony of thoughts begin they don't want to stop. What is it today? A waltz? No, too fast to be a waltz. A tango? No, not angry enough. A foxtrot? No, not happy enough. What ever it is it plays on and on in a circle of notes and noise. Surely the conductor will need sleep soon and the music will end. But the notes continue demanding attention, demanding an ear, demanding an answer. One continual rhythm that becomes a constant maddening noise. Sometimes it plays too soft, sometimes too loud, too fast, too slow, but rarely is it just right. Rarely do the notes collaborate to form a bit of harmony. Never the right volume, the right beat, the right notes. Always out of sync. Someday it will all come together and blend into a united harmony of sounds. The opening notes of a beautiful composition. The symphony will complete the song. The dance will end. The conductor will rest.

When I head home the whole world just turns a little grayer. The sky is not quite so vibrant a blue, the grass is no longer that alluring shade of green. Everything seems out of focus...fuzzy. My world feels off kilter. I wonder through my days without thought, allowing them to run together until one bleeds into the next. One indistinguishable blur, smeared together like finger paints on a gray canvas.

My little world that used to solely revolve around so little is broadened as I begin to orbit around a new center. The rest fades into the blur as it holds less and less importance against the growing warmth of the new sun. Everything is the same, yet feels devoid when the center is gone. There is an element missing that causes things to appear less vibrant, less interesting than before. Each time I go and my new center is taken away, the rest of my world seems irrelevant. As the days pass without the center I grow accustom to the gray. As the distance increases the dullness is a little easier to bear, but the vacancy never is filled.

I know the gray will eventually be banished, and Eden will return with the reappearance of my center. With it will come the vividness and warmth of colors, my days will once again be distinct with meaning. In the meantime I learn to trudge through the unfocused gray.

About a month ago my car started to sound...well, funny. It was idling kind of rough and struggling a bit to start. The problem only continued to worsen until I was finally forced to address it for fear of being left stranded some where dodgy. Being that I have only lived in this area for about two years or so and that I have never had car issues to speak of previously, I had no utter idea where to take the damn thing. So I inevitably did the safe thing and took it to the dealership. I should have said the safe and COSTLY thing. The rat bastards charged me $100 to perform a diagnostic test to identify the issue to start out with. When they had the results they phoned me to let me know how much the repairs would cost. The customer service whatever guy calls and tells me I need a new distributor cap, rotor, spark plugs and wires. He calls this a "tune up" and says it is going to cost me $380. I told him I wanted to think about it and I would give him a call back in 20 minutes. What I really wanted to do is to find someone that would tell me this guy had lost his marbles. I have a coworker who knows quite a bit about cars and her father is also a mechanic. I asked her what she thought. She shared my sentiments, the dealership apparently hands out crack for their employees to smoke religiously because that amount of money is ludicrous. She said that actually it is a very simple task to do and that really even I could do it. That's right ME. I could lift up the hood and look in there and change the broken business out and everything would be fine. I consider this for a moment and decide that of course I can do it. I can do anything because I am a competent, independent female of the 21st century and we can do anything. If I can vote, own property and have my own checking account, then I can change a distributor something or rather and some plug thingies dammit. Thus I bravely headed into an auto parts store this weekend and purchased everything on my list of necessary parts and tools. I have to admit I was very intimidated by just having to enter the store. However, I felt marginally better when I saw a female working the counter. I headed up to her and produced my list quite confidently. She pulled everything up on the computer and asked me something about platinum and some other metal and of course I said platinum. Platinum is pretty and I love it so much more than gold or silver and it's expensive. If it is the best for jewelery then it should be for spark plugs as well. She then went to the back and gathered everything up, laid it all out on the counter and rang me up. The total was $107. Now that's what I'm talkin' about! $380 my ass. I took my bag of goodies and headed home. Of course upon getting there I had to take a break to wait for the car to cool (it was definitely not because I am a huge procrastinator, especially about things that intimidate the shit out of me). I give it a good thirty minutes or three hours...something like that and head down determinedly to the vehicle with my pink and black screwdriver and socket set in hand. And of course my cell phone in case I need to talk to a male figure to provide moral and testosterone support. It takes me several minutes to get the hood up. I pulled the little lever thing, but then couldn't figure out exactly where the latch bit is to release it completely. Finally it is up and I am looking at the inside of the vehicle with complete fascination and utter confusion. Where the hell is the distributor cap? And more importantly what the hell does it look like? And where do the spark plugs even go? And what's this bit about wires? There are wires everywhere! How do I know which ones I am supposed to jack around with? The phone gets immediately placed to my ear and the boyfriend gets a call. (Oh yes, I suppose I should mention I have one of those now...a boyfriend that is. I'm a little behind on this blog stuff. And I am sure you are wondering why in the hell he isn't there helping me? Because, sadly, he lives 800 miles away. Only I would choose someone who happens to be a mechanical genius, but can't lend a hand due to being geographically challenged. Brilliant.) Ring, ring, ring, ring...wtf! Pick up already! Can't you see I'm having an automobile crisis here? I mean the instructions I downloaded off the internet tell you HOW to take off the distributor cap, but not where the hell it actually IS! He finally answers. He was apparently taking a nap during my traumatic event. Typical man...was sleeping instead of reading my mind. He finally answered and I began asking where everything was supposed to be and he begins firing questions back like, "Do you see the spark plugs?" to which I reply, "What the hell does a spark plug look like?"
"Do you see the wires?"
"I see billions of wires, did you have any particular sort in mind?"
"Have you pulled out the new distributor cap yet?"
"Oh. No."
I pull out the cap and the wires. He then asks,
"Are the wires finished or not?"
"Finished WHAT? Finished eating? Finished telling the box goodbye? What the hell does a finished wire mean?"
You can probably see how this was going...finally I become frustrated (I'm sure he was well beyond frustrated himself at this point) and tell him I am going to call a a male type person with a foreign vehicle to see what they can tell me. I dial almost every male in my address book and can get no one to answer. Hmmph. Bastards. Finally I begin pulling new parts out and then locating the old, dirty version in the engine. I find the distributor cap and follow an old wire to the end, yank a little and lo and behold there is a spark plug underneath. Then came the next challenge. How am I supposed to get to that little sucker to get it off and the new one on? Yes, I have my handy little socket set and even the deep socket set specifically designed for removing spark plugs, but still. That little thing is way down in there and things scratch my skin when I try to get to it. I call the boyfriend back and explain my newest dilemma. He asks if my socket set is metric or standard. I have no clue of course. And does it matter that much? I don't think the car cares. Then he tells me to look for an extension piece in my socket set. I find it and still cannot reach the damn spark plug. I decide to try a different wire and plug. Nope, that one is behind the engine and I can barely reach my hand down there let alone get a socket wrench to it. I get frustrated very quickly at that point and intelligently sum up the situation by proclaiming cars are stupid. I ended up amazingly irritated at my inability to handle this situation on my own. As someone who prides themselves on the fact that they have moved across the country all alone several times with no one to depend on, I was insanely frustrated by my ineptness. If some man can do it, why can't I? I don't take failure well as I rarely attempt anything I think I might fail at. (Yes, I realize the lameness of that philosophy, but that is a discussion for another time.) I have always prided myself on being able to handle my own shit and my inability to resolve this problem made me feel defeated in a way. I had to come to the conclusion that maybe I can't do it all on my own any more. It seemed much easier when I was younger and the extra effort it took to do everything the hardway didn't seem to require so much energy. I am coming to the realization in my 31 long years (heh) that I don't really, deep down inside, want to have to everything on my own anymore. I'm ready to have some people to lean on when life throws me a curve ball, or as in this situation, beaned by the pitcher. In fact, I find it quite annoying to have to decipher and navigate the world alone these days. I still get a bit anxious here and there about relying on others, but lately when it is a choice of stubbornly figuring it out on my own or sucking it up and asking for help, I am beginning to lean more often to the latter of the two.

This week my brain has felt as though it went on vacation to Nevernever Land. Left behind stranded, my body just muddles along disconnected. I feel completely out of sync with my surroundings. Even home doesn't feel quite right. The people I normally get along with quite well have become somewhat grinding. Like the pain from a tattoo, tolerable, but relentless and slightly annoying. I feel as though I no longer fit in this life. This life I created here in The South with the sole purpose of progressing my career. The career has moved forward as planned, but has also become somewhat of a burden I am no longer happy carrying. For three straight years I have focused on nothing but work. Strategizing my next move, picturing my next steps, sacrificing anything resembling a life. I think I have achieved what I set out to do. I don't believe I would be very happy ascending past my current role. At least not in this company. Partially due to the economy and partially due to a significant change in leadership, the atmosphere at work has become heavy with negativity and a sense of surrender hangs so thick it makes it difficult to breathe some days, let alone smile. I understand the world is full of reasons to be negative right now, but everyone here still has a job, so why has everyone given up? All that is to say work is not my happy place any longer and has been replaced as the center of my universe. Or at least I am actively seeking a replacement. However, my search has to be somewhat limited until I complete my degree. I only have 18 more months which I know does not seem like much except when you are an impatient pain in the ass like I am. I have decided I am ready to not only transition my focus, but also my residence. That's right...I'm ready to move again.

I know some may view my transient nature as a certifiable craziness, but it's just the way I am. When I am ready for a change, I'm usually ready for a big one. I need a serious change in scenery that will assist me in finding a new focus other than the drudgery also currently referred to as work. I think I can find it back in the Midwest. I have never felt as comfortable any where as I did when I lived in Kansas and Missouri. Nebraska is also very similar. Yes, I know they have some of the worst weather in the U.S. but the people, the culture, the atmosphere make all the difference.

Thoughts of making this type of a change seem to consume me now. When you have a rough time focusing on the present as it is (ADD anyone?) these types of distractions only intensify the mental check out. It's like I let my brain get lost and then it gets too far away and I struggle to get it back. That's even if I notice it has left. Most of the time I don't until I realize I have no idea what I just spent the last ten minutes doing or where I set down the keys that I just remembered having in my hand. It ends up making me look scatter brained and clumsy and slackerish. I overlook important details like where the hell I parked my car and if I put on deodorant or not. I just completely check out, especially in situations that are mundane, day to day activities. The auto pilot kicks on without me even being aware of it until several minutes later when I realize my brain has been on fast forward planning my next big life altering step. As though my brain has floated off up into the clouds of the future. When it does finally reground itself and I am back in reality I have been more than a tad irritable about the landing. As I said I am impatient, especially when my mind is made up. It makes me annoyed and frustrated with time. Which tends to manifest itself as just all around crabbiness. Discontentment is never a good feeling, but that is where I am at right now, thus my brain checks out as a coping mechanism. So if I seem like I'm in LaLa Land or as though I am testy, it's because I am. I am ready for the next phase of my life, but someone hit the slow-mo button when all I can stand is fast forward. In other words, bear with my moodiness over the next 18 months as a get myself all educated so I can bail on the abyss also know as The South.

I have a migraine. I sit here at my desk with my head pounding, my stomach churning and this mornings breakfast sitting at the back of my throat waiting to make a hasty exit the same way it went it. Yet I sit here at work allow the misery to worsen from the fluorescent lighting and constant noise. The slightest movement makes me dizzy and increases the nausea. My stomach is bloated like a starving child's in a third world country. Each word I speak feels as though it takes as much effort as a flight of stairs. Agitation over the pain and dizziness makes me cross thus my statements come out quite curt. Every once in awhile I close my eyes, put my head in my hands and sigh deeply. As soon as the familiar darkness encompasses me the dizziness kicks in and I feel my breakfast elevating a little more than I am comfortable with. Thankfully, should it decide to show itself again I am a very quiet barfer. Lovely thought, no? The problem with migraines like these is it doesn't even matter if you attempt to lie very, very still with no light and no sound you still don't feel better. The nausea still comes in waves and the dizziness still twirls your brain matter around like a never ending merry-go-round. Adding in the mere thought of horses going up and down and you are sure to find me in the fetal position on the cool bathroom tile willing myself not to lose whatever is left in my innards. The worst yet is the self pity that comes with such illnesses. You suffer silently in your own little world of never ending motion sicknesses. I feel as though the only thing that would make me feel better is a significant other letting me lie my feet across them on the couch while they pat my hand and tell me how much they would like for me to feel better and continuously ask me if they can get me anything. Yes, I throw quite the pity party when I am ill and it's a damn shame no one ever shows up to join in on the festivities. I am exiting now. I've decided I can't bare to be in the upright position much longer, thus I am going home. If you care to join me I will be on the couch in my flannel pjs, warm fuzzy blanket over the top, sandwiched in between two dogs with a cat plopped on top. Actually, now that I think of it, there probably isn't any room left for company anyway.

Today I was thinking about where I was at this time last year. What events had taken place, what things was I looking forward to, who I was involved with. I'm typically horrible about remembering such details. I can remember them when they surround other people, but never myself. However, I remember this point in time last year very well. I had just ended a difficult relationship 6 weeks prior and was feeling quite vulnerable and exposed. It was around this time that I jumped into "something" with someone else without thinking. There was a million different details that made thousands of red flags, alarm bells, etc. go off in my mind regarding this person and their circumstances. I knew better quite frankly, but I did it anyway because I posses an amazing ability to rationalize any damn thing to myself and to others. Sadly, they buy it and I buy it even more. So being the amazing persuader that I am, I jumped in head first into a very messy situation and was left heartbroken just three short months later.

A few weeks prior to the relationship completely dissolving there were some clear indicators that it was going south at a rapid pace. But I clung on convincing myself if I just didn't run this once it would pay off. However, as the days passed I became increasingly aware that it was going to end and it was going to end badly. When this realization hit me I fell into one of the deepest depressions I have yet to experience. I am not ignorant enough to believe it was the relationship that pushed me down into the dark, sadistic bowels of such a sickness. It was me that shoved myself in and would not allow a chance to come up for air. I had, yet again, placed myself in a predicament that was ridiculous and completely wrong for me. Not just once, but twice and in a row. The delicate balance of my Pysche was tipped drastically in an unfavorable direction as a result.

Being the stubborn little person that I am I did not reach out for help. I did not want to admit that I was weak and was not capable of climbing back out on my own. I didn't dare mention to anyone that I have the "illness." They would look at my differently, as if I was broken. As if I was crazy. Or worse, they wouldn't believe me. They might file me away with all the other whiney, unhappy people in the world and I would be discarded.

So I decided I had suffered through such spells before on my own and surely I could make it through another. Unfortunately, I underestimated the strength and determination of this particular episode and thus I was left writhing in it for a good six months or more. Work made up the extent of my social engagements and I only left the house on the weekends to go to the gym or hit the grocery store when my cupboards were so bare I literally only had a can of tomato sauce and a bag of two year old rice. I had no desire to see or converse or interact or even breathe near anyone else. I wasn't necessarily lonely, I just decided it was completely unacceptable for anyone to see me in such a state so I stayed home. For literally six months straight.

About four months in I finally got brave enough to go to the doctor and ask for my medication to be changed. Why did it take four months for me to make the effort? Because when you are depressed you don't necessarily want to get better. Depression wraps around you until it begins to feel like another layer of skin and unfortunately you don't realize it's actually choking you. In a sick, sadistic way, it is comforting. You know how to "do" depression, but getting well is unknown and frightening. What if you try and you just can't get better? What if you get better and then it happens again? (Which is inevitable by the way. It will happen again of course just hopefully for not as long.) When you are depressed logic doesn't work. You are trapped in your own universe where reason and reality don't exist. And if you are not reaching out to anyone to assist you in bringing reason back into your life you stay stuck. Thus, I went to the doctor in an effort to start the process of making the painful climb back out.

Within two weeks of being prescribed a new medicine that seemed to be somewhat working (it takes 30 days for an anti-depressant to absorb into your system completely) I suffered a seizure and they promptly took me off the meds. Thus, the depression continued and, like many others who suffer with such an illness, my thoughts during that time reached almost an embarrassingly deep level with much finality.

The lack of meds in my system only worsened the situation so I stayed submerged for another good two months until I finally made a decision. I literally woke up one day and decided I didn't want to feel this shit anymore. I wanted to be a normal, personable individual again. So I made an appointment with a new doctor. Thank God she happened to be someone who really knows her stuff. Unbeknowst to me at the time, she had actually written a few books on the subject. She was very up to date on current meds and how well they worked depending on the person and their symptoms. (For example, I suffer from anxiety as well as depression so I either need a med that treats both or a combo of two drugs.)

I then made a very risky decision. I asked her to put me on the med that (allegedly) caused the seizure. Of course, I didn't tell her about the little episode that had occurred a few months prior or she would have never taken the chance. Yes, there are other meds that are out there I could have tried. But the problem is with these types of meds is that they effect everyone differently. Some can make you lethargic and sleepy. (Ever seen anyone with that glazed zombie thing goin' on? Yeah, that could be from anti-depressants.) Others can have no impact and still some might make you into a complete anxiety ridden freak. So I was sneaky and did not disclose my prior experience. She prescribed the med along with another for the anxiety and one month later I started to feel normal again. Suddenly I didn't mind being around other living beings that were of my own species (the pooches were my bffs through that fun little episode). I actually WANTED to get out of the house on the weekends and be in public! I even took showers on Saturdays and Sundays! This was seriously notable improvement people. Although I will always be a homebody to some extent, I now don't mind actually making plans to socialize every once in awhile. (The puppies are not fans of that.)

I guess all of this is to say (with an excellent cliche mind you) "What a difference a year makes." I feel much more at ease these days and back to my normal blase` self. It just feels good to be sane again. I think after each one of these types of episodes you come out a little stronger than you were before, a little more resilient. It has taken me almost a full year to admit to anyone what I was experiencing during that time as I have never owned up to my illness before. I feel somewhat lightened from eliviating the load, but still slighlty timid and vulnerable over the thought of sharing this part of my life that I will always battle. It is difficult to say to someone, "I need medication to be normal" especially when you are a single gal traipsing through life as a solo unit. Not everyone is capable of understanding that it doesn't make someone a freak.

The other day I had someone accuse me of being "bi-polar." They were saying it to be mean and spiteful and they reached their goal. The negativity affiliated with such labels will always run rampant. I know several people who are in fact bi-polar. You would never know it if they did not tell you. Many of them put on a brave face for the world and hide their illness as I do because of comments like the one made to me. I'm sure that some ignorant will people will perpetuate the stigmatization of word, but I do believe as more people discover friends and family that suffer from various mental illnesses that negative connotation will eventually lessen at the very least.