Tuesday, December 4, 2012


On the drive to T's school this morning T and I were rocking out to the CD, singing our hears out and it hit me in that exact moment that I was happy. It scares the hell out of me when things get bad enough that I forget what happy feels like. Getting through the day hasn't been this hard for a long time. When the anxiety and fear get completely settled into my bones I stop trying to be happy. I just want to feel nothing. I haven't been sleeping properly since the colposcopy even though I want sleep so much, so I can escape the fear that I'll start bleeding and won't stop.

During the procedure I told my doc how scared I was of the bleeding. He said that eventually the bleeding stops. Always. I said, "Yeah, but sometimes it stops when you are dead." "Well," he said, "that is still stopping." True, Doc, True. But not very comforting.

This morning happy felt foreign and startling. It was warm out when the boys and I walked to the car in our driveway. We were only wearing sweatshirts. And it was sunny. Hasn't been sunny here in quite a while. The sun and the music and being in the car with my boys, that is what made me happy. And for a moment it was clear that the fear and anxiety isn't me. It is something that happens to me. But I can strive for more than feeling numb. I can try to make it back to happy.

Tomorrow is going to suck ass. The guilt I feel for missing class last Wednesday doesn't make sense even to me. Tomorrow is the last class of the semester. Because it marks a week since I had the colposcopy it is already ruined for me. I'm sure I will make a fool of myself, or have some sort of accident in the kitchen, or start passing huge blood clots, or have an epic and public anxiety attack. The goddamned procedure that has fucked with my ability to function as a human being has also stolen the enjoyment I get from my class. Or rather the procedure has allowed the anxiety to gain a foothold.

And the anxiety isn't whispering anymore. She is talking in a firm and reasonable voice. She is acting like my friend. She is telling me that she is so proud of me for trying this fall. She really wanted me to succeed. But isn't it time to stop? Doesn't it hurt too much to try? Wouldn't it be better for my family if I just accepted who I was? Why do I insist on trying to change things? This week has been hell on Z. He can't handle work, and parenting, and a crazy wife all at the same time. The anxiety asks me if I haven't noticed how overwhelmed and frustrated he is. She asks me why I am doing this to him. She asks me how long I think he can stand dealing with me before he wants out. She says that the boys deserve more from their mother. She tells me that everything would go back to normal if I just capitulated. It's winter. Hell, everyone disappears in the winter in Syracuse  People might not even notice I've given up. She tells me it is honest and honorable to admit defeat.

Well bullshit. I felt happy in the car this morning. I felt happy and it was real and it was me. Z isn't going to leave me because I've had a shitty week. The boys aren't going to be damaged for life because I've been emotionally withdrawn for seven days. I am going to the class tomorrow if it fucking kills me.

Fuck you, anxiety. You are not my friend. I am going to get through the rest of the physical recovery from the admittedly minor procedure that has thrown me for a complete loop. I am going to work on not being so embarrassed that I can't seem to handle a colposcopy with the ease that other women in my life told me they handled it. And on top of all that I'm going to sign up for a class next semester. So seriously fuck you. Fuck. You. Fuck you.

This morning T surrounded his Daddy with a bunch of stuffed animals. Because he cares.

My mini-me says, "Blast off, motherfuckers." I kid, I kid. We aren't teaching him that word until he goes to kindergarden.  

Recreating scenes from Star Wars while watching Star Wars. Because we are meta like that.

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