One Night, Two Conversations

I had to go to the grocery store after work to buy a bag of rice since we were all out. After that, I walked to the drug store right on the fringes of my neighborhood (the smaller drug stores within the neighborhood don't carry my meds). I didn't have enough money to buy the full prescription, so I was grumbling the whole time I had to walk to the drug store. All this effort just to buy two measly pills. 

By "effort", I don't mean the walk. In fact, I don't mind walking and I actually missed walking that far (my daily walk to work lasts all of 4 minutes). What I didn't like was being in the midst of all those people. Ugh. People. 

People bumping into each other, rushing to or from work, paying no heed to proper sidewalk etiquette (I MEAN SERIOUSLY, WHY WALK SIDE BY SIDE WHEN THE SIDEWALK IS CLEARLY WIDE ENOUGH FOR ONLY TWO PEOPLE?!?!), I hated all that. And then, just as I was about to bump into to the umpteenth person, I heard an almost too-familiar semi-scream.

"Ma'am Katz?!?"

There was a time when I would automatically think that this would be a student. Now that I'm older, I've come to expect the exclamation to come from all sorts of people (as I have become old enough to be "Ma'am-ed" and "Miss-ed" more frequently now...loud sigh). 

Anyway.

The guy in front of me was only vaguely familiar. So my brain did the usual process.

1. Is it a guy? Then it could be a student. (Yes.)
2. Is he well-dressed (specifically, is he dressed more office-y than you)? Then it could be a student from my earlier days as a teacher. (Yes.)
3. Does he look familiar? (Yes.)
4. Do you remember his name? (No.)
5. Eep. Do you remember his section? (No.)
6. Gah. Is he still smiling, not noticing that you haven't recognized him yet? (Yes, and I don't know. He could just be the most polite person in the world.)
7. Pant. Still don't remember his name? (No!)
8. Panic. 
9. No, wait. Smile.
10. Say something, stupid. 

"Hi!" I said.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm okay, thanks! How are you?" I asked.

"I'm okay po. I work in this building," he said.

Ugh, I'm so old. "Wow, that's great!" I say.

"Grabe, ma'am! Ang bata ng ichura mo! I thought you were a kid," he said. "Parang nawawalang bata, hahahaha!"

"Oh, haha," I said. I have to make a canned response to that. And practice delivering it with as much spontaneity as possible.

Since people were still walking about us (ugh, I had become 1/2 of the very thing I just ranted about), I said I had to go.

"Sige po, ma'am. Nice to see you po!" he said. 

"Bye! Take care!" I said. 

And then I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the shiny glass walls of the building in front of me and I saw what he saw. I was wearing a schoolmarm-ish dress, purple tights, my floral DMs, and a floral backpack. My hair had just about given up being straight and had started to curl (as it is wont to do in the most asymmetrical way which vexes me to no end). I looked like a lost, exhausted child.

I walked towards home and I finally reached the part of my neighborhood that didn't have as many people walking about. I looked up and actually saw a star. Like a freaking, shining star. And I looked up at the star and smiled. And it smiled back (swear). 

"You look so small from here," I said.

"You look so small from here, too," it said.

"Oh, but I know you're bigger than you look," I said.

"You are, too, you know," it said.

Ugh. Metaphors. "But I feel so lost," I said.

"Silly thing. Have you forgotten what stars are known for?" it said.

"Oh, right. And look, I'm almost home!" I said.

"See?" it said.

"Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome," it said.

---

The kid's name is Mikey. 

Damnit.

Wanted: Taco Shell

Lucia’s learning how to distinguish emotions: happy, sad, mad, etc. When she watches cartoons, she turns to me and tells me what the she thinks the characters are feeling and asks me to confirm her interpretation. Sometimes, I have to explain why they’re feeling that way.

Last night, in the middle of slumber, she woke me up, apparently from a bad dream. She said in a tiny voice, “Momma? I’m afraid.” She’s heard that phrase countless times from Marie, one of the kittens from The Aristocats, and so she said it in exactly the same way Marie said it. She nestled into my arms (which is what Marie also did to her Momma) and I taco shelled her the rest of the night.

I woke up this morning rather abruptly from a text message and I hate it when that happens. But when I woke up, I saw that she was still nestled in my arms, her face pressed against my chest. She stirred a bit and rubbed her nose in the space between my collarbones. 

But I wanted to tell her myself, “Lucia? I’m afraid.”

It’s been a rather bad week for personal reasons, and now as July ends and August begins, I am filled with even more dread. August last year was when things started to unravel and spin out of control, the month when I finally went to the hospital. And no matter how far I think I’ve come, I am now reminded that what I hurdled over was but a mere boulder; the rest of the mountain still beckons.

God? I’m afraid. Very afraid. And now it is becoming more apparent that despite best efforts, I am still going to go about this alone (on some level, on a very important level).

Abandoned. That is the predominant feeling this week, an emotion that I hope Lucia won’t be feeling for a very long time yet.

God? I need to be taco shelled. Because I feel very afraid and very alone. 

Barriers

Sssh.

Bring Out the Vorpal Sword!

Drew this while waiting for the doctor to arrive. I wasn't really planning on drawing anything specific, I was just doodling. As it turns out, the picture's a bit of a foreshadowing. And so, since I'm so used to being analyzed anyway: People of the Interwebs, have at it! ;)

"...but has anyone helped you address what actually happened?"

My new doctor asked this after I gave my usual history—and I knew I had a winner. He wasn't just diagnosing me (like Doctor #1). He wasn't just focused on my meds (because Doctor #2 had already given me the medicines and dosages that worked). He was actually focused on the root cause of all these...things.

I am knee-knocking scared because, well, I haven't really talked about what happened. Who knows what else lies inside that Pit of Forced-Forgottens? There has been so much attention on what happened afterwards (because that was a more pressing concern) and what was to happen to me in the future. I suppose it's time to go back to...that. I'm so afraid, I could barf.

But at the same time, hell, yeah! Let's deal with this Jabberwocky once and for all. Bring out the vorpal sword!

(((Oh, how I'm terrified though! But this is a good thing. This is a good thing. This is a good thing.)))

With all that said, I'm glad I'm stable enough to begin this new phase. Sometimes, I delude myself into thinking that I'm healed or that I'm all right now because I've had (infinitely) more good days than bad. Ah, but of course, I know that isn't so.

And so begins phase two. Frabjous Day—callooh, callay!—I can almost see you.

Weekend!

So glad it's the weekend! Hoping you're as happy about it as we are. xoxo

Pinkity Pink Pink

Goodness, what a tiring day. And then I get home and open the door to this:

With this playing in my head:

So, yeah. Tiring week, but all is good. And tomorrow's Friday so yay!

Oi

“We all carry within us places of exile, our crimes, our ravages. Our task is not to unleash them on the world; it is to transform them in ourselves and others.”

―Albert Camus

Today, I shall meet my new shrink.

I’m always filled with dread whenever this happens. I brace myself to tell my story all over again. Should I go chronological? Should I narrate it the same way I let my stories unfold (suffice it to say, that DOESN’T mean it’ll be chronological)? Should I try to remain calm and clinical or should I awkward-giggle my way through the whole recounting (as I am wont to do)?

Also, that story’s pretty darn difficult to live through all over again.

And then after that, I’ll have to go through the scrutiny again—another round of tests, perhaps?—to diagnose me all over again. I’ll wonder if I’ll still be on the same meds or if I’ll have to be on new ones. And then I’ll do the mental math (such a noble term for the frantic ewan-ewan math that goes on inside my mind) to see if I can incorporate those expenses into our daily budget.

And then, there’s the fear of having yet another massive panic attack while waiting, waiting, waiting for the doctor who will be late, panigurado. My obsessive compulsion for being on time (or massively early so that I shan’t be late) will add to the anxiety of being diagnosed all over again and…well, let’s just say the first time I met my last shrink, she wanted to confine me right then and there.

But, oh, don’t mind me. I’m just crashing from the mania that was last night. Went to Geek Fight with some friends, made new friends, (got new clients!), saw a lot of old friends from college, and was able to catch up with dear, old friends. All that hap-hap-happiness last night and then…this rainy, gloomy Saturday morning, anxious and fidgety and ever-so-slightly regretting those yummy gummy bears from last night.

Anyhoo, I’m going to take a nap. Ish. I leave in a few hours to wait for, hmmm, I’m going to say…two hours. Here’s hoping I don’t turn into a violent mess again. I’m a little tired from carrying my place of exile, my crimes, and my ravages. Mostly tired from keeping it all in, stopping myself from unleashing it on to the world.

Perhaps this is a good day to meet my new shrink.

---

Update:
4:27 pm

Perhaps not. I napped too long and missed my appointment. Next week it is!

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

In between feeling sick and being grossly ill, I was able to spend time with the people I love the most. Ever so happy.

She wasn't feeling well either, so as soon as she started being makulit again,
I brought her Pancake House. Pancakes for dinner, yay!

 

Spent time with longtime friends to celebrate one of my girls' birthday.
Photo is courtesy of Joepi Paloma, the beautiful lady with me in the
middle picture at the bottom.

Fully accessorized little girl.

Swish art work by Lucia.

Absurd and Pink (Which Doesn't Exist)

So, clearly, my not-of-this-world-ness has reached new heights. Not only am I absurd, I am obsessed with a color that doesn't exist.

Let's file this under "Of Course, Of Course."

Here We Go

Starting the period of One Year Marks this week; today, actually. The realization hit me when I read a tweet heralding the start of an annual activity where I used to work. I remember that period last year very well. I remember one very distinct afternoon, in fact. While all those activities were underway, I was in the bathroom, shaking and crying. And then, a few minutes after that, I was jumping up and down, cheering and screaming (for the said activity, not out of the blue).

It's very difficult to relive those moments, even with the distance of time (and space as I have not been even remotely near that place in so long). But snippets of that period waft in and out of my mind from time to time (a lot more these days) and I always feel, I dunno, tired—I suppose?—after a recollection. The effort to keep all those strange, confusing, and crushing memories at bay knocks the wind out of me.

From this vantage point, I can't help but be grateful for being alive, for surviving all of that. But I long for a time when I can stop identifying myself as a person who is living with Bipolar Disorder. (But I know I can never really be rid of this.)

Or, to be at peace with the fact that I am a person living with Bipolar Disorder. (Because I know I can never really be rid of this.)

Or, to just—ugh—be. (Because. Ugh, ugh.)

Ugh.

But here come the drums. It's time. Happy anniversaries. Here we go.