Day 7: The Weekend
This morning was bad. Exceptionally bad. Last night, when Dick came home from work he wanted me to talk to Jill. My stomach seized up with fear and guilt and anger, and I just lay in bed there a long time before I fell asleep.
This morning it was panic-attack inducing. I lay in the bed curled in the fetal position, alternately feeling like I wanted to vomit and cry. I was angry that I felt as if I had played with my old friend Al last night when really, all I indulged in was a little OJ and some reruns.
Dick sensed my panic and told me to call her.
I refused and instead turned to my Desperate Housewife routine. The one where I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned scrubbing at imaginary stains on the stove and walked around in circles until I finally burst out into tears.
During the week, when I have my job to divert me, and people who know that I AM GOOD. My INTENTIONS ARE GOOD, suround me, I am okay. On the weekend? When it is just me and horrible things that I have done and said are trampling through my head? Holy SHIT BATMAN. The word of the day is BASKETCASE.
I finally untensed enough to tell Dick what was the matter. "I can't believe that she would intentionally do that to me." PART of my neuroses is that I have NEVER felt good enough for any of the men I have been involved with. Some of them have directly lead me to that conclusion, and some of them, I just took it upon myself to convince them of that. The fall from the pedestal is a long way down, my friend. Look, if I jump for you? We'll save both ourselves some trouble.
What this has to do with Jill is that she CAN'T understand why Dick is with me. She is the person who I have been most honest with here, and she doesn't see why he would stay. THAT fucks with my head, considering all our dinners and talks. When I feel broken. I feel like she's right. There must be something that she knows that would change his mind. There must be something that she knows that if I told him would IMMEDIATELY make him divorce me. Do not pass GO, do not collect $200.00.
I tell him this. He says, "No, you told me everything." And in my crazy head I think "Did I?" Did I tell him everything terrible that I have done and said and lived? And the guilt bubbles up inside me like 3 day old Hellman's left out on our back porch.
But he knows that I take these turns off the deep end. That I feel so poorly about myself that I need him to stroke and stroke and stroke, and damn baby, aren't your hands tired? We spend the day together, him gently prodding until I can laugh and feel like I can leave the house without peeing on myself (my panic attacks, they're GRRREAAT!).
I even walked through the Wine Section of the Grocery Store slowly, admiring the bottles without trailing my hands over them, bidding goodbye to old friends. "It doesn't bother me. That much," I told him. And to be honest, not drinking right now doesn't bother me AT ALL. It's wondering if I'll be 89 years old and still not drinking. But I can deal with not being psychic right now.
I told Dick that I didn't want to broach the subject with Jill, because I didn't want it to be "an issue". She helped me get on my feet here, for which I am eternally grateful. We're leaving soon. Mother always told me to make a graceful exit. I'm aspiring to that.
New Drug of Choice: Sparkling Water and Pomegranate Juice. Who knew you could spend just as much money on NON-Alcoholic beverages?
Jane Says: She gets mad and she starts to cry. She takes a swing but she can't hit. She don't mean no harm.
This morning it was panic-attack inducing. I lay in the bed curled in the fetal position, alternately feeling like I wanted to vomit and cry. I was angry that I felt as if I had played with my old friend Al last night when really, all I indulged in was a little OJ and some reruns.
Dick sensed my panic and told me to call her.
I refused and instead turned to my Desperate Housewife routine. The one where I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned scrubbing at imaginary stains on the stove and walked around in circles until I finally burst out into tears.
During the week, when I have my job to divert me, and people who know that I AM GOOD. My INTENTIONS ARE GOOD, suround me, I am okay. On the weekend? When it is just me and horrible things that I have done and said are trampling through my head? Holy SHIT BATMAN. The word of the day is BASKETCASE.
I finally untensed enough to tell Dick what was the matter. "I can't believe that she would intentionally do that to me." PART of my neuroses is that I have NEVER felt good enough for any of the men I have been involved with. Some of them have directly lead me to that conclusion, and some of them, I just took it upon myself to convince them of that. The fall from the pedestal is a long way down, my friend. Look, if I jump for you? We'll save both ourselves some trouble.
What this has to do with Jill is that she CAN'T understand why Dick is with me. She is the person who I have been most honest with here, and she doesn't see why he would stay. THAT fucks with my head, considering all our dinners and talks. When I feel broken. I feel like she's right. There must be something that she knows that would change his mind. There must be something that she knows that if I told him would IMMEDIATELY make him divorce me. Do not pass GO, do not collect $200.00.
I tell him this. He says, "No, you told me everything." And in my crazy head I think "Did I?" Did I tell him everything terrible that I have done and said and lived? And the guilt bubbles up inside me like 3 day old Hellman's left out on our back porch.
But he knows that I take these turns off the deep end. That I feel so poorly about myself that I need him to stroke and stroke and stroke, and damn baby, aren't your hands tired? We spend the day together, him gently prodding until I can laugh and feel like I can leave the house without peeing on myself (my panic attacks, they're GRRREAAT!).
I even walked through the Wine Section of the Grocery Store slowly, admiring the bottles without trailing my hands over them, bidding goodbye to old friends. "It doesn't bother me. That much," I told him. And to be honest, not drinking right now doesn't bother me AT ALL. It's wondering if I'll be 89 years old and still not drinking. But I can deal with not being psychic right now.
I told Dick that I didn't want to broach the subject with Jill, because I didn't want it to be "an issue". She helped me get on my feet here, for which I am eternally grateful. We're leaving soon. Mother always told me to make a graceful exit. I'm aspiring to that.
New Drug of Choice: Sparkling Water and Pomegranate Juice. Who knew you could spend just as much money on NON-Alcoholic beverages?
Jane Says: She gets mad and she starts to cry. She takes a swing but she can't hit. She don't mean no harm.
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on Saturday, May 27, 2006 at 1:02 PM.
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