Never ever again

He had been nagging me that he felt “unequal” in the fact that I had not yet been in his apartment. I pointed out that we had been dating less than two weeks, but I think the statement fell on deaf ears. Finally, on Saturday, I felt ready to venture into his apartment.

On Saturday night I would have preferred to go listen to an Irish band play nearby, but I knew he wasn’t ready for that kind of outing as he does not go out a lot because of his anxiety. Still, I didn’t mind the prospect of having a cozy Saturday night with him.

There was an ominous sign from the start. For one thing, you could not fully open the front door. This was because a huge box that previously held a 60 some-odd inch flat screen TV was in the hallway leading to the doorway. It had been there long enough that it was full of paper trash. You could not walk in the door in a straight forward manner. You had to enter sideways because of the box that was in the way.

Right away, my peeps did not like this. But I was so taken aback that I did not notice the internal chaos inside of me. There was too much going on all at once. The way I had to enter his apartment reminded me of my childhood home that had boxes of magazines from floor to ceiling in every hallway. I always had to walk sideways in hallways at my house as a child.

Walking further into his apartment sent me into fuzzy mode. There was stuff everywhere, in every available crevice. When I finally sat down I had these 4 foot speakers with scary looking gargoyles on top of them staring back at me. The apartment gave me the sense that it was tightening its grip on me.

We watched a movie he had downloaded for me. But through out the movie I twitched and shook rather painfully. Mercifully, the movie was only an hour and a half long.

When I rose from the couch I felt shaky and dizzy. Once I got out of the apartment I had to hold on to the hallway walls in order to make it out of the building. I felt drunk, though that wasn’t possible because I had not drank a thing in that dreaded place.

He followed me out to my car. Surprisingly, once I got inside my car I started to feel like myself again. The drunk feeling left my body. I was no longer twitchy or shaking. I even got my voice back. In the moment my voice returned I turned to him, and said without thinking twice, “I can never go back in there.”

The abruptness of my statement shocked me, and him as well. But as soon as I said it I knew it was true, and my body relaxed even further.

He then said to me, “Why should I be surprised? My ten year old daughter won’t even spend the night.”

Then he commented that 5 am comes around quickly, and he needed to go so that he could get enough sleep for work tomorrow. And before I could respond, he flew out of my car, and ran back into his apartment building.

I think there’s the possibility that he expected to come after him when he ran off. But I don’t play those games. I drove away, and the further I got from his place the calmer my peeps became. No worries, kiddos, we are never ever going back in there again. I promise.

The day after the meltdown

The day after the meltdown

I woke up and went to my second interview for that job in human resources.

The job was offered to me the very next day, and I accepted.

The day after the meltdown …

I turned 40 with the help of my best girl friends.

The guy I was dating flaked out on my birthday, but my girlfriends were there, and that is what matters.

The day after the meltdown …

It was clear to me that there can be a good morning after feeling so disastrous the previous night.

I knew my life was far from ideal, but I love it nonetheless.

Coming up for air

You look out into the sea of faces, and welcome the group to the video conference. All is well, and going smoothly until a voice starts bellowing, “There is no contract between blah blah blah blah.” At least that’s what it sounds like to you because you are not there once you hear that inevitable berating nasty tone. You’re gone, just like that. Somehow you’re saved because one of your colleagues handles the nasty woman with the question/comment.

But then there are others with the similar berating tone, and you find a way to fake your way though it even though your body is floating, and you hardly feel like you’re on the ground. You’re answering questions, and keeping your body from shaking, but it is the hardest thing you’ve ever done in your life. It is painful to stand there, and keep it all buttoned up.

Right before the lunch break a woman approaches you to ask you a question. She’s nice and polite, but you haven’t eaten in three hours, and you feel yourself start to fade while she’s talking to you. You take her hand in yours, and tell her that you desperately need to eat something, and you would love to hear her question after the training ends. Mercifully, she smiles and says that’s fine, and that she’ll see you after the training.

You run to your office cube, and shake and shake and shake ,and then you eat your yogurt and granola. You want to cry like a baby, but you go back on camera in 15 minutes so there is no time for that.

You are back on camera, and the worst of it is over. However, your body does not know that, and it wants to TWEAK out. Keeping a lid on the pressure cooker in your body is an “all-hands-on-deck” affair. Somehow you get through it.

The lovely woman with the question right before lunch finds you after the training, and she turns out to be a joy to speak with. She is the one bright spot in the entire experience. The two of you wind up talking extensively about issues tangentially related to the training.

You are able to get to the end of the day, and you’re exhausted. Unfortunately, your body is in overdrive, and does not realize that the ordeal is finished. Your friend, Jack, takes you out for an early birthday dinner, but you’re twitchy. In fact, you’re especially twitchy when a couple is seated very close to you in the restaurant. You just about jump out of your skin.

Finally you get home, and just melt down completely. It is full on panic/freak-out mode, and you are drop-kicked into the horrid past of your parents yelling at you in that berating voice. You find yourself wishing that your mother had killed you that time she tried to run over you with the car. One of your friends calls you in the midst of this episode, and comes over to check on you. They wisely assess that you need your Xanax, and a break from your brain. You take one, and eventually are able to peacefully sleep, and put this dreadful day to rest for good.