Crazy...

“What is happening to me?” I think to myself as I suck down my soy latte at Inman Perk still staring at the blank computer screen. I can’t think for shit. I desperately want to write but can’t put all the words together. The thoughts are there but it’s like they’re in another language and I don’t have a translator. I polish off the rest of the latte and shut the computer down.
It’s early but the temperature is already on the rise as I walk to my car. I settle in and drive to see my chiropractor.
“On a scale of one to ten, ten being the best you’ve ever felt, how are you today?” he asks once we’re in one of the small exam rooms.
“Uh, six?”
“Why six and not eight?” he looks up at me.
This whole grief thing… ya know…
“I’m stressed out and tired.”
He nods and writes something down. “Alright. Hop up, go face down on the table.” he tells me.
I do as I’m told after taking off my glasses, and sink into the adjusting table, closing my eyes. His hands rest on my ankles, checking my legs for balance. He instructs me to turn my head towards the right then the left several times, then begins adjusting my neck and back. When he’s done, I stand, put my glasses on and get my bag.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod. “Yup.” Just to be touched is good enough for me.
I sit in traffic on the way back home. I’m really trying very hard not to lose my mind.
I make it home and change out of my jeans and into a dress. I drop the computer off in the kitchen and climb back into my car to see my therapist, Karen.
“How are you?” she asks, sitting across from me in a recliner. I’m perched on a leather couch. My feet don’t touch the floor.
“I don’t know.” I reply. “I was trying to figure out what I wanted to talk to you about on the way over this morning. I have no idea.”
She nods. I stare at the floor. Again, what the hell is going on? Why can’t I talk?
“I really hate Atlanta right now.” I blurt out. “I hate even saying that. I don’t mean it really, it’s just right now. I hate it. I hate all the judgmental bullshit, the traffic, the heat. I don’t have a lot of good things to say today. I’m sorry.”
She’s quiet.
“My job is a tremendous challenge at the moment.” I continue. “I love doing hair. I can’t say it enough but right now, in this moment it’s a challenge. I don’t mean to complain. I have no room to do so. I feel so blessed to work for Salonred. If I were still at Van Michael, I’d be a depressed, 700 pound asshole, or I‘d be committed somewhere.” Tears start. “I feel so fortunate to have found my current employer and OA. I don’t know where I’d be without both of them.”
“It’s ok to complain here. What is it about your job that’s challenging?” she asks.
“It sucks me dry of energy.” I reply immediately without thinking, wiping my face. “I certainly don’t want to leave the industry but it’s killing me right now. I feel forced to go to work. Bills still need to be paid.”
“You’re right. They do, but Melissa, you don’t owe anyone anything. You don‘t have to talk about Rob with your clients. You don‘t have to be anyone but yourself.”
I nod. “Mom and I had this discussion last night. She said the same thing. I tried to explain to her that it was drilled into my head at Van Michael that we are to cater to every need of the client. Every day is a good day no matter what. You don’t talk about your life to your clients, because they don’t want to know. They have problems of their own. That was the message I received at the beginning of my career. I was fucking nineteen, trying to be perfect, trying to anticipate the needs of the guy I assisted, his clients and management. It only got worse when I was promoted. I see now that if I don’t take care of myself, everything certainly falls apart and I don’t do a good job but I’m just now learning that. I’m trying to find that balance now. I’m stuck in between everything that I was taught and everything I’m just now learning.”
“It’s like you just left a cult and you’re trying to find your way.” she replies.
“That about sums it up.” I laugh. During my time with Karen, I’m all over the place. I change subjects a million times. I tell her about my wanting to make big sparkly necklaces, about how my eating has been good for the most part and I’ve been able to set some boundaries with people I normally cave into when up against.
“Nothing is perfect but I’m trying.” I smile.
“How are you doing over all, with your grief?” she says carefully.
I’m not sure how to answer this. “Um. Well. I’m doing ok, I guess. I mean, I sleep, work, write. I’m not overeating too much, not isolating but there are times when I need to be alone…yeah.” I nod.
“Ok. So you’re not closed off to people, you do see your friends and family but on your terms, correct?”
I nod. Mom’s words from last night creep back into my head. “You don’t ever stop. You’re over here, then over there, and you’re doing this, then that, and you want this but then you want that over there. You never take your time and slow down.” She’s right. I don’t and I don’t know how.
My session with Karen is up and I feel calm. I go to the bank and head back towards my house, thoughts of lunch filling my head. While driving down N. Highland, five minutes from home, a damn tank of a car pulls out in front of me. I slam on my breaks, the contents of my front seat are now on the floor, the front end of my vehicle is inches from the tank’s driver’s door. (by the car’s description I don’t think I have to explain what was driving it.) There are people outside across the street. I scream “SHIT” at the top of my lungs, not caring how absolutely insane I appear right now . Thank the Lord for the best break system Toyota has ever installed on a car before. Those babies saved me countless times, including a recent near death experience on I-20 earlier this week that left my damn teeth chattering I was so scared.
In a flash I yank the steering wheel and turn hard to the left to go around the idiot. I carefully drive the rest of my five minutes home, feeling my arms shake and my legs go numb.
“If I could be anywhere else, besides here, where would I be?” I contemplate as I open my front door. “Sweden.” I toss my keys on the table, just inside the door and run to my room to grab a book. I decide that I really want this turkey and avocado deliciousness of a sandwich at Parish up the street. It means getting back in the car of course. I’d walk if it weren’t 4,000 degrees.
Back in the car, I go to Parish in Inman Park. I order the sandwich and sit outside in the shade and begin to write in my journal. This still feels foreign to me, writing in my journal. It’s the hardest thing in the world right now and I don’t know why. I’ve done it for years. A couple of pages into it, I stop and eat. I probably should’ve waited a little longer after the incident with the tank because I barely tasted anything I inhaled it so quickly.
I drive home and decide to walk up the street to Belly and get some grapefruit juice. Rob loved their orange juice. It’s all fresh squeezed. I love being there but hate being without him. I sit at table trying to crack open the journal again and a cute couple sits down at the counter in front of me in the seats Rob and I usually sat in. Their clothes almost match each other and I smile to myself when she stands to kiss his face before getting some napkins.
Again, I can’t sit still. I close the journal and leave. I walk the long way back home, but instead of turning to go to my street, I stay straight. All the way down St. Charles Ave. I walk, not sure of where I’m going. Huge, warm tears make their way down my face out of the blue. They don’t stop and I don’t try to stop them. I’m sobbing, passing people, walking in a blur until I reach a dead end. Either I go right and go home or go left and go to the bookstore. Left it is.
I’m not looking for anything in particular. I remember my cousin Stacy mentioning her favorite movie was “Reality Bites” the last time I saw her. I’m holding the DVD remembering the conversation. I decide to buy it.
I walk all the way home after that and watch the movie. I liked it. I take a shower and ingest a Tylenol PM to kill the five day old headache I’m still sporting and fall into bed. It’s still light outside.