December 2, 2008

Sometimes I look in the mirror and realize I no longer recognize myself. Part of it is the disappointment and shame I feel, or the puffiness in my face from the alcohol it has absorbed.

Life is hard. I’ve heard that for most of my life. I just didn’t think that it would be as true as it is now. Some days I feel like I have to be Supergirl. I have to handle everything plus more. At times I feel taken advantage of, used and left--then used some more. There are moments when I wish I could simply die. Disappear into the earth and never have to worry about another thing. But I’m too much of a pussy to try.

I haven’t been honest with people lately. I haven’t lied to anyone lately either. I choose the road of non-disclosure. No point in having people tell me shit I already know.

Here’s the truth.

That night two weeks ago--was difficult. We kept regurgitating the same arguments. Certainly the words sounded scripted since we’d repeat it in between paychecks. What was different that night was there was alcohol. He bought a huge bottle of wine a few days before and we started drinking after the argument began. I only had a glass since I needed to buy some chips for work the next day. He ended up polishing off most of the wine.

I left for about 25 minutes. When I came back he was laying in bed. In hindsight I should’ve left well enough alone. I was worried though because he had been drinking. I tried to wake him up to make sure everything was all right. I don’t regret it because my intentions were good. He started murmur words that resembled a European language. To add to my thoughts of “what the fuck?”, he started to say that I asked Stubby for permission to go to the store, but not him. And that Stubby does not love me. I asked him what the fuck his problem was. He continued to talk nonsense until for some reason he seemed to snap out of it and ask me what was wrong with me. I’m sure that I had a puzzled look on my face since I had no idea what he was going to do next. It seemed like there was a moment where he went from black-out drunk to being sane and sober. At that point for whatever reason he said that I was losing it. That I was finally losing it. He asked me for my Kaiser card so that he could take me to the hospital. It was disturbing that he hugged me and tears ran down his face all the while saying that he loves me and that he knew this would happen one day. Only one of us was sober obviously. He also asked me what happened while I was down at the store. What happened to make me snap? “Nothing! I couldn’t find the damn chips since they were hidden in a corner of the store, but otherwise, nothing happened! What is wrong with you?”

He said my eyes changed. What he saw was fear. I seriously had no idea what he would do next. He tried to convince me that I had gone nuts. For a few moments I honestly didn’t know whether it was him or me that had really lost it. I said I wanted to call either his mom or my mom. Somebody needed to hear this shit. I got his phone and called my mom. She told me that I did not sound like I was going nuts. No shit. I explained that he was acting just like Dad when he had an “episode”. All of a sudden he wanted his phone back and said he was leaving.

I followed him and informed him that I wasn’t just going to let him “walk” to God knows where at 11:30 at night. He continued to push into my head that I needed psychiatric help. That I should go to the ER so they can assess me and finally I will realize I’ve gone crazy. It pissed me off. I gave into the game and we got in the car. It escalated from there. He slammed his fists on my dash (sounds eerily familiar), ranted on about my supposed “craziness”. I called Brianna while I was trying to figure out what to do next. She assured me that I wasn’t crazy. It gets a bit fuzzy as to who wanted to talk to who, but I handed the phone over to him. Among other things, he mentioned how we met, that I should inform the doctor that my only friend came from a therapy group. When I got the phone back, he told me that I should tell her all the shit I talk about her. I was convinced he had too much to drink and that it was ironic that our relationship would begin and end by result of alcohol. Perhaps he wouldn’t even remember this incident it was so ridiculous.

Brianna told me that I should definitely go to the ER. I thought it was silly, but I tried to trust her judgment since I probably wasn’t in a very good mind frame regardless. I got to the Hayward Kaiser finally and while I was making a u-turn, he jumped out of the car. If I hadn’t stopped the car in time, he might have flown out. I circled around Kaiser trying to find parking. During one of the laps I saw him walking on the sidewalk. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. By the time I finally found a parking spot, Brianna was already there. He had called me and we were arguing over the phone. It was an odd conversation because through all of that he told me to call him once I got out. I didn’t know what to think.

This next part pissed me the fuck off.

I was unsure about going into Kaiser. I didn’t want to pay the $50 co-pay and wait hours on end for a doctor. Plus after what happened to me the last time I had any emotional “issues”, I really didn’t want a repeat in an adult hospital. She yelled at me that yes we had to go in. Now comes the part that really pissed me off. She was making a commotion at the security desk at the ER, telling the lady security guard that my boyfriend was freaking out calling me crazy and then mentioned that we met at a psychiatric group! I only heard a few sentences because it was time to do damage control. I said, “Wait, let me explain!” After checking in and paying my co-pay, we were placed in Hallway D. For the next 7 fucking hours. I watched everybody else come and go. The older black lady with fluid in her intestines, also a cancer survivor. The man with an abscess in his stomach and the girlfriend who resembled an older version of Fergie. The crazy bitch in the back room who admitted to wasting her years on drugs. Kaiser is all right, but my complaint for that night was the lack of attention the nurses and doctors paid to the patients. My nurse, Richard told me that he was going to be there until 3:30. He was still there when I left. He only came to check on me twice in 7 hours. The other nurses simply ignore the patients. The lady with the fluid in her intestines was asking for help. She had to vomit and couldn’t do it properly since the bed was laying flat. This one stupid nurse looked in for a second and shrugged her shoulders and then left!

At 6:45 Brianna finally got up and found Richard and some other nurse. The other nurse said my chart showed I’d already been seen by the doctor. I was furious. I was wondering if I could sign some papers and leave because being there was more stressful than the situation itself! Richard apologized because apparently he was an idiot and didn’t know that my type of situation was more suitable for a social worker to handle. He also forgot or didn’t know that the social worker didn’t get in until 7 in the morning. I’m generally nice, but he really fucked that one up.

I think I lied. I think I lied about not lying. I lied to Brianna and told her that I didn’t need her to follow me back to my mom’s house. I told her that I’d be just fine and that I’d call her once I woke up. Instead, I went back to the apartments. I saw that I missed 27 calls from him. I called and he told me he was packing. It was fucked up because I felt like I was being punished for nothing. I felt like it was all his fault, that he was the one that was drinking, he was the one that was really freaking out and here I was suffering his consequences. However, the person I am most upset with is myself. When I got home I wanted to just fall into his arms and fall asleep. I wanted to rewind time and start over. Maybe just go into our bedroom after work and shut the fuck up. But since that wasn’t possible, I went into the bedroom to see his closet empty. The clothes had been pulled off the hangers that I at multiple times worked so hard to put away. I should’ve just let him leave. I should’ve just been strong and realize that my life will be okay no matter how crappy it was at that moment. Instead I begged him not to leave. I told him that I wanted to talk and that he could leave but at least we could speak at a later time? With everything accumulating before that day I just couldn’t take that last blow to my emotional bubble. He told me that he didn’t want to talk to me. There was nothing to say. I had said it all already. What the fuck?!!!

Eventually he ended up falling asleep on the floor between the two couches. He went into the bedroom once I sat on one of the couches. I moved the smaller couch to block both the front door and the sliding glass door. I needed to feel like I was in some sort of control. I didn’t want to wake up and find that he had left forever.

One of the things I’ve never been able to do is write/type a situation that happened. I keep it in my head until it eventually fades and no longer matters as much. I don’t know if this will benefit me in the end, but people suggest journaling. So I’m making an effort.

Fuck, everything feels like such an effort now a days. Wake up and worry about your bank account? Fraud? Being broke? Making sure the water stays hot and the electricity stays on is hard work. All that shit on top of a 40 hour work week. That’s not to mention my “second job” as a do it all house-woman. At least I try to do as much as I can. I don’t have much energy to handle much household chores anymore. I'm too tired.