Day 2 of the Not Wedding Week

TheCake

This will NOT be “The Cake” after all.

I’m surprised that I feel better today than yesterday. I sort of expected to be freaking out more and more as the week progressed. I had one bad spell around lunch. Around very late lunch…it was past 2pm before I heard from him regarding lunch. We text our lunch plans, since I’m usually in the middle of speaking, or in the office at work–both bad environments for a ringing cell phone. And his texts were so distracted and delayed that I was actually driving out to The Arbor Lodge for coffee and a cinnamon roll again, before he finally acknowledged that he was at his parent’s house and, sure, come by for lunch if you want. Remember how this one goes: panic, spelled P-A-N-I-C. Why is he not answering me? Maybe he’s suicidal. Maybe he’s in the throes of a bad mood swing and is going to rip my head off when I walk in the door. Maybe he’s in the arms of some hussy he picked up off of Craigslist, since he obviously doesn’t love ME any more… Yeah. Panic. And the brain ran away with the spoon.

So it turned out that he was just deep into a video game. Could be ok. Could be the beginning of a deep downward mood swing. Who knows: Welcome to bipolar disorder.

I’m home with the munchkin now, and again, surprisingly not too stressed. I’m kind of vegetating, but that’s all.

Here are my thoughts on this weekend: I want to commemorate it somehow. I said in my last post, that I just don’t want it to be like any other weekend. Maybe… maybe this is like when someone dies, and you need to do something for closure. I feel grief. I wish I could do something to commemorate it with him, but that could go so badly. I feel like it’s a damned if I do, and damned if I don’t kind of situation. If I avoid him all weekend, that in itself, is going to make me sad. And it could really launch him down the rabbit hole, if he’s nursing some guilt ready to turn into the Depression Monster. But if I’m around him this weekend, my very presence could set off a guilt-driven mood swing. Bad for him, and bad for me and our daughter if we’re in the vicinity of an explosion.

Dammit.

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Day 1 of the Not Wedding Week

It’s Monday of the week of our Not Wedding Day. The counter on our wedding website is in the single digits (I haven’t had the heart to even open it up and look at it, much less log on and KILL it.

(Here’s the skinny on the Not Wedding Day, in case you missed it: https://islandofmamabone.wordpress.com/2014/08/21/the-wedding-is-off-again/ )

I was determined to live in the now, and practice mindfulness, and try to be, if not happy, then content and not massively depressed. I pulled out my Happy Habits app, first thing and filled out my Happiness Journal for the day. I made a list of little stuff I could do through the day to stay calm and make myself feel a little better. I put my outfit together carefully so that I could add a few extra special accessories: a bracelet I received from a mentor to remind that I am making progress in a career I love–and people are noticing, a necklace from my baby sister to remind that I can find positive things in my past if I look for them and don’t focus on the negative, and a ring that my dear heart gave me early on in our relationship before his first big bipolar surge to remind me to look at the whole person, the whole experience, and again, to not focus on the negative.

I was fine through most of the day. Something maybe began to creep in around lunch–we normally meet for lunch because we work close by to one another–but when I contacted him, I found out that he was still helping a friend of ours move, because he didn’t have an afternoon shift today. I constantly prove to myself that human beings can feel two entirely opposite things at the same time. Because I was a little disappointed, but a little relieved at the same time. I settled for feeling good that he was helping a friend out, and spoiled myself a little with an americano and cinnamon roll from one of my favorite coffee shops. No, not Dutch Brothers:

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From commons.wikimedia.org

And then toward the end of my work day we did some texting back and forth and I found out he was still tied up helping with the move, and I needed to go pick our daughter up at daycare because he wasn’t going to make it on time. I think I started to unravel during the commute. I forced down the doubts and sadness and Panic that were starting to well up. Which is a bad thing, when you get to that point, because no one responds well to force. Seriously–when you start making demands of yourself, you resist that just as much as you would if someone else was making demands of you. I snapped at him on the phone–I can’t remember if he called, or it was through text. Holes in memory–another sign things are going south. I snapped something curt and rude while I was trying to get our daughter into her car seat. If anyone’s had to get a kid on the autistic spectrum strapped into a car seat on a regular basis, you already know why this is a stressor for me.

By the time I got home, my brain was trying to take off on it’s own. Why was he spending so much time at this friend’s house? (Any one who’s every moved, already knows the answer to that one.) Were they talking about our failed wedding? About me? Again, ridiculous: this friend, in particular, would never do anything unkind toward me. Did he just go home without a word, because, basically, he just doesn’t care. I’m just a the world’s biggest joke because I do care… Folks, can you spell panic? P-A-N-I-C.

I do give myself credit for not giving in to the more paranoid notions and ripping into him for nothing, but I did finally start leaking some fatalistic misery at him through intermittent texts. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when I suggested we take the friend who was moving out to dinner. (Ulterior motives: cheer myself up by spending time with a good friend, have a third party present to force us both to be on our best behavior, to allay all my weird fears about gossip and so forth by personal witness.) He texted back that our friend wanted to head out now because they had a long drive to Salem ahead of them…. “but how about we all go out for dinner together next weekend?”

“Sure. Sounds a lot better than burying myself in a hole and eating myself to death which was my Big Plan A for next weekend. After all, nothing better to do.”

Yes, I was a bitch. And in the throes of angst and self immolation at the same time. It’s an art form. On the plus side, I kept enough of a handle on my PTSD that I didn’t lash out in a direct attack even though my stress level was suffocating by this point.

“Oh.” He says. That weekend.

He asks if I even want to see him at all this weekend.

I tell him, “I don’t know.” I really don’t. The one thing that I think that I will not be able to stand is if it gets treated just like any other weekend. Right now, though, as I am typing this out, is the first time I’ve been able to articulate that. And I still don’t know how I’m going to explain it to him, to anyone.

Then he surprises me. He asks if I want to see him tonight, then. Hell, he surprises me so much, I say sure. He never comes over late on Monday nights. He politely lets me know when he’s on his way. He even sends me a text to let me know he’s driving up the hill to my house now. I’m not sure why. In the old days, before his bipolar disorder became so bad, I could have seen him reasoning out that it’s not good to surprise someone with PTSD who is in the middle of stressing out and panicking. But I really don’t think he’s been functioning at that level for years. Instinct? Some other motivation stemming from one of his own mood swings? I feel bad for leaning toward the cynical choice, but these days everything seems to revolve around his own slightly detached from reality world. So I just don’t know.

Anyways, surprisingly, we spent a nice quiet night watching old Avatar episodes on Netflix, and sharing some ramen. He surprised me further, by staying the night after I put the small to bed. And he didn’t complain to me in the morning about how he was always late for work when he stayed over on week nights and how that was all my fault.

???

I know, it sounds awful that I’m expecting the worse here, but part of living with someone with bipolar disorder–especially when its out-of-control and untreated–is waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Here’s what I’m thinking: if he actually feels bad enough about the wedding to modify his behavior in a way that is cognizant of another person… that’s gotta be bad. I mean he’s gotta be feeling really bad. And last time he felt really, really bad, he tried to jump off the St. John’s Bridge.

Any here you thought I was always posting pictures of that thing because it was pretty.

Reason #137 that I’m going to parent hell…

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I take the cold coffee pot out of the refrigerator, pour it in my cup, managing to keep most of the dregs out. Look around -like someone is going to be secretly watching me in my own kitchen, then go for the kid’s Ovaltine that’s sitting out on the counter still. Mmmm… iced mocha.
Contemplate it.

La, la, la, la, take me Home

Work calls me out to a part of the city that I haven’t needed to go out to before. Not being up on the traffic patterns out here, I ended up being almost an hour early. No problem: I just put Dutch Bros. Coffee in my GPS. There’s one 2 minutes down the road.  It’s in the parking lot of a small, decrepit shopping center. And, I say decrepit because,  except for a Dollar store in the corner, all the other shops are empty, abandoned.  So it’s when I’m sitting in the drive-thru line staring at a rather distinctive-also decrepit -building across the street, that it hits me. I’ve been here before.

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This is my childhood neighborhood.  I didn’t even realize I was here. My house, was literally a few doors down from that funky brick and yellow building. There used to be some kind of shop in that building -I don’t even remember what, but for advertising they had a bigger than life gorilla manikin that would hold up different sale signs. One if the cheesy man-in-a-suit gorillas. My cousin, who lived next door, and I found it thrillingly scary, and would look forward to seeing it and screaming every time we walked down to the grocery store with our moms.
The building is abandoned now, and it looks ready to fall down. They will rip it down soon,  I am sure. It will be an empty lot for a while, because there is no growth in this neighborhood.  Then they will build a cellphone franchise there.  I want to save it, the way I want to save so many old buildings. But especially this one, because it is the gorilla store from my childhood.
So this parking lot I’m sitting in here,  this is the parking lot of the last Keino’s store to stay open in the Portland area. I spent hours here, with my parents, my grand parents, my aunts and cousins. And I didn’t recognize it. Just yesterday, I was trying to explain to my daughter about the ice cream sandwich Money bars that Gramma used to get for us here.  I find something comforting in the idea that I’ve just purchased my coffee in their parking lot. My last purchase from Kieno’s.  I miss Kieno’s. It’s one of those things that isn’t there any more -isn’t just a given, fact of life, for everyone any more. Things like that always make me sad.
Behind me, is the empty laundry mat where we used to go with my mom or aunt or Gramma to wash our clothes. Gramma had an old wringer washer, I kid you not, but in the winter she would wash her clothes at home and then take them here to use the dryers, because it was too rainy to dry them out on the Iines. This empty laundry mat holds a much less delicious terror for me than the fake gorilla. Once, my aunt Shirley put me and my cousin into one of the big wall dryers there. She thought it would be fun for us -like a carnival ride on the cheap. My cousin went trustingly, but fortunately,  I was hit by a sudden way of preschooler claustrophobia.  I screamed and kicked at the glass so much that my aunt got worried I would break it, and stopped the dryer to chastise me. This delayed things long enough for my mom to arrive from shopping next door, and persevere over aunt Shirley’s drug-addled mind. A few years later my aunt Marilyn ODed.  It was back in the day when people were still polite about that kind of thing so every one said she died of a heart attack.
Already, irrationally, I don’t want to leave the neighborhood. I want to find my small family a little house here. Rent is certainly cheaper here. I want to transfer to the office I’m visiting today, make a difference in the first place I ever belonged.
But I’ve only ever found a reason to come back here once before today, since my family packed up and left when I was a kid. One day, about 5 years ago, I woke up standing there on the street corner by that brick and yellow building. As in, I’d had a huge dissociative episode. I had hours missing. I didn’t know where I’d been or how I’d gotten here. Heck, I was in a whole other state than where I started. It took me a while longer to wander around and figure out where I was. I don’t know how many times I actually walked back and forth in front of my old house before I recognized it. It was almost two hours later when I finally located my car, parked blocks away by the park we used to go to. I’d figured out where I was, but that was in my pre-GPS days, so I finally gave in and called the one person who would be able to tell me how to get home from there: mom. And that’s when mom told me what day it was. It was the only time I forgot the anniversary of my dad’s death.

——————————–

Alabama, Arkansas, I do love my Ma & Pa
Not the way that I do love you

Holy Moley, Me-oh-My, you’re the apple of my eye
Girl, I’ve never loved one like you

Man, oh man, you’re my best friend,
I scream it to the nothingness
There ain’t nothin’ that I need

Well, hot & heavy, pumpkin pie,
chocolate candy, Jesus Christ
There ain’t nothin’ please me more than you

Ahh, Home
Let me come Home
Home is wherever I’m with you

La la la la, take me Home
Mama, I’m coming Home

I’ll follow you into the park,
through the jungle, through the dark
Girl, I’ve never loved one like you

Moats & boats & waterfalls,
alley ways & pay phone calls
I’ve been everywhere with you

That’s true

We laugh until we think we’ll die,
barefoot on a summer night
Never could be sweeter than with you.

And in the streets we’re running free,
like i’s only you and me
Geez, you’re somethin’ to see.

Ahh, Home
Let me come Home
Home is wherever I’m with you

La la la la, take me Home
Mama, I’m coming Home

Jade?

Alexander?

Do you remember that day you fell out of my window?

I sure do, you came jumping out after me.

Well, you fell on the concrete
and nearly broke your ass
and you were bleeding all over the place
and I rushed you off to the hospital.
Do you remember that?

Yes, I do.

Well, there’s something
I never told you about that night.

What didn’t you tell me?

While you were sitting in the backseat
smoking a cigarette you thought
was going to be your last,
I was falling deep, deeply in love with you
and I never told you ’til just now.

Ahh, Home
Let me come Home
Home is whenever I’m with you
Ahh, Home
Let me come Home
Home is when I’m alone with you

Home
Let me come Home
Home is wherever I’m with you

Ahh, Home
Yes, I am Home
Home is when I’m alone with you.

Alabama, Arkansas, 
I do love my Ma & Pa
Moats & Boats & Waterfalls, 
Alleyways & Pay phone Calls. 

Home is when I’m alone with you.
Home is when I’m alone with you.
-Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

This is the song we were going to play at our wedding, while I walked down the aisle. You can love someone real hard in the hospital. So many times in different hospitals.