Yesterday and the day before, the internet in my apartment stopped working. I at first assumed it was a problem with my dinosaur of my computer, but after restarting it three times and then taking it to Starbucks where it instantly connected problem-free to their wireless, I knew the problem lay deep within the mysterious cable box that sits on the TV stand. Then, for kicks yesterday, I turned on the television. "You have no cable," the screen helpfully announced. I started to cry. (Been doing that a lot these days. Including, but not limited to: on the subway, on the sidewalk. over my painstakingly-eaten dinner, when Rupert wakes me up, when I only sleep two hours a night, when the coffee shop is cold, when I can't find anything to wear that doesn't make me look 239908908920 pounds, etc.) I was definitely not crying over the lack of cable television. Selfishly, I was a little peeved about the lack of internet, since it's how I blog and Skype with my best friend. But mostly, I was crying because I just can't do this all alone anymore.
I just cannot handle every single piece of mail that comes into the apartment, addressed to both me and Alix, some of them with bills, some of them with past-due notices, many from our respective insurance coverage denying coverage or demanding astronomical co-pays. I cannot handle going to bed at 11 PM and waking up at 1 AM. I cannot handle arranging dog walkers and pet-sitters in order that I might earn the paltry amount of money that my 2-3 day a week job is bringing in. I cannot handle paying a rent that is easily three times what I can afford. And I definitely cannot handle all of this while fighting two eating disorders with every fiber of my being. I don't know when Alix is coming home. It sure isn't anytime soon.
Which is why, at the end of this month, when my lease ends, I'll be moving. Almost definitely to Boston. It's closer to a support network that I desperately need and it's way more affordable. The complications arise when I factor in that I'll still be trying to come to NY a few days a week in order to continue caring for Birdie, because, honestly, it's the happiest job I've ever had and happiness is in short supply these days. I've also just recently found a therapist who gets me, who pushes me, who I finally feel like is in my corner and is going to help me fight these demons. So...lots of bus trips back and forth! The relief I feel about getting out of this place is at least equally matched, if not surpassed, by the additional stress that this all adds to my plate (no pun intended). In the next 20ish days, I need to: write an application, get letters of recommendation, update my resume, pack up all of Alix's things and put them in storage, sort through my things and put some in storage, find a place to live in Boston, pack the rest of my stuff into a U-Haul, drive to Boston, move in, convince Birdie's parents to agree to the convoluted work schedule I'm going to offer them, find additional work in Boston, and, oh yeah, eat. Pesky little thing, this eating-every-day idea.
I'm trying to stay positive about it all, I really am. I'm trying to focus on the good things that are coming, but it's hard when ever-so-conveniently, my bipolar disorder has decided to crash and burn and become unresponsive to my meds, thus necessitating another (expensive) trip to the psychiatrist, in addition to my weekly visit to the psychologist that is keeping me sane enough that I feel I should offer her baked goods or wine in exchange for my weekly hour of tears and word-spewing.
I know that if everyone in the world stood in a circle and tossed their problems into the middle, I'd probably be pretty damn quick to grab back my own. After all, there are many, many others who have it a lot worse. But right now, all I'm feeling is the kind of overwhelmed where your heart skips and your hands shake and your eyes are constantly brimming.
Can it be November 2nd?
Or can someone step in, rub my forehead, shush me quietly, and tell me that it will all be okay and that everything will get sorted out and that somehow, I don't know how, but somehow, I'll make it through this?
I even put my own name into the prayer box last night. That was a first. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
6 comments:
Good. Good for you. You HAVE to take care of yourself and pray for yourself first - it's like putting on your own oxygen mask first on an airplane. I'll be thinking of you and all you have you get done - it'll be busy and hectic, but you can do it.
Tomorrow night, I'll step in, rub your forehead, soothe you, and remind you that everything will be okay. I promise you that.
you don't need november 2nd. it's here NOW! you're moving towards something amazing and every day, instead of thinking about how much work, focus on how exciting it is that you are moving towards what YOU want to be donig and where YOU want to be and where YOU feel safe and where YOU feel supported and where YOU put yourself first. SO PROUD!!!
(212-er win-o) guess who it is...
This makes me happy to read. Boston sounds like balm for the soul.
I so GET the feelings you describe. I'm just done this week. Done. I don't want to worry to stress or carry the burden on my own any more.
But I also really loved your analogy of standing in a circle and throwing problems into the center.
It could ALWAYS be much, much worse. And that helps, until about 2am ;)
Hugs. Hope the move is a smooth one
I'm so glad you put your name in the prayer box! And the move to Boston is you taking the reigns and helping yourself, a sign of your strength!
Sending my love, from another corner of the world where the internet is also out in my house... yes, I can get it other places (now in library) but yes, IT SUCKS!
Thank you everyone! I'm currently in Boston, looking for jobs and apartments and getting excited about the move (trying to stay relatively unstressed and positive). Trying to do what's best for myself is a rather new experience for me, but it's one that I feel is important and is a big step for me.
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