Vintage Supahmama

March 10th, 2011

I once convinced the entire Hartsfield Jackson Atlanta Airport to let me board a plane to Denver. Later that morning as I walked through the Denver International Airport I passed a gate and saw the date on the departures screen. I was 24 hours early. I dropped everything I'd brought with me for my 9 weeks of training and whipped my business itinerary out, unfolded it and lo and behold there it was in black and white. For WEEKS I had told everyone and even managed to convince myself that my flight left on a Saturday when in fact it was a Sunday flight. Sobbing at the hotel/taxi pick-up I called the hotel I was supposed to live at for the next 9 weeks and attempted to convince them as well. Go figure that a sobbing 21 year old girl wouldn't convince them... at all. They were kind enough, however, to come pick me up in hopes we could figure something out in the meantime. I can still smell, of all things, my life at 21. I can remember the brand new luggage I received, the food I survived on (I'm cheap, HELLO bagged oranges and cans of tuna!), and the insane amount of jet fumes I inhaled throughout the duration of my training. I only just recently donated (SHOULD have trashed) the banana yellow snow jacket stained by "plane dust" just from that training alone. No amount of cleaning could get the black out of my sleeves... I just told people years later that I was well ripened when really I looked as if I'd been rolling around on the highway. I loved that jacket.

It's funny how I can remember the smells and textures of things long after the events in my life have passed. Yet I look back at that same time frame and feel a hole where my children should be. Like it's crazy to think that I existed without them. Have they always been there? Were they just tucked like secrets inside my ear? Did I tote them around in my pocket like a stone? I can feel the weight of them in these memories just as I can feel the weight of a lifetime of depression. We both are and aren't comparing my children to my depressive episodes, bear with me people! Sometimes I look back and wonder whether or not I was on or off medication, was there depression present but I just didn't know it? Was I panicking and unaware of what was happening? How on God's green Earth did anyone put up with me? Why do they put up with me NOW?

I have an idea of how I am when I'm tucked into that dark place, but the hand around me won't let me out into the open. I disassociate from myself and others when I'm depressed, it's as if I step back into the shadows and watch others carry on with life around me. I remember being in Middle School and trying to explain to my parents, my friends, that I literally felt like I was outside the window watching everyone around me exist. I worry that the Husband won't always be patient with me when I'm on a downward swing. And I am so very very grateful that up to now he has been supportive. Unfortunately for him, I know that I am impatient and selfish when it comes to other adults. I am trying so hard to OOZE support when my Hyde is screaming from the nosebleed seats to hand him his resume and shut and lock the door. I want to speak up, but I keep my mouth shut tight. I'm constantly afraid that I'll say the wrong thing and make matters worse. I can't make excuses for Hyde because she says everything I wish I could say without being afraid of the outcome. I know we have survived many things and that we will survive this as well, but it's so very hard to be the one who's not being held up. I am grateful that he's held me up for so long.

I hate setbacks about as much as I hate having ADD. OOH, SHINY!