Recovery

Well, I 100% chickened out. I memorized my monologue and recorded myself performing it, and it wasn’t even bad. I mean, not TOO bad. But the thought of having to go in front of people to perform it was paralyzing. I made it about halfway to Royal Oak and just kept driving north instead.

I’m at the bar, after a strong pep talk about how if I want to be a writer instead I need to buckle down and actually write regularly. So here I am. Writing. Drinking light beer. Thinking about how I have been unraveling.

I’m exhausted all the time, seeing everything through a fog, changing my clothes five times a day but not washing my hair. I compulsively clean the house, like inner peace is right under that layer of smashed crackers. I barely see my friends or anyone else. I can feel my furrow lines cementing between my brows. Clay skin hardening.

Instead of visiting potential daycares for Ari, I went to IKEA to buy silverware for Stephanie today. Steve is moving out and apparently he’s taking the flatware with him. I also picked up candles and plastic dishes for the kids, and some cable you stretch across the wall to hang pictures on. You know how that place is. It took up most of the usable day, until I had to do school pick ups.

But I’ve been putting off setting up daycare for a couple of weeks. Probably longer, actually. I don’t mean to. I just can’t focus. So everything is weirdly stagnant.

I feel haunted. Jordan is everywhere. He comments on everything I do, mopes around the house when we should be sleeping, laughs when the kids laugh. Teases Rosie when she acts silly. Maybe my grip on reality was never great and this assault on it is too jarring right now. I feel like I need help but I don’t know how to ask for it, or what it would be. The only thing that sounds comforting is quiet, time to reflect and focus. Consider things. Realign. My circumstances do not, unfortunately, allow for peace and quiet. Ha! Not right now. JD used to blend right into our hyperactive household so seamlessly. I miss my brother, man.

But I’m fairly certain I won’t see him again. I mean, I saw him there, contorted, so uncomfortable looking, I couldn’t wait for the ME’s to get there and just MOVE him already, lay the poor kid flat. How many hours was he stuck there like that? In that stink? Was he hoping someone would show up and help him at the end? Why didn’t he call me? Could he call? Did he realize this time was different?

It’s a loop, starting with that sleepless night. Hearing noises on the baby monitor, hearing a little boy talking down the hall. Rolling around in bed with stomach cramping like something was eating me from the inside. Right up to laying my hand on his stomach and feeling a room temperature body through that thin white t-shirt. I might forget everything else, but I will never forget how he felt under my hand.

How long is it before that loop quits? Or if it won’t, when will I be able to pull it together and focus regardless? Functioning at 60% will only keep life support going; this ship will never reach its destination point unless we repair the broken machinery.

CAPTAIN! FIGURE THIS SHIT OUT! WE ARE AIMLESSLY STAGGERING INTO THE NETHER REGIONS OF AN UNCHARTED UNIVERSE AND THE CREW IS TERRIFIED.