Next Time, I’m Going Straight Home!

Last Sunday I had a blah day. A stay in bed and be miserable and whine at my husband kind of day. So, it was a surprise to everyone when I managed to get to work on Monday. Success! I even made the decision to get cat food after work. The kibble they have loved for ages is suddenly the most horrible thing I could possibly be feeding them and I cracked under the pressure of three adorable cats staring at me accusingly.

Monday was not a good day. It was a weepy day. I cried at work. The pressure of Christmas, dealing with the loss of Silvia and seeing how it’s affecting everyone, regular depression. It all added up to a shit day. However, I persevered! Sort of.

I left work early because I wasn’t being productive and I was crying at my desk. I sent my boss this text:

To his credit, he deals with me very well. But never tell him that. We communicate in the language of sarcasm 99% of the time and it would not translate.

I should have gone straight home, but I couldn’t face those accusing, adorable faces again so I went to get cat food.

Before I go into this next part, I need to tell you that when I’m really depressed or anxious I also get paranoid. I feel like people are looking at me funny or talking about me. It’s super fun!

The reason I say this is because I’m at the checkout and there’s a young guy helping me, one girl behind him to my left and one to the right. The one on the right has this little smile on her face and I kept sneaking peeks at her trying to figure out what she was smiling at. What’s the joke? Am I the joke because I look like I’ve been crying because I have been crying? What is it?

Meanwhile, Young Guy helping me is playing with this dog toy that is green and lights up and, to me, looks like a penis. So I think, “Ohhhh she’s smiling because he’s playing with the penis toy while he should be helping me. I totally get it!”

Then ….

Young Guy: This is my favourite dog toy.

Me: Really? Looks a bit creepy?

Young Guy: What do you mean? It’s a stick.

Me: *really starting to doubt myself and wishing this conversation was over* It just looks weird to me.

Young Guy: What do you think it looks like?

Me: *really feeling like I don’t have a handle on what the joke is* It looks like a penis.

Young Guy: WHAT?!?!

Young Girl 1: WHAT?!?!

Young Girl 2: WHAT!?!?!

People Behind Me In Line: WHAT!?!?!?

Me:

I had no follow-up to that so I paid and left the store as fast as I could. On my way out I heard Young Guy say, “I don’t see it.” ACK! Why!? Why did I think I was in on the penis joke when there was no penis joke?! I was the penis joke!!

In my defence … or maybe not, here is the toy:

PENIS!!!!

I sat in my car, replaying the incident in my mind, trying to stop sweating and attempting to figure out where it all went wrong. It was when I said Penis. 100%

I need help… but don’t tell anyone

I get so frustrated when people struggle or suffer and don’t ask for help.  What’s the big deal? I think to myself.  They must know that they’re loved and we will jump at the chance to help, I continue to think.  Then I realized I am exactly the same way.

If it’s something to do with my job I will keep trying to do things myself until I lost my shit.  For some reason it feels like asking for help means I’m failing.  Even though if someone asks me for help I never think they can’t manage or aren’t smart enough.

It’s been a particularly rough year for my in-law family and last week I got a text from Juanita saying that she’d talked to Pierre and she thought that Nigel should call Pierre and I was like, what the fuck? Why doesn’t Pierre just call Nigel!?  Why is this so hard? Why can’t people just tell me what they need so I can make it all better!!?!!?  I ruminated on that for a few days and came up with this:

  1. I can’t make it all better. Nor should I expect that of myself.
  2. Pierre probably has no idea what he needs. He just knows he’s in pain.
  3. Even if Pierre had called Nigel, he still wouldn’t know what he needs and Nigel can’t fix this situation either.
  4. It’s likely that Pierre’s grief is making him feel apart from everyone else and maybe it makes him feel like a burden!  Maybe grief lies the same way depression lies. 
  5. I wouldn’t know what to ask from people either.  I’m sad; make it better?
  6. This is hard.

In conclusion: Let’s all ask for help and make everything better for each other. Not likely.  

How about this instead:

When we’re having a hard time, with any aspect of our lives, let’s force ourselves to think of one person who loves us, or likes us, enough to want to help.  If that means asking a co-worker for help with a task, pick a nice person who you know you would help.  If it means asking your family to help you through your grief or anxiety or depression, call one person.  Send a text.  Sit on their couch and cry and be held.  Watch TV in silence. 

Not easy, I know.

I’ll try if you try. 

UPDATE

After I posted this I found this gem on Twitter. It was meant to be:

Braaaaains

Yesterday I went for a CT Scan on my brain. Why, you ask?  Well, let me tell you.  It’s all because of this fine gentlemen:

That’s my dad and he has a brain aneurysm.  This was him just before we found out all the details about what it is, where it is and what has to be done. It’s scary as fuck y’all!

Papa Smurf has a Basilar Tip Aneurysm that is 17 mm.  Right in the middle of his brain which makes it a “complex aneurysm”, because of course it does.

He’s going to have brain surgery in the new year and get all patched up and be totally fine. Knock on wood.  All of you.  Right now!

I know, I know, I still haven’t told you why I had to get a CT Scan.  So I will tell you.  The motherfuckers run in families! Whaaaat!?

My dad’s mom died of a brain aneurysm.  He has one now.  His first- degree relatives all need to get checked.  Me, my two brothers and my uncle and aunt.  Good times!

The best part about the scan is that they give you an injection when your brain is getting scanned and I was told it would make me feel like I had to pee … but no, no … that’s not quite it … It made me feel like I was peeing!
I was 100% sure they’d get me out and I’d sit up with pee pants.  But that wasn’t the case.  Just a delightful side effect.  A warm, fuzzy crotch feeling.  Hooray!

The lesson here is: Get your brains checked and wear Depends whilst doing so.

The End