slightly relevant

I think one of the most beautiful things in the world is that poetic, passionate love for another person. The kind that leaves you breathless, exhaling your very essence so that it might envelop that person in everything good and warm and satisfying. The kind that leaves you tingling at just the thought of that person, their voice, their touch, their mind.

Yet here I sit, slightly numb, wondering if I have already exhausted my ability to love someone like this. At the moment, I am unsure that I will ever be able to give myself to someone with such reckless abandon again. Maybe that is a good thing, though. Maybe that is what I need to learn to balance; how much of myself to give to someone.

Though I have tried to guard myself, my heart, I find it exceedingly difficult. Even my astrologer, who is very adept at reading my chart, has told me: “Your astrology suggests that the protective structures and boundaries that normally envelop the emotions seem to be absent.” I wonder why this is, that I should be so wholly open to those around me. Vulnerable, beseeching, accepting without much skepticism.

……………………………………………………..

The chill of the air presses its soft lips against my skin, whispering its grievances straight through to my bones. I sit in a slight haze. Unmoving, mind lazily wandering through foggy fields of feelings and questions. My cat’s soft, sleepy breathing is barely noticeable in the darkness of the room.

My eyelids close, jaw tightened in a never-ending clench. My body longs for the warmth and company of another, but I know that if one were present, I would feel suffocated. The familiar electric shock sensation zings through the left side of my head. Fatigue overtakes me and I drift into sleep, my night filled with dreams of being close and comfortable with people I have uncertain feelings toward.

I.
My nose is a river, its source a burgeoning waterfall deep inside the chasm of my sinuses. I have gone through at least two rolls of toilet paper already, seeing as I’m having to expel mucous from my face every two minutes. The doctor says I have a sinus infection, but there must be something else going on since my lungs and throat feel weary with unwelcome crowds of sick.

The nurse took one of those extra-long Q-tips and jammed it up my left nostril. It burned so badly, my hands involuntarily moved up to grab her. Oops. The flu test was negative, though, so I guess that’s a relief. Time to laze around in my apartment, fall in and out of sleep, and get comfortable with my Kleenex.

II.
My lungs are heavy and their hijackers, nasty buggers, will not come out no matter how much my throat pleads. So much pleading, in fact, that my voice has pretty much disappeared. My poor cat keeps talking to me, but alas, I cannot answer her insistent meows. She just looks at me, frustrated. I take a hot shower and she drinks water from the faucet and I stand and stare blankly at the yellow tiles.

Four days have passed and I am only getting worse. My mom takes me back to the doctor, and I am sent to the lab for an encore of large Q-tips being jammed into my nostrils, along with several vials of blood being taken from my arm, and some X-rays on my head and chest. I have the flu. Most likely the swine flu.

My boss and my chef instructor are not happy that I will be gone all week, but they do not protest. Nobody else wants to get sick, and I don’t blame them. This shit sucks.

III.
My mother is a saint. Anything I need, medicine, food, tissues. She brings them to me, and even brings me surprises. She sits with me and helps me with what I need. She takes her Tamiflu so she doesn’t get sick from me, and she hasn’t complained once. I don’t know what I would have done without her this week.

I am working from home today, since there are crises to be averted and I am the only one who can do it. At least I am being somewhat helpful. It’s a change, at least. I was getting tired of watching Family Feud. I have never seen so many high-fives in all my life as in one episode of that show. One week has gone and I am still bedridden. Bored and drowsy and coughing and coughing.

IV.
My living room is a swamp. I wade through her mucky murk in an attempt to save my electronic devices, just barely now touching her damp surface. I go upstairs to my closet to get some clean clothes and realize that my second floor has also transformed into a squishy pool. This is just exactly what I was hoping to encounter at 11:00 pm, in the midst of dealing with the flu.

It has been raining since yesterday and apparently water has collected on the roof, after the roofer men have torn it apart and not yet fixed it (four days ago). Lucky me (and the other tenants in this building) now get to experience super leakage on two floors of our homes.

V.
My kitchen is a library. My grey sweater rests across the back of an office chair, pushed into the dark back corner next to the fridge. Books are piled up on every available surface, while the empty bookcase stands in the middle of the narrow space. The rest of my living room has been pushed together, squished up against the fireplace and the front door. My closet has been emptied out into my bedroom. Things are everywhere. In complete disarray.

They are removing the carpet padding and vacuuming up the water. There is a very loud fan blowing the carpet dry. I am told that I will have to wait until next week for them to come back and finish the job. I am also told not to move anything until the carpet is finished. Oh good, because I was hoping to live like this for a while, you know, just to change things up.

VI.
My lungs, not yet recovering from the flu, are now being treated to a heavy dose of musty air. My cat is excited because all the windows are open. I have put together a makeshift area in a corner of the mess so that I can set up my computer again. I have read three books already this week, and have just bought three more to keep me company, although now I just want to go to sleep. My Tamiflu is all gone, but the bottle of cough medicine (with codeine) is still very full.

Four months later I am back to where I started. No better. Only worse. Wasted countless time and money pursuing ideas that my doctor led me to believe were viable reasons for my symptoms. Little did I know that the whole time he was convinced that I simply have anxiety and plans to refer me to a psychiatrist (whom, of course, my insurance will not cover anyway).

Am I stressed? Yes.
Am I experiencing anxiety? Yes.
Am I slipping into a depression? Yes.
The difference here is that I know the cause of these three things. I know why I am experiencing stress, anxiety, and depression. They are not the CAUSE of my symptoms — they are the direct EFFECT of my physical state for the past four months and my lack of an answer.

So don’t sit there and tell me that anxiety is what is causing my fatigue, dizziness, blurred vision, electric head pains, and dystonia. If you were experiencing all of these things and nobody could help you figure out why — you’d be feeling some fucking anxiety too.