RUN!

Dear Hearts,

I had an unusual panic attack last night. Yeah, I shook, but also my brain…Armageddon was occurring in my brain and not the Armageddon with Ben Affleck and Liv Tyler.

I shouldn’t say unusual. I have had these full brain panic attacks before with my shaking, but they are not typical. And, they don’t usually happen without a direct trigger. Let’s see, yesterday I drew, took some paper products to a 90-year-old woman who has been sick. I love her, but it took all I had to go into her house. The money she gave me is tucked inside a glove (that I wore to open her door) in my car. I am not touching the money or glove for days. But that was the right thing to do.

Then I stopped by The Pie Shop where G-Pa and Dr. Swede were having their Friday afternoon coffee and sugar-free pie. I got a piece of pie for later that was definitely was sugar free. I loved eating last night as I watched American Horror Story: Hotel—even though I felt guilty. Because that much sugar cannot be good for anyone. I took G-Pa home and had a rushed-time for a cigarette and coffee before driving to Aunt Faerie’s for dinner.

I took the Xanax before I left. But, full on panic attack. Not so bad the shaking, but my thoughts.

I was in danger. I had to get out said danger. Everything was collapsing in around me. My thoughts were racing—every one playing out the worst possible scenario. I am having trouble articulating what was going on in my head.

I was eating a dinner I liked a lot---mashed potatoes, peas, and Aunt Faerie’s “Swedish” Meatballs. They are good meatballs, really good. But, they are not anything like Mom’s Swedish meatballs. Regardless, this was a real comfort meal for me.

Expect…

When I had my car accident and tipped the fucking Durango on its side and I was trapped. I was panicked. Well, not too panicked to find my cigarettes, Dad’s lighter, and my Xanax. But I just screamed—because I was in real, bodily danger. The floor mat was on my head and I was spitting grit and gravel out of my mouth. My right side was wet from my tea spilling all over me. I was sitting on the driver’s side window. I could not get out. By a TRUE MIRACLE I got 911 on an old phone in a dead zone.

I didn’t know if the truck would catch fire or explode. I didn’t think I was hurt. All I wanted was out. But, I could hear cars going past me not stopping.  I wasn’t thinking logically. Actually, I kept telling the 911 operator that “my husband is going to fucking kill me.” He didn’t kill me, but he was Goddamn mad at me. I digress. I was trapped. Literally.

I couldn’t break the windshield because it was flush against tree branches. I couldn’t reach the passenger door and even I could have, I would have had to crawl down the under-carriage of the truck. When the cop came and broke the back window all I said was, “Get me the fuck out of here.”

I was in trapped in that Durango last night in my head. And I will probably have an episode after writing this post too. That Voice that tells you to slow down on an icy road, to not get in the elevator with that man, to brace for hitting that deer ‘cuz it’s gonna happen, what to do if you fall on face down really hard on ice—that Voice was telling me to run. But run where?

All was quiet at Aunt Faerie’s dinner table. There was no imminent threat. Or even a hint of a threat to come. The worst thing that was going to happen was that I was not going to back out of Aunt Faerie’s driveway the G-Pa approved way. But, that Voice: GET THE FUCK OUT NOW. NOW. NOW. NOW. NOW.

Except, I didn’t know where to go. The danger was in my head—in me. I could escape myself. But, that’s what The Voice was telling me to do: FLEE. No fight---just flee.

I was not in control. I just kept eating, with shaky hands, the food on my plate and tried to keep telling myself I was not in any real danger. No one could help me. I couldn’t help me.

Job. Disability. House. House. House. Money. Failure. Career. God. House. A mate. Depression. Self-Esteem. PTSD. All of these and more became predators and I was the prey.

I retreated after dinner to a comfortable chair in Aunt Faerie’s living room. All of the furniture in this house is made for short people. Aunt Faerie isn’t tall either. Bugsy is. So he bought himself a life-size easy chair. I can fit in it comfortably. I covered myself with an afghan Gram had made, curled into the fetal position, and recited “Hail Mary…” until I drifted into a kind of in-between sleep-dream-real world. Then I was called to drive G-Pa home.

If you are standing alone on an iced over pond and you hear the ice begin to crack you panic. That’s where I was. You can’t know until you’ve experienced it. You want to die. You want to disappear.

On some levels, I think that is what I felt all the time as a teacher and then when I got to My House I locked the world out and I locked myself in. It finally broke me.

I have to divorce My House. I have to sell My House. I have to sell My House. I have to sell My House. At one time, I would have unequivocally said that if I sold the house, I would kill myself. No doubt. A certainty. But, I don’t think I can go back there and live.

Nothing to show for 39 years. Good fucking job, Kate. I am so tired of sorrow and writing about my sorry. I just am tired. I cannot be still. I want to die. I want to not be here anymore. I promise I won’t kill myself through Thursday when Mom comes. But I want to. I just want Christ to come and get me.

“Why is it so hard? Why can’t you just take me? I don’t have much to go before I fade completely…” Irvine Kelly Clarkson.

I HAVE TO SELL MY HOUSE.

I HAVE TO DIVORCE MY HOUSE.

I WANT TO DIE. REALLY. NOT BEING HYPERBOLIC. I WANT OFF THIS RIDE NOW.

I don’t think is there is another side. I can’t fathom another side.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: Remember—I promise—I swear to God and Mother Mary and on Angel’s life to not kill myself through this coming Thursday. That’s the best I can promise right now. It’s better than no promise at all.

PPS: Not reading over this one either. Just posting it.