broken

It began about two years ago. We had just arrived home from our honeymoon that very day when I received a call. It was work and they weren't happy. No, that's not right. They were fine, I was the one who wouldn't be happy. They fired me - over the phone! On the day back from my honeymoon! I won't go into the reasons here but needless to say I felt ambushed. The world stopped and I saw triple. All I could think to say was "Thank you." I hung up the phone and bawled. It too a good three minutes for my husband to finally understand what I was saying through the tears and sobs.

Fired. Me. I'd never been fired from anything in my life. That was September. By January, I knew something else wasn't right.

I was still unemployed but I was working on it. I was sending out resumes and filling out applications. I even had interviews. The problems came when they asked about previous employment. I couldn't lie, so I told the truth. Then they never called back.

Unemployment can be hard on newlyweds. But the depression was even worse.

I didn't know it was depression at first. I thought I was just upset because no one would hire me. And I was worried a lot. OK, I was worried all the time. I worried about everything. Money mostly but that wasn't all. I worried every time Jason left the house. I became co-dependent. If he wasn't at my side, I was not alright.

Then all of the shit hit the fan one night. I had just been hired as a temp receptionist at an agency in town. I had completed my first day although my lunch break consisted of crying in the car then trying to fix what the tears had wrecked. My mantra all day was "I can do this. I can do this." I kept telling myself this was a good job. I could handle it. I had jobs much worse than this. It was good money too - more than I'd been making at my previous job even. But that night all hell broke loose. I couldn't sleep so I crept into the closet in our other bedroom and cried all night. The next morning I was exhausted and my face was so swollen I could hardly see out of either eye. And I was still crying.

That did it for Jason. He called my day-old job and told them thank you, but no thank you and then he took me to the doctor. I was depressed with an acute form of anxiety attached.
Through a great doctor, medication and my wonderful, sweet and handsome husband, I finally began to feel better.

Until recently.

I have known something was building lately. I felt like a bulldog snapping at the wind. Everything irritates me. I couldn't sit still at my desk for more than a few minutes at a time. I want to scream at everyone around me to stop being idiots so I can work. But I don't even want to go to work. I have been forcing myself to start getting ready before I'm even fully awake so that I'm out the door and on my way before I realize it. Because if I lay in bed for even a few minutes longer, I'll have talked myself out of going. And the tears, Oh Hell, the tears. I can't stop crying. It's like the world is ending and I have to save it with my tears.

I left work early on Friday after my third trip to the restroom to cry. I knew I had to leave or there would eventually be a scene. The doctor's office was willing to work me in and, thankfully, the doctor decided to put me back on the meds.

But that doesn't mean everything is Super Dooper today. Oh no! My anxiety was crippling this morning. I made to from the bathroom back to bed and I was done. Work was not even going to be an option today. After a nap (which I can't really call a nap since it consisted of me lying there listing in my head all of the people I need to buy Christmas presents for) I had to make a decision about lunch and that about set me over the edge. Should I make something here? Should I go out? What if I choose poorly? The world might stop spinning if I decided on peanut butter and jelly when really I should have chosen the Quarter Pounder. Then I remembered I had to go to the bank sometime this week. Ha ha! I could do both - make one errand into two - because that would lessen the probability of one being wrong. Ha! They can't both be wrong! In your face, Anxiety!

But while I was sitting in line at the bank it came to me - what if they were both wrong? I hurried and got my lunch hoping that fate wouldn't smite me if I was quick about it.

So here I sit, with my super sized lunch, thoughts of Stephen King, British accents and that calculus class I took in college running through my head. Because those are the things you think about when you're broken.