I see you!

It’s morning, and the carpoolers are doing their small honks like someone clearing their throat and pointing at their watch.  I’ve made it through another week of work, and I’ve landed in a softer place.

The time has come for this, and I don’t think I’m ready.

The time to face the fact that people are actually reading this thing.

I felt uncomfortable, and still do, very anxious about much of what I write here, because someone might take offense, or take it the wrong way.  But then the anger comes back out saying, “fuck that.  This isn’t for them.  Its for you.”

Well, some of the words have affected a bit of change in my life, and I have to slow down and give a little context.

Today, I walked in to work, and had the whole formal writing up of my two times being over six hours with no lunch.  I still find it infuriating, even if there are fines involved, and the chance I might sue them for documented lawbreaking, and ‘making’ me work past the six hour threshold  (Because that’s the kind of asshole I am, I guess).

But it turns out that I have six of them, not three, before I’m fired.  I thought it was about that much before, and then got freaked out when I only had one chance left.  So, when I heard that indeed there were six, I did want to punch somebody. 

I talked about this to a coworker who understands… those of us with anxiety disorders- in chaotic situations, like, say working at a grocery store- we tend to clamp down further on to ourselves, make sure everything we do is spotless, methodical, in complete control.  But when something slips our grasp, and we are seen as not having control over even a small thing, the dam begins to burst, and we wonder if ever we will be able to trust ourselves again.

I literally did not count the hours correctly when I got my second infraction.  I somehow skipped over an hour, so that six hours was coming up as five.  I’ve never done that.  And this wasn’t just some thought in and out of my head, either.  I was counting on my fingers over and over again that day, and only when I took my lunch did I realize I was wrong.  The more I try to be in control, the more out of control I am.

But lets get back to today.  Things got less intense at work, although I still now have that doubt about trusting myself completely.  When am I going to fuck up?

I was out on the floor, replacing shelf tags, when one of the assistant store managers came up to talk to me.  Turns out, she was reading this blog, and found out what happened.  So, she talked to folks, telling them to make sure both I and them have the right context. 

That was incredible of her.  She surprises me all of the time. 

And they did give me the right context this morning.  Six instead of three.  A little wiggle room, if I fuck up again.

I also have to give a mention to another friend who obviously read my blog, because she came up, gave me a big hug, and that was it.  No ‘how are you?’

To be honest, I was going to start a retraction of what I wrote yesterday about that.  It started to look like I was closing myself off to help.  That’s not the truth.  Not having everyone ask me how I’m doing may seem odd, but I’m difficult right now, and if you want to talk to me, you’ll find a way to talk to me.  People already are.  I am receptive to conversation, just not about my health.

Or about cancer.  I walked into two people talking about the high frequency of cancer at our store, and they were trying to pull me into it.  I flatly refused and moved on.  Not the time or the place for me.

People are there, and I’m more aware of them aware of me.  My trap is to start building on, “See?  Its OK now.  Now you’re fine.”  Like a good little actor, I get my cues from my fellow performers that now is the time to speed through my character arc, so I am magically transformed at the end of a two-hour play.

This will take time, and as much as I want to believe that any positive moment is the turnaround moment, I still have quite a way to go. 

contact-ish

I am tired today.  I worked at a different store today- across the river from me.  Was up at 3 am.  I’m thinking that for the positives of this job, the schedule might not be the best for my recovery.  But the cards are dealt, and who knows how long I’ll have it?  I may be fired tomorrow. 

Not many folks I know there, except for the guy who used to be at Cedar Hills- the guy I’m working with.  It’s a smaller store, different energy.  I liked it, although I was on the floor a lot, and trying to answer questions even though I had only been there a day.

Then I bumped into someone.  The wife of the quite wonderful guy with cancer I talked about in an earlier entry.  She, by the way, is quite incredible as well, and I admire them both greatly.

The question came out:  “How are you doing?”

And she meant it.  And she was listening.  Really listening.

I just wish I wasn’t at work.  Whenever I’m at work, I put on that hyperhappypuppydog thing.  Jump through the hoops.  Jump.

Should I tell her how I really am?

It was worse, because I had on the damned apron- the one with ‘friendliest store in town” stitched in bright yellow.  It’s such a fucking literal reminder as to what is appropriate and what isn’t.  So, I was already hyperaware and anxious about not being me.

My work persona is a thin veneer of happy and balanced that easily can shift into aloof steel wall if something upsets me.  Should have seen me yesterday.  Quite remote.  So, if you catch me at work, chances are I am not being how I really am.  And this is where she caught me.

I did tell her what was going on- the short version, but it was disjointed.   Even if the words were real, I wasn’t, so it came off as “things are bad, but they’re bound to get better!  You know, that affectation that rounds everything into the positive in the end.  Or changes the subject.

She left, and I just felt like an idiot.  There wasn’t a thing she did wrong, or for that matter, the store either.  It was my anxiety getting the best of me.  I still think that being real at work is, well, not what they’re paying me for.  But when I stick that mask on, I’m anxious that folks will look at me and say to themselves, “He’s fine.  He must be faking it.”

If I had my choice, I would be somewhere isolated for about a month, by myself, enjoying and then probably being driven crazy by the solitude.  Its just so many people constantly right now, and I am tipping any sort of mental balance by trying too hard to be cheerful, positive, hell, even neutral.

True that not every day is doom and gloom.  Some days are up.  Well, sort of…

I’m like a kid who has a helium balloon, and hasn’t learned the trick to tie it to my wrist.  So I play, then almost lose it, then am more cautious, and go between the fun and the fear until finally the balloon drifts away and I can’t get it back.

All of this feels like me apologizing.  It is more about just getting a grip on my fear about how folks see me.  I know I don’t look sick, many people have told me that, even argued with me about it.  So, I feel like I have to give people a primer for what is going on with me.

Why not?  It’s pretty simple.

·         Don’t ask me how I am at work. 

·         Don’t be offended at my glacial pace of responding to you.  If you e-mail, facebook message, whatever, know that the only real conversation I’m having is on this blog. 

·         If you really want to talk to me, pester me for a time to meet.  Or, if you’re really ambitious, a call.  Be warned, though.  I may be tired, or just not in the mood to talk.

·         And finally, if I seem like I’m in a good mood, don’t call attention to it.  Just ride the wave.  It’s what I’m doing.

work

I'm staring at the keyboard, trying too damned hard to wrap this up and present it.  How to start?  What clever way to keep it interesting?  Bullshit.

Today has been quite hard, after I realized how stupid I was being at work.

Work is work, its at a grocery store, and as much as cashiering is a thing I'm pretty good at, I am so glad that I'm working where I'm working.  I don't have to deal directly with customers, I have projects that get finished, and I'm getting pretty good at it.  But one perk has just come dangerously close to disaster.

I don't have a set schedule for breaks and lunch, so I get preoccupied, and take lunch later than the four hours.  I like taking lunch later anyway, less time left at the end of the day.

But I messed up a few weeks ago, and went past six hours before I took my lunch.  And, because of being preoccupied yesterday, I screwed up again.

Turns out that a third time, and I'm automatically fired.  For taking lunch too late.

I'm furious and ashamed at the same time.  Furious because JESUS CHRIST PEOPLE!  Of all of the things to be fired for, the mentally screwed up individual with cancer is going to be let go because he didn't took his lunch too late???!!??

If I was stealing, fine.

If I was incompetent, sure.

But because of labor laws, this is such a touchy subject.  And really, I don't get it.  The only thing you get less chances with is if you don't show up for a shift, and don't call.  And you get one chance.  This one is two.

You know what?  I seriously cannot think of a rational explanation that anyone could give me why I should be fired because three times I took a lunch too late.

I scheduled my second operation after the holidays, because I didn't want to leave this company in the lurch over the busiest time of the year.  The people that know me would be sad, maybe angry that I got fired, but the company wouldn't give a damn.

Now moving from externalizing to internalizing in three... two... one...

I try so fucking hard at work.  I try so hard, because it is the only place in my life that I am terrified of fucking up.  Losing my insurance.  Losing stable pay.  Losing a halfway interesting job with accomplishments, and people who are decent, even wonderful to be around.  Who cares if I shove my steel wall between myself and them?  I need to keep on going and not break down.  I need to be competent, good even.  So no nervous wreck at work.

The result?  It is the one place in my life that I'm not fucking up.  Until now.

It turns out I was working too hard, and now I get to feel like I'm the asshole because of it.

And even the 'talk'.  The "It would make me so sad if you got fired."  It would make you sad?  Well, then.  I should just straighten up and fly right.

And the flip side was that I am devastated.  I'm no good.  I now have to work around this obstacle that I'm just trouble for people.  Just a problem.  Just difficult.

I'm heading towards letting everyone down again.  Letting myself down.  Me?  Self-sufficient?  What a fucking laugh.  I can't even hold down a job that I'm good at.  What happened?  Oh.  I was fired.  For not pushing a code into a time clock before a certain hour of the day.

Nothing is safe.  I can fuck up everything, and not even know it.  I mean, I got cancer, right?

Positive/Negative

So, I had a good night last night, which bled over into the day.

And when I am in any sort of positive mood several things happen:

1- I question if I'm actually positive, or just putting up  mask, or if its because of the(yep) caffeine.  I overcaffeinated.

2- I fear the positive feelings, as if its me just waking up from a bad sleep, and oh, well, no problem, everything's fine, just like it always has been.  Like I am actually crazy, because my mood is like a light switch.

3- I start to question if I was ever really negative, or if that was the act I was faking my way through.


A few things that anchored it for me:

• I became absolutely terrified when someone asked me to a party going on tomorrow.  If things were magically all better, i would have jumped at the chance, but no.  Short breaths, gripping on to the table, clamping down on the 'hell, no' trying to escape loudly out of my mouth.  Maybe in time.  But that moment brought me back to earth again.

• My mood slipped quietly and slowly back into where it has been.  There are things that I want to figure out, and these things are serious in their scope.  It is so easy for me to tell myself I'm being a baby and get over it, move on, shut up, because I have for too many years.

The biggest hurdle I have to get over is to stop pretending like I can hit upon THE THING that will make it all better.

And that I have to find a way to talk about it.  So many people are saying that they are open to talk, but I am having trouble taking them up on their offer.  Mostly because there is only so much sympathy one can take.  Empathy is quite a different interaction.  It means listening with your whole self, not with a hand dipping into the platitudes cookie jar, or ready to start driving the conversation to solutions, or to positive affirmation.  Its about listening.  And holding space for that person.

And I have no doubt that so many have this quality.  I'm just having trouble getting to any kind of point with professionals, much less friends.

Last night was special, though.  Plans.

Context

I've been talking a lot about the things that have happened outside.  I need to talk about things happening inside.

There is a concept in character analysis called the "life lie"

This concept is about the thing the character truly believes about themself, and is a major part of their identity.  If that belief is exposed as a lie, which it turns out to be in the story, then the character's identity, and then the character falls apart.

I have never been the healthiest person... there were times when I did get very healthy, but I wasn't under any notion that I was incorruptible with health.  My past is checkered with serious things that have happened to me health-wise.  so, that wasn't the major part of things.

the major part was what I was building and planning.  Wanting to do creative work, trying to balance that with finances, with others, with my spiritual side, which is very important to me.  All of these things were working in tandem, and I believed I was going somewhere.

And it went away.   The potential, the inspiration, the hope even went away, and all that I have left is a huge mistrust of anything.  Of my own ability to get well.  Of my ability to stay well.  Of any structured plan for health that uses techniques, buzz words, rules.  Of folks who have went through similar things and have come through it on a more positive note than before.

I have lost any sense of self worth.  I have lost my ability to do anything that matters to me.  I have lost any sense of identity that is positive, hopeful, worth fighting for.

I am looking at a life where I have given up everything but the essential- a job that pays some of the bills and has great insurance.  A place where I'm terrified to fuck up, like I've fucked up my life.

And I guess one of the biggest things I've done, a feeling I can't shake, a life-lie in reverse, if you will, is that since there are no clear answers as to how I contracted cancer, I decided I must have done it to myself.

I write it all out, so melodramatic.  So many affirmations crop up about giving it time and it will get better, and all the buzz words about transition and moving to a new stage in life and huge life change etc.

It's bullshit to me.  It's dark.  It's negative.  And, as I've been told, I am not letting anyone help me.

And I still don't get how anyone is going to help me.  Because everyone needs some sort of direction.  People ask how they can help, and I don't know.  I did the youcaring.com website, which was great, and I'm using the money for therapy, chiropracter, acupuncture as well as meds and doctor/naturopath visits.  But for what people can do, I'm stuck.

I'm stuck in this catch-22 of being terrified of being selfish, and also being terrified that all I have been all my life is selfish, when I thought I was helping, or just doing what I could.

I've spent so long, wasted so much time just trying to make things out.  I spend so much time believing thinking and wrapping my brain around this is going to get me out of it, that if I only understood, everything would be fine, and I would be balanced and in control again.  Close the book.  Done.

 But here I am writing, making colorful melodramatic sentences proclaiming what is wrong with me.

I don't know what the life lie was, or even if that is a good framing device.  All I know is that writing down words is like feeling my way in the dark here, hoping to catch on to something.

So far, pretty much lost.

Fuck

Fuck.

The only thing that is stopping a big shut down is writing.

And the caffeine I had earlier.  But I’m already paying for that.  The jawline and ear are starting to hurt.

But, hell, I did an overnight shift, and couldn’t sleep before my therapy appointment, so caffeine is about the only thing keeping me upright.

That and my mind won’t shut up with the desparate scrabblings, trying to figure things out, give things meaning, find some bullshit purchase for me to have some sort of balance right now.

Its been a fucked up week.

I have had to cancel my week retreat at Breitenbush, because they’re doing construction and cutting down trees that week.  And considering how other things have turned out for shit recently, I decided not to risk the big purchase.  Which has just destroyed me.

I love my husband.  I love my mother.  I hope they know that.  I know they know how difficult it is to be around me right now- how tense I am making everything in our small two bedroom apartment.  All I want is solitude, a place to figure things out where I’m not focusing on how I’m upsetting another person, or ruining their day, or ruining mine by trying to be affable, amenable, and all the other high falutin ‘being nice’ words.

It was a chance for me to get away, and let go of my stressed out building agoraphobia.  How every time I get somewhat emotional, I find myself going immediately numb, because someone is around, and I don’t want to upset them or draw attention to myself.  So, needless to say, I had a lot of expectation built up already on this trip.

And, no go.  This meant I had to cancel with Breitenbush, and reverse all of the vacation time I had off at work, which prompted so many “well, why don’t you…”  Because.  Any other place will be full of people.  And although Breitenbush is not an all-alone experience, they understand.  And I would have a few solid days of not having to worry about settiling in or leaving.

I also had to order all of my medical cards and my employee card again, because, well, lost my wallet.  At my therapist.  Monday was a fucked up day of this- of dealing with the fallout, and hiding any true feelings until I got off work and went to my therapists office, where I was so fucking done, I could barely speak.  Just… reached my limit.  How much else could go fucking wrong?

So, on to insane few days at work, overnight shift last night, which I couldn’t get any sleep before hand, because my mind is buzzing with all of this desperate what can I hold on to crap.  Got back from the shift, exhausted, maybe got two hours sleep, and mind started in again.  That’s OK.  Therapy.  Get caffeine, you’ll be able to at least talk, maybe come to some sort of balance.  You need this.  It’s a good thing that the days were set up the way they were this week.

Forty five minutes before the appointment, waiting for the bus, phone call.

Therapist is cancelling because he is sick.

Let me start by saying I know he doesn’t read this, and I’m not so narcissistic to go on and on about how dare he and shit like that.

But when the shit falls, it sometimes drops in inconvenient places, and unless you deal with it, it festers.

Shell shocked.  A really, really bad week has just gotten worse, and the only thing I could figure out to do was write.

The worst part of it was the last thing he said:

“Thanks for your understanding.”  He meant it, too. 

Not just some…

look, I like my therapist.  I am, at my best, wildly untrusting of anyone I am paying for treatment, and I have been able to get a certain amount of intimacy, which scares me, making all of the selfish little codependent boy alarms go off in my head.  So the shell shock and the fury over the situation devolved into get-over-it-if-you-have-this-much-feeling-about-it-its-unhealthy-you-should-cut-back-sessions-besides-its-probably-all-your-fault-anyway-scaring-him-with-how-unresponsive-you-were.

If there are two things that I am a pro at, they are being reliable, and being understanding.  The smiling little people pleaser comes out, and says “whatever you say.  I’m there.  I get it.  Oh, definitely.  You mean more than me.  So, whatever you need.”

Home now.  Alone at the moment.  Don’t want to deal with anyone else all night, or every night until next Monday.  Just want to crawl into bed until… fuck.

October 1st, 2012

October 1st, 2012- first meeting with the otolaryngologist.  

I actually wrote about it close to that day, but not all the way:

I sat in that room for, well, for as long as anyone expects to sit in an examination room.  Too long.

I remembered looking a the moon from my checkstand register, out the window, across the parking lot.  Still big and yellow, still considered a harvest moon.

I worded the thoughts of course I can fight, but I want to fight for something bigger than myself than these stupid fucking petty squabbles that I keep on having with myself.

I’m paraphrasing, a lot more expletives thrown in after the fact here.  But I was in that examination room a long time.  I was sitting in the chair, facing the door.  The windows were behind me.  Wouldn’t it make much more sense if, even if there is just a teeny tiny possibility of making someone wait, you had the chair turned towards the window?  I guess it was facing the magazine rack, full of entertainment weeklies and sports illustrated.  The first one, an entertainment weekly with Batman on the cover, was in there crooked.  I didn’t want to read about Batman or all of the other painted flower crap int eh magazine.  And I’m not the sports nut.

And it was then that I was like, why am I sitting in this chair?  What good is it going to do if I am in the chair the whole time?  I guess it could mean that I am obedient and docile other than intimidated.  But shit, I was not wanting to be there, and going through this.  To hell with worrying about being intimidated.  I got up and went over to the window.

And to be fair, there really wasn’t anything to look at.  The parking structure across from me.  The narrow street between buildings.  I could see some trees and a hillside, though.

I still would think, just even seeing the sky, or the light quality outside would be better than facing the chair towards the door.  It was that torture chamber chair, too… bolted to the ground, padded in all the right places so a body wouldn’t get fatigued in a very victim-;like pose.  In a submissive pose.  An I-give-up-all-of-my-protection-and-sign-my-life-away-to-whatever-you-are-doing pose.

Just let it face the window.  Whats the worst that can happen?  A patient will get distracted by what’s outside?  Oooh… big problem.

It was like my grandmother in the ICU.  The bed, facing the door.  Windows behind her—she couldn’t see them.  What the fuck?

I remember when I had geardia as a kid, my bed was facing the windows, and it was wonderful.

  

The doctor comes in as I am leaning on the windowsill, looking out.  Even that, I felt contrite, like a little act of rebellion had been found out and squelched.  I sat down, shook his hand, and we began.

He looked almost exactly like I thought he would.  Dr. Edsel Kim.  Thin, asian man, and pretty young.  He knew how to dress, looking a this black shoes.  Seems like that, and maybe the tie are the only two elements of style a doctor in his office has to work with.  The tie was good, gold and some other color, a little crooked on the knot, but I think ties always look crooked.

He sits down on the stool I had been spinning around and around earlier- mottled pleather seat in greens and blues and greys- colors I like, and I wonder what a jacket would look like.  Then I realize the combination would only work for upholstery.  Now, if it were silk or even cotton- Awesome.

The doctor is there, asking the questions, setting things up, looking at my ears, nose, and throat.  Every time he looks at something, I get a specific past thought of what was wrong- ears- the Eustachian tube thing… nose, its stuffy because of allergies.   Throat… well, that one was a little self explanatory.

He says the throat and nose look bad, so he makes notes asks questions where I grew up, smoking when and how long, specific symptoms, etc.  Then goes over to the impeccable station where all the torture devices are meticulously placed, pulls out a bottle of Lanicaine?  Something like that- I heard the label later.  It was a numbing agent, he sprayed it into my nose, wanted to check my voice box for nodules. 

He then leaves for a bit.

I have always been afraid I have nodules.  Ever since college, when they were explained, and a symptom of them is a gravelly voice.  My voice is gravelly a lot, and I wonder if its more of an affectation than anything- something I do to make myself sound more masculine.

And how Julie Andrews went and got her nodules removed, and now she can’t sing.  Because vocal chords are delicate, and cutting something off of them is really risky, something told to us in college, and I bet was told to Julie before her procedure.  She sued.  Don’t know if she won or not, but it was kind of the end to her pure, pure voice.

Doctor has given me a tissue in case any of the numbing agent comes out.  I sit there with the Kleenex, getting used to the sensation and the fact that he is going through my nose to check out my voicebox.

Numbing agent be damned, this is going to be hard.  And it would have been so much fucking easier if I didn’t see the tool he brought in to do it.  A black wand with a long… and I mean long thin flexible tube with the scope on the end of it.  OK.  That’s going in my nose and down my throat.  Deep breath, it’ll be OK.  And then he demonstrates how the little scope at the end can curl around, like a little worm, allowing him greater visibility, and my imagination a billion different horror movie images about things entering orifices in the face.  I settle on Prometheus, and the worm that wriggled its way down the guy’s mouth.

And off we go.  Thank the numbing agent… in the nose, checking it out, then down, down down.  Feeling weird, like my nose is a separate part of me, and is rufied just to the point where its thinking ‘wait a second… this isn’t right… but not enough to cause a commotion.’  Down, down, into the throat now.  Making “eee” sounds, when he hits something in the throat that makes me gag… that makes me swallow, that makes me want to scream stop.

He does, he is patient, looks around a bit more, goes back into the nose.

That's as far as I got.  I think I meant to go back to it and finish some time, but the memory is pretty plain.

After he messes with my nose, he sits down and talks about the plan- a partial thyroidectomy.  Since they can't figure it out with the needle biopsies they are doing, then they are going to go in and take out half of my thyroid gland- the half with the lump in it- and dissect it, and figure out what the lump is.  there was a lot of talking, a few questions, but I get around to ehat I always get around to in situations like that- that I'm just a bumpkin, and I have no idea what's going on, and I should let the doctor do his thing.

Only that's not all I was feeling.  A feeling of panic was there, and of course i was masking it with vigorous nodding, and my voice getting chirpier, getting more remote how I really was feeling.

I have never had surgery at that point.  I had been in the hospital for serious things, but never any surgery.  And it terrified me.  But I had stopped up everything, going through the motions, a haze of appointment making, and talking to someone else, and meeting Steve in the waiting room and leaving.

Then it hit me.  

I would have to explain it to Steve.  What was going to happen.  I tried to speak, but it didn't come out very clear, and I was holding on, holding on, got to tell him.

I think I finally really lost it when we were just about at the car.  And looking back on it, what made me really lose it was this thought:

"I can't believe what I'm going to put Steve through."

Not what I'm going through, but what I'm putting someone else through.  Anyway, not too long later, i was all composed, mask securely in place, and I went to tell my boss the news.  Not a waver.