Really?

Monday I was so tired I could barely move. I got up, got ready, had bag in hand, and to my surprise these silent tears slipped down my cheeks. I hurried to my bedroom to regain composure, but they just kept coming faster and faster, more and more. I heard my voice ring in my head, "I CAN'T DO THIS!" I let that thought linger for a few moments. The happy Amanda said, "Buck up. Don't be a wimp." but her voice was small and forced. I felt so exhausted I couldn't think, except that I really needed to go to class. I still didn't feel ready for my exam. I think I'll do fine on it, but now it's become a foreboding entity that looms in my future. My imagination aggrandized it into something bigger than it is. The same could be said for the psychology exam, although now I feel much better about that. My dad offered me a ride to school and was waiting for me in the car. When the tears finally slowed, I went out to my mom and told her I didn't think I could go to school. Seeing the tears, she agreed. I called a friend to unload some of my grief and he told me to skip class. I felt more vindicated in my feelings. If someone tells me it's ok to do what I really want to do but I don't think I should, then it makes it ok in my mind. I immediately went back to bed. Carmen offered me her massage appointment, which I was very grateful for because my back and shoulder have been killing me this past week and a half. It felt blissful. My gramma's therapist is in the same building and her appointment was at the same time as mine. When I came out to the lobby she was sitting there, slouched in her wheel chair. Her hair sat flat and uncombed, she was shaking. She obviously fell drastically downhill since the last time I saw her. I felt awkward being with her. I didn't want to hug her because I still coughed a bit. Eventually my mom joined us. My gramma started talking about her shoes.

"I hate these shoes. That's why I never wear them." She wears those shoes every day and has for months.

"Mom, you've worn them everyday. You said you really liked those shoes. That's why I didn't return them." replies Carmen.

"I have not. I don't like them."

"Yes you have."

By this time my dad's joined us in the lobby waiting for the van to return Gramma to Richmond Beach Rehab.

"Ron, have I worn these shoes?"

"Yeah. You've wear them everyday."

"I do not. I have them because some people think I should."

"Ok Mom."

Mom goes to her therapy appointment (also in the same building) and Gramma's ride comes, so dad and I go home. I go back to bed for a while, too tired to even sit in front of the tv, before we pick up my mother and go out to eat. I tell them I want to go to El Puerto's. I only had one drink. It was a large margarita, but only one. After I ordered it I remember my friend's advice to stay away from alcohol for a while. Too late. I promise not to drink at my funeral (said by the great Frida Kahlo). When we're almost done, I see my ex-fiance, Joe, come in with his girlfriend. I quickly turn the other way and warn my parents. This may sound juvenile, but I didn't want to see Joe until I've slimmed BACK down to a size 6, with long, flowing hair, and just plain hot to say to him, "If you were better to me, this is what you could be married to" instead of an overweight, frumpy girl with braces, no make-up, and trying to grow out her hair that's at that awkward stage, and living with her parents. They left, which a sigh of relief escaped my lips, and then he came back a few minutes later. Apparently they ordered take-out. If he saw us, he didn't say anything, which I was thankful for. I went to bed about 7:30 and slept the night through. I couldn't believe how exhausted I was.

Diego left me a message Monday that he and Queenie have pretty much made up and they're good. I think he let her off way too easy. I admitted what we did was wrong, but I think going through someone else's email is worse, even if it's your husband's. He said she was sorry and felt bad. I think it's a load of crap. I know he feels guilty too. Somehow I don't. Maybe because I know she'll forgive him, even though he's her husband and was cheating on her, if you call emails cheating, but she'll blame most of it on me. It makes it easier to forgive him. I'm pissed she got away so easily with it. I also call her "the queen" because she always dictated our relationship. It didn't matter what we wanted. If we wanted something different from her, then she would end it, and we certainly didn't want that so we always played her way. I think about if she does forgive me, what I'll do. She invaded my privacy as much as his. She also treated me like crap. She said she wants us to basically be friends with benefits, but she treats her friends better than she treated me. I don't know if I can do it again. If she decides she wants to be friends, she'll most likely make me sleep in the guest room - she'll want nothing more than friendship. It rips at my heart everytime I slept at their house and I had to sleep in the guest room because she doesn't want to have a romantic relationship with me; just friends. Diego talked to her about just sleeping together in the same bed without sex, but she just got pissed. There were nights I would lay in bed with tears rolling down the sides of my face thinking about them in the next room holding each other. The thought of them having sex would practically send me into a panic attack. One morning after I had been up for a few hours, I could hear them in their bedroom. I was white with rage and a broken heart. Diego promised me he wouldn't fuck her while I was there. It just hurt too much. If I told her how I felt, she would've just gotten mad at me - it's her house and her husband and she'll do what she wants. I'm only a guest.

I get up early to go to my physical therapy appointment the next morning, yesterday. As I get ready, I feel the tears coming again. I let out a couple sobs in the shower, not knowing why. On my way to Everett I feel dizzy and at one point thought I was having an anxiety attack. Everything seemed surreal. After my soft tissue massage (2 massages in 2 days! woohoo!) I stand up from the table and feel very dizzy, like I just got off a tire swing where I spun really fast when I was a kid. I stand there for a couple minutes looking at the room move. As I drove home, I still felt dizzy (except things have stopped moving), so I decide to go to my doctor's. She doesn't have anything available so I go to the walk-in clinic. I give the receptionist my DSHS coupon, and she points out to me that it shows Community Health under HMO; not what I had before. They absolutely cannot see me until this is changed. Stressed and frustrated, I sit at a booth with someone in their billing department near the check-in counter. I told the receptionist that I came in for dizziness and fatige, and I've had a sore throat and a cough, though it improved, for 10 days. She calls a nurse to come out and see me for the dizziness who looks at my eyes and takes my pulse. I sit there with the billing clerk while she's on hold with DSHS.

Then I became extremely dizzy and light-headed. I think I'm going to pass out. I try to tell her, but my mouth refused to work. I slam my hands on the desk to get her attention. I feel a seizure coming on. I'm able to move to the floor, and my body starts convulsing. She gets a nurse who lays me down. After it stopped I look up and see about 10 people around me. When I'm able to talk I tell them that Rachel Hollister is my doctor. I want to see her, but she's with patients, and there's not anything she can do for me that they can't. I want to see her for emotional support. She's been my doctor for 10 years. Hot tears roll down my face. They help me into a wheel chair and roll me into an exam room where they helped me on the table and take my vital signs. Everything looks normal. They call my parents who had to walk from the house, but luckily it's not even a half mile away. After I give them blood and urine samples to ensure that nothing else is going on, and the doctor gives me a release for school, I'm able to go home. I watch some tv, despite my head pounding.

When I feel a little better, I call Dr. Mower to inform her what happened and I won't be in class that starts in half an hour and email my other teachers. I call DSHS to try to switch back to my old plan. Community Health has taken over that part of their medical plan and there's no way around it, but my doctor is able to sign up with them. I call the doctor's office and the receptionist leaves a message for the billing department to see if this is possible. I received a call this morning that it's not and I'll have to go someplace else. Luckily, yesterday I remembered that I never cancelled my insurance through SU, so I hope that the clinic accepts that. Yesterday afternoon I receive an email from Kathleen La Voy, an assistant dean at SU. She writes that my teachers are worried about me missing so much class and whether I'll be able to finish the quarter. I'm pissed. Why didn't they just come to me? I asked them to please help me with this. I didn't consent to them giving my information to someone I don't know at all for her to email me with my information and tell me that my teachers are worried about me finishing the quarter and I infer they think I should drop their classes even though I made it clear that I want to finish the quarter. All they had to do was tell me they think I should talk to her, and I would've been more than obliging. Now I think I overreacted, but I was totally exhausted and stressed as it was, so emotions got the best of me. I'm certain that Dr. Mower didn't contact her because she was actually still in class when La Voy emailed me and she said she would be more than willing to work with me to get through her class. I didn't think my psych teacher did because he already emailed me that when I return to school he will talk with me about the next steps to take. My philosophy teacher hadn't contacted me yet about my seizure. I ask Dr. La Voy where she got my information and said that teachers contact her when they're worried about a student and basically she wasn't going to tell me. I email Dr. Hudgins, the dean of students, that I already knew and liked, telling her my circumstances and that I was offended at the teacher's behavior that he didn't approach me first and involved someone outside without telling me so. All in all, I basically turned a mole hill into a mountain. I emailed my psych teacher if he shared my information with anyone. He told me that he in fact emailed La Voy because he was concerned about me. I let him know that I really didn't appreciate him not coming to me first and I would've talked with her if he just asked me to. Then I emailed Hudgins and told her that I accused the wrong teacher. It sucks to admit when you were wrong. I still haven't heard from my philosophy teacher though.

I hoped that I would make it to class today, but this morning I'm still totally exhausted, recovering from the seizure. I only get up to walk a few steps to the computer, but otherwise slept until 2:40. I get an email from my philosophy teacher that he sent to everyone regarding his policy on absences and late work. "If you have been absent lately, this doesn't apply to you personally." How can I not take it personally?? I start crying again, afraid that he will either severely lower my grade for my absences and late work because I had the flu and then a seizure. Medical conditions out of my control. I emailed him that I'm still recovering from the seizure and that I hope we can work together for me to finish the quarter. I still have yet to get a response. As I cried, I think about making it all go away - to go to sleep and never wake up. Everything in my life seems to go south. When I try to make it better, obstacles present themselves that either hinder my efforts or make it nearly impossible to move forward. Someone told me that it gets better. I hope she's right.

"But you also, judges of the court, must have good hopes towards death, and this one thing you must take as true-no evil can happen to a good man either living or dead, and his business is not neglected by the gods; nor has my business now come about of itself, but it is plain to me that to die now and to be free from trouble was better for me." Socrates speaking about his death sentence in Plato's Apology