The incident that triggered my latest bout of the mental health blues happened last week.
I was woken up on Monday, September 7th by my doorbell ringing like crazy. Even without my glasses on, I could see the police lights through the front window. I instantly thought that it was about my daughter, who leaves at the crack of dawn for work.
I remember looking down at my dog Maya and saying, oh God, B’s been in an accident.
But thankfully, she was just fine.
Northeastern Ohio was experiencing nasty storms that morning. As I squinted to see the chaos in my front yard, the officer said, not so kindly, that it was going to cost me an arm and a leg to get an electrician out to fix my power line, especially on a holiday.
Oh shit, it was Labor Day.
Amazingly, I still had power, although I was told not for long. The storm took some tree branches out, which then fell on top of the car that’s been parked on the street for months now. The man who owns the car said that his insurance won’t cover an “Act of God.”
But he seriously didn’t seem too pressed about it. The car is still sitting there, for fucks sake!
The storm also pulled the thingy that held the powerline to my house down. They put yellow caution tape everywhere. (See photo below.)
The electric company was on the way to turn the juice off, the fire department guy informed me, since we couldn’t have a live wire on the ground for safety reasons.
I made myself a quick cup of coffee while I still could.
Then I instantly went to call my mom.
My boyfriend was really upset. He asked me if I wanted him to call off work and come over but I told him no. He barely gets enough hours as it is. Besides, there really wasn’t all that much that he could do. There are times when he’s too overly helpful and then makes matters worse, although I know that isn’t what his intentions are.
I had a video chat with my friend Fran, who didn’t hesitate for a second and said that she was on her way.
My heart swelled with relief.
I tried to call my brother, who works for the electric company and I thought that perhaps he could swing by or something. But when I finally got a hold of him, he was basically like, well, that sucks, sis. End call.
I decided to cancel the professional electrician that I had coming to do the repairs when an older dude from the neighborhood said that he could do it for cheaper, because I’m poor. He never did come back to fix the shattered weatherhead that the electric company man found laying in the grass when he finally showed up to turn my power back on, so I’ll be having someone come out soon to do that. Plus a few other things that I’ve been diligently saving up for.
The joys of home ownership. I do love this old house, though, so I want to do my best by her.
Yeah, my house is a girl and my car is a boy, so hey, whatever. Bwahaha.
Fran’s sister also came over (she drove through a thunderstorm and she has anxiety as well) to help us clean up the debris, brought food and to offer me emotional support, which proves that family isn’t only blood.
The old tree is supposed to be cut down one day this week (right!) and since it’s on the treelawn, it’s the cities responsibility. Thank goodness for that! We think that it got struck by lightning that morning and the forestry man who came out to look at it the next day agreed. It appears that people have called about this particular tree way before we moved here.
Speaking of our new city, my daughter and I belonged to two Elyria Facebook groups. Well, someone took a picture that day and posted it with the intention of being mean. As humans are wont to do online, they started talking shit about us without knowing the details. I guess, according to B, we shouldn’t own a house if we can’t take care of the property.
I felt like I was going to vomit. I didn’t, though.
I quickly unfollowed both groups and told B not to tell me about any of it again due to my ongoing, shaky mental health. I became scared of retaliation and started looking at guns online (I ended up hiding a kitchen knife in my foyer instead) and couldn’t help but to picture a bunch of people coming to my house with pitchforks and torches.
I ended up having a prolonged panic attack that didn’t start to abate until 3 days later. It was fucked up, one of the worst that I’ve had in quite some time and I was extremely close to going to the ER. But from my past experiences, I knew that the only thing they could do was reassure me that I wasn’t, in fact, having a heart attack.
So, when I don’t handle stress well, I get pissed off at myself.
Then I’m reminded of how broken I still am.
I miss my mom so horribly that it aches like the first day without her.
I get hurt by my brother, again, for not seeming to give too many shits about me and what happens in my life.
I’m grateful for the people who do care, like Fran, her sister and my boyfriend. Then, I begin to feel unworthy of their love and kindness, because it’s so foreign to me.
The negative thoughts amp up.
Drama follows me everywhere that I go.
Nothing I do will ever be enough.
I get overwhelmed too easily.
I can’t handle adult matters without turning into a complete basketcase.
I’m a failure and a wreck of a human being.
It takes me forever to get back to my usual baseline of normal depression and everyday, mostly tolerable anxiety.
I fucking hate it.