Panic and Rage

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I get to work about an hour early, almost every day. If I don’t leave at the ass-crack of dawn, I miss the window of decent travel time and my commute doubles. I would rather sit at work, in my car and play games on my phone, set up a playlist, or just Facebook, rather than be in the commute from hell.

This morning was no different in routine than any other morning, other than when my production manager arrived to unlock, and I got out of my car to go in, I got instantly light-headed, I started hearing a “pulsing” and my legs became like rubber, with each step getting harder and harder to make, they were so heavy and out of control. I got to the edge of the building and held myself up. Got inside, got to a table and held myself up, clocked in and got to the break-room where I just sat and shook.  My PM came around the corner, said good morning, then immediately asked what was wrong.

I told her, she replied that we are slow enough if I want to leave, I can. I was crying, she just kind of let me ramble, “I’ve been sick, my skin is either erupting in hives or psoriasis, I’m trying to deal with the fact my best friend was a drug addict and I had no clue, and what just happened scared the shit out of me. I just want my life back!”

I decided to stay and finish my list, then leave. As I was working it dawned on me that I always thought of Mel as the smart one, the strong one, the capable one. Well, taking so many drugs, the doctors are saying this is what caused the stroke, wasn’t smart. It wasn’t the strong thing to do and well, I am sure it was a major fuck up on her part. I just sat there thinking, “But YOU were supposed to be the strong one! I’m not sure if I qualify to be the strong one, the one who didn’t make choices that killed me.” But here I am, sad, trying to hide it, itching like crazy, and talking and sobbing in my sleep because I am terrified to let Mr. Yummy see my real emotion.

I just wanted to go to my spot on the beach and yell at her, “FUCK YOU BITCH!!! What were you thinking and did you have any clue that dieing would fuck  so many people (me) up?!?! Would it have mattered? What the fuck were you doing and how did you think you could just push and push till your mother-fucking body couldn’t and wouldn’t take any more?” I bet you let out a giant, “Oh shit, I fucked up!”

How do I keep loving you and hating what you did at the same time? I’m so ANGRY. ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY,ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY. ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY. ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY,ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY. ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY,ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY!

I have to figure out how to have the conversation with the kids about things they are going to start hearing about their mother, the drug addict. If they weren’t pissed off before, they certainly will be now. Hearing people say this about their mother won’t be fun and I know the anger will be directed at who is saying it and not at their mother for doing drugs.

She doesn’t get permission to destroy me, FUCK THAT. I’ve worked too god damned hard to crawl out of the hole of negativity and hate to crawl back into it, but my hate garden has already been watered and now I need to fucking weed it as fast as I can so I don’t fall back down that dark hole.

All the “fighting” she did to keep her kids away from their dads was for nothing, because they are all split up and with different people now. Is that what you were aiming for Melissa?

I wish she would just take the pain and go away, leaving me with my pleasant memories, and feelings of love. Right now, all I can muster is “Fuck you, you thoughtless, selfish lying Bitch!” Yeah, that doesn’t make me feel good, because really, I loved her like no other and THAT is why I hurt. She is gone, and I haven’t moved into the grateful for the time and memories yet. Instead, I am having panic attacks and falling apart at the seams.

NO.

Just, no.

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About iwentcrazy

I am very, very, very average. And very, very, very lucky.

Posted on March 6, 2015, in Crazy, Honey Bee, Love, Me, Rabbit Hole, Source and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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