Monday, February 8, 2010

I am afraid of tumors cancer illness infection a house fire and I can't get home to help the animals escape they cough and scrape at the doors ripping their paws raw while fire smoke heat eat them alive they whimper are frantic and suffer. They are trapped. They burn. I can't get to them in time, but I will hear that call over our scanner at work: house fire, Great Quarter Road.

When I am stressed as in my dog is really sick and no one has any ideas why, I snap. Snap. I can't stop terrible images from rushing into the room inside my head and terrifying the calmer everyday thoughts. They don't taunt or bully but go directly to chairs and tables where my normal mind sits and slam it upside down. Headaches are spectacular and leave me nauseous, but it's been worse.

As a 25-year-old, an adult, I went into my room at my parents' house. I closed the door and did not leave that room for ten months. Each day I waited until the house was empty and would wander down, but go only as far as the deck outside. Back upstairs and the door closed and I hid again as mom dad my brother came home their lives normal and rhythmic like tides up each day to work back home and to bed. Ten months I was in there refusing to talk to anyone.

My car insurance ran out money ran out friends called and I did not answer the phone. My mother pushed notes under my door.

Anxiety is scratch marks against cheeks starting near the ears and ripping downward toward the jaw. Anxiety is not a bad mood it is a little malicious sliver that crawls beneath a fingernail and swells and hurts and bleeds and never heals until you want to take a very sharp blade and just slice it out.

Lily. She is a beautiful happy dog who has prompted all my stress and anxiety to wake up from its hiding places inside my head and run screaming from the locker room like last year's returning champion.

We are back at the vet because her rear end has no stopper plug shut off or door I can weld shut.

It's runny and impossible and Jerry tells me to just use the dust pan to scoop it up.

I need a snow plow and a dump truck.

I fill her bowl and unscrew the cap to enzyme powder that falls like magic dust that maybe will help but probably not and today after days of soup we saw a change. It was on the living room floor.

Oh no! I hear Jerry say. Laughing when I discover her mess, I realize I can easily clean that up.

Down, DOWN, down. Good girl, I hear from the living room.

Ten seconds pass, when I hear Jerry again: Oh, come on, he sighs. She has been pacing and circling and restless and annoying for more than an hour.

What? What's wrong what is she doing just put her downstairs, I say.

I would have, but I would have done that a long time ago.

Why didn't you?

You would get mad, he answers me.

I think that I am not mad, I am guilty. I brought Lily here and ever sturdy scrap of calm peacefulness and normal routine went into the blender.

Did you ask if Lily understands German? Yes, she does...

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