journal Entry: July 8, 2002
” Sometimes I can’t even fathom the insanity in my head. I’ve increased my Zoloft from 50mg to 75mg and then I will go to 100mg. Its been 12 days now, almost 2 weeks but not quite yet. I’m so sick of feeling anxious and nervous. Sometimes I think about suicide. I want to be better! I want to live and be normal! why can’t I be normal?”
Thomas and I moved into a two bedroom, two bathroom apartment with a co-worker of his in Boynton Beach. It was in a nice apartment complex, the kind that made you feel like a grown up when your only 19. The carpet was new, the walls had fresh paint and everything was white like a virgin. This was my new beginning, this is where I was meant to be. Thomas worked as a cook in a restaurant and one of the servers, Hannah, needed to find an apartment as well, so it all kind of worked out. The two bedrooms were divided by a large living room and the kitchen and both bedrooms had their own bathroom. Hannah and I got along great. I loved having a female roommate, it gave me someone to talk to when Thomas wasn’t home. Plus I never had a sister so in a really weird fucking way it felt like that. Thomas and I shared my car, so things were kind of difficult there but having Hannah there and the fact that they worked together made things easier. I was excelling in school, which I had never done before. I was on the Dean’s list, which was a good thing, where in high school it meant I was in trouble. I never thought I would have a 4.0 GPA. I loved school. I went to classes, came home for the day and immediately did my homework.
One Tuesday morning I was getting in my car and leaving to go to school like any other day. Back in 2001 people either listened to the radio or CD’s if they were lucky enough to have a CD player in their cars. I was listening to my favorite alternative rock radio station 103.1 the buzz. As I was listening to the radio station a woman called the radio station and told the DJs they should put the TV on because a plane had just crashed into one of the World Trade buildings in downtown NYC. I kept listening driving south on I-95 wondering what could have possibly happened. The DJs had the TV on and were taking callers, not playing music anymore. It was like a was in a daze, hearing that another plane hit the building. I was driving but completely on auto pilot. Hearing the screams and “oh my god” of the voices on the radio made me right then feel a panic I never felt before. When I arrived to campus, people were getting back in their cars and leaving. I asked what was going on and was told the campus was closed due to the terror attacks in NYC. Terror attacks? What does that mean? What does this mean? I got back into my car and drove home with the radio on listening to everything unfold until I finally got home and raced inside to put the news on and call my Mom. I was scared like never before. Was the country under attack? Would I die? There was still another plane unaccounted for and another hit the pentagon in DC. The phone lines were overloaded. I couldn’t even reach my mom who was living an hour north of me. When I finally did get in touch with her I was crying and scared and felt she was the only on that could soothe me and tell me everything would be ok. Somehow she did still have that effect on me, maybe it was Stockholm syndrome?
It was the last year of our relationship that was the hardest. I don’t know if the normalcy got to be too much, I was too young for all this or it was the fact that Thomas and I were just too much alike. Around the time I turned 21, I started having major panic attacks again. One night when I couldn’t sleep I decided to do yoga to help me relax. Not long into the DVD I started to feel the beginnings of a panic attack coming on. This one was a full blown major one, nothing I used to do to make myself feel better seemed to work. I tried breathing, I tried a bath, then a shower. Thomas was home at the time and couldn’t find a way to get me out of it either. As silly as it sounds sometimes sex worked. It makes your mind go other places, but this night my mind was not going to be distracted from the horrendous route it was taking me on. I was up all night and waited for what seemed like an eternity to call my psychiatrist and get answers for what the hell was happening to me. He didn’t even make me come into the office, he sent in a prescription to my pharmacy for a low dose of Klonopin.
Misguided Mommy 