The meltdown

Call it a flash in the pan or a major malfunction, a stress buildup or a psychotic break...whatever it is, it happened to me today. The culmination of three months of stress and anxiety and overload simmering in a pressure cooker called "Kelly's body" finally flew out today and the result was, very nearly, a broken patio glass door.

Registration for summer classes is upon me, so after sitting in biology for awhile and talking to a counselor about classes I need and want and can have, I logged on and tried to work my magic. Long story short, there was no magic to be worked, and I found out I need to take a class called "survey to chemistry" which is a lower level class than my high school class and, it goes without saying, a lower level than my college chemistry class. I balked at that a bit, but not as much as the impending realization that the addition of even one more class will cause me to stay in teaching for another year and push off my plans. This freaked me right out, on a cellular level.

Then, I couldn't find my wallet. This was where I dumped the contents of my purse onto my dining room table and, not finding the wallet there, decided it would be a good idea to fling my purse at the patio door. Fortunately, my frontal lobe was engaged and quickly calculated the cost-benefit analysis of this action and told my hand to knock it the fuck off. I found the wallet ten feet away.

There is a third component to my stresses that I'm keeping totally to myself. Erica knows, and my mom, but that's it. It's nothing bad, don't worry. In fact, it will either be neutral or totally kick ass--no chance of badness. But, it's still causing potential stress because anything "unknown" right now is causing me total angst.

So, it's happened. Everyone has been saying, and I've been agreeing, that at some point I would have a complete and total freakout. I'm glad that it happened over spring break in the privacy of my own home, and that it's done now so I can go about my business.

The thing is...

We're all in a constant state of loss.

Driving home tonight from a late night outing with friends, a few moments combined to remind me of past times--a past where I was really happy and life was a lot simpler than it is now.

And then I thought about a few days ago, driving to work when I came up the hill and saw the horizon and the sunrise, and I could actually see the curve of the earth, and it took my breath away. The smallness of what we are, the minuscule role we play in a universe that is a great collection of minuscules trying to be bigger than they are. It made me sad.

And I'm sad tonight. I'm sad because I'm looking forward to a life full of death. Every loss is magnified for me now: the loss of friends (physically or conceptually), the loss of time, loss of age, even potential loss like looking at my darling Gatsby and knowing that one of us will eventually have to live without the other.

I'm questioning everything I feel--both physically and mentally. My stress is manifesting itself in pretty significant physical ways, and I feel like I'm not being honest with it--trying to make it something that it's not. People are trying to help me but I'm not giving them all of the facts. I wonder if it's in my head....and I know it isn't. I wonder if I'm being a big baby...and I know that pain is pain and it's individual.

And the more I think about it, the more I wonder if I can handle a life of death. I want to--the desire is not a question. But, how can I deal with death in a professional way, help others deal with it, when I can't even manage my own feelings?

Oh yeah, I've got time for this...

Panic attacks have set in. Tonight I've had three of them in as many hours. The first happened when I walked back into my death/dying classroom after a lovely discussion on organ donation, DNRs, and how to figure out if someone is really dead to get my purse. That was the worst because it's the first one I've had in a few years and I totally wasn't expecting it. The last two haven't been quite as bad--have been able to breathe through them.

Panic attacks are so ridiculous. But they are, unfortunately, a sign of impending doom. They mean that I have to chill things out a bit. Sadly, with the way things are, that's not possible at this time. So, I need to suck it up. I know that sounds a little harsh, but the fact is that I've already cut out everything that's cutoutable. I'm not going out, I'm not seeing anyone, I'm going to work, school, home, the chiropractor and yoga. And the lab.

And yet---I'm loving school, I really am. I love taking notes, love walking from class to class with my books, love learning new stuff. So, at the end of the day, is it worth it? Absolutely. And this is short term stress--brought on because I'm not as dumb as I was when I was eighteen. The end of this process is definitely worth the short term pain that comes along the way. Nothing worthwhile comes completely easily, right?