Just In Case You Thought I Was Normal

I am 17
listening to an answering machine message
informing me of the death
of a friend I saw
only three days before
his golden curls
smeared with blood
on the 405
his motorcycle crushed by a big rig
there was no pain they told his mother

Days later
I am sitting in Econ
one among
a roomful of horny teenagers
ignoring a lecture on the importance of a mission statement
and suddenly
the beast slaps me
and I cannot swallow
my heart skipping beats I know it shouldn't
I am straining to stay in my seat
the urge to run
more powerful
than anything I've ever felt before
I walk with what I hope to be
nonchalant purpose towards the exit
knowing
as the heavy door shuts behind me
that
nothing will ever
be the same
again

I birth a boy
more beautiful than I am prepared for
though
the illusion of motherhood
from magazines and gerber commercials
eludes me
as I cry in jagged fits
while my new family sleeps
the weight of a world I barely tolerate
on shoulders already burdened with
fear
lies
I am a woman desperate to keep my secret
so I smile when you greet me
my self-deprecating jokes
meant to
bury deep
any evidence
that I am ripping at the seams

We are driving
just the two of us
to celebrate
how
a pitcher of cheap beer
and
a heated pool game
turned into
eight years of unplanned against-the-odds wedded bliss
when
the familiar terror
floods my insides
falsely alerting me that
something is so very wrong
my body plagued
by a confused mind
AM I OKAY?! I shriek
while he helps me to
remember
that none of it is real
but I am Tired!
you see
of keeping it together
when what comes naturally
is falling apart

There is a purpose
I tell myself
to everything
though
when the unruly beast sleeps
at my bedside
I do my best to let him rest

I choke on recycled tears
and hang up priceless artwork on my fridge
like an ordinary wife and mother
with a casserole in the oven
and dishes in the sink
but if you look really closely
and hold your breath
you'll see
a middle-class disaster
because
the
unruly
beast
is
me












 

Try Saying That Ten Times Fast

Apparently, I don't have enough to write about
(insert sarcastic eye roll here)
because today I was officially diagnosed with a new, fun and exciting disorder that will make me the most
in-demand guest at otherwise boring get-togethers:

Partygoer: "Hey, look, it's Jo!  The Woman of Many Disorders!  I bet she'll have something interesting to add to the conversation!"

Me: "Sure!  Um, where do I start....let's see......so I went the grocery store yesterday to see if some Kiss My Ass was on sale...."

When I chose my ENT specialist last week, I did what any normal, well-educated, totally stable woman would do.  I picked the one that shared the same last name as my favorite t.v. show. 

So Dr. House it was, and I jumped on the first available appointment, which was this morning, at 10:00.  I mentioned his name to some acquaintances and was pleasantly surprised that my carefully thought-out physician-choosing-method landed me in the hands of a well-renowned ENT guru.  Those of you lucky enough to deal with me in real life gave a rather long, and might I add, dramatic, sigh of relief, and I assume it's only because you care for me deeply and want to see me healed for my own benefit and not for other, more selfish reasons, such as maybe I'll finally shut the @#$! up already and you can get on with your otherwise pleasant and normal life.
  
You are so good to me.

In any case, Dr. House turned out to be a wonderful older man who treated me with kindness and patience.  He listened to my symptoms, nodded his head in heartfelt sympathy as I recalled the last few weeks through gentle yet courageous tears, and genuinely made me feel like I wasn't insane.

Then he told me, in so many genuine and heartfelt words, that I was screwed.

Mal de Debarquement Syndrome.
Try saying that ten times fast. 

I assume he means I'm screwed because:

A. There's no cure.
B. It's very rare.
C. It's French (and we all know what that means)
D. I have a sudden zero tolerance to movement of any kind.
E. I may have to live out my days on a Carnival Cruise Ship in order to feel any relief and I don't think  there's  a Target or Trader Joe's on a Carnival Cruise ship so where would I freely and irresponsibly spend all of our hard earned money? 
F.  I should probably not mention that last part to my husband.   

So, YAY!
Now what?

Planes are out.
Trains are out.
Cars are out.
Overly excitable movies are out, as is vigorous hair brushing and playing spin the bottle (dammit!)

I knew when I started eating geriatric oatmeal for breakfast every morning that things would inevitably begin to fall apart.  I should have stuck with a more youthful choice, like Bud light and tomato juice. 

I guess I'll have to suck it up and look on the bright side.

As long as it's not moving, shifting, bouncing, rolling, swaying, twirling, swirling, jumping, running, walking, swimming, dancing, crawling, or otherwise engaged in motion-related activities of any kind.