Lumberjacks are people too

In an effort to keep from rolling myself into the fetal position and giving in to the voices inside my head, I've convinced an innocent woman new therapist to take me on as a patient.  I found her through my network provider website, and picked her out of dozens of names because of her close proximity to my house and the fact that she specializes in crackheads life-challenged people like myself.  The good news is, when I called my insurance company and they looked up my modest list of diagnoses, I found out I qualify for something called "severe, lifelong, debilitating, she'll probably end up in a padded room someday mental illness status," which means I get unlimited, year-round access to a shrink! 

It's been years since I had this kind of therapy, my parents having spent the majority of my teens busing me between licensed professionals who promised them they were fully capable of excorsising the demons that had turned me into an unbearable heap of hormones.  I resented them for forcing me to talk to these strangers about my innermost thoughts, strangers who, quite honestly, came across as needing some kind of mental interventions themselves. So I've avoided therapy like the plague.  Plus, it's not like anybody ever freaked out over a little ocd, panic, alcoholism, depression, and agoraphobia, right?

But in light of the recent craptastic events which have occured around here, including Andrew's health problems, quitting a job I loved, and not winning the lottery for like the 100th time in a row, I decided it was time to give therapy another try. And so far, I have to say, it's going pretty well.  We seem to get along, my therapist and I, except when she tries to give me unsolicited advice. I get plenty of that from my mother; I don't need to go out and pay for it, know what I mean?

Oh, that and the other day she told me a story about a man who was chopping wood and gathering water when he suddenly became enlightened.  Despite this, however, he continued on with chopping wood and gathering water.  So far I've gathered that:

1.  This man was a moron.  He should have become enlightened while he was napping or getting a massage
2.  She wants me to go out and buy an axe
3.  I'm going to need to relocate near a river of some sort.

And even though I don't really know how becoming a lumberjack will solve my fear of malls and dangerous situations, such as going to a Denny's outside of my immediate neighborhood, I trust this woman to help me get over my phobias and learn to live again.

Unless she starts mouthing off and giving me her opinions.
Then all bets are off.

Because nobody likes a know-it-all.

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