"Breathe and drink water", they say...

Life turned around as it always did and I'm feeling much better.  I'd venture to say that I'm back to

"normal"...whatever THAT means.

YES, I feel great...save for an extra few

pounds here and there. Everywhere.  It has been months now.  Months and weeks.  Yes, I've really been feeling better.

  Funny part is that as soon as I feel like myself again, everyone else assumes that I've gone completely the other way. Now I'm no longer miserably depressed, but they think I'm flying high as a red bright summer kite!  It is really quite annoying.  Is it because they get so used to life in the other mode? Maybe it's because they're so very used to the quiet life? Whatever it is I can hardly stand it. Really it's driving me quite literally nuts!  Truly stark raving crazy (i know i know...is that what did it??)  I find it almost laughable?  It's almost claustrophobic.  Sometimes I feel suffocated.

 Usually I only hear complaints from my closest of family.  You're talking too much.  You're dancing too much.  Sleep more.  Eat less. Laugh more quietly.  Stop giggling.  Take a rest.  No, you can't go out. Tåke it down a notch.  Take it down six notches. No...we're not having friends over tonight. Stop cooking so much.. Stop shopping so much. Don't spend so much, etc.

 For me,  life starts to feel a bit stale.  Life starts to feel like that

cereal at the top of a box.  You know, that old carton that's been left

open too long in  warm summer kitchen in the moist  country air.  I start to get bored.  I start to wonder.  I start to read.  I start to write.  They start to worry. I miss Missouri.  Do I really miss New Jersey. I certainly miss Manhattan, but then again, doesn’t everyone?

 What is going on here?  How can I explain to the world that this is the real

 me.

 How can I tell them that I like to laugh and sing and dance and yell and

 giggle?

   I guess they'll never know the real me...

 Till next time.  Breathe and drink water.     Sweat.  Namaste.

whatever you do, don't come to Missouri

Who said you can’t live in the past.  That’s only if you want to live.  Truly.

 So, the girl who could talk to a doorknob or a nail, now couldn't manage to

string together four simple words, no less a phrase or two.  What was

> happening. Could it be a brain tumor? Could it be an infection? Countless

> doctors, medicines, tests.  Cocktails.  There was no black and white remedy.

I was admitted after a few days to the 9th floor of Barnes Hospital.  

>Devastated.  A mess. Most of all, she was embarrassed.  

 A conscientious student.  A popular and well-liked girl.  Now a random young sick patient

locked up in the psychiatric ward.  Did I mention that we're still in

> Missouri?  So, here we are, in a seriously unflattering, bluish gown, behind barred windows. Could it get any worse.  At least she doesn’t have to write my exams this semester.  Who knows if she’ll ever finish school. Lord knows the way she left the joint, she may never be able to show her face at that university again. Hopefully she’ll muscle through. Friends visited. They brought gifts.

Someone brought fancy chocolate covered pretzels from a lovely downtown

 boutique.  She still dreams of those treats. 

More pills.  More tests.  Are they kidding with this?  Her roommate is really mental.  Is she mental too? Why is she still here?  They used to joke about this.  Now this a reality?  This couldn't be.  Pinch me. Hard. Someone save me.  PLEASE? I'm asking nicely. Hello? Help?  Okay. Cut toTony. Tony. Love to Tony.  Where is Tony all these years later?  Tony, her twisted lover. Tony, he crack cocaine dealer. Okay, fine. Tony, the chocolate provider.  Every hour,more chocolate. Snickers, Milk-Ways, he kept her wired.  He kept her company and he kept her happy. With Tony she felt normal, whatever that meant. Thank goodness for Tony.  It was after the countless weeks and the plethora of "uppers" that she remembers running in a sport's bra (and not much else) through the long hospital corridors.  She was determined to keep up with her workouts.  She needed it after candy and lots of pizza dinners. 

Now she was high.  High as a kite as a matter of fact.  In retrospect she was manic, and  loving every minute of it.  They let her out for good behavior.  A football game,with parental supervision.  A trip to watch hot air balloons one afternoon.  They even visited a botanical garden, and then it was back to the ward.  At least there was Tony.  Then there was her bloody roommate who CUT herself to feel alive.  Thankfully she wasn't her.  She went back to school. She didn't sleep.  Didn't eat.  She wrote papers with rapid speed and precision.  She joined clubs. She formed clubs.  She danced.  She drove other people's cars.  She never asked permission. 

 I apologize.  I was high.

 In retrospect, I was manic. (I was thrilled, but to the real world, quite unwell) Still all this time later and no one really knew what to do.  Not even all these smart and sophisticated doctors.

 It was winter. I was still cold.  Same tight jeans and white v-neck t-shirt.  We

 were still in Missouri. Then they asked me to leave school.  Now were were in New Jersey. Could it get worse? Maybe you shouldn’t ask if you don’t want to hear the answer, ok?

My parents were sure the doctors in NEW YORK city were better.  Didn’t everyone feel that way about NYC stuff?  So they schlepped ½ way across the country hoping to find some relief.  Maybe even an answer or 2?  The best they could do was deduct that too much Prozac had been given (remember it was the 90s after-all) and this had potentially led to maybe a manic episode.  Sounded like a lot of probably and maybes for this family.  Didn’t anyone have a damn clue?  No, not this time around.  More drugs.  More doctor’s visits.  Parking was expensive in NYC.  The hallways were scary, the doctor’s were worse.  She was sure she’d wake up from this bad dream.  Honestly.  This was a nightmare.  When would it ever end? 

Then, good enough help was found on the NJ side of the river.  The doctor was from NYC, and half asian ½ jewish. Could there be a better mix?  She was kind and warm.  Laurin was sure the doctor napped throughout the visit.  Laurin was right. Mostly.  They saw each other 3 or four times a week.  On Mondays Laurin reported to the blood lab at the local hospital to check her levels.  This was the trying part of the story.  It was tedious to find blood sources, and the nurses had to resort to pediatric needles.  It was a torture.  Each and every visit.  Mostly the levels were fine.  Her liver was fine.  Her mood was changing often.  Sad bouts of missing friends and school.  Usually just missing her buddy Brian.  He’d write her often.  Thanking her for the meal card she mailed him.  Telling her how much he loved her.  Always mentioning their favorite jokes.  He promised to punch her in the belly and give her a slap if she’d return to him.  This was supposed to be charming.  She was dying to get back to reality too.  She just didn’t have the slightest idea of how.

So how does this love story go so sour, so rotten.  Where does it fall apart?

I’ll cut to the end first and then to the beginning and we’ll go over the crazy details of the legal issue later.  Laurin was eventually let back into her prestigious university.  Thousands of dollars and countless hours, but she was back in business and ready to fight the world.  What she didn’t realize was that she’d actually have to.  Fight that is. 

Her first day back she was in Brian’s basement apartment, playing with his fancy Mac computer.  It was the 90’s and this was still a novelty.  While she clicked away at the keys, she also held a glass bottle of red candle oil.  Brian was into glass candles and this was a new oil she had sourced for him.  He was taken by the gift.  And then just like that, she poured the red poison all over his white keyboard.  Her actions were cruel and calculated.  Mean.  His eyes welled up, but not because he was angry with her actions.  This wasn’t the case at all.  He was crying because she was not his girlfriend, and he had no idea where she had gone.

After he gasped, she stormed off in a rage.  Where did she go?  Who was this girl?  She was prettier than ever, but just not the girl they all knew from years before.  And as predicted, Laurin ran right into trouble.  Seemed she was getting rather good at this.  As it appeared men everywhere were interested, she took them up on their offers.  This time it was Doug.  Doug Kane.  He was a first year law student and she was smitten from the first hello.  They began dating just after the oil debacle, and truthfully, the relationship had probably begun weeks before.  People weren’t as dumb as they appeared in Missouri. She was still high and on a roll.  Where she was heading, no one was sure.  Clearly she was going down.  And fast this time.

The lawyer lasted less than a month and then she was back to frat row.  What an exhausting way to go through school.  You know, exhausting the Greek alphabet.  Sigma Ep, Beta, Sigma alpha mu.  She was well too familiar with the lot of them and her face was nearly a permanent fixture on the strip.  For what, she wasn’t sure. The days were fun, the nights were better.  Everyone loved her again.  This time, she wasn’t really sure why?  It was getting pretty gross out there.

The girl was bored and needed a plan.  So to add a bit of excitement to her life, she began to fabricate stories.  Innocent enough she thought.  Stories of what might have been, but never actually was.  The worst such story was told to Brian one night while they were trying to make up.  She told him that she had had a boyfriend the previous summer in La Jolla and now that said boy was dying from AIDS.  It wasn’t actually the least bit true. In reality, Jim was the cleanest most respectable guy from Chico U.  It was all a figment of her imagination, but Brian was petrified.  How could she? How could he?  He was devastated and called Dotty.  Dotty called the school and the administration set off to ruin Laurin.

So this is when the lawyers got involved.  Brian’s mom had a restraining order put against her.  She was not even to so much as look in his direction.  It was tragic.  They were still in love.  Laurin had lied to him and this was the worst betrayal.  How could you go about life so hedonistically, deriving pleasure from everything you do?  How could you lie to me and your friends in an effort to make you feel better about yourself? You’ve become a person I no longer no.  A girl I no longer want to be around.  I’m so sorry, my love.  Goodbye.

His words would sting for years.  Decades maybe?  She’d commit his letter to memory. It was like indelible ink on her brain. She’d always miss him and always wonder.  She wished she could explain to him about her illness.  She knew he’d no longer care.  Or would he?

The story gets worse.  When she is home trying to recover, her parents receive a call from Missouri.  It was the dean on the line.  The dean phoning long distance to make them aware that their first born was not to return to campus.  EVER.  Everyone was confused and saddened.  She was such a bright girl with a sparkling future.  Her room had already been reserved in Salamanca.  Her plane tickets already purchased.  But she was stuck.  Stuck in New Jersey.  It could have been Missouri.  Which would have been worse?

And so this is where Ken stepped in.  He was a kind and loving soul.  Ken accepted her story from the start and began to try to heal her world.  Her dad poured his heart and her story out to him over the phone.  The first plan of attack was to fly back to Missouri and meet in person.  The second part of the dance was to head to the hospital and undergo a battle of tests and exams.  The university needed to see that a medical doctor deemed Laurin well enough to return.  Funny enough, she was never contagious.  You would have never have known.

Man was this doctor old school.  And plain old old. The examination was enough to make a porn star blush and till this day laurin is not sure what went down.  She sailed through his interrogation like a superstar.  And that’s where the fun began.  Ken immediately embraced her and never made her feel bad about her falling life.  They were a team and they’d fight till the end.  Spoiler alert: they win.

Her dad threw money at the problem and slowly it began to lift. After a long and silly battle, she earned the right to attend her university again.  Maybe this is where the troubles began in earnest.

She must have been down to 125 and that was including all of that long black hair.  Classes were once again attended.  A favourite was an English literature class where she learned about paradigms and their shifts.  What a life lesson that had become.  When she started school she’d never even heard the word.  Soon she was due to embody the teaching she learned in that super book, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions by Thomas S. Kuhn.  This was an analysis of the history of science. What sorts of intellectual options and strategies were available to people during a given period? What types of lexicons and terminology were known and employed during certain epochs? Stressing the importance of not attributing modern modes of thought to historical actors, Kuhn's book argues that the evolution of scientific theory does not emerge from the straightforward accumulation of facts, but rather from a set of changing intellectual circumstances and possibilities. Such an approach is largely commensurate with the general historical school of non-linear history.  As she was just coming out of a depressive episode, she clung to the theories in this book.  Oddly the words spoke to her and gave her a feeling of knowing.  His words made her whole.  At least for the time being.  But in class, she wasn’t allowed to look at Brian. Not even in the direction of his chair. 

But life at college was, well, life at college.  Parties, drinking, parties, drinking.  Studying. Exams.  Best friends, breakups, make ups.  Make-outs. 

The month was October and she was in her second year of school.  People had stopped regarding her as the girl who had lost her mind.  She fit right back in with the others.  Or at least she felt like she did.  Some days she wasn’t as sure.   Halloween was back and she can easily recall being out with friends.  The costume was kitschy, 14 carat gold.  7 of the prettiest girls donned GOLD leggings and dangled carrots around their necks.  The look was hot.  Short skirts, tights and edibles on their person.  It was destined to be a winning night.  And it was.  She danced the night away.  Brian was at her beckon call and the two were the perfect pair.  He often drank too much. Why?  Because he just couldn’t seem to socialize without it.  She stayed away from the booze and drugs, convinced a good time could still always be had by all.   Mostly she was right.  Until those times when she was wrong.

life unraveling.

So can you picture this? Sweet, smart Jewish girl in her 20’s has a restraining order put against her?  Okay, really?  Who do you think you are.  So daddy has to hire a lawyer.  And not just any lawyer will do.  We need one to get baby girl back into college.  And we need him STAT.  Where do you turn.  Remember, we’re in Missouri.  You turn to Ken.  The man who turned into salvation for the family.  The man who quickly became family.  The man who joined the family for a wonderfully animated graduation dinner.  This dinner was served exactly four years after the girl started college and for that, we’re forever grateful to our Ken.  

 For more than 30 years Ken Chackes has been representing individuals whose legal rights have been violated.  Her legal rights and her pride was totally violated here.  Ken’s current practice is focused on sexual abuse law, employment law, and disability rights.  Who knew she had a disability, but this is what the paperwork said.  She was being denied her right to equal education and it was really a shame.  A crazy shame.  She’d studied for her SATs, taken all her AP classes at her swanky prep school.  Could it really be that this heart-throb  from New Hampshire was keeping her from graduating?  Bizarre, yet sadly true.

So let’s take a step or two back.  His name was Brian Clark.  They were united on the first day of school in their advisors home.  Both were slated to be history majors, or at least that’s what Facebook said.  The group chatted about life and history, their histories and the world’s.  They were in college now.  They sipped wine as they discussed.  The attraction was immediate.  He was the super star blonde haired scruffy hockey player and she was the tall, thin NY chick wearing clogs, cut offs and a t-shirt.  If she had to recall, she’d swear her bra was blue.  Brian played it cool, though with him it wasn’t playing.  His coolness was chilling.  He wore a Dartmouth hunter green T, though he never did apply.  Too close to home he’d insist.  Together and out of sight, they giggled about their advisor’s apparent sexuality.  It was 1992, and being a lesbian still seemed a bit funny.  Especially to brian who called her every name in the book.  Together they left the meeting, thrilled with their new dating prospect.  After all, it was night one at college and it was awesome to be so readily connected.  And connected they were.  All day, everyday.  24 hours a day, it was Laurin and Brian.  Brian and Laurin.  They spent their school years together, though Laurin would soon switch majors and head towards Spanish literature.  He stayed true to the history and the rest, as they say, was history.  Not the good kind either.  The kind that made you sad enough to cry and then when you did finally cry, you felt it in your bones.   Your throat burned, your back ached.  Your eyelashes stung. There were many sad days to come, but for them, their love was just getting started.  And what a true love they had.

Everything was funny.  The phrase soylent green is made out of people never ceased to make laurin laugh out loud.  Why was it so funny and what did it ever mean?  Who knew, but it was hysterical.  As were the out-takes from Cady Shack and Wayne and Ted’s.  Laughing kept them going and out of trouble.  After a long and arduous first year at school, they decided they’d meet one another’s families.  Her’s were typical NY jews and his were the laid back protestant type from the North.  The visit to his town came first and it was magical.

She took a bus all the way up to New Hampshire and was met by him right away.  The kiss was long and intimate.  It was all they knew.  As they drove by the enormous trailer park, he made the right turn in.  He promised theirs was the pretty-ish one in the center.  Nervous, but in love, she smiled and stayed quiet.  Minutes later, the gig was up.  He was joking and they pressed on.  Finally they landed at the most super home in Hanover.  His parents were warm and welcoming and most likely loaded on local beer.  Their home was stunning and looked to be right out of the pages of a cottage magazine.  His two blond and beautiful sisters were cold at first but soon they were all in love.  We were thrilled and excited for our time together to begin. 

The first and most vivid memory years late was our time at Mount Washington.  Next time we’ll hike without Buru.  Buru would have been his dad.  I wonder if he’s still well.  What a man he was.  She loved him with every kind word.  They settled into their 3 hotel rooms and her nerves were on high.  She could not believe the arrangements.  Parents in one room, sisters in the other.  Brian and Laurin together? Forever andever.  As if.  So they threw their stuff on the bed and grabbed their in-line skates.  Back then they were simply termed “roller blades”.  Brian was the best, and laurin had learned to follow suit.  Stopping wasn’t really an option, but she relied on him for that.  And for most everything.  They skated and explored and loved the outside air.  By evening they were nearly too tired for dinner.  The family retreated to a nearby pub and a few pints and chicken wings later, they were ready for sleep.

Pleasantries were said.  Hugs were exchanged and within the hour, all were asleep.  Buru woke brian and laurin (read awkard) from a dead sleep.  It was 5 am, and time for the hike up Mount Washington.  Did we mention this was the tallest mountain east of the missisippi?  Also had the worst weather changes?  Laurin was sort of prepared in cut-offs, Nike hiking boots from woodbury commons and an Israeli army t-shirt mom and dad had brought home.  Complete with his North Face pull-over and she was ready to roll.  And by roll I mean hike at 5:30am.  They gathered up their packs and they set out in the haze.  For Laurin this was an amazing site.  Buru was wishing we’d packed coffee.  They walked and walked and when they were proud enough they stopped to snack.  Nothing tasted better than the fresh Vermont cheddar and the Stone Wheat thins Dorothy had packed for them.  Seven layer bars loaded with chocolate, caramel, coconut and graham crackers were sucked back so fast, they hardly absorbed the calories.  And then when the rest was through they walked.  And then they climbed.  It wasn’t easy, but it was most certainly satisfying.  Even when the clouds turned gray, the walk was divine.  Parts became nearly technical, but together they carried on.  Together they carried on.  So carry on.

From hiking to canoeing to cooking, their time in Vermont and New Hampshire was well spent.  The love and friendship was so strong you could nearly smell it.  Or perhaps that was the need for a shower?  Hard call.  When their week came to an end, the goodbyes were sad.  It was like a family parting. 

Brian and Laurin hopped in the Jeep and headed to Jersey.  Again the jokes were abundant, but the ride was a blast.  They were in her hometown soon enough and her parents were as welcoming as his.  The non-jewish factor was an issue, but they tried to be gentle.  Big family dinners were had.  They went to Broadway to see a hot show.  Together they walked arm in arm along Hudson and then Madison.  They appeared perfect and perfect they were to be. 

Summer ended, like it always does.  At the end of August.  Kids headed back to school en masse.  It was a happy reunion for Laurin et al, and her friends were thrilled to see her skinny self.  September came and went and then it was Halloween.  Things began to get creepy. 

Laurin wasn’t eating much.  She didn’t seem to be sleeping either.  Her thoughts were quick her words were quicker.  Her look was vacuous. Halloween was scary and Laurin was worse.  No one knew what was going on, but her closest friends were getting nervous.  Finally her roommate phone Laurin’s parents.  Mostly to chat about the fact that she was no longer showering or changing her clothes.  Laurin’s dad joked that this was no great  surprise.  Brian semi-agreed and then implored upon her dad to come to the rescue.  His (their) laurin was not right and everyone was getting anxious.  Everyone that was, except for Laurin.  She just seemed to sail above everyone. 

This trip was short lived.  Quickly she stopped speaking so fast and then without warning she stopped speaking at all.  She went from happy go lucky to no luck at all.  Her one and only favorite place to be was in the library, surrounded by her books.  Seemingly she was studying, but she wasn’t doing that at all.  She was always in a rush.  Always clutching her books.  Always without a coat.  And it was getting cold.

Not even her daddy could get through to her.  She wouldn’t give him the time of day.  She was too busy.  Studying.  Running.  Heading to the library.  It was after-all, nearly exam time and she needed to be perfect.  In every way.  Perfect.  Right.  That’s what we were going for here.  But the look was not good.  Not even in the Missouri moonlight.  The look was tired.  Skinny. Pale.  The look was hungry.  His eyes welled up as she stared past him into the night.  Where did his girl go? Where was their girl?  She’d always been everyone’s favorite.  Sweet and thoughtful, where could she be?  She was right there standing beside him, but she wasn’t really there.  He begged her to join him in that stinky rental car and time and time again, she refused the invite.  She was cold and hungry and she had to rush to the library.  Again.  Tonight she’d study everything.  But mostly she’d just watch the clock tick tock.

Brian got involved right from the start.  He missed his Laurin more than anyone, he was sure.  He had no one to talk to.  In his own words, he felt like an island.  Without her, he had no one.  Each night was the same as he cried himself to sleep. 

Brian left school, claiming he was too hurt to function.  Her friends were out of sorts, and it was a strange winter term.  Doctors weren’t able to work it out,  and so they landed on a weak depression diagnosis.  Barnes Hospital was to become her home for the foreseeable future.  Who would have ever thought?  Floor nine.  Bars on the windows.  This was hell.  This was surely Missouri. 

All of her personal effects, as they say, were stripped.  Even her clothes were stowed for good measure.  This was callous.  It was cold.  This was Missouri no doubt.

Come spin with me...

Let’s get back to the spinning.  And by spinning I mean on a bike.  Was it the music? The motion? The sweat? The lyrca? A mixture of all of the above?  Spinning made me solid.  More solid than I’ve been in a long time.  And it burned the calories.  We like that.  Especially after we ingest the sacred bags of Halloween treasure.  Yeah we like that.  A lot.  So we spin.  We clip in.  We ride.  We ride.  We get nowhere.  Story of my life it seems.  But we burn.  We burn and we shrink.  And we (or he) likes that. A lot.  So we ride.

And not that you asked, but there are place I prefer over Toronto.  Lots of places.  Now don’t get me wrong, Toronto is a wonderful town.  Close to NY.  Near to good shopping and dining.  Almost,  just almost cosmopolitan.  Large enough not to be quaint and charming and small enough not to be considered a real big city.  At least that’s MY humble opinion.  There’s a lot of great services here in Toronto.  Not that you asked, but I’m pretty sure that I have the best hair blower, RMT             and AV guys in the city.  I’d share the details with you, but first you’ll have to email me.  You know, just so that I know you’re paying attention…gotcha!

major life FAIL

I had quit my job at a luxury active travel company.  Life was miserable.  I couldn’t cope with anything.  Newly married.  Newly minted MBA degree.  Sweet loft, downtown.  Awesome husband.  I was trapped.  Couldn’t breathe.  I knew that people loved me, but would they miss me? Would the beat go on?  What would they say?  How would they feel?  I didn’t really care, because I knew how I felt and I couldn’t stand it another minute.  It’s so clear to me.  The sun was shining right through our huge vaulted windows.  Our king- size bed was made up to look like a W hotel.  The white sheets were crisp and cool.   I was in my requisite yoga pants and t-shirt and the feelings were getting worse.  If only there was a way to end the pain.  A way to kill the misery.  I ran down to the kitchen and opened the cabinet under the sink.  Dishwasher soap? Was I kidding myself?  I’d land up with a clean belly, but I’m sure that wouldn’t quell the sickness.  What else could I take?  How could I obliterate the hate?  The pain.  The darkness.  The me?

In my closet I had tons of plastic bottles of old pills.  I had been secretly saving them for just this sort of moment.  Unused portions of Wellbutrin, ativan, celbrex and lithium.  I had pinks, blues, yellows.  A colorful assortment of treats to soothe the hurt.    For someone who despises pills as I do, this would be quite a cocktail.  But what would my family think?  Thinking about my baby sister made me the saddest.  She was my life, my love.  I adored her more than humanly possible.  I just hoped she’d understand.  I knew she wouldn’t.  Who would?

SO I grabbed some water and started swallowing.  It was so violent and so awful.  I don’t remember if I cried, but I think the Ativan kicked in first, because I remember lying on that sweet bed and closing my eyes.  I left no note.  I said no goodbyes.  I wore my beautiful wedding ring and what I thought was a little smile.  Finally I’d be done with this world and I could go forward.  Finally I’d find the happiness I so badly coveted. This was the best I could muster.

And then, just like that I woke up.  But I wasn’t in my luxurious loft.  I wasn’t in my soft bed.  I was in a cold and bright large room.  The floors were a yucky shade of dark orange linoleum.  I hate linoleum.  I do, however, really like orange.

And there was a disgusting dripping sound.  What in the world was that—and could someone please make it stop.  Oh there.  It stopped.  Oh gross.  It was coming from me.  OMG. Where was I? 

Oh look, there’s my lover.  Hi you.  What’s up? Where are we and when can we leave?  I’m cold.  I don’t feel good.  I need to throw up. 

This white and light blue robe was not flattering.  Was my hair straight?  What were we doing here?  What time was it?  This large man came over and asked me how I was feeling?  Was he stupid?  I was feeling awful.  I was a mess.  Surely my hair was not straight and I was in desperate need of my cherry lip-gloss.  Could someone please help me and pass me my hoodie while they were at it?

David pleaded with this large man, who turned out to be an MD.   David begged him to let me stand up and dance.  Somehow, my husband knew this would mean I was better.  He was sure this was all an accident. SO they unhooked me from the most disgusting tubes I’d ever seen and I held David like I’d never held him before.  And we danced.  And danced.  I’m not sure if there was any music playing, but strangely it didn’t matter.  David was right.  I was better.  At least for now.  Look at us go.  Those dance lessons were worth it after all, now weren’t they?  Oh the irony was not lost on me.

And strangely the pain did end.  I felt good.  I felt free.  It was almost as though the extra medicine stayed in my system for a short bit.  Almost as though my cry for help seemed to work.  For now I was ok again.  My parents, of course, ran to Toronto as fast as they humanly could.  They rushed out of their delicious Passover dinner and never did get to finish their matzoh ball soup.  Guests would have no idea why they ran from the table.  Their baby needed them.  And by needed, I meant big time.  I was lucky.  Super super star lucky.  I left that crazy dirty hospital in the city with no record.  No one wrote me up.  I left no file behind.  Why, I have no idea.  Therefore and with god go I.   And there I went. Totally lucky and ready to embark on a new life.  Maybe a new attitude.  Perhaps a bit of perspective. 

My psychiatrist, a cool man from New Zealand questioned me only once.  And only once.  What the HELL was I thinking he balked?  Just about the dumbest move of my life.  He let it go when the tears started pouring and we then turned to our favorite “well” topic.  The guy loved to grill me about my love of restaurants and my minor obsession with good food.  We talked about tiny gems and swanky spots.  From donuts to grilled fish, the more I talked the more well he knew I was.  What an ideal barometer to measure the mind.  And my what a crazy thing mind truly is.  Gracias adios.  I’m grateful now for each breath I take.  And slightly more grateful for the sweet and steady breaths of my husband and two angels. 

Maybe those kids were sent down from heaven to keep me whole.  Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s their mission here on earth.  I need to respect and nurture that fact.  Even my 6 year old asks me often if I’ve had my ritual (otherwise known as my meds) She knows well that I can’t swallow the bunch without a glass of ice water and a tiny savory snack.  I favor crackers and I for some reason cannot use cookies.  It’s quite a burden for a kid, but she takes it in stride.  Oddly enough, she’s never asked me why I take medicine.  Maybe once, a long time ago, I told her it was to “make mommy smile”.  Thankfully that answer stuck.  She’s never asked again.  Once again, I’m grateful.  It’s the little things.  You know, like clipping into your spin shoes or zipping up a pair of your favorite jeans.  Nothing feels better.  Nothing.

And this is called thinking, he said.  At least this is what I thought he said.  Well I’m not thinking rational. This kind of thinking is unfashionable.  Don’t want to walk away yet, not safe to stay.  Honestly.  All this thinking made me afraid.  Totally friggin petrified. 

 Sometimes it scares me that they allowed me to be a mom to two.  No tests.  No studying. Nothing.  I just have two of the most awesome gifts.  No return receipts.  No manual.  Pretty terrifying if you ask me.  Pretty darn scary.  Take a deep breath.  Try to think.  Maybe go for rational if you can.  If not, just give them your best smile.  When that doesn’t work, bust out the salty tears.  Nice work. Try to lose the predictable.

  As I look in the mirror, I begin to stare.  What in the world has happened.  How has all this time gone by? What did I do? What will I do?  Where will I go?  Clearly I can’t manage to get myself out of this world.  Nothing more depressing to a depressed person than failing at THAT.  Man, does that SUCK.  Wow.  Talk about blatant failure.  And so I digress.

or fly with me to INDIA?

There was a time when I couldn’t leave the house.  Like I seriously couldn’t step out my front door.  Why?  Mostly, I believed,  because I had nothing to wear.  Honest.  Ask my dad.  I had nothing to wear.  Yes, I had a massive walk-in closet full of clothes, but nothing to put on my body.  My perfect and lean size 6 body. Funny enough, at the time my body was truly and actually  perfect. Did I actually just say that?  My dad would question why everyone else in the city managed to find clothes to wear, but I just couldn’t make it happen.  I couldn’t get myself into anything other than what I had slept in the night before.  I also couldn’t managed to find that small tiled room where water pours from the ceiling.  For some reason, I couldn’t seem to make it to the shower.  Hardly ever.  Therefore, I kept myself out of sight.  And hoped to be out of mind.  Weird how that goes.

So many months caught in this cage.  Un jaula.  Como un avion.  I was dragged to doctors and given tons of different meds.  Finally, my dad had come up with yet another remedy.  We’d go away.  Far away.  Somewhere where I could wear the same thing everyday and shower very little.  And no one would care.  Or notice. 

And so on November 5, we climbed on board AIR INDIA (read: hell) and headed for Bombay.  Sight and sensory overload.  The noise, the dust, the dirt, the begging children.  The COWS.  It was nearly too much to absorb, but as my dad promised, no one cared that I was dressed in the same grey shirt.  Everyday.  It was gross.  It wasn’t even a nice shirt, just a jersey long sleeve crew neck from Old Navy.  It didn’t matter on this side of the world.  NO one was looking at me.  Dreamy.

Aside from traveling to photograph a major camel festival (more on that later), my dad smartly believed this trip would heal me.  No longer would I be the girl who walked out of her plum job and dipped out of life. Thank you Mr Butterfield.  I wouldn’t be that freak who hid in her loft all day and night.  I’d become the girl who was taking some time off to “travel” as they say.  We weren’t hitting the beaches in Miami or the vineyards in Napa, but rather the jungle in Nepal and that long trans-boundary river (the Ganges) people speak about.  After three week in this crazy country, I’d be armed with more cocktail chat than any sane person had.  I’d have a book full of photos and stories to match.  My dad was right.  This time away would heal.  And it totally did.  Thank you my daddy.

You caught me.  I didn’t mean to be reminiscing this time around, but I was trying to prove a point.  I used to be a hermit and now I’m not.  See, presently I do leave the house.  I even get dressed.  Everyday.  Showering? Now that’s a whole different story.   It’s easy now.  Just throw on a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt and head out the door.  Doesn’t really seem to phase me.  I get out when I feel like it.  I remember a time that not only did I not feel like it, but I thought I’d never go out again.