I live in a mental illness that is defined by its states of peaks and troughs. Over the years I found a steady stability in the work and in my Daniel. I am able to see things less clouded by anxiety or angst or deep grief. Sometimes I just see things as what it is. Sometimes it is something else. Take for example, a visit we had from one of the girl’s teachers and her family. They are so lovely and I am so grateful for her teacher’s love and care for my Elsa.  She has had the roughest run at schools because she is profoundly gifted. If you started to say Oh she’s one of those, talking about her smart kid. Shut it, because with the bragging rights, come a lot of pain that comes with it, I’ll let you in on that on another page. She’s amazing and cool and wonderful, she’s popular with her friends at school. Her lack of a posse comes from the fact that I am her mom. Playdates are not just the kids, its the fucking test drive with the mom I will have to endure or hope to God enjoy. I try, but at her age group, there’s no friendship outside school without engagement with the parents. That is an enormous burden to bear for my socially frail frame. 

My anxiety, or depression or both take over and stage the whole ordeal sans me. Well this one is about how I freaked out and cleaned and cooked 7 courses of Southern Indian food. I cook this because, one, I am good at it, two, they wouldn’t know if it was good or bad, it would be truly experimental therefore safe. I bought every kind of beverage they or their children could possibly want, lemonade, sweet tea, unsweetened tea, Coke, Root Beer, Sprite, La Croix, Bubbly, Fanta Orange, three types of red wines, white wines, rose. I always hated saying we didn’t have something someone wanted. I understand that is not rational. 

They come and the kids play, and we chat and we chat and we chat, I actually love these guys, both husband and wife were engaging and interesting. These guys are well traveled, hilarious, conversational, humble, sweet and kind and all the things I would dream up in a couples buddy. Most of all, they seemed to be at par about being real like us. I like that. I need honesty, anxiety turns everything into a lie, or so says my therapist. We offer them wine, and in my excitement of finding common ground, I offer up unique liqeur we had discovered, then another, and upon the teacher saying she like sweet wine, I offer up another wine, then I felt like we were making ourselves out to be the parents who drank too much and possibly questionable at our parenting. Oh Shit! I found the ground again with the fact that she is our Elsa’s teacher after all. 

The conversations go on but now I found myself ascending, leaving my body, my physical self went numb, stupid grin and nod plastered on my head. Does she like us? Did I just embarrass myself? Did I say something stupid? Why did I say that? Should have just shut up!Shouldn’t have served up the whole bar! Does she hate me now? Do they think I’m nuts? Is she going to be different with Elsa now at school? Is she offended? Shouldn’t have done this.  My brain expands like its about to crack open my skull, my whole body is hot and my skin is crawling, there is a throbbing at the base of my skull. A ringing in my ear, I couldn’t hear them anymore, I’m holding back the tears. FUCK FUCK FUCK. Please don’t cry. Not now. I watch everyone from outside my body, I see myself there, I feel all the sensations but I can’t do anything for I am detached. 

I watched as Daniel runs the show, talking and engaging. He’s so smart, everything that comes out of his mouth is thought out, he reads so much he knows everything. I have always been so amazed by this. Me on the other hand, spend these get togethers from outside my body. My body is in autopilot doing whatever the fuck its meant to do. Oh they’re gathering the kids. Stay I want to say, but I know it’s wiser they go, I am not apt to be friends as much as I wanted to with them. They were amazing, but sooner or later or maybe they already have, they realize how detached and incredibly undesirable I am. So they leave, another family we will never be invited to engage with again. Now I have reconnected with my carcass and I find it filled with grief, tears, fear and sadness. Making friends for myself or even just for my children is a laborious exploit. They will have to settle with friendships at school because I am not one of the moms who can manage friendships with them involving parents outside of school. It isn’t for lack of trying, for after said playdate/lunch party, I would spend the next week in bed ruminating over how I had ruined everything. In this stage of my life, I know it’s not true, and that’s the illness speaking, but the chemicals in my brain take larger charge and give me the emotions that have no assigned meaning. Closest I can say is it is of helplessness, hopelessness and grief. So I seek comfort in my bed and shut my bedroom door, fill the dent in my mattress that’s been there from the last episode, and fight the will to die till it passes. This shit passes.