Just to clarify, I’m not having a nervous breakdown because I’m a murderer. Not to say that being a murderer isn’t traumatic and such, just not, you know, nervous breakdown kind of traumatic. Especially since I’m fairly certain that it was more of an involuntary manslaughter really…except it was mouseslaughter, and spellcheck can go to hell because if manslaughter is a word, than mouseslaughter should be one too! Anyway, I think Zeke may have been suicidal.
In my last post, I told y’all about Zeke, the mouse that was stalking me and hanging out in my bathroom and bedroom. I had set several traps for him of all sorts, though I kept telling him to go in the no-kill trap–regaling him with tales of how great the field near my house would be for him once I released him into its awesomeness. I was beginning to think he was some super ninja mouse or something, since he kept appearing in places that required him to go over or alongside a trap, yet he was still just strutting around like he owned the place. So I was starting to think Zeke was a mother fuckin’ ninja mouse. He was all like, “Yeah right lady, like I’m gonna fall for your bullshit traps.” Then yesterday, my aunt says she saw a mouse dropping in the kitchen. So my uncle asked for one of the traps he had given me so he could put one in the kitchen. I went to get it, and lo and behold, Zeke had met his end in the trap. I immediately started shrieking, “I murdered him! He’s dead!” and “Get him out! Get him out! Gethimoutgethimoutgethimout!” while doing the freaked out, flailing about dance. My uncle was laughing so hard he couldn’t stand. At that point, my voice may have gotten even shriller. “Oh my god this isn’t funny! He’s dead and I’m a murderer and there is a frickin’ mouse corpse in my room and you need to GET HIM OUT!” As my uncle kept laughing and my aunt was making unhelpful comments about getting so upset over a mouse, I kept up my harpy-like shrieking and my spastic freaked out dance. Finally, my uncle got his laughter under control and managed to remove Zeke’s remains from my room. Leaving me alone with my guilt and unanswered questions. Why did he run into that trap? He’d run past it who knows how many times, and then he gets smooshed in it. And why did he go for one of the murder traps instead of the no-kill trap? It’s like he didn’t even want to go frolic in the field! Maybe he was suicidal or something. Who knows with mice.
Last week I had a bit of a nervous breakdown. I’m going to be honest here and say that I am pretty much constantly on the brink of a freak out or breakdown. See, the way things are for me right now leaves me feeling hopeless and helpless and depressed and anxious and frustrated and lonely and worthless and overwhelmed and useless and bothersome and angry and pathetic and empty and broken and brittle. I just feel buried in the rubble of my life. So it doesn’t take much to send me spiralling down. Last week, it was a relative being unkind and getting pissed off at me over the stupidest shit and then other family members got involved and I just kinda lost it. I called my friend Tom and pretty much had a complete meltdown. I sobbed and ranted and sobbed some more, yelling at him when he said he understood because no one understands! And I yelled how much I just wanted to be done, and then I sobbed some more. The reality is that, sometimes, I just have to let myself stop. Stop being strong. Stop pretending everything is fine. Stop fighting the battle against the part of my brain that hates me, the part that would end me if I’d let it. Stop hiding the horrific pain that is eating me alive. I screamed that I wanted to die, and I do. Then I screamed that I hate that I can never do anything about it, that I can’t kill myself. Not because I’m scared or anything–I’m not. I can’t kill myself because I can’t forget how it felt to be the one left behind, to feel the emptiness and pain. No matter how my brain tries to convince me that no one would care if I died, I know it’s bullshit. I know there are people who love and care for me, people who would inherit this pain I so wish I could escape. So, instead of listening to that rotten shit my brain tells me, I allow myself to have a breakdown. I hate the idea of being weak or vulnerable and will fight it as long as possible. Unfortunately, these freak outs are happening more and more often as I feel less and less control over my life. I hate it…but I know that i will have my freak out and then I will suck it up and keep going. My screaming and yelling and sobbing will be followed by laughter and life will go on.
Actual conversation with Robby when I got lost going to pick him up:
Me: I think I’m lost…shit I am definitely lost…pretty sure
Robby: Well, where are you? How did you get lost, I gave you directions.
Me: All I heard was to go down Ford Street and keep going and then I think I stopped listening. And I don’t know where I am! If I knew that, I wouldn’t be calling you!
Him: I’m not sure how much help I can be if I don’t know where you are. Any signs?
Me: Hmm…nope, no signs.
Him: Well what do you see? Anything helpful?
Me: Um…fields? A Barn? Everything looks the same cause I’m in the damn country! But I turned around and am heading back toward town now.
Him: Yeah, welcome to Iowa. Ok, you’re turned around…good. Now look for (insert random street number cause I’ve already forgotten it)
Me: Ok. Oh yay, a street sign. Oh. Yeah, I’m not even telling you that street number.
Him: Seriously, what was it?
Me: (insert much larger number than the previous one since I have also forgotten that one but totally remember it was not even close)
Him: How the heck did you get that far out there??
Me: Um, I followed your directions remember?
Him: I told you to turn on that street, not drive into the middle of nowhere
Me: Yeah, but you know how well I listen and I totally heard the part about heading out on Ford…and then I apparently missed the rest of it
Me: Hey, it’s not like you’ve never met me. You know how well I pay attention! So really, it’s almost your fault I’m lost. Oh! I think I see the sign. Maybe. And I think I might blog this conversation.
Him: Okay. When you see it, you’re going to turn east.
Me:…what the shit? Did you just direction me?
Him: Well, if you’re going to blog this, I should sound all specific and technical
Me: I don’t speak directions! Right or left, bucko, none of this east shit.
Him: Are you there yet?
Me: Yes, and you’re lucky I can only turn that way
And then there were giant potholes he forgot to warn me about, and deer chillin near the road, and apparently my windshield is breathing.
Actual comment I heard on a documentary this week: (man explaining why they think marrying first cousins is a good thing) Think about it, you already know their family and everyone is happier!
I love seeing my little cousins–they are hilariously awesome little shits and I adore them!
I’m relatively certain I would suck at living outside…especially since the planet wants to kill me and I don’t deal well with being cold…or hot…and I hate bugs.
Peace out, trout!