28. Then
Then: January 3rd
A s it turns out, I have not only an anxiety problem but also a problem with stress. Stress and anxiety are like oil and water—they don’t mix well. According to my therapist (who’s not half bad) and the doctors at the hospital, I suffer from a condition called psychogenic blackouts. I become so ridden with stress and anxiety I cause myself to pass out. Crazy, right?
My therapist, Dr. Gurkle, recommended I start taking medication for it, but surprisingly, my mother refused. She’s on medication herself but doesn’t want me to be on anything. At least not right now she says, she’d rather I continue coming to sessions once a month until my symptoms improve. Maybe it’s for the best.
I don’t argue, and Mom seems back to normal on the way home afterward. I don’t try to escape the car, and there is no more talk of blackouts at all. Instead, we drive home with the windows down and 90s music playing loudly.
I want to ask her what would happen if I keep having these kinds of episodes. Would I be allowed to drive? Would they still take me to get my license next week? What happens if I pass out in school?
Luckily, it doesn’t happen again. At least not for a little while.
It’s a new year already and I got my license with no trouble at all. Mom continues to drive her little red Coupe, and I drive my Black Beauty Explorer. I absolutely love it. Hands down—best Christmas gift ever!
Being with Mom this Christmas break has been great. She’s been more Fun Mom, Present Mom, and Do-You-Have-Any-New-Crushes-Mom. She hasn’t cleared out her closet again, and Dad hasn’t threatened her with more talk of divorce. On the outside, their relationship hasn’t changed much, but they are cordial with one another, which I take as a positive sign. No more broken glass in the house, and no more slammed doors. We still stay in our respective rooms and spaces, but we all come together at dinner just like we used to.
It’s almost starting to feel like we are a family again. I can’t help but think about the family that lives in the house full of laughter and light a few blocks away. The house with the young girl and the bright red mailbox. I wonder if they are truly a happy family or if it's all just a facade. Sometimes I feel like we are made of glass. We may look tough on the outside, but inside we’re barely holding it all together. I wonder how strong our glue is right now.
It’s been good seeing Mom smile and laugh again—not too much, but not too little either. She’s also been cooking a lot more and even let me help a few times.
Dad seems to be in good spirits as well. He’s polite with Mom and me and makes sure to ask us both about our day. I don’t ask him if he’s still seeing his therapist, because, truthfully, I don’t want to know. We are all happy, at least I think we are… for now.
We are labeled fragile in bold letters, and I’m afraid that any tiny crack will cause us to shatter.
This year has been a little unsteady, but it’s not too late to begin again. I just hope we can all hold on tight enough to each other. I hope it’ll be enough this time.