Permission

Ever the planner, as my mother's sickness progresses and her passing seems more real, I look to the future.

Maybe I can "find myself."  Whatever that means.  Maybe I can take a Cheryl Strayed-like trek into the wilderness and push myself to my physical, mental and emotional limits. I'll eat food from cans and carry my life on my back.

But that involves going outside.

I wonder if I instead I could "find myself" at a mall, or a spa, or while eating gelato in the Piazza di Spagna.

I think about where I'll live, having decided with certainty that I'll need to leave NYC behind.  Too many years I've felt trapped, waiting for the other shoe to drop, bracing myself as my life got smaller and smaller.  NYC seems as small as my tiny hometown now.  My apartment in Manhattan - a dream of mine when I was younger - seems tiny, claustrophobic on some days; a safe cocoon other days.  I feel 17 again desperate to find where I belong and connect with people that understand me.  I conveniently ignore the fact that wherever I go, I'll still be me.  The images in my head are me but not me, me on steroids, a better me - or maybe it's not me at all.

The prospect of change is seductive.

****

My life these days is divided in two - NYC and LI, work and family, numb and numb-er.

Having not seen my mom in two weeks thanks to a forced break in the form of another emotional storm - my 20th college reunion - 100 miles from my mother's house, it's easy to convince myself that all is well.  She sounds good today, I tell myself, ignoring the fact that she had to hang up after 2 minutes because she was out of breath.

It's the weather, it's allergies, it's boredom, it's Tuesday.  I mean, look, I'm tired too and I'm not even sick.

Out on LI, reality is far less easy to rationalize, especially when she says, "I don't know when but it will be soon."  I want to know what soon means.  Soon as in, don't go back to the city?  Soon as in, leave my phone on at night?  Soon as in, better make sure that trip I am hoping for in August is refundable?

Despite myself, I start to cry and cry nonstop my entire visit, prompting her to threaten that she is going to send me back to the city.

I am crying for myself and she consoles me, holding me for the first time in probably 35 years.  She says she won't take that away from me, that I am allowed to be sad.  She's frail and weak and I wish she could hold me tighter but I'm grateful for this moment even though it's not perfect.  She talks about mistakes she's made and encourages me to think about the future and all of the good things ahead, that I am still a young woman and anything is possible.

We both know I don't believe her.

****

Back in the city, work is a welcome distraction.  I am grateful for my job, the nature of which is that I could never do too much, it is never enough.  We can never have too much money to support our work.  My colleagues have learned how to support me, in some ways despite their best instincts.  They make gifts for my mother and slip gifts for me awkwardly on my desk.  Because you're having a rough time, they say.  They mean well, I think to myself, still not sure any of us is getting it right.

I worry my colleagues have gotten used to my unpredictable moods.  I am, at turns, soft and yielding, crying in my office which unfortunately has glass walls.  "Are you alright?" One brave (foolish?) soul might ask which is my cue to shift to hard and brusque, closed off and brittle, like pieces of me are cracking off throughout the day and vacuumed up at night by housekeeping.  "What's going on with that project?  I haven't heard an update for awhile."

I don't look up.

The best offense is defense.

*****

I reconnect with an old therapist and start working remotely as she has relocated to California.  I worry that she doesn't seem happy there but that's none of my business, although I love to deflect attention from me.  We are in the business of me, a business that resembles a burned down, abandoned building.

She's smart and soft but not at all tricked by me. This is why I like her.  I've learned the right things to say but these don't placate her.  She beats me at my own game.  We are a good match.

I decide I need pharmaceutical help, something I have resisted for years.  When I share my thinking with friends, family, my acupuncturist, my doctor, I expect resistance but everyone readily agrees, leaving me to wonder if I haven't been fooling anyone.

My sister starts calling me every night just to make sure all is ok.  I know my mother told her as keeping secrets is not a thing we do well in our family, most people told what they're getting for Christmas well before the actual exchange. One of my closest friends puts her best friend on the case, my case.  Even though we've never met she starts texting me every day.  It's oddly comforting.

Maybe I'm not as smart as I think.

Even my acupuncturist, who has made a career out of finding alternatives to Western medicine and medication, tells me this is what I need.  He's seen me week after week in various stages of distress and checks in on me regularly.  I look to him for permission and counsel, only comfortable asking for help because I pay him for it.  It's easier that way, transactional but I know it would hurt him if he knew that's how I view things.  He's realistic and not reassuring but I know he's right, "It's only going to get worse before it gets better."

I sit across from my doctor, who is very young and very fit.  Generally her solution to me in every situation is to eat better and exercise more, which is good advice that I take or leave at whim.  When I tell her that I want medicine to help manage what has become the deepest depression of my life I expect to hear her say, "Have you tried yoga?"  But she doesn't.  Instead she says, "Start taking these now so that, well, you know, when the inevitable happens...I mean, it's your mom.  You only lose your mom once."

But, because we are all who we are and she can't help herself, she says, "Diet and exercise will help a lot too."  And because I am who I am and can't help myself either because I want to please her I say, "I know.  I've lost 7 lbs since I was here last."

She goes to congratulate me then stops herself, realizing it's been less than a week since I saw her.  She stumbles.  We both want me to be thinner. "Um, that's good but too fast, you know?"

I know but my mood has taken root in my stomach and although I've been eating, food hasn't had much appeal and I've been exercising more in a desperate bid to tire out my ever spinning brain.

And besides, I need to get in shape to "find myself," which I am pretty sure involves losing a lot of everything first.

****

I spend a lot of time thinking about how maybe I wasn't born for these times.  I don't understand people, with me at the top of the list.  I embrace technology but get disappointed by it constantly - choosing to blame technology than the people behind it.  We are closer together but more apart than ever.  I hear from people I haven't heard from much nor did I expect to. It's surprising and comforting.

I bite the bullet and text a friend that I am depressed and am not sure how to get through it and need help.

I don't get an answer.

I tell myself that maybe I shouldn't drop bombshells like that, maybe people don't like it.  It makes me feel wrong and sorry I reached out.  I push down the part of me that tells me I'm not wrong and it's ok.

The next day I get a random text about the weather.

Why yes, it is cold outside.  

Even colder in here.

****

I take solace in books and read constantly, embracing an old habit from my childhood, feeling 5 years old and scared and desperate for comfort wherever I can find it. Books a far healthier choice than food as long as they are light and meaningless.  Nothing about death or dying.  Nothing too hopeful either. Let's not delude myself of a happier ever after. My comfort zone is small but I immerse myself.  I look forward to returning home at the end of the day to my books.

I tell myself I'm not isolating but simplifying and in many ways it's true.  I'm exhausted and it's all too much.  People are messy. I'm messy.  I'm not sure I can handle anyone else's mess right now.

****

I plan a hot Friday night with me and my new book after my dance class.  It's small, controlled, reassuring.

My colleagues ask if I want to join them in sending off another colleague who is heading to a new job.  

I hesitate, feeling the pull of my couch, solitude, isolation - the tidiness of my controlled world - but know this is not always the answer, and that this is not going to be the support I need moving forward.

I look up and try a smile.

"Count me in," I say.

And I almost mean it.