One Bite at a Time

The first is that I have had to reckon with the fact that the lifelong ebb and flow of my anxiety is back at high tide. Not just due to the events of the past month but probably because *gestures broadly* the world is on fire, and also I think my hormones are a factor. Anyway, I've been putting this off for a while but I think it's finally time to start microdosing mushrooms. I came off of my SSRIs two years ago because the side effects were becoming intolerable and also because, in the back of my mind, I thought coming off of them would help me microdose and I always wanted to try (SSRIs blunt the effects of hallucinogens.) But I never did it. I have a supply and could literally start any time, I've just been nervous about it for some reason. I don't like feeling out of control and I'm afraid of accidentally taking too much. But I need to try. I think it could really help.

The other thing is I have had to get honest about how severe my anxiety gets when I'm not working on anything creative. I finished my second novel several months ago and I have not even thought about querying it, nor have I started anything else. I abandoned another novel at about 40% because I realized I wasn't excited about it anymore. What I really want, what I'm really passionate about, is the planned trilogy I had in mind with my first novel. But first I need to rewrite it with a few changes to the central plot. It's not even an insane amount of work, it's just daunting and I haven't started. I also haven't written for my Substack in months, or even tried to write a poem. It's like I just turned off the spigot. Why did I do that?

I think it's because writing keeps me in a very tender, open place and it's sometimes hard to maintain. But apparently the flip side of that is a nightmare too, so I guess I have to keep writing. I talked with Erik for a long time last night about some changes to the first novel and actually felt a flicker of excitement. Like, oh ok I can see a path forward for this project. If I think of the first draft as an actual first draft, something to build on, it really doesn't even seem like a lot of work anyway. And the work seems fun.

We left for Michigan against my better judgment the day after my mom got home from the hospital. She and her medical team insisted we go. I didn't want to disappoint the kids and Erik, so I agreed. And really, I desperately needed Michigan this year. The weeks preceding the trip were nightmarish. First there was the insurance debacle with Henry- we found out during a late-night ER visit for an allergic reaction that he'd been somehow dropped from my insurance, and I had to enter a long, drawn-out process to get him back on it. He's still not back on it, btw. Then the minivan I traded my Subaru for ahead of the trip started having problems and was in and out of the shop. I was slammed at work. Then, four days before the trip my mother landed in the ER with a spontaneous coronary artery dissection, and then we were at Vanderbilt for three days. My van got back from the shop $500 later and immediately started having problems again. It just went on and on, and I was starting to fray at the seams.

But then everything seemed to line up for a minute. Mom got home and felt totally fine, and she even rented us a nice van for the trip while mine went back into the shop. We had a fun road trip. We got to Michigan, and it was beautiful. Henry and his bestie were joyous, the water was perfect, the sun was bright. They jumped off the pier and swam and kayaked. I floated in the lake and thought, "ok, a few more days of this and I'll be back to normal."

Then, the next day, the wildfire smoke rolled in. We were at the beach when the air shifted, and the sun went orange. It started to smell like a campfire. We hurried home and spent the rest of the day indoors playing board games. The morning after, the air quality was in the 500s. I ran to the store with my MIL, covering my mouth and nose for the short distance between our car and the door, but when I got home I had a headache and a bitter taste in my mouth. The air was yellow and burned our eyes. I couldn't stop thinking of what we were breathing in- burning homes, burning wildlife, the ashes of people's lives. It was incredibly heavy. I started feeling panicky again, claustrophobic. The kids were bored and loud. We were stuck inside.

The second day of smoke, we took them to the movie theater since they couldn't play outside. We watched the new Moana live-action movie and I sobbed uncontrollably the entire time. Henry loved Moana as a little boy, so every song reminds me painfully of when he was a toddler. I couldn't stop weeping at the climate change parallels in the story, feeling incredible loss and guilt on behalf of all of our children. When we stepped out of the movie the air was worse than ever, and the kids hurried home with my MIL while Erik and I went out to try to celebrate our anniversary at a local fancy restaurant. We were not in the mood.

At the restaurant, I found out my mother was back in the ER with chest pain. Ten hours away from me. I panicked, we raced back to the house and waited for word from the doctor. Mom said her labs were looking fine and they were probably going to release her. She had been extra cautious and called 911 right away, and she told me not to worry. We waited. We let the kids get in the water because the smoke seemed a little better and they were desperate. Mom called back and said they were keeping her for the night and going to do another catheter procedure the next day. There was no way we'd get home in time unless we drove through the night.

I totally lost it. I hung up with my mom and just cried hysterically in the shower so the kids wouldn't see. I felt like my nervous system was broken into a thousand pieces. We changed all of our travel arrangements so I could at least be there to bring her home after the procedure, and planned to leave the next day. I barely slept.

When we woke up there was a break in the smog, so we let the kids get in the water again and jump off the pier before we left. When we were getting ready to leave, I got word that they decided not to do the catheter on my mom after all. The morning ER doctor thought it wasn't necessary, and they were releasing her.

At this point, we'd already changed all of our travel arrangements. I briefly thought about changing them all again to get one more day in Michigan, but by the time we started packing the smoke was already rolling back in. It was like we got a blessed, merciful three-hour window of clean air before it all turned dark again. I checked the forecast and the air quality was going to be bad for days. We headed out.

MIL was crying a little as she waved goodbye, so then Erik started crying. The kids were sad to be leaving. We all were just fucking sad.

We're usually in Michigan for two weeks. This time it was five days, and only one and a half of them were good. It just felt like the cruelest tease. Like this promise of peace and rest that was ripped away. I only got in the water twice. We drove off, and I felt an ache in my chest growing and growing.

My anxiety was still through the roof, my gut was in shambles and I broke out in massive hives all over my hands for some reason. My left eye had been twitching crazily all week. My OCD thoughts were overwhelming. I was anxious the whole ten hour drive, just fighting down a massive panic attack like trying to hold a beach ball underwater. My muscles were tight from the effort. When we got home I went upstairs and sobbed for a long time. I wasn't even happy to be home. I couldn't find any happiness inside of me at all, I just felt desolate.

I regulated after a bit. I was going to head to my mom's house to check on her, but she came to us instead. She was her normal, perky self, and I got to give her a long hug. That helped a lot. Then we ordered Thai food and watched the World Cup final together and sent Henry to his dad's house. Then Erik and I talked for a long time, and I took a hot bath, and then I slept all night. And now I'm doing laundry and washing my sheets and going to the grocery store to meal prep for the week.

We have a fairy who lives in one of the big trees outside the lake house here in Michigan. For the past five years, she has left little presents for Henry by her fairy door and they have exchanged notes.

Last year he didn’t seem as into it, so I didn’t think much about it this year. My mom usually plays the fairy, and she isn’t up here this year, and also there’s just been so much going on I didn’t plan anything. But as soon as we got here he asked about the fairy! I said I wasn’t sure if she knew he still believed in her, so he hastily scrawled a note (in terrible handwriting lol) and left it by the tree. I ran into town and bought these two little stuffed winged creatures, then I wrote a note back, and Erik snuck everything out early this morning.

I was in the bathroom when I heard the kids wander outside and then SCREAMS OF JOY echoing over the lake. They ran inside shouting that the fairy had come back and she’d brought special gifts! The kids named their stuffies Fairy Sherri and Fairy Gary and they are over the moon.

I’m an obsessive researcher. I looked at dozens of vehicles and drove across town multiple times to check them out in person. I finally found the perfect one- the right price, excellent condition. The right amount of miles. Only issue was it was located at a used car dealership an hour away, but that wasn’t a deal breaker. I bought it.

I have had to take it (an hour) back to the dealer already to fix a dead headlight relay. Then, a week later, on the day I finally sold the Subaru, half a dozen lights on the van dashboard turned on. Three cylinders were misfiring. The guy at the dealership said to bring it back, but I didn’t have the time to drive two hours round trip AGAIN, so Erik and I researched the issue and he did something that seemed to fix it. Briefly.

Then the lights came back on. We reached out to a local mechanic we know and in the midst of all this crisis with my mother at the hospital, we took it in to his shop. He replaced the spark plugs and ignition coils for $450 and drove it a bunch and said it should be good. I picked it up this morning on my way back to the hospital and it seemed ok.

When I went to get it from the garage, all the fucking dashboard lights were back on. We are supposed to drive to Michigan tomorrow. My mother just got out of the hospital and my brand new car is a mess.

I’ve been talking about this dilemma at the hospital. This morning her nurse and the PA both told me if it was their mom they’d go on the trip and wouldn’t worry.

I’m just torn. I think it’s probably ok, but my extremely overdeveloped sense of responsibility is struggling. Realistically how will my being in town prevent anything from happening? If anything DOES happen we can be back here pretty quickly. We don’t have flights we’d have to coordinate, we could just hop in the car. She’s barely going to leave her house because she’ll be resting, and her neighbors will be right there.

She feels good. The doctor said her artery will heal and they think she looks great.