Angst (41 page)

Trees, buildings, traffic lights and signs all pass me in a
blur, my hands automatically turning the wheel at the appropriate times. I try
to calm myself, taking deep breaths, trying to relax my tired muscles, trying
to climb back out of my thoughts. Just a few more minutes and then maybe I can
distract myself with Jared.

I’m suddenly gripped with an all-consuming fear, dread of
the unknown, my imagination flying, creating situations where I’m unable to
leave immediately.
What if there are people at Jared’s, friends with
questions, wondering where I’ve been, or others who might witness my breakdown?
I can’t do it. I can’t go.
But my car drives on, my insides twisting and
turning, strangling my breath. The moment of intense panic is always terrible,
inner focused, extreme. I feel like I’m being smothered and my insides ripped
apart by knives.

I try to focus on Jared. I haven’t seen him since he drove
to my parents’ house over a week ago, and hopefully in a few more days’ time I
will begin to feel the effects of the drug in my system, calming me, perhaps
finally giving me the peace I’ve sought for so long. I begin to tear up,
oh
God how I wish I were free of this problem
. It’s hard to stay strong, to
wait for the medication when I’m feeling this way. I want instant gratification
or I want death. But death is something I only think of, or say, an idea of
some kind of peace, not a reality that I will actually pursue, but somehow I
have to feel like there is a way out. Just a few more days, just give it time
to start working. The doctor had said it might get worse at first and she had
been right. I’m depressed beyond anything I’ve ever known. The idea of death is
even more appealing now.

Finally I pull into his driveway. No one is outside,
although there are several cars in the parking lot. Suddenly my knees feel weak
as I open the door and try to stand and get out of the car. I’m zeroed in on my
thoughts.
I can’t do this. I can’t go in there. Something bad will happen,
already my stomach is roiling.
Maybe I should drive away
, maybe I should
leave before anyone notices that I’m here. I sit back down in the car and put
it into reverse, about to pull away.
No, I can’t do it. I can’t leave, I
want to see Jared, I want to be normal.
My hands are shaking in my lap and
my foot on the pedal feels like mush. There is no power left in my body. No
strength. I’m like a jellyfish, without a backbone, without the guts to go on.
How
fuckin pathetic
, I think, about to get angry. But I feel too tired to get
angry as I put the car back into park and cradle my head in my hands, tears
starting. This is bad.

There’s a knock at my window. Jared. He looks concerned when
he sees my face and I reluctantly push the door open for him. Now he knows I’m
here, it would be weird to try and leave. At this thought, I feel the panic
slap me, my entire body feeling all the sensations now. Stomach twisted,
turning, pulse flying, body jittery and yet uptight at the same time, mind
flying between every fucked up fear and I’m overheated, dizzy, over the top. I
want to push Jared away, slam the door, drive away, get home to safety, but I
don’t do anything. I just sit there for a moment, living inside the feelings of
fear and then Jared kneels down between the open door and my car and looks up
at me.

“Are you okay? What can I do for you?” he asks, looking like
he’s going to cry, looking like he’s as upset as I am.

“Nothing,” I reply, “there is nothing you can do.” Tears
start to pour down my face at the finality of these words.
No one can help
me. It’s me and me alone.
Yet again I am crying, yet again I am weak. Now
Jared will want to leave me. It’s a miracle he hasn’t already.

“Let me help you,” he says, grabbing my hand, pulling me up
out of the car and into his arms. My legs feel rubbery and unsteady and his
arms and body feel strong to me, strong and right. “I haven’t really seen you
in weeks Victoria. I miss you. I want to help you. I don’t want you to be
afraid to come see me,” he says, looking into my eyes, sincere, wonderful. I
look down and away, not wanting him to see my tear stained face or the emotion
that is plainly there for anyone to see.

“I can’t help it. I’m afraid of everything. No one can help
me,” I say as I try to pull away. But he holds me tightly, holding me upright
in his arms. “Maybe my medication will finally help me. Otherwise I can’t ask
you to stay with me. I’m a nutcase, a freak,” I say coldly, choking on my
tears, unable to draw air into my gasping lungs. I can’t believe I’m making a
scene again with Jared. God he must think I’m a fucking idiot.

“I don’t care, Victoria. I’ve known about this for a while
and I’ve seen you struggling and you won’t let me in. All you do is suffer
alone. Let me be strong for both of us. Let me hold all your worries,” he says,
forcing me to look into his eyes. My body goes weak in his arms.
Maybe I can
let him help me. Maybe I can mentally put all my burdens on him and he can take
care of me.
I let him lead me into his apartment, one foot in front of the
other, trying not to feel sick, trying to tamp down the rising panic, the
all-consuming frenzy. As we go upstairs I note that no one is here, it’s just
the two of us. I’m relieved that we’re alone and sit down on the couch beside
him, burying my face in his shirt. Eventually after my sobbing dies down, he
gets up and goes into the kitchen and I hear pots and pans rattling, finally
the smell of garlic permeates the air and I get curious.

As I walk into the kitchen, Jared is standing near the
stove, grinning like a fool, his hand in a hot mitt with some kind of
ridiculous frilly apron around his waist. I just stand there, my mouth open and
finally I smile and then outright laugh at him. He just smiles.

“What the hell are you wearing?” I manage to choke out in
between laughs.

“I put this on especially for you because I knew it would
make you laugh,” he says laughing with me, pulling me in for a hug. “I made us
dinner, I’m your little Suzie-Home-Maker,” he says, tugging me to the stove
where smells of tomatoes and onions, garlic and warm bread fill the air. I
stare in amazement. The table is set with wine glasses, matching plates,
napkins and nice silverware.

“Where did you get all this?” I ask, turning to face him at
the stove as he stirs a pan of pasta sauce.

“I borrowed everything from my mom,” he replies, “Even this
sweet apron, although I know you were assuming it’s mine,” he says, wiggling
his eyebrows as he pulls off the silly apron, tossing it aside. “Sit, I’ll
serve you,” he says, pulling out a chair for me, pouring me some wine. It feels
like he is giving me a gift and I look around the room, thrilled that he went
to all this trouble for me.

We eat, talk, and I’m comfortable. I feel
good
,
better than I have in weeks, able to be me. The food is delicious too, warm
garlic bread, linguine with his own home-made pasta sauce with onions and
garlic and large chunks of tomato and even olives too. The wine is tart with
just a bit of bite and I feel like I’m experiencing everything with a new set
of senses. The ones that have been on hyper-alert lately are taking a break and
others are taking their place. Rich taste, tart yet sweet tomato sauce, springy
pasta, smooth texture of the wine, the touch of his hand on mine across the
table, the soft look in his amber-brown green eyes, his tousled sexy hair, the
air charged with intimacy. I can’t believe this is happening. I feel like
giving him a gift, like pulling him into my heart.

After we’re done eating, we sit there for a moment, a
friendly silence falling over the table as I sip at the last of my wine and I
wonder,
what can I do for him? What gift can I give?
Suddenly I think
about my writing. I think about a poem I wrote about him, a love poem, my heart
expanding at the thought. It’s something I’ve always been too shy to share. Feelings
that seem too strong, too much for me to expose. But thinking about those
words, about how they would feel coming out of my mouth, forming them almost
sensually with my lips and about how my stomach would flutter with normal
nerves makes me feel like braving it all, like sharing part of my soul with
him, tonight.

“Would you mind if I read you something?” I ask shyly,
looking down at the pattern on the red tablecloth and then back at him. He
looks at me for a moment, completely serious.

“You mean like a piece of your writing?” he asks, rubbing
his fingers against my hand and I look up, nodding. “I would love nothing
better, Victoria,” he says and I get up from the table and go slowly to my bag
in his living room. My ever present journal is there, the words scribbled
inside representing my heart, representing my soul, everything there in black
and white.
Depression, suicide, happiness.
I want to share, I feel like
this is a moment I will always remember. I hold the book lightly in my hand and
make my way back to the candle-lit table, putting the colorful, wildly
decorated journal on my lap, my hair hanging in front of my face, shy that I’m
about to share things I have never shared with anyone. I nervously flip through
pages, my fingers shaking, trying to find the one about him. I don’t look up
but I know he’s watching me. And I feel warm, warm and safe.

Finally it’s there, indentations on the page, under my
fingertips, words, my friends, and I will share them with him. My voice wobbles
as I begin, looking up at his intense expression, his gold-brown eyes watching
my face. I look back down at the page, my eyes watering a bit at the intensity
of my feelings about this moment.

Cold shudder of worthlessness

Lost in the darkness

Alone

I deaden the pain, I deaden me

Weeping, weeping

Sorrow

Stark, black and white, ashen

I open my eyes and there you are

Full bodied, alive

Throbbing under my fingertips

Sparks of color, exploding

I start to think about emotions

Those that can’t be forced

to fit into the letters that make them a word

It’s my dam of pent up thoughts

Now I want to spend words

Nickels and dimes of emotion

My head against your chest

I close my eyes

I hear the sound of your life,

Your heartbeat

Clear and precise

A quiet thump emanates,

Beat after beat

Second after second

I sense your breath

In and out

I blink my eyes and vision clears

My hand gripped tightly in yours

Music flows, peaks and dips

And I sink deeper

A kiss

Softness against my softness

In my ear your breath becomes

breathless words

I love you

I put my fingers in your soft hair

Tracing them down and over your shoulders

Strong, hard, living flesh

I kiss your face

Warmth, life, strength, security

I never knew I could feel this way

I never knew I could let someone inside

Love me, love me

Thank you

After, I sit there, staring down at my journal, my
fingertips tracing the words
Thank you
. My other hand is on the table and
he reaches over and touches me, warm fingers sliding over my cold knuckles. I
look up and he’s looking at me, very serious, his eyes vivid, almost glossy,
with emotion. I don’t want to break the moment, I want to live within it
forever, just him and me sitting here together, sharing with each other. And I
know he knows what he’s done for me, being there for me. I can feel the air
around us, is full. Finally he speaks,

“That was really beautiful, Victoria. I want you to know
everything’s gonna be alright, love, just you and me. We’ll make it through
this together,” he says, staring into my eyes, pulling me up to embrace me, his
hard body warm and solid, steady. I sigh, slowly relaxing. It feels good to be
back with him, to be standing here in his arms, his deep voice resonating in my
head, his heartbeat loud against my ear. He makes me feel normal.

“I’m sorry,” he says as I look up, about to say something. He
gazes into my eyes, and finally says, “Victoria, you look really beautiful
right now.”

“Then…love me,” I say, putting my arms around his neck, my
lips seeking his warm mouth. I want to lose myself in him right now, lose
myself in him forever.

Fill me
, I think,
save me, prove to me how strong
you are, that you can take care of me when I cannot.

#######################

I want him to take away my pain, my worries, my concerns,
my fears. I’m terribly weary. I want to feel through my body, experience
sensations, pulsations, a shiver of excitement. A thrill of letting go. Escape.

Take me away from my mind, let me be free. Let me lose
myself in your arms. Your hands. The heavy weight of your body on top of mine. Covering
me. Protecting me. Shielding me. Saving me from myself. Gather me into your
strength.

Then after, talk to me. Logic to my irrationality, making
sense, abating my fears, thrusting them aside with your perfect arguments.

I want to hear the soothing sound of your voice. Your
body pressed against mine. A constant reminder of your nearness. Even in sleep
I know you are there. Strength in the darkness.

Talk to me. Explore me, tell me that I’m wrong. That my
assumptions are wrong and why. Talk me down. Talk to my scared inner child. Help
me to forget who I am and how afraid, how weak. Show me how to be strong. How
to reason with the monster. How to beat back the demons. Give me the strength
to make it through this time.

Suddenly it’s as though I know where I am because you do.
You are the first to make it okay to be me. It’s like I had to hear it from
someone else to begin to believe it’s true. It’s okay to be me. I am NOT crazy.
I am Victoria. I am me.