The Why

Part 1

I was standing at the gas station, putting gas in my car, and I was crying. Just crying. Nothing happened, nothing set me off. I was just standing at QT last Tuesday, crying. My friends who know me well enough know that it's not typical. I am pretty steady emotionally. Maybe an occasional weep at that time of the month. So I ran through the checklist in my head . .. pregnant? nope. period? nope. And I got in the car and headed to Home Depot and the tears were still flowing, and increasing to a mild sob. I kept my sunglasses on and went in to buy my Lantana and a new pot for the front porch. I got back in the car and they were gone. But my curiosity as to why they began wasn't. I hadn't felt sad or angry--so why was I crying? That was a week and a half ago. So my day went on as normal and then a light bulb. It's not one thing, it's everything. On my trip I came up with an analogy to explain it. A pitcher can overflow if you leave the faucet on. Or you can keep putting a half a cup of water in at different times and eventually it will overflow. THAT was why. I had a half a cup of responsibility here and half a cup of worry there and a half a cup of tasks to do. And so it goes. My pitcher was spilling over and it wasn't that last half cup it was the culmination of all of them. So I was breaking.

This is the point in which one person reaches for a glass of wine, or another has a good hard sob, or another takes a Xanex. I drive. But not just a little drive. It has to be somewhere I've never been before so my mind becomes at rest--busy with the new and not with the familiar. Problem was--I had responsibilities-- a class I had agreed to teach, a Primary responsibility I was supposed to help with. But I was there overflowing. And at that point I am good to no one. And really at that point--I didn't care. I didn't give one frick as far as giving a frick goes. I have a friend in Spokane who always jokes about me getting away and coming to her house. So I shot her an email--she thought I was joking, or just crazy. I convinced her that I was absolutely serious. I needed to get away--like now. "Come on up". So by this time it's Wednesday and the guilt of dropping responsibility it diggin in my brain sharp like. You see I don't do that well. I've always done what I was supposed to do. I am a rule follower. A plan maker. So as much as I want to pick up and leave--I have the need to set things in order and fulfill commitments. But I knew. If I didn't do this--I would find myself crying for the next weeks and who knows how that might build up. If I am I going to fix this--it must be now--because the kids have the next week of school off. So underneath the sharpness of guilt is actually my balanced self saying--if you don't go and get your version of medication--then it won't go away and QT will stop letting you get gas there because you are freaking out the other customers.

And my husband? He's all for it. He's the spontaneous one. He's the one who comes up with these trips and then I give him a long list of why we can't go. 1) money 2) responsibility 3)1994 Suburban 5) money . . . and it goes on. And he gets it. That is where I'm lucky. Also something that I was reminded of during my 3,000 miles. He is truly my best friend. And he knows that I'm not right. Crying at the gas station--not very me. So Wednesday night he calls and asks for the final word--because he has to let work know he's not showing up next week. He can do that at his work--just tell them that the next week he'll be out of town--that is just how it works there. And there I am faced with my crazy and my need to be responsible. What do I do? What do I do? And I know. I know what needs to happen. "We're doing it". And I cry a little. Because now I have to face the responsibilities. I have to shirk commitments. I don't do that well.

So I open up my email. I send an email to the lady in the Stake--something has come up, I have to go out of town, I can't teach the Photography course. Sorry. I'd love to do it another time if you have need. That wasn't so hard. But I don't know her. Then the second email--to the Primary Presidency that I am in. And I am sobbing. I keep pulling my fingers from the keyboard because I don't know where to start. I feel horrible. I just can't do it--but I have to. I begin. I had a breakdown today. I need to get out of town so I can't help with the activity. I'm SO sorry. I just can't. I'll will set everything up and make sure it's set before I leave. Again--SO sorry. That was hard. And I cry more until I feel better.

THURSDAY

One of my best friends/college roommates happens to call for something. And I tell her about the gas station. "Oh yeah, that's weird" she knows. She's me. Another thing that I have been blessed with is a few really good friends that are me. And I tell her about how I feel horrible about dissing responsibilities etc. etc. "You HAVE to go. I did that once too. And I tell you--it will fix everything, you will feel so much better". She gets it. And she's responsible. She's me. She's not a crier. She's me. She is a road tripper. She's me. And she is telling me to go. That is what I needed to hear. That it's not a big deal. Bailing on stuff is not a big deal. Everything will be fine. She's right. You see--I am not that person who wants a hug. I don't want a look of pity--those looks of pity make me want to scratch eyes out. I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. I want to leave. I want to go away. I want to be left alone. And then I deal. And then I'm good. I get that from my mom. When my mother's mother died, she had us packed and in the car within 30 minutes so that no one would find out and call her. She wanted to be left alone. I get that. I am that.

Some of the Primary Presidency show up at my door step. They don't know me well enough to know to leave me alone. They are concerned. And that is nice of them to care. I can see it on their faces that when I said, "I had a mental breakdown" they thought I meant it in the literal depression commercial on TV kind. I sob and I apologize and they don't understand why a trip to Washington with my kids will fix anything. Because for them it wouldn't. That is not their drug. But for me it is. I try to emphasize to them that I will be fine. They express concern that when I come home I might not be fixed and they hope I face that and get help. "I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I know mental health. Hyrum worked in it for years. I'm fine. Don't worry". But I can see it in their eyes. They don't believe me. And they hug me and leave. That was hard. And awkward. But it's over.

Frenzy. Washing clothes, getting out suitcases, a trip to Trader Joes for basic snacks. I have to say one of the funnest things about this is that I didn't have time to plan. Not time for lists no time for overthinking. I make some haphazard piles as I'm folding--but nothing definite. I sit on the floor in my girl's room and start placing things in the suitcases. And the phone ring. It's my sister--"Hey do you still have your sewing machine and do you have multiple colors of thread?" My sister lives 3 hours away--this is a weird question. "Um yeah, why do you ask?" "Because I'll need it for the remodel I'm doing this weekend down at my condo--you are still up for helping right?" . . . . . . . . . . . . It hits me with the force of Thor's Hammer "Oh crap, I forgot--I'm packing to go to Washington" "What are you serious? I told you about this months ago and you said you put it on your calendar" and she did--and I forgot. I feel horrible. BEYOND horrible. I can't go. I just can't. My sister and her husband do EVERYTHING for us. They drive hours just to fix our air conditioning unit, they helped us remodel our house, I'm not kidding--I owe more than I can ever repay. I just can't go. "I forgot! Ok, I'm not going I can't". I give her a small narrative of my breakdown and why I'm going to Washington. "Go, I'll be fine". This is uncharacteristic of my sister. I expected her to be pissed and rightly so. I would have been. And her voice is kind and soft. Exactly what I needed. But I am resolved. "I'm not going. If I go, then I'm a jerk". And she reiterates that it's fine. And we hang up.

So Hyrum wakes up super excited and I break--I am sobbing. I tell him I can't go. I just can't. And I relay my conversation with my sister. And he understands, but he also knows I need to go. Hysterically sobbing and curled up on my bed I tell him to go get the kids from the bus. And I sob, hiccup sob. Because now I'm not going--and I need to go. But I also need to stay--I need to help her. And he gets home and shuts the door to the bedroom and curls up behind me. "I called your sister". WHAT??? "You called her?" He tells me that he called her to explain how horrible I felt and how I wanted to stay and help her. And she insisted that I should go. And that if I tried to stay she would push me out the door and not let me. She tells him that it took her 44 years to have her breakdown and that she is glad I reached mine earlier. And that she understands how I need to go. So I sob more. I love her more than ever.

I jump in the shower. He walks out of the room and I hear him tell the kids about our trip--and they are squealing with excitement. And I tell him that I didn't have time to pack them so he needs to. THATS RIGHT MOMS I left it to the husband. And I didn't care. Because I have no plans. If we make it somewhere and we don't have it--we'll go buy it. I don't care. By now my guilt has washed and I am ready.

Ready for my medication.