The Time Boyfriend Died

My family and friends know about me that sometimes always I overreact. 


A little background on the situation: since August, boyfriend has started a new job that is insanely demanding and taking up a lot of family bandwidth - as of Tuesday, I started a new job that will amusingly do the same. We see each other almost never and occasionally catch one another coming or going - it's basically the most #romantic thing of all time. I assume Mary & Joseph went through a similar struggle. 


So I'm at my new job all week about to fall into a coma from all the new info. Boyfriend, on his days off this week, is at home taking care of our autistic dog. Since we see each other every other leap year, we casually text throughout the day, on most days. So today around 12:30p I haven't heard from boyfriend and send a totally casual *non stalker* text saying wahtup. Nothing. 


Around 1:30pm - "...hey?"


...nothing.


3:30p : (still not being a stalker, for the record) dkjfasdkfja WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU


5 (or so) missed calls


5:15pm: "..."


At this point, I'm driving home from work in a complete tizzy because I've been trying to phone home for 5 hours and haven't gotten anything. 


The highway I take home from downtown runs down a hill and as I am on top of the hill, I see a huge cloud of smoke in the horizon. 


Oh my God. The house is on fire. They are both dead in the house. OR they ran out of the burning house and the phone is inside. But probably dead. 


I keep driving and realize the fire is too far south to be my house and rule that out entirely. Whew. 


At this moment, I have about 10 minutes before I get home. I have ruled out the house fire, but you should know -- it takes much less than 10 minutes for a girl like me to run away with things. 


Maybe he got roofied?


Maybe he's breaking up with me in the most poetic way ever? He packed the house, he's moved out and theres a note on the table explaining why he doesn't love me. Speaking of #romance. 


Video games? Do men like video games?


But neither of this is true. Because we all know what's coming next. He was dead. There was absolutely no other explanation. I was going to walk into my house with a cold body in the bed and there was no way around it. I braced myself for this reality, melted down. 


Five minutes from home. My heart is racing, I'm sweating, shaking and about to murder the ass hat that wants to go 41 in a 40. I need to get home at 60 mph. 


I peel into my driveway, check the curb, throw er in park and run into the house. I clod hop through the house back to the bedroom, tear open the door and turn the lights on. 


And then I see it. 


His eyes fly open, surprised. 


He's ALIVE? 


I am calm cool collected hysterical. I immediately start bawling and really don't know what do to with myself so I run out to the back yard.


The back yard?


Boyfriend follows me out to the backyard seconds later in his boxies and bed head. In retrospect, I can't imagine what was running through his head. Probably planning the note/moving out/leaving your crazy ass *ASAP*. 


So in my hideous cry face I manage to stammer out, "...WHERE (sob, sob)..HAVE....YOU (sobsobsob) BEEEEEEEEN???"


 "Baby, I've been here. I've been sleeping all day."


"(sob)......you have? (sniffle, sniffle)"


"Yes, what is wrong?"


"I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD."


And at this point, it's like moment when you're so worried about someone and then when it's nothing - blind rage. I'm all 'you jackass, you mean you're NOT dead? How dare you. Imsomadatyou." 


We're over it, obviously, since I just wrote 300 words on it. The point is, if you're going to be dead, just be dead. Quit playin' games with my heart. 


And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I cannot have children. 

Unplugging

Recently, I went to New York City with my mom. As we pull into the airport, I realize I've left behind a rather important appendage. My iPhone.

Too far in to turn around, and (trust me, I called) it was going to be $90 to overnight the phone to my hotel. When I paid $199 for the phone, and I spend money on a lot of stupid shit, I can't justify.

I was going to have to go on without it. Sob.

Connectivity. Creativity. Portal to document life. Instant access. All the things that really get me going.

So after melting down, and checking and re-checking my car, purse, etc. I decide that maybe leaving my iPhone behind wasn't a complete death sentence. Maybe this would be a good opportunity to disconnect, unplug, and relive 1995. Plus, I had my iPad so that would get me through the weekend, probably.

Probably. Yeah, this will be fine.

The thing about disconnecting is, just no. While I envisioned myself a little granola, a lot free spirit and frolicking around NYC like it was the goddamn 1990s, like most of my ideas, that didn't exactly pan out. I was anxious, lost, without purpose. How is anyone supposed to get anywhere without Siri?

Just kidding, that bitch is worthless.

If you're going to experiment with 'unplugging' - New York City is not the place. Connectivity Mecca. Have you seen Times Square? Every asshole is - not on - but OF their iPhone. It is an extension of the modern human. The New York City rite of passage. Also, I don't typically carry a camera so I also had no way to document my trip. Balls, busted.

Guam? Peru? Those might be a appropriate places to disconnect. Because no one wants to be the douche face-timing with their BFF in a third world country. Not chic. Also you probably don't have a choice, given the number of  WIFI hot spots in Peru. I'm just saying.

So anyway, everyone likes to entertain the idea of 'disconnecting' from phone, email, Internet, Siri - but the reality is, that is not our world. We are the instant information junkies. How many of you twerps Googled 'Whitney Houston' when you heard the news - just to be sure that it was true? It's like a 'what? NO WAY' thought and then 'let me scour the entire Internet in 90 seconds to be sure' ... 'it's true. People Magazine said so.'

I'm sure someone will read this and think, WHAT a shallow bitch. Well that's not very nice and do you kiss your mama with that mouth?

Point is, disconnecting, like pedicures - while designed to be relaxing and mind-cleansing, ends up making you feel more stressed, lost, and empty than before. 

The Thing About Anxiety

About a year ago, I started paying more attention to that tingle in my stomach, that knot in my throat and the pounding in my chest. 

What I thought to be complete psychotic female meltdowns actually turned out to be, to my surprise, anxiety. I've always been a Nervous Nellie but I always attributed it to my Type A personality, control freak-isms, and well, being crazy.

When you say anxiety it kind of feels like an allowance to be psychotic. I take what I can get. 


She's not crazy. She just has anxiety.

Once I was self-aware enough to realize my anx and pumped to not actually be insane, I started trying to get a hold of myself and not be such an anxious freak. 

Always Typically, it backfired. Because the more you focus on not being an anxious freak, the more you actually become an anxious freak. You become stressed about your stress and it's such a mind-fuck that you end up in the fetal position crying, sweating, blacking out, texting your mom.


Cue tingle in stomach, knot in throat, heart pounding. Anyone who has had anxiety knows, once you get to this point, it's pretty much all over. There really is no calming yourself down from here. And what's really fun -- when you're in the middle of this cycle and some ass clown is trying to help by saying; calm down, just relax, settle, breathe.

CAN'T. WON'T.

At this stage, you're either going to run into a full-blown anxiety attack or you're going to pass out.

The thing about anxiety is that sometimes it hibernates. Something happens that would typically turn you into a crazy ball of anx and it doesn't. It's kind of like that '...wait for it...wait for it...' mentality and then it never comes. And you're like 'go me!' because look how fucking calm you are? The epitome of laid back. I'm practically a stoner by now. 

Just when you start listening to Reggaeton and checking your companies drug testing policy, It comes back. You have a Super Bowl-sized meltdown about something totally irrelevant, like whether or not you should get bangs. You stay up all night, you toss and turn, you research pictures, take dozens of screen shots from your iPhone, write a pros and cons list and before you know it, it's 4am and you JUST DON'T KNOW IF YOU WANT BANGS OR NOT.

You spend the entire next day in an adrenaline hysteria, scour the Internet about haircuts and really try to make a rational decision. Because, if you make the wrong decision, well, you just can't deal. 


And so help me God if someone has the audacity to tell you this 'isn't that big of a deal.' 


Obviously, I know that. War in Middle East, American economy, poverty, Demi Moore - bigger fish to fry, I get it. The thing is, I know getting bangs isn't that big of a deal but I can't stop thinking that it is a big deal. That's what anxiety is. This issue has all the sudden become life or death and you become so wrapped up and enveloped in your stress that you can't move past it (without panic attack, passing out). 


It's a bizarre feeling that seems difficult to describe and even more ridiculous to write about. But I'm having one of those days today, and I can be comforted that I'm definitely, probably just a little bit absolutely I'm fucking off my rocker insane in no way crazy, I have anxiety.