It sucks when the crazy follows you

Ugh! The past year plus has been one filled with changes, ups, downs, and more than a rasher of depression and anxiety. I have been cruising along quite well lately, and even got excused from therapy shortly after my layoff. I considered this to be a fairly good sign of my mental health stability.

Then, a couple of weeks ago I realized I was handling things poorly. I was irritable. I was edgy. I had very little patience for idiots (and let’s face it, we see them every day and they require much patience).

I had a tripped planned for this past weekend, and events leading up to the trip skewed my anxiety meter badly. I was visiting a friend whom I see not often enough, though, and so I plundered on with the visit. I’m not trying to be coy, but to call our relationship less than simple is putting it mildly. I was a bit worried about my stress level, but a visit with this friend usually brings out the calm in me. Let’s just say this time it didn’t work out so well. There were disappointments on both sides of the equation. Let’s face it, this being human shit lends itself to that happening periodically, no matter how much love you have between you. No matter how totally fucking awesome, caring people you both are on your good days. When this happens when a certain redhead’s tank is on Empty, and her friend’s tank is about the same, the weekend you have both been looking forward to can end up being less than stellar.

We both went to the stupid places that our steamer trunks of baggage take us when we disappoint each other. Of course, those places are diametrically opposed to each of us meeting the other’s needs. Tears were shed. Frustrations were vented. The peaceful weekend was not to be. Nothing that caused permanent damage was said. In all honesty, not even anything that needed to be taken back was said. I am incredibly grateful for that. However, when you see someone you love to pieces 2 or 3 days out of every 8-12 weeks, feeling like a single minute of that time has been wasted is magnified to an unholy level.

It’s easy to see in retrospect that we could have communicated better. We could have let each other know that we were running on fumes. We might have been adult enough to cancel the plans.  Maybe we would have been more tolerant of the other when we were disappointed and frustrated.  Maybe we would have both simply tried harder to keep the crazy in its FUCKING LOCKED TIGHT BOX where it is supposed to stay. Ahem. In any case, we failed to do that, and it makes me sad. Particularly seeing as we have a few weeks ahead before things will feel really right again. We both KNOW that it is okay, but the hangover sucks. Instead of leaving each other singing happy songs, we each left feeling we had let the other down. The love is solid. While the details are at times difficult, the love is permanent, for keeps, no questions asked, no matter what. However, when a relationship isn’t a day to day thing, it stings to know that an opportunity was missed.

***Just for the record, the things that added to the degree of difficulty with this stretch of time are as follows: financial stress, hydroplaning in a matchbox car but fortunately not hitting anything, airline reservation screw-ups leaving me with a flight at 6am and a frantic drive to work after landing tomorrow morning, pressure from external sources (unavoidable), health issues (non-tragic) for both of us, and the kicker–a redhead with an anxiety disorder who realized TODAY that perhaps the fucking prednisone she had been on for 10 days and just finished Friday just *might* be the explanation for her noticeable decrease in coping skills lately.

Here’s to a bubble bath and an early bedtime in a lovely hotel very close to the airport.  Just for the record, if you need a non-specific hotel at the last minute, try using travel*ocity*dot*com’s “super secret” deal thingie.  I got a great room for about 1/3 of the usual rate.

Here’s hoping for a fabulous prednisone-free week ahead!

So, if you had a worse weekend, tell me about it so we can commiserate.  If you had a great weekend, tell me about it so I can at least know somebody left singing happy songs.