Post-Vacation Depression
I went. I saw. I returned.
The morning I left for Wisconsin, my stomach was in knots. I was more nervous about the flight (since I haven't flown in 4 years) than I was about seeing Angie and meeting her new beau. When I reached Chicago, I found that my connecting flight had been cancelled due to snow, so I had to wait 2 hours for the next plane to Madison. Then, that flight was delayed.
But I did, alas, reach my destination. The first sight of Angie was a bit shocking, as she was in a wheelchair and not looking so hot. I wasn't quite sure if it was because she's 8 months pregnant or because of her M.S. I tried to ignore it (the chair), but it was difficult. when she got out of the chair to get into the car (her friend Tina graciously brought her to the airport), I realised that her incapacitation was due to the disease, not the pregnancy.
I can't even explain how upsetting it was to see her like this. It was only 5 years ago I last saw her and 5 years ago she was an animated, flamboyant party girl on the go. Now, she was a mere shadow of that girl from 5 years ago. She cannot walk without her cane and another person to hold onto. Her legs looked like stiff pieces of wood, barely (if at all) bending at the knee when she walked.
So, the first day there was short. We hung out and smoked pot all afternoon (another thing I found disturbing, as she is 8 months pregnant, but on a side note: she says it alleviates the aches and pains of her disease, so I didn't harp on her).
That evening, she and her mother (Gail) went to lamas (sp?) class, and I stayed home and hung out w/ her very quiet stepfather (Joe). When Angie returned, we chilled for a bit and I laid down to take a "5 minute nap", which quickly turned into an all-nighter as I was jet-lagged and stoned. So, I didn't get to meet her boyfriend (James) when he got home from work that night. A bad first impression, I'm sure.
In the morning, James was running about the house doing laundry and keeping himself so occupied that he didn't even say hello or introduce himself to me until Angie literally made him stop and do so. He seemed very stone-faced and detached; he would've been almost intimidating if it wasn't for the fact that he looks like a 14-year-old pubescent kid (not at all what I'd expected). He's very tiny; a buck-twenty soaking wet.
But as the morning rolled on, he loosened up a bit. We smoked weed (I can't even believe how much weed these people smoke. I was high from the moment I woke til the time I passed out during my entire stay). Later in the day, Emily (a friend of Angie) dropped by and took us to the local Wal-Mart to shop for baby shower stuff. Again, Angie had to take the chair w/ her. Emily pushed her along, and Angie's huge belly kept popping out from her too-tight-too-short shirt. Everyone kept gawking at her. I took it upon myself to shoot back every dirty look 10-fold. Yes, I was slightly embarassed, I admit--but I was more outraged at the ignorance and rudeness of people who looked at her as though she was just a lazy pregnant woman who didn't feel like walking.
Next day was the baby shower at her mom's house. I felt very uncomfortable being the only guy in a house filled w/ women. It was a definite estrogen overdose. Angie got so many beautiful gifts for the baby, I was surprised. I felt weird just handing her a card, even though inside of it was a gift certificate for $150 so she could buy the state-of-the-art 3-in-1 stroller (which was a stroller, a car seat, and a carrier all in one) that she wanted so badly.
When the party was finally over, and the chicks filed out the door, I breathed a sigh of relief. I ended up staying the night at Gail's so we could hang out and catch up. Angie's mom has always been like a second mother to me; she's a very special woman. We stayed up half the night getting stoned and having a heart-to-heart, which again ended up upsetting me. Gail hasn't been in good health for some time. She's had, and is having, a string of surgeries due to several different problems. She confided in me that her bones are deteriorating, her lungs are charred black, and then she hit me with: "I know I don't have a lot of time left. I'll be very lucky if I'm around for another 10 years". Angie, of course, doesn't know how serious her mother's health problems are. And as she was telling me this, my heart was breaking. She suddenly looked so small and so weak as she coughed and hacked and wheezed through every sentence. But even so, she continued to light one cigarette after the next and pack one bowl on top of another.
When she dropped me back off at Angie's in the morning, I knew it might be the last time I'd ever see her, but I kept my cool despite the tears welling up in my eyes, which I blamed on the cold.
For the rest of the week, we didn't do shit. Sat about the house talking, smoking up, watching t.v. James was hot-n-cold. Pleasant one minute, unpleasant the next. In my head, I diagnosed him bipolar because he showed every sign of it. This made it easier for me to tolerate his mood swings, knowing he couldn't really help it. Friends popped in and out day and night which broke the monotany and helped raise my spirits, as by this point I was severely depressed over everything I had seen and heard since stepping off the plane.
Before I knew it, it was Thursday already and I was packing frantically to come back to the mess I call home. I felt sad, confused, uncertain about everything. Only a week before, I was plotting in my head to move out there. Now, a week later, I wasn't so sure.
Walking into my house, any positive energy I may've had left in me immediately drained away. Here I was, back in this shit-hole, back to my shitty job, resuming my shitty existence here, and discouraged knowing that things probably wouldn't be much better had I stayed there in Wisconsin.
I took prescription sleeping tabs on top of over-the-counter sleeping tabs and heavy doses of Nyquil and slept for 18 hours straight, just to numb myself from everything I was feeling that night, and had been feeling all week. I had a string of nightmares and very bizarre, very surreal dreams and woke up feeling sadder than I had when I fell into slumber. I lay in bed chain-smoking all day, staring at my still-packed suitcase, and trying to conjure up a new life-plan which still has not come to me.
The only thing I did decide: next vacation, I'm going to the fucking Bahamas.
.d.
The morning I left for Wisconsin, my stomach was in knots. I was more nervous about the flight (since I haven't flown in 4 years) than I was about seeing Angie and meeting her new beau. When I reached Chicago, I found that my connecting flight had been cancelled due to snow, so I had to wait 2 hours for the next plane to Madison. Then, that flight was delayed.
But I did, alas, reach my destination. The first sight of Angie was a bit shocking, as she was in a wheelchair and not looking so hot. I wasn't quite sure if it was because she's 8 months pregnant or because of her M.S. I tried to ignore it (the chair), but it was difficult. when she got out of the chair to get into the car (her friend Tina graciously brought her to the airport), I realised that her incapacitation was due to the disease, not the pregnancy.
I can't even explain how upsetting it was to see her like this. It was only 5 years ago I last saw her and 5 years ago she was an animated, flamboyant party girl on the go. Now, she was a mere shadow of that girl from 5 years ago. She cannot walk without her cane and another person to hold onto. Her legs looked like stiff pieces of wood, barely (if at all) bending at the knee when she walked.
So, the first day there was short. We hung out and smoked pot all afternoon (another thing I found disturbing, as she is 8 months pregnant, but on a side note: she says it alleviates the aches and pains of her disease, so I didn't harp on her).
That evening, she and her mother (Gail) went to lamas (sp?) class, and I stayed home and hung out w/ her very quiet stepfather (Joe). When Angie returned, we chilled for a bit and I laid down to take a "5 minute nap", which quickly turned into an all-nighter as I was jet-lagged and stoned. So, I didn't get to meet her boyfriend (James) when he got home from work that night. A bad first impression, I'm sure.
In the morning, James was running about the house doing laundry and keeping himself so occupied that he didn't even say hello or introduce himself to me until Angie literally made him stop and do so. He seemed very stone-faced and detached; he would've been almost intimidating if it wasn't for the fact that he looks like a 14-year-old pubescent kid (not at all what I'd expected). He's very tiny; a buck-twenty soaking wet.
But as the morning rolled on, he loosened up a bit. We smoked weed (I can't even believe how much weed these people smoke. I was high from the moment I woke til the time I passed out during my entire stay). Later in the day, Emily (a friend of Angie) dropped by and took us to the local Wal-Mart to shop for baby shower stuff. Again, Angie had to take the chair w/ her. Emily pushed her along, and Angie's huge belly kept popping out from her too-tight-too-short shirt. Everyone kept gawking at her. I took it upon myself to shoot back every dirty look 10-fold. Yes, I was slightly embarassed, I admit--but I was more outraged at the ignorance and rudeness of people who looked at her as though she was just a lazy pregnant woman who didn't feel like walking.
Next day was the baby shower at her mom's house. I felt very uncomfortable being the only guy in a house filled w/ women. It was a definite estrogen overdose. Angie got so many beautiful gifts for the baby, I was surprised. I felt weird just handing her a card, even though inside of it was a gift certificate for $150 so she could buy the state-of-the-art 3-in-1 stroller (which was a stroller, a car seat, and a carrier all in one) that she wanted so badly.
When the party was finally over, and the chicks filed out the door, I breathed a sigh of relief. I ended up staying the night at Gail's so we could hang out and catch up. Angie's mom has always been like a second mother to me; she's a very special woman. We stayed up half the night getting stoned and having a heart-to-heart, which again ended up upsetting me. Gail hasn't been in good health for some time. She's had, and is having, a string of surgeries due to several different problems. She confided in me that her bones are deteriorating, her lungs are charred black, and then she hit me with: "I know I don't have a lot of time left. I'll be very lucky if I'm around for another 10 years". Angie, of course, doesn't know how serious her mother's health problems are. And as she was telling me this, my heart was breaking. She suddenly looked so small and so weak as she coughed and hacked and wheezed through every sentence. But even so, she continued to light one cigarette after the next and pack one bowl on top of another.
When she dropped me back off at Angie's in the morning, I knew it might be the last time I'd ever see her, but I kept my cool despite the tears welling up in my eyes, which I blamed on the cold.
For the rest of the week, we didn't do shit. Sat about the house talking, smoking up, watching t.v. James was hot-n-cold. Pleasant one minute, unpleasant the next. In my head, I diagnosed him bipolar because he showed every sign of it. This made it easier for me to tolerate his mood swings, knowing he couldn't really help it. Friends popped in and out day and night which broke the monotany and helped raise my spirits, as by this point I was severely depressed over everything I had seen and heard since stepping off the plane.
Before I knew it, it was Thursday already and I was packing frantically to come back to the mess I call home. I felt sad, confused, uncertain about everything. Only a week before, I was plotting in my head to move out there. Now, a week later, I wasn't so sure.
Walking into my house, any positive energy I may've had left in me immediately drained away. Here I was, back in this shit-hole, back to my shitty job, resuming my shitty existence here, and discouraged knowing that things probably wouldn't be much better had I stayed there in Wisconsin.
I took prescription sleeping tabs on top of over-the-counter sleeping tabs and heavy doses of Nyquil and slept for 18 hours straight, just to numb myself from everything I was feeling that night, and had been feeling all week. I had a string of nightmares and very bizarre, very surreal dreams and woke up feeling sadder than I had when I fell into slumber. I lay in bed chain-smoking all day, staring at my still-packed suitcase, and trying to conjure up a new life-plan which still has not come to me.
The only thing I did decide: next vacation, I'm going to the fucking Bahamas.
.d.