Living the Dream

Trigger warnings:

Mental health

An incessant buzzing broke through the fog of my restless sleep. Another day, another dollar, it was time to prepare myself for work. Most people hate going to work for a large corporate company who doesn't value their devotion. That's not how I feel however. My job keeps me under the radar of anyone who might see through my facade of survival. A quick clock-in, 8 hours of mind-numbing paper pushing, then it's time to return to my cave of desolation. Between the two, I do not reserve time for anything else. Grief has become my confidant and only surviving friend in this hailstorm called life. I have been swallowed whole by its presence. 

As recently as 2 years ago, my husband of 15 years decided to leave me. Oh, of course not by decision. He died. The bastard got the easy way out of things and had an aortic aneurysm sitting on our couch. It was like watching paper burn, once the flame caught, it was all over so fast. I barely had an opportunity to say goodbye. The ambulance services watched as I screamed and wretched while his body was removed from my living room. An insurmountable pain and hopelessness consumed me that day and has yet to leave. Therefore, I isolate. 

We shared a fairly moderate size home prior to his death. Like most good things that die early, so did my home. The fireman who investigated the fire stated it appeared my scented plug-in caught flame and laid waste to what was left of my marriage. Now I am condensed into a small, one bedroom apartment with all of the new furniture my insurance deemed affordable. Everything I picked was drab. No longer were my curtains yellow and my couch teal, I let my decorative skill tell my painful tale. I covered the apartment in varying shades of grey. Gone were the days of floral murals. I was reduced to a colorless world. 

Today, like every morning, my coffee pot was  programmed for the very absurd hour of 7:00am. While my single serve was being brewed, I took as minimal a shower as possible. Like swimming through the thick steam of my bathroom, my mind was moving in a slow circle when I heard a disturbance in my bedroom. Who could be calling at this un-Godly hour? 

If my eyes could roll any further into the back of my head, they would of rolled 360 degrees.

“Yes Mother. How may I help you at this Unholy hour?” I snapped.

“Have you ever heard of a traditional, “hello”? It would work wonders for you.” my mother scoffed.

“If you called to lecture me, then let me go. I’m running late for work and you’re obviously in your teaching mode.” I returned with as much condescension as possible. 

“Wait, Lynn. I’m sorry. It truly isn’t my intention to piss you off. I’m only trying to pick at you. Your father and I would like you to come home for a weekend. Spend some time with us. We haven’t seen you in awhile. I think it’d be good for you to get out for a bit.” Mom pleaded. 

“Oh you mean since Derek tragically died in my arms? Is that the bush you’re beating around Mom? Well no thanks. I’m not entirely sure why you OR Dad would care now anyways. Listen, I really am running late for work now. And as you’re well aware, I have to completely support myself here.” Without giving my Mom a chance to respond I hung up. Although guilt snapped at my heels for the way I just spoke to her, I knew she could handle it. The woman wasn’t called the Bulldog of the Bay for no reason. Mom was an award winning attorney in Florida. She was known for her ability to talk others down and get into their “head”. I didn’t have time for her ill reputed technique this morning as for at that moment, I really was running late. 

In a mad dash, I began pouring my coffee when my phone began ringing again. The loud ringing bell gave me enough startle that I spilled coffee down the front of my blouse. Without a second glance at my screen, I answered with an abrupt, “Listen Mom, I’m so freaking sorry I spoke down to you for once in your miserable life but PLEASE leave me alone so I can get to work on time! We can finish this pointless conversation at another time.”

No one spoke, just a hushed whispering. 

“Hello? What the hell?” I began and stopped myself. Looking at the screen, the caller ID read, “Derek”. Without warning, I dropped my travel coffee as violent tremors overtook my body. I slowly raised the phone and asked, “Who is this?”. The whispers abruptly stopped. A woman’s voice said, “Oh, um, sorry. I think the wrong number was dialed.” and without any further pause she hung up. For an unknown amount of time, I stood reeling in my small apartment kitchen. Seeing the love of my life’s name on my caller ID was something I never thought I’d see again. Looking back now, my split decision to call back was probably a little rash. The woman answered again. 

“Um, hello?” She sounded fearful.

“Hi. I don’t really know what I should say here.” I fought to find the words.

“Listen ma’am, I don’t mean to be rude, but could you not call me back? I’m in class.” The mystery woman cut me short.

“Oh, right. Of course. I’m sorry, have a good day.” I responded sheepishly.

The line went dead again. The stark reminder that my husband too, was dead, flushed over me. Gathering my nerve to move, I changed my blouse and ran out the door to start my day.

“Hey Lynn. I like that color on you. I think you should try burgundy more often.” Commented my cubical mate, Sam. 

“Oh, um thanks. I spilled my coffee on myself this morning trying to leave. Unfortunately, I did not have anything else in my vast collection.” I tried to offer a smile.

“Oh, no Luis Vuitton to throw on this morning?” he chuckled.

“Nope. Just the Target special.” I threw back.

“So Lynn, a few of us are going out next weekend. We’d like it if you joined. Dinner and some drinks? I’ll even buy yours if you’d let me.” Sam offered without looking.

I immediately found myself shrinking inward.

“Ah, thank you. I’m supposed to be staying with my parents that weekend. They’re going to fly me home to Florida.” I easily lied.

“Fair enough, let us know if things change.” he said. 

“Sure will.” I gave Sam the most reassuring smile available. 

I took that time to go to the restroom and find space to breathe.

Breathe you idiot, he isn’t asking you on a date. He just is being nice to you because he sees how much of a miserable twat you are. 

My internal monologue knew just how to build a girl up. 

After the rest of an uneventful day at work, I pretended to be busy as everyone left for the evening. Once I heard the last cubicle on my row empty out, I gathered my ruddy brown purse and sweater to head out on my desolate path home. Giving a quick wave bye to the janitor, I fled to the nearest stairwell that headed down to the parking garage. Once inside the door, I threw my back to the door and gave myself a chance to close my eyes and let out a heavy breath. That’s when I heard one floor down, the door open and close. My eyes were springing open in a panic. Peering over the edge, I almost fell straight down 6 flights. A man as close to Derek’s description as possible, made his way down the next flight of stairs. Tall, tawny-brown hair, not too big, not too small, and dark rimmed glasses. The door next to me flew open, eliciting a shout from me. 

“Whoa, Lynn. What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you alright?”  Sam approached with his hands held out.

“What the hell are you doing here, Sam?” I blustered.

“Um, I forgot my favorite water bottle but I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m on my way.” He immediately began to flush red.

Ashamed I tried to apologize, “Look, I’m sorry. You scared me, I thought I saw someone.”

Sam immediately bristled into the protector he was destined to be. “Is it anyone we should worry about? Can I walk you to your car?”

“Oh, well I guess that would be fine.” I tried to assuage my own guilt.

Sam walked me down the continuing flights of stairs in silence until we made it to the parking garage where I gave him a thankful farewell. 

“Wait, Sam, did you hear anyone leave the stairwell before us?” I quickly remembered.

“Come to think of it, no. That’s weird.” he responded. 

Before he could ask anymore questions, I opened my car and shut my door. Waving bye, I backed out of my spot and left the parking garage. Once home, I checked my phone. Nothing too far out of normalcy. The expected texts from Dad saying Mom was bawling her eyes out and my need to apologize. A problem to be handled another day. After scrolling through my missed messages I also confirmed my appointment with the newest “boss of the hour” for tomorrow. Although it probably equated to my most uncomfortable time of day, evenings were always my favorite. Not the biggest fan of television, I would begin playing music from my bluetooth speaker then lay in bed writing in my journal. Per the behest of my doctor, she seemed to think journaling after Derek’s death would “lessen the blows” so to say. Not that I would admit this to her but maybe it has helped me center myself a bit more. Her other suggestions were to get a pet, join a support group, take prescription meds, and get as much exercise as I could tolerate. Needless to say, journaling was the only thing that I attempted. I began my daily log to try and negate all of today’s feelings.

“Dear Journal, 

Today I feel like I’ve been submerged in a world full of Derek. I feel like it’s all coincidences but my phone rang with his name on my screen. Then I swore I saw him in the stairwell at work. I can’t be losing my mind this easily…can I?”

A sudden pounding began on my apartment door. Reaching for my phone, the time said 10:45pm. What in the literal hell could anyone knock on my door at this hour for? Ever so slowly, I creeped to the door and peered out into the hallway. With a sigh of relief, I recognized my neighbor Bree. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I swung the door open.

“Hey Lynn, I don’t mean to be this person but could you please turn it down a bit? It’s pretty loud in my room and I’m trying to sleep.”

“Yeah, no problem. I am really sorry Bree. I was writing in my journal and didn’t even recognize how loud it had gotten.” I apologized.

“Oh the doc has you writing in that stupid shit too, huh?” Bree asked.

Perplexed, I shook my head yes. How the hell would she know your business?

“Well anyways. I need to get my ass in bed too. Goodnight Bree. Sorry again.” I offered. 

Bree waved me off and headed to her apartment next door. Closing the door, I decided it was time I headed to bed as well. 

Part of my nightly ritual was to wash my face and put moisturizer on. As a teenager with horrific acne, the death of my husband wasn’t enough to stop that formed habit. Oftentimes, I would become lost in the thoughts of how strange it was that I never lost that after so much has changed. So many days, I lost the will to eat, live, pay bills, or even survive. Old habits die hard I guess. 

Bent over the sink, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The deep, dark bags spoke of the untold terrors which have haunted me for 2 years. My long chestnut brown hair was a reminder of the time since I’ve had it cut. Sweeping my hair up in a messy bun, I bent down to wet my face. Rising up into the reflective surface of the mirror, I felt a presence staring back behind me. A familiar set of blue eyes and tawny brown hair stood behind me. In a flash, I turned to grasp my husband, only to find empty air. The disappointment I felt was palpable. A new sensation took over, physical illness. Leaning over, I turned to vomit into the toilet, emptying the contents of my stomach in several heaves. Derek was gone, I knew that. I watched him die on our couch. Shuffling back to my bed, I turned the lights off and tried to sleep knowing I would have none. 

The next day began unremarkably. No more bizarre phone calls or shadows of my dead husband. My team was asked to meet for our weekly in-service and “check-in”. Our old boss has always been kind enough to see how we are doing once a week. I suppose to those who need it, it would be a beneficial tool. Terri began her usual speech and went around the table. Shortly before it was my turn, the receptionist came to the door and asked for me. The time had come to meet my newest leader. 

Similarly to the muscle memory I require to wash my face nightly, an unsettling feeling overcame me that I recognized the woman standing before me. Following her to her nicely decorated office, she gestured for me to take up residence across from her desk. 

“Hi Lynn, it's good to see you again. How are you feeling?” The mysterious woman asked. 

“Have we met before?” I hesitated. 

“Lynn, we’ve discussed this often. I am your doctor. Dr. Leona.” She stated matter of factly. 

“Is this a joke? Did Sam put you up to this? Are they that desperate to rally a response in me?” I laughed sardonically. I was becoming irritable. 

Dr. Leona bristled at my attitude but calmly continued, “I’m going to take a moment to reorient you. Please be aware that if you lose control again this time, I will order injections to help calm you. Okay, let’s begin where it all started. 2 years ago, you had your first psychotic break where you effectively stabbed your husband to death then burned your own home down. Once authorities found you, they had you committed and the law found you criminally insane. You have lived with us here at the state ward since then. Your two closest friends here are Sam and Bree however, you have continued to shut everyone else out. Together you and I have tried to work out a medication regimen. You are consistently resistant to care and oftentimes cannot remember our visits. We only want you to find freedom from your mind, I assure you nothing else.”