The Gate Keeper

***edited to state this was originally written mid-June

I had to appeal to the Gate Keeper at my doctor's office today. Don't get me wrong, she is a lovely woman, but she has a job to do, and that is to keep the doc as close to her schedule as possible. She can't buy into every sob story, or nobody would ever get an appointment. 

I get it. 

I have been the Gate Keeper. 

Really, my entire function in life IS Gate Keeper. 

I needed to get relief from the festering cesspool of latent anger surging to the surface of my skin every time I was provoked in the slightest.

Thank Godtopus there isn't anything about my work environment that provokes me! 

Mind you, I have incredibly high tolerance for a work place. 

Seriously, though - the few irritations associated with this job are absolutely nothing. I couldn't have created my own position and had it better suited to me. Right down to the fact that I have very little direction. As frustrating as that can be... it keeps the position highly interesting. I always want to go to work. I'm always solving problems and finding clues and data. Plus I plan parties all the time. I mean really, people - how cool is that? The only sad part is at some point (hopefully this coming April, actually), when we are discharged, I will have to look for something with more money. For now... I'm blissfully happy with work.

But when I am anywhere else, look out, world! The grocery store, pharmacy, my child's graduation (though that was tears, not anger)... and the road. Oh the road. 

My doctor's Gate Keeper is so super sweet, that most people have no idea just how ghetto she really is. I was under no such misconception, and realizing I had to pull some magic sentences out of my keester, I told her the following story:

"I was driving home from work last night and this dumb-ass was turning right, into a parking lot. I slowed down to give her time to finish the turn, cursing the fact that she was holding me up an extra 30 seconds. Bet then, she stops! Half way in, half way out... thus making necessary, a highly abrupt stop on my part.

I didn't even hit her... or get hit... and she wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to me - or anyone else, for that matter ... but I lost it like she insulted my mama! 

I reacted like that crazy asshole that punched my truck that time. Minus getting out of the car and actually punching her vehicle... but you smell what I'm steppin' in here, right?

Then two days before that, I flipped some dumb twit off while in the parking lot of a Super Store. Her infraction? She turned left at the light on a yellow so stale it was red before she entered it. 

...my child was in the car with me. I was so ashamed of myself."

I told the Gate Keeper that I had previously contacted the shrink, from whom I had been discharged recently, (yes, I said it just like that) to ask him his thoughts on the matter and he told me to call my GP and have her start a new prescription. Right away. 

I didn't do that right away - because I wanted to try to ride it out - for some unimaginable reason. We'd determined it is my 'new' manic. Meaning that three times a year, my skin will peel off and my internal organs will be laid bare for the world to flick at will. I guess I just needed to get my head around the right perspective. Why wouldn't I fix it if I could?

My kill shot came when I pointed out the fact that the road rage and uncontrolled temper are not only interfering with my life, but they are dangerous. I'm going to kill someone on the road. 

I'm not even kidding. 

My anger bubbles up like a violent magma eruption. 

It scares the hell out of me - and anyone that witnesses it. 

It's like I lose control. I can't wait two or three weeks to get in. If she can just read the notes and write the script...

Then I was on hold.

When she came back, she asked me if I could be there within the hour - I could. She gave me a brief lecture about how the doctor had to stay on schedule because of blah blah blah... but she had to physically see me before writing that type of prescription. Great, see you in 45 minutes. Thank you so much!

It's been two weeks of the new addition. I've actually lost 6lbs - likely because I stopped eating everything in my path at night. I had been in high consumption mode - not just food, either. 

My husband and I aren't acting like live wires snapping up against each other anymore.

That is a very VERY good thing. I was starting to feel like we weren't going to make the home stretch. An overreaction, for sure... but I have not been in my proper mind for somewhere around seven weeks or so. I was spinning out into the wild west in there. Imagining all manner of ways we were going to separate. 

Like I stated, I was not in my proper mind.

These past few days have had me feeling like my 'normal' manic happy self. I'm pretty energetic. Not stuffing my gob all the time... there isn't a drop of booze in the house right now and I'm not even sucking back the pure vanilla!

Progress, sez I.

I'm also pretty randy, too. Pretty easy to rile in the physical, rather than temperamental way that was so prevalent last month. 

It would be great if we finally had it just right. It was one year ago, this very month that I was in withdrawal so bad, I basically went underground. I spoke to NO ONE for like five or six weeks. I was living in absolute Hell.

From there however, I've been slowly coming back to myself. Rising from the depths. I realized that the feeling I have been experiencing in my chest was hope. I've been wistfully thinking about the future and the things we are going to do. Incidentally, we are going to take a bike license course. Not likely for another year, but that is a thing we are planning. That's pretty cool... though a little pricey.

We've also started talking about finding a piece of land for cheap somewhere not too crazy far away. Preferably on a little lake. Somewhere undeveloped. My one luxury, a composting toilet. Oh, and a propane fridge... and a wood stove I can cook on. Other than that, the structure could be a tar paper shack. Though I feel pretty confident Hubs and I could build something a little better than that. I've already started drawing out rough sketches.

We work very well together... we just need to be able to pull this off before we are too old to do the work associated with both building and maintaining the camp. 

The headline here is not what the dream is, it's the fact that I'm dreaming it. 

I'm dreaming again.

I've spent the better part of the past six years living in such constant fear and humiliation that I haven't dared think about anything past the next time I have to feed people.

This is amazing.

I'm light.

I sing.

Peace Mutha Fukkas!

D