Too much

I spent my day at home yesterday (as I will today), dealing with histograms, wondering when this mood is going to break. Not today is apparently the answer, and spending time alone – while irresistible of late – clearly isn’t going to cut it any longer. The problem is that being with people makes me worse. I seriously almost got up and left church. Church! Where I should be peaceful and loving!

There was a little boy sitting in front of me, just as a note. I was vaguely concerned that I wasn’t happier for him as it was announced that he had a new baby sister. His father smiled and waved – he looked sleepy, and all I thought was that I wished I were sleeping at that very moment. But I scolded myself and worked up a tight smile as he looked around at the meager gathering of people, nodding in thanks for our congratulations.

But then as the little boy played with cars on the wooden pews, I got slightly annoyed. I don’t have a problem focusing past noise though, so I told myself not to be bothered overly much. Then he lay down and started kicking his feet – not a tantrum, just kicking. Thump, thump, thump, thump. I found my mild frown deepening to a scowl. Why didn’t he go to children’s church after children’s time? Why was he allowed to talk, count, make car noises, when I was trying to listen to how to welcome the Holy Spirit?! For God’s sake! It didn’t escape me that my attitude was inappropriate for worship, which is why I so wanted to leave. I stuck it out though - sick with a headache by the time I impatiently waited to thank Pastor for the "lovely service" and headed back home.

I’m nearly non-functional, to be shamefully honest. I’m terribly worried about this talk I have to give shortly, and have basically shut down. I don’t want to talk or listen or do much of anything except watch television. Even reading books is beyond me in some moments. But I remain productive, though I’ve abandoned hope of returning to the office for another day or two. I comfort myself with work on my laptop, remaining safely in pajamas and distracted by ER, Judging Amy and Law & Order (bless you, TNT, for your daytime television offerings). And on Sunday afternoon, I decided I might have a real problem. One that requires some sort of action so that I don’t – in times of stress that become unmanageable in my mind – withdraw as completely as possible.

This is not as bad as I get, actually. I know this because I have not started to eat until I’m sick – I used to do that. I also have been faithfully walking the dog each morning, though I don’t use the time to think as was my habit. No, now I use Liir as a distraction, following his adventures and hoping for the best as I wander the neighborhood. This morning, we saw lots of children outside in the mild weather. The heat seems to have mellowed a bit so I’m able to walk for longer without becoming uncomfortably moist. I watched people younger than I am – running after younger siblings, weeding flower beds, mowing lawns, cleaning boats and cars.

I saw a sister with her younger brother as they prepared to wash a small red coupe. I smiled – remembering vividly doing chores with Brother in the warm weather up north. We argued often though, I thought, shaking my head over memories of our screaming matches – both of us stubborn and passionate over any little disagreement. These siblings seemed more suited to each other, I thought. She held the bucket still and told him to fill it with the hose, laughing easily when he got wet from the water spraying back from the bucket. I smiled, almost past them, but he flipped out.

I stopped, surprised, moving one of the headphones off one ear, and watched him throw a fit about how she knew this would happen and how dare she laugh at him and he was telling Mom! She picked up the hose and squirted him, telling him to calm down and wash the car. Then she started to fill the bucket before he savagely tugged the hose away. Still in good spirits, she scampered across the yard, laughing as she evaded the water, and I smiled and continued on, turning to watch him throw the hose on the driveway, kicking the bucket a respectable distance, and throwing his arms in frustrated indignity as he walked through the garage and into the house.

He overreacted a bit, I thought, smiling when I thought of how I was dealing with a minor stressful event. A response that is nothing but out of proportion to the magnitude of the problem, right? Snapping at anyone who happens to be around, refusing to speak to anyone who dares to ask if I couldn’t perhaps try a little harder to be functional. Gasping with indignation over any sort of teasing to draw me of out what is clearly a very difficult time. So I’ve stormed into my house, pathetically waiting for someone to try to cheer me up so I can shoot them down. Biding time until I can give this talk and lose my excuse for being a recluse. Working a bit, thinking as little as possible.

In the times I do think, I've decided that another try at therapy is in order. It may not help - and I very well might quit again - but though these episodes seem to come less frequently, they're still painful. So I will attempt to make some progress in dealing with myself, and perhaps the post-doc years can become the time when I learned to deal with my moods more effectively. I hope.