Chapter 1: World Spins Madly On

Mini Memoir

«INTRODUCTION

I woke up and wished that I was dead
With an aching in my head
I lay motionless in bed
The night is here and the day is gone
And the world spins madly on
-The Weepies

It's over. That life from the Before Times. I could hardly tell you what it felt like then though everyone else seems fine. They look the same. They act the same. They're still here in body and spirit. I'm pretty certain we'd agree the same cannot be said for me. We - me and everyone else - are living in two different worlds. Mine takes place mostly in my head while theirs spins on as if nothing has happened.

I watch from my perch, up on the 4th floor of our home, along with the pigeons who sit just outside on the window sill. Bangor’s mascots - me and the pigeons.

The day bed that is my prison and my perch.

I once was Rapunzel, though it was more forced than voluntary. A side effect of quarantine. Hair nearly long enough to reach the happenings on the street down below.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, cut your damn hair!

What would I do if I could reach all that action down there? Talk about spinning madly! Much too much going on out there for me. No, these days I only watch. Partaking is no longer an option. Just the thought of engaging brings a wave of nausea.

So observing from above is my best option and that is what I do. My favorite things to see are the Dogs of Bangor. This also happens to be a coffee table book that I would happily pay very good money to purchase. There’s Snoopy, the name I have temporarily provided him since I’ve yet to have the pleasure of actually making his acquaintance. Snoopy’s a dead ringer for the Little Rascals dog Pete the Pup. He joins his human on the roof next door every day, a roof repair assistant like none other.

Snoopy/Pete the Pup/World’s Best Roof Repair Assistant

And then there’s Ellie Mae. My favorite, bestest girl. I mean, look at that face. What’s not to love! She’s bigger now and her bark packs a punch but I know she’s a lover, even if she’s got some sass. Sass is what will get you through, baby girl. Cling to it and don’t let anyone try to train it out of you. I’ve got your back, and your sass. We sassy gals have got to stick together.

I’ve known Ellie Mae since she was a puppy though I can’t recall if that was in the Before Times or not. Time has no meaning any more.

Ellie Mae being raised right. At the pub. (Thank you to Ellie Mae’s Dad for allowing me to use his photo of Bangor’s most adorable downtown dog!)

Ellie Mae comes to work with her Dad, just like Snoopy, but Ellie’s Dad works in the building on the other side of us. He’s been slinging the best burgers in town and crafting the finest pub menu you’ll see north of Boston for years. His homemade sausages are the bomb and I’ll fight anyone who says the wings are better anywhere else. Lucky for me, they’re all great To Go.

I could enjoy Ellie Mae’s Dad’s grub from the pub’s blissfully music-free outdoor seating (NO SUPERFLUOUS NOISES, PLEASE!), also visible from my perch, but the risk of running into friends and acquaintances in my beloved, friendly small town is too great. (It hurts too much to let the profundity of that sink in - the risk of seeing people I care about is too great.) I’ve no spoons left to give. I thoughtlessly wasted them on showering earlier in the day.

Woke up and wished that I was dead
With an aching in my head
I lay motionless in bed
I thought of you and where you'd gone
And let the world spin madly on
-The Weepies

Some days, I spin along with the world though these aren’t my favorite. I’ve become accustomed to some degree of constant nausea. It’s my white noise. A constant hum - sometimes low, sometimes high, sometimes both, always there - like the pierce of tinnitus. This I’ve learned to tolerate. But this plus vertigo? Not so much.

On the vertigo days my perch is dislodged from its foundation, unmoored. Then we’re lost at sea. Tossed about in rough waters. These are the days I try to leave my body, by any means necessary. Meditation. Medication. Total sensory deprivation. I've tried it all. I’ll do anything. Anything to avoid a body that doesn't want to play host. Why stay where I'm not wanted?

But the act of leaving my body results in disassociating from the world. It's an all or nothing proposition. (Nausea + vertigo + an incredibly limited, simple life) OR (none of it). And by none of it, I mean none of it. You can't tune out just for the shitty parts. Chronic illness is a fire sale; EVERYTHING GOES!

“I thought of you and where you'd gone.” I was thinking of the old me. The one with the body not so easily tossed about. Where had she gone? Someplace more stable, no doubt. The world spins on. I spin on. But never together. Each on our own journeys, mine without purpose and without end.

CHAPTER 2: NOT YOUR YEAR»