The other day I  had a general anesthesia for an upper endoscopy.  When I came to, I had this wonderful sense of freedom, where my drama buffer was gone.  I’m not sure what else to call it.  It’s that thing that keeps me from expressing myself freely.  That thing that takes into account how others might react, sort of like assessing maneuvers in a chess game, where you look ahead several possible combinations of moves to try to decide what might be the most favorable move to make at this moment, based on some sort of judgment of how the other will respond to the move.  (I’m the worst chess companion.  I don’t play the game.  There are just too many possibilities for me to feel comfortable, therefore it’s not much fun for me.)  Anyhow, that’s sort of what the act of expressing my feelings is like.  Maybe a better word for that is simply ‘fear’.  Fear of speaking freely.  But at that moment, all of that was gone.  I felt good.  I felt innocent.  I felt like it was okay to be me.  To just be.

The very first thing I thought, when I came to, was thank you God, I’m still alive.  I made it through the general.  They say there’s always a risk that you won’t return, you know.  I wonder how often that happens, that someone falls into a coma and can’t be brought back.  I think I’ve had it about seven times so far in my life.  I hope I’m not pressing my luck.

My thoughts were spinning quickly.  I felt like I could suddenly understand why people do drugs, if that is the effect they get.  It was nice not to feel the weight of the world.  It was nice to just feel positive, upbeat, fearless, and unrestrained.  It was momentary freedom.  I realized that, with no suppression in place, I am still a nice person.  I was happy to observe that.  Amidst the whirring thoughts, there was one that popped out rather markedly.  “Rock isn’t good for you.”  I recalled the literature advising not to drive, operate heavy machinery, or make critical decisions after anesthesia, and decided to file this little tidbit away for further consideration, when I have some time to process more thoroughly.  Still, part of me wonders, if in my most honest state (unrestrained in my mind), that is the second most thought that surfaced, thankfulness to God for my life being the first, it must be important.  Critical, even.

I wish that I could have taken some time to just drift through the diminishing effects of the sedation, and float gently along, but I had to use mind over matter and force myself to power past it all, and collect my head and get myself going.  It was very frustrating, annoying, and uncomfortable.  One thing after another stacked up, forcing me to focus on the immediate.  In the end, I was an irritable, exhausted mess.  I wanted to cry.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to process all the thoughts and feelings of the day.  Important thoughts and feelings.  So much to work through, and not a moment available.

Back to jail.

My brain again on lock-down.

All tied up.

Hostage.

I want to be free.  I want to find myself again, and release her.  I don’t want to be stuck inside my own head forever.

I suppose I ought to fill in the blanks a bit, regarding the state of my relationship.  Shortly after permission to scream, I had a personal crisis in which my home was burglarized.  It was definitely a low point.  I was out with my kids, and it was late at night when the police contacted me to let me know that a lock box with some of my papers had been turned in.  I didn’t want to go home and expose my kids to who knows what kind of a scene, so decided to stop by his house and ask him to come stay.  He wasn’t home.  Nor did he return messages or calls.  His phone was off.  It was a sinking feeling, really.  The one time that I really needed him, and he wasn’t there for me.  He had told me that he would always be there for me, no matter what.  I had the police meet me at my home, and they made sure everything was fine before I went in with my kids.  The next day, I went about my business, making arrangements to install a new door and lock, placing freezes on my credit with the big three bureaus, calling my insurance office, etc.  He called mid-morning, and I told him what had happened.  He insisted on coming over and helping with the door.  He pretty much bull-dozed back into my life at that point.

I was weary, and we just started talking.  I let my defenses, my walls down.  I asked him about what he’s been doing, who he’s been seeing, etc.  We talked and talked.  He acknowledged that he could see why I broke off our relationship, and that his behavior was the root of it.  I felt like we were actually communicating, and told him that I never stopped loving him, but I just couldn’t be with him.  He said he understood, and that he’d never hurt me again.  He asked me to let him back in.  I was torn.  So exhausted.  So hungry for physical companionship.  So not wanting to try to have a relationship with anybody new.  I let go of my reservations and told him we would have to tread softly, so that we could keep communicating.  We had a blissful week, like a honeymoon, really.  It was lovely.  I had what I thought was an epiphany, that love was a choice.  I wanted to store that thought away and explore it when I had some time.  I wanted to keep that choice alive, keep that fire burning.  But it only lasted a week or so.

Bit by bit, our personalities re-emerged.  It’s very hard to overcome Pavlovian responses.  We speak different languages.  Our words, thoughts, intents are lost in translation.  Once again, I find myself suppressing myself more and more.  We are together, but it is strained.  Once again, it feels as though he wants more of me or from me than I have to give.  He doesn’t feel respected or honored, and neither do I.

He says I hurt him, and I don’t know how that can be.  He hurts me, and he doesn’t see it.  We seem to make each other crazy.  He says that nobody has ever made him as crazy as I do.  Certainly, nobody has ever made me as crazy as he does.  So crazy I could scream crazy.

So we are hobbling along.  If I call it off, he says he will disappear forever and I will never see him again.  That’s not what I want.  If we simply can’t fit as a relationship, I still want a friendship.  Right now, we hardly even have a friendship.  But I don’t want him to disappear.  I know for certain that I don’t want another relationship.  What I want is to find myself.  I’m so locked up that I don’t know who I am anymore.  I can hear her screaming, far away, sobbing, somewhere in my head, let me out, I’m here, I need to be free.  I want to find her.  I want to get to know her.  I want to be her.

Can I do that, and preserve a relationship?  I don’t know.  I’m taking steps.  I’m making life changes for my health.  One step at a time.  One foot in front of the other.  I don’t know what else to do right now.