Subscribe to continue reading
Become a paid subscriber to get access to the rest of this post and other exclusive content.
The Goldfish in a Jar
You also might be interested in
"I am head over heels in love with you," Jeff would call to tell me every morning around 6:30 AM, "Oh are you awake?" "I'm awake now," I would tell him, "and I am so in love with you my heart is swollen to the size of a beach ball." It was all part of our morning routine. "Did you take your Lactulose or your morning meds yet?" I would ask him “No, I forgot, I’ll take them right now,” he would tell me. On the other end of the phone, I would hear rustling noises. Jeff was grabbing the lactulose and then opening his mini-fridge where he kept the Coca-Cola. He used Coca-Cola as a chaser for his nasty tasting Lactulose that he hated so much. I could hear gulping noises, then a disgusted noise followed by a desperate chugging of Coca-Cola. After that, I heard the rattling of pills and more swallowing noises.
I have a strange relationship with my dad. He loves me unconditionally but can’t handle the fact that I’m physically ill. Even though I am sick, my dad is very proud of my intelligence. When I was homeschooling, he got me started reading books on mindfulness by Thich Nhat Hanh. Maybe it was his way of telling me that he understood I had to make the most of each moment because my moments on earth were limited, or maybe he was just being a good dad and trying to make sure I had a happy life. Whatever my dad’s motives were for introducing me to mindfulness, I had learned that the only thing that mattered was the present moment. If there was something I was thinking about doing that I knew would make me happy, I had to make sure to do it as soon as possible. My dad and the mindfulness books both always told me not to put anything off.
My mom has been my safety net for my whole life. She just sometimes doesn't hold my safety net in the right places. When I first got sick she didn't know where to hold my safety net because the professionals were all insisting that there was nothing physically wrong with me. They insisted that I had an eating disorder. Because she was holding my safety net in the wrong spot, I fell. Hard. And whacked my head on the floor of an elevator when I passed out after a routine blood test. My dad had to rush me to the ER. At the ER a doctor with a monkey fingerling named Mr. Bananas clinging to his stethoscope examined me.