I had just come out of the hospital and was exhausted. I believed that if the knives were hidden away in the cupboards--instead of out on the kitchen table, waiting to be sorted and carefully stored--that I would not be able to get to them in time to use them. I knew that by the time I moved all the boxes and furniture out of the way to get into the kitchen I would wake up from my dark stupor and remember that knives were not meant for me.
So now I can't find the ice cream scooper. Three years later, and the order of the kitchen is still a mystery to me.
I look in the cupboard, where two of the containers of kitchen utensils sit and do not see the scoop. I check the drawer near the stove. I call out to Justin, he says it is in the drawer on the right. I look where the regular cutlery is.
One more over, just above where I started--ice cream scooper.
We're packing the kitchen up to move to our new apartment in two weeks or so.
I am forbidden to take Welbutrin ever again. I have been on it twice--and now off it for about three weeks. I told Justin the second time around to watch for my memory loss problems with it, but he then said that he did not notice anything especially wrong. Today at dinner he said he could see the difference--that I am definitely better without the medication.
"What was it like to live with me like that?" I asked.
"It was like this: 'You know that thingy, that you drink... you know, it's got bubbles... beer!'
I have to go to that place I go every week, you know, on Tuesdays, with all that stuff, and I do paintings, yeah--my art class.'"
He definitely sees that my brain has returned, even if it is pushing its own pause button occasionally.
I am definitely in a better mood these days than I was the past four months. It feels good to be more stable again--less paralyzed, less careful-not-to-cry, less suspicious. The cool thing is that I can always maintain my composure during photography shoots. I can always model well. When I get into that work zone, I am fully present. It's just when I am around myself alone or in more private or familiar territory that holding it together becomes more optional and more difficult.
I am stronger than people might think.
I am a person who maintains a professional life and a personal life while also managing a disease that lives inside me uninvited. I can balance things with the people who are willing to be there with me.The knives are in the drawers, I know.