Mean Reds, and giving the cat a name

Today has been one of those days.

Trey is on day two of a 48 hour shift between his two jobs. The coffee pot won't brew coffee fast enough. There's nothing decent to watch on cable other than the PBS Kids that we watch every morning. There are chores to be done - too many chores. The child refuses to eat anything but cookies, and hasn't shut her mouth since her eyes opened. The hot water in the kitchen sink is a mere trickle. My phone has acted like it could explode at any moment. Since I opened my eyes this morning, all it has done is ring, beep, and buzz. Phone calls, texts, Facebook messages..... Today is one of those days where it seems like the whole world is interested in what I'm doing. 

And it always feels like those are the days that I just want to be left alone.

I feel tense. My chest feels tight, breathing is labored. It feels like I'm naked backed into a corner, but really I'm on my couch in my pajamas. Roni is singing upstairs. She rushed down to smother me in questions. I can't keep up with her. Before I get to answer, she has asked her question 20 times, and has moved on to another question I probably can't answer. No matter where I move myself to in the house, today Roni is my shadow. There is no sense of privacy. No chance to gather my thoughts and find that zen place all mothers need to have. Days like today, I don't feel like a very good mother. These days are the Mean Reds.

Have you ever watched a movie, and felt somehow, in some way, that that movie is about your life? That movie for me is Breakfast at Tiffany's. Holly Golightly is so radically different from me, yet somehow, she IS me. I can't begin to fully explain that feeling. Perhaps it's only understandable if you've experienced it. I highly recommend the movie, even to friends I know would never seek it out on their own. It's almost my way of being around someone without needing to be around. 

As of right now, Breakfast at Tiffany's is available to instantly stream on Netflix, in case you were curious.

I remember that first time watching the movie.... Honestly, I wasn't looking for it. I hadn't even heard of it, or the book it was based on. It came on television late one night, while I was still living at home. I was flipping through channels because as usual, I couldn't sleep. My high anxiety means many bouts of insomnia, sleepless nights strung together as though they are one and the same. And as I was searching, there she was. Holly Golightly: Queen of the Wild Things, The No Name Slobs. The movie was already a good bit in. But I was drawn in like a moth to a flame. Audrey Hepburn possessed that quality like no other woman ever has or ever will. You wanted to know everything about her. I immediately cared about everything she had to say, because for whatever reason, it really felt like she was talking to me. Her character felt so real. She was relatable to some basic, core part of me, that was so deep inside I wasn't even aware she existed. She spoke to that "scared that she's angry, angry that she's scared" girl, and I listened with all of my soul.

"It's better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes and things disappear."

Much like Holly, the main character, I come from a tiny little town where EVERYONE knows your name. And everyone has an opinion about the person attached to it. I also fled from that misery like Holly did. Only, Holly was able to stick it out, and create a new persona for herself, and eventually thrive. Even if she did it in questionable ways, she got it done, which is more than I can say for myself. I am who I always have been, though I like to think the years have softened my edges and hardened my resolve. 

But at my core... That girl with the Mean Reds is struggling to pop out, every day. More days than I'm proud of, she succeeds. That's what my anxiety boils down to, those Mean Reds.

How do you even go about fixing that? I tried therapy, years ago. All they wanted to do was shove pills down my throat and blame my childhood. Of course I had issues with my childhood, doesn't everyone? But I had a really good life compared to many others, and they don't live in a constant state of worry and fear. We were poor, but I never went without. My parents didn't stay married, but I never lacked for love. 

No, I don't think my childhood is to blame. I think I just ended up in the wrong doctor's hands. Because, I quit therapy cold turkey, along with the medicine they were convinced I needed. And for many years, I managed okay. Not everyone can do that, and believe me when I say that while I do feel that was my best move, I certainly don't recommend it for anyone. It has taken me a lot of soul searching to become the person I am today, to be the person that Trey fell in love with, to be the mother that I have to be. 

Yet daily, I feel like I fail. Because, something still isn't quite right. I need to be in therapy again. Perhaps even medicated. I know there is a better quality of life for me out there. There has to be a way that I can thrive again, instead of feeling defeated.

Days like today happen, and it feels like a wrench gets thrown in my wheels.

I just want to cry. And laugh. And scream. And whisper. And run. And sit still. And be surrounded by people. And be totally alone.

I become a walking ball of contradiction, and all it does is heighten my anxiety and make me feel like I'm not even a human anymore. It makes me want to run. As far and fast as my legs will take me.

Well, when I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany's. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that'd make me feel like Tiffany's, then - then I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name! 

It makes me want to angrily snap at my child. It makes me want to hide in my spot, crisscross applesauce and fully dressed in the empty bathtub. It makes silly things seem like such a huge deal. Mountains out of molehills, and that's not even the worst part. The worst part is I know they're only mole hills. I know it. But they still loom around me like mountains, and I have trouble finding the strength to climb over them or get around.

So I do the only thing I can do, when I get hit so hard with the Mean Reds.

I pop in my copy of Breakfast at Tiffany's.

I let Audrey Hepburn tell my heart's story for me; sometimes in glorious Technicolor, sometimes in black and white on a silver screen.

I sob my brains out as I sing along to Moon River. I sob even more violently for that poor nameless slob of a cat.

And for a little while, my life fades away from red. It doesn't feel all that mean anymore, either.

I'm still deciding if I need to be more like Miss Golightly, or if I need to learn from her mistakes. Maybe I just need a stern talking to from Paul Varjak.

 "You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness." You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself." 

Now that I'm older, I feel like maybe, just maybe, I've found my Tiffany's. I've found that place where the world seems right, even if it doesn't feel super right every day. I've even found my own Paul Varjak. Someone who loves this wild thing, and doesn't want to shove her in a cage.

Why, I've even bought some furniture, and given the cat a name.

"Anyone who ever gave you confidence, you owe them a lot."