(Yesterday I had to leave my son behind and go into the city. It's something I never get to do, and below is my freak out text that I typed into my phone for you all to read. Please excuse any errors you might find. In order to keep you in the moment and feel what I was experiencing I didn't edit a word. I just hope you still like me after this.)
Just when I think I've conquered it, it pulls me back in. But why? I've been on Xantax for four months now, you know for the Post Partum thing, but I haven't popped a pill in 3 weeks-the last episode was for a family function that I knew I was going to have fun at-go figure. So it strikes me as odd that I'm sitting on the train on the way to the city and I'm panicing.
I love the city. I need the city. I've missed the city.
Before Nugget came I was here once a week, including right up until the week I went into labor. The city is my other lover. It fuels me and feeds my desire for me. I can still remember the first time my mom brought me here. The lights, the vendors, the chaos and of course the smell of roasting nuts because it was Christmas time, sent a ripple through my blood that made my heart leap. That night, as we drove away on the bus, I strained my neck until I could no longer see the beautiful skyline that lit up my window pane. I waited with strong anticipation for our annual NYC trip every year, and every year I fell in love a little more.
I got the courage to pack my bags and tackle the city on my own when I was 21. Filled with vigour and determination I auditioned for the Lee Strasburg Theater Institue and was accepted. I moved into the Women's Only residence in Gramercy Park, hey for a chick who moved to Manhattan without a lot of money and knew no one it wasn't that bad. I got a job at the Friend of a Farmer restuarant down the block as a coffee/pie girl. I loved it. I made my friends and future roomates there, see I didn't stay in the Salvation Army hotel for long, and managed to survive on what I made-and all the coffee and cookies I wanted. It was here, in NYC and at F.O.T.F that I realized my calling-something I had surpressed after being repromanded in my Catholic grade school for what they considered twisted and even called my parents in to ask them if everything was okay at our home-I didn't want to be the one on stage reciting lines to the audience. I wanted to be the one who wrote the lines that brought the audience to tears or left them in fits of laughter. I wanted to be the writer.
Ten years later and here I am, going back into the city for a day as a writer, working on a play that should be Off Broadway this time next year-it's called Just Water and it's a musical about working in a restaurant that's sure to crack you up-Plug Plug. Yet I'm freaking out. My stomach is so twisted that I'm sure I'm about to have massive diarhea all over the place, or vomit, or pee my pants. I'm sitting next to the bathroom, but that doesn't appease my anxiety or my senses. I'm still afraid I'm going to loose control.
Oh God! Someone just sat down next to me, trapping me by the window. His long legs block any chance of a quick escape and I just heard someone go into the bathroom. Oh God! I really think this is it. I'm crossing my legs as tight as I can, yet I know I'm going to pee my pants. Oh someone please stop the train from rocking! I'm not going to make it.
Wait did our train just stop? Why did it just stop? Are we stuck, am I trapped, oh God. Wait-we're here!!! The train's in Penn Station and I didn't even realize.
Ah, it feels good to be back in the city-to be and feel myself once again. The girl who nine months ago wouldn't have been able to disect what it felt like to have anxiety even if you explained it.
Man why is the long legged guy who decided to block me in not getting up yet? MOVE! I want to scream-LET ME OUT!
Did I mention I'm texting this all into my phone in case I don't survive. In case the long legged guy next to me sucks in all the air through his loud breathing nostrils. GET UP!
Ah, I'm out and still texting through the crowd-someone just cursed at me because I bumped into them and I yelled right back. That felt good. A little to good maybe, the guys face dropped and people all turned to stare at me. Well F them. I'm stressed and I don't care if I look crazy. This is a long stretch from how my baby home life would see me, I think, as I wait in the ridicoulous line of a bathroom. Don't these people know I have to Pee!
Oh crap, I just realized, I have to get on the 1 train and go all the way to 103rd Street, which will be crowded and won't have any bathrooms! What if I get diahrea, what if I die? What if someone steals this phone and I can't get this message through? Oh god! Wait, breathe, think, where's the girl who jumped into the back of a van in the back of an alley to get a stolen Louis Vetton bag-I must say it was premium, without a second thought?
Oh yeah she had a baby, got Post Partum and became to fearful to leave the house.
But what am I saying, that I'm going to turn around and go home without a fight? Hell no, I'm just promising myself to be on the 9 o'clock train by the latest. I don't need my anxiety about being sleep deprived to add on top of this. Trust me, you don't even want to go There!
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