The There and Then

 It's been a month of Lexapro, and I've re-upped for another 3 months.

When I told the doctor what it's like, she told me that people on Lexapro often talk about "zombie" symptoms, and she hit the nail on the head!

I feel a bit of distance from the present, as if instead of a here-and-now, it's a there-and-then. Which is a hard thing to explain, but I'm going to try.

Usually, in overwhelming situations, I feel boxed in, stressed out, and stuck. My temper gets short.

But now, the present feels more distant. Almost like it's a memory happening to me. Which gives me some much-needed freedom, because situations lose their urgency. The drawback is that I'm less inspired in the present, with no motivation to undertake creative things, and I run on routine. What strikes against this drawback is that I fall back on routine, and I am routinely a pretty good person! I keep in touch with my friends, I am kind to people, and I fall into conversation easily (although I'm not great at starting conversation at the moment).

So, where's this going?

Well, I think I'm going to stick with Lexapro at least through this year. It's really really good not having to deal with chest-tightening stress every day. (I still feel it every now and again, when things get REALLY CRAZY.) It feels healthier, like I'm not aging twice as fast, like I'm not headed towards an early heart attack.

And now, the real reason you came: Drama.

I found a golden currant bush growing under my fence last month, and I wanted to see if I could transplant it. It was unhappy with the arrangement, and lost its leaves, but it wasn't dead and crispy.

The other day, Katie was looking at my pot of wildflowers, and saw my sad shrub twig among them. She asked me if she could get rid of it, and I told her not to, that I was hoping it would come back. I told her that she could trim off the sadder branches and leaves.

Five minutes later, I look at the pot, and see that the shrub is completely gone. I ask her if she uprooted it, because I told her not to, and she said that of course she did, it was dead. I asked for it back, and she brought it back. (It was rather sad-looking.) I twisted it to show that it wasn't dead, and cut into it to show green inside. Katie began to realize that I was genuinely upset about this, and put it back into the soil.

Immediately, she asked if I forgave her. I was still hurt, so I told her, "It just happened, give me some time."

The next day, we went up to the mountains to do some panning for gold. I knew that there was going to be some tension, so I had written down my thoughts:

I wanted to take a moment to explain why I'm still upset about the gold currant bush.

When you asked if you could remove it, I told you no. I had transplanted it from the wild and, while it may have just looked like a twig to you, it was meaningful to me. I’d been watching it closely, excited to see if it would take root and grow. I’d even told my friends about it.

What bothered me most wasn’t just that the bush was removed, but that you went ahead and did it after I asked you not to. When I brought it up, you didn’t apologize—at least not at first. Instead, you justified it. That made me feel like what I said didn't matter to you, and I felt unheard and like I had no control. The apology came only after you saw I was upset, and that stung. It felt like you were sorry because I was upset—not because you recognized that what happened was wrong.

I want you to know I will forgive you. I’m just still hurt. I needed you to listen, and you didn’t. I needed you to own it, and you didn’t right away.

I’ll get over it, but I wanted you to understand why it mattered.

When everyone showed up, I knew it was coming, but everything was friendly enough. Then Katie came to me and said, "Do you forgive me for taking out that weed?" Which was a rough start. It felt like she wanted resolution without resolving things. And calling it a weed hurt.

I responded, "I wanted to talk to you about that first."

And here's where everything went downhill. I knew what I wanted to say, and I wanted to say my piece. But I could barely get a sentence out before she interrupted me, saying, "Okay. Okay. But do you forgive me?"

And I continued, "Let me say what I want to say."

She grew agitated, cried, saying, "I'll never touch your stuff again, okay? I thought you were kidding!"

"I don't care about you touching my stuff, that's fine. I'll talk to you when you're willing to listen." Now, here is something to learn about me. If we're fighting, and you shut me down, I will shut down. If you raise your voice, I won't raise mine, I'll just stop, and wait until you're ready.

Katie left.

A few minutes later, I'm in the South Platte River, goofy prospector hat on, panning for gold around my kids, when Jordan comes up, "Let's fucking talk."

Already not a great start. "Okay."

"What the fuck can we do? You want me to buy you five fucking plants? We'll buy you five fucking plants."

"It isn't about that, man."

"Well, Katie is crying. She feels unwelcome. We're thinking about going to a different part of the river."

And maybe I should have just given up. But I stood up for myself. "You need to back off."

"No. Do you want to fight? Would that help? What do you need to forgive her."

At this point, I knew there wasn't going to be a resolution. Jordan was trying to get up in my face. "Give me space."

"No. My wife is crying, and we're figuring this out. What do you need."

I stood up. Looked at him. "Give. Me. Space. I'll talk to her."

Kudos to me for not escalating things to his level. Especially around the kids.

I wish I wasn't upset about it. I wish that the entire thing hadn't meant anything to me. But it did hurt. And I wanted her to know why. She didn't get it. She was apologizing for touching my stuff, when I didn't care about that. She could walk into my house, open up the pantry, snag several cans, and leave without asking, and I wouldn't mind.

What hurt was that I tried to tell her not to, and she did. And when I asked if she had, she justified it.

I already feel distant from the present, like I'm only halfway here. The idea that I couldn't even stop one of my neighbors from doing something really made me upset, because it made me feel not just halfway here, but completely gone.

After Jordan left, I looked for her. But Katie had walked off, where even Jordan didn't know where she was. Eventually, I walked back into Jordan.

I told him that he had made things worse by coming to me around my kids and cursing, but he said that he didn't care. I started to tell him how I was feeling, and he interrupted me, mid-sentence, saying, "Okay. But are you her dad?"

It was hard. He was demonstrating that he didn't understand how I felt. I wasn't being vindictive, or trying to teach someone a lesson. I was hurt. And how dare I feel hurt. I have never been yelled at so much for feeling bad.

When he interrupted me, I looked at him. I said, "If you interrupt me one more time, I will stop. And I will go back to what I was doing, until you are ready to listen."

And so he did listen.

Eventually, he must have reported to Katie that the problem was that she wasn't listening.

Hours later, I found her. I asked her to talk. She mumbled, "Okay what do you want to talk about." She cast her eyes to the ground, hands in front of her, and took on the most penitent position I'd ever seen. It felt disingenuous, but I told her how I felt. After she understood, I told her I forgave her. I hugged her. I told her I was glad she was my neighbor. And I left.

Things are tense here. I'm certain that things will get better, but I don't know when. I have never seen such escalation for feeling bad. How dare I feel bad.

Still in my head is the thought that I really want to talk to Jordan about how I felt towards him cursing around my kids, acting badly around my kids, and about how much worse it made everything when he said "I don't care" when I asked him not to talk like that around my kids.

Resolutions take work. I feel bad that I couldn't just immediately forgive and forget, but I felt bad. I wanted to talk to her to make her understand, not because I'm vindictive and wanted her to feel bad, but because I'm sensitive and wanted to feel heard.