MENTAL HEALTH

My Eyes See Dead People, Semicolons, and Coach Tony; I’m Teetering on The Brink

Send help, wine, or a cool mill

Hi Medium World — it’s been a minute.

I’m clutching at straws to maintain my sanity.

I bit off more than I could chew when I picked up stakes in Florida to care for my ailing mother in New Jersey.

Tending to my mom for the past 6 months is trying, but being stuck in New Jersey is torturous salt in the wounds.

Where are the palm trees?

Prevailing weather conditions consist of cold, grey, rain, wind, and flurries. Winter is my kryptonite and yes, grey counts as the weather here.

I am unwell.

Even as the temps warm, there is no fresh air to find your center. The air quality in New Jersey is comparatively poor to Florida and I imagine to any State.

From factories, nuclear plants, and wildfire smoke, clean air hasn’t had a chance.

It gave up trying years ago upon the first constructed refinery.

I like fresh air. A lot. It keeps me sane. Cracks appear.

Adding insult to injury, I am sick of my voice — caught in a loop with no escape.

My mother is hard of hearing, so my time with her is filled with mandatory repeating. My grandson is 5, so, same same.

See?

Everything I utter will echo at least twice, usually more.

My grandson’s Asperger’s characteristics guarantee days of repeating. “When are we going home?” August. “When are we going home?” August.

“When are we going home?” August.

After giving him the full details several times, I ran out of words and any love of talking.

I like a one-time explanation. It keeps me sane. Cracks widen.

Confirmations that insanity is gaining traction appear daily.

I See Dead People

Until I have an actual conversation with one, I am not worried.

The first deceased person I saw was driving. I caught his profile at a red light and it startled me.

My heart skipped a beat and my mind traveled to fond memories once I realized he had not risen from the grave.

Two more incidents occurred similarly. One man who was flat-out walking had been gone for the better part of 20 years.

My brain is vulnerable and logical thoughts are stuck on preheating.

For a few breathtaking moments, I anxiously wait for these doppelgangers to return a look of recognition.

That hasn’t happened yet.

My people are gone, and I know that.

They all offered me moments to reflect on warm and happy days — for hours. A sign I crave connections, perhaps.

I ruminate on the past joys, ghosts from my earlier and carefree years, that serve to distract me from my current responsibilities, semicolons, and Coach Tony.

I like connections. They keep me sane. Cracks appear.

This leads to my next sanity buster.

I See Semicolons

I love them.

I seem to keep no company on that thought. I read many stories from Medium writers bashing their existence. “Never use them.”

“If you absolutely must, one per 5 trillion words, in a locust swarm, on the 5th Thursday of the month, may be acceptable. But, probably not. Steer clear of the semicolon.”

As a result, I now obsess and see them when I speak.

I rarely lack another closely-related follow-up statement. Qualifiers deserve semicolons.

As I add additional meat to my sentence sandwich, a semicolon pirouettes in my brain; fairy-like and lithe ballerina punctuation makes me happy.

Visions of them pop into my mind as I’m speaking — I need to break up my run-on sentences.

I am from Jersey, after all. It happens.

In the big picture of life, love, and happiness, are you going to die on the hill of semicolons?

I like semicolons. They keep me sane. Cracks appear.

I See Coach Tony

Tell me I’m wrong.

Okay, I assume with a degree of certainty that I am not seeing the real Coach Tony, Medium’s CEO, on this Facebook Ad, each and every day, but… tell me you don’t see him.

He taunts my peripheral vision and I answer his call every time.

My inability to devote time to writing on Medium comes with guilt; I am riddled with misgivings and a sense of doom.

Tony signals me through Facebook.

I can’t tell if the Coach is simply reminding me that Medium isn’t going anywhere or if his eyes are relaying, “Get it together, girl! Forget quality content at this point, and show up. Write, mofo.”

He’s slick like that.

Kay. Kay. Sorry. Can you stop stalking me and invading my thoughts?

I See No Fear

I will cling to sanity until my fingers fall off, or I think they do. Or maybe if my eyes see them as skeletal digits.

I will leave my mom’s home where the decor is plentiful and none of it child friendly.

Each day, the light shines a bit brighter at the end of the tunnel — illuminating Tony’s face. Medium calls. My life beckons.

I will return.

I think I told you already, but just in case, I can repeat it. That’s what I do these days.

“When are we going home?” August. “When are we going home?” August.

“When are we going home?” August.

I will pop in when I can. I look forward to seeing you in September — with regularity.

We have to get to Florida, in August of course, for Ian to start kindergarten.

I’m sure that will keep me sane. Right? Right.

If you haven’t seen the backstories regarding my rushed departure from Florida to get to New Jersey and how my 2-week trip turned into ultimately 9 months, you can follow along here:

Not yet a Medium member? Consider joining to read thousands of stories without limitations.

Newsbreak | Quora | Substack | Amazon Kindle Vella Anthologies:

Nonfiction Inspirational | Thrills and Chills Fiction | Mental Health