Hidden Faces

Who will you be today, darling?

We are all comprised of a hundred different people, right? 
Fine, okay. You may be scoffing, thinking (or saying out loud, if you're a little bit crazy...but hey, the crazy are welcome here!) "Psh. I'm me. That's it. If people don't like it, tough shit!" But I would still argue that you're at least slightly different with family, friends (maybe even multiple friend groups), significant other, coworkers, boss, church people (if you go), etc, etc, etc. Still don't agree? Well okay. You win.

Two of my most successful masks are strength and confidence. Every once in a while, though, they become frail and threadbare and the tiny, insignificant, unsure me pokes through. I really hate those once in a whiles. 

A great example is from my autoimmune diagnosis. I remember my mom telling me so many times how proud she was that I was taking things so well and staying strong. But I never, even a little bit, felt strong. I did it because I had to. What I remember is being so angry and frustrated, feeling like my body was failing and betraying me, trying so hard to hang on to a shred of my dignity and independence. I remember feeling like a laughingstock trying to be normal, and crying every night because that's when I could break down. Only after that do I remember the immense support I had, I think partly because I wouldn't, or couldn't, really let anyone be there for me. It's a wonderful and terrible thing that I will take on anyone's burden and help as much as I can, but it's very, very hard for me to actually let someone help take mine. To be fair, a good part (probably most) of that is my fault. 

So, today. 

I told y'all, glossed over a bit maybe, that I got a job. I'll be working at the docks with tourism stuff, but they also asked about me doing a bit of driving. This required DOT compliance so I had to go through a lot of steps. Drug test, tons of paperwork, tedious, ridiculously boring training videos made in the 80s, and a physical. And, have I mentioned that I worry about EVERYTHING? 
We finished training today and the last bit I had to do was the physical. So, even though I was tired and almost reached my limit of people (it's low), I figured I'd just get it over with. 

Of course it starts out with lots of paperwork that already makes you feel a little like you're undressing. Is that weird? I just thought of it. Having to reveal medical stuff, personal stuff, to people you're meeting for the first time makes me feel kind of naked. 
The nurse that came in was really friendly and made me very comfortable. Of course you have to go through blood pressure, pulse, sight, hearing,   ...and probably some other stuff that I don't remember. If you're me, it's stressful! 
One thing about faking courage is that I feel like I'm being judged every single second. About anything and everything. ANYTHING and EVERYTHING. And let me tell you, it is not fun. (I shouldn't have to tell you that. It should be obvious. Get your head in the game!)
So even these little tests, that I have absolutely, biologically, no question, couldn't change if my life depended on it, no control over, I felt very self conscious about. 
Oh. Let's get all psychological and go back to guessing it's because I already felt "naked." Go away, Freud. Nobody wants you here!

Okey dokey. The last thing I had to do was a urine test and then I thought I was in the clear. Buuut the nurse said the doctor would be in. Blerg. 
The doctor came in and went through the paperwork and asked about the medications I was taking. Then he got a little quiet. Silent. He went through some more stuff and did respiratory/ear/reflex testing. Back to the computer. 

Did you guys go through narcolepsy with me? Let's summarize. 
I was being treated for depression and it didn't seem to be working. My doctor thought I needed counseling (which I'd tried and hadn't really worked) and that was really the only time I challenged her. I got frustrated and said that I was just tired all the time, which led to a sleep study, which led to the narcolepsy diagnosis. It was a blessing.

Oooh. I'm sorry. That was a horrible transition. I mean...there wasn't a transition. Buuut, here we are now. Back to the DOT physical. 

The doctor told me he was looking up narcolepsy with the regulations. It didn't sound spectacular. It wasn't. 
After many, many excruciatingly long minutes of staring at the floor and walls, he told me he couldn't sign off. Narcolepsy was an automatic disqualifier. He told me if I could find any other information or regulation that gave additional information he was open to it, but what he was seeing was pretty cut and dry. 

Did I say I felt naked? Take that and rip the skin off. It was embarrassing. My body was failing me again.  
Leaving the office, the only thing I wanted was to curl up with Soldier. I feel so safe and comfortable and loved when he wraps his arms around me. But, I figured it was best to treat the situation like a band-aid and head back to work. 

Narcolepsy, a lot of the time, is something people laugh at. They imagine someone standing, talking, acting completely normal and out of nowhere keeling over and falling asleep. Of course it sounds funny. It sounds like a black and white slapstick comedy. 

In reality, I was having to go back and tell someone higher up than me, at a brand new job, who I'd had 10 minutes worth of conversation with, about a medical condition that people laugh at. Buh-bye Super-Laura mask. 
Thankfully, he was really cool and professional about it and it didn't turn out nearly as devastating as I'd expected. 

I was exhausted and raw and needed to kind of wallow in our little happy place before I relived my shame with Soldier. But our happy place was kind of a mess. And the happy place was no longer calming. Yeah, I know I'm a *bit* anal, and Soldier doesn't worry as much about keeping things neat and tidy. I'm really trying to relax about it, but some of it is completely beyond me. 
Anyway, when he got home, he asked what happened with my day. I started telling him, and then he was wandering around the apartment doing...well I don't know. And he said he was listening but then there was water running and he was in another room and..meh. He came back and was acting like normal and then the covers were over his head and then he was asleep. And still "napping," 4 hours later.
Okay, in his defense, well, really there are two points. 
1. I didn't tell him that I actually needed him. Back to autoimmune, I remember going to the surgeon the 2nd time and him telling me things were doable, and (frustrated) me saying that I couldn't walk. The surgeon was surprised; I'd assumed he noticed the crutches and hobbling and nuances on my part. I don't think Soldier saw today as that big of a deal. Although, on the flip side, maybe to him I'm super needy and emotional. 
2. Romance was never a big part of the package with him. I appreciate how practical he is, but if I'm expecting him to pick up on and understand my feelings, it's probably not going to happen. He's just not wired that way...but since I'm not wired to be super outgoing and forthcoming, it's not the easiest. Both ways. 

I did some crosswords. I drew a bath (do people still say that? It seem so posh...but super outdated).  I made a drink. I listened to some music. And, finally, all the built up crap hit me. I miss home. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss doing things. I miss traveling. I miss feeling independent. But the worst part is when you can't rely upon yourself. 
Let's assume you believe everyone has a soul. When your "vessel," your body, doesn't hit your expectations, it's...well, kind of crushing. Don't get me started on having that feeling when everybody else thinks you're so "perfect." That's a post for another day. Eh, or never. 

I'm not great at not being great. I'm sure that's my own fault. 
It's a conundrum, though, dealing with all the masks and who you are in that tiny soul and who you think you are and who you want to be and all the in-between. Uuugh, how existential. Have I mentioned that I hate existentialism? 

I think that's enough of this emo post. You all know I try to keep all the feels locked up in a cage and it's just gross when they escape. 

Sooo...puppies? Rainbows? Children's laughter? Those are good things, and things are (mostly) good. So...good.