By the Salad Dressings

[thesarahscope]

There are times when I have lost it in the mirage of day to day contentment, and I can almost believe that I’m healed.  There are days when I dance in the mornings, and I make up songs to sing to my husband.  He pronounces, “Somebody’s having a good day,” and I shake my head wildly in denial for the hell of it.  There are hours that belong to me, and I can focus enough to read a book in a day without my lithium making it hard to concentrate.  There are minutes when my eyeliner goes on thin and smooth, and my hands don’t shake, a side effect of the drugs.  There are days, hours, and moments when my mind, when my life belong to me.  In those moments, I wonder if I’m really mentally ill, or if it was all a dream.  

I slopped my sandaled summer feet down an aisle in the grocery last night when I ran into her. By my reaction, you would have thought a knife wielding woman rounded the corner. I jumped back and forced out a courtesy greeting.  It was someone I worked with from my old job, an advisor of one of the groups I had worked with often.  She asked me how I was doing, and I started to try to lie, and man, was it heavy.  It felt like I was suddenly in the heat of day, dragging a suitcase behind me.  I felt like it did for all those days that job sucked my soul, and I grinned on command, laughed like I belonged there, was all cheer while internally I screamed and fought and tried not to drown.  I couldn’t lie anymore.  I told her the truth--that it wasn’t a fit for me, that I didn’t agree with the direction they were going, and I hadn’t in some time, and that I had been diagnosed with a mental illness and had a nervous breakdown several months after that.  I told her I missed the students, but I didn’t miss the university or the administration.  I told her my life was pretty much a wreck at present, and I’d recently been diagnosed with a personality disorder in addition to my mental illness. I tried to tell her I was happy, and things were fine but I couldn’t get the words to out.  I had lied for so long to protect myself, and now, I couldn’t even pass one over in a five minute grocery store conversation.  

She interrupted me, and told me that they had all missed me, and that I had made a difference in their group and lives.  She said they had worried about me as I had just disappeared, and I told her truthfully I hadn’t felt safe in that space anymore.  She told me she loved me, and she wanted me to know that I was a bright spot on campus, and she understood I needed to move on but many were sad to see me go. I tried not to cry.  It is hard when you know the cost to present that ridiculous glowing happy girl when inside you were grasping in the dark.  Sometimes, I would head to the bathroom, seek out a stall, stand there, staring at the ceiling with tears rolling down your face, mouthing silently like a mantra, “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this anymore.” 

There have been many to reach out to you, and tell you about this stranger.  They tell you she was helpful, cheery, exceptional at her job, and that she was kind. Your eyes well up because you didn’t know that girl.  While going through books this week and reorganizing your shelves you find a letter from the administrator you always liked the  most.  I stood reading it through tears, and after I wondered where that girl went to, sobbed over how I’d ever find her again. 

"Sarah, 

You are a very special lady. I can’t remember a moment when seeing you and you did not have your award winning smile on. You brighten everyone’s world when they come in contact with you. It is always a high point for me. Your zest for life is infectious. Don’t ever change! If Shakespeare had known you, he would have written another sonnet or perhaps he was a visionary and knew of your coming when he wrote Sonnet 18, “Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s Day.” You give us something to look forward to when we know we will see you. You bring such joy to our world. Thank you for that and all you do as a colleague and friend!

—Lonnie Williams"