Death? Or a Meeting?

I knew it! I knew it! I KNEW something was wrong.

Last night, Dan called me as I was drifting off to sleep. I thought it was Narc. It wasn't. Dan broke his nose. I was sorry to hear about that.

This morning I woke up still in the dark. My alarm went off. I thought it was Narc. It wasn't. It was just the alarm.

I raced from bed to check my email. He hadn't written back. I knew he was with someone else. I thought he might have gone out of town with someone new... or to Russia to see PopStarChick. Then I remembered that he can't travel due to his condition.

Maybe he's dead, I thought. Maybe he's lying dead on his apartment floor and no one knows.

The longer I sat there staring blankly at my computer, my heart in my throat, the surer I was. I wrote an email to my sponsor.

I am trying to reassure myself and tell myself that this is a crazy line of thinking, but the more I think about the possibility of something being seriously wrong, the more I am able to rationalize another attempted contact with him.

Save me from this psycho thinking!!! I've only been awake for ten minutes and this is what's relentlessly going through my head.

"Relentless" was right. Relentless.

Am I a crazy woman? Or just an alcoholic.

I took a cab to work this morning. On the way here I passed a bar where Narc once ordered Scotch eggs and made me pay. Do you guys remember that night? I'm sure you don't. Was it last March already? Actually, come to think of it-- that wasn't the bar at all. It was a different block. I lent him money that night and was mad about it. Why am I nostalgic for it now.

We hit 10th avenue. I remembered that night after his trip to Europe-- I was afraid to call him, but I did... and then I went to teach a night class. And when I got out, he had called me back and said something about coming down to his place to watch The Apprentice. That was a year and a half ago. Damn it. Was it really?

All I can think of is him. It's hell living in my head right now. Hell! Hell! Hell!

Living hell.

I want to get out of here so badly. But, how the fuck am I supposed to get out of my own head if I can't take a drink?

I taught my class. It was about Islam. And then the Franks. We were finishing one chapter and starting another. My stomach started to cramp.

I came back to my office with a student. He needed me to sign some paper in order for him to get double-time on his exam. He has a learning disability. I couldn't wait for him to leave so that I could check my email.

And there it was:

Always fretting, you are!! Worry not my dear, just been extraordinarily busy as of late--haven't been keeping with quite a few people as a result (yourself included). Also, PopStar just back in from Moscow, so figuring out all of that etc.

Pushing on with a few projects, will write or give a call soon

--Narc

I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!!! It had been too long.

I'm going to die.

I'm numb, but in fact, I'm sure of it-- I'm going to die any minute now.

I want to go home and get into bed and shred my arm into streaming red ribbons of pain.

I drafted an email to my therapist telling him I needed to meet him immediately. Then I erased it and cancelled it. Maybe that's too extreme. I don't want to bother him.

Then I called my sponsor and left her a voice mail.

"Give me a call when you get out of work," I said. "I need to talk to you. But, sorry if my obsessiveness is annoying. Do you really want me to call you whenever I have a problem? Sorry if it's too much..."

And then I sat down in my desk chair and my chest hurt and my eyes hurt too. Is it weird for my eyes to hurt? They won't focus on much except for a few bright spots on the wall.

I look down at my arms and imagine them in flames. I look down at my legs and imagine them melting off. I can smell it. It's disgusting. But it doesn't hurt. It's not working. It doesn't feel like anything. I don't feel anything. I don't feel ANYTHING. I want to scream. How is it possible to hurt so intensely and feel nothing at the same time?

I called Slope.

"What's up?" she asked.

"I need a meeting or I'm going to die," I said, flatly. "What time is that meeting you go to in the afternoons?"

"12:30," she said. "What's going on?"

"I might die," I told her.

"What?"

"It's nothing," I laughed.

How can I still laugh?

"I'm okay. I'm just being dramatic."

(Am I?)

"It's just that he wrote back."

I read her the email.

"I totally know how you feel," she said. "I've been just there. Wanna get breakfast?"

"Yes."

"Don't call him though," she said.

"I'm not going to call him. There's nothing to say. That's not what I'm afraid of. I'm not afraid of calling him. I'm afraid I might take a razor and rip my forearms to shreds. I'm afraid I might carve this moment into my leg-- carve him into my leg... and that way I can't lose it... can't lose him. I want to crawl into bed and stay there until its soaked with my blood and I don't exist anymore except for a bloody bed and that way I'll just be in bed forever and there's no more of any of this."

Did I just say that? Or did I leave a lot of it out?

"Don't do that either," she said.

What did I say to her?

"I don't really want to," I told her. "I don't. I'm fine. I'm just being dramatic. It's just that I don't know what else to do."

Time has stopped. I am stuck.

"I need a meeting," I told her. "I want to stop hurting myself over him."

"Okay. So... the meeting's at 12:30. How about we meet at 11:30?" she suggested.

"Okay. I'll see you then."

"Will you be okay?"

"Yeah, of course!" I laughed. "I'm in my office til then anyway."

I smiled even though I am sitting here alone. Did I really just smile?

I need a meeting.

I need a meeting.

I went to three yesterday. I'm going to at least two today.

I need...

I need something.

So... PopStarChick is back.

I KNEW something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.

WRONG.

-h-