Of All The Things I've Lost, I Miss My Mind The Most

Today's post was going in one direction after yet another brief encounter with the teenage butt-munches who live with me. But given what I learned this weekend about the alien entity that is my mind, I just have to give it some space.

My in-laws phoned from their summer home up north last week and told us they were coming home for a few days; they do this once a month or so, in order to pay bills and check on rental properties, make sure the house is running properly, etc. Mom-in-law said she'd love to get together on the weekend for dinner. Great! It always seems to fall on her shoulders to produce whatever meal we're eating, as she invites, and we accept. This is primarily because she is an absolutely STELLAR entertainer. It comes from years as a sorority hostess. But I digress. The other reason is because I often don't feel capable of entertaining for large groups; I'm a good cook, but I get stressed out. Well, that and she doesn't take no for an answer.

This time, I decided it was MY turn to host. I'd been feeling quite a bit better and a lot more confident. When she called, after getting home, I told her that I'd already prepared half of the meal in advance (which I had), and that they could choose what time they'd like to come. She seemed very pleased, and everything was set for 5:30pm Saturday night. We also invited my husband's adult children. This made a total of eight. I went back to work preparing things that would work in advance so that I wasn't busy cooking when they got here. I hate to be rushing around at the last minute once guests arrive. Things appeared to be going swimmingly.

I worked late into the evening on Friday. By the time I went to bed on Friday night, I had all the salads done; the fresh veggies cleaned; the dip was ready; the casserole was prepared and ready to stick in the oven. Dessert was set to go. All that really needed to be done was to put the veggies onto a platter with the dip, set the table, and marinate the meat and grill it. What could POSSIBLY go wrong?

What indeed?

Saturday started out fine. My husband and I went out and did little errands. Had our coffee and read the newspaper like we do every single Saturday at our coffee shop. I couldn't have imagined what was going to happen. And why would I? Because as nuts as I am, I thought for today, I was in control of my faculties ...

BOY WAS I WRONG.

As we started heading home, I mentioned to my husband that I felt a bit "shakey". Just "odd". He asked if I'd eaten breakfast, and while I hadn't eaten a lot, I had consumed some food. Hm. Ok, nm. Keep driving. As we pulled into the driveway, and I stepped out onto the concrete, my legs felt like rubber. Huh? Wha? Into the house I went, trying desperately to figure out what it was that was going on. It was time to start preparing things for dinner, so I headed straight for the kitchen. But my head was becoming increasingly fuzzy, my stomach was churning, my legs were rubbery. I couldn't think. I stood there in the kitchen, trying to figure out what the HELL was going on, as my husband looked on in concern. He was in the family room, I was in the kitchen, my hands holding me up between the fridge and the counter.

"You better come sit down."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I won't make it. I think I'm going to faint......."

Well, he was at my side in less than a second and had me on the sofa. I sorta collapsed in a heap, with a bowl at my side, and a towel in my hand. And there I stayed, not moving, for the next hour. My skin was cold, and soaked with sweat. My stomach was absolutely churning. And I could not get up. If I had eaten anything of substance, I'd have thought it was food poisoning, but I hadn't. What the hell was going on? I had no clue.

So my husband took over. Fortunately for me, he's as great in the kitchen as he is everywhere else. He asked questions about what needed to be done and I whispered answers. Eventually I tried standing. It sucked, but I was up. It was too late to cancel, so I figured I needed to try.

Through all this, the LRHG KNEW I was sick. She did not offer to lend a hand. This miserable, lazy, under-sized troll doll with her pretty flipped-up hair sat in a chair with a sullen expression on her face and did exactly NOTHING. It simply never fails to amaze me how someone can get to be 19 years old and have so few of the basic skills of good bloody manners. I knew by the time I was 12 that you HELPED OUT: in your own home, and others. It's part of being a family for gawd's sake.

So the doorbell rings at 5:08pm. I'm on my feet, but barely. My inlaws come in, with queries of how we're doing. I motion them away, as I'm not certain just what it is that's afflicted me! After explaining what's happened, my mother-in-law, like any normal person, offered to help finish setting the table. We got things set up. I don't like not having things completely done, but hey, it was a rather unusual situation.

As time wore on, I felt better. Dinner came out of the oven and off the grill; salads came out of the fridge, veggies onto the coffee table for snacking. My father-in-law enjoyed sampling three different kinds of scotch (our guilty pleasure). By the time we actually sat to eat, I was feeling nearly normal.

By 9:30, my father-in-law had kicked my behind at cribbage, and by 11:30 the kitchen was clean. I knew, then, what it was that had gone on. And I was stunned at it's ferocity.

My mind, for whatever reason, had decided that it simply couldn't handle the idea of me hosting a dinner party for my in-laws. I've had a bit of trouble with my father-in-law since I told them about me having BPD and being bipolar, but things had gotten better. At least I thought they had. But my brain had other thoughts. IT did not think things were any better, and decided that it was simply going to shut my body down in an effort to curtail this entire dinner party. And BOY, did it ever! With precision-like timing, my mind engineered a collapse, piece-by-piece, until I was simply a mumbling, helpless sack of bones lying in the corner of sofa. Toss in a bit of self-loathing for good measure, and the disintegration was complete.

I'm not sure why I eventually recognized what was going on. I just did. One of those "board to the side of the head" things. I sure as hell hope it doesn't happen again, or at the very least, I figure it out soon enough to medicate myself back onto my feet.