“Thanks for the memories even though they weren’t so great” -Fall Out Boy

Over the weekend my email was hacked. I’m borderline computer literate at best and didn’t figure it out until I got 50+ bounce back emails and one angry letter, which at the time, I wasn’t sure was directed at me for my blog posts or in regards to the shit ton of spam I unknowingly unleashed into unsuspecting mailboxes.

Now what? I didn’t really know what that meant. Thank God for Geek Squad protection. It’s a necessity for me. I went to the online help and had a tech remotely search, scan, delete, fix and update everything. It took almost three hours. But, I had a professional do it, so I know it was done right. I changed my password and didn’t give it a second thought.

Until today. Today, I checked my bank balance and was in the hole by $85. WHAT THE HELL?! I look at the transactions and immediately see the problem. There was a charge for $49.99 and a charge for $59.99 both from Scottsdale, AZ.

I immediately start bitching about the injustices of the world when Don cut me off, mid sentence. “Are you sure YOU didn’t make those purchases in your sleep?” The nerve of hi- oh, wait. I have done shit like that haven’t I… Fuck. So, I’m thinking. Retracing my financial steps, my sleeping habits are examined and I deduce that No, I did not make those purchases. I reasoned that when I have bought things online in my sleep, my wallet is always out, (usually tossed on the floor near my desk) my debit card lying next to the keyboard, guiltily.

There was none of that.

So, today (fairly convinced of the truth) I went to Wells Fargo to talk to a banker. I explained my situation and he asked for my driver’s license and debit card. He made a comment about Natalie’s picture on my card and I told him she was celebrating a friend’s wedding. He nodded his head and told me he needed to call the claims center and file a claim to refute the charges. Halfway through the call, he hands me the phone. The man on the other end of the line asks a couple of questions and then puts me on hold. I stare into the banker’s desk. My vision starts to get blurry and I realize this is the first time I’ve been inside the bank since I got the call about Natalie.

“Are you ok miss? Do you need a napkin?”

A napkin? Not a tissue? Wouldn’t that be more accessible? Does he have a Burger King bag next to his desk? Is he just going to grab a handful of slightly grease stained napkins and offer them to me? I’m focusing the tiniest details so I don’t have to look at the bigger picture. I’m about to break down.

Breathe, I tell myself. Look around. Find three things that are green. Grass. Leaves. Part of that guy’s tie. Three things that are blue. The sky. That sign. That advertisement. Breathe in: 1,2,3,4. Hold: 1,2,3,4. Breathe out: 1,2,3,4. Hold: 1,2,3,4. Repeat.

I’m able to blink away the tears that haven’t fallen and recover.

“Thanks, no. I’m fine.” I lied.


It’s Not Even Thursday

“How are you?” It still sounds like such an asinine question, yet I can’t help myself from asking it. I try to check in with my family on Thursdays. THE day. The past couple of Thursdays I’ve noticed an almost traumatic  response to the realization of the day. “Oh shit. It’s Thursday” I’ll think, like I haven’t been dreading it since the previous Friday.

I remember the phone call with my brother.

“Is she dead?” I demanded. I was almost yelling at him.

“Yeah” he responded in a voice that barely cracked above a whisper.

My voice, now almost suddenly and completely gone, replies “I’ll be there is soon as I can”.

“ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod. What the fuck is Justin talking about? There must be some mistake. He’s confused. ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod.”

My parents, wailing. My brother, stone faced. Friends, attending to our parents. Me, brain numb, palms against the wall. Pushing. Holding myself up.

Where IS SHE?

I see her in the dining room chair, where I saw her last. In her apartment, on the bed, laid back and lifeless. In the casket, looking 50 years old at the mere age of 36. In her beautiful urn. A mound of ashes. On top of a player piano. She won’t ever play it again.

The pictures come over and over again. The best way to describe it? Those of you who have seen American Horror Story, Coven… remember when Misty Day went to Hell as part of the Seven Wonders challenge? She had to prove herself and her powers by going to Hell and coming back? Only, she didn’t make it back. She lived the worst day of her life over and over, like a sick Ground Hog Day movie, without Bill Murray. If you haven’t seen it, or don’t remember it, I’ll include a YouTube video at the end of this article for those interested. It was a very eye opening experience to witness. And now, I feel I can relate.

I’ve been trying to figure out how I can possibly feel as shitty as I do and yet have pinpoint moments where I feel a thousand times worse than that.

Today I think I got it. Someone had asked me if the shock was wearing off. I didn’t know how to answer because I can’t really be in shock or denial with as much pain as I’m experiencing, can I? Then again, I feel pin pricks of time, like I’m being emotionally ripped to shreds…amplified by infinity.

I think what’s happening is that I feel so devastated, destroyed and dismayed (and a lot more too) that I kinda forget WHY I’m so miserable. I just wallow in the sadness and the sorrow and let it wash over me. Engulf me. That when something specific DOES trigger me, I’m reminded of what I’ve lost. Why I’m so numb and depressed. And it starts again and plays on repeat, causing another shock wave of emotion.

It’s been hell these past couple of days and in less than an hour, It’ll be my favorite day of the week.

AHS Coven