The Heather Chronicles

I began packing today. Surrounded by boxes, papers, garbage bags, and items to donate, I feel an old familiarity I haven't felt for a year and a half. As I prepare for my seventh out-of-state move; fifth cross-country trip; and third time moving back to Seattle, there's a sense of comfort, sadness and excitement as I sit amongst my life piling up in the corner. This time is going to be very different, as I'm returning not only to go to school, but am coming home to new marriages, new babies, and first-time homes. I had all that (minus the baby) in my mid-20's. I guess I like to do things backwards. My friends' lives are progressing, and I'm still flailing about, but it’s all good.

As I always do, I see what can be tossed, what can be donated, what can be given to friends or family, and what is going with me. To do this, I go through EVERYTHING. I have spent all day going through photos, letters, cards, postcards, playbills, concert passes, ticket stubs, clothes, and paperwork. I do this each time, and each time I sit and laugh, cry, and get nostalgic. I re-live my past with this now ritual, and get a huge reality check. Today I've been reminded of my childhood, my past loves, my past jobs, my past homes, my past dreams, my past marriage, a few past friendships (most still exist) and my past lives, which have conveniently all been lived in this one.

I can't remember if I've felt this before when going through my packing ritual, but today I realized that no matter what I've wanted before; no matter what I want for my future; I've had enough to have a very full, complete life. I've had many adventures, great and small. I've had flings, sweet and innocent relationships, sick love, and beautiful love. I've worked an interesting variety of jobs and have many great stories from these. I've kept the friendships that are my anchor back home, as well as added many beautiful new ones along the way. And most of all, while I know my family wishes I'd just find somewhere that makes me happy, and sit still...they continue to love and support me in the odd, crazy way that us Duffins do so. As my friend said to me the other night, "You're all crazy, but you all love each other."

As I tape up a box with 35 years of memories, I sat and cried. I cried for being such an idiot and not realizing how great my life has always been, even through the rough times. I cried for mistakes I’ve made, and for the mistakes that brought me to better experiences. I cried for how lucky I am to have the most amazing people one could ask for in their life. And I cried for taking it all for granted so many times.

I told my friend at dinner last night that this time I'm going to LET myself be happy, and after today I realize I'm a fool to not let all the good soak in and be content with that no matter what happens from here on. I'm not saying I'm going to settle and not try for more, or that there aren't going to be more rough patches. I just know that as I move forward, I will keep my foundation strong and know that I have the greatest of supporters at my back. And if I ever forget, I got a cardboard box full of love that will set me straight.

In the blink of an eye your life can change. It doesn't have to be some traumatic experience. It can be as simple as missing your exit. I know this. I've lived it simple and extreme. And here I sit with life changing in a matter of hours as of last Sunday. For those that don't know, I'm no longer moving to Boston.

It started last weekend as I reviewed my savings and what it would take to get up to Boston and into massage therapy school, which I was enrolled to start on April 14th. I'd been planning this for a while, but with expenses and the short amount of time to get rent deposits, a way to move my stuff up there, find a job (which I'd been having no luck at), and be okay financially, it was not looking good. On Sunday I had a panic attack at work and realized there was no way I could make this happen in the amount of time I had. I considered postponing school for a while and moving up there later. However the thought of a full-time job and part-time school, and still having time for studies, homework, and getting back into the groove of going to school, the whole idea became quite daunting.

Long story short, I realize I want to go to school full-time, and I want to not live in a homeless shelter. I go to hang out at my sister's after work with my mom, and my dad who is in town. I present an option of possibly staying with my mom and going to massage school an hour away here. It's pointed out I've given my notice at both jobs, and at my apartment, and I'd be blowing a ton of money on my commute. Then my dad presents an opportunity for me I couldn't turn down. Move back to Seattle. He will take care of my move and I am to move back into the bottom half of his house, work full-time 6-9 months and save, save, save. He will help out with that and then I can go to school full-time after my working stint and live off my savings. It's quite an amazing opportunity. I also already have a job lined up (thank you Monica)! Everything has fallen into place...now to find a home for the cats (which has been in progress for a month now).

Now, I will fully admit that at 35 I'm not proud that I couldn't make this work on my own, but I plan on this being the last time I accept this kind of assistance in my life plan. And I have to say that there is a part of me that is looking at this as not only an opportunity to go to school, start a new career, and have a job conducive to my gypsy wants, but also as an opportunity to heal my relationship with my father. It's been bitter and bad for a very long time, much of it having to do with me holding a grudge for years and years. After the Christmas intervention about this, I have wanted things to change. And I think this could be a great opportunity to do so. I also need to learn how to be happy back home. There are so many wonderful people and things back there, and in all honesty, I had a really good life back there in general. However, to me it was never enough. I need to make it okay for the present moment while still keeping my goals for my future. I know I'll leave Seattle after I'm done with school unless something big happens to keep me there, but I'm hoping it doesn't so I can go on to the next adventure. I will make this work. I will make this good.

So here I sit about to go to bed, only to wake up to the beginning of much packing and purging. I leave March 28th for my fourth cross-country drive. I was SO sad to not have Boston work out. I had so many plans; so many adventures. I LOVE what I know of that city, and I love the people I have there. I spent the first few days crying over this. I didn't even have the balls to make the phone calls to those people, but simply emailed them (I'm so sorry) because I knew I couldn't keep it together enough to tell them. But there will always be Boston, and it just might be waiting for me at some point. Or maybe Costa Rica is calling louder? Who knows. But with this opportunity, it brings many more. And with this opportunity, I also know I'm going home to much love and support to kick my ass through this door of life.

Now let's root for no tornadoes this time around.

Well, I had my final straw with the Chantix. I was weaning myself off to avoid what I'd read could end up much scarier than what I'd encountered ON it, but then some things happened that made me realized, screw the weaning! Get off this shit.

No, it wasn't the suicidal thoughts that I've managed to keep inside until recently in my Chantix covert operation. No, it wasn't the fantasies of physically hurting and emotionally ruining people. It wasn't the sleep that didn't truly sleep. It wasn't what has become a constant need for wine to suppress the ongoing headache from this stuff. It wasn't the admission the other night to my mom and sister that I'd decided if I were to ever be a serial killer that I would cut off my victim's noses and wear them in the privacy of my own home (something that sounded funny to me lieu of a nose job, but was met with horrified looks). It wasn't the lack of hygiene I'd developed in part because I no longer cared, and partially because I kept forgetting and then I'd realize I hadn't washed my hair in five days. It wasn't the appetite of an elephant, which I at least have to say surprises the hell out of me that I've only gained five pounds because I basically ate a small town's-worth of food in the last few weeks. And it's not the violent shaking I encounter when I don't eat every few hours. The things that pushed me over the edge were the memory lapses.

Memory lapses? Yes. I think this is like the smoker's version of Ambien, but you aren't doing things while asleep. You're apparently awake and time is blacked out or hazy. I've had episodes of this for a few weeks where my nights are hazy and I can't tell you what I did minus the fact that I ended up laying in bed. Then it started happening at work where I was working on something and all of a sudden it was 15 minutes later and I swore I'd done whatever and there it sat. I can't quite confirm if this was a true lapse or just the hazy. And then three episodes occurred that scared the shit out of me.

SCARY SHIT #1 - On Monday night I was with my mom and sister to take care of a mission. After that mission was accomplished, we went out to eat and get my mother a drink. For some reason I wanted fried food. I don't eat fried food typically, but the only thing that could bring me a slight piece of true happiness, which I'd lacked for over a month, were fried chicken fingers, which I typically find repulsive. The next morning I woke up with the faint recollection of screaming about "the rhea" and moaning on the phone about it to my friend Tony. Did I call him? I have a feeling I did. Why did I call him on my hiatus? I cannot remember for the life of me. Why was I screaming about diarrhea? Well I got it BAD when I got home, and can only assume I felt it coming. But still, why would I call someone to scream about diarrhea? Sure I will discuss this stuff AFTER it happens? But to yell at someone about it? Beforehand? This was alarming.

SCARY SHIT #2 - I found garbage in the drawer with my oven mitts. I've had this incessant craving for pizza and wine on Chantix and have succumbed many a night (and no, the wine has not been matching up with the incidents of memory lapses). So last night I go to grab a potholder and find cheese and pizza plastic wrap in the drawer. What the fuck? I have put cereal in the fridge or milk in the cupboard by mistake, but I know where the garbage goes.

SCARY SHIT #3 - I ordered a CD in a memory lapse last night. How do I know this? Amazon sent me confirmation of my order that I found this morning. And no, I wasn't hacked. It was a CD I'd been wanting for a long time. This was kind of the final straw for me. And looking back at it all, it's kind of ridiculous that this outweighs suicidal tendencies. However, missing time.... bad. Scary. I am sitting there alive, but is everyone else? I'm trying to remember last night and I know I watched a movie and guided my mom via phone from being lost in Greensboro. Other than that, I'm not sure what I did. I mean I now know I ordered one of The Weepies CD's, but I have no recollection of doing this. And while I'm grateful it's music I like, I wonder what else I did in my memory lapse. I keep thinking about that movie where Ashley Judd is a cop and she blacks out and next thing you know her ex-lovers are washing up on shore pummeled to death. Could I have pummeled someone?

So with the final three scary shitness in addition to the fact I've been living in a very evil fun house in my brain for the last few weeks (and maybe scarier that I learned to fake my reality for some time) I am going off Chantix cold turkey. I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore. Chad brought up a valid point that I just might have a new couch on the way. What if I do? I've got to sell my current couch for Pete's sake! Maybe I bought a mail-order groom? Or an expensive vibrator? Or....gasp...a pony? Oh god, I'm screwed if I bought a pony. I can work with the other shit, but not the pony. He'd have to hang out in my ravine next to that couch that got dumped last year by the neighbors, which the stray cat resides on.

So I stopped.

Not one iota of Chantix entered my body today, nor is it permitted in this vessel EVER again! There is not much difference minus the horrible headache I get when I take the medication, is lessened. I haven't wanted to die today and I haven't screamed at anyone. I had some weird shock pains in my kidney area and my boobs, but feelings of electrocution beat the fucked-up circus I've had going on in my brain. I'm watching the unexpected snowfall outside my window and am listening to the last Long Winters CD over and over (it makes me happy whenever I hear their music no matter my mood...I even danced for 30 seconds in the dark to it). I will get off this crap and continue not to smoke (I have a month on the 17th). And I vow I will do so without driving off a cliff, or pushing anyone else off it.

And those interested in knowing it's not just me, here are some articles on it that friends have sent me.

http://nymag.com/news/features/43892/index3.html

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/22955040/

First let me say that I sound like I should be locked up when you read this, and I realize this. However, I need to be upfront to get through this. I don't feel like myself anymore, and the person I am is typically VERY blatant and upfront. So with what control over my thoughts and actions I have, I'm going to be honest. Not to mention, I feel if you or anyone you know is interested in taking Chantix to quit smoking, you have the right to hear brutal honesty in one person's experience with it. It's not everyone’s, but it is mine.

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It's funny how when we're in our darkest hours, we are fearless. All of the things that terrify us dissipate and the only thing that remains is the fear of ourselves. I say this as I sit in the dark, something that I am terrified of when alone. When with someone it is nothing, but alone it consumes me. I think you could even put a doll in front of me at this moment and I would not be scared. Actually, I think it would steal my soul at this point, so let's scratch that off the "Exceptions" list of fears when depressed. Everything else - dying naked, the dark, driving off bridges, fire, dying and not being found for days and my cats eating me, sandwiches that I can't see the innards of, and the polka - don't sound that bad right now.

I must first say that in the small piece of my right mind that I have, I know this is the Chantix doing this to me. It's medicinal depression. I started weaning myself off of it yesterday, as I have now been on it a month and find that every day gets worse and worse. There are moments I can laugh, but it's fake. I even outright lied the other day and promptly confessed my sin to my mother. I don't lie. I don't understand the point in lying. I will skim over the truth, smile and pretend to be okay when I'm not, but I don't make up shit. This quit smoking miracle drug works for sure! I don't want a cigarette at all, but I'd prefer to not be alive right now either. I'm not fond of life on Chantix, at least for me. I know everyone has their own experiences and many quit, but I've read that what I'm experiencing isn't all that uncommon. I even saw a commercial the other night for a class action lawsuit against the drug for those families where someone killed themselves on this stuff. Now THAT scared me. The next day I cut my dosage in half because in all honesty, I could understand how in some people, taking this could lead to that.

Have you seen Being John Malkovich? That is what it feels like. I feel like someone gave me a pill...maybe the cookie that Alice ate...and I was prompted to crawl through a tiny door and sit in the dark to watch someone else's life through their eyes. The only problem is that everything the host's body is doing is bad. It's lying, being mean, screaming at people, insulting their friends, clutching the steering wheel so as not to run over someone or run themselves off the road. And inside I'm watching these horrible things and I'm yelling, "What the fuck are you doing? This isn't me!" And every so often I hear it and things are semi-clear and sometimes I will sob. It's scary. It's NO bueno. Bad. Bad. Bad. Then it feels reversed sometimes, like I'm John Malkovich and the visitor through the tiny door is saying bad things, "Stop breathing. Step in front of that car." Tonight I laid on my couch sobbing because I felt that I should not be alive because I am so disgusting. Okay, I just realized how this makes me sound really, fucking psycho. I guess in a way I am, but I know through that small window of clarity, that this is the medication. And you know what? Fuck it! I'm going to be absolutely honest here and just admit that I think this shit taps into the dark shit you have fought through in your life. It drudges up the muck from the bottom of the swamp and slaps it on your doorstep. I'm too out of it to clean it up or ignore it, but I know it will dry up and turn to dust soon. I know I'll be okay and the real me, the one whose summit I’ve reached, will show up again.

And seriously, please don't email or call freaking out about what I'm saying here. I'm not so lost in the medicinal haze that I can't see the reality of it all. It will be over soon. I will be back to me and all will be well, or close to. I'm not looking for anything except to get this out. I've been holding it in for a while now and I feel like it would just get worse if I didn't purge it. I finally told one of my friends yesterday about the intensity of the "scary thoughts" and she is worried, but she need not be. I'm like fucking Luke Skywalker with this shit. At least I know what's causing THIS! Now if only Luke and John Malkovich can work together...

Isaac, I take back my raves of this miracle drug. Yes, I have not smoked in over three weeks, but if you turned into "weepy, sissy girl" on Zyban to quit; I would NEVER suggest you take this shit. I read a lot of stuff online saying that going off of it is worse than being on it. I'm not going to make that assumption and buy into that notion. I’m going to let myself have my own experience with it. I know some people who took it, quit and went off without any noticeable changes. But I definitely think it's a gamble on this.

Until my weaning is complete, I'm practicing my mugshots.

My 3-year old niece has definitely inherited the mutant female gene in my family. "Which one?" you're thinking. The one where poo is perfectly normal and part of too much conversation. There have been many indicators of this in past, like when she burst in on me peeing and set a miniature cat on a miniature toilet right next to full-size me on a full-size toilet. She has announced to restaurants that she just had a scary poo-poo and so on. However, this weekend's incident proved this is not just typical kid stuff, but the family female gene hard at work.

My mom was watching Kylee this weekend, as my sister was out of town with her husband and their friends. Kylee and my mom were at my mom's boyfriend's house and were making valentines. Kylee was putting random letters on the valentines and would then announce to them what they said.

Let me backtrack a bit. On Saturday morning, Kylee was supposed to go to my mom's boyfriend's grandaughter's birthday. Unfortunately his grandaughter had this stomach flu that's been going around. So on Sunday as Kylee made her Valentines, she brought one over to my mom and said, "This one's for Emme (the grandaughter who was sick). It says, 'Emme, I'm so glad you don't have diarrhea anymore."

Yep. Didn't fall far at all.