Tonight, I’m a woman obsessed. I’ve spent the last six hours or so tearing my office wide open, turning it upside down, shaking loose the bits and pieces and crumbs and putting it all back together again. For some reason, I’m suddenly struck with the urge to Have Less Stuff. I’m merciless in my mission; if it’s not absolutely crucial, if I haven’t used it or don’t plan to use it or can’t see myself using it or just don’t like it, out it goes. In fact, it’s hard for me to contain this project to my office; I keep having to remind myself that if I start on the rest of the apartment, I’ll be up all night when I have to write tomorrow.
In my archaelogical dig through the file cabinet, I found my Katrina journal. Hoo, boy.
Long story, um, long, actually, a couple days before the failure of the federal levee system Hurricane Katrina, I evacuated to Shreveport, where I’ve been ever since. To put it mildly, it was a rough period. I guess I had PTSD or some such. I had nightmares and panic attacks and depression and really just didn’t want to do much of anything at all except read horror novels (Bird had to literally rip Stephen King’s The Stand out of my hands in Barnes and Noble – “YOU ARE NOT BUYING A BOOK RIGHT NOW WHEREIN EVERYBODY DIES, Q.”), drink daiquiris and eat Oreos.
Come to think of it, that’s my M.O. in almost any crisis situation, but I digress.
And then, impossibly, things got significantly worse.
My apartment caught fire.
With Chihuahua in it.
Everybody and everything survived, of course, but that little turn of events really pushed me over the edge. I remember going back to my apartment the morning after the fire. All my possessions were smoke-damaged; the landlord called a company to come clean up (the fire was his fault, not mine), but I couldn’t stay there. I grabbed a bag and went into the bathroom to pack my toiletries.
I stood in the bathroom for half an hour. I couldn’t decide what to put in the bag first. I mean, I knew exactly what to pack, but I couldn’t decide if I should put the shampoo in first or my toothbrush. Maybe the soap. Maybe my deodorant.
Thankfully, my phone rang. It was my friend Beth. By this time, I was near tears. I’d been standing in the bathroom for a damn half-hour, paralyzed.
“OK,” said Beth. “You need to talk to someone. You’ve lost the ability to make simple decisions, and that’s a sign of a nervous breakdown.” Beth’s husband, Andy, is a therapist, so she’s well-versed in all things psychological. “I’m going to have Andy call you in just a few minutes, OK?” She rang off.
My phone rang again less than five minutes later. “Hi, Kelly, it’s Andy,” he said cheerfully. “When do you want to come in?”
“You mean this week?”
“No, I mean today. Now.”
Bird drove me to Andy’s office later that afternoon. And thank God. Who knows where I’d be without Andy.
Actually, I’ll tell you: THE DAMN LOONEY BIN. Heck, I was nearly there anyway. It was bad, y’all. But one of the things Andy asked me to do that really helped was keep a journal and write in it every time I felt anxious.
It’s a hell of a journal. And for some inexplicable reason, I wrote it longhand. Y’all, I don’t write anything longhand. I don’t write grocery lists longhand. Neil Gaiman I am not. To this day, I can’t tell you why I did that.
It’s kind of funny and kind of sad. Mostly funny. Or mostly sad. It’s hard to tell.
Some excerpts (which I read to Mere through laughter so hard I couldn’t breathe):
“I used to want a lot of things…now my dearest wish is to feel safe, to not be afraid anymore.”
“I bet no one else goes home and panics all night long.”
“I wish there was a cure – some pill I could take, some place I could go, some price I could pay and I would be my old self again.”
This is my favorite:
“Am jealous of people on TV. Bet they don’t worry about [natural gas leaks]. SO MAD.”
I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but the worst happened one night when I was in the shower, all good and lathered up. I became convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that…well, I’m not sure, exactly, but probably that the apartment was on fire. Maybe that someone had broken in. That the ceiling fan had fallen on Chihuahua. Who knows.
So what do I do?
I jump
Out of the shower
NAKEDLY
(And soapily)
Run into the living room
Grab Chihuahua
Who was previously sound asleep
(And who is now understandably pissed off)
And begin running around like…well, like a contender in the Crazy Olympics, not to put too fine a point on it.
In retrospect, I’m not sure journaling helped that much.
But I’ll keep the journal forever because I wrote about the first time my friend Tommy came over and spent the night with me so I could sleep for a few hours while he promised to worry about fires and burglars and rogue ceiling fans and Chihuahua choking to death. I’ll keep it because it cracks Mere and I up and makes us cry at the same time.
“Mere, why did y’all not check me into a mental hospital or something? Y’all either did not understand the gravity of the situation or y’all are some VERY irresponsible individuals.”
“Kel, just when has anybody been able to make you – even Crazy You – do anything at all?”
Good point, Mere of Mine.
Your much better
Kel
P.S. I found out later that before I called Jennifer and Swell Nathan to tell them I evacuated, they began weighing the chances that I’d be an idiot and try to ride out the Hurricane in New Orleans. Swell Nathan worked out a plan wherein he’d drive to New Orleans as soon as the hurricane blew out, get a boat of some sort and go to my apartment and rescue me.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I named him “Swell” Nathan. I have, from that day to this, never referred to him any other way.
And I never will.
I know the feeling. I remember standing in Target after my mom sent me money, wondering what to buy when we didn’t have anything. I think I gave up and tried again the next day.
Oh, good Lord. Yes, I think Target would have been far more than my little brain could have handled.
Wow. It constantly amazes me how much people I know have been through. I guess I expect the horrors of the past to show on people’s faces (or in their online moods) or something. I’ve been through some stuff in my life, and I constantly feel like I need to put it on my resume or something so people realize what I’ve survived (part of my addiction to feeling sorry for myself I’ve mentioned in my own journal).
I admire you and commend you on moving on with life and being the happy, funny person you always are. Bravo to you! And, I’m so glad you survived those things to share them with us and brighten our days. And, I’m glad Chihuahua’s okay.
You know, I think putting our trials and tribulations on our resumes is a FANTASTIC idea:
–”Able to budget effectively; bought reasonable work wardrobe with $50.00 of FEMA check.”
–”Extensive experience with technology: created loop tape of Aaron Neville singing ‘Ave Maria’ in a vain attempt to self-treat PTSD.”
–”Multilingual: can correctly mispronounce the names of all the streets in New Orleans.”
Thank you, darling. Water rises to its own level, you know; that’s why we’re friends
“Multilingual: can correctly mispronounce the names of all the streets in New Orleans.â€
I *LOVE* it!
“I bet no one else goes home and panics all night long.â€
If it makes you feel any better, I do this all the time. It all started after my lovely gunpoint mugging and has gone downhill from there. It’s easier to count the nights I have gotten a goodnights rest that the nights I haven’t… and that was how many years ago?
The good thing is, you survived and thrived. And you are an amazing woman no matter what a few crazy days and nights might try to do. And a little touch of madness is almost required to be southern nobility!
And yes, Nathan is a superhero by nature! He really is rather swell…
Below comment goes for you and swell-Nathan, too!
“And a little touch of madness is almost required to be southern nobility!”
In that case, cher, then I’m at least The Princess, and possibly The Queen!
Kel– All kidding aside, that was a terrifying time for you and a scary time for those of us that love you. I remember talking to you afterwards on the phone and trying to change the topic from things that made you panic–hint–there wasn’t anything! And the first time I saw you after Katrina and your habit of sleeping with the TV on (after falling asleep to MASH videos) had changed to having the lights on all night…it’s amazing what you’ve been through and I’m so thankful that you’re where you are now.
Love,
Mere
I only know Kelly online, but I’m so glad she has great real-life friends like you to help her in those moments!
My friend Katie has a group of close girlfriends she met online. They’re all moms of small children, and they call themselves The Gumdrops.
Well, one of The Gumdrops’ husbands died in an industrial accident recently. Several of The Gumdrops, who have never before met in real life, are flying to Buffalo to participate in a 5k race to benefit the woman’s family.
Katie made t-shirts for all The Gumdrops who are running the race. They say “Online IS Real Life.”
That’s kind of how I feel about it!
But you’re right; Mere’s totally fab
That gave me goosebumps! Wow. I love the t-shirts.
I love my cousin.
I must say, darling, you have excellent taste in friends. Or . . . you certainly chose the right family! 
Thanks, Oh Mere of Mine! I couldn’t have gotten through it without you. And thank you, from the bottom of my cold, black little heart, for not having me committed when you had the chance. That’s what I call real friendship, right there.
Hey Kel, it’s weird, but a lot of the feelings you wrote about in this entry . . . well, I think I’m feeling miniature versions of those emotions right now. You know, because of wrecks, robberies, and the like. You make me feel so understood, darling.
1. Sorry I didn’t text you back. I fell asleep watching Grease 2. In addition to feeling bad that I abandoned my friend, I was pretty disappointed to miss the Rock-a-Hula Luau.
2. I realize you’re only experiencing miniature versions, but remember: WE HAVE BEEN THROUGH THIS BEFORE. DO NOT LET THIS ESCALATE! I mean, if you need me to drive down to New Orleans to take you to the doctor or something, YOU JUST LET ME KNOW. That’s one sacrifice I am MORE than willing to make
3. Why on earth do they call it “The Big Easy” when it’s anything but?
I really am okay, Kel, but thank you so much.
You are the sweetest girl I know. While I’m still in “jump out of my skin” mode, I did experience a bright spot today! I got a call from the folks at NO/AIDS Task Force, asking me to come in Wednesday morning to interview for the Coordinator of Special Events position! 
If that pans out, maybe I can afford some adequate mental health pampering to make up for this week’s misery. 
Love you! Come see me.
Oh, girl. I’ll be crossing my fingers and saying all my prayers and petting my lucky rabbit’s foot in the hope you get that job. That would be PERFECT for you!
I volunteered at the AIDS clinic in Birmingham some years ago, and it was one of the most life-affirming experiences I’ve ever had. I can’t imagine the privilege of working with that community every day.