Demon in my Bones

Posted on August 15, 2007 in Ancestors Anxiety

Panic was the order of the day. I kept spewing stumbling pieces of words and ideas as I spoke to people about my business, the kind of thing that makes some people suspect stupidity or inability to think or lust for a chainsaw. I screamed in my car (where no one could hear me) and pushed through as well as I could, calling a friend to help me focus and tell me that I could make it through the next few hours. Then I went to prepare to tutor my student. As I entered the log entry in the literacy program register, I saw the date. My father’s birthday.

A man who’s been dead since 1980 kicked at the ridges of my brain and made me feel that I was unfit to be an adult. It’s what psychotherapists call an anniversary reaction.

Damn, this thing hadn’t happened to me in years. Armed with the knowledge, I called the friend back to tell her the news and then sat down to prepare myself for the lesson. I cursed him under my breath as I brought out the materials for the lesson. He had no right to reach out from his niche in the Salt Lake City Catholic cemetery and disrupt my equanimity. This was my life now. Why couldn’t he let me deal with people on my own?

After the tutoring session, I phoned another friend. This was outrageous, I fumed. August 15 sneaks in and I am a jellyfish on an Emery wheel. Moods such as this required something to throw, a rock at the very least and a wide field where I could pitch missile after missile. One after another until the feeling of the demon in my bones and my muscles went away.