...in which I'm in a glass case of emotion.
Another car accident you ask? How is that even a thing you ask? Oh. It's a thing. It's a fucking thing. June 6th car accident. June 13th car accident. July 21st car accident. February 13th car accident. My "new" Volvo didn't make it three months without getting fucked. From any side. Hard. Her epitaph will read "Astrid was dent free in Nicole's care from November 19, 2011 - February 12, 2012. She didn't even have license plates yet for fuck's sake!" That's too young. It was too soon. I started going through the five stages of grief almost instantly. As someone who enjoys lists I was quite pleased by this. Also when you're ADHD and borderline manic depressive apparently KΓΌbler-Ross can be a little intense.
This is, in a very specific order, the stages of going through the fourth accident in less than eight months. Brought to you by copious amounts of red wine.
1. Denial I got to work at 7.40am like I do every morning. I parked on the street about a block west of the office like I do every morning. The drive itself gives me such road rage that I get extra rage because I don't think it's nice that everyone makes me so angry so early. Maybe if they didn't go 15 miles under the speed limit we would all be best friends. But I doubt it. Anyway. Parked on Cornell road just outside official Northwest Portland, where hundreds of cars drive by every day. I work. It's a Monday. It's not the best Monday ever but it's definitely not the worst. I left at 5.20pm and was standing on the sidewalk waiting to cross. That's when I saw the damage. (Side note: this is the least amount of damage caused by any of the accidents. But that is completely moot. This is my new car. Someone hit it. Now I'm pissed.) I see the damage and I lose it. "FUCK! This did NOT happen again!" and dive head first into stage two. Not unlike Pete Rose.
2. Anger I stand on the side of the road weaving a tapestry of obscenities so thick it would make a sailor with Tourette's blush. I don't think the f-bomb has ever been dropped so many times in one sentence. Think of the worst thing you've ever heard or said and multiply it by my fury and that's what I was working with. People were staring. I didn't care. I couldn't stop. Yelling and swearing. Putting chunks of my car back together. Prying my gas cap cover open with my key. Swearing and yelling. I checked my windshield: no note. Thanks asshole. Who hits a car and leaves? That's not something a nice person does. That's not something a normal person does. You just stole from me. You stole $2000 worth of damage to my car from me. You stole happiness. Faith in mankind. And I'm not handling it well.
3. Depression Once I run out of swears and am no longer completely controlled by the deep-seated rage that threatens to destroy me like a dying star I start sobbing. And I can't stop. I cry for 20 minutes straight. Just when I think I'm done I start again. I haven't cried like this in... months. Years. I don't even remember. I did read The Fault in Our Stars on Sunday and that was an amazing and wholly depressing book about two terminally ill teenagers who fall in love and I cried while reading that... oh and I totally teared up when I found out Whitney Houston died, but The Bodyguard soundtrack was my life in the '90s. (Any questions please see track #14 from my recent blog post.) When I say cried I mean really cried. Heaving sobs. Ugly crying. Not holding back tears like I usually do because I don't want people to think I have human emotions. Or convincing people I'm okay because I don't want to seem weak. So I cried. Four car accidents in eight months and I finally cried.
4. Bargaining This one was intertwined with the depression. In the midst of sobbing I would say (Yes, I talk to myself almost constantly no matter what mood I'm in.) "Why does this keep happening to me? What did I do wrong? What am I doing wrong?" I don't believe in reincarnation or any kind of afterlife or even that there's anything bigger than me (though it could be nice... as long as they're not a jerk, which I'm beginning to think they might be) but SOMEBODY has seriously fucked up if I'm getting in all the accidents. What about the guy that doesn't pick up his dog's shit? The chick that leaves her clothes in the dressing room at Old Navy? Anyone that hits 'reply all' to an e-mail? (#1 pet peeve. I don't care what most people have to say ever, especially not complete strangers.) I'm not saying anyone deserves to be in a car accident. I'm not saying anyone deserves to be fucked over by every single insurance company involved in every single one of those accidents. I'm definitely not saying that anyone should be forced to hire an attorney just to get a measly two grand out of a multi-billion dollar corporation that destroyed their BMW and admitted fault at the scene. But I digress. I just think my accidents could be divvied up a little to the masses. JUST A LITTLE! I didn't offer up anything of myself to change what happened because, quite honestly, none of this has been my fault. This shit just follows me around. I don't need to change. Everyone else does.
5. Acceptance This one I've also seen described as "the up-turn" and that's more how I would characterize my experience. Less than an hour after my meltdown I was cooking dinner, turning the Motown play list up and rocking out. Drinking my wine, cooking my quinoa, singing Midnight Train to Georgia at the top of my lungs? Most definitely an up-turn. I was making acerbic comments to the pets (I'm house-sitting though so I don't think they get my sense of humor yet) and using a spatula as a microphone during Don't Leave Me This Way. Things were looking up. Then the dinner (and lunch for our VD (get it?) potluck at work) was all done, the dishes were done, and the wine was done. I plopped myself on the couch to watch Say Yes to the Dress: Atlanta and What Not to Wear (shut up I have ovaries I can watch whatever I want. One was about a chick that works for NASA! Science and fashion! SYNERGY.) and reverted almost instantly back to:
3. Depression Crap. The crying started again. I stopped paying attention to the show and would just stare and think. Think and stare. It had been an emotionally draining couple days and another car accident was the icing on my gluten free and vegan cake. I don't know why this keeps happening and don't know how to make it stop. I can't sleep but who am I supposed to talk to at 2am? The cat and dog are NO help and I'm too much of a spaz to take any of my own advice seriously. So what does make it better? Writing. Writing always helps. It gets everything out of my brain where it usually sits in the middle of the night until an OTC sleeping aid with a wine chaser calm the voices. I have friends that don't mind my verbal diarrhea (just spelled diarrhea right on my first try. Booya.) in the middle of the night and I love them for it but they need sleep too.
So I'm hovering between stages four and five right now. And probably will for a while. At least until the third accident is settled and I can get rid of the smashed BMW that's sitting in front of my parent's house. (Another side note: if you're within two payments of owning your car get on FULL ALERT and watch out for assholes driving like dickheads. They're the WORST.) The wine helps. Friends and family helps. Exercise helps. Swearing helps. (That one's science!) I know it could be worse. I could have been hurt. I could have been paralyzed. I could have been dead. Car accidents are shit that happens. A lot of shit happens to a lot of people every day but we deal with it. We deal with it and move on. And if we can't, there's wine.
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