Last night I returned from the city where I grew up. My dad still lives there and my sister and I spent a week visiting. It started out fine: I like my dad and my sister and we spent long hours over meals, sometimes talking, sometimes sitting in silence. It was also nice to leave my coronavirus-lonely life and spend several days with others. For eight days almost continuously, I was in the presence of another human being. It was a wonderful break from my solo-dweller apartment.

But on the fourth day it began to go sour. A discomfort set in that surprised me because I used to avoid the Bay Area when my mother was alive, but she’s been dead for eight years. As a child, I was constantly watchful for my mother’s anger. Her rages terrified me. She’s the one who taught me I couldn’t do anything right, even while she depended on me for emotional and other support (starting when I was maybe 11). As late as when I was in my 40’s my mother expected me to do whatever she wanted no matter how abusive she was to me. It’s why I stopped visiting years before she died. Her behavior with me caused me too much anxiety, too much self-hatred, and too much despondency (she wasn’t that way with everyone).

But with her dead and under the dirt in a Lafayette cemetary, why did I feel so bad? I’ve even been back to Walnut Creek twice since her death and I don’t remember feeling so bad.

My suspicion is that this is another effect of Juldemort. Clearing the anti-depressants from my system allowed old, unhealed pain and trauma to surface and apparently that pain isn’t done. It’s as if Juldemort removed the lid I’d firmly placed on that old bilge water and it’s been gradually draining, but not fast enough. Heading back to Walnut Creek this time, I was more vulnerable than I realized.

Friday – Arrived in the Bay Area late.

Saturday – Enjoyed a slow breakfast with my dad and sister. Then took a drive with them and actually liked the change of scenery. Lunch at In-N-Out Burgers (the best). Dinner at a very nice restaurant in downtown Walnut Creek.

Sunday – Visited an old college friend and her family in Silicon Valley. Little time to consider anything else.

Monday – Client work (remotely) in the morning. Then lunch at a Mexican restaurant. Didn’t do much the rest of the day. Surprised myself by not taking a walk since the area where my dad lives is great for walking. I just didn’t feel like looking at it.

Tuesday – Client work in the morning. This was the day I realized I wasn’t doing well. Walnut Creek began to feel sinister to me. The brown hills, northern California trees, dry air and even the wood-on-wood architecture began to make me very comfortable.

Wednesday – Client work in the morning. More nice, comfortable time with my dad and sister. But now I began to think things like, “Why am I so fat?” “I’ll never have another relationship with a man,” “I’m going to be 55 in July and it doesn’t look like I’m going to get what I want in life,” “I’ve lost all my attractiveness,” and “Dying sooner rather than later would be better.” That afternoon I ate two of my dad’s Hershey’s candy bars he buys in bulk.

That evening we went to a cinco de mayo celebration at a local church. Met several of my dad’s friends, but I went into it in a bad mood. The food was delicious, but gave me a stomach ache. The mariachis were too loud. People wanted to speak to me and my sister in Spanish which is always awkward because my parents didn’t teach us Spanish. And I had to listen to two people tell me what a wonderful person my mother was. One said, “I pray for your mother.” While my smile froze and I went silent, my sister politely said, “Thank you.” It’s a good thing she was there.

The celebration reminded me too much of the Mexican American part of my uncomfortable childhood and reminded me that people like my mother are nice to people they don’t know well and horrible to family.

Thursday – Client work in the morning. Visited a café and took a drive with my sister. Now I was constantly aware that I was in a city (and surrounding area) where I used to feel afraid all the time. The self-loathing continued.

Friday – Client work in the morning. Another nice drive with my sister, this time to the mall we used to go to with our mother when we were growing up. It was a nice time, but my brain was even more full of “My life has been a disappointment,” “There’s no way for me to meet a man now,” “I don’t want to go back to my life,” and “At 54 years old it just gets worse from here.” I kept wanting to cry and had to stop myself. I longed to leave the Bay Area, but dreaded returning to Chicago. It was a familiar feeling of not having a home anywhere.

Saturday – Very glad I had a morning flight out. My dad drove me to the airport and I was checking in luggage by 8:45 a.m. Hoped for death by plane crash. Sent this text to a friend: If you hear of Southwest flight 3022 or 1142 going down today, tell everyone I died fulfilling a dream. Of dying. 

I’m very grateful to my friend Ceece for picking me up at the airport even though my flight didn’t get in until 11:30 p.m. (my Oakland-to-Chicago flight had three legs, mostly packed flights, and took 11 hours. I never want to fly Southwest again). She saved me a lot of time at an inconvenient hour.

Today I don’t feel like eating and I break into tears every few hours. I push myself around my apartment as if in shock. None of my habits are back in place, not even turning on the news station I usually listen to every morning. I feel like I belong nowhere. My typical depression symptom is back of wishing I didn’t have to be. I’m taking some solace in writing. It always helps, at least a little bit.

I understand from my health practitioner that flying is hard on the spleen and I don’t have a strong spleen. Past trips have tanked my physical health and made depression symptoms worse, so it’s possible this trip was going to be hard no matter where I was on healing from my childhood. But even given all that, this trip was harder than I expected.

I’ll now spend weeks recoving the level of physical and emotional health I had before I went out (and my health wasn’t great to start with). I don’t want to repeat that itinerary any time soon and I’d love to stop traveling altogether. The act of going on a trip is too hard on me. But with an 84-year-old dad in California, I might have to get on a plane sooner than I want. I mustn’t think about it for now.

Oh, yeah: and today’s Mother’s Day.

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