by Louisa Line
I just start to put the washing up away when my favourite tune starts to play and I find myself dancing around the kitchen as I work. I always feel a little down on the days I am called for my CBT session, so I try to throw myself into some type of mindless, play your music as loud as you can, task. I’m just putting the last of the plates away when the buzzer on the intercom buzzes. Even though it’s such a rigmarole I still love delivery day as it is the one day I allow myself my one guilty pleasure… chocolate cake! The rest of the week I remain as healthy as I can since exercising is limited due to my confinement. I really don’t want to be piling on any more weight. It’s not that I’m ugly, well not totally ugly anyway, but with my confinement and lack of exercise, I have gained weight. My clothes are all tighter, even though I haven’t actually gone up any dress sizes. I am still a size fourteen … just! I knew I was never as pretty as Claire, but at least I used to be proud of my figure. Now I am just a pale skinned, dark haired, lump with bumps and rolls in all the wrong places. Claire calls me curvy, I just call myself fat.
Have I mentioned how great James is? We have a great system now, actually the shopping delivery is the one time I don’t get anxious about answering the door. I know James will just leave it all and come back once he knows I am done. Plus, he is never late.
I walk over to the intercom and greet James in my normal way. It’s at times like these I’m so grateful that I have my regular man for my supermarket deliveries.
“Hi James, I’ll buzz you in. Any problems today?”
“Sorry, is that Miss Wentworth?”
My whole body goes ridgid. I can feel the attack coming on before I have the chance to stop it, or even do anything about it. My breathing quickens and my body trembles. The next thing I know I’m crumpled on the floor frozen in fright. I didn’t even realise that I was still holding the intercom until I heard a voice.
“Umm, Miss Wentworth. I’m sorry, do I have the correct address? I’m looking for a Miss Wentworth.”
I can’t talk. I can’t make a sound. It isn’t James. It’s meant to be James and I have no idea who this is on the end of the line. Who is outside my door? What do they want with me? I am crippled with fear as my body starts to shake violently.
“Hello?” questions the voice across the intercom. I know I have to speak to whoever it is, but I just can’t find the words. How can a faceless voice cause me so much fear? But then, if I am being honest, it isn’t the voice that has me paralyzed, but what the voice might make me do.
By the time I pull myself together enough to move. I know whoever it is outside has long gone. I even heard them mumbling something about having the correct address for deliveries as they walked away. I make my way back over to my safe place at the window. I know I won’t be able to see who was there, but at this point I’m not even sure I want to know. I am just thankful they have gone.
It’s several hours later when I eventually pull myself together enough to function once more. It’s then I realise James still hasn’t come with my delivery. It really isn’t like him not to turn up. It’s never happened before and I’m worried about him now. So, I do the only thing I can think of at a time like this. I phone Claire and ask for her help. I really would be lost without her. She is my rock, my one ray of hope that never allows me to give up.
The phone barely rings twice before Claire’s reassuring voice echoes down the phone.
“Hi Jess, I was just about to call,” she says happily into the phone.
Claire’s voice is all it takes for me to lose the composure I have gained in my safe place and before I know it I am bursting into tears and spilling out word after word of what has happened to me. That’s what I love about Claire. She is never judgemental, always supportive, and just lets me spew it all out. She never interrupts or judges me and I often find her more helpful than the professionals. Once I finish talking and take a breath, there is a short pause before either of us speak.
“Oh Jess, I wish I could just come and give you a big hug,” Claire finally replies. Hearing the sadness in her voice makes me miss her all the more. It has been far too long since she has come to visit.
“Me too. When are you next down this way?”
Claire lives over two hours away but we have remained the best of friends. She never misses a call and is always looking into new therapies or ideas to help me. I know she still feels guilty as I was meant to be going out with her that fateful night. She had come down for a long weekend to see me as her father was doing better. But as I often explained, I don’t blame her at all. In fact, I don’t blame anyone other than myself and my own messed up brain.
“Not for another month, work is really busy and I can’t get any time off.” I can hear the sadness in Claire’s voice again and it floors me. I hate having this effect on someone, especially since it feels like there is nothing I can do from here.
“It will fly by. Anyway, don’t you have a date tonight?” I ask trying to change the subject. I know she has as she has just started seeing a new bloke and, let’s face it, who in their mid-twenties and single would be staying in on a Friday night?
We talk about her date for a while and by the time we hang up I am feeling much better. I hate the way a person at my door can throw me so much, but something must be working as the bad episodes after something like that are getting shorter. It used to be days before I could function properly again. It would also send me into a deep depression, where I would lock myself away in the bedroom and just sleep. That’s what I do when the depression gets too much, I sleep. After ending the call I take a look at the clock and realise that my order with James isn’t going to come.
I decide to rifle through my receipts and find the number to call the store to investigate. I have had a good relationship with the store manager since James sorted everything out for me so many months before. I pick the phone up and dial the number. Just my luck! I get the relentless chintzy music they play when they put you on hold. I mean, seriously, if I wasn’t already suffering with anxiety and depression this music would be enough to drive me to it. After about five minutes, and just as I am about to give up, the phone is finally answered
“Hello, how can I help you?” comes the annoyingly over friendly voice on the end of the line.
“Is Mathew there please? I need to speak to him about my order.”
“Oh yes, please hold on. I’ll just put you through.”
The music starts up again and I am sure this time I may just scream. I mean can’t they play something decent like; well anything that was this turn of the century.
I am saved from annoyance by my call connecting.
“Hello, Mathew here. How may I be of assistance?”
“Hello, Mathew it’s Miss Wentworth here. You might remember me, I have my shopping delivered by James. He sorted out a new procedure with you about my deliveries.”
“Ah yes, Miss Wentworth. Did you not get the call?” he questions. Call? What call?
“No, sorry I didn’t. Is everything OK?” It’s then I notice my mobile sat on the side and clearly visible is the missed call message and I see a voicemail has been left. OK, maybe having my music on as loud as I did wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done. But seriously! It never rings unless it’s someone trying to sell me something or Claire.
“I’m afraid James won’t be able to deliver to you for the foreseeable future. He was involved in a car accident over the weekend.”
“Oh no, the poor man,” I reply. I’m saying all the correct words but what’s really going through my head is ‘Shit! What do I do about my order now?’
“He is fine but has fractured his ankle,” Matthew says on the other end of the line. “I believe his replacement, Steve, may have tried to call earlier.”
Now it all started to fall into place. I remember I was expecting James when the doorbell rang, which was why I was so thrown when I heard the strange voice.
“Oh, I didn’t. I wasn’t. I’m sorry I think I may have missed him.”
I can feel my anxiety building up and I really want to get off the phone. It is hard enough suffering with the conditions I have, but at times like this you just end up feeling one hundred times worse.
“Would you like me to reschedule your delivery, Miss Wentworth?” He asks, trying to get me off the phone.
Did I? I really wasn’t sure. What if I couldn’t open the door again? What if I have another panic attack? I have obviously spent too long asking these questions in my head as before I reply, Mathew continues.
“I have a slot opened up for ten thirty tomorrow, if that’s any good to you?”
Before I even know what I’m doing, the word “yes” has come out of my mouth and I am hanging up the phone. Did I want a strange person coming to my house tomorrow? I can’t even remember who he said was going to come. I guess I did need to eat though, so what else was I going to do? It’s not as if I could just pop down to the shops myself. I know I am going to be in for a bad night now. So, I do the only thing I can do in this situation, I make myself a hot chocolate and try to do my relaxation techniques while in the bath.
Saturday 13th May
I manage to spend most of the night tossing and turning in my bed. The bath was no help whatsoever and as for the hot chocolate, I’m fairly sure wine would have worked better, but with the medication I’m on that’s totally out of the question. All in all, this Saturday was shaping up to be a pretty dark day. I call them dark days, but really they are the days when my depression and anxiety take over and I am powerless to stop them. They are also the days that all of the CBT and therapy I have done fly out of my head and I’m back at square one.
It’s now just after six in the morning and I am finding it hard to stay in bed. I start to pace around the flat counting my breaths in and out to try to calm down. When that doesn’t work I go to my Kindle to distract myself, but the book I have been enjoying, only a couple of days ago, no longer has the same connection. So, I go to my window seat and people watch.
By eight o clock, I give up and take one of my ‘In case of emergency tablets.’ These were the tablets I was given for those unexpected moments when I might have to leave the flat and are a higher dose than any of my other tablets. I was given them after the doctor first saw me. He recommended I went on them full time, but I didn’t want to make that leap just yet. They always made me feel different and not myself, so the fewer I had to take the better.
Nine o clock, the tablet has kicked in. I feel a little drunk but so much better. At nine thirty, my mobile rings and I spring up and grab it knowing it will be Claire. She always phones after date night.
“Hi honey,” I sing down the line.
“Jess?” Claire asks a little confused.
“Yep, it’s me.”
“Oh Jess, tell me you didn’t take the big D.”
That’s what we call the Diazepam.
“Maybe,” I grin down the phone, “Anyway, enough about me. Tell me about last night!”
She sighs, annoyed that I changed the subject, but that changes as she starts telling me about her date. “It was amazing. He was such a gentleman, well, on the date anyway.” I can sense the smirk on Claire’s face, even though I can’t see her.
“I don’t care about the date. I want the juicy stuff!” I can hear the words coming out of my mouth, but I really can’t find my filter. I mean Claire and I share everything, but I’m normally a little more reserved than this.
“Jessica! A lady never kisses and tells!” Claire replies in mock outrage.
“Good job you’re not a lady then,” I fire back. At this, we both break down laughing.
“So, how well hung was he then?” I ask through the laughter. I may be a little drugged up, but I have to live my sexual fantasies though someone. “Just don’t tell me if he had a wiener, give me something to go on.”
“Oh, he was above average, and knew exactly what to do with it and did it more than once!”
“So, will you be seeing Mr Well-Hung again?” I ask, even though I can’t help feeling a little depressed knowing that I will never get what Claire is getting. Before Claire even has time to answer I blurt out, “I miss dick. I don’t know about well hung. I would settle for any hung right about now.”
“Someone hasn’t been using Mr Darcy recently have they?” Claire asks down the line. You have probably guessed it, yes, Mr Darcy is my very well loved and over used Rabbit. I choose not to answer that question, Claire doesn’t need to know just how much I use him.
“So, when are you seeing him next?” I say trying to get the conversation away from me.
“Tomorrow night. In fact, I might be a little late ringing next time as he wants me to spend the night at his.”
“Claire has a boyfriend,” I sing down the line, again feeling a pain shoot through my chest knowing it is something I can never have. Not while I’m like this anyway. I hide my pity party for one by laughing down the line with Claire
We chat for another half hour until I tell her that I have to go as I’m getting my food delivery soon.
“Wasn’t that yesterday?” She asks.
“It was meant to be, but James has fractured his ankle so I have someone new coming today.” It shocks me how easily I say this, but I put it down to the big D.
“Oh, that explains your Big D drunkenness. Are you sure you’ll be OK? I could see if…”
“I’ll be fine,” I reply. Well, as fine as a depressive, anxious, agoraphobic can be in this type of situation, but I don’t say that part out loud. Claire hates it when I talk about myself like that. I find it helps a little though. Makes me feel just a little more normal knowing it’s a condition rather than anything else.
“If you’re sure. I’ll try to give you a call later to check up.”
“Thanks Claire. What would I do without you?” I ask already knowing the answer. Let’s just say I don’t want to go down that road again.
We finish our chat and hang up and it’s amazing how much better I’m feeling. That is, until the intercom buzzes. The anxiety increases but the medication helps to keep the full blown panic attack at bay. This was it! I could fail without trying or I could fight and, to be honest, I was getting a little bored of failing.
“Hello,” I can hear the quiver in my voice, but fight to keep control.
“Miss Wentworth. I have your delivery for you.” It may have been the medication fuelled with the conversation I had just had with Claire, but the rasp in the voice on the other end of the line sent my heart into overdrive and not in the way I was used to. It soothed and yet ignited my body in ways I had not felt in a very long time. So much so, I was finding it a little hard to concentrate. I give my head a shake and blame the tablets before I speak.
“Oh yes, have you been briefed on the delivery instructions?” I take deep breaths hoping this will all go smoothly. There was only so long my medication would help for.
“Yes,” he pauses for a second, “but I will still need a signature,” his rich, raspy voice replies.
“But I can sign the machine and then you can pick it up after. James always did it that way.” The increased heart rate was no longer through pleasure and panic was setting in. I try to take a calming breath, but it isn’t working.
“The electronic device needs signing, Miss. I will need to get your signature,” he replies calmly.
My breathing increases and I can feel my mind taking over my body. Nothing about this feels good anymore.
“Miss Wentworth, are you OK?” I can hear a hint of worry in his voice.
“I can’t …” I can’t get out the words. “Please … Call … The … Office,” I manage through the hyperventilating that was starting to be taken over by the shakes.
“Miss Wentworth? Do you need…”
“Just phone your office please. Mathew will fill you in.”
I can’t do this. I can’t stay by the door. So, on unsteady feet, I make my way to my sanctuary. As I get to the window seat I close my eyes, trying to get my breathing and shaking
under control. Nothing is working.
I can hear the delivery guy talking to someone else. “Thanks Mathew. It would help if this was put on the notes though.” I can hear the sarcasm in his voice turn to sympathy. “That poor woman. I mean how? Oh, I’ll sort this out,” he replies angrily.
I open my eyes just in time to see him move back to the door but I can only make out a blur as he moves out of view again. It’s only then I realise that my breathing is back to normal and the shakes have stopped. How? The intercom buzzes again and I, slowly, make my way over to the door. I can feel the nerves once again, but this time it is different. It doesn’t seem quite so bad.
“Hello,” I say, timidly.
“Miss Wentworth, I am so sorry. Head office have just told me about your…” he stops to think of the right words, “your delivery.”
“Thank you. I’ll buzz you in,” I sigh with relief.
“Thanks. Take your time. I’ll leave it all and wait in the truck.” He sounds so compassionate as his voice returns to its rich, raspy tone.
The rest of the delivery goes smoothly. He leaves my items and I leave his machine outside. No panic attacks, nothing. Smiling to myself and feeling like I’ve just managed a small victory, I start to make my way back over to the window when the letterbox knocks and a small piece of paper floats down to the floor. It’s strange as the postman has already been. Waiting for a few minutes to ensure that the person who has left the note has gone, I go to retrieve it.
Sorry for any stress caused. Next time it will all go much smoother. Just in and out.
Steve
I read the note and close my eyes. A tingling creeps across my body as I imagine the man behind the doors voice. I rush to the window just in time to catch the van pulling away from the curb. As it drives off out of view, I can’t stop thinking about the man who is driving it. The man whose voice sent my heart beating into overdrive, yet also calmed me more than any medication or therapy had done in the last year.