ERNIE AND ERNESTINA: The Writer, His Wife, and their Afterlife
Book One, Part Two, Chapter 169: Breakdown
Joshua bought a plane ticket for the twenty-eighth of November. He cancelled that ticket and bought one for the third of December. Today, the second of December, Christy calls.
Why is Christy calling again? This is the third time since Thanksgiving. Usually she never calls.
“You sound good,” she says. “You’re even laughing.”
I just told her I’d flunked the Friendship Test. It’s not something to laugh about, but I’m laughing about it, at least to Christy.
“People from dysfunctional families don’t know about friendship,” she says. “How would they? But it’s good to hear you’re getting better yourself because I have to tell you about Joshua.”
Here it comes, I think. She’s going to tell me she and Joshua have finally decided to end their dysfunctional relationship. If so, this will mean . . . what? How will Joshua feel? Lost and confused? Or relieved? But this is not what she says.
“Joshua has had a complete nervous breakdown. Panic attacks. Rapid heartbeat. Dry mouth. The sweats. Shortness of breath. Not able to sleep. He’s been to the emergency room twice, both times in an ambulance, both times feeling as if he’s going crazy and dying at the same time. Perhaps it’s a breakthrough, though, not a breakdown. For the first time he’s talking to counselors on the hotline and to doctors in the hospital about his father’s death. Before this, I couldn’t even get him to put the words daddy and dead together. We’ve been able to laugh a bit about the panic attacks. He’s on anti-anxiety medicine, but he wants someone around at all times, and he barks orders. It’s been a hard two weeks for me. I’ve had to dig deep. Perhaps this is the universe’s way of teaching me how to nurture. But I’m worn out. Either he goes or I go. That’s the point we’re at.”
She pauses. I’m not responding yet. I’m trying to absorb all this. I’m not numbing out, but I feel out of my element here. What can I do?
“I’ll give you ten minutes to take all this in, then he’ll call you. Okay?”
Joshua is broken down, and I am, too. I’ve been eating ice cream for weeks and weeks rather than fixing food. I can’t bear to slice an onion or mince garlic or even fry an egg. How can I nurture Joshua when I can’t even nurture myself?
We’re both fucked up.
