So here I am.  Another week has gone by.  It amazes me how much drama can fill a week.  A day or even an hour.  And I’m not even talking about television.  Sure, this week brought the end of Lost and that hour and a half was packed full of drama and answers to questions that were the answers that we had always known they were.  Of course they all died in the plane crash.  Of course that was their purgatory from which they had to prove their worth. 

This apartment I am living in appears to be my island from Lost where I am paying dearly for the sins of my previous life.  I live so happily with the most loving woman I’ve ever had in my life.  But at the same time.  Every day here in this apartment is a true test.  The apartment is small.  My marriage, before and after it dissolved proved to cause me quite a bit of emotional trauma.  It made me claustrophobic and agoraphobic.  Those are two things that do not mix well together.  The stress and strain of my marriage made both the metaphorical and physical walls close in on me at an alarming rate.  I was held hostage inside and it took a long time for me to break free from those walls and set my mind, body and soul free.

The problem is, that I still have that claustrophobia now.  Both in the physical and mental sense.  This apartment is small.  Really it’s too small.  I’m a tall guy and when I hit my head on the ceiling while brushing my teeth, or pissing in the toilet, or walking down the three steps from the kitchen to the living room… it really makes me feel like I had just taken a swig of Alice’s “drink me” vial.

Now when the going gets tough, the mental walks start forcing those physical walls in around me.  Being trapped is something that my marriage taught me I don’t deal well with.  I would say 90% of my stress comes from being trapped in one sense or another.  Mentally.  Physically.  Financially.  I think it’s the free spirit in me.  It’s the Pisces just looking to swim.  I can’t control that aspect of me.  It’s who I am.  I’m a loner, Dottie.  A rebel.

Knowing that it’s who I am, I am now struggling as I see what effect it has on those close to me.  Never before have I seen someone hurt because of my actions.  Not like this.

I’m also a very just person.  I believe in justice.  I believe that laws are set in place for a reason.  I also believe that those breaking the law need to be taken care of in one way or another. 

My downstairs neighbors, also our landlord, also my chick’s brother.. have been partaking of the Mary Jane very liberally as of late.  We’ve lived here for a year and it’s gotten progressively worse as the days go by.  It used to be later at night we would get an odd odor… sometimes skunk smelling odor which I can’t explain, wafting up through the floorboards.  then it moved earlier and earlier and more frequently.  Earlier to the point of Sunday morning at 8:30 am. 

Now fine.  You may think, it’s only pot.  It’s no big deal.  So they are smoking a little more than they should be.  Whatever.  It’s only pot.  It’s not addictive.  It’s not harming anyone.  It just chills you out for a while.  Well, yeah.  That’s all fine and good.  but they’re doing it with their one and two year old children mere feet away.    And when you’re getting all fucked up with little kids present… that’s no longer cool and it’s certainly no longer acceptable.

The shit hit the fan last week.  A week ago today actually and it was time for a family intervention.  I was somewhat on the fringe of the beginnings of the whole thing but was there as the night melted down into disastrous proportions. 

Needless to say, it didn’t go well.  There were angry parents.  There was a lot of yelling and crying.  And a week later it isn’t getting much better. The relationship between brother and sister has dissolved permanently.  Which may not be a bad thing.  It’s tough living a lie to cover up for a brother’s criminal activity.  There’s a lot of strain there.  But it’s not my place.  It’s only my place to hold her up… and to keep her from murdering him for the stupid shit he does.

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Needless to say, I need to find a place to live and fast.

The stress of that has really compounded my claustrophobia.  I can’t stay in this apartment.  The walls get closer and closer to me every day.  It’s funny.  The walls also get closer as the dishes and laundry pile up.  I’m not sure how that reflects on the damage caused by my marriage.  There’s something about the dishes and laundry slowly creeping their way across the kitchen and bedroom floor that make the walls close in on me much faster than I like it to. 

Most days I can contain it.  If there’s not too much hustle and bustle around the house.  But as the weekends show up and there’s two adults, a teen, two little ones, the neighbors dog, my two dogs, and the cat all bursting about the seams of this place I start to vibrate.  My hands start to shake.  My knees grow weak.  I become crippled by the lack of air. 

I’m working on it.  But it’s something I fear I’ll never overcome.

At least not while I’m living here.

And hopefully, the 14 hour flight to Japan… well, with any luck some sleeping pills will knock me the fuck out for that one.