It took two weeks to figure out something wasn't right and I went to a psychologist. I told him I was irritable and scatterbrained and having a really emotional time trying to get my life back on track. I had recently broken up with my (I didn't say criminal) girlfriend and still felt like I was going to die all the time, despite being completely out of danger. I cried nonstop and I also told him I was upset because my high school friends weren't there for me. He said he couldn't do anything about that but told me I had probably suffered a serious and life-changing traumatic brain injury.
He gave me debian for depression and irritability. We were all going to watch me very closely for any more changes or even improvement. I had decided my life was over. But after a few days, I did feel better. I got a job.
I wasn't a waiter exactly but I did get tip-outs and had a lot of extra cash. Everyone who worked at the restaurant was exceptional and most of them were even in college, which I tempestuously envied and made large plans to enroll myself. The work was easy but I was really good at it, especially the details. The nights were intense and late, and I worked up and down the stairs attempting to hide the racket of dirty dishes. I could lean backwards and hold my hands outwards to keep the dishes in the bus tub. Fine dining has a special effect on someone that can be envisioned only if you meet the people themselves. Those people, who like to bill really extravagant checks on dinner and wine, have characters that are almost as magnanimous as the captains I had all but forgotten.
I was glad to be away from the Chem 1 and debian improved my mood so far beyond what I had felt before that I can say now I was definitely manic for the first few weeks on the job. The mania brought sadness but it was a healing type, where I could regain perspective on how traumatic my relationships had been for so long. I could talk to these people about music and other things I loved, and they liked me for that.
Whenever I would take debian in the mornings, I thought my imagination was somehow improved. The clarity with which I could perceive things now made me a newer person. I thought constantly of little scenarios where fantastic people came and went. The restaurant was the perfect environment for that. I wrote a story about a local dancer I met named Geronima. Actually, I wrote four stories but each one improved on the last and I considered my last story to be the only important one.
I had changed completely, but had issues focusing on conversation and communicating. That was the scariest part, and I began to feel like I was like my biology teacher's daughter. Was I retarded now? With horror I could recall conversations and my memory seemed to warp my image of myself. I felt convinced that I had become more handicapped than my family had thought. I began to get extremely anxious before and during work. But I still could assure myself that I was okay, because I really liked myself, and that was how I could function. I liked the stories I wrote, and my coworkers, and wanted to eventually start a huge, purposeful life. ‘I am an adult now and,’ I thought with humor, ‘as soon as I could have sex I'd feel much much better.’
The one thing holding me back from either enrolling in college or becoming a full-time waiter, was the lingering idea that I was still in love with her. It was stupid, I knew. I was torn by one emotion, which felt almost confused but happy; and another which longed for my ex-girlfriend and even the thrill of her company. My Mom was still working at the shelter and that would ultimately be the end to my life at the restaurant after the TBI, and a new introduction to my next life as a pedestrian of the pill I could call my own shelter, debian.
I met Anne at my Mom's house when I came home from work one night. I avoided her at first by going into my old room which was socially acceptable even to me who was insecure, and when I overheard her I felt that first attraction to her when she took my virginity. She approached me in my room and gave me her number. I asked her how she was. She said she was having a hard time taking care of her new boyfriend who was nothing like me. Curiosity would execute me mercilessly that night. I woke up in her new place. I felt much much better.