In eleven days, it will be John’s and my 18 th wedding anniversary. We were so bad at remembering our anniversary that one time we only remembered because John’s aunt texted Happy Anniversary to me the night before. After recovering from my “oh shit” moment, and realizing we already had the menu planned for the week (taco salad was on the menu for the next night), I said to John, “Hey, how do taco salads sound for our anniversary dinner?” I saw the same “oh shit” look on his face I’d just tried to hide from him. He was a little late getting home from work the next evening because he’d stopped for a card and a pound of See’s Candies. “Don’t worry, I forgot it, too,” I said to relieve him of the guilt I knew he was feeling. “Auntie Jan just texted me Happy Anniversary.” It wasn’t the first time we’d forgotten and wouldn’t be the last. John had it in his head it was the 16 th , not the 6 th , so he said, “I didn’t forget. I just remembered wrong.” This year I won’t forget. It’ll be
The thing I don't remember is how sneaky anxiety attacks are because I never see it coming until it's there and I desperately need to run away, to get where it's quiet but my heart races and then the tears flow and won't stop and then thank God I remembered I tucked the meds in my purse this morning but when will they kick in retreating to a bench on the edge of the grass to stop, to breathe, take a breath and tell myself this will pass, it's OK, it will pass, condemning myself for something I can't control and hating that this happens when I'm only trying to get my life back. The exercise in a workshop at the writer's conference in my hometown was to write a stream of consciousness paragraph starting with "The thing I don't remember..." It was fresh in my mind, so of course that's where my mind went. The morning sessions were a blur, still coming down off an attack, not wanting to be there, not wanting to be near people, not wanting