Panic Attack

Last night, I had an emotional response to something like never before.  And though I feel like crap today, I think I’m better for it.

Business travel (and time apart, in general) is always hard on my relationship with Chuck.  We don’t argue or fight very often, but when we do, it’s usually when I’m away, hence why I don’t travel nearly as often as I used to.  In fact, I almost always try to get out of business trips by offering up less costly solutions like video conferencing.  Truth be told, it’s usually not necessary for me to attend meetings in person, but some trips are just plain unavoidable.  When I do have to travel, our arguments never stem from any real indiscretion, rather a lack of understanding for each others’ actions.

The fact of the matter is that Chuck and I have led very different lives. 

Chuck’s parents are twenty years older than mine.  They are literally the same age as my grandparents, and they share the same values, too.  His father is retired from the Special Forces, his mother is completely submissive to his dad, and his parents never do anything without spouse in tow.  He had an old-fashioned upbringing with incredibly strict rules, forced obedience, and constant bickering. 

I, on the other hand, had practically no rules at all.  I think my mom and dad just had a newer, more modern approach to parenting.  They taught me right from wrong, but gave me the freedom to make my own decisions.  When those decisions turned out to be mistakes, they trusted me to ask for help to make it right.  Because they gave me that freedom and trust, I was never afraid to turn to them when I had a problem, but it also gave me an incredible sense of independence.

When Chuck was eighteen and a senior in high school, he did the one thing that every parent of a teenager fears — he got his girlfriend pregnant.  After being under the close, watchful eye of his parents his entire life, he was suddenly forced to grow up and become a man.  He was forced to set his own rules, and the only ones he knew were those of his mom and dad.  With no other viable options to support his new family, he joined the Army, another catalyst of discipline and, quite frankly, submission.  And though it seemed like the right thing to do at the time, marriage wasn’t a good answer.  He and his first wife were divorced in under a year.

Before his final decree had even been signed by the judge, Chuck met Jessica.  Prior to moving in with Chuck, Jessica had only lived with her parents.  She had never lived on her own or supported herself, and has only done so for the first time since she and Chuck divorced.  For the entire twelve years of their relationship, she was completely dependent on him, so much so that she couldn’t even make simple decisions on her own when he was away.  A submissive wife, a spitting image of the relationship between Chuck’s mom and dad.  Funny thing is, this total dependence is one of the things he despised about her most.

When I was fifteen, I moved into my parents’ pool house.  It may have only been a couple hundred feet behind theirs, but I still learned some valuable lessons about taking care of myself early on.  I had an allowance, but I also had a car, which meant that I had to do my own grocery shopping.  I was responsible for keeping the entire place clean, for doing my own laundry, for cooking my own meals, for washing my dirty dishes.  I didn’t have my mom as a backup alarm clock, so if I overslept and was late to school, I had to deal with the principal’s punishment. Aside from not having a full time job during the school term, I basically led the life of a young adult.

Immediately after graduation, I started both a full time job and a full time course load at college.  My parents helped me get a nice but inexpensive apartment closer to where I worked, but I paid the tab.  I think moving out for the first time is probably a really scary experience for most young adults, but I wasn’t scared at all.  I had practically been taking care of myself for the previous three years.

I won’t go into the details about every place I lived and every decision I made, but I think my point is clear.  Chuck has spent his entire life being taken care of and taking care of someone else.  My life has mostly been spent alone.  I know that sounds kind of depressing, but that’s not how I mean it.  I just mean that relationships have come and gone in my life, but I have only been responsible for me.  I’ve never had to take care of anyone else, and it’s been a long while since I’ve needed or wanted someone to take care of me.

Yeah, I realize that was a long back story to get to my point.  The result of the different paths that Chuck and I have taken to get to here and now is that when we’re together, we’re on cloud nine.  When we’re apart, it’s damn near chaotic.  Chuck has an inherent need to be in control of everything simply because he always has been.  I’m pretty laid back, and just roll with the punches.  He likes to plan everything out.  Wait, he likes for me to plan everything out.  He likes to know ahead of time what I’m going to be doing when I’m away so that he doesn’t have to worry.  I’m spontaneous.  I have no idea what or where I’m going to eat for dinner, much less what time I’ll be finished with it and headed back to my room.  He likes to be in constant contact when I’m away, and I’m pretty much known for being inaccessible.

Case in point, a few weeks ago, I had to fly to Colorado Springs for several days for a technical summit.  It just so happened that my brother was there the same week for a different meeting.  Since he lives in DC, we don’t get to see each other all that often, so when we do, we make ample use of the time.  We booked rooms at the same hotel, and we specifically chose a place downtown, out of the way from our office, but walking distance from our favorite restaurants and bars.  Rob and I went out every night for dinner and drinks, and all was well with the world the first few days simply because I would periodical

ly text Chuck just to let him know I was safe and sound.  I admit that I thought it was silly (I was with my brother, after all), but I did it because I knew it gave Chuck peace of mind.

Yes, all was well with the world… until mine and Rob’s last night there.  We met up with several of our coworkers for dinner at a local fave, and after the bill was split and tabs were paid, everyone went their separate ways.  Rob and I weren’t quite ready to call it a night since we knew it would probably be many months before we got to hang out again.  I sent Chuck a text letting him know that we were going to have another drink or two, and we headed down to 15C, our favorite martini bar.  A drink or two turned into four or five, not because we were partying and having the time of our lives, but because we were actually having a really deep conversation about things we went through in our childhood.  The longer we talked, the less I thought about my phone buried in the bottom of my purse, and I never heard the text messages roll in over the next several hours. 

By the time I got to my room, Chuck and I were in the biggest fight we’d ever had, and I honestly couldn’t understand why.  It was late, it was the middle of the week, and he couldn’t sleep for worrying that something had happened to me.  Once he found out I was alright, he felt like I had been ignoring him, pushing him off to the side, and my blatant disregard for his feelings hurt him the most.  At the time, I just thought the whole thing was ridiculous.  I’ve never answered to anyone before, and I felt like that’s what he was trying to force me to do.  I spent the remainder of the night in tears, trying to understand what I had done wrong, and I just didn’t get it.

Fast forward to last weekend.  When Chuck took his position with our company, he was hired as local support for III Corps at Ft. Hood.  III Corps has since deployed to Iraq, so in their absence, Chuck has had to start taking on some business trips to train other units around the country.  Sunday afternoon, I dropped him off at the airport to catch his flight to Ft. Dix, NJ.

Times are typically much less stressful when Chuck is the one traveling.  Aside from the fact that I’m a little more understanding of the need for some space, he actually practices what he preaches.  When going out in the evening for dinner and drinks, he always keeps me in the loop, texting or calling periodically to let me know where he’s at, what he’s doing, or just to tell me he misses me.  He’s always kept me in the loop… until last night.

Last night, Chuck opted for a late dinner.  Afterward, he headed to Iron Hill Brewery, a place he’d seen featured in one of our home brew magazines that he’d always wanted to try out.  In his absence, I decided to finish up a video game that I was nearing the end on.  He’d already beaten the game, so he’d periodically text  to give me pointers on the particular battle I was facing or just to tell me about the different beers he was tasting — you all know we’re avid home brewers, and we talk about beer like some people talk about wine.  Anyway, I finished the game around midnight, 1am New Jersey time.  I sent him a text letting him know that I was finally done, and… nothing.

Half an hour later, when I still hadn’t received a response to my earlier text, I called, and he answered.  He was still at the brewery, having a drink with the coordinator of the classroom that he’s been using at Ft. Dix.  He told me that he only had about half a beer left, and he’d give me a call and head back to his room when it was finished.  Another half hour later, and I hadn’t heard from him.  I sent him another text, "Half a beer, huh?"  Not something I would typically say, but I was beginning to get a little irritated.  I was lonely, and I couldn’t sleep, and I would rather he be safe and sound in his bed talking to me. 

Chuck explained that he was in the middle of a conversation (sounds familiar, right?), but admitted, and I quote, "You’re right.  I hate it when you do this to me, so let me finish up and get out of here.  I love you."  He promised to call me on his way out, and that I was all I needed to hear to conk out.

That last message was at 1:22am my time.  I woke up at 3:24am to the stark realization that he never called.  I immediately went into a panic attack and started sobbing.  I sent him a text.  Then another.  Then I called.  Over the next hour, I called four more times.  I went outside and smoked a cigarette.  I searched the internet for accident reports.  Surely he wouldn’t be so stupid to do something like that.  I checked his bank account to try to determine what time he left the brewery.  He had paid his tab shortly after we talked, so he couldn’t have stayed much longer.  Why hadn’t I heard from him?  Should I keep calling his phone?  Should I start calling area hospitals?

Then I threw up.

I laid down in the dark, staring blindly at the ceiling, tears streaming down my face, wondering what in the world I would do if something had happened to him… and my phone rang, a barely roused Chuck on the other end of the line.  He had sent me a text as he was leaving the brewery, but when I didn’t respond, he knew I was asleep.  He didn’t want to wake me, so he just made his way back to his room and climbed in the bed.  He had gotten up to use the restroom, and saw all of my missed calls.  I started bawling at the sound of his voice.  We talked for a few minutes, and he consoled me, reminded me how much he loves me.  After we hung up, my heart calmed itself, and I realized that maybe we have more in common than I knew.

I’ve had a headache all day, and my eyes are red and swollen.  But perhaps it was all worth it simply for the fact that we both understand each other a little better now.  This morning, I apologized for ever making him feel the way I felt last night.

Cheers!
Felina