Bank Sorrows

Just when I thought things were bad, they got worse.  There's a huge backstory (cancer, deaths, separation) to share in another post, but know that right now it feels like I'm walking along a cliff's edge, just barely managing to keep my balance. I'm trying to hang onto the rocks on my left, sometimes by the tips of my ragged fingernails, just to feel the pull of gravity into the abyss of sorrow at my right.

This morning I awoke to the joy of an unplanned Saturday.  I was able to sleep past 5:30 and keep my mind off all the camp planning I should be doing.  I had a lazy pajama-clad morning with Watson and the newspaper and then decided to get dressed and return some library books, check out new ones for this week's camp classes, and deposit some checks into my dwindling account.  The bank was first and all was well until, post-deposit, the teller asked me about overdraft protection.  I said that I thought I had such, and had for 15 years, and he said, after fiddling at his computer, "No, no one's talked to you about it."  He handed me a paper about overdraft protection and fees for overdrawn checks and was confusing me into thinking I didn't have overdraft protection and needed to buy some 'plan.'  I hate stuff like that! The other teller came over and kept saying "Good Morning, Hello?" as if she was on the phone and it took me more than a moment to realize that she was talking to me.  She basically let me off the hook, saying everything was fine, I didn't need the paper, not to worry.

But worry I did.  The gravitational pull of the abyss took over and I walked out of there with tears in my eyes, not really sure of what all the fuss was about.  For the record, I've been in the position, in the past,  of overdrawing my account and having to pay exorbitant fees over and over again, which depleted my account further.  It seems patently unfair to hit those with the least funds with fees they can't afford in the first place, but I learned my lesson and never pushed the limits again.  Nonetheless, I felt shamed and embarrassed by the teller and the tears turned into full fledged crying by the time I was in my car and I had to start deep breathing to calm myself enough to start driving.

I ended up going via the Beltway to get to the library and the stress and sorrow just welled up again and I was a friggin' mess while driving. No cell phone distraction needed.  No inebriated driving.  Just sorrow.  Sadness.  Shame at my inability to deal with a bank teller.  Shame at my inability to get over my sorrows.  I was terrified that I wouldn't get to my exit, only 2 exits away, because I was shaking so much.  I was thinking, "This is what a nervous breakdown must feel like.  Can you call 911 for a nervous breakdown?"  Even now, hours later, writing about it, I get upset.  Not as upset as I was, but upset.  It was like the sorrow had welled up and just couldn't, or wouldn't, be contained anymore.  Like opening a steam valve to relieve the pressure.

The rest of the day brought its distractions and a better sense of balance, but I'm more than a little worried about walking along that cliff's edge.  I'm not sure my fingernails can hold out.