My Bad Wiring

I saw a roach today. It wasn’t the small German kind, but the large kind that climb in and out of sewers. It crawled over the headboard of my bed slowly, as if it was taking in the scenery of my dirty laundry and unmade bed, then took its first steps onto my pillow.

I am embarrassed to admit it now, but I screamed. It looked at me like it wanted to say hello, and I leapt from the bed, screaming like a toddler. Looking back on it I suppose it is funny but, during the confrontation, my fear of bugs rushed to the forefront. Anxiety took over. I couldn’t quite catch my breath as I raced for a weapon to take down the beast. Tears sprang to my eyes as I stood there for twenty minutes trying to gather the courage to squash the roach. It wasn’t until my son asked me if the bug had been eradicated that I finally swung the shoe.

I didn’t miss, but my mind wouldn’t stop showing me what it would look like if the bug had decided to open up its wings and buzz at me, or if it had chosen to jump on me and crawl up my arm. My spine is tingling right now, goose pimples forming on my arms, just writing this.

Once I had killed it, you know they never stop twitching. Its devious little legs shivered at me, daring me to try to pick it up. Three paper towels and I still dropped the damn thing on the way to the bathroom because one of its legs began going haywire. Despite knowing it was smashed between my fingers and that its insides were oozing from its thorax, I still pictured it alive and kicking, and I was afraid of its retribution. I screamed again, dropping its sad, crumpled body. It didn’t fall to the floor, but landed on the bathroom cabinets, dangling on that small lip of cabinet door for a moment before falling onto the linoleum.

I didn’t bother touching it again right away.

My child asked me again if the intruder was gone and if he could come back to momma’s bed. He couldn’t. I wasn’t finished.

I still had to check the bedroom to make sure that the bug hadn’t brought any friends with him. I searched under the bed, behind the dresser, behind my baby’s crib, the bathroom, the closet, all of the windows in the house. When I was somewhat satisfied that there were no more creepy crawlies, it was time to clean. Everywhere the bug had touched needed to be sanitized, including the carpet. I suspected that it gained entry from my bedroom window, so I scrubbed the windowsill and hosed the carpet from the window to the bed in vinegar. I washed the headboard and changed the sheets. All of this took about an hour and a half.

When I finished, my chest felt on the verge of exploding and my head was pounding. I told my children to stay on the couch and I ran to the kitchen and cried. I couldn’t breathe and I was afraid I was going to pass out. If I did, who would watch my children? I couldn’t believe I was having this episode, but I couldn’t stop it either. My son called to me and all I could do was huddle down on the kitchen floor and sob. When it passed, I thought I was done.

I let the kids sleep with me because I didn’t want to worry that roaches were crawling into their beds while they slept. I couldn’t lie down, I couldn’t shut my eyes. When the children finally fell asleep, I searched the bedroom again.

My head swam with possibilities: what if the bug had come in from the front door? All of the carpet would need to be washed. If it had crawled on the couch, I would need to disinfect it as best I could. The kids played in there. They dropped food on the floor and the couch and then ate it. Toys fell to the floor all the time and if they were there now, I was going to have to wash those too, just in case. I bolted upright, I hadn’t thought about the baby’s crib! The stuffed animals would be washed first thing in the morning. I even changed the sheets in the middle of the night and scrubbed the crib frame.

My brain couldn’t shut off. The nagging voice in my head kept yelling at me to get up. I had to do these things and I needed to do them now. There wasn’t going to be sleep or peace or a normal heart rate until the house had been scrubbed and the windows had been taped to keep the bugs out.

Even now my chest hurts remembering this night.

To someone on the outside, I know I sound insane. Once a thought comes into my head, it never goes away or quiets. Sometimes I can ignore the nagging voice. And sometimes I fall apart in the kitchen or locked in the bathroom where the kids can’t see me.

The bug was distressing. It threw me. I can fight the cleaning urges. I know because I do it every day. When the dog goes to the bathroom on his pads then hops up onto the couch, I fight the need to wipe his paws and to bleach the floor around the pads before scrubbing the couch and laying down a layer of blanket. I don’t wash my carpet every week even though I want to. Shoes and the outside world rubbing into my carpet is bad enough, but the cleaning solution is too chemical for the children, and I don’t clean with chemicals unless absolutely necessary.

I know that there is something twisted in my brain. Whether it is a chemical imbalance or just bad wiring doesn’t matter, because I can fight it.

Until I can’t.