This week is the start of a very special three-part mini-series centered around stories about mental health, told from two different perspectives. This mini-series is guest hosted and produced by Story Collider senior producer Misha Gajewski.

The first episode of this series features a story told by a couple, chemist Xavier Jordan Retana and editor Brittany Lundberg. After moving into separate apartments during the pandemic, Xavier and Brittany each find themselves navigating their mental health and coping with a new sense of independence.

Story Transcript

Xavier Jordan is a senior lab tech working with metals and stuff. He’s been telling stories for a while and can’t wait to get back to it.

Xavier: In October I started driving high. I didn’t do it for very long, I didn’t like that I did it, I didn’t tell anyone about it, I didn’t take on the habit intentionally, but I did do it, I came to love it, and I smoked while driving high for Uber, which was a hard decision; Uber, not weed. I had to completely mute my social conscience because I know, what with the corporate misogyny and the phrase “COVID-safe Uber driver” being a fucking oxymoron, but me and Brittany couldn’t sub lease our old place. She wanted to move into separate places, and to her surprise, without blinking, I said yes. I mean it was time, and we were both really excited to leave our shitty tiny Avondale apartment and make our own spaces, her in Ravenswood, me in Logan Square, but we rushed it. We couldn’t find sub lessors. We thought we did, but then we didn’t . Long story short, me and Brittany each had to pay for the whole of our new apartments and half of our old one and I’m already at a razor’s edge financially. We needed the money, and I couldn’t ask for a raise at my day job, that job’s a privilege of a job as it is. Put a pin in that.

By day, Brittany works in the medical publishing industry. By night, she runs her plant and art shop, Boblin’s Greenery. By Friday, she’s exhausted.

Brittany: In October, I got a text from my mom. All it said was “I miss you.” And that pissed me off, because it was the first thing she’d said to me in almost three months.

See my mom had found out through the grapevine that I was throwing the word “abusive” around, and she was, to put it mildly, upset. She started the conversation with a screenshot and an “explain this” then ended it with “Well if that’s how you really feel, then I don’t want to be a further detriment to you.”

I’m sure it was supposed to hurt me or guilt me into caving, but it honestly felt really badass to leave her on read. 2020 was the year that I started to be the woman I was dreaming of being. I liked plants, I started an indoor jungle. I hated my job, I made a business. I wanted my own space, I got an apartment. I saw this bright, beautiful--and most importantly: cheap--one-bedroom in Ravenswood, and as soon as I saw it . . . . okay, so Xavier window shops on Zillow a lot, and he always looks at the places and envisions what his small Maltese terrier Ginger would look like living there. When he can truly envision Ginger in that space, playing with her, giving her a little cave to sleep, taking her out for walks, that's how he knows he loves the place.

I saw this apartment and immediately got visions of plants packing the double-thick window sills. The windows took up the whole south-facing wall of the living room, which meant I could put any plant--ANY plant--in that room and be good to go. I saw where the humidifiers would be tucked away, the gallons of eggshell tea, the grow lights...I could see where they would all go.

So I bought the apartment and because my mom wasn’t talking to me for the first three months I had been living there, she hadn’t seen the place. And that was totally fine with me honestly, because my life was all I wanted it to be at that point.

And then, “I miss you.” As if I was the person who said we needed to stop talking? I mean, that’s what I believed, but that’s definitely not how it went down.

So I invited her over.

Maybe she’d have an apology, maybe she wouldn’t. Either way, I just wanted to politely remind her that I wasn’t the one holding up the friendship train.

Okay, and maybe I wanted to flaunt the place a little.

Xavier: As I was saying, I’m totally broke, alone and I’m earning pennies as potentially sick people get in my backseat and continue being even more privileged than me, pin in that. Anywho, every day I would finish a 10 hour shift at my day job, again, pin, and I’m exhausted, but I have to, I have to get in my car, turn the app on and hear that bloopoom. It was nice. I mean I’d pull over the side of the road and in comes this person who also has a shitty job in science but really wants to get into painting out, in comes this lady who writes instruction manuals for other languages and just got off work at her second job at a bar in downtown. Out, in. Here’s this guy, who’s making fun of his friends, also in the car, for being drunk, alone, and white in Garfield Park, which, if you know, you know, and if you don’t then you’re either not from Chicago or you’re white.

This is great, I am making money, connecting with people, connecting with the city, with my own humanity… But there’s a hitch. I can’t help but emote all the shitty stuff that I have going on in my life, which you know, no one wants to hear, especially anyone just trying to get a ride but I can’t help myself and they can’t jump out of the car while we’re on Lake Shore, so . In, I feel… kind of betrayed… maybe that’s not the word exactly. Here she is, my lovely girlfriend, thriving, learning, becoming a real human on her own, but I already had this journey, I already lived alone, and I’m already, you know, a full human person and I know who I am, I know what I want and what I miss and I miss having her around. Out, In. We’re doing fine, in love and thriving it’s just… before the move I had money and company, and now all I have is… well a lot, I have plenty, I’m surviving, again pin in that. Out, in, I need to stop fucking my life up… you know? I need to start complimenting myself, stop smoking, start eating better, start writing, get supplements, go to the doctor, quit my jobs , all of them, talk to friends, you know, the general laundry list of desires I put off for fucking money fuck me Out, in.

Brittany can attest to this, I support her 100 percent in all things, but once Uber came into play, I mean all that is on my mind is money and time, to the point that I’m not even checking my bank account. I’m just working working working because my goal is to not be broke and if all my time can be money, then I’ll never be broke if I always get money, if I always work Uber out, in I don’t really have any friends right now, out, in I should have done like one open mic before all the clubs closed down, don’t I want to be a comedian? I’m wasting away at this industrial laboratory gig and fucking Uber and I want to be a comedian, fuck out in but when I get high I feel less down, less worried, I’m not as critical of myself or my life. I can talk about anything, I learn to appreciate out…

Brittany: Okay, so my favorite plant is this philodendron brasil I’ve had for about three years. I got it when Xavier and I started dating, and I liked the symbolism. The longest vine is over 8 feet long, and you better believe I draped that shit across my whole living room. The rest of the plant has deep green teardrop leaves with landing strips of lime green shooting up the middle. It’s the first thing you see when you walk into my apartment, a pillar of green waterfalling down from the ceiling.

Next to my door, there’s a huge money tree I’d gotten at the beginning of quarantine. Lockdown in Chicago started right on my 23rd birthday, and to make me feel better about cancelling my plans, Xavier got me this four foot tall tree with six trunks beautifully braided together. Above the tree, I keep the first plant that I didn’t buy but grew. It’s a spider plant that hangs in a macramé hanger that someone hand-made for me when I first opened my plant shop.

Now, I’m contractually obligated to say I love all plants, but these three? They aren’t just plants. They’re my history.

And, despite being my mother, my mom isn’t really a part of that. I don’t typically share things with her unless I’m okay with it being used against me later, and it’s not like she ever asks about anything anyway. But, I think, if she were to start asking, that these three plants would be a great place to start.

I buzz her in and pack a bowl as she hikes up to my third floor apartment. When I open the door for her, she huffs and steps in. She says “It’s a little crowded.” Then, with a flap of her jacket, “And hot.” I shut all the windows, cranked up the AC, and beared down.

Typically, I don’t have a poker face, don’t believe in them. But 2020 is the year of progress, so if things can’t stop pissing me off then I might as well learn to hide the eternal rage.

So, every time my mom had something mean, or naggy, or just plain shitty to say, I pivoted to the apartment. Oh, you think I’m informing on you to your ex-husband? Alright here’s the army of pothos I’m nurturing to sell. You think I never call you enough? Here, come look at this weird succulent I found in the alley the other day. Oh you think that you stealing money from me is my fault? Alright no problem dude, come look at my shower plants.

And so it went, for, surprisingly, hours. Eventually, mom complained about how nobody had repainted her house for her yet. And I feel good, so I offered to do it. Besides, I live by myself during COVID, so what the fuck else am I supposed to do?

So we went back to my childhood home, where my mom and brother live, and I painted my old childhood bedroom. I smoked a joint with my brother, I drank on a ladder, and sang Dean Martin songs with my mom. When Xavier picked me up, I was smiling. I’m drunk, but smiling! I spent the night at Xavier’s with a warm feeling that I hadn’t associated with my mom in a very, very long time.

Xavier: I feel… new. It’s wonderful, it’s a cathartic monk experience, you know having people come and go, to steer around a vessel for either vigorously drunk free spirits or steep, tired souls tethered to their routine of a hard day’s night. In a French immigrant talks about their perspective of America, and I’m confident enough to talk back IN FRENCH MIND YOU, j’etais tres amusant OUT Woah, I can’t believe I just did that IN this guy talks about new music and his rise as an artist and how all his life he had to ignore his father’s goading to become fish vendor in Arkansas, and I have nothing but questions for such an interesting CW show of a life out, this is wonderful in, excuse me, Aurora, like, 40 minutes away Aurora? Shit. So it’s 11 pm, this guy gets in, the app tells me it's a 50 minute drive, fuck. Note to listeners, if you’re taking a cross country Uber, don’t. The app is not driver friendly which means your driver is not friendly if you do this unless they’re high as shit in which case I am, I got to Gabbin and you know what this cross country Aurorian hated most when he used to drive for Uber? Taking people out of town, and he couldn’t see the irony of his position, no apology or acknowledgment of the inconvenience of the situation. Fuck that guy. Out because I’m alone again. There’s no noise, it’s so dark, of course I’m not getting orders, I mean I'm in the middle of nowhere… oh no, it’s because my phone’s dead, that’s okay, I have…. I don’t have a charger, must have left it at home. Okay… Okay. I’m losing feeling in my hands which I get when I’m high... fuck. Fuck, it’s midnight, it’s COVID outside, there’s no one here, it’s just interstates and apartments, and everything’s so spread out, and low to the ground, I can’t see the street signs… I don’t have any gas… I’m driving…. 30 minutes pass, 60, I’m not even trying to get home anymore, I’m just panicking driving, alone with no phone and numb hands …

Brittany: The next day, I left Xavier’s feeling… I don’t know, I guess, I guess the word would be justified. I was paying for two apartments a month and had no free money, but that was the worst of my issues! That was the worst of my issues! During 2020! I took the bus home, and I didn’t listen to music because I was so plugged into the world. I was really where I wanted to be, and there was nothing in my life that felt out of control.

I spent the day walking around and basking in the music that played in the park outside my apartment. I finally got back to my apartment late afternoon, and I could hear my cat, Mordy, shouting at me as I walked up the stairs. As I opened the door, Mordy pushes through a pile of crunchy brown leaves. As he gleefully rubs against my legs as I stare at all this devastation in front of me.

My philodendron and money tree had dropped almost all of their leaves, as did almost twenty other plants in my living room. My floor, my couch, my tables--everything was covered in decaying, defeated leaves.

By the end of the first week of November, all but about ten of my plants looked like pet sticks. My landlord swore it wasn’t the apartment, but three separate technicians told me that the stove was putting out “less than lethal” amounts of gas into the apartment.

On the 9th, I was finally fed up with picking rotting bits of my life’s passion up off the floor. I took some product pictures of the few plants that were managing to stay alive, and I went to spend the night at Xavier’s. I smoked, I played video games, and I had a couple of days away from the failure I was 100% responsible for.

The day I was going home, November 11th, I woke up and found that I had the day off. On a whim, I texted my Mom. I mean truth be told, she was the only person in my pod that had a car, and I wanted to use my unexpected day off to pick up a new Christmas tree. I asked if she wanted to hang out and pick one up with me, and, 30 minutes later, she was outside Xavier’s apartment. I took a hit, switched my laundry, and hopped in the car as mom answered her phone.

As soon as she picked up the call, she started to hyperventilate. The voice on the other line kept asking about an overdue payment, and, through broken breaths, my mom sputtered out “I can’t talk to you right now.” She stumbled out of the car, slamming the door and burying her face in her folded arms on top of the car.

And I sat with my hands stacked on top of each other, eyes staring straight ahead. I didn’t want to embarrass her by watching.

A few minutes later she faintly tapped on the glass. I get out and try and ground her with simple questions because I think she’s having a panic attack: What day is today? Wednesday. Did you work today? No. What day is tomorrow? Thursday. Do you work tomorrow?

Get help.

Xavier: Let’s take that pin out. I am aware of the privilege I hold, I’m in a position where I need to make extra money, I already have a legit job, like, I get to gloat about it because it’s near downtown and it’s a chemist job, which is what I went to school for, and sure I drive Uber, but only because we need extra money because of a personal preference, me and Brittany decided to leave our old apartment, we each rented two more apartments than a decidedly large portion of the U.S right now, and I’m choosing to be intoxicated while I work, a luxury I can afford because I have a car and I’m driving for Uber and not working the cash register at Target, a job that’s a lot harder and pays a lot less. You know someone gave me notes for this piece and said they needed me to explain why having two jobs was a privilege, totally unaware that being that unaware is in and of itself a privilege, so if you also don’t fully understand how I’m in a privileged position, congrats, how’s the vacation home doing? But I shouldn’t be one to judge, I mean my biggest story during a year of COVID-19 is that I smoked a doobie and got lost in my 2013 Sonata, who cares? And you would think that awareness of my own nihilism and privilege would sober me, would convince me to stop moving and really look at myself… is this where I want to be? But I keep driving… I short circuited …. I’m crying, heavy tears at a strip mall in Aurora, high, hungry and terrified. Even with all this opportunity it is inevitable that I squander it at a midnight Aurora murder. I thought I would be murdered for sure, like it’s like I’m in the 70’s, no phone, no GPS, no one’s out after midnight I mean… I know too many podcasts…Eventually I sobered up and found my way home. I know, I'm alive, anticlimactic. I remember being parked outside my apartment, staring at the car parked in front of me… I took a deep breath, it was the deepest I had taken in a long time. It was difficult to take. From that point on, I stopped smoking, I set aside time for myself you know, bit by bit, cooking, exercise, music, writing … I did keep working crazy hours though… right up until….

Brittany and Xavier (right) celebrate Thanksgiving with Brittany’s family.

Brittany: Xavier’s apartment is right next to a fire station, so mom was in an ambulance within minutes. They took her to the hospital “just to be safe,” and then intubated her as soon as she got there. Turns out, it wasn’t a panic attack, but her second heart attack in less than a year. Over the course of 24 hours, her heart slowed and then it stuttered and then it stopped.

The morning of the day my mom died, my little brother and I had to watch from the other side of plexiglass as a machine thrusted her chest open and shut. He said “She’s going to make it.” I had to tell him that she probably wouldn’t, and he cried, and I cried because he cried, but inside I kept thinking about how complicated our lives were going to be from now on.

I saw this TikTok once that said that if a plant dies suddenly, it’s because it absorbed a curse for you. When we got the call about mom, my brain just kept tossing that idea around and it feels illegal to say it, but I wondered if my mom was the curse--if the coming trauma leeched the life from my perfect little oasis as a warning. I had to abandon my apartment in order to help pay for the overdue mortgage and lengthy probate battle we inherited. My plants were the first thing I transplanted back to my childhood home, and, funny enough, Xavier was the second.

Xavier: You know, I forgot that I get this way when I’m alone? I spiral, and I’m not sure how to feel about it. Because I hit rock bottom after rock bottom, me telling myself that I’m going to stop fucking my life up… But maybe it never was fucked up… maybe that’s something I tell myself when I want to be better, maybe telling myself I’m a fuck up is my tough love mechanism for telling myself I’m worth something so I should act like it. And it worked, I freaked out, then I got better, I stopped moving, stopped Ubering, I took a breath, I moved in with Brittany to help with the work and the stress in her childhood home. Everything is going to be okay. I pulled over, opened the door, and got out.