The Petri Dish
I don’t remember when but at some point, I started referring to everything outside my home as the petri dish, or in short, “the dish”. As in cooking up a smorgasboard of ick. Germs, yes, but in my case…social anxiety, like germs in a petri dish. The dish of petri. Out there.
For the past couple of months I have found my anxiety morphing into a whole new animal. Used to, I’d stay in a few days and my nerves would calm and I would be itching to get out and do something, anything. Now…a trip out to run errands is like walking a gauntlet. The panic starts up with little nervous tremors, hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my legs get all wobbly, and I start to feel nauseous. Not an affectation of “It makes me feel sick.” I mean, literally, fighting back the urge to throw up. If I am out too long, it all amplifies and I wind up feeling winded, dizzy, woozy and like if I don’t get back to my safe spot, I WILL die.
Used to be just at large places like Wal-Mart. Now it’s everywhere everyday.
Today included. I am still shaken. Generally some sort of trauma causes such a visceral reaction but nothing has happened to me in public recently to bring this on. It’s a whole different animal and I don’t know how to handle it. The same old, same old, I have experience with. This…I am out of my league, and honestly I think the doctors are too. An explanation is required and there is none. I’m just a trainwreck. There is no cure, there is only management and coping as best as one can.
When you view your whole future this way, through a depression that won’t let up, thru an anxiety that won’t let up and keeps worsening…The future doesn’t seem like much to look forward to. In fact, it just seems cruel and punishing.
Its too bad because my mood today wasn’t too bad. I got up and dressed and out the door and thought, wow, I can put on the mask and pretend to be a normal person and interact with others.
BAM. One of my other disorders decides it wants its time in the spotlight.
It sucks. There’s my profound thought for the day. Wait. It FUCKING sucks. There, deep and profound.
Not that last night was any better. A little after 11pm the power went out. Like every trailer in the park out. Panic reigned supreme. Me, in my preparedness, had a lantern with no batteries, so I scrambled to find a candle. Me, candlelight, a scared kid, and my nerves. Twas fun. When it was finally restored, it was like being freed from a prison. I don’t do Little House on The Prairie. I need my electrical tethers. They ground me when I start to spin.
I am spinning today. I feel unnerved and angry due to the dish outing and the anxiety that came with it. My jaw hurts already from gnashing my teeth. The doctors say “Don’t drink, it makes it worse.”
Right about now with every nerve ending firing wily nily and fight or flight hanging around…I’d risk worse for some numb of vodka. That’s what the professionals, and others, will never grasp. Most bipolars or depressives don’t drink to get happy or make it better. We do it to make it lesser.
I really should have gotten some vodka. Not a cure but hey,neither are the fucking meds and therapy.