The Anxiety of, well, anxiety

I was relatively ok.
Until beckoned to the shop on the premise of helping Kenny with something. Nothing was said about me being needed by The King. (make not that is said with my best dose of snarkasm.)
I get there after spending a few hours at home in the morning watching tv shows.
Lots is full. Kenny is there as well.
Lovely. Instant panic.

All Kenny wanted was the desktop wallpaper changed. REALLY? If you’re that dumb, you’re too stupid to own a computer. LEARN. Oh, wait, neither of them want to listen to me when I try to teach them to do these little things. Nooo, let’s bug Niki because she has nothing else to do and loves us so much.
Um…no.
THEN R put me on the spot and told me to look for an upper buffer board. While the antsy customer is standing right there looking over my shoulder. “I found it for forty bucks last week.” says R.
“Did you bookmark it?”
“No.”
“What site?”
“I don’t know.”
So I spend 45 mins, ten pages, five search engines, all the while this customer hovers and makes me so nervous I can’t think straight…And while I find several of these parts, the price is wrong, or it’s in China and that will take too long. The guy lurks and buzzes nearby like a helicopter. My anxiety creeps into the stratosphere. I finally walk away. I was there out of the goodness of my own heart (HA HA) and he puts me on the spot knowing I can’t do things quickly or competently when I have an audience.
An hour later, after the chaos of his friends and the lurker have gone…He pulls up the part he’d found last week. It was number three on page one of Google. And I missed it.
He thinks I am lazy and slacking off.
I admit, I am dropping the all a lot lately as I am clearly off my game and admittedly so.
But I can’t help but think I missed it because I was too busy trying to recall how to breathe under close scrutiny by some random dude, too busy trying not to make typos, to remember the part number, to get it done quickly…
I fucked up.

I didn’t appreciate being thrown under that particular bus, when I’ve made myself abundantly clear I don’t work well, at all, under pressure or with an audience, even of one. It was dirty pool. There was no reason for me to be there other than doing some inane thing for Kenny. To be put on the spot, in a known anxiety inducing position, then castigated for it…
Makes me remember why I’ve never been able to work consistently. The world will adapt if you need to use a can, crutches, walker, wheel chair…
But if you have mental issues with triggers that might require a little accommodation…You’re out of luck. And no, I am not saying a panic attack trumps not being able to walk. But if mental disorders are recognized as disabilities, then we should be afforded certain allowances so we can do something in spite of our disorders.
The work force, family, friends-none of them consider this. It’s laughable to them.
Which makes you feel shitty, guilty, self conscious and worsens the whole disorder, turning it into an even worse disorder.
Or in my case, a plethora of disorders.

I went in feeling good.
Until I was disrespected, thrown under a bus, and forced into a corner that brought one of my disorders boiling over the top.
If someone is afraid of heights, you don’t force them to go up a ladder and snicker at their terror. You don’t toss a spider on an arachnaphobe and wonder why they’re freaking out.

So why is it acceptable to exploit someone with panic disorder who has explained their hard limits (yes, I’m reading Fifty Shades Darker, without shame, and it’s a good term that shouldn’t exclusively apply to kink.)

As I have reiterated so many times, only to be labeled anti social, pessimistic, paranoid, yet proven right every time…
I am fairly fine…until other people are involved.
Are my mental illnesses my problem rather than theirs? Sure.
But most wouldn’t dare accuse someone in a wheelchair of being lazy yet it’s fine to take someone with panic attacks and place them repeatedly in a triggering situation then have the nerve to point out they failed.

The more people I meet…the more I like my cats. And the more I really want my own Unabomber shack, provided it has wifi. I may not do well with people, but I have got to be able to get my American Horror Story and Supernatural on.

Fiction is a place to get lost for forty minutes and not think about all my failings.

Killer clowns, demonic possession…child’s play.

Going out my front door…TERRIFYING. Because that’s real.

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4 Responses to “The Anxiety of, well, anxiety”

  1. Twisty the clown is for hire

  2. People suck. 🙂

  3. Delusions or Illusions?

    • morgueticiaatoms Says:

      Dude, keep your negative judgment to yourself and go troll someone else. And stop using Yahoo, ffs, it tells me everything I need to know about you. Thanks for reminding me why I like my misanthropy.

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