Archive for the social anxiety disorder Category

Social Woes Part 2

Posted in social anxiety disorder with tags , , , , on January 24, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

Before the fun…

Less than an hour til we are due to leave for my birthday outing.
My stomach’s been in knots all day.
My heart rate is speeding up more by the minute.
I am dressed “up”.
Most would be excited to go.
I am excited only to get it over with.
I sometimes wonder what on earth made me this screwed up.

Five minutes later…
All my brain can do is screech GET IT OVER WITH, MAKE IT END.
The anxiety fucks up everything.
I want to kick its ass.
I just don’t know how.

Ten minutes before go time…

My kid is being a fussy mouthy bratbeast.
My anxiety level is through the roof.
I just want comfy pajamas and a warm blanket.
Novacaine for the brain.

10:38 p.m.
The aftermath.
Well Mrs. R was a half hour late getting back so I was left at their house, to my own devices, with R who has so little social grace I had to ASK for a drink rather than be offered one. And ok, maybe on some level, (mostly his wife’s) I am supposed to feel free to make myself at home. It was awkward as hell, especially when I learned R’s eldest daughter and her husband were going to meet us there while R watched the kids.
I was in “rip off the bandage mode”. It sounds gutsy but it is really the ninth circle of hell where those around me seem so happy and light hearted…I feel like a grinchzilla. And as is always my fear, my low mood made R jump on the defensive. I have NO idea why men assume when a woman is in a bad mood it’s all about them.
My mood was low today. My kid was very defiant and trying. It took a toll. Throw in hour upon hour of anxiety…It doesn’t take a physicist to do the math.
THEN came the car ride chat and walking into the packed restaurant. Four people at a table, three of them yapping and tapping away on their iphones while I look at the floor and pray for a fiery ball to land on me. They were all a flutter about wedding plans for the son of Mrs R…Like I care about coral bridesmaid dresses or whether the nazi bride will allow the moms to wear navy. It all made me feel thankful my weddings were at the courthouse. My give a damn is busted as far as dresses and color schemes go. It’s pretty much a given were I to have a formal wedding…It would NOT EVER involve pastels or bright fruity colors. I did get my snark in when R’s wife and daughter commented, “I don’t like black, it’s such a funeral color.”
And me, head to toe in black, I said, “My life is a funeral then.”

It was Friday night supper hour so the place we went to was packed. It took a half hour to get our Mangoritas. Which meant a half hour of more anxiety and social awkwardness and fighting off the overwhelming urge to go postal on the 50% of the restaurant all on their smart phones. RUDE.
But hey, by the third margerita I was relaxed enough to get the stick out of my ass. I think that’s one thing alcohol does that xanax does not. Xanax calms the anxiety, but it doesn’t relax. Once relaxed and my mind had slowed down, I was able to fake the social experience. I even enjoyed my meal since I was able to order something bland that wouldn’t cause digestive warfare. Now I was still painfully aware that I was out of my element. It’s like that when you’re friends with people on a surface level but really have nothing in common other than happening to know each other. It’s not a matter of like or dislike, it’s just…well since I’m the oddball most conversation revolves around their interests because no one wants to hear from funeral chick.
And that’s fine, I don’t want to waste my best macabre snarks on those who don’t appreciate them. Snarky banter is an art form lost on mundanes.

But alas…we went back to Mrs R’;s house. R survived the hour watching the little ones but she was irritated he let the girls use her “good” throw pillows to build a fort. Really? Well, it’s that class thing, I guess. I was born middle class poor and well, others weren’t. Different priorities.
I had a couple more drinks. I wasn’t getting drunk, that was the weird part. Not so much as a tingly buzz. Just a relaxed “Okay, I’ve got this” mind frame.
Of course R had to ruin it by asking me to come in on Saturday to help make room at the shop for a sixty inch TV coming in. Seriously, dude? I was there four days last week. I promised to take my kid to Pizza Hut today with her school’s reading reward certificate. I may not have much of a life but I do have a bit of one outside his obsessive compulsive world of busted stuff. And I won’t even point out the bruised rib that will cause me agony if I have to lug heavy TVs around. (And I do that all the time there, it’s not an issue but at the moment, it is.)
Just…Grr, for once, shut the fuck up about that damned place and have a good time. Or let me.

I survived.
I won’t say I had fun, but I will say it was a nice gesture. T and her husband even bought me a box of chocolate and a gag gift of a pink birthday princess sash. Which I put on proudly when they had the restaurant employees put a big sombrero on me, sing happy birthday in spanish, and they all took pictures and video to beam out my humiliation.
Whatever. I wanted to crawl under the table but I just went with it. If those pictures end up on Facebook tagged with my name, there will be bloodshed. I pride myself in having almost no fooprint of my legal name on the internet. I’d like to keep it that way. Pen names are used for a reason.
That and Facebook is eeeeevil.
Hey, we all need our villains. Mine are Facebook and apple products.

I survived.
let’s do it again in another…five years.
I just want to breathe today.
And fantasize about how nice it must be to truly enjoy such outings and not need alcohol to endure it.
Something I may never know.