And Then She Had an Anxiety Attack...

I had to do this on Monday night in the alley behind my one night a week engagement at the Cheer's Equivalent:
"Don't worry. All this anxiety soon will pass." (x 10)
Breathe, breathe, breathe (every second, of course, but this was more heightened and staccato).
"Fuck I hate this! (x Tourettes)
Deep haul(s) off the Dunhill which under normal conditions takes 7 minutes to finish (each took 3 minutes).

Welcome to The Comrade's Anxiety Attack
It happens.

In me it feels like what seems to be a 2 legged feral creature swallowed up inside, running on the spot. Its hairy, stumpy legs ending in Frodo-like feet are kicking like a skinhead somewhere in the region of my belly. Its head is firmly lodged in the space between my lungs. It's cut holes into each, sent accordian hoses into every organ and with megaphone attachment has started screaming so loud my mind and all organic matter have turned to a steaming pile of bovine feed. I feel like I'm going mad.

And then I re-engage the steps I took in the first paragraph. Which helps to a degree.
And then I have to go back inside to work where I am expected to maintain peace, a certain liquidity level in each customer's personal vessel and relative sanity. At least on the outside.

Walking home I barely noticed a thing. I didn't pay attention to anyone who crossed my path. I looked blankly into storefront windows seeing nothing but faceless, undressed mannequins. I listened intently to the mad creature that was lodged in my midsection. I felt so desperate and I didn't know what to do.

Of course there was a reason. There were about 9 reasons, actually. Reasons like I was about to start a new job that might or might not be worth it in the end. This lady of relative leisure was going to be very, very busy very, very soon. I have a full on boyfriend who adores me but in my weakened condition I keep thinking the ball's going to drop at any second. I'm creating dramas that don't need to be there. I'm creating obstacles for him to prove his love. I couldn't write a thing in this realm or any other for about a week or so. My deck needs to be done. I'm creating a cabana feel out back which is aimed at making the deck more inviting that it had been last summer. Last year it had only really been used 3 times. I had to write something real for others. A short screenplay.

It was the last one that really sent me over the edge.

Writing this blog is a pleasurable activity for me. I write for myself and only myself. Historically there have been reminder nuggets attached to different parts of my brain by industrial velcro, aimed at protecting certain others, but mostly I chose the route of honesty, in the best of my ability, as my driving force. I couldn't write this blog at all last week. I have a series of failed attempts in my dashboard. The Little Creature Who Screams took over, leaving me with half stabs and full-on impotence.

This thing needed to be annihilated.

This is what I did: I had a conversation with myself within a word processing document. I asked myself what was bothering me. Really bothering me. And I answered myself honestly. I was scared I was going to fuck up the screenplay I've been asked to co-author. Now that I've been hired on full time, I didn't think I was going to have as much time with my darling Fatty anymore. I didn't think I was going to have as much time to myself. I didn't think I was able to write any decent thing ever again. But I held my own hand, talked softly and calmly to myself and systematically shot down every jet propelled fear I had inside. I told myself it wasn't going to be easy. I promised myself the process would not be perfect. And it only took 36 years for me to consider this to be okay.

God, baby steps are a bitch.