I had an appointment this morning with a therapist. Or a psychiatrist. Or a hypnotist. I’m not really sure because the point is, I didn’t go. The Fear strikes again!
I made the appointment initially because of my raging anxiety that seems to be taking over my life. I think it may be a post-partum thing but I’m not really sure, all I know is I’m bat shit crazy and it’s tiring. I haven’t opened my mailbox in over 2 weeks because I’m afraid. Of what, I don’t know. But I just know there is something awful lurking in there and the longer I ignore it, the worse I feel, and the less likely I am to open the mailbox. I know my Glamour magazine is in there, and I want it…but I’m not about to go down there and get it because I’m sure the second I open the mailbox, a million grocery magazines and bills and flyers are going to come shooting out at me and I’ll be completely buried.
And over the weekend, my last pair of contacts went the way of the dinosaurs. So now I have to add a new Thing to my List of Things that I don’t want to do. “Go to the eye doctor.” When the hell am I supposed to have time to do that? Can I bring the baby with me? Every time I go to the eye doctor I get a long lecture about how I should come more often than every three years, and how I shouldn’t sleep in my contact lenses, and I shouldn’t store them in water. Obviously I know these things but if I were a responsible adult that went to the doctor when I should, I probably would also be the kind of person that doesn’t overdraft their bank account accidentally and have no money for saline solution and instead stores her contacts in Solo cups full of water.
Anyway the light at the end of the tunnel here I guess is that I recognize that I am crazy and that being afraid of the mail is probably not a normal thing. So I made an appointment with ‘Behavioral Health’ so they can fix my behaviors so that I behave myself in public. But some of my biggest problems are that I can’t do new things, meet strangers, or be anywhere on time (or show up at all). So there’s simply no way I can go to a doctor unless I’ve been knocked unconscious and dragged into the emergency room.
I’ve decided to name my anxiety Annie, and when I get myself into sticky situations we have conversations that go like this:
“Annie, I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Somebody might be IN THERE though!”
“Yikes you’re right. I’ll walk around the building twice and come back when it’s empty.”
“That’s my girl.”
“I pressed the elevator button, I’m going upstairs in an elevator soon!”
“Think again kid, I smell someone coming and they want to get on the elevator too. Quick, check your cell phone.”
“Someone might be texting you something really important. Look, see?”
“I don’t see anything, it just says the time.”
“No, no it says something important and mysterious. Now put a concerned look on your face and walk away from the elevator quickly. KEEP LOOKING AT YOUR PHONE.”
“Ooh! I get it. OK you’re right, we should let him have the elevator, I can take the next one. Phew that was a close call, thanks Annie!”
Annie is my go to girl for your run of the mill situations, Andy is the one I rely on for the doom and catastrophe anxiety. Andy lives on CNN and has a voice like the Rock Monster from The Never Ending Story.
“Wow Andy, this oil spill is scary.”
“LIGHTNING! DOOM! I predict a massive hurricane will hit the Gulf before long and the crude oil will be carried into the atmosphere and be rained down on America’s crops, there will be food shortages and the end of times!”
“THUNDER! STABBING NOISES!”
“Terrorists are going to set off a nuclear bomb and everything will be destroyed! You will starve to death and your hair and nails will fall out from radiation poisoning! It’s coming for you!”
“I really hate you Andy.”
“Oxybenzones are in your sunscreen and they’re going to give you cancer and kill your child! BPA is in your system and you can’t do shit about it! Your kid is going to become Autistic and you will never know why!”
“Because of the environment and pesticides right? Humans are so greedy, I hate the world.”
“It won’t be around for long Jenn. ALIEN INVASIONS! 2012! HOPI INDIAN PROPHECIES! The sea will turn black and many living things will die. This is the 7th sign of the end of times. IT HAS BEGUN!”
“I’m never going to leave my house again.”
“HIDE UNDER YOUR BED! You’re gonna get AIDS.”
So in case you haven’t figured it out already, I will repeat for you: I am losing my mind.
I didn’t go to this appointment today because I’m afraid they’re going to medicate me and I’ll be a zombie. I know that Annie and Andy (especially Andy!) are irrational but I feel that they do a good job of protecting me from danger. What if I go on Prozac and decide everything is great and nothing is going to kill me or give me cancer, and then I just go around eating non-organic apples and washing my hair with shampoo full of phlalates and formaldehyde? What if I go a day without picking through the trash and rinsing things off so I can recycle them? What if that ONE bread twisty I didn’t recycle is the plastic that broke the ozone’s back and I am responsible for the whole world exploding?
So you understand now the pressure that I’m under. With great anxiety comes great responsibility.
And I just wanted to add, since I haven’t posted about bananas in a few days, that you shouldn’t ever buy Chiquita bananas. Chiquita pays terrorists to murder banana farmers that refuse to do business with them, and they’re a giant evil corporation. Andy told me, and I wanted to pass that information along to you.