ever been so tired you can't *not* panic?
for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, this has been kind of a clusterfuck of a week, mentally speaking. professionally, speaking, it's been pretty good. mentally, i'm winding myself up and my lizard-brain, the part that's dead certain everything that goes wrong is the sky being rent asunder and the world falling apart, has been gaining the upper hand since friday. it's a bit too complicated to explain, but the long and short of it is that i've been *fighting* a constant panic attack for about 3 days running.
and then our facility's waste management associate (which is business-speak for the guy who does the bathrooms and collects the trash) made a pass at me. which would have been sweet, i guess, if he didn't also manage to hit my alarm-buttons *hard*. first, he started the conversation by asking my name, and i gave it and teased him about not remembering it because i *knew* he'd asked it before. then he asked me where my family lived, and brought it pretty much to the fore that i was alone in this town without recourse to helpful friends and family if something went wrong. *then* he asked if i would consider dating a black man, and when i said yes, kinda grinned and said, well, let me know... yeah... *no*. ok, so i pretty much walked into it, but, uh... that wasn't the way to get it done, fella. (it would have helped if he was on a horse, but that's another discussion altogether.)
so i went back to my desk, and for the next *two hours* was in a low-level panic. i couldn't really fight it, couldn't do anything except let it run it's course. and i kept thinking i'd feel better if i threw up. not because i was repulsed by the offer, but because the general pandemonium my lizard-brain was generating had my stomach in knots. i don't think the trash-guy is a threat - at all - but i haven't been able to burn my anxiety at *all* this week, and it's been getting worse, not better.
panic mode finally ran it's course around 2pm. i'm feeling kind of... bleh. well, i still feel like i'd be better off if i could throw up, so maybe roller-coaster mind-freak week isn't over yet. but i think - i hope - i've finally managed to calm myself down a bit, because otherwise going to Gulf Wars is going to be like running in full-on hockey goalie gear in the middle of the Saharan Desert in high summer. in quick sand.
seriously, this clinical depression/ anxiety shit? can go fuck itself on a sharp wooden stake. with cactus thorns.
-bs
and then our facility's waste management associate (which is business-speak for the guy who does the bathrooms and collects the trash) made a pass at me. which would have been sweet, i guess, if he didn't also manage to hit my alarm-buttons *hard*. first, he started the conversation by asking my name, and i gave it and teased him about not remembering it because i *knew* he'd asked it before. then he asked me where my family lived, and brought it pretty much to the fore that i was alone in this town without recourse to helpful friends and family if something went wrong. *then* he asked if i would consider dating a black man, and when i said yes, kinda grinned and said, well, let me know... yeah... *no*. ok, so i pretty much walked into it, but, uh... that wasn't the way to get it done, fella. (it would have helped if he was on a horse, but that's another discussion altogether.)
so i went back to my desk, and for the next *two hours* was in a low-level panic. i couldn't really fight it, couldn't do anything except let it run it's course. and i kept thinking i'd feel better if i threw up. not because i was repulsed by the offer, but because the general pandemonium my lizard-brain was generating had my stomach in knots. i don't think the trash-guy is a threat - at all - but i haven't been able to burn my anxiety at *all* this week, and it's been getting worse, not better.
panic mode finally ran it's course around 2pm. i'm feeling kind of... bleh. well, i still feel like i'd be better off if i could throw up, so maybe roller-coaster mind-freak week isn't over yet. but i think - i hope - i've finally managed to calm myself down a bit, because otherwise going to Gulf Wars is going to be like running in full-on hockey goalie gear in the middle of the Saharan Desert in high summer. in quick sand.
seriously, this clinical depression/ anxiety shit? can go fuck itself on a sharp wooden stake. with cactus thorns.
-bs