Some more things people associate with me
Alcohol
Believe it or not, I didn't drink at all between the ages of 22 and 29 because I had horrible panic attacks, and just one drink would trigger a panic attack lasting hours, where I thought I was going to die, then kind of hoped I'd die because it felt so awful, and then I'd finally, blissfully, pass out.
Now, though, I have had much therapy and haven't had a panic attack for, um. I don't even know. Three years? A long time. I went out to dinner with my family a few years ago and everyone was shocked when I ordered a glass of wine.
I like to drink. This is no surprise to anyone, I'm sure. I also get drunk really easily because the antidepressant I'm on amplifies alcohol's effect two or three times. And this is probably getting into possible-problem territory, but I like the way my filter drops when I've had a drink or two. I'm really shy and really reserved and I over think everything in my life, so it's nice to have a drink and be able to talk and act without thinking about it so much.
Agoraphobia
Defined as the fear of open spaces, it's really the fear of having a panic attack. You have a panic attack in a restaurant and, honestly, I would not wish a panic attack on anyone. Have you ever nearly been hit by a car or nearly fallen down the stairs or had some sudden terrifying thing happen where for five seconds everything in your body is on high alert? Now imagine that terror lasting for hours and hours, your body pumping adrenaline into your system until your heart's pounding and you're freezing and sweating at the same time and you have to throw up and you're terrified and you're absolutely, 100% positive that you're going to die. That's a panic attack.
Anyway, you have a panic attack in a restaurant, so you think fuck, maybe if I avoid restaurants I won't have a panic attack. So you don't go out to eat anymore. You have a panic attack in your car and you stop driving. You have a panic attack walking to the mailbox so you stop getting your mail. You try to control the panic by no longer doing anything associated with panic attacks, until you think that maybe you'll have a panic attack if you just leave your neighborhood. Maybe you'll have a panic attack if you leave your house. Maybe you'll have a panic attack if you leave your bedroom.
Your world gets smaller and smaller and smaller as you try to wrestle some sort of control over your life, and then you're trapped.
I barely left my house for a year. My mother would come over and make me get in the car and I would cry the whole way from my house to hers. And one day I cried the whole way from my house to my therapist's house and I was nearly hysterical (though my hysteria was always silent, and I could be having a full blown attack and no one would know if they didn't notice the way I couldn't catch my breath or the sweat on my brow), but thank fucking God for my therapist. It was the most terrifying and most wonderful thing I've ever done in my life, leaving my house three times a week, driving over five miles to see her.
It's really hard to remember what it was like to be so afraid of everything all the time.
Cigarettes
Fuck. I love to smoke. I also loved being a non-smoker. I'm going to have to look into that again. I went a year without smoking, and now I'm back at it because I love to smoke. A lot.
Bananas
I met Bananas in the CSI fandom when she was just starting out and I was just fading away. We had a mutual friend who was like, "You guys both live in Tucson! You have to hang out!" So I talked to her and we agreed to meet up at The Shanty, which is a relatively low key bar. She drank pussy beer and I drank dark beer (a trend that continues to this day) and we hit it off.
I'd just been leaving my house on a regular basis for about three or four months, though I didn't tell her that. She was working temp jobs and living in a metal box posing as a guest house. We were both poor and epically fucked up. Like, okay, so we're both unbalanced now, but back then we were both teetering on the brink of batshit fucking insane. While walking down Fourth Ave in the rain, she said conversationally, "I'm going to kill you." And I thought, Hmmm. That's odd. Little did I know, that's her seal of approval. You know Bananas likes you if she threatens to kill you.
She tells me she's going to kill me all the time. Last week she was walking through the living room on her way to the kitchen and she said, "I'm going to kill you with my mind."
"You've been telling me that for years. It's kind of lost its edge," I told her.
"You don't know. Maybe I'm just biding my time. I am going to kill you with my mind eventually." She pointed to her brain with both fingers, the way she does when she's referring to mental powers.
I rolled my eyes and she went to the kitchen to fix herself a snack, and that's life with Bananas.
Believe it or not, I didn't drink at all between the ages of 22 and 29 because I had horrible panic attacks, and just one drink would trigger a panic attack lasting hours, where I thought I was going to die, then kind of hoped I'd die because it felt so awful, and then I'd finally, blissfully, pass out.
Now, though, I have had much therapy and haven't had a panic attack for, um. I don't even know. Three years? A long time. I went out to dinner with my family a few years ago and everyone was shocked when I ordered a glass of wine.
I like to drink. This is no surprise to anyone, I'm sure. I also get drunk really easily because the antidepressant I'm on amplifies alcohol's effect two or three times. And this is probably getting into possible-problem territory, but I like the way my filter drops when I've had a drink or two. I'm really shy and really reserved and I over think everything in my life, so it's nice to have a drink and be able to talk and act without thinking about it so much.
Agoraphobia
Defined as the fear of open spaces, it's really the fear of having a panic attack. You have a panic attack in a restaurant and, honestly, I would not wish a panic attack on anyone. Have you ever nearly been hit by a car or nearly fallen down the stairs or had some sudden terrifying thing happen where for five seconds everything in your body is on high alert? Now imagine that terror lasting for hours and hours, your body pumping adrenaline into your system until your heart's pounding and you're freezing and sweating at the same time and you have to throw up and you're terrified and you're absolutely, 100% positive that you're going to die. That's a panic attack.
Anyway, you have a panic attack in a restaurant, so you think fuck, maybe if I avoid restaurants I won't have a panic attack. So you don't go out to eat anymore. You have a panic attack in your car and you stop driving. You have a panic attack walking to the mailbox so you stop getting your mail. You try to control the panic by no longer doing anything associated with panic attacks, until you think that maybe you'll have a panic attack if you just leave your neighborhood. Maybe you'll have a panic attack if you leave your house. Maybe you'll have a panic attack if you leave your bedroom.
Your world gets smaller and smaller and smaller as you try to wrestle some sort of control over your life, and then you're trapped.
I barely left my house for a year. My mother would come over and make me get in the car and I would cry the whole way from my house to hers. And one day I cried the whole way from my house to my therapist's house and I was nearly hysterical (though my hysteria was always silent, and I could be having a full blown attack and no one would know if they didn't notice the way I couldn't catch my breath or the sweat on my brow), but thank fucking God for my therapist. It was the most terrifying and most wonderful thing I've ever done in my life, leaving my house three times a week, driving over five miles to see her.
It's really hard to remember what it was like to be so afraid of everything all the time.
Cigarettes
Fuck. I love to smoke. I also loved being a non-smoker. I'm going to have to look into that again. I went a year without smoking, and now I'm back at it because I love to smoke. A lot.
Bananas
I met Bananas in the CSI fandom when she was just starting out and I was just fading away. We had a mutual friend who was like, "You guys both live in Tucson! You have to hang out!" So I talked to her and we agreed to meet up at The Shanty, which is a relatively low key bar. She drank pussy beer and I drank dark beer (a trend that continues to this day) and we hit it off.
I'd just been leaving my house on a regular basis for about three or four months, though I didn't tell her that. She was working temp jobs and living in a metal box posing as a guest house. We were both poor and epically fucked up. Like, okay, so we're both unbalanced now, but back then we were both teetering on the brink of batshit fucking insane. While walking down Fourth Ave in the rain, she said conversationally, "I'm going to kill you." And I thought, Hmmm. That's odd. Little did I know, that's her seal of approval. You know Bananas likes you if she threatens to kill you.
She tells me she's going to kill me all the time. Last week she was walking through the living room on her way to the kitchen and she said, "I'm going to kill you with my mind."
"You've been telling me that for years. It's kind of lost its edge," I told her.
"You don't know. Maybe I'm just biding my time. I am going to kill you with my mind eventually." She pointed to her brain with both fingers, the way she does when she's referring to mental powers.
I rolled my eyes and she went to the kitchen to fix herself a snack, and that's life with Bananas.