Freaking Out About Freaking Out

On Monday I saw that Ms. Milwaukee had said something cute both on my blog and hers. I had this urge to write her and say, "I think we should be pen pals!" Then i thought, "'Pen pals'! OMG what a dated term!"

Five minutes later, i felt stupid for the thought. To try to build rapport with someone 2208.82 miles away? What good would that do? There i go again, going after the unattainable.

Then there's fear, too. I wrote Denisse later that night:

I guess i've just had plenty of rejection and failed attempts in recent years and i'm totally shying away from even trying anymore... The fear has bled from romantic encounters into the platonic arena... This is so not cool...

Denisse suggests looking on Craig's List even though "there are lots of creeps on there". She recommends the Strictly Platonic section. As opposed to the Sex, Sex, Sex, And More Sex section.

(OK, there's no such category. But whatever they name it, that's what they mean.)

So i finally did look it up, narrowing the search by region and age group, and under w4w only. There are only 11 results. As opposed to the 5,247 you would get in Sex, Sex, Sex, And More Sex. : )

There's this one single Mom in Saratoga who's trying to quit smoking that i almost contacted. But then i noticed she specified "straight" in her criteria. Why would that be important in a friend? Does this mean she's judgmental? Again, fear and doubt took over, and i didn't write.

Last night JD wrote back to let me know how he's doing on the meds. He goes to a support group every evening to keep from drinking. Of course he needs a support group. Lord knows this cannot be done alone.

This evening i suddenly realize i've been wigging out because JD was my only support system for so long. Now that i don't have one any more, of course i'm out of whack. This realization was great, because for weeks now i could not understand why i was more depressed than ever. Nothing has changed. I'm still a drunk. I'm still alone.

The epiphany happened after i had an episode at work. The morning was just melancholic. The trigger was that it was my sis-in-law's birthday. I called to ask to take them to dinner, and my brother actually declined. "Week nights are not the best," he said. "Perhaps Friday or Saturday."

But it won't be Elsie's birthday on Friday or Saturday. I couldn't believe he actually turned me down. If only he knew how much it took for me to even make that phone call, given my severe depression. AND he brought up the fact that i'd been in hiding, sounding all stern. Sounding just like our mother. As if i should have an explanation.

I told Denisse they don't get how serious my disease is. I'm not sure Denisse gets it, either.

So all morning I'd get teary. Even at lunch i was teary because the waiter was kind. Oh my Lord. But that i can deal with. Once i got back after lunch though, i found this error in the bank deposit made by the manager and the staff. An error by 1¢.

I got really upset. After some brief research, I found what'd caused the error, and was irritated that they didn't catch it sooner. In accounting, even a discrepancy of half a cent needs to be rectified.

"I can't work like this," i thought.

I was close to pacing the room in a full-blown anxiety attack. My hands were shaking. I couldn't think. Afterwards i'd realize the error would take 30 seconds to correct. But that would mean that i'd have to talk to someone.

All i could think of was I wanted to go home. So i left a message for my boss, and left. All i said was i wasn't feeling well. Oh, i was unwell, alright.

My illness has not affected work to this extent in quite a few years now. Once i got home i hit the sack. Sleeping in excess always helps.

Had some weird dreams that possibly involved violence. Probably worked out some of my hostility this way. These days i have some really disturbing dreams. But all that means might be that i've watched one too many horror flick.

JD responds to another email of mine. It would be okay to talk sometime, he says. But he prefers that i not be drinking.

WHAT?!!!!! That was my knee jerk response.

But i understand, i do. It's just that we've always talked drunk... A sober convo would probably be bland and uncomfortable.

This is probably why he doesn't read my blog any more, either.