Post-anxiety Anxiety

Because anxiety is a spoiled asshole and isn’t satisfied with only appearing in anticipation of and participation in events, it must also throw itself into the aftermath of events.

So… I rode the light rail today.  It was very stressful, but mostly only in my mind, because in reality it was extremely easy, I had no problems, the things I anticipated being challenging… weren’t… the only issue I had was finding the right floor and room for my conference (stupid giant hotels with terrible signage).  The conference was fine.  Getting back home was fine, other than getting seasick (trainsick?)

Everything was fine.  I had plenty of time, everything was easy and… it was fine.

So when I got out of the parking garage this evening at the train station and started home, I had to pull over because I started having a panic attack.  Full blown, couldn’t breathe, felt like I was drowning, sobbing, crying, shaking, feels like death panic attack.

I finally had to text Sir, he and Sub Brother drove down even though I was literally two miles from the house, and Sir drove me home.

Then I had two more panic attacks tonight, and cried on Sir’s chest for an hour while watching TV.

And I have a general cloud of anxiety hanging over me constantly making me feel sick to my stomach and short of breath and vaguely panicky all the time.

Want to know why?

Because I RODE ON THE LIGHT RAIL!

It was fine, of course, but I was scared of it last night, and then I did it today, and it wasn’t that bad, so I had to have a panic attack about it because…  who the fuck knows?

I have to ride it again tomorrow (two-day conference) and I have absolutely no worry about riding it.  I know exactly what I’m doing, everything is great, no worries.  I’m not panicked about TOMORROW…  I’m panicked about what is already over.

And not even in a… “Oh my God, imagine what COULD have happened…”  Just in a “Oh my God, you did something that we were worried about 24 hours ago!”   Because anxiety is just stupid and WTF.

My mania and depression both seem to be taking a back seat for the moment, though.  It’s good that my various disease states are so courteous about turn-taking.  If I were The Oatmeal, I’m sure I could make a very hilarious anthropomorphized cartoon of all my mood states as portly, old, English gentlemen complete with, “Oh, no, you first, Anxiety, my good man! – Cheerio, old boy! – I say, may I offer you gents a spot of tea? – Jolly good, chums! God save the queen!”

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