I’m a wee bit taken aback. I’m surprised. I’m stunned. I’m overwhelmed. What started as a bit of a platform to rant out my stress has become a blog that people are actually reading. I have had comments. And likes. And messages of support with compliments. It’s all very confusing. And it’s also wonderful. I am, however, now drowning in my own world of over thinking as I worry that I might have peaked too soon.
What if I’m a one blog post wonder? What if they were the best 1000 words I ever have, and ever will, string together? What if I can’t find the subject matter to keep up the momentum and I have to start unwrapping board games in order to be a success at life? What if I’m just never a success at life, regardless of blogging or unwrapping and I end up alone in the world with only dust mites and an old sock puppet for company? Actually, I think I can safely say that I definitely won’t end up alone in the world. Someone has to fold the boys clothes…
You see, I’m a bit of a worrier. I tend to think about things for at least 3 times the amount of time it takes to get on and do them. I write lists and plan things out until I have no energy left to complete them. And quite often, all the thinking and worrying and listing and planning means that I get very little done at all. I can panic myself out of carrying out the most basic of tasks. I can also consider outings to such an extent that I decide just not to go. It’s like a backwards superpower. Anxiety Girl! She can’t save you, but she has run through all the possible pitfalls of a rescue attempt while washing her hair this morning.
Let me give you an example. I am unhappy with my weight. My mum tum wibbles like a badly set jelly and I’d like to tone it up. I also like to stop pretending that it is the consistency which vexes me, when actually it is the magnitude of the jelly that’s the real issue. Anyway, I decide I should do something about this. So, do I put the biscuits down? Do I step away from my Facebook Newsfeed and go for a walk? No. Of course not. That would be far to immediate. Instead, I think about how I could possibly go about losing weight. I research the eating plans that have worked for others and I order second-hand cookbooks that I’ll never open from Amazon. What a great start.
Next I’ll look at the Sports Direct website for a while and consider what sort of outfit I would need if I took up jogging. Then it dawns on me that people would see me jogging. So I then have a long hard think about where I could jog that wouldn’t involve people seeing me. I decide jogging is a terrible idea. I look into exercise classes. I then realise those pesky humans and their eyes might be there too. And they couldn’t possibly feel like I feel. And they’d know how to do all the moves instinctively. And they definitely wouldn’t sweat. And I’m a sweater. So I’d better not go there and gross them out. Needless to say, the over thinking tires me out and I have to eat more biscuits and put the weight loss plan on the back burner. I’ll probably start when the cookbooks come.
And when I do dare to leave the house, I question my behaviours in real-time too. A walk along Commercial Street is far more stressful to me that I make it look. I’ll see someone coming towards me that I went to school with. We make eye contact but it’s far too early to say anything, so I look back down at the ground. Then up again. Shit. They looked too. Still too far away to say “hello” without shouting. I look back down to the ground. I wonder if they even recognise me. And if they do, do they want to acknowledge the time we spent sitting next to each other in Modern Studies? By the time I look back up they have almost past me and I’ve no idea if they tried to make eye contact with me or not. I can’t decide what to do and I “Panic Hi”.
The “Panic Hi” is ever so slightly louder and more high pitched that the standard greeting. If it’s a really bad day, I probably haven’t cleared my throat in a while so it’s also a bit croaky and sounds a bit like a teenage boy trying to say converse with a stripper. Even worse than the initial shock, shame and stomach flip that comes with the “Panic Hi”, is the echo it leaves behind as I continue to walk along the street.
Well. That happened. No undo button for life I’m afraid. So I have to just let it go. You know, chill man. Be breezy and what not. They probably didn’t even notice. Unless they did. And it reminded them of the time you meant to say Electoral Roll in class, but you accidentally said Electrical Roll. They’re bound to still be thinking about that. The whole class will be. Ok it’s been over 15 years. But embarrassment like that just doesn’t fade.
So, I’ve done my “Panic Hi”. And I’ve shaken it off. Because I’m a mum now. We have much more important things to do than worry about pronouncing greetings wrong. We have to buy breast pads, nipple shields, Vaseline and the odd tube of Canesten here and there. More little challenges for Anxiety Girl to overcome. Needless to say, the over thinking required to decide how to go about asking for thrush treatments is extensive and can often take a week or so to get through. I should really start ordering these things online.
But I digress. Apart from the horrible, gut wrenching anxiety I feel, I am over the moon to have entertained you enough for you to comment. I can’t believe that my thoughts on life are anything more than something my dear fiance pretends to listen to while he’s actually watching Star Trek Deep Space Nine. For which I feel have now sought revenge by outing him as the Trekky he is. I hope to continue to entertain you all in some way. And I will do my best to rattle something off each day. I imagine tomorrow’s post will be about over explaining to people that I don’t actually get thrush, I only wrote it for the comedic value…no…really I…oh fuck it…