I was starving, at that uncomfortable point where you’re so hungry you feel nauseous and ready to cast your cookies without having made the batch in the first place.
I’ve been taking Anti-depressants for well over a year. I’m one of the few fortunate who’s doctor hit the nail on the head with the prescription the first time, Zoloft. I can’t say enough wonderful things about this drug, I’ll tell anyone who asks how it completely gave my life a 180 degree turn from where it was when I graduated college massively depressed and struggling with an unknown diagnosis of PTSD (Oof long sentence, sorry guys).
One of the side effects of Zoloft is my decreased appetite. If I don’t remember to consciously eat, next thing I know it will be 3 PM and I’m reenacting the poor orphans of Oliver Twist. Stupid people have called it a gift, not having an appetite makes it easy to lose weight; it’s also an easy way to embarrassingly pass out onstage during dance rehearsal for The Music Man (True story, but another time for that).
So today, I remembered to drink a breakfast shake this morning, but I completely spaced out during lunch time doing puppy training with my friend, Susan, and watching our various favorite British shows (Hint: Miranda, Downton Abbey, and my new favorite: Crimson Fields).
I got home at 9Pm this evening and got to work tidying my apartment (my mother is coming over tomorrow to help me rearrange some furniture, I don’t think she’d take kindly to the pile of dirty laundry that smells like a dead hobo). I hadn’t noticed I was sweating until I went into my overheated bathroom and realized it was a cold sweat. I was reading some packaging on a hair product when nausea hit and I tripped and fell in a fashion that would have made Miranda Hart proud.
I knew I was hungry, and I needed something quick. I didn’t feel sturdy to stand and cook something and all the take out places near my apartment were long closed. So I snatched my car keys and dashed out of my place.
I am no stranger to fast food. I grew up on it, as soon as I had a car I went and spoiled myself with McD’s french fries at least 3 times a week. My car was low on gas, so I drove quickly to the closest open joint, which was a recently reopened Taco Bell (don’t judge, I love their Ranch Tacos….).
There was a loooooooooong ass line of cars, but I was stubborn and unwilling to drive further. As I got closer to the check out window, smoke curled around me as my anxiety sat in the back seat and silently chuckled, “Oh look, they added a huge window for everyone inside to stare out at you.”
Since they rebuilt the place, the entire side of the building on the drive through lane has one HUGE window, supposedly so we could watch the depressed workers make our fake hispanic meals. I’m calling a huge BULL SHIT on that, the bitch in the backseat drawled, “Oh man, it’s like you’re the exhibit for all of them to watch and judge you for your food choices.” I knew it was ridiculous, but the bitch had a point……
I tried stopping just out of site of the window, but the bloody thing was at least 8 feet long and the cars behind me were getting impatient. So…. I hunched down in my seat and inched forward….. Until I tapped the car in front of me with my own…..
I could only sit and stare wide eyed while my anxiety was slack-jawed in the back seat, “Well done…. You’ve put on a performance for the whole audience.” I made the poor choice of looking beside me to see all the workers paused and staring, the bitch was right again, dammit….
Fortunately, the driver in front was in good spirits and I didn’t make a scratch or dent on their car or my own. The whole business was done within about 5 minutes, but it felt like those times where time slows and you seem to be the only one realizing that everyone else is speaking in slow motion while you’re just like, “WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!?”
Completely silent, I drove back to my place, my food in the bag on the seat untouched, while the bitch in the back seat rambled on and on, “My god you couldn’t have done that better. Well done! They’re all going to remember you now. Maybe you can go back tomorrow evening for an encore!”
So now I sit here, wallowing over bean burritos and wondering why this happens to me, why?
I talk about shouting into the void with no expectation of a response, but I could really use a shout back to shut up the smoking anxious bitch in my armchair right now….
For the 2-3 people who read this blog (Hi mum and dad…), have any of you had similar experiences of utter humiliation by the hands of your anxiety? Comment below with stories if you have them, or even just some kind words. I can’t seem to shut my anxiety up by myself right now, I was wondering if a few of you can help me quiet the bitch down? Any of you? Hello? -sigh-