catastrophic

Dear Internet,

There is a before before to this story.

I’m currently wrapped up like a mummy at the cabin where it is currently 60F outside, prepping it for winterizing for TheExHusband. I stopped by a local village to have dinner one night when I saw TheEx. Remember TheEx? Oh, I sure as hell do. My rage against him may have subsided but the idea of cutting off his member and dissecting his testes still tastes warm and fresh in my mouth.

So there I was, having dinner, and I see him with a woman and some kid. Maybe his wife? Why else would he be up in this area? His parents have a condo in a large ski/golfing resort that is so full of white privilege, you may contract hives. Why else would he be up here if not with his (current) woman? Why do I care so much?

Because I’m nosy as hell and all of my questions must be answered.

He saw me; of course he saw me. How could you miss me and my overly obnoxious laugh? We played peek a boo through stranger’s shoulders. I forced dessert down my throat to prevent leaving before him. I won the fake war of insolence.

And of course we didn’t say a word to the other! What kind of heathen do you think I am?

Once when we were together, actually many times, his road rage almost killed us. As I said in the above piece, he would beg, cajole, and plead his apologies; me forgiving him as a woman (then) rightly should. I was blinded by everything — he was the (then) closest substitute to TheBassist and I was hungry for that connection. TheBassist and I had been broken up for 1 1/2 years – the thought that I found someone so much like him (but not him) was too much to ignore. I was blinded by the probability. Lusted after the possibility of a TheBassist lesser.

Boy, was I glamorized.

Seven years later, TheEx and I are side-eying each other in a restaurant.

TheEx left me a gift all those years ago, not that you swine, but a new anxiety that causes a fear of driving. Specifically on highways.

It’s called catastrophic thinking, and I had no idea it had a name until a clinician recently asked me a few questions as I spoke, giving a name to the demon.

I run scenarios in my head, while driving, from getting decapitated by a semi getting out of control to careening into cement barriers to having my car going dead in the middle of a major construction area. This despite all of the assurances I give myself such as if Jeeves broke down every 1000 miles, you have bigger problems to there are others who are sharing this anxiety with you right this very second (thanks meditation!). No matter what I do, short of taking drugs, I can’t shake the thoughts of something happening while I’m driving.

To illustrate the point of the ridiculousness of this thinking, last week I drove a thousand miles from the east coast to ThrobbingCabin to help TheExHusband out. I wasn’t getting any job offers, or even interviews, I was going stir crazy, so I left. Again. I figured the sojourn to the cabin would do me good (true), help me think clearly (true), save on finances (also true).

I drove alone.

The only hiccup was getting lost because fuck a Ohio turnpike and their terrible directions!

So I drove a thousand miles, nothing happened, and I’m more or less (more) driving a thousand miles back at the end of the month.

Rationally, RATIONALLY, I know what I’m thinking is irrational. I know that the likelihood of a fatal car accident is .0103% or 1 in 10,000 for every 100,000 people. The likelihood of getting into a car accident at all is 1.76%.  I KNOW THIS. I know this, but I cannot stop thinking about what that less than 1% means to me.

(This thought process exploded last night as I came back from the city to cabin; 20 miles of unlit highway. Me with my Xenon beams and assholes with their brights, in front and behind. My eyes ached and I had a headache for most of the night after my driving escapade. Tonight I’m heading back to the city and I’m nervous, ALREADY THOUGH IT’S HOURS AND HOURS AWAY, of coming back here. Fuck a duck.)

I talk myself down. I remind myself I have driven across these United States with nary a thought, TWICE. I’ve driven from Michigan to the east coast at least six times in the last year. Some of it alone. I’ve driven to lots of long places, by myself, and I come out fine. So why the freak out?

With me, anxiety can be drilled down to a singular incident which builds upon itself into this catastrophic thinking. TheEx’s road rage has finally manifested itself all these years later, which causes me even more irritation than anger because I just want to be done with him. This hold over me is paper thin but it ill not rip. It’s annoying and in some ways, it’s fucking with my life.

Because it’s paralyzes me. It paralyzes me to the point I often cannot leave the house, enjoy my time socially with other people, or even enjoy a nice car ride.

My therapist says most anxieties can be worked through, controlled, and often cured. I am too impatient to get rid of the driving one, I want it to begone! But it’s something I have to control and work on, slowly and methodically.

Something that only I can deliver myself from. And lots of Klonopin.

xoxo,
Lisa

P.S. Don’t want near daily emails or can’t make it here everyday but want to keep up with what’s going in my world? Subscribe to A Most Unreliable Narrator, a monthly-ish newsletter roundup of what’s happening. Bonus! Comes with GIFs!

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2012, 2010, 2008, 2008, 2000, 1999

daily entry: February 4, 2015

Dear Internet,

  • Wake up to a text from the airline that today’s flight has been “delayed” and that I need to possibly reschedule. Check and discover that I would have a 20 minute change between my two flights; able to rebook slightly later flight going to another hub. Fuck MSP
  • Morning ritual: Wake up, use the facilities, pop contacts in, take drugs, turn kettle on for tea, figure out breakfast. While the kettle is heating up, fill last nights Bopple and also the humidifier. With tea and breakfast in hand, check email, Facebook, Twitter. Respond as necessary
  • Shower, finish up packing, get dressed
  • Meditate using Headspace
  • Read RSS feeds (never caught up)
  • Get to the airport, check bag for flight (I know, I know; BUT, they were calling for volunteers to get off the flight so I knew it was going to be tight getting my bag in)
  • Flight is delayed because of weight issues; people are taken off the flight. Plane needs to be deiced, we’re now nearly 30 minutes late leaving GRR; which is fine. My original flight is now four hours delayed and I would have never made it to my destination. Fuck MSP. Again
  • Get to DTW and book cheeks to another concourse to make connecting flight.  Make it, but flight ends up being delayed for 1.5 hours due to maintenance issues, then more maintenance issues, then deicing. It’s like we’re flying on Gertie.
  • Arrive at destination
  • Sleep

xoxo,
Lisa

This Day in Lisa-Universe:

done consciously and intentionally

Dear Internet,

I’m at Philly international airport on my way to my final destination and I’m debating the merits of being a woman who is about to start menstruating. I know my breasts are firmer and more round. I also know I’m throwing off pheromones like no one’s business because I have a crowd of gentlemen clustered me in this otherwise empty section of the airport. It could be my charm and wit, or it could be the Lisa-puffs, but I’m betting it is pheromones.

Today will be a long day. I drove 2 hours to the airport to catch an early afternoon flight to the east coast and now I’m on my layover in Philly before the final leg. There were plans to be had this evening, but I’m betting once I make it to my final destination, head will hit pillow and the drool will come forth.

I made an observation this afternoon while I played Tetris on my iPad, in that if I played the game deliberately, I could easily get to level 9, which is nearly a 100 rows. If I do not play deliberately, I am dead within the first 10 rows. I found this to be interesting.

But being deliberate about the game also meant I had to be patient. It also meant I had to focus on the game and not on what was happening around my world. Not too surprising, the more I put my energy into paying attention to the game rather than my usual mashing of buttons, I did really, really well.

This is similar to how meditation works. You concentrate on the body and then you open yourself up to the world to let it wash over you. Then you learn how to reign the focus back into yourself while the world is awash, so you can find stillness in the chaos.

Since being a good Tetris player requires much of the same philosophy, it makes sense to me that once I started putting my meditation practice to work in the game, my game got increasingly better.

Imagine if this was applied to everything?!

Interesting hypothesis, yes?

xoxo,
Lisa

This Day In Lisa-Universe: 2013, 2012, 1998