Saturday, August 13, 2016

A fun time to manifest

A three-year-old started screaming outside the lift at a shop and I was just outside. There was a ramp to the ground but it led past the screaming child or there was the steep stair. The screaming triggered an anxiety attack.

My knees are failing, sometimes they feel they'll snap at any second, and so going up and down stairs is a painful challenge. Made all the more challenging for having to do it with my fingers in my ears and without benefit of the railing. I braced myself against the side as I stepped carefully one step at a time, using CBT to block out the screaming I could still hear.

I ended up at the exit of the shop car park to wait for the others, fingers still pressed to ears. A pair of fuckwits in a car exiting the park added to the stress by honking their horn twice right next to me—clever joke, cock-spanks, to frighten an ashen-faced man with fingers in his ears.

The anxiety bled off on the trip home, tears rolling as once again my injury had imprinted on us all.

I had two Vallium and slept the afternoon, leaden with fatigue from the attack and the medication.

Now I have to try and ride. It will help but I don't want to do it.

I hate that a screaming child can trigger me so badly. It was an absolute shocker. Whilst I had a layer of logic over the escapegently reminding myself it wouldn't be long until I was safely down the stairs and then away from the unholy sound of terror spawn—I had to contend with the reaction of panic and dread.

That's what it is to live with an injury to the mind. 

I hated the parent in that moment, because in the brief seconds I looked to see what was happening he appeared to be doing nothing, but no parent chooses when their kid is going to cook off—especially a toddler. 

I hate that I vocalised too. I yelled as I slowly went down the stairs—though I don't know what I said—and I yelled at the departing car of horn-tooting cock-spanks that had deliberately given me a fright. 

But that was then and now is now. And now I ride.

No comments:

Post a Comment

No comments needed, really.

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.