This weekend confirmed any question in my mind that I need to get back on some form of anxiety medicine until things turn around again. And by “turn around” I, of course, mean “lose a bazillion pounds and no longer feel like a giant hippopotamus unfit for social interaction.” Obviously.
Saturday night was a surprise bday bash for one of Mr. T’s old friends. Okay, friend is pushing it – acquaintence isn’t really right, either. He’s somewhere in between. T’s known him forever, but they don’t really hang out unless they both happen to show up at another mutual friend’s gathering. Whatever, he’s a nice guy with the ugliest baby I have ever seen in my entire life. Seriously. The first time I ever met this guy, he showed me and T a pic of his newborn baby. It was so hideous that we both had to take a second and our response was along the lines of, “Wow, man, that’s really…something!” He proceeded to give us the wallet photo and when we found it months later, it was just as startling. I digress.
I get really nervous about going out in public, so I generally just don’t do it. I mean, I haven’t even gone grocery shopping in quite some time. The only reason I run errands at lunchtime is because I just need a break from the office. Regardless, every venture out evokes a visceral reaction from me. My stomach knots up, I get a little queasy, my heart races and I feel like everyone is staring at me. Now, the logical part of my brains says, “Hey, fucker. People have better things to do with their time than look at you and talk about you. Move on.” But the crazy part of my brain says, “Whatever! You know everyone is looking at you and your husband, wondering why thin guys always seem to go for big fatties. They hope you don’t talk to them or even make eye contact. Why did you leave the house? You should run. Now. RETREAT!!!”
So, by the time we get to The Bar (which is a teeny tiny smokey hole in the wall that T’s group always has and always will hang out at), I’m doing my best to remain in control of my faculties and not take off running down the street. We walk in, and my first thought is, “Oh shit. Oh, hell no. Fuck me in the goat ass.” Sitting at the bar is none other than The Whore, the only ex of T’s that I’ve ever met or had a real problem with. Essentially, when they were dating eons ago, she got him to move to Texas with her, sign a lease and buy a car and all that jazz, and then she promptly quit her job and refused to work (seriously, I still don’t think she has a job and I’ve been with T for about 7 years). T couldn’t make ends meet, his credit got completely ruined, they eventually broke up and he moved back here to try to start over and fix everything she helped ruin. And she was actually crazy. She now has a kid and is living in government-subsidized housing, receiving disability because she got some shitbag doctor to diagnose her with narcolepsy. As T put it, the bitch doesn’t have narcolepsy, she just likes to sleep. Okay, so she’s a worthless loser. I could forgive that to a degree and not hate her (I mean, she hadn’t done anything to ME, right?)…but then I met her. I met her the night of a funeral for one of T’s friends. T has a pretty tight circle of pals from when he was a kid, so everyone went to the funeral and then to The Bar. Before we leave the funeral home, The Whore walks up to T and asks to speak to him alone. T has his arm around me and tells her that anything she has to say can be said in front of me or not at all. She walked away. When we got to the bar, she tried again and he shut her down again (turned out she was trying to get him to help her buy drugs). So before she leaves, she comes over to us. We are leaning on the pool table. T has his arm around my waist and I have my arm around his shoulders. The Whore PUSHES me off of him to hug him. He just looked at her, didn’t hug her back and kept his arm around me. She ignored me and left. Good thing, too, because I was PISSED. Who does that? And I really don’t like to be touched – I have major personal space issues – so she’s lucky I didn’t claw her eyes out.
So anyway, she’s the first person I see when I walk in, already feeling like total crap. So what happens next? She shakes T’s hand and then shakes mine and INTRODUCES herself like we’ve never met. When she said, “I’m Melissa” I just looked at her and said, “Yeah…” Then T says he has to use the restroom and LEAVES ME STANDING ALONE WITH HER at the bar. Okay, so I’m on the verge of a panic attack and he leaves me alone with the one person I cannot stand in a small bar filled with people I don’t know. Fine, he has to use the bathroom, but I wish he had waited until we settled in at a table or something. Standing alone in public is awkward enough, but standing alone, feeling like a loser, next to HER was just unbearable. Then, T comes out of the bathroom and, instead of beelining back to me, he stops to chat with other people. Again, not a big deal if I wasn’t ready to lose my ever-loving mind while standing next to her – and he knows how I feel about her. I grab my purse, walk back to him and hissed quietly at him, “What the fuck? Why did you leave me with HER???”
He got mad that I was upset, and snapped at me in front of his friends. Yeah, that helped the looming panic attack. I sit at a table and then this other girl, who had been standing with The Whore at the bar, comes over to show him pictures on her cell phone and laugh and talk…and T never makes a move to introduce me, much less include me in the convo. I was just stunned – the night really couldn’t be going worse for me at that point. So I stuck my hand out and introduced myself as T’s wife. T thought we had met before (we had, for 2 seconds about 3 years ago…like I’d remember???) and apologized, but at this point, I’m feeling about 2 inches tall and I’m completely about to cry. Then T walks away from me to talk to more people and leaves me alone, again. The worst part was he was talking to people in a group that The Whore was a part of, so I just felt even more deserted.
Don’t get me wrong, I know T wasn’t TRYING to make me feel like shit. I do that on my own. But I tried to explain to him what I was going through and it made no difference. It’s not that I wanted him to feel like he had to babysit me all night, but I just wanted to feel included in his world. I didn’t. I felt like an intruder. It didn’t make me feel any better when he pointed out that I didn’t have to go in the first place. Yeah, that makes me feel really wanted. I’m just at a point right now where I feel very unsure of everything around me. I survived a dramatic company bust-up and was thrust into an insane new work environment that is anything but comfortable, I lost two loved ones, I gained a ton of weight and lost every ounce of self-confidence that I had built up. Nothing feels secure anymore. I trust T, but I absolutely would not blame him if he left me. In my mind, that’s what I deserve. It didn’t help that his ex is incredibly thin. Not pretty (she looks like a retarded horse on Prozac), but thin. And here I am, a fat ass of epic proportions…gah.
I want him to understand how hard this is for me, but when I try to explain, he tells me there’s nothing he can do about it. I think he thinks my depression is all about Grandma, but it’s not. He doesn’t understand the social anxiety, even though I was on meds for it when we first met and I used to have to pop pills before I went anywhere with his friends or any people I didn’t know. This whole disorder is a bitch, and I know the biggest key to getting past all of it is to get healthy inside and out. Unfortunately, T doesn’t like to go for long walks and he’s not going to change his eating and cooking habits, so that makes it all the more difficult for me. I figure, if he can eat three times a night and have fast food for dinner while sitting on the couch, so can I. I know I really can’t, but try telling me that at 7:30 when I’m so hungry I could ride a horse (Chris from Family Guy, anyone? “Wait, that doesn’t make sense. I guess I could ride him to the store…”).
I’ve been trying to be better. I ask what I can replace fries with when we eat out. I actually did some form of physical activity three times last week (gotta start somewhere). I drink tons of water most days (I confess, I’m really sleepy today so I’m sucking down a Pepsi Max 0 right now). I bought healthy breakfast and snack options to keep in my desk. I’m making the right steps, but I’m still at the same weight I was 3 weeks ago. It’s going to be a long, bumpy road. I go back to the doc on Friday to discuss the Wellbutrin and I’m in the process of locating a counselor near my office. My first volleyball season in 7 months starts next weekend. Things are starting to come together to get me back on track. But I still want to cry every single time I look in the mirror. And for those of you who don’t know, hating yourself is simply exhausting. Really, I’m tired all the damn time.
I just hope the crazy train leaves town soon. All aboard! WOO WOO! At least I don’t have the swine flu. Wouldn’t that just be fitting…