The alarm goes off right when it’s supposed to. I hit the snooze one time, then it’s time to get up. I complete my morning routine. It’s the easiest part of my day. Always the same, never changes. It gives me comfort. Take care of my dog, then take care of myself. Check the weather first, then get ready. Meds. Don’t forget those. Double-check my backpack. Check the stove, check the locks, check the lights, check them again. I know they’re just obsessive thoughts, but I have to satisfy them. Finally time to go. Right on time.
The sensory onslaught starts as soon as I walk out the door. On this day, the wind whips, the rain pounds, and the thunder roars. I head to the car where I sit for a minute and gather my focus before I put the car in reverse. The nerves have already shown up for the day and I haven’t even left the parking lot. It takes every ounce of focus to get to Chick-fil-A. It is Friday, which means I treat myself to breakfast out. I spit out my order at the drive-through. My phone’s already buzzing for work. By the time I get to the window, I’ve lost my words. I fumble for my debit card. She asks how I am. I can’t respond. She asks if everything is OK. I nod my head. Inside, I’m apologizing profusely. It’s not unusual for me to lose my words. They get scrambled in my head and I can’t get them out of my mouth. It never gets any easier to get out of the situation despite how often it occurs. I finish my drive to work replaying what just happened.
By the time I get to work, I have to shut the door to my office for a few minutes. I grab a chew toy out of my fidget box and spin in my chair. I could do that all day. Instead, I check my to-do list and update it using my blue pen. It’s the last of its kind and won’t last much longer. What will I write with when it runs out? It’s an anxious thought. I’m learning about those in therapy. What am I supposed to do next? Look for evidence that supports it, then look for evidence against it and come up with a new thought. It’s loud in the office. The lights and the computer buzz. I try to push the noises aside and find my focus. It’s hard today. I don’t know why. Did I do something wrong? Another anxious thought. What’s first on my list? I get started preparing for an upcoming opponent (I get paid to watch basketball for a living.)
I have a question but I really don’t want to talk to anyone. What if I mess it up? I have to ask, though. I prepare the conversation in my head: what will I say, what might they say in return, what’s my response. Oh yeah. Don’t forget to look up. I don’t have to look at his eyes, just pretend. Try to focus on something behind his face. It will make him think I’m looking at him, which I’m supposed to do but just can’t. I can’t look and listen at the same time. It hurts. No unexpected behaviors when I leave my office. That means no snapping, no flapping, no rocking. Just walk down the hall, follow the script then walk back. Say a quick prayer that no one stops me. If they do, just say, “Good morning.”
I grab a bouncy ball and head down the hall. I make it unscathed, though my heart rate would tell you otherwise. The door’s closed. Do I open it, knock, or turn around? Which one is right? Nothing comes easy. I elect to knock and he motions for me to come in… I think. “Good morning… I’m good. How are you?… I have a question…” Come on E. Spit it out. You can do it. I manage to ask my question. He responds with a multi-step answer. Shoot. I can never remember multiple steps. He keeps going. Focus E. First, then, after. He’s finished. “Thanks.” I repeat it to myself as I walk back towards my office. I cross my fingers that no one says anything or needs anything as I walk down the hall. It doesn’t work.
“Hey E. Can you come here?” Uh oh. Unexpected event. “What’s up?” I respond. That seems to be a standard response illustrating my desire to listen. I use it often in the office. I think it’s safe. I guess I’m not really sure. She just has a quick question. I can help. It feels good to help. She likes to use smelly lotion. I guess she likes it. I don’t. Focus E. Fix it and leave. “You’re welcome.” I continue down the hall. I make it back to my office after what seems like an eternity. My heart is racing. It will slow down eventually. How did that go? I made it. I got the information I needed, although I’m not sure I remember all of it. The conversations replay in my head. Did I do it right? Did I make them uncomfortable? Did I rock or did I stand still? I’ll never know.
I’m exhausted. It’s not even lunchtime. I grab my chew toy and get back to work. It’s going to be a long day.
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