blue-roses
Well-known member
Sorry, this is going to be a long and pointless post, but I had to get it off my chest somewhere! I don't even care whether people read and/or reply or not.
I'd been feeling okay last week, despite a death in the family and my grandmother being seriously ill, I was feeling good within myself; I'd applied for several jobs and already got an interview for one. But over the past few days I've been feeling worse, SA-wise, than I've ever felt. I think it was triggered by an enormous pimple that popped (no pun intended) up earlier in the week. I don't normally get huge pimples but this one was about a centimetre in diameter, one of those ones that never come to a head and just form a massive lump. It was smack-bang in the middle of my chin, which I'm always conscious of anyway because I think it's a weird shape in profile. With this enormous lump on it I was getting heart palpitations any time I knew people were looking at me side-on. It was so huge the skin over the top of it went all tight and sure enough, using a facial scrub, I managed to irritate it enough to make it bleed, and by Thursday I had not only a big lump there, but a scab as well. I felt disgusting.
ANYWAY. Thursday was the day I was supposed to finally go and see this psychologist who specialises in SA. I wanted to start the group therapy workshops she does and this was supposed to be an assessment to determine whether the group programme was suitable for me. It would have been the perfect day to go because I was really showcasing my SA in all its glory - I spent several hours getting ready and, despite it being a hot day for this time of year, I left the house in knee-length black boots, black tights, black skirt, long black cardigan with the sleeves pulled right down over my hands, black scarf, too much make-up - trying to hide. I don't think I've ever gone that far before. On my bad days I sometimes wear all black, and I'm almost always overdressed, but I've never looked like such a nutcase!
Getting out of the house was hard enough, and then I hid (behind walls, fences, ticket machines, prams) the whole bus and train trip into town, which was exhausting. The tram going to the clinic was delayed and I was worried about showing up late and leaving a bad impression. I found the address - I was only about two minutes late - and it just looked like an ordinary house in a quiet suburban street. No sign saying "Psychology", no waiting room visible from the outside like in most houses that have been converted into clinics of one type or another, nothing. I thought I must have written the wrong street number down. I didn't have the phone number because I'd written it down on a piece of paper and then lost it amongst all my uni stuff...
I considered just knocking on the door and asking if they knew where the place was, but I really didn't feel up to it - especially asking where a psychology service was, lest they think I really was a depraved lunatic - so I decided to walk up the street looking for it. I went up one side and down the other with no luck, and then I saw a man in a suit walk in the front gate of the house. I tried the door, just a normal front door like you'd find on any family home, and I was terrified, but it was open, and when I walked in there was still no reception or anything. There were lots of rooms with closed doors with signs on saying "room in use", and I walked down to the living room/waiting area. By this time I was twenty minutes late. I sat there for half an hour and no-one came out or phoned me (don't they usually ring you if you don't turn up for an appointment?! When I've missed doctor's appointments they have!) There was no way I was going to knock on the door of one of those "rooms in use". With only ten minutes of the appointment-that-should-have-been left, my mum rang me and I started crying as I told her what had happened. I think she felt sorry for me, and she agreed that there should be signs outside a place like that, but I think she was annoyed at me as well for not being able to do something as simple as keeping an appointment. There was no point hanging around there for the last ten minutes if there was no receptionist or anything to help me, so I went back home. That was when my anxiety levels REALLY skyrocketed. I felt absolutely hopeless, and was convinced EVERYONE was staring at me, and then silently got angry at them all and started crying again when this girl on the train wouldn't stop looking at me, probably because I looked so scared and angry to begin with! My mum was on the same train as me and made me drive home (I'm still learning) and I was so upset that I kept snapping at her and drove like an idiot (deliberately planting my foot too hard, etc.), which made me feel even worse. My younger cousins came around that evening and I was calm and happy to see them, but when they left I was exhausted from acting "normal" all night (and from constantly trying to position myself so that the light wouldn't draw attention to the thing on my chin).
Yesterday we went to my great uncle's funeral, which was obviously very sad, but I at least managed to push my worries about my chin aside; it wasn't about me, I couldn't just stay home because of a pimple/scabby thing, it would be childish and disrespectful. That is until we went out to lunch before the service and my aunt said something about the pimple and went on and on and ON and ON about the products she uses; "they'll clear that thing up in no time". THEN later my eldest cousin (he's 17) said something about a "family resemblance"; his exact words were "I had a big pimple on my chin too...and we both have pretty bad bags under our eyes!" I started feeling nauseous and ran to the bathroom to cry. It was too late to skip the funeral completely (not that I really would have) but I wanted to die myself...I didn't mind being childish and disrespectful anymore...all the long-lost relatives kept trying to talk to me and kept looking at me ("oh, what a lovely young woman you've become"...shut up, no I haven't) and I just hid behind my dad or stared at them awkwardly, blushed and tried to keep one hand vaguely in front of my face at all times. I'm obviously upset that my uncle died, but I think I cried more during the service listening to those soppy poems they read about good memories and family and loved ones and thinking I'll be alone forever and blablabla...how selfish is that?!
I survived the wake and even tolerated photos of the entire family being taken (my dad's camera was used and he'll photoshop the pimple out ) but when we went out for dinner I got even more depressed and anxious. My mum rarely sees her brother, who lives interstate but was there with his iPod full of photos of my cousins (who live near us with their mother, they're divorced, it's complicated, I know, haha) and my mum was telling him how well the girls were doing. They've both got lovely boyfriends and jobs and are going on holidays they've paid for themselves and the youngest (who's only two years older than me) is doing so well at uni... I started feeling sick again and spent ages in the bathroom so I wouldn't have to listen to them.
Today we went to visit my grandma in hospital and even though she's been quite ill I envied her. Why? She's only been in there two days and she's made friends with the man and woman opposite her; they were shouting at each other across the ward like old friends and she seemed really fond of both of them. She told us how the lady in the bed next to her, who'd only been moved in this morning, had come around to all the beds in the ward and asked everyone in her broken English their names, how old they were, and how they were doing. It was really sweet and I would kill for the company, even something as simple as that. I'd even jump at the chance to have my blood pressure taken dozens of times a day if it meant having someone kind to talk to... I suppose patients in hospital are all vulnerable and it unites them, in a way, and being ill and in the same environment at least gives you something to talk about... Plus, being stuck in bed and treated like a victim relieves you of all responsibility; you don't have to take any risks...
This evening my dad's friend rang up and I answered the phone, but froze because my mum was standing next to me. I can actually handle most phone calls if I'm sure no-one's listening, but she wanted to know who it was. I said "hello"; he said "hello", I waited for him to ask for my dad, even though that was obviously what he wanted; he said nothing so I said "hello?"; he said "hello!"; I said nothing; he joked "don't you know any other English words?"; I laughed nervously; he started speaking terrible German (my dad's first language); I laughed nervously, got fed up and practically threw the phone to my mum and ran to my room. Now I'll be too embarrassed to speak to him ever again.
Right now all my friends (most of whom I haven't seen for months) are out celebrating a 19th. I could have gone, in fact, my parents insisted I go because I never get out these days, but I made up the excuse that we were still having a big post-funeral family thing. Another reason for me to feel horrible about myself - using my uncle's death to protect my own pride! The real reason, of course, was the freaking pimple. One of my friends always puts me down about my appearance, usually my skin, sometimes my teeth, hair, clothes, makeup... Last time I saw her, the first thing she said, completely straight-faced, was, "You've got more freckles than the last time I saw you...and pimples, too." The girl who's having the party always goes on about how she never eats chocolate because it gives her pimples, which are "GROOOOOOOOOSSSSSSS". So there was no way I was going.
Wow, I really didn't expect that to be that long. Sorry. Congratulations if you read it all. PM me to claim your prize.* Hopefully some of you can relate to some of it; hopefully I don't seem like a completely terrible person. Goodnight everyone!
*Prize will not actually be awarded, but I will be grateful for your support. <3
I'd been feeling okay last week, despite a death in the family and my grandmother being seriously ill, I was feeling good within myself; I'd applied for several jobs and already got an interview for one. But over the past few days I've been feeling worse, SA-wise, than I've ever felt. I think it was triggered by an enormous pimple that popped (no pun intended) up earlier in the week. I don't normally get huge pimples but this one was about a centimetre in diameter, one of those ones that never come to a head and just form a massive lump. It was smack-bang in the middle of my chin, which I'm always conscious of anyway because I think it's a weird shape in profile. With this enormous lump on it I was getting heart palpitations any time I knew people were looking at me side-on. It was so huge the skin over the top of it went all tight and sure enough, using a facial scrub, I managed to irritate it enough to make it bleed, and by Thursday I had not only a big lump there, but a scab as well. I felt disgusting.
ANYWAY. Thursday was the day I was supposed to finally go and see this psychologist who specialises in SA. I wanted to start the group therapy workshops she does and this was supposed to be an assessment to determine whether the group programme was suitable for me. It would have been the perfect day to go because I was really showcasing my SA in all its glory - I spent several hours getting ready and, despite it being a hot day for this time of year, I left the house in knee-length black boots, black tights, black skirt, long black cardigan with the sleeves pulled right down over my hands, black scarf, too much make-up - trying to hide. I don't think I've ever gone that far before. On my bad days I sometimes wear all black, and I'm almost always overdressed, but I've never looked like such a nutcase!
Getting out of the house was hard enough, and then I hid (behind walls, fences, ticket machines, prams) the whole bus and train trip into town, which was exhausting. The tram going to the clinic was delayed and I was worried about showing up late and leaving a bad impression. I found the address - I was only about two minutes late - and it just looked like an ordinary house in a quiet suburban street. No sign saying "Psychology", no waiting room visible from the outside like in most houses that have been converted into clinics of one type or another, nothing. I thought I must have written the wrong street number down. I didn't have the phone number because I'd written it down on a piece of paper and then lost it amongst all my uni stuff...
I considered just knocking on the door and asking if they knew where the place was, but I really didn't feel up to it - especially asking where a psychology service was, lest they think I really was a depraved lunatic - so I decided to walk up the street looking for it. I went up one side and down the other with no luck, and then I saw a man in a suit walk in the front gate of the house. I tried the door, just a normal front door like you'd find on any family home, and I was terrified, but it was open, and when I walked in there was still no reception or anything. There were lots of rooms with closed doors with signs on saying "room in use", and I walked down to the living room/waiting area. By this time I was twenty minutes late. I sat there for half an hour and no-one came out or phoned me (don't they usually ring you if you don't turn up for an appointment?! When I've missed doctor's appointments they have!) There was no way I was going to knock on the door of one of those "rooms in use". With only ten minutes of the appointment-that-should-have-been left, my mum rang me and I started crying as I told her what had happened. I think she felt sorry for me, and she agreed that there should be signs outside a place like that, but I think she was annoyed at me as well for not being able to do something as simple as keeping an appointment. There was no point hanging around there for the last ten minutes if there was no receptionist or anything to help me, so I went back home. That was when my anxiety levels REALLY skyrocketed. I felt absolutely hopeless, and was convinced EVERYONE was staring at me, and then silently got angry at them all and started crying again when this girl on the train wouldn't stop looking at me, probably because I looked so scared and angry to begin with! My mum was on the same train as me and made me drive home (I'm still learning) and I was so upset that I kept snapping at her and drove like an idiot (deliberately planting my foot too hard, etc.), which made me feel even worse. My younger cousins came around that evening and I was calm and happy to see them, but when they left I was exhausted from acting "normal" all night (and from constantly trying to position myself so that the light wouldn't draw attention to the thing on my chin).Yesterday we went to my great uncle's funeral, which was obviously very sad, but I at least managed to push my worries about my chin aside; it wasn't about me, I couldn't just stay home because of a pimple/scabby thing, it would be childish and disrespectful. That is until we went out to lunch before the service and my aunt said something about the pimple and went on and on and ON and ON about the products she uses; "they'll clear that thing up in no time".
THEN later my eldest cousin (he's 17) said something about a "family resemblance"; his exact words were "I had a big pimple on my chin too...and we both have pretty bad bags under our eyes!" I started feeling nauseous and ran to the bathroom to cry. It was too late to skip the funeral completely (not that I really would have) but I wanted to die myself...I didn't mind being childish and disrespectful anymore...all the long-lost relatives kept trying to talk to me and kept looking at me ("oh, what a lovely young woman you've become"...shut up, no I haven't) and I just hid behind my dad or stared at them awkwardly, blushed and tried to keep one hand vaguely in front of my face at all times. I'm obviously upset that my uncle died, but I think I cried more during the service listening to those soppy poems they read about good memories and family and loved ones and thinking I'll be alone forever and blablabla...how selfish is that?!I survived the wake and even tolerated photos of the entire family being taken (my dad's camera was used and he'll photoshop the pimple out
) but when we went out for dinner I got even more depressed and anxious. My mum rarely sees her brother, who lives interstate but was there with his iPod full of photos of my cousins (who live near us with their mother, they're divorced, it's complicated, I know, haha) and my mum was telling him how well the girls were doing. They've both got lovely boyfriends and jobs and are going on holidays they've paid for themselves and the youngest (who's only two years older than me) is doing so well at uni... I started feeling sick again and spent ages in the bathroom so I wouldn't have to listen to them.Today we went to visit my grandma in hospital and even though she's been quite ill I envied her. Why? She's only been in there two days and she's made friends with the man and woman opposite her; they were shouting at each other across the ward like old friends and she seemed really fond of both of them. She told us how the lady in the bed next to her, who'd only been moved in this morning, had come around to all the beds in the ward and asked everyone in her broken English their names, how old they were, and how they were doing. It was really sweet and I would kill for the company, even something as simple as that. I'd even jump at the chance to have my blood pressure taken dozens of times a day if it meant having someone kind to talk to... I suppose patients in hospital are all vulnerable and it unites them, in a way, and being ill and in the same environment at least gives you something to talk about... Plus, being stuck in bed and treated like a victim relieves you of all responsibility; you don't have to take any risks...
This evening my dad's friend rang up and I answered the phone, but froze because my mum was standing next to me. I can actually handle most phone calls if I'm sure no-one's listening, but she wanted to know who it was. I said "hello"; he said "hello", I waited for him to ask for my dad, even though that was obviously what he wanted; he said nothing so I said "hello?"; he said "hello!"; I said nothing; he joked "don't you know any other English words?"; I laughed nervously; he started speaking terrible German (my dad's first language); I laughed nervously, got fed up and practically threw the phone to my mum and ran to my room. Now I'll be too embarrassed to speak to him ever again.
Right now all my friends (most of whom I haven't seen for months) are out celebrating a 19th. I could have gone, in fact, my parents insisted I go because I never get out these days, but I made up the excuse that we were still having a big post-funeral family thing. Another reason for me to feel horrible about myself - using my uncle's death to protect my own pride! The real reason, of course, was the freaking pimple. One of my friends always puts me down about my appearance, usually my skin, sometimes my teeth, hair, clothes, makeup... Last time I saw her, the first thing she said, completely straight-faced, was, "You've got more freckles than the last time I saw you...and pimples, too." The girl who's having the party always goes on about how she never eats chocolate because it gives her pimples, which are "GROOOOOOOOOSSSSSSS". So there was no way I was going.
Wow, I really didn't expect that to be that long. Sorry. Congratulations if you read it all. PM me to claim your prize.* Hopefully some of you can relate to some of it; hopefully I don't seem like a completely terrible person. Goodnight everyone!
*Prize will not actually be awarded, but I will be grateful for your support. <3
