Angst of my Anxiety

Hello and welcome back to the continuing adventures of Di and her anxiety meltdown. Previous episodes left our emotionally challenged heroine in the clutches of the evil mental health specialists. The guilt of being inadequate and failing her own therapist, too much for her to handle. Spiraling down into the pit of total depression. Falling..falling..falling... Will she avoid the horrors of being buried alive under tons of therapeutical homework? Will Doctor Good Therapist come riding to her rescue and pull her from the grips of certain anxiety and self-hate? All will be revealed in this episode of Angst of my Anxiety!

In this episode we find our friendly anxietist sleeping soundly in her bed, unaware that the last bus to therapyville was departing the station. Soft slumber caressing her with dreams of evil madmen taking over the world. Ah, such sweet dream indeed.

As time continuum becomes slightly distorted because buses are involved, her doting husband brings the wake-up call a few minutes late. Panic sets in as the rush is on now to find some way to make it to therapyville on time. The Metro Gods were not smiling down on our panic stricken anxietist this day. She was destined to be LATE!!!

LATE is a four letter word of the worst kind to any anxietist. The mad dash from the bus to the office, the crazed panting and gasping while gripping the counter with trembling hands, the look of completely imaginable scorn you know you will soon be receiving from the receptionist that they hide so well behind their plastic headsets and faked smiles, culminating in the knowledge that the whole room of people will know you are a complete and utter failure as a person because you can't make your appointments on time! They all watch you with fearful expressions knowing at any time you will be swallowed up by the paradoxical time vortex your lateness has caused in the fabric of appointment logs everywhere.

Doting hubby had called ahead to prepare them for the cataclysmic event soon to unfold, giving them ample time to prepare. Our overly stressed Anxietist, back to the wall, slumped and self-loathing over inadequacies, waits staring at the door where Doctor Good Therapist will thunder through, concealing his inordinate amount of anger (at her tardiness) beneath a smile, and gesture towards the door with his kindly "Can I get you something to drink?" rhetoric.

Seemed like forever, but Doctor Good Therapist emerged with his smile, gesture and rhetoric. Quickly, our never-to-be-late-always-early-faster-and-quicker anxietist rushed to meet him, taking him up on the offer of some water as uber super quickness followed by much you-are-overweight panting causes one to become thirsty. This alleviated some of the dead man walking slow motion action of their traversing the hallways to Doctor Good Therapists room.

Worried and on the brink of an emotional meltdown, our super anxietist waits patiently (like a patient) on the light blue anything-but-love love seat which is called the couch (even though it is not) in therapeutical company. As Doctor Good Therapist returned, offered the sanitary paper cup of water, and took his characteristic place in his rolling office chair with legal pad and pen, talking ensued. Our anxietist was please to learn that she was not going to be tossed under the bus even after her grievous error in appointment making time management. Doctor Good Therapist did not think it was a good match either. However, he had a look that made our anxietist wonder if crazed psychiatrist lady had freaked out on him, beat him about the head and shoulders with her homework packets, and left him with only a portion of his left temporal lobe still intact. He did not seem to be giving details, but our teary eyed anxietist was okay with this as moving along to other topics was okie dokie with her.

The session wrapped up and our anxietist heads out to catch her bus, taking her emotional baggage with her. Neatly packing her self-hate, loathing, guilt and depression into a pretty package with a big bow and carrying it securely with her. Perhaps there will be a reality series spin-off called Extreme Hoarding: Emotional Baggage. We will have to see. For now, dear readers, I bid you goodnight. (Cue Hitchcock Music)