Things That Shouldn’t Give Me Anxiety, But Do. Part 6, Items 13 - 14.

Pliers to my teeth

Sometimes my thoughts will wander into how awful it would be if someone took a pair of pliers to my teeth, snapping them in half, one by one. I don’t know why this visual pops into my head, but it does, and it’s so graphic and detailed that I can’t even type it out because it makes me want to sleep until there is a cure for Fucking Crazy.

Finding out I’m a psychopath

I cry during every movie where someone acheives something, so this is highly improbable, but I am often worried that my brain cannot process true emotion and everything I’m “feeling” is just me being a really good mimic. So good that I am tricking myself.

Things That Shouldn’t Give Me Anxiety, But Do. Part 5, Items 8 - 12.

The ability to keep myself alive

I am not only trusted with A human life, but it’s MY human life. It is arguably the most important human life of all and I am in charge of not killing it? Who the fuck created this universe? How am I in chargeof KEEPING MYSELF ALIVE? Can’t I appoint someone to do this for me?

The ability to create a life

I can’t believe I’m just allowed to walk around with these ovaries and a functioning uterus. Probably. Probably functioning.

People making me catch on fire

Not in general, just in an apartment. I know when I get an apartment I will hate my neighbors. I know I will. I hate a lot of people, so this is just statistically speaking. Science and shit. And I’m going to have to fucking live in that place with the full knowledge that if one of these idiots leaves their coffee pot on or a hair straightener on the mattress then I AM DYING?

Someone severing my femoral artery

One time on L&O:SVU this lady severed her own femoral artery so she wouldn’t have to snitch to C-Meloni. But the way it was shot it looked like she stabbed her vagina and that made me want to just faint all over the place. Just faint and then immediately stand up and walk 6 inches and faint again and over, and over, and over again until I’ve fainted all over every square inch of this house.

But it wasn’t her vagina, it was her femoral artery. Which is only slightly less worse.

Stabbing my own vagina

I just feel like some things don’t need explaining.

Things That Shouldn’t Give Me Anxiety, But Do. Part 4, Items 5 - 7.

Being on the receiving end of a high five.

I know the trick. Look at the person’s elbow, you’ll never miss. Except I do. I always do. I always miss. I hit half their palm and the resulting sound is not the satisfying crack of a powerful high five (CRACK!), but the disappointing noise of two moist palms just barely rubbing against each other (ttthhwippp). It is the high five personification of Minkus from Boy Meets World. The actual moment of the abortion of a high five doesn’t give me anxiety because I am used to (and comfortable) with doing everything in a disappointing manner. It’s just… Everything leading up to it.

Being on the receiving end of a cool person’s handshake.

I’m not great at regular handshakes, I don’t think. I believe my grip is weak and I just don’t even like touching people in general. I just wish people would stop with the bells and whistles on their handshakes. I don’t get how I’m suppose to know what to do? Is there some club with bi-monthly meetings I’m suppose to join?

In 5ish years my friends will start inviting me to their weddings.

I thought of this today while waiting for my alarm to go off again after I hit snooze. I’ll be invited to these weddings and there will be a “plus one” on the invitation. What the fuck am I going to do? Let’s be honest, I’m probably going to be single in 5ish years. Do I bring a friend? Is that appropriate? Could I bring a girl friend or does it have to be a guy friend? Will everyone assume I’m dating my plus one? Will the person I ask to go with me assume I’m trying to get us free alcohol so we can have guilt free sex in a hotel room until we wake up the next morning and are so overcome with guilt the first one awake just murders the one who is asleep? DOESN’T IT SUCK WHEN OTHER PEOPLE ARE IN LOVE? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? THERE’S A 50% CHANCE YOU’RE GETTING A DIVORCE.

Things That Shouldn’t Give Me Anxiety, But Do. Part 3, Item 4.

This article floating around the internet, titled “Humor’s Sexual Side”,

The allure of male humor is so strong that female laughter may have evolved as a signal of sexual interest—picture a woman’s girlish giggles as she flirts with a man at a bar. Indeed, a German study found that when male and female strangers engaged in natural conversation, the degree to which a woman laughed while talking to a man was indicative of her interest in dating him. How much the woman laughed also predicted the man’s desire to date her. On the flip side, how often a man laughed was unrelated to his interest in a woman.

Like I’m already not self-conscious about how often I pity-laugh at someone’s attempt at being funny, now I have to worry about whether or not a dude thinks I’m trying to send out mental “bone me!” signals when I laugh? No! No! Don’t DO this to me.

A woman who deploys a typically male sense of humor—one that’s aggressive or competitive—is a turnoff to men, says Don Nilsen, a linguistics professor at Arizona State University in Tempe and an expert on humor. Many men feel threatened, perceiving a funny woman as a rival or worrying that they’ll become a target of her sharp tongue. “I think every man in the world loves the humor, even the sexual put-down humor, of Judy Tenuta or Joan Rivers,” he says. “But very few men want to marry them.”

That’s good. it’s not like my main form of socializing is calling someone a dick and clawing my brain for any combination of words that may get someone to laugh or anything. Fuck you, Don Nilsen. You piece of shit. Like I’m not already fully aware I’m either never getting married at all or going through several divorces, but always, ALWAYS, the end result is me dying alone on a couch somewhere. Not even a real bed. A motherfucking pull-out.

Men who do appreciate their female partner’s humor are usually more secure, mature and educated than the average guy, he says. They hold their mates in high esteem and aren’t intimidated.

Oh, Thank god. Okay. I might not die alone. Whew— Wait. Wait. To find a man that appreciates my SENSE OF HUMOR, I need to find someone who is secure, mature and educated?! REALLY? ALL THREE OF THOSE? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Are there human beings who POSSESS all three of those things? And if there are, you expect one of them to want to DATE me? Are you kidding? These people, if they even exist, are a different breed then me.


Things That Shouldn’t Give Me Anxiety, But Do. Part 2, Items 2 - 3.

1. Becoming an orphan.

Every summer my family leaves for a family vacation in Maine and since the thought of being stuck in a 25 foot long cabin with people I see every day of my life sounds like an awful time, I have opted to stay home since the age of 18.

Yet every time they leave I immediately start to think what assholes they would be if they got into a fiery car crash and died, leaving me an orphan at the adult, yet tender and innocent, age of 21.

Last night my father left me a voicemail that ended with him saying good night and “I love you.” I deleted it, and then immediately undeleted it. Just in case, you know, everyone dies. I will tell my friends, “this is the last time I heard from them.” My friends will then give me sympathy and maybe money and maybe brownies?

2. Borrowing a pencil from a classmate.

I had to borrow a pencil from a classmate on Monday. The entire process is mildly panic-inducing for me. I think I’ve grown into a relatively friendly young woman who can speak to strangers, but put me in a classroom and I shut right the fuck up. I don’t know what it is. Years and years of being stuck in the education system as a shy, fat child who developed acne at the age of 10 has Pavlovian conditioned me to feel this way, maybe? WHO KNOWS, JUST A GUESS. A PRETTY GOOD ONE, I THINK.

Once I assess the people around me (Does this one even speak English? Does that one gross me out? Will that one over there force me into polite conversation where I will have to fake smile and laugh?) I choose. And then ask. And in that millisecond between finishing my question and them answering, I feel like throwing my head on my desk and just taking a nap, because if I am DENIED, if they HAVE NO PENS, I will have to start all over and ask someone else. The entire thought of doing it all over again is exhausting.

But this person had a pencil, and it was given to me. He left class early that morning and today in class I was stuck with his pencil in my purse, wondering if it was weird to give a pencil back a day later. Or is it rude to not give it back at all? And then I just explode because I hate being a human being.

Things That Shouldn’t Give Me Anxiety, But Do. Part 1, Item 1.

1. The purchasing of a new pen.

I never remember that buying a new writing utensil gives me anxiety until I’m there in the stationary aisle, in front of an entire wall of pens. The entire moment pans out the same way every time. I turn the corner to walk down the aisle and stop immediately at the sight of the first pen. And then my eyes adjust to all of the pens around that pen. And then I refocus and see pens around those pens and before you know it I’m lying face-down on the floor in the middle of Target, left cheek to the linoleum, practicing shallow breathing. Which is like practicing deep breathing, except exactly the opposite. “Ignore me,” I would say to the common consumer who somehow manages to pick out pens within mere seconds and, seemingly, without the help of psychiatric care. “I’m just trying to start over and part of starting over involves doing better in school and writing in an actual journal and if I buy the wrong pen, a pen with jerky ink flow or ink that is too blue or a barrel too wide to fit comfortably in my hand, then whatever life I’m on at this point will start out wrong.”