Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Warning: Here is a surly moment from my airplane ride on Sunday.
My anxiety is riding high. I can tell by the increase in my sound sensitivity. All the people around me are fuckers. This is just how I feel.
I used to wonder at my sound sensitivities. Why do I go through moments when noises get the best of me? It turns my brain into scrambled eggs and soon I’m fantasizing about violence, or in the least, making very rude remarks. Like, “When you pop your gum like that, you are really UGLY.” Or, “Nobody likes loud page-turning magazine fuckers.” Or, “What kind of asshole thinks we all want to hear you chew ice?”
A therapist years ago (Yes, I’m sure it helps you feel better knowing that I have been “therapized.”) keyed me in on the fact that these are indicators that my anxiety is running high. No, I am not turning into a rage-filled lunatic ready to take everyone out. I’m just feeling anxious is all. On edge. Uncertain. NOT IN CONTROL of everything.
And when that happens, I get all ballistic about people that CHAT a little too loud or have the audacity to chew. For crying out loud. I have, sadly, even snapped at my mom before about banging on the computer keys too loud. She was so sweet. She said, “But, Kristy, they’re broken. I’m sorry. I’m trying to be quiet.”
The next day, I discovered that our keyboard had been attacked by a one-year old maniac, and the keys were, indeed, very hard to push, and I felt so bad that I had said anything to my mom.
Ugh. Anxiety. Waiting. Wondering. Hoping. Hearing all these INVASIVE shit noises around me. This too shall pass.