Almost Listening

There are a few guaranteed things in my life that will always throw me into a panic-attack-tailspin. None of them are really important. But for some reason, these things get me every time.

One of these things is being late. I hate being late. Doesn’t matter whose fault it is, I’m panicking.

Another would be waiting. For people. For Grades. For phone calls. For just about anything. This is different than anticipation. I like that. But when things are supposed to done or given by a certain time and they aren’t, and I‘m stuck waiting, I’m panicked.

I’m not a big fan of not knowing where I’m going. Literally. Like in the car with someone who doesn’t share the destination.

Traffic gets me.

Eighteen wheelers diving past me. Not a happy moment.

I could probably go on and on about things that make me panicky, but I’ll just get straight to the point.

To the big one.

The thing that makes me an absolute crazy mess.

We’re talking Panic City.

I almost feel silly saying it out loud, but I have a panic attack when I don’t know to wear. It’s not an everyday thing. It’s an “I have somewhere to be and know I have to dress a certain way” kind of thing.

Now, I love shopping. I love clothes. I really love shoes. I have large collections of clothes and shoes. Probably have at least one outfit for ANY occasion.

But when it’s time to get dressed, I lose it. I don’t like anything, nothing looks good on me, if I was only taller, thinner, less blonde, less pale, and had more money, then I’d be fine.

That’s what my mind says anyway. And I believe it.

Then I try on everything I own, buy new clothes that I end up not wearing, cry, and generally break down.

It’s not pretty.

My best friend hates that phone call.

But she still talks to me. She tells me the things that would make anyone else calm down. She’s great.

But I don’t believe her either.

All the time knowing how ridiculous I’m being.

So finally it comes down to “have to cover my body and walk out the door” time.

I’m worried and panicked the entire drive.

The steps up to the building are terrifying.

I always turn back at least once.

But then something happens. I find that invisible strength that lives deep inside me that has been hiding this whole time.

I walk into where ever it is that I’m going.

And without fail, there is always someone who tells me that I look nice.

That little phrase, “you look nice,” is all it takes to get me from panic to calm.

Do I think that I’ll ever stop panicking over this, or anything else?

Nah.

But I am learning how not to.

And I’m almost listening. :)