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Sweaty Palms
Sep. 22nd, 2020 02:48 pmI’m currently struggling through a wave of anxiety, and it’s both intense and completely irrational.
- A colleague sent me a nice email expressing admiration for something I published recently, and I think I’m going to die.
- Another colleague wrote to ask if they could put an unpublished essay of mine in a book they’re editing, and I think I’m going to die.
- A stranger who seems like an amazing person sent me a message on Instagram inviting me to submit a comic to a zine they’re putting together, and I think I’m going to die.
- Someone sent me a message on Etsy telling me that they love my art, and I think I’m going to die.
- An artist I admire tentatively accepted an illustration commission, and I think I’m going to die.
- I got three incredible gifts in a fanfic exchange, and I think I’m going to die.
I feel so awful, as if I’m an asshole for tricking these people. Like, they don’t know that I’m actually a terrible person, but they will find out.
I know exactly what triggered this, and it’s ridiculous. Honestly, it’s so silly that I don’t even want to write about it. Nothing bad happened, but bad things may potentially happen at some undetermined point in the future.
When I was at my previous job, my older male boss asked a younger female coworker to sit me down and tell me that anxiety doesn’t exist, that it’s just a matter of me changing my attitude (or something). I keep thinking about this in an attempt to explain to no one in particular that I don’t actually want social interaction – even positive social interaction – to make me feel like I can’t breathe and might need to go to the hospital.
With that said, I’m going to respond to some emails and messages. This shouldn't feel like I'm walking into battle, but it does and I hate it.
- A colleague sent me a nice email expressing admiration for something I published recently, and I think I’m going to die.
- Another colleague wrote to ask if they could put an unpublished essay of mine in a book they’re editing, and I think I’m going to die.
- A stranger who seems like an amazing person sent me a message on Instagram inviting me to submit a comic to a zine they’re putting together, and I think I’m going to die.
- Someone sent me a message on Etsy telling me that they love my art, and I think I’m going to die.
- An artist I admire tentatively accepted an illustration commission, and I think I’m going to die.
- I got three incredible gifts in a fanfic exchange, and I think I’m going to die.
I feel so awful, as if I’m an asshole for tricking these people. Like, they don’t know that I’m actually a terrible person, but they will find out.
I know exactly what triggered this, and it’s ridiculous. Honestly, it’s so silly that I don’t even want to write about it. Nothing bad happened, but bad things may potentially happen at some undetermined point in the future.
When I was at my previous job, my older male boss asked a younger female coworker to sit me down and tell me that anxiety doesn’t exist, that it’s just a matter of me changing my attitude (or something). I keep thinking about this in an attempt to explain to no one in particular that I don’t actually want social interaction – even positive social interaction – to make me feel like I can’t breathe and might need to go to the hospital.
With that said, I’m going to respond to some emails and messages. This shouldn't feel like I'm walking into battle, but it does and I hate it.
