Lesson 18: Sometimes, They ARE Right

It all began in third grade. I was at a sleep over birthday party. Had a scavenger hunt. Played capture the flag until dark. Watched scary movies at night. The whole bit. But the scariest part happened the next day after breakfast. After a feast of pancakes, my friend wanted to show off her pets. We all crowded around a little cage filled with white-furred, pink-eyed mice. They were so cute! Seemed harmless. Feeling adventurous, I asked to hold one. She plopped it in my cupped hands. Kind of tickled. Seemed like a happy little guy, but evidently, had a death wish. He jumped off my hands and onto the floor. But, much to his depressed dismay, landed like a mini cat. Scurried UP MY LEG. No joke. There may not be anything more disgusting and disturbing to feel as little claws quickly climbing up your plump nine-year-old limb. Without even thinking, I began to scream and flail my arms and immediately dropped my Garfield pajama shorts and began jumping around like popcorn. Since then, I have never been the same.

You see, I kind of suffer from what I refer to as "mini panic attacks." DISCLAIMER: Please note, I am in no way, shape, or form ridiculing Panic Disorder or any other mental health diagnosis. As a mental health/social work professional, I am well aware of such disorders, their implications, and seriousness. I justify mocking myself because I realize the un-seriousness of my...phobias.

Anyhoo, glad I got that out of the way! So, it started with a mouse molesting my lower body. Until this day, I am scared of mice. One time, I was visiting Nathan for my senior year spring break in college, choosing the Quad Cities over Cancun, as any normal twenty-one-year-old would do, right? Well, he left for work one day and within minutes, I spied a gross gray mouse exiting the trash can, scuttling down the can, and into the bathroom. I screamed and spent the majority of the day sitting on TOP of the couch, wide-eyed on alert, gripping a broom.

Another run-of-the-mill fear of mine is bridges. Only those over water, though. In high school physics, I recall watching a video about the Tacoma Narrows Bridge in Washington. Something about frequencies matching that literally made the bridge wiggle like a jump rope snake activity from pre-school. Up and down. Rolling waves. Eventually, it snapped!

I realize that since that incident, engineers have learned and adjusted their techniques. However, speaking of engineers, NOTHING makes me more nervous than CONSTRUCTION ON A BRIDGE. What makes them fix stuff anyways? Bolts falling out?!? Concrete chipping away?!? If they don't check the bridge every day, how do they really know everything is in place?!? How do they know that jack hammering all day won't cause the bridge to collapse, right then and there, with cars on it?!?

My first social work internship in the QCA was across the river on the Illinois side. Every day, I had to go over the I-74 bridge. See, I AM able to face my fears to some extent. That is why I classify them as mini panic attacks. Not full blown. Typically a ten minute drive, one minute of bridge action -- white knuckled, looking straight ahead, deep breathing to avoid hyperventilation. Anyhoo, go figure, not only did I have to cross the mighty Mississippi practically every day, but had to SIT in TRAFFIC for FORTY-FIVE minutes because of CONSTRUCTION on the bridge. I'm surprised I could open my hands once arriving at my internship.

Now, you may be asking, why only over water? Allow me to explain. Most of my fears have, I think, completely rational explanations. Okay. So you're driving along in your car. Across a bridge. Over water. And your tire blows out, or whatever, and causes you to swerve and fly over the guard rail that is absolutely not tall enough to guard you from anything; you plummet into cold water, try to open your car door, but not only is it locked, but the pressure surrounding you is too great to open it anyway and you are stuck! Can't break your windows open, sinking quickly, losing your breath even quicker, and you realize this is how you will die. Sinking! Cold! Breathless! And you will be a bloated mess when they pull your dead body from the water! Now, tell me, doesn't a fast smack to the pavement and a fast beating from a truck sound a LITTLE more appealing???

Now, this bridge business would be even worse if over the ocean. Oceans. Serene. Hypnotic. Soothing. Or eerie. Or abysmal. Or creepy. Think of ALL the prickly creatures in the depths, and shallows, of the ocean. LOBSTERS (!) that could latch onto your ear and not let go. CRABS (!) that could grab onto your feet and snip away at your pinkie toe. JELLYFISH (!) that could sting you and then someone would have to pee on you to keep it from stinging. BLOWFISH (!) that feel like cacti when you accidentally bump into them. STARFISH (!) that feel like gravel under your pedicured tootsies. EELS (!) that could wrap around your neck and squeeze until they suffocate you. Or even worse, electrocute you! And don't forget about SHARKS (!!!)!!! Do I even have to explain? And one that people always forget, always fail to mention: DOLPHINS (!)! I am SERIOUS! How could you be afraid of DOLPHINS (!) you ask? Well, LET ME TELL YOU !!!!!! (!!!!!!):

1.) They feel like big erasers. Weird.

2.) They kind of talk. Talking animals, including Mr. Ed, are weird.

3.) They are mammals, but kind of like fish. Weird.

4.) They are smart. Very smart. Weird.

5.) And just to let you know, the Discover Channel justified my fear. As I flipped through the channels one night, I came across a program bluelighting ocean life. Decided to enjoy those things I fear most from afar on my telly. Lo and behold, they were spotlighting the dangers of dolphins. How they like to pick on other, weaker, less intelligent creatures. How they have little dolphin gangs that circle prey, make feeding a game, make the poor little fish suffer in panic, draw it out, and then gulp them up with one of their little creepy dolphin laughs. Cruel, uncharacteristic some may say, and thus WEIRD.

But the things that get me the most have to do with planning. Organization. That is where the true anxiety, not panic, comes in. And anxiety is actually more of an issue for me. As previously mentioned, I like things in order. In my work bag. In my wallet. In my apartment. In my refrigerator. My shower routine. My workout routine. My grocery shopping routine. I plan every day from start to finish. I use my planner, not PALM PILOT as I do not care much for technology. When something is out of place, when something comes up and I have to change my schedule, I get...antsy. Feel full. Like someone lit a firecracker in my tummy and it is JUST about to explode. I get hot, as in physically warm. And no matter how I try, if the tissue box is our of place in my office, I just can't leave it. When I used to take notes in class, I kept my binder, notebook paper, and appropriate book next to each other, equidistant and parallel. When the dish soap bottle is carelessly placed at the wrong angle (NOT by me, I might add) I HAVE to move it back. Get my drift?

One time, Nathan and I went out to dinner. Dressed all snappy to use a gift certificate to a snazzy place. Thursday night. Figured we didn't need a reservation, that in and of itself was a big step for me, trying to loosen up a bit and all. Walked in. Excited. Forty-five minute wait. Too long! Starving! Would certainly perish if had to wait that long! Left trying to stay cool and not at all firecrackery. Nathan caught on. Wrapped his arm around a curiously quiet me and said, "Aw. My lady had a plan and it didn't work out. Are you okay?"

This is HUGE for Nathan. He doesn't play into all my weird deals. Never excessively babies me when crossing bridges. Never bought into my organization obsession. He always persistently insisted that the only way to get over all my weird deals was to face my fears. PSH! That's what I said to that! However, as much as it pains me to admit it...HE WAS RIGHT.

Concerned for my well-being and starting to loathe my panic feeling, I decided to do a huge paper for my mental health class on Panic Disorder, its diagnosis, and treatment. Turns out I WAS right about one thing: I didn't have Panic Disorder. And it turns out HE was right about another thing: treatment techniques include desensitization and exposure, fancy words for facing your fear. I COULDN'T BELIEVE IT! This seemingly archaic/medieval/barbaric approach was not only used, but effective! Nathan's no nonsense, down to earth outlook won again.

He was right. Who knew???