Another day, another dreary drag through the dribs and drabs of dumb old dank old dysphoric depression.

I have been thinking a lot about my life and my problems lately, spurred onward largely by my readings in that Overcoming Agoraphobia by Doctor Barry Goldstein that I have been talking about so much. I am really glad I bought the book way back when, and even more glad that I decided to give it another try after my very bad first impression of it when I first tried to read it.

Like I have said, I don’t quite fit the model of agoraphobia in the book, but enough of it resonates at a deep enough frequency that it’s really gotten things moving inside me, so to speak. Like most agoraphobes ^[1] I have a great deal of problem with emotional constipation. My extremely avoidant personality, fueled by a quick and agile mind, is far too good at avoiding dealing with things and that leaves my mind’s digestive system with a lot of undigested or half-digested emotions everywhere, clogged the tubes and blocking the fuel line and keeping the whole thing in the shop indefinitely.

I mean, I just jumped metaphors from digestion to cars in the middle of a sentence and didn’t even realize I was doing it. That’s not something a nice, regular, free flowing brain does. That’s the diseased discharge of a set of brain bowels blocked with bitter, broken bile.

And some alliteration. Just a little.

The book has a way of anticipating me. Just when I was thinking it might not be all that relevant to me after all, that maybe I am not all that agorophobic or at least not like the women in the book, I come across a section that uses anxiety about an upcoming wedding that the subject is invited to for an example, and suddenly some recent memories slam into me and I realize I am, indeed, quite ill.

For those of you who are not reading me then, last year when I was busily writing a million words in eleven months, my friends and former roomies Ryan and Jen got married. I knew about the wedding more than a year in advance, and for most of that time I was looking forward to it. I like weddings, they are usually quite happy and sentimental occasions, and I am all about happy warm sentiments. I am sensitive to the emotional atmosphere of my surroundings ^[2] and so happy events like weddings and other celebrations are a comfortable milieu for me. In theory.

But as the day dawned on my emotional horizon, my anxieties began to set in. Just like the ladies in the book, I started catastrophizing about all the million and one ways the wedding day and reception after could turn out horribly wrong for me. I tried to mentally put myself there so I could desensitize myself, but the rising panic just got worse and worse as the day drew closer and closer.

Looking back, I wish I had been reading the Overcoming Agoraphobia book then. It might have helped a lot.

I ended up not going. I just could not get a grip on my anxiety, and my mind made up all kinds of excuses to not go, but the truth was, I simply could not handle it.

The anxiety won. I avoided instead of facing my fears. I feel ashamed of that now, though I know I shouldn’t. But I really wish I had gotten my shit together and gone. It probably would have done me a world of good, and shown me that I can do things like that if I want to, instead of feeling like my fears root me to the spot like a statue all the time.

So yeah. Looking back at the torture I went through regarding the wedding, I am a very sick man. It is easy to avoid thinking about it and avoid dealing with it and pretend I am just a regular guy with “a few problems”, but the truth is, deep inside, I am very sick, so sick it keeps me from doing what I need to do to get well, and I really don’t know a way out of this trap.

But I do know one thing : the only way out is through. I can’t get out of this mess unless I deal with all that unresolved emotion and unexpressed anger and deep down tension that weighs me down.

Those are things I can no longer avoid.