The things about phobias…

…At least for me, is not only having to deal with the overwhelming flood of crap from my nervous and endocrine systems, but also having to deal with the social aspect.
This post has been brought to you by the single solitary crane fly in the pizza place last night.

The scene – a very popular busy and crowded Italian eaterie. Six people, my husband and myself and two other couples are sat round a table celebrating my husband’s birthday.
I’m quite good at ignoring flappy, flying things. I’m not phobic of most of them. So much so that I’ve experienced the start of a panic attack which died instantly on realising the flappy thing in question was a moth rather than a crane fly. I know all of this is in my mind but that doesn’t mean it’s under my control…
A crane fly is investigating the hair of both the female friend sat next to me and the lady at the table behind. I become aware of this at about the same time as everyone else. The subsequent batting at hair makes the chaotic flapping of the detested creature even more erratic than usual. It’s almost a game for everyone else, I can feel the panic rising.
Unfortunately, the seating arrangement is triggering another of my panic triggers – that of not being able to escape. I feel trapped, both the crane fly and at least 4 people are between me and escape.
I murmur loud enough for my husband to hear, either the crane flies goes or I need to….
He knows, he understands, he’s on the case. However the place is crowded and noisy and it’s not that easy.
I resort to the only tactic left to me – if I can’t see it, I can pretend it doesn’t exist. I curl away into the wall, hide my head in my hands and concentrate on breathing and pushing away the thoughts that I’m nearly 40 and one fucking insect that is among the most pathetic of insects shouldn’t affect me this way. I wait to be rescued feeling ashamed, trying to react as little as possible, conscious of not wanting to cause a scene, not wanting to have to explain myself, of how I must look to people. I hear someone say it’s gone.
Then comes the moment that breaks me. The moment I think the crane fly has landed in my hair, the thing of my nightmares, and I’m shaking, tears spill down my face and I tighten and freeze, all I can hope is someone will take pity on me and free me from this hell.
It was a misunderstanding in the end, someone who doesn’t know me that well, didn’t realise what was going on for me having a joke and ruffling my hair. Hubby did come to my rescue and stopped them.
I was left with the social aspect though…
Shaking, in tears, ashamed and embarrassed, I had to get over that as quickly as possible in order for the celebratory feeling to return. While I couldn’t quite bite back my annoyed response at the usual rational sentences thrown my way as if I’ve never heard them before:
“They can’t hurt you”
“more scared of you” (actually I dispute that one…)
etc etc etc
And I respond, “yeah, coz logic and rationality play such a big part in phobias…” forcing a smile to try and counter the bitterness of my tone as I’m forced to be rational less than five seconds after a ridiculously huge surge of hormones has flooded my system and while every nerve is suggested I flee.
The next five minutes are so are spent consciously being as polite and social and amusing as possible, reassuring any who catch my eye that I’m okay really – and while that is technically true, it’s not what’s felt. It’s consciously forced until slowly my body and mind accept it as the truth.
Throughout this time, my understanding husband holds my hand across the table.
I still felt guilty for breaking the atmosphere, and feel responsible for restoring it. On top of the phobic reaction, this just feels extra unfair!

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