Anxiety or Tummy-Bug? (And Other Dramatic Tales)

I thought I had a stomach bug today - missed band rehearsal but let the conductor know I was sick. Thing is, after I had done that, my tummy starting feeling better. Like it just went away and I was fine again. So now I wonder if I was just super anxious at the thought of going out and facing people again, following the mini-dramas of this morning (my life is full of mini-dramas. Well okay, my life alternates between mini dramas and periods of total boringness where I stay home and do nothing because I'm too exhausted or anxious).

"Boringness" should totally be a real word.

^^refer to story below

So anyways... "back at the ranch"... well, N-dog and I were heading out to a psychiatrist appointment, since my social worker kindly reminded me that it was 10am (thanks social worker because I completely forgot about it as usual).

So of course, on the way there, I forget where the turn-off is and end up completely lost. I eventually found the clinic but I arrived there about 15 minutes late. Well, first I walk in and the girl at the counter says: "you have to leave your dog outside." Me: "uhh, he's a Service Dog, and I called and let the front desk know he was coming with me."
Girl at desk: "oh, sorry, that's cool then."
Yes well that fairly neutral exchange got me ridiculously and rather irrationally anxious, in addition to my being so late.
So the Dr invites me into office, then proceeds to tell me how pissed off she is that I'm so late.
Bitchy Pdoc: "Thanks to you turning up so late, we only have 10 minutes left of the appointment."
Me: "I told you I was sorry, I got lost and panicked."
"Yes well we can't even talk now because there's 10 minutes."
Me: "Look, I'm having a hard time remembering things and organizing myself, and am constantly being berrated for something I can't help" *Bursts into tears*
Bitchy Pdoc: *completely unmoved, throws tissue box at me irritably*
N-dog: *stands up and licks my head* (what an awesome dog)
Bitchy Pdoc: "do you have enough meds"
Me: "No, I lost the last script you gave me"
Bitchy Pdoc: *looking on computer records* "Well, it wasn't me who gave u that script, it was a different Dr in January. You honestly don't remember any of that?" (said in accusitory tone)
Me: "Um, no, I don't.. sorry??"
Bitchy pdoc: *grumpy sigh* *writes out script in silence*
Me: *after an awkward silence, I tentatively try to explain anxiety/panic issues lately, but stop halfway through sentence when realise Dr is completely ignoring me and not listening to a word*
Bitchy pdoc: *shoves script at me*  "see you in two months."

YEH WELL THANK YOU VERY FUCKING MUCH BITCHY PDOC.


So, moving on from the complete failure of the mental health system as far as Drs are concerned.. I had a quick catchup with my support worker afterwords (she was nice and helpful, thank goodness!) I realised I desperately needed to go to the shopping centre as N-dog was really hungry, he hadn't had breaky because we ran out of food (both dog and human food).
I was scared of having panic attack, but I steeled myself and went to shops. Successfully survived shopping trip, and the multitudes of people coming up to me asking me about N-dog...

Typical conversation with random nosy shoppers:

"What kind of dog is that?"
Me: Irish wolfhound cross.
Shopper: "Service Dog Trainee... what does that mean?"
"It means he's training to be an assistance dog." (DUH).
"Service for what?"
"For me."
"Doing what? Are you blind?"
"No I am not blind. (Do I fucking look blind? I'm wearing a pair of vision glasses for one thing) He is a Psychiatric Assistance Dog."
"What does that mean?"
"He helps with depression, anxiety, panic attacks etc"
"Oh. How does he help?"
"He comforts me and helps me cope."

..... multitude of other stupid and boring questions and repeats of the "Oh, so... you're NOT blind?" (NO IM NOT FUCKING BLIND).

Jeesus christ I hate the public. I want to be a hermit in a cottage by the sea with my dog and Ambrose. I also hate people who preach about jesus christ (fyi).






Most things and people scare the crap out of me, apart from Napolean, who is the doggy-luv of my life.

^(N-dog is the big one).

So after all this, my point was..... might have been anxiety that made me sick, rather than tummy bug. 

Either way, it was an afternoon and evening at home of reading books.

Actually, I read a whole book. It was called "Surrender" and it's this gothic story where the main character turns out to be psychotic and... oh, oops shouldn't give it all away, right? I love dark stories, but I find I am not quite dark enough to write them myself. Does that make sense? I don't know. I think you need a kind of cold objectiveness when writing stories like that. If you felt too much while you were writing it, it would totally screw with you/ possibly even destroy you - that's what I reckon anyway!

Final musing: Is "Reckon" an all-Australian word? If I go to America and say: "I reckon that cheeseburger will give you diabetes" will they understand?

~Tam~