Agoraphobia. Period.

Just a warning: If the mentioning of menstruating women makes you uncomfortable, this post might be one you’d prefer to skip.

Hello everyone!

Apologies for the length of time between the last post and this one.  I’ve had a pretty insane case of PMS for a good week and a half now.  It tends to make me even more antisocial than I already am, which apparently now extends to my blogging hobby as well.   I’ll try to be more aware of it next month.

Last week kind of came to a screeching flop after my last post.  It was in part agoraphobia as well as part hormonal.  Also, if you want complete honesty, I had been too housebound prior to that, that the roots in my hair were showing.  I never like to leave the house when I look like crap.

I took care of the roots, finally.  There’s a high end hair salon across the street from me.  While I’d prefer not pay such outlandish prices for throwing some bleach on the roots, I’ll pay for the location.  At least I can occasionally talk myself into going when it’s just an elevator ride and a jay walk away.   Looking better quickly led me to feeling better and wanting to leave the house for a bit on Sunday.

My fiance took my son and I first to Target, then later to lunch at Texas Land and Cattle.  It’s no Melting Pot, but I’ll never complain about steak.  Target is usually numero uno on my “Places to avoid” list, but I was feeling newly blonde and spontaneous.  I got there and those horrible automatic doors opened.  The spontaneity, it turns out, was fleeting.  My throat closed up, my chest got tight, I got a bit of tunnel vision, and there was a man with drool on his chin staring at my boobs.

I have no idea how it happened, because if I did I would bottle and sell it, but I was able to just suck it up.  I spent a fair amount of time last week reading about the different approaches to Cognitive Behavior Therapy for agoraphobia, and just took some of the concepts to heart.  I realized that I wasn’t at my own execution, it was just Target.  I mean, Target sucks, but I can make a list of places I’d way rather not be than there.  1. A bar where people throw peanut shells on the floor  2. prison  3. buried alive.  That’s pretty much all that came to mind at the time, but it was 3 places worse than Target.  It didn’t fix how I felt, but it made me feel silly enough to just get our shopping done and get the hell out.  My poor fiance must think I’ve taken up a drug habit, because he shot me that now common look where he’s obviously questioning whether or not aliens had replaced me with a lookalike.  That look is growing on me.

Realizing that I’d made it out alive and generally unharmed, I decided to tempt fate and take my fiance out for a pre-Superbowl steak.  It was pretty cool to see his face go from shock to disbelief to excitement when he realized that we were going out to dinner for the second time in two weeks.  Once again, I packed enough for an army of toddlers and once again the entire meal went without any form of meltdown/tantrum from our son.  Or me, for that matter.

So in the spirit of trying new things, I’m not going to start hounding myself because I will only leave the house on weekends.  Instead, I’m going to try to keep adding things to the weekends, because that’s clearly where I’m comfortable working right now.  And when I’ve conquered the weekends, I’ll consider the possibility of trying something new during the week.  I don’t think I have to panic about that just yet, since I still have a lot of work to do where I am.

At any rate, that’s the update.  The PMS thing is starting to fade now, and my updates should theoretically be more regular now.  So long as I have something to say, that is.  I promise to respond to all comments and emails by the end of today.  Thanks for continuing to read and cheer me on.  I couldn’t do any of this without the support of these online communities.