I had a dream my Dr. actually ok'd anti-anxiety medication. I was holding a beautiful, sparkling bottle of clonazepam. I stared, counting each pill to see how many days I would feel it was easier to get through this phase.
Alas, this is not the case.
I have to keep working out these fears on my own, drugfree.
It's so very frustrating, because I never had any anxiety/panic attacks before the brain injury from my motorcycle accident.
The other half, is I didn't have this type of social anxiety before my love dropped the bomb about the male transformation.
The social anxiety is not about the transformation, but about how people will react in my presence.
I have a completely different anxiety about my love's male transformation, but the fear of how people will treat Papi and I has turned into a full on fear of people in general.
This has now extended into difficulty in leaving the house. Even when I need to go shopping, I feel as though every eye in the store is watching, judging, waiting to pounce.
I put on the strongest smile possible and speak with excitable tweets in an effort to be the non-threatening face, persuading strangers not to speak with cruelty.
The omega. The child who needs to be loved.
It can be a perfectly beautiful day outside, and I just stare out the window, as though I've created my own lockup.
My twisted mind that weaves my world into another hemisphere has struck again.
I'm not in the pit of doom anymore, however, I'm now stuck in a detention cell.
It's as though I am a living video game; every level has something else to conquer before I reach the end of this heart pounding amusement ride.
The feeling that I can't defend against the creeps and critters that would say harmful words has shifted slightly. I now feel that I could defend Papi, just not myself. However, I still feel that it would be done from a place of fear rather than strength.
Regardless, it's a start of the new level.
Papi is still testing the waters about speaking of the day that there is a hormone injection. Every time I hear about it, the nauseating stress wells up.
My love threw it in nonchalantly when speaking about the horrendous day that happened yesterday, and that one of the stressful moments was because of, "that thing you don't want to hear about."
Do you not understand what I mean by, "I don't want to know, or hear about it"?
Then my impish love wanted me to feel the stubble on that changing chin skin.
I wouldn't do it.
Jeeeeeezus my love! I don't want to know! I can only deal with one thing at a time!!!
In a sly act, Papi asked to see my glove, pulled it off to take a look, then grabbed my hand, forcing it against the chin stubble, rubbing it back and forth with great giggles of victory, "See! It's soft!"
With my tongue in cheek, I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and pressed the elevator button with a choreographed sigh.
"You're a jerk and no, it wasn't 'soft'!"
It felt like memories past; horrid razor-like shards of glass. Those nasty prickly strands would rub my skin leaving red, streaking welts of evidence that the bristles had been there.
I don't like it, and I've told Papi oh so many times. I suppose because I love my soul mate so dearly, mi esposo feels I'll just get over it and it will grow on me (pun intended).
I love Papi deeply, but that doesn't mean I have to like everything. We all have traits in other that bother us in relationships, but never would I have imagined that the thorn in my side would be 'man hair' on my love's perfect skin.
Wish me luck in my game.
When do I reach the next level?