Going Postal

Today I ventured outside of my hidey hole to visit that horror of horrors: 
the United States Post Office.

Maybe I'm cynical because the vast majority of all of my experiences at the dreaded post office occurred in New York City.  In case you weren't already aware, the post offices in NYC are not nice places.  They are cesspools of vile hatred on the worst days, or apathy on the best days.  They also contain at least one bat-shit insane person at any given time.  Sometimes the batties are customers, sometimes they're employees, sometimes no one knows.

Why are post offices so awful in NYC? Well, mostly I think it's due to the fact that everyone in NYC is miserable when they have to deal with 6 million people on a tiny island day after day. It wears on you.  Then you add to the mix apathetic more-miserable-than-the-average-joe government employees, on top of that (in my experience) there simply are not enough accessible post offices with accessible hours for said 6 million people.  Thus, you get a shit-show.  I should also note that nearly every post office in NYC has the employees behind bullet-proof glass at all times, so that might also tell you something.

Example 1:  
Years ago, I was at the post office in Brooklyn one afternoon trying to complete an agent mailing before work and I overheard the all kinds of insanity while I stood there for almost an hour sticking stamps on envelopes.  This one lady, who didn't seem much older than me at the time, was trying to mail several large boxes of books overseas.  Based on what I overheard, it seemed like she was going abroad for a long time, maybe for school, and needed all these books.  Now, I didn't hear the entire exchange between Book Lady and the PO employee behind the counter, but the emotional meltdown she had tells me that the PO employee was probably being an asshole..

"I JUST NEED TO MAIL BOXES TO EUROPE!  I HAVE ALL OF THESE BOOKS THAT NEED MAILING AND NONE OF YOU PEOPLE WILL FUCKING HELP ME!!!  I HAVE TO GET ON A FLIGHT OVERSEAS TOMORROW MORNING AND I NEED THESE BOOKS TO GET THERE!"

Not only did she scream this in front of about 20 people, but then she broke down into scream-crying unintelligibly.  Asshole PO Employee just walked away.  She LITERALLY walked away with the "I don't have time for this shit" wave of her hands.

 I guess that's another thing about bullet-proof glass, you stand behind it long enough, you probably stop giving any more fucks.  I think another PO employee eventually did walk out from behind the glass to help Book Lady, but what the shit?


Example 2:
The closest USPS office to my old corporate job in Manhattan was 3 blocks away from work.  Awesome.  Their hours of operation were 9:30am-12pm then 1pm-3:00pm every week day.  My work hours were from 8:30am-5:30pm.  The next closest USPS was at least a 20 minute walk away from work.  So if I needed to go to the post office I was the dictionary definition of shit-outta-luck.  

Combining these past experiences (plus the countless experiences I haven't mentioned) with my stifling social anxiety, the post office tends to be one of my least favorite environments.


 Today was no different.

I needed to mail my brother's birthday present today and this required a trip to the post office. 

Once my package was address and all ready to be shipped, I stepped up to the "Please wait here for the next register" placard at the same time another man stepped up to it coming from the opposite direction.  I don't know how to describe this man except to say that her looked like an older scarier version of Quentin Tarantino.  

Yeah...but, like older and scarier.

 We stood in the sort of awkward "who's first" tango that social decorum requires.  Then I ceded the first-ness to him.  He stepped forward, claiming his next-guy-in-line status, and then turned to me and in a louder-than-necessary, way-to-enthusiastic voice proclaimed  "GOTCHA!"

Um...k?  I smiled and quickly averted all eye-contact as I my upper body grew hot and I wanted to slither out the door.  As I watched his interaction with the PO staff, it dawned on me that this guy might just be one of those Batties I can count on in any post office, anywhere, at any given time.  He spoke in a very animated way, as though her were having a conversation with his best friend, but he seemed to be speaking about nothing.  Something about his back hurting, and then he pulled out his AARP card and then looked like her was just reading everything on the card to the PO employees.  But the PO employees were completely ignoring him.  And I swear this man did not have a bluetooth in his ear, he was not on the phone. Then he paid and turned to go, having to cross my path again.

As he passed me he shouted "THERE YA GO!" at me.  But it wasn't in the "after you, madam" way or even in the "you go, girl" way.  He said it in a way a person might yell at a dog that found its ball after they threw it, sort of over-the-top enthusiastic, but also a little patronizing.  Even when I approached the PO employee at the bullet-proof glass-free register and tried to give her the "OMG what was that guy's deal" look, she gave me no emotion and just asked me how I wanted my package sent.  

Alas, even she had no fucks left to give.

 

So, short-story-long, I hate going to the post office.

Memory Lane Monday: Geeking Out or Panic Attack or Both?

It's not really a secret that I don't leave the house much. Boyfriend tends to have to coax me out into public events.  Most of the time, after all is said and done, a small part of me is generally content to have faced the fear and left the house, but mostly, I am just relieved to be home again.  But, every now and then, when I get home, I am so happy that Boyfriend pulled me outside of my comfort zone.  Last weekend was one such event.

Boyfriend found a free fan-film premiere at an event space in L.A. He ran it by me several weeks before we went, and I almost forgot about it until it came time to go. We were going to see a Harry Potter fan film (The Greater Good) and a Call of Duty fan series (935: A Nazi Zombie Series.) That night, I was still feeling the almost constant ache of homesickness, and fear that we'd made a terrible irreversible mistake in moving out here. So, I was slightly more surly and anxiety-filled than normal. Add all those feelings to a fancy room full of strangers, and you get a very cranky, awkward Jess.

I was immediately uncomfortable when we walked in. Everyone at the venue seemed to know each other, and I really wanted to just go into the corner and dig a giant hole to jump into so no one would look at me. Then things took a turn and I felt better and worse/more awkward at the same time. I looked at one of the posters for 935: A Nazi Zombie Series and saw a familiar face looking back at me. Yuri Lowenthal was starring in it! Me being uber-nerd that I am, I devoured Yuri's book he wrote with his wife, Tara Platt, and while I'm not hugely into anime, I am familiar with and a fan of Yuri's voice over work (seriously, who wasn't in love with the Prince of Persia's voice?! *Swoon*)

Sorry, Jakey, not even close.

After spotting Yuri on the poster, I turned to Boyfriend to exclaim, "Hey Yuri Lowenthal's in this!" But was cut short by the sight of the actual Yuri in person not 10 feet from me. At this point, I reached total nerd core reactor overload. The stress in my personal life mixed with my social anxiety, now mixed with a full blown geek-out was too much for my poor little psyche. I clammed up. I froze. I couldn't make words in my own head.  I found a nice corner to stand in and just stared into space. Boyfriend noticed the change and pointed out that he noticed that everyone appeared to know each other. This was not helping. I finally blurted out that Yuri Lowenthal and Tara Platt were here. It took a moment for it to register with Boyfriend who I was talking about, but he realized I was having some sort of inner meltdown and tried to help by coaxing me to go say hi. Again, I couldn't make words. So I just stared at them like a creeper.

Yes, I was the creeper

As I stood trying to make my legs move to walk over and say hi, Yuri walked by us and noticed my Paul and Storm "________ is the name of my _______ cover band" t-shirt. He stopped and told me my shirt was awesome and I almost melted. But I had an ice-breaker now. He had done the hard part for me. So, we talked about my shirt for a minute and then I finally blurted out that I was a fan and I really liked his book. And then we talked about how amazing Rob Paulsen is. It was really great talking to Yuri.

After the films were over I was feeling much better, but still awkward. After everyone was exiting the theater, and congratulating the filmmakers, I wanted to talk to Yuri one last time and say hi to Tara. Expecting to have to introduce myself to him again, I approached him timidly, but with a big smile. As soon as he saw me and Boyfriend his face lit up and he gave us both a big hug. We chatted for a moment more, said hi to Tara and then we all went on our separate ways. Yuri is like Rob Paulsen Jr. He is super nice and unassuming, he was hilarious in the film, and then when we tweeted him and Tara that night after we got home, they both responded.

Best. Anxiety Attack. Ever.

So, thanks Tara and Yuri for making this little nerd-girl feel better about life for a night!

Something a Little Bit Different

I've been really struggling with writer's block for the past week-ish. Well, not so much writer's block, more like writer's lack of motivation to sit down and write something for fear that it won't be as amazing as you picture it to be in your head, thus it feels impossible to find the words to start what you know will be the most amazing thing you ever wrote in your life, but can't because those first words are not there. Or, they're inside your brain, but they've been all jumbled up and thrown around, hidden in the massive smokey cloud that is your depression and anxiety-addled brain. The little elves inside are having trouble finding the words in the depression-fogginess of the archived brain card catalog.

Like this, but with more elves and, you know, chaos

But, all is not lost. I made a huge step last Sunday in dealing with my social anxity and depression. Not only did I willingly leave my apartment on a gross rainy evening, but I walked to a street I didn't know very well in my neighborhood and went to a party where I didn't know a single person. And I did all of this BY MYSELF.  Actually, when I put it like that, it sounds all dangerous and foolish. Lemme esplain:

 An old friend of Boyfriend's -Sara- needed a dog-walker to cover her route in June, so he suggested me because I love dogs. Sara and I talked on the phone and via Facebook and all was set, we just hadn't ever met face-to-face. So, she invited me to a small party she was throwing and I said we'd be there. Well, in true the-Universe-is-gonna-test-Jess fashion, Boyfriend had to work a long gig starting super early the morning of the party, so he was exhausted and ended up not going at all. 

Needless to say, Boyfriend not going put me at a scary fork in the road in my muddled brain. I had made it my goal to do more things that scare me like going out in public alone for things other than work (money is an amazing motivator.) Well, this was one of those epicly scary opportunities. I had a choice. I could choose to stay home and play video games or watch TV until Boyfriend got home from work and probably be very comfortable and happy all while the nagging voice of depression/anxiety in my head would say, "You chicken-shit! Why didn't you go out?!"
Or, I could nut up and walk outside in the rain to an apartment I'd never been to full of people I'd never met and maybe have a good experience. And I did. Of course not before having a massive anxiety attack before walking out the door. It was the worst one I'd had in a while. But I did it.
 

Small Victories

I went to Sara's party called the Vision Board Soiree. She and her roommate are wellness professionals and so everyone gets together at this party once a month and goes through magazines and clips out images or words that they find inspiring. It was fun. The idea of a vision board is a little more hippy-dippy than I usually go for, but I'm trying new things. I met a lot of really nice people and made myself a poster for inspiration that now sits next to my desk, reminding me to take chances and get out there and be inspired because good stuff can happen.

My Vision Board

 It's not complete yet, it's a work in progress. Much like me.

Cupcakes and Wine Fix Everything and Anne Wheaton is Awesome

So, no Memory Lane Monday this week. Sorry guys. I'm working on a doozy of a story and it's just not ready.  I promise it'll be up next week. Just in time for Christmas! You're welcome. Today I will veer towards some inner demons that plague me. You know, just to change things up.

For the first time since college, I went out on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights this past weekend. I'm exhausted. Friday night an old friend of Boyfriend had a birthday party. She's a pretty successful director in TV and every year she throws a huge birthday party with an auction to benefit cancer research. She's a lovely person and I like her a lot, but I spent all day working outside in 40 degree rainy ickiness and I really didn't feel like going. Boyfriend complained that I never go out with him, and I felt like a shitty girlfriend so I caved and went with him. The second we stepped into the party space, I immediately regretted this decision. The event space was in a fancy sort of Hipstery restaurant near the Chelsea Market ie: expensive. It was wall-to-wall people. Television people. Socialite people. Not my people. I could not have felt more out of place had I been completely naked. Actually, being naked probably would have been better, then it would have been a conversation starter.

Source

The first 20 minutes or so that we were there, I was trying super hard not to completely break down. I could feel he anxiety attacks sitting at the ready, waiting to pounce on me and my psyche. It was so hot and filled with so many people on top of the normal daily stress I've been going through worrying about money and the like, I am amazed that I didn't pass out. Luckily, there was a lounge couch thing in the corner to sit down on and I started feeling a little better until Boyfriend pointed over my shoulder and said, "That guy. He's famous, right?" I turned and saw Richard Kind standing not 5 feet from me and I kind of started flipping out. He may not be super duper famous, but he has a damn successful career in comedy and voice-over and I am a fan. I started having even more trouble breathing and my heart felt like it was skipping all over my chest: a sure sign that an anxiety attack was to follow shortly. My little career started flashing before my own eyes. It didn't take long. Then for some reason my career goals all crashed and burned in my head. I don't know why. My brain is a crazy place.

I desperately rummaged in my bag for my anti-anxiety meds to no avail. I had forgotten them. That's really when the panic set in. Normally I would have just had a beer and probably been ok, but I was not about to ask Boyfriend to pay $8 so I could drink a shitty Bud Light. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on breathing. Finally, one of our friends showed up with his work buddy in tow. Our friend was very inebriated and started running his mouth about silly things as he usually does when he's been drinking and that at least got me to focus on other things. Also, in his drunky state, he bought me 2 glasses of prosecco. Delicious. I found out his work buddy used to be an actor, so we chatted for a while and he was very very nice, so I felt much better and not quite so overwhelmed. I was also venting on Twitter throughout the evening, so that helped.

The birthday girl eventually cut her giant cake and Richard Kind acted as auctioneer for all of the really awesome stuff that was donated, and Boyfriend got me some Magnolia Bakery cupcakes from the dessert table. I sat watching the party from my seat on the couch in the corner. It was less overwhelming. With a full belly and some bubbly in me, I started to relax and have a little fun. Then Anne Wheaton tweeted at me and all was right with the world. Here is my account of the evening via Twitter and Chirpstory:


I really can't explain this social anxiety I seem to have. To people who don't have anxiety disorders, it makes zero sense. I know this, because I can't even explain it and it's happening inside my own brain. I feel light-headed just rehashing all of this even though I'm sitting in the security of my apartment next to my Christmas tree, all cozy and toasty with a cup of coffee. 
Ok, I need to go play video games now. Yes, that's correct, I NEED to. Next time I think I'll discuss another issue of mine: my addiction to a certain video game. It's bad you guys. It's bad. Don't judge me.

Countdown to PAX East 2012 (Continued...again)

PAX East begins in less than 24 hours!!!
About 9 hours from now, I will be in Boston and my heart will be beating like jackrabbit on speed.  I am going to face my anxiety head-on and interview people/blog on camera from the Boston Convention Center. I'm excited and nervous. Excited for PAX East, and nervous that I've set the bar of expectations for myself too high and I won't look or feel confident on camera, thus crappy vlog.  Or that I will be so nervous to talk to someone that I will pee myself or need coaching from Boyfriend and then I won't look professional enough and no one will want to talk to me.  Then, I have to remind myself that I'm going to a con.  I'm going to be a minority there (you know, that whole having a vagina thing) and of course guys will probably want to talk to a cute girl with a microphone. Then I freak out again, because-oh shit-they want to talk to me, I better not fuck it up.  These are the things that keep me up at night.

All I know is after setting foot inside the BCC, action 1 of hour 1 of day 1 will be acquiring one of these:

These puppies sold out so fast last year, and I missed the boat. I am making it my mission to purchase one this year! So there, I can't freak out anymore because now I have a plan.

Step 1: Purchase scarf

Step 2: Put on scarf

Step 3: Cool stuff happens.

PAX East success.

Doom Cloud (Updated)

Do you have a doom cloud? You know, that sneaky demon seed in the back of your brain that starts as a small little voice telling you that the world is scary and awful and that you're stuck in a swirling drain of failure that you'll never emerge from. Then it grows and grows until it consumes your entire head and then your entire body in a torrent of dread and despair slowly weighing you down day after day until you feel like you'll suffocate under the pressure of it all. To top it all off the doom cloud rains on you a constant barrage of awful thoughts, feelings, and mental horror shows inside your brain until you feel like you want to pry open your own skull with a claw hammer just so you can dig the bad images and thoughts out of there, like cutting out a cancer.
The helpless hopeless feeling the doom cloud wraps you up in feels like cling wrap squeezing you tighter and tighter until you want to implode, then you can dissolve and melt away and flow carelessly down the swirling drain into the sterile darkness.
A Liminal Perspective illustrated it all quite well:
I want to get angry at the doom cloud. I want to cry about it. I want to want to scream and throw punches and smash breakable items with a baseball bat. But I don't. I can't. The doom cloud has sucked all my feelings away. I just feel blank. Blank and empty and irritable like I'm trying to function on not-enough-sleep. It's like a hangover without the booze. Crankiness and blinding fear swirl around in my brain, fed only by this fucking cloud and my new-found ability to not be able filter any outside audible stimuli. I can hear EVERYTHING! Finger nails scratching a scalp, 4 conversations in various areas of the office, the copier spitting out papers. I just want to sprawl out on the floor in a quiet room and just be there forever.

There are times, in my murkiest moments that I wonder if maybe being temporarily institutionalized would benefit me...Wow, it's really scary to actually see that written down. I've never said it out loud to anyone. But then I argue with myself that people who need to be institutionalized don't usually wonder if they should be institutionalized, right? Then my social anxiety kicks in and fills me with even more self-doubt when I realize that committing myself would require me actually going to a hospital and trying to convince them that I'm crazy enough to need one of their beds for several days. To explain how much that is not going to happen, I will explain this: I'm afraid of getting ill or hurt, not because I would be getting ill or hurt but because I'm afraid of all the ambulance/hospital people staring at me and judging me then rejecting me for not being hurt or ill enough to treat with top-notch care. Am I fucking neurotic or what?

The worst part is having to go to work like this. My office is the kind of corporate atmosphere where people will still come in even if they're barfing up a lung, so my calling in sick due to a bad mental health day would be scoffed at. Every time the phone rings at my desk, I have to take several deep breaths and force myself to answer it at all, yet alone be all perky and bubbly-like so that maybe the person on the other end will maybe choose to not yell at me or be unnecessarily douchey.

No. The worst part is feeling completely and utterly alone and not having anyone I can talk to who understands this feeling. I feel surrounded, yet alone. I know that I'm not alone, though, thanks to some brave peeps out there who understand and remind me that I am, in fact, NOT alone in my suffering. Thank you for your emotional bravery. Maybe one day I'll be brave enough to share this too.
Thank you to:
Allie Brosh, Jenny Lawson, Chris Hardwick, thanks for keeping me laughing.
At the end of the day, sometimes the cloud dissipates and I can see and feel and think clearly again.
P.S I promise I'm going to a psychiatrist next week.
To counter-act all that sad, here's a piggie:
Thank you Cuteoverload.com for my daily squeeeeeeeeeee!
UPDATE: 2/27/12-I am going to the psychiatrist this afternoon and I am flipping out!!! But, I promise I'm going to push through it and go to my appointment.
 Update: 2/27/12- Holy shit! I got anti-anxiety drugs! Weeeeeeeeee!

Update: 2/28/12- I went to the psychiatrist last night, she was very low-key and I felt comfortable with her, unfortunately, she doesn't do talk therapy, which is something I think I could benefit from and I know I need to start long-term therapy sooner rather than later, and she agreed that I would do well to seek out a therapist. She wrote me a script and I got it filled last night. On my way to work today after reading an article about malfunctioning elevators (probably not the best idea for someone with an elevator phobia) I started freaking out inside. I tried to comfort myself by reminding myself to breathe and that I had a little tablet to take in case. This just got me more anxious. I'd never taken an anti-anxiety before and the thought of starting another drug freaked me out even more. Oh irony, you cheeky bastard. I sucked it up, popped my clonazepam and climbed in the scary elevator of doom in my building. Shaking like a leaf and trying to breathe and not pass out, I survived the elevator ride up nine floors to my office. After a small emotional breakdown, I got settled at my desk, and that bad boy pill kicked the fuck in. I have never been so high in my entire life! Well, I've never been high at all, not counting the morphine drip I had when I was in the ICU 12 years ago after spinal surgery. I freaked out my poor co-worker a bit being high and very uncoordinated (more so than usual) for about 2 hours, and then I settled down and felt really sleepy for the rest of the day.

Update: 2/29/12-I'm not supposed to take my new meds every day since there is a dependency risk, but after yesterday I almost don't want to take it again, that was crazy! Crazy, and a little awesome. Good news: my anxiety appears to be under control today. Bad news: the doom cloud is taking its sweet-ass time dissipating.

Balls.

So...THAT Happened... (Updated)

I believe I have mentioned in the past that I live in New York. More specifically, I live in Queens, in a neighborhood with a growing reputation for being affordable, convenient and relatively safe. There are a lot of young artists/actors/etc who live here (myself included). However, what the neighborhood might not be known for is having a shit-ton of crazy people living here too.


Boyfriend and I live in the least expensive apartment either of us have ever lived in in NY. We've lived in our current place for almost a year and we've come to realize that it is cheap for a reason. I plan to share some other apartment-living horror stories at a later time, but for now, I want to tell you a short tale about an incident from last night.


I may have also mentioned in the past that I suffer from depression and anxiety disorders (as do most creative types, I think). I'm not exactly an introvert, I can be very charming and outgoing in the right situation (aka when I'm in my comfort zone) or after I warm up to my surroundings, but I'm not all up-in-you-face-oh-it's-so-great-to-meetcha kind of gal. Boyfriend is much more of an extrovert than I am, which is why we compliment each other so well. He can coax me out of my "safe zone" and I can rein him in when he gets a little too "out there" or too chatty.


That being said, we live on the fourth floor of a four-story-walk-up (i.e. no elevator, steep-ass stairs) so at the end of a long day at work and a commute home on a crowded train, I still have to haul my lazy ass up four ancient flights of stairs, and I get a little winded and cranky and sweaty.


Winded+cranky+sweaty+social anxiety disorder=panic in the face of strangers


Also, our 3 neighbors on the fourth floor are all crazy, or so Boyfriend has told me, I've never actually met any of them since I'm at work all day. Anyone else I come across in the building we will exchange the socially-acceptable nod or smile and a muttered "hi"-typical New York behavior, and I'm ok with that.



Last night, Boyfriend and I are walking up the stairs, both coming home from long days at work. We get to the top of the stairs and there is a strange woman whom I've never seen before in my life. I don't know if she lives in the building, I don't know if she's visiting. I. Don't. Know. Her.



I nod and smile and turn the corner and go to unlock my door. Boyfriend, having seen this woman before (apparently she's our crazy neighbor who lives across the hall) smiles and says:

Boyfriend: Helloooo!

Crazy Neighbor Lady: Hello.
I turn around, realizing she's our neighbor, I smile again and before I can even think to say hello, she says:

Crazy Neighbor Lady: (To Boyfriend) You know, you're wife isn't very friendly. You're friendly, I like you. But she's not very friendly at all.

Boyfriend: (Defending my honor) Well, I think she's plenty friendly, she's just quiet.

Crazy Neighbor Lady: Hmmm...well I don't think so.

I was speechless as the rage boiled up inside of me. Who says that? Also, how dare you talk about me as though I weren't standing right in front of you! I have this to say:


Dear Crazy Neighbor Lady Across the Hall,

I DON'T KNOW YOU!!! We've never met before last night's abysmal excuse for human interaction. I've never seen you before in my life! You know nothing about me and all I know about you is that you dump rat poison pellets in the hallway but refuse to let the exterminators in when they arrive once a month to spray for pests!

W. T. F?!?!?!?

Sincerely,


The Apparently-Rude-Girlfriend Across the Hall




P.S You're crazy



P.S.S We're not married.


In fact, in honor of my hero, I am tempted to leave these in front of Crazy Neighbor Lady's door:

Or this: