Franklin D. Roosevelt once said:
This is absolute bollocks!
Tomorrow, as I mentioned on Monday, I will be attending my first social gathering in almost four years. I’ve had maybe half a dozen conversations with people other than MH and homeless workers in that entire time and I have no idea who the people I’m meeting are other than the brief messages we’ve exchanged on a random social networking site I can’t name over fear of being laughed at.
With every minute that passes, I can feel my anxiety increasing in strength and severity, overpowering every waking thought with its deafening voice. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself? Really?
In the last three days my mind has come up with plenty of things to be afraid of about tomorrow night:
• The strangers I am meeting could turn out to be a motley band of serial killers who have lured me into their trap for an evening of torture, cannibalism and death.
• Spiders. There are always spiders looking for a cute man to snack on somewhere!
• The strangers I am meeting could turn out to be members of the Alan Jones Appreciation Society.
• One of the strangers I’m meeting could turn out to be Alan Jones. Shudder.
• What if the strangers I’m meeting don’t like my clothes and insult them all evening?
• Given I’ve never been to the pub before I could spend the entire evening sitting in the wrong venue.
• What if one of the strangers I’m meeting brings a puppy? Hmmm, what do I do then?
• The strangers I am meeting could turn out to be all part of an elaborate practical joke orchestrated by my abuser with the goal to humiliate me in public and destroy me once and for all!
• Given I’ve never been to the pub before I could get spectacularly lost and die of dehydration.
• This will be my first time in a pub by myself, with no-one I know, since the night I was raped. Oh joy.
• Maybe the strangers I’m meeting will take a dislike to my weight and call me Mr. Fatty McFatty Fat Fat all evening.
• The strangers I am meeting could turn out to be Elvis Presley impersonators.
• One of the strangers I’m meeting could turn out to be Elvis Presley. Shudder.
• Public panic attack. Is there anything scarier than those three words?
• Rogue panthers. They apparently live in the Australian bush somewhere.
• My trousers could fall down without warning forcing me to accidentally flash the entire bar.
• What if I can’t think of anything to say and sit there all evening like a mute donkey?
• The strangers I am meeting could turn out to be part of a cult looking for someone to sacrifice to appease their deity.
• What if the pub has decided to screen Watership Down on repeat all evening?
• Given I’ve never been to the pub before it could be built on an ancient burial ground and suddenly implode with me trapped inside for all eternity.
• Meteors. You never know when a rogue meteor will target you from outer space.
• What if the pub turns out to be not a pub at all, but the Black Lodge?
• The strangers I am meeting could turn out to be fans of Fifty Shade of Grey.
• One of the strangers I am meeting could turn out to be E.L James. Shudder.
• What if all of the above turns out to be true? Hmmm, what do I do then?
Although come to think of it, if all of the above does turn out to be true – what a spectacular blog post that will make come Friday morning! But yes, if you can’t tell, I’m fucking petrified about tomorrow night!
But if we don’t challenge ourselves to become the person we want to be…what’s the point in living?
The chances are it will be a rather fun and wonderful evening and all this worrying is just a monumental waste of time and energy!
(But I still think Roosevelt was talking out of his arse!)