The social life of my anxiety

It doesn't have any friends to call to go along to a music event where my husband and people who are genuine and nice (and don't all happen to be the same race, Imagine That) and who he's known for ages will be for the next four hours.

It keeps pushing little panic attacks, out of nowhere, up into the worry-receptor of my brain, the deep, sharp kind of panics that don't feel like, "Oh, God, a shark is coming at me with its mouth open!" but more like toe aches, heart flutters, dark smudges across mind fields. As if I were the loneliest person in the world, stuck forever, immobilized in my own head.

It, ma vie, and it, myself overall, appear to me, observing from within, better off than the person I was when I wrote 2014's other posts. That person seems more lost than I feel. Maybe because I'm aware of certain things I need to do -- and have actually done part-way by now. Well begun is half done, etc.

The dress I wanted to wear doesn't fit anymore.

It is enough to drive me from the burden of going somewhere people who love me are. I'm not so much afraid of hugs as of having nothing to say. And why love someone who can't fit into a dress she wore last winter?

The music is loud; I wouldn't have to talk. But you can't not say anything, and that shouting thing wears me down.

Where was the last place I was where there were just too many people, and all the interesting conversations I had imagined having (imagined in order to paint the social obligation attractive, not just an obligation, attractive so I could feel positive about going), were washed out in the din of 100-plus people without enough room to move around and who ended up having to shout at each other across round, 8-top tables . . . and then there were long speeches, long enough to last several innings of a World Series game some of us were compelled to watch . . . I didn't get to talk well with anyone I wanted to interact with. No space, no time. What was the point of being there?

That was my company's 50th anniversary dinner party. Informal enough, but terribly unsatisfying. And it was a Friday and we didn't get there until 10 minutes before buffet dinner was served due to the fact that my husband had to work late . . . and so he was exhausted and un-social himself.

I guess the only thing good is that he doesn't care that I'm not there tonight.

He went early with a co-planner/friend, who picked him up at 6:30. When I told him about the dress, he said, "Oh, you're going?" Surprised in a good way, but is not going to be surprised at all if I don't show up.

"Well [the car will be here so], at least you have the option." In a positive tone.

The both of us are really too good at not going to things. Not complementary. Rarely, even if we plan it, we both still Feel Like Going when the event comes up. Maybe plays -- theatre, opera, ballet or something that requires only observation, mental engagement, nothing "social."

So I tried all day to stay "up" and open to going out. I don't even feel as "unwanting" as I know I so often can.

But I have the option not to go. And I'm stressed out about being With People.

I've been reading blogs all day, getting into people's narratives.

And his birthday is Monday.

You would think that would make me go. Be supportive. Get over the fact that there are a couple of people there I don't like and have had real issues with. Get inspired to see a few people whom I only ever see on Facebook.

You would think.

I do like the music.