A week before the workshop - social anxiety and desperate times
As the day of the workshop approached, my anxiety made it impossible to get on with my normal life. 100% of my mental energy was focused on this, seemingly, impossible feat I had yet to perform. Yes, impossible was a good description. No matter how hard I tried to be optimistic and level headed about it, I simply could not see myself getting through this class.
As the weeks turned to days, I was in a constant panic. Desperate thoughts started to flood my brain. I concocted several very irrational plans of escape. Some involved faking sick, while others centered on my resignation. I spent every waking moment analyzing the validity and the consequences of such actions. No matter how I sliced it, this thing was going to happen.
Two days before the workshop, I had the opportunity to chat with a few of my colleges who had taken part in some of the earlier courses that week. I asked a few low-key questions about the class because I didn’t want to let them know how scared I was.
What they told me was enough to send my anxiety to a whole new level. It seemed that at the beginning of each class, the instructor required everyone to introduce themselves to the rest of the group and talk about their personal life, hobbies and interests. They set a guideline of about 5 minutes.
5 minutes! It might as well have been 5 hours. There was no way I was going to get by this. I was good for maybe a quick, “Hello, I’m Drew” – after that, I’d be consumed by the physical symptoms of social anxiety – and that wouldn’t be good – not by a long shot.
To make matters worse, everyone was expected to do a 10 minute presentation to the group at some point during the two days.
I felt like a condemned man.
I was certain that I was the only person in the world that felt like that. Sure, others were nervous, but not like me. My problem was way out there in left field, and I had no one I could talk to about it.
My class started Thursday morning at 8:30 sharp. We were told that a continental breakfast would be served at 8. It was now Tuesday morning. I worked up until lunch and then went home sick. I called in sick on Wednesday and spent the entire day in a catatonic state that I could only describe as extreme depression and anxiety.
I slept for 20 minutes at a time on Wednesday night. My mind was racing and would not stop. I prayed for some intervention – anything.
Thursday morning arrived and, as I lay there with only 10 minutes to go before I had to get up and start getting ready for work, I wondered what would happen if I didn’t show up. What’s the worst that could happen? After all, I was sick yesterday.
They would just reschedule me for another class, that’s what. They were determined to see this through and would not take no for an answer. I couldn’t handle being rescheduled and having to drag this out for another week or more. I was already exhausted.
Now was the time – no more chances – no more excuses.
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