Comfort Zone Pt 2

Hi everyone,

For those of you who have just arrived, you might want to check out yesterday’s post. Clicky clicky.

All caught up?

Great.

 

So, there I was, I’d accepted the invitation to play a game of D&D, an incredibly social game, with a group of complete strangers in the upstairs room of a pub in Sheffield.

Holy crappola.

I now had two days to worry about it. And worry I did. Who were these people? I didn’t know anything about them. What if they tookt he game too seriously and I couldn’t get on with them? What if it was a mental lack of cohesion that I couldn’t deal with either? What if they were arseholes of whatever flavour?

If you can fathom it, it went through my head. But this time, oh, this time, I was adamant that I would go through with it. I needed this. I needed new people in my life, something that was mine, that would get me out of myself.

As many of you know, I’ve been really trying hard to work on myself this last year, even more than in years previous, trying to make myself a better class of human being, trying to make myself function less like a rickety old gramophone that jumps when a mouse farts in the next room.

It was time to see whether my old record would play a new song or skip me back to the old tracks on this overplayed record of mine.

I packed my bag.

 

Dice – check.

Handbook – check.

Notebook and technical pencil – check.

Face switched to “normal person” mode – dodgy at best.

Nappy in case I shit myself…nevermind.

 

I even put the bag in my car, put the destination in my satnav and set off to the next city with time to spare on the clock. I was doing so WELL.

Then there was traffic. Hellish, streams of red lights like an army of beholders staring back at me along the A1. Time began to slip away. The head start I’d given myself came and went, choking on exhaust fumes to stumble off and die on the motorway’s grass verge. I wasn’t going to be early, and there would be no time for sitting for a moment to do my breathing exercises before going in. More than that, I was going to be LATE. The first impression the new people would have of me would be of tardiness. Getting off on the wrong foot or what? With only three or four minutes to spare, I found the pub, and every parking space in existence was full. So, I started to circle back away, hawk-like, searching. Streets away, I found a space…and then had to reverse into the sonovabitch.

Suffice to say, folks, for someone who lives in the past far too much, I find physically going backwards bloody hard.

A few attempts with clusters of students swarming by, making parts of me sweat that I won’t specify, and I was in. I even had some change for the parking meter stowed in the unused ashtray in my car. For the first time in the last three days I felt like a legend. Past Craig has really done present Craig a solid there.

Grabbing my back, I decided not to run. Better to be late and calm than barge through the door a sweaty, maniacal mess. I took the few minutes of walking to breathe a little. I wasn’t dead. I was only a few minutes late, literally a few, that wasn’t so bad.

All I had to do was walk into a room of strangers and introduce myself, then socialise with them for three hours or so.

I really started to wish I’d worn that nappy.

 

[CLIFFHANGEEEEEEEER…again]

This was only supposed to be two parts, but it looks like it’ll be three. I really want you guys to see how only small, everyday things become huge mountains to someone with depression and anxiety, so I don’t want to miss anything. With that in mind, I’ll return tomorrow with the FINAL part.

 

Thanks for reading.

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