e-bay the anxiety sufferer’s way

Collect the item for sale, and all it’s accessories. In my case, it was an old mobile/cell phone, batteries, chargers, USB cable and CD software. It took me a week to find the extra battery, and a frantic search for something entirely unrelated revealed the location of the Elusive Manual.
Write your description using something like Word. This took me forever. Two million drafts later, worrying whether I sounded too friendly or too business-like, I think I got it. I even managed to include a web-page link to the manufacturer’s specs of the phone.
Take photos. Everyone knows that photos help the sale, so I set up my studio on the bed. I laid out everything on a plain sheet, and arranged them carefully to show off their best sides. I doubt my phone can “work it baby” but when you’re photographing these models, everything helps.
Do the e-bay thing. I had the photos. I’d decided on a description. I needed to get all this onto e-bay without killing anyone. It’s ages since I sold anything on e-bay. I’ve bought a few things, which is marginally less painful, and I thought, “what could possibly go wrong?”
Actually, nothing. I filled in all the parts, agonised over where to list my item, agonised over a title that would have people bidding in droves, added some HTML (go me!), uploaded my pictures, winced at the listing fee (I’d decided to put a reserve on) and finally pressed the Button of No Return.
There. That was easy. Except now I’ve given myself extra anxiety over What Might Happen. The following is some of what has been going through my mind since 4pm yesterday afternoon.
“What if it’s illegal to sell your old mobile phone? What if it gets there and doesn’t work? I’d better charge all the batteries up so they don’t think I’ve sold them some piece of crap. Actually this phone is crap, that’s why I’m selling it. Shit, I’m trying to sell a piece of crap to some poor unsuspecting stranger! What if someone buys it and they can’t really afford it and it turns out that they’ve bought a piece of crap, and it’ll be all my fault!” (at 5pm) “No-one’s bid! What’s wrong with my description? Maybe it looks like I’m trying to sell something stolen. Wait – I said I was selling because I’d upgraded my phone. What if they think I’m some crap business because I used HTML but my description is crap? I’m not going to sell this, am I?”
I’m not going to go any further. You get the picture. Writing it is making me anxious.

It’s a Record

I started writing this yesterday, the day after the “Biggest Panic Attack Ever!” and at some point thought, “this is crap, people don’t want to read about my miserable-ness”. The point is, that’s what I’m supposed to be keeping a blog for. To record my panic attacks and anxiety, and let the world know what it’s like.
In hindsight, I don’t remember much about the actual attack, all I know is that somewhere in the middle of it, I did a complete work out, because my muscles are killing me. My chest, back, arms and legs all feel like they’ve done the rounds at the local gym, and yesterday I felt exhausted. I didn’t sleep that night, and spent yesterday wandering around, not able to concentrate on anything for very long.
This is what I wrote (edited slightly so it makes more sense)
I think I set the record for the biggest panic attack ever. I want a statuette, dammit.
Monday, when Mr D finished work, we decided to go for a ride out (I wanted some lemonade and sandpaper anyway – strange diet, I know) but the main reason was that Mr D was convinced there was another way into work.
His journey isn’t that long, but the main road he uses is very busy, and is a notorious accident blackspot. From what I’ve seen, I’m not surprised. There is something about that road that turns driver’s brains to jelly, and for eight miles or so, there’s this real-life Wacky Races situation. Of course, my husband drives like a saint…
So, we drove. I felt okay – I’d been busy that day, and was tired, but not really that anxious. It was a situation I’d been in many times before, there was nothing to be afraid of. I did well, we went into the supermarket and bought lemonade (and plenty of other things that we thought we needed), then we went to the DIY store and got the sandpaper.
On the way home, as we were coming into the town, we passed under a railway bridge, and suddenly there was this horrible clattering sound. I jumped, and someone reset the anxiety dial to max, but I didn’t panic. There were cries of “What the bloody hell was that???” and I looked up and saw some kids on the top of the bridge. They’d obviously thrown something at the car.
I count in Japanese when my anxiety is bad. I do it because it’s something that forces me to concentrate on things other than panic. It helps. It doesn’t help when Mr D, still flustered from the arial attack, isn’t watching the traffic lights change, and has to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting the car in front.
I think I screamed, I can’t really remember. I remember yelling over and over for him to stop the car, I needed – no I HAD TO get out. It seemed like a million years before I could open the door. My head was swimming, I thought the car had stopped, and I fell out onto the pavement. I scrambled to get away, I stumbled, and somewhere a sane thought said, “sit down. just sit down” Somehow I realised that if I didn’t sit down there and then, I would probably just keep running. I remember breathing – gasping and feeling like I was going to choke, the razor-wire fear enveloping my being. Then there was my husband. He was there, his arm around my shoulder, talking softly to me. His voice cutting through the insanity. I became more aware of my surroundings, and realised that I was sitting in the middle of some bushes, fetal and damp. Mr D helped me to the car, and I sat there with my feet out, my head in my hands, trying not to be sick.
When we got home – my familiar place, my safe place, and after I had cried a lot, Mr D said that two women had come over and asked if I was allright. I had no idea. He said that he’d explained to them I was having a panic attack, and I’d be okay, and they left us to it. I want to say to those two ladies, I’m sorry, I had no idea you were there. Thank you for caring. Thank you for showing concern, for being human.

dominocat becomes a news thingy

The Return of the King cleans up at Oscars!
Yes, you (may have) heard it here first, Peter Jackson and crew converted all eleven of their Oscar nominations into full blown Oscars. Watching BBC Breakfast News this morning, I thought Sir Ian McKellan looked slightly tipsy at the Vanity Fair bash. Unless he’s coming off Efexor too.
Middlesbrough win Carling Cup!
Premiership football club Middlesbrough won their first piece of silverware in 128 years yesterday when they beat Bolton 2-1 at the Millennium Stadium at Cardiff. I think Bolton’s manager was chewing wasps while he was being interviewed after the match.
domino still suffers!
Oh, you didn’t think you were getting away without a few choice withdrawal symptoms, did you? I still feel like shit. And seeing as one place that links to me has mentioned that I talk about poo a lot, I thought it was only fair to mention that I now have IBS. Ayethangyew.
Ginger gets new job!
Indeed. Mister Dominocat, or Ginger (Gingah if you’re American) was interviewed for a new job on Friday, which they promptly offered him without interviewing anyone else. I am so proud of him, and we can finally take a deep breath and relax slightly for the first time in 14 months. He starts on the 8th.