Jan. 15th, 2012 09:40 pm
ambergris: (Default)
[personal profile] ambergris
About now is when I would have gone to socialanxietysupport.com and posted about how tired I am of my dad Not Getting It.

Moving is stressful, but I could deal with it fine if I wasn't sick. Being sick for six weeks wears you down, especially when you can't go to the doctor because a) calling to make an appointment when you have social phobia is a Big Deal, b) catching four buses and sitting in a waiting room full of sick people when you have social phobia is a Big Deal and c) like I even have time to go to the doctor, when I am moving.

But to have it sprung on you that you are going to be having your Sunday dinner at a table of EIGHT, three of whom are total fucking strangers? Sorry. Not OK. Not OK at any time, really, but if you can drink, it might be survivable. If you can't even resort to alcohol because you've already vomited twice in the past day, then no.

I just do not think my dad gets that I have social anxiety. I don't think he even gets what social anxiety is. And when I try to explain, he doesn't want to listen. He has equal trouble acknowledging that I'm physically ill, and I've been coughing up slime for the past six weeks, so it's hard to see what more I can do.
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