parking garage

Namaste My Ass

We went to the mall tonight to have a quick dinner, buy some shoes and a few other things for our upcoming Spring Break cruise. My husband decided to park in the parking garage.

Normally, parking garages freak me out but if I’m driving, I’m distracted just enough to ignore that panicky “Oh sweet Jesus, I’m surrounded and trapped by thousands and thousands of pounds of concrete” feeling.

Tonight, not so much.

I swear this garage had the lowest clearance I’ve ever seen in my life and my husband couldn’t find a parking space right away. Finally, I saw an entrance to the mall and told him to stop. I bolted from the Jeep and didn’t breathe normally until I was at the top of the escalator, inside the mall.

I feel stupid. I feel weak. I want to control these panic attacks. I try to tell myself how silly it is. I’ve felt that slightly panicky “I don’t like this” feeling before. I usually make some attempt to forge through it. Sometimes I win, sometimes the panic wins. I had not taken my medicine all day so it’s my fault. I maybe could have pushed back and gotten through it with the extra controlled substance help.

Anyway, while I was trying to keep myself from Wolverine-ing out of the Jeep with my bare hands, I was thinking of deep breathing and zen meditation and relaxing.

What a load of total bull shit. Namaste my ass, mother fuckers. Hand over the controlled substances.


What makes you panicky? What makes you feel out of control? Tell me in the comments and help me feel less freakish tonight.