Well, stick me full of needles and wrap me in plastic! What a day!

     I don't fly. I'm not afraid of heights, I'm afraid of being in a big, moving plane and not being able to get out. It's more claustrophobia than acrophobia, but I still like being in confined spaces that I can get out of whenever I want. Going in to a dark room to develop film is comforting to me and it's a shame there's no reason to do that anymore. I like being in the middle of a huge crowd so much that I can (almost) fall asleep standing up while being gently jostled in the throng. So, it's not really claustrophobia either. On the other hand, I have a strong fear of people when it comes to public transit. I don't know who's driving the plane, therefore, I can't trust them and I'm not putting them in control of my wellbeing. I guess that means my real problem is not being in control of my own self. I have control issues. I don't like taking drugs, I don't like getting wasted and I don't like anyone telling me what to do.

Sensory Deprivation Therapy in Salt Pod

     But, I'm working on this. I can officially take a Go Train and a subway; I take Ubers; I have taken a ferry ride from Glenora to Adolphustown and I'd be willing to go up in a small plane, given the opportunity. I'm not likely to let anyone tie me to a radiator and have their Christian Grey way with me anytime soon, but I'm making strides to do so. The thing is, getting on a plane to see all the views and meet all the people in the far corners of the earth is a big goal for me. But first, I must tackle this anxiety bullshit. 

     Writing helps. The drugs that I hated taking certainly brought me back from a place I never want to visit again. I've tried all the therapies - talking, exercise, art, reflexology, and even EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing). The one thing that worked for me, and I'm genuinely embarrassed to say so, is acupuncture. 

    First of all, I don't follow the science of this shit. Allegedly, I have points on my body that are connected through imaginary lines (That's right. I called them imaginary. I don't care if there's 3000 years of research behind this. Acupoints are pretend) and if these lines get blocked for whatever reason, my Qi can't flow properly and I get pain or anxiety. In my mind, this translates to, "Someone cursed you, gave you the evil eye, and blocked your Qi." It's hornswoggle. 

     The first time I visited an acupuncturist, I attended a nice office in a clinical building with lots of Himalayan salt lamps and essential oil diffusers. The doctor stuck tiny needles in my forehead, wrists, ankles and in between my toes and left me in a room with some nice music for half an hour. It was a tough day. I had to work through some shit. I was alone with no distractions (like my cell phone), but I could certainly get up and leave whenever I wanted, so I was ok. And, I started feeling less and less like running away was required. 

     Now that I'm in Ottawa and I haven't had my own space to live in for five months, I'm working through the feelings that come with getting separated from a person you were married to (which are BIG feelings even if I say they aren't). I'm in a city that is as cold as a witch's tit in a brass bra and my poor car is falling apart. Don't even get me started on the stress of being a server in hockey town. I'll just say this, it ain't a fucking daycare and I'm going to kick your little Sidney Crosby if he doesn't sit his fucking ass in a chair soon. Also, stop spending $3 on hot chocolate for your children. They don't drink it. They lick the whipped cream off the top and that's it. Got more money than brains, most of you.

Kids waste hot chocolate... constantly

     Anyway, now that I'm in Ottawa and there are people here from all over the world, I can experience some watered-down culture without having to get on a plane. I have access to Traditional Chinese Medicine with a traditional Chinese human followed by traditional Chinese food. 

     My acupuncturist has a small office with lots of packages of dry herbs with Mandarin characters on the labels. I filled out a medical history form to identify any ailments, past or present, that could be affected by my Qi. Then, she brought me into her office where we discussed, in as much detail as possible, all of my symptoms. This woman immigrated to Canada in 1997 and her English was very good, but my ears aren't, so when she asked me if I had "shortness of breath", I thought she was asking me about "surgery on my breasts". Anyway, we got through it. She asked me to stick out my tongue so she could see the colour of it. Then, she held my wrists and asked me to stick it out again. Diagnosis: I'm tired. 

     Damn right, I'm tired. Tired of everyone and their shit. Tired of being tired. Tired of being the right thing at the right time for the right person. Tired of trying. Tired of caring. Tired of working. Tired of this rat race. Tired of screwing up, tired of going down, tired of myself, tired of this town. Oh my my, oh hell yes... Haha. Channelled a little Tom Petty there, I did. 

     Next, we go into a small room with two massage tables divided by a rice paper room divider. She asked me to roll up my pants and get on the table. She asked if my back hurts and I said no, but when she touched my back, it hurt me. So, we decided my back hurts. Therefore, I'd better take off my sweater. In fact, I better take off my pants. Apparently, I am really tired and I'm about to get porcupined. I lay face down on the massage table in just bra and undies. She started at my head with two needles, then my neck with four more, then my arms, my kidneys, my spine, my hips, my knees (between and back) my ankles and my feet. Altogether, I'd say there were 24 to 30 needles in me and, even if I wanted to, I couldn't maneuver myself to any position other than face down. 

     I couldn't see what happened next, but I heard her unwrap a tarp of some kind. Some crinkly, plastic wrap used to cover me up and keep me warm while I healed myself. With that, she told me to stay there for half an hour. Normally, this is where anxiety sets in. I'm alone with my thoughts for half an hour. DO NOT PANIC! Think about Pokemon. Try to name a Pokemon. Is it called an Abomasnow? Is that the evolution of Snorunt? Is that the sound of traffic? It sounds like those cars are going to drive right into the building! Better say the alphabet backwards. That's my go to relaxation technique. Z, Y, X, W, V, U, T... Is that an Erhu? This music sounds like farm animals in Mianyang. That's a rooster. That's a pig. What am I having for dinner? My nose is running. I can't feel my fingers. Am I bleeding? That's a doorbell. Someone's coming in. He sounds like he's in pain. Is that Mandarin?

Fucking Ottawa

     Sure enough, a man came in to the office with an unidentified ailment. I heard them talking in the other room and the next thing I knew, they were walking in to the room where I was lying half-naked, face down, full of 30 stick pins and wrapped in cellophane. I should have felt vulnerable. I should have been incensed. I shouldn't have trusted these foreigners. But I do. In fact, I started laughing about the comedy of this life. After all, I've done this to myself. I wanted the Traditional Chinese Experience and I got it. 

     Needless to say, I survived and I walked out feeling great. I'm going back for another round of blissful torture next week.