Baby Steps

Tonight is the first night I didn't have a late snack before bed. I've been scarfing down peanut butter and crackers, salted pistachios, cheese and the occasional cookie before bedtime. Anything except a drink. Also lots of water. I've been working out every day (except today) to try and make up for the extra food. I've also added an extra cup of coffee (or the occasional hot chocolate) to the middle of my day to keep my energy up. I figure three cups all day isn't bad for you.

About 6 years ago, I think, is when I began having panic attacks. People talk about mistaking their panic attacks for heart attacks or god knows what. I knew right away what it was. Of course, that did little to alleviate or stop them. One of the first took place during a haircut. I had popped in to a chop shop on 23rd/3rd. It was a warm afternoon, but part way through the cut I began to sweat profusely. My heart began racing and I began to shake. I tried to will it away but the jig was up when the stylist asked if I was OK. I tried to answer, not sure what exactly I said, but I remember I was disjointed and largely incoherent. I wanted to bolt out of the chair and get some air on the sidewalk. I think I started to freak out the stylist, and I remember he seemed to be rushing to finish. I was mortified. I shakily paid for my cut and ran home to sleep.

After every major panic attack, I was left with a phobic aversion to the place it happened or the circumstances behind it. Consequently, I couldn't get my haircut for several years. Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds. Now. I took to shaving my head with clippers for a while, or having someone I trusted do it. I couldn't let a stranger near my head or face, particularly with a pair of scissors. After I went on medication for anxiety, I started to face down some of my phobias, but the haircut was a sticking point. Until I found clonazepam. From that point on, not only could you cut my hair, you could light my pants on fire while you did it and I didn't care. The problem is that usually the clonazepam would lower my inhibitions so much that I wouldn't think twice about following it up with a night of drinking, and half the time an eventual drinking and drug induced blackout.

So I'm happy to report that this afternoon, having decided to get the ends trimmed on my current mop, I casually marched down to my hot Eastern European East Village barber, waited my turn and plopped my dainty butt in the chair. Medication free. He clipped my hair and razored my sideburns and shaved the back of my neck. Try as I might, he never rubbed his uncut Eastern European cock on my forearm. And without a twitch or a tremble or a hint of anxiety on my part. I may be on to something with this sobriety thing. Plus, as an added bonus, a cute Asian bodybuilder sucked me off today. It's the small victories that keep us going.