Voice Mail Anxiety Disorder (VMAD)
It seems that I've developped a telephone phobia. Okay, not the telephone, really, so much as a Fear of Voice Mail. You see, I haven't checked my voice mail since mid-April. Seriously.
I've also been avoiding calling anyone who might have left a message for me since that time, because, clearly, that's the most mature way of handling the situation.
I spend at least 37% of my waking hours worrying about this. "Why don't you just check your voice mail?" You ask.
Oh, you simplisitic solution-having types, thinking you know it all ... That's like telling a person in a jail cell to just walk out, assuming the jail cell isn't actually locked.
Okay, so you may have a point. But that's beside the point.
So, the longer I put off checking my voice mail, the more dreadful I imagine it being. I don't know why. It's not like anyone ever even calls me on my cell phone. This could be for many reasons, such as the fact that I have no friends. Which is perhaps in part because I never call anyone back. Although some devoted folks keep trying. They really want that June payment, bless their hearts.
Does anyone else ever do anything like this? Back when I had a therapist, she told me that it was "perfectionism" (there might have been some other, more disconcerting acronymns tossed around in the same context, but let's not focus on that).
I like to blame it all on my parasites. Or maybe that strep infection I had as a child, which caused some sort of permanent brain retardation. OR - in an ironic twist - maybe it's radiation from the cell phones? Or maybe it's because I was marginalized as a child, because I was a middle-class WASP who never experienced any great trauma other than a series of remarkably bad haircuts in the mid-80s? Or, worse yet, what if it's all due to my own poor choices, which I must now "take responsibility" for?
Fortunately, the entire psycho-pharmaceutical industry is betting against that last bit ringing true. I'm pretty sure they make some hot-pink pill for Voice Mail Anxiety Disorter (V-MAD). You didn't know it existed, or that you had it, but you'll be relieved to know you're not alone.
But, seriously - if either of the people who read this blog has left a voice mail for me since early spring, I just wanted you to know: it's not that I don't like you, or don't want to talk to you. I don't (don't don't like you, that is). And I don't don't want to talk to you. I do (don't?). It's just that I'm crazy.
But then again, you probably already knew that.
I've also been avoiding calling anyone who might have left a message for me since that time, because, clearly, that's the most mature way of handling the situation.
I spend at least 37% of my waking hours worrying about this. "Why don't you just check your voice mail?" You ask.
Oh, you simplisitic solution-having types, thinking you know it all ... That's like telling a person in a jail cell to just walk out, assuming the jail cell isn't actually locked.
Okay, so you may have a point. But that's beside the point.
So, the longer I put off checking my voice mail, the more dreadful I imagine it being. I don't know why. It's not like anyone ever even calls me on my cell phone. This could be for many reasons, such as the fact that I have no friends. Which is perhaps in part because I never call anyone back. Although some devoted folks keep trying. They really want that June payment, bless their hearts.
Does anyone else ever do anything like this? Back when I had a therapist, she told me that it was "perfectionism" (there might have been some other, more disconcerting acronymns tossed around in the same context, but let's not focus on that).
I like to blame it all on my parasites. Or maybe that strep infection I had as a child, which caused some sort of permanent brain retardation. OR - in an ironic twist - maybe it's radiation from the cell phones? Or maybe it's because I was marginalized as a child, because I was a middle-class WASP who never experienced any great trauma other than a series of remarkably bad haircuts in the mid-80s? Or, worse yet, what if it's all due to my own poor choices, which I must now "take responsibility" for?
Fortunately, the entire psycho-pharmaceutical industry is betting against that last bit ringing true. I'm pretty sure they make some hot-pink pill for Voice Mail Anxiety Disorter (V-MAD). You didn't know it existed, or that you had it, but you'll be relieved to know you're not alone.
But, seriously - if either of the people who read this blog has left a voice mail for me since early spring, I just wanted you to know: it's not that I don't like you, or don't want to talk to you. I don't (don't don't like you, that is). And I don't don't want to talk to you. I do (don't?). It's just that I'm crazy.
But then again, you probably already knew that.
posted by Marguerite at 7:42 PM
6 Comments:
It's weird you don't check voice mail. But I understand the not having friends thing. I check my voice mail, but never return calls. I'm not sure which is worse.
Your getting VMs is proof that people want to talk to you. Try being Mollie-No-Messages for a day. Then you might appreciate what you have...
Except that the folks who "want to talk" tend to be my good friends from Citibank, wanting to shoot the breeze about that credit card payment I forgot to mail.
But, at any rate, I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who doesn't return calls in a timely manner. And yes, comingundone, it's exactly that! Kind of like how kids do the ears/eyes closed "I can't hear you! I can't hear you!"
Only SO much more mature, because it involves satellite-based electronics ...
I totally get the denial, and funnily enough, I have also gotten the spiel about it being an off-shoot of perfectionism. It's worked out pretty well actually, now when my boss asks where the hell that monthly report is she asked for two weeks ago, I simply explain that I have not been able to start on it because I'm not completely, 100% confident that it will be Nobel prize winning material, which it must be, because I'm a perfectionist!
Yeah, maybe we can claim Perfectionism Affective Disorder (PAD)and somehow get on disability?
This is me, to a T. I am so glad I'm not alone! (Isn't that funny, how that makes us feel better...)
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