Writing In a New Room

I am writing this from a room in my new condo. I think in my last post I was in the grip of my anxiety disorder and I stated that it would be nice if I composed my next entry from my new residence. Well, here it is.

I am in a one floor, ranch-style condo on Columbus's northwest side of town. It's in a relatively small, very quiet condo community. A few hours ago a neighbor, an older lady named Pam, came by and gave me a welcome gift of a basket with some fancy mints. It is a far cry from my old condo community which had loud cars, barking dogs and occasionally barking neighbors. I never knew the name of any of those old neighbors, not one, and I lived there for over 20 years. In my new condo it took two days. I met a neighbor before I had furniture.

As for my anxiety disorder that I have mentioned in this entry and in my last; it is not gone, but it has subsided greatly. Death no longer seems imminent.

I am buying new furniture and carrying almost nothing of any size from my old place. The old sofa, rickety table and chairs, and bed are going either to the Volunteers of America, or out along the curb for bulk trash pickup. In about a half dozen car trips I have moved small appliances, dishes and plates, a few small pieces of furniture, and a lot of knickknacks. This evening I made one of my last trips back to the old condo. I drove off with golf clubs, some clothes, and the few hand tools I own. With my car loaded, I locked the old condo's door and drove a few blocks down the street when I abruptly pulled off the road. I had suddenly realized that I had forgotten one of the most important things. I had been taking stuff from the basement, closets, and from the drawers. I had missed what had been prominently hanging from one wall in my living room.

Mom, Dad, wherever you are, no need to fret; I drove right back and got it... 

Framed photos of Mom and Dad, as they were during WWII

The Travails Of Buying a Condo While Suffering From An Anxiety Disorder

I'm pretty sure that somewhere in this nitwitty blog I have mentioned I have an anxiety disorder. It's pretty much impossible to explain what an anxiety disorder is like to anyone not familiar with the illness. In extreme cases, an anxiety disorder can be completely debilitating. A person might be unwilling to leave the house, or even a room. As for myself, I have it good compared to some others. Most of the time the affliction is pretty manageable and I'm not overly bothered by it... most of the time.

About six weeks ago I realized that I could afford to have a domicile upgrade. In other words; I decided to move into a nicer place. For some strange reason I thought that my anxiety disorder would not be affected by this decision. I hired a realtor and put her to work. I looked at my first house prospect, chatted with the other realtor, and everything seemed fine inside of me, psychologically speaking. Then, a few days later, came a proverbial cloudburst. I realized that I was in for putting a lot of my life savings into the new house, buying new furniture, and then getting everything moved from one place to another. My anxiety disorder went crazy, in effect, I went crazy.

My doctor prescribed for me an anti-anxiety medication. I was told that it would be easily tolerable. Well, it would have been easily tolerable if I had flushed it down the toilet. Three days into the medication I awoke one morning... well, that's just it; I barely awoke at all. I felt very lethargic. I suffered from nausea, and of course I still had the anxiety. I missed a day of work, spending the day on my sofa, nauseated and half comatose. So much for that medication.

I realized that I was going to have to go about this whole buying process quickly. It was either going to be fast, or I was going to die. Well, maybe not die, but at least be in miserable state of anxiety.

I looked at a few places and finally decided to buy a nice, ranch-style condo. As recommended by my realtor, I made an offer significantly below the asking price, a move that worked to fuel my anxiety. I received a counter offer, but my realtor advised me to make yet another offer rather than accept their counter offer. With my anxiety now through the roof, I made a counter offer. The result was yet one more counter offer from the condo owner. I had had enough and so had my anxiety; no more counter offers. I accepted their last offer. It may have cost me a few thousand dollars. Such is the price of an anxiety disorder.

Next came the professional inspection of the condo. I watched the guy check the pipes, the electrical outlets, and the furnace. He found a couple things that were fixable but unacceptable as is. Naturally these issues will have to be remedied one way or another or I'm probably going to retract my offer. If you think this situation eases my anxiety, you would be mistaken.

Anyway, that's where I stand as of today, October 8th, 2014 at about 5:57 PM. Maybe writing about this ordeal will act as therapy and help with the anxiety. It can't hurt, trust me. Heck, maybe my next blog entry will be written in my new condo and this extreme anxiety will be just a bad memory. That would be nice.