I would assume that most people experience anxiety during stress filled, physiologically challenging, life altering moments such as sky diving, making a speech after accepting a Nobel Prize, or getting abducted by aliens. Getting a panic attack prior to a social gathering doesn't exactly come up to par with the aforementioned events. And yet, this is what I experienced on Friday night prior to my office's holiday party at the Hilton.

You partygoers who revel in the free food and open bars and Hilton accomodations might be shaking your heads at me and my angst, asking "Why would you pass up on such a good time?" "What was the big deal?" "Don't you want to act like a fool in front of your coworkers?" - and I honestly would not have a legit answer for you, except that I popped the anxiety bubble that night, in which I theorized that stepping foot into the party was equal to stepping foot into the Underworld. I thought I was going to die. Seriously. I am in no way overexagerrating my anxiety. You do not have to adjust the resolution on your monitors. This really is the drama of my life.

It all started out with excitement: the Hilton, the food, the karaeoke, the dancing, the after party, the cute outfit, and ofcourse the cute shoes - and not to mention, some good old stress free time with my coworkers. I had made plans with my new office friend (who lives about a block away) to "carpool" to the party and gave her my cell phone number to call me when they were on their way to pick me up. The event started at 6:00.

The clock ticked 6:01. I was panicking because I still wasn't ready. My attempts to leave work early proved futile because we were asked to complete some important projects before the weekend,

6:15. Finally dressed and primped and all made up. Wiggling my toes in anticipation of my ride.

6:30. Panic mode. Still no sign of her. And I couldn't even call, because I didn't think to get her number. I don't know what evil entity slipped into my thoughts, but I immediately assumed that I got ditched and therefore lost all desire to party. But my sweet little mother told me to drive over there, reassured me that there was probably some miscommunication, and advised me to have some fun. Fun. Sometimes, I think I've forgotten how to experience that world unless it is in the context of literature, art, and dining. I felt like saying that I wasn't that girl. That girl who goes to parties where she knows close to no one, but still manages to find fun. Definitely not me.

I got into the car anyway, because she looked so eager for me to go. She hasn't come to terms with the fact that her daughter is an anxiety time-bomb ready to go off and cower in a dark corner at any second. I got into the car, knowing I would not even set foot into the place. I started the engine so there would be no need for her to come to terms with the social ineptitudes of her only daughter. I planned to waste gas by just driving there and then back. What a rocking friday!

I wish I could say that my anxiety was due to my fear of large crowds or something normal like that, but honestly, I was feeling anxious because I have a fear of parties. Seriously, I'm scared of them. I don't know how to act, what to do, what to say. It becomes a task, a challenge for me, as opposed to a time to relax and unwind. I overthink the situation and overanalyze my behavior in social situations like that, chastising ever minute error, scheduling my every move. The type of party to which I'm referring are house parties and work/school parties. I like the club, because it involves an established purpose: dancing. But house/work/school parties don't really have set purposes, other than to mingle. I am not a mingler. And topping off my anxiety was the thought that I got ditched - not exactly the cherry on top I had imagined for the night.

The closest I got was the parking lot of the Hilton. I was on the phone with my best friend Fathima, seeking answers about why I was having a panic attack. Instead of answers, she posed questions and confused me with her misinterpretation of my usage of the word anxious. Throughout our whole conversation, she thought I was eager to attend and could not understand why I wasn't getting out of my car. All because the Oxford English Dictionary has conflicting, oxymoronic definitions of the word anxious:

1. a. Troubled or uneasy in mind about some uncertain event; being in painful or disturbing suspense; concerned, solicitous. b. Const., of an issue dreaded (obs.); for an issue desired; about a thing or person involved in uncertain issues.
2. a. Fraught with trouble or solicitude, distressing, worrying. b. on the anxious bench or seat (fig.), in a state of anxiety.
3. Full of desire and endeavour; solicitous; earnestly desirous (to effect some purpose).

How is it possible to be "full of desire" and also be "troubled... uneasy... [and] fraught with" distress at the same moment? Why are there two polar definitions to this one word? Why is the sky blue?

Answering the question is simple, once you understand the theory, know the science. I guess it is possible for the two to exist as one. I'm going to skip the scientific theory to save time and plainly say, Even though I was feeling anxious about the party because of my fear of being alone in a social situation involving mingling, I was also anxious to attend because I wanted to conquer my fear. I wanted to be a mingler.

But my anxiety got the better of me that night. I only made it as far as the parking lot, all dressed up, face made up, hair all done. I felt beautiful and ugly at the same time. Quite a night of oxymorons. I didn't want to go home defeated, so I ran to the only person who I thought would help me feel better. I ended up at H's house.

Now, before you begin the "him again!" lecture, I'd like to let it be known that I only stayed for ten minutes (Note to you dirty minds: He is not a minute man. lol.) I stayed for ten minutes, because I realized that I was no longer an important part of his life. In fact, it's as if I never existed. It's a good thing that I came upon this revelation now, otherwise, months from now, I might still be deluding myself into believing him when he says that I am his best friend. So I got up, walked out in my cute shoes, and decided to cut him off for good.

I am telling myself not to be sad, because this is a good thing. I need to move on, and the only way to do so is to move on without him standing next to me. At least I was able to resolve one cause of anxiety in my life.

Looking back on it, I may have overreacted. But I honestly don't think I would be able to get past H unless I acted. Period. And I wouldn't be moving in this direction had it not been for my party angst. I feel silly that I didn't go, because on Monday morning my coworkers told me how worried they were, that they were looking for me the whole night, and that I had missed out on a good time. So I lied. Next time, I'll try not to miss out on the good times. Next time, I'll try not to be so scared of my life.