Social Anxiety Made Me Do It

Social anxiety is a terrible, horrible, no good thing to have, but it does give you some good stories.

Like tonight for example. I had booked myself a 90 minute, full body massage a few weeks back and have been excitedly awaiting ever since. I arrived at my appointment half an hour early, which was completely unnecessary, and waited in my car until it was time to check in. I explained to the masseur some of the aches that brought me in, and then she left the room to allow me to undress and lie down on the bed.

I relaxed into the warmness of the bed, listening to the calming music, and arranged my face comfortably in the face rest. I hear a knock on the door and soon after my masseur enters.

Here is where things went wrong.

Almost the second the massage started, I felt my nose start bleeding. My panic was so immediate, that the masseur asked if the pressure was too strong.

“Um, no. That is fine. Thank you.” I mumbled through my mask.

I took stock of the situation. I was wearing a black, disposable, mask per covid standards. That means as long as it stops soon, no one will be able to tell that I am externally bleeding through my face. “Maybe I should say something and ask for a tissue,” I thought, irrationally to myself. I would lose time in the massage, the masseur would think I am crazy, and I would never be able to show my face in the establishment again. These are high stakes and that is simply not an option.

Clearly, the only logical thing to do is sit through the massage, bleeding into my mask, hoping it does not stain the all white bedding. I have never had so much anxiety during a massage in my entire life. I listen to the sound of whatever random massage sound track they had on, feel the masseur rub out all the knots in my back, and concentrate on mentally willing the blood in my nose to clot.

To avoid interrupting my noses temper tantrum, I had to breathe through my mouth the entire massage, which sounded close to the strange wheezing sound one would make after walking up too many stairs. I swear this woman thought I was either dying, in pain, or turned on.

Forty five minutes into the massage, I was forced to turn over on my back, which certainly helped in accessing the healing situation. As I turned, I realized the fairly small amount of bleeding had stopped, that my mask was soaked, and that it was slowly by surely hardening onto my face.

I then laid there, while my blood dried onto my face, casually enjoying the rest of my massage. Once it was over, and the masseur had left the room, I immediately sat up and started ripping the mask off of my face. I had to peel it off like a pore strip. I grabbed my phone, looked at myself in the camera, and saw what could only be described as how I would look after being punched in the face. I grabbed a second mask from my bag, (always keep a spare), and headed out to the room to pay. I’m telling you, I could not get out of there fast enough. I didn’t even bother putting my bra back on, I just left.

Social anxiety has made me do a lot of strange things, but it has never made me calmly lay down on a table while a stranger rubs my back, as my blood covers my face. At least not until today.

Do I regret my decision? No, not one bit. Would I do it again? You betcha.

What was the other option? Saying, “Excuse me, do you have a tissue?” I mean that is just insane.

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