2:00 pm - At work today, I was instructed to help out one of the Program Managers in a different department set up for a meeting. That meant making coffee (mind you I am not a coffee drinker and therefore, didn't know how to make coffee), setting up lunch, cleaning up after lunch and then cleaning up the coffee before I left for the day. This is the one of the typical tasks as a Program Assistant. Career wise, I want to be an assistant so I figured this was a good opportunity for me to learn. The coffee thing at the beginning of the day was fine. Only panicked twice: once when the coffee filter was dripping all over the floor on its way to the trash can, second when I couldn't tell if there was enough coffee in the carafe. Setting up lunch wasn't bad either. The Program Manager helped out a bit so I wasn't completely lost. Cleaning up after lunch, however, panic really set in. I thought it was simple enough, but no one told me what to do with the food afterwards. My first idea was, well, put it all in the refrigerator. Makes sense. I opened the fridge and it was almost full already. What the hell?! I thought. Well, I put what I could in the fridge, the important, expensive stuff like the the left over sandwiches. I mostly fit everything in the fridge, except the fruit, which is now sitting on my desk. I'm so frustrated with myself. Why can't I just figure it out without someone telling me what to do? What is wrong with me?! Why can't I just do something without feeling like it's wrong?
5:30 pm - After the fact, I was fine. I just threw away the left over fruit. The reason why I didn't throw it away to begin with is because I thought I would get in trouble for throwing away perfectly good food. In reality, there really wasn't much left to begin with and it wasn't like I threw out all of the food. Nobody even noticed that it was gone. For all they knew, there were no leftovers. I guess I just felt guilty for throwing out more than a handful of fruit when I found room to store 2 spear pickles.
I always wanted to write down what was going on through my head when I had one of my panic episodes. Now, I think this isn't exactly a normal thinking process for someone to have. What really was the point to all of my panic? The worst that could have happened was that I would have been disciplined for making the wrong decision. What's so wrong with that? I feel like I need a therapist, like to explain to me that the reason why I am this way is because of some repressed childhood memory of me seeing how scary being disciplined is. Why, oh why do I feel this is something I can blame on my dad?
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