Pumpkin Patch Pathos

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You are beautiful.

It is not you, it is me.

Not tritely, just truly.

 

I had an anxiety attack at the pumpkin patch the other day. 

 

Not the fake pumpkin patch.  This one is a real, honest-to-goodness working farm turned pumpkin patch for 6 weeks.  Once they harvest in September, they go out and install swings, apple cannons, jumping pillows, hay bale climbing structures etc. on the harvested fields, and leave the pumpkin fields for guests to ride out to and pick a pumpkin.

 

It is a stunning piece of rolling farm land.

 

We buy season passes and head over to play quite a few times over their short open season.

 

When we headed over there the other day, about an hour into our visit, I had an overwhelming feeling of dread.

I couldn’t breathe.

Tears were draining uncontrollably constantly from my eyes.

I felt people were skinny jean/sweater poncho/man-bun/jaunty hat or beanie/riding boot/pumpkin-spice latte-ing at me from all directions.

I could feel my skin crawling with dread.

I attempted to collect myself by sitting on a bench and allowing SonHerisme to fend for himself in the throngs. I shamefully pulled my left sleeve down over my hand.

This did not work.

So we left.

 

Please forgive me for not fitting in.

 

Please forgive me for not being matched up.

 

Please forgive me my ability to only single pro-creation.

 

Please let me forgive myself.

 

Anxiety is hard.

 

Beauty and expectations can be overwhelming.

 

I’ll plan better next time.

 

Love, Ms. Herisme xo

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