Ten things I know about panic attacks...

This is you, trying to navigate the modern world with an ancient monkey brain. You're afraid of lions but there are no lions any more, so you're a bit confused, gawd bless you. 

An attractive young woman ran out of one of my events yesterday, after having what turned out to be a panic attack. She is, as so many panic sufferers are,  a highly intelligent, capable, and likeable person, and we chatted about the panic demons for a bit whilst she calmed down. She's not yet read an awful lot about this stuff, so I got to thinking about what I would like to have read when I first started getting to grips with it. Results below...   

Ten Things I Know About Panic Attacks 

1. Brilliant people have them. Oh yes. Some of the most beautiful, talented, courageous, hilarious, intelligent people who have ever stalked this earth have had panic. You're not weird, I promise. (Well, you may be a bit odd of course, but that's got nowt to do with the panic I'm afraid).

2.  They're not your fault! You've got to stop blaming yourself, and I'll give you three good reasons why...

      a) You're part-man/part-monkey (interestingly, or not, that is also the name of this not very good  Bruce Springsteen song). You're negotiating a modern landscape with an ancient ape-ish brain that is hard-wired to respond to the fight-or-flight mechanism. We are the descendants of some pretty alert and anxious chimps - the ones who heard a rustle in the bushes and thought 'it could be a lion, but then again, what are the chances, maybe it's just a stiff breeze?' all got eaten. We got the neurotic genes - tough break.

       b) Something in your past might have made this more likely. You may have had an unstable childhood, or been the victim of some trauma, or had a hypochondriac Dad. It's no-one else's fault either, but remember that outside forces have moulded you and made you the person you are today.

      c) You may just have a rubbish brain. Some people don't produce enough thyroid hormone (moi, for example), and some people don't retain enough serotonin. That's it. You didn't make it happen did you? Take it up with God when you next bump into him.

You've got to be easy on yourself. It's shit enough going through all this crap without the meta level of self-flagellation on top.

3. They go. And come back. And go again. If there's one thing I've learned I've from my boyfriend, it's how a wiggly line on a graph goes. His wise counsel is that a general upward trend on a graph is rarely straight - there are ups and downs and ups again. Whilst the downs may be lower than yesterday's ups, they're still higher than the downs a year ago - BUT - that's really hard to see from your perspective, seeing as how you're trapped in the graph.  

4. CBT really helps. My free NHS CBT course was hands-down the best thing I ever did for my panic attacks. 

5. You're not going to die. Or go mad. I PROMISE. Your heart races much faster than this when you're running (and that's considered good for you), and your breathing will not stop (your body won't allow that to happen), and will return to normal in a little while. I PROMISE. No-one has ever died of a panic attack, and no-one ever will.

6. Wishing them away makes them worse. Both in the instant they're coming, and just generally. The most suffering I ever experience is when I get furious and rail against them like a trussed up tiger, and my thrashing and rejecting ends up just tightening the knots around me. Some people get wonky noses, some people get IBS, some people get cancer, some people get panic attacks. You might have them for life, or they may go at some point. But you have to accept them for now, or you'll increase your misery exponentially. 

7. They're not all bad. All of this hardship has actually brought me a lot closer to both of my parents, and I've learned (well, am still learning) to be okay with being vulnerable. Which I've been told makes me even more likeable! Keep in mind that you're picking up some pretty good life skills here in the crucible, so you are in no way wasting your time or effort.  

8. They're funny. Learn to see the funny side of anxiety and panic (and there IS a funny side). Learn to laugh at fear rather than cowering from it, and by doing so - puncture its menace and remove its power.

9. You can cope. A large part of anxiety is fear of not being able to cope, to deal, to handle. But you have coped your whole life - all the way up until this very minute. Why would you stop now? You have the strength to cope with this, and anything else life throws your way. 

10. All of the above are really difficult to put into practise. And that's okay. As my exceptionally wise and beautiful friend told me - this is a process, it's not a solution. You may forget half this stuff, and not be able to put the other half into practise, but you're trying, and you're learning stuff all the time. Just accept that you're taking baby steps - this is not a race. 


Hey, new girl - you're doing just fine! Everything's going to be okay. It really is. 

x 

You gotta roll with the punches of outrageous fortune (as I believe Shakespeare once said...)

  

YOU ARE BRAVER THAN JOHN WAYNE!

Yep, he may have been a big old lily-livered-lefty-hater, but I'm afraid (see what I did there) John knows his onions when it comes to cojones...if that's not a mixed metaphor too far

I was having tea (peppermint, natch) with an old work colleague of mine who also has serious GAD issues (which, incidentally, I only found out about because I 'outed' myself to him on a whim, and he shocked me to the core by revealing he TOO suffered horribly with it), and is going through a bit of a bad patch at the moment. As we swapped war stories in the meditation centre cafe (ha, natch again), he shook his head and said my advice was all well and good, but that I was much braver than him, so he wasn't sure he could take it.

And this was enough to pierce through my panicked haze and make me forget my trembling hands on my teacup (still staggering up the Prozac ramp) momentarily, and I proceeded to give him a very stern lecture about bravery - the gist of which I will outline now, but in a much more lucid and Cicero-ish manner than I managed at the time.

No. NO! Listen up, Woody! You think you're a coward because you can't do things other people do without batting an eyelid? Think about it. The very concept or definition of bravery entails fear - it doesn't make any sense at all without it. As some bright spark once said, 'bravery is not the absence of fear, it is the mastery of fear' (or somesuch) or as John Wayne had it - 'bravery is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway'. Let's be clear: there's nothing remotely brave in not being frightened at all.  Courage is peering into the jaws of the beast - whether imaginary or real - and walking forward anyway.

Consider the person who travels in to work on the tube of a Monday morning, blissfully chomping through a pain au chocolat and listening to a comedy podcast. Would you call them brave? Or courageous? Of course not; it doesn't make sense to, because they are not afraid. They may be easygoing, or relaxed, or happy, or peaceful, or any number of things. What they are not, is brave.

Contrast that with the person with panic disorder, who arrives at work at the same time as person A, and says 'hi' to them at the coffee machine. This person set out for work maybe half an hour before person A, and was pacing the house a full three hours before that. This person woke up terrified after a few hours sleep, and was so full of fear and dread they were sick before breakfast. This person cried before leaving the house, because they were so petrified of getting on the tube and of what the day would bring. This person walked to the tube anyway. This person got on the tube, had a panic attack, believed they were going to run out of air and die, and got off again a few stops along. This person took a pill, phoned a friend, cried in the corner, waited for half an hour, and got back on the tube again. And off again, and on again, until they finally made it into work to start their day.

And this person thinks they are a coward. This person berates themselves for being weak, and this person worships person A for being brave. 

This person is not a coward. What this person is, is an eedjit! This person is conquering terror and fear EVERY SINGLE DAY on top of living the life everyone else finds so hard! This person does ten rounds with a slavering hell-beast before breakfast! This person has fought more truly, genuinely courageous and brave battles than person A has had happy, hot dinners! This person needs to wake up, smell the bloody coffee, and realise they are SUPERHUMANLY, OBSCENELY BRAVE, and could by all rights wear a cape and undies on the outside by now! 

This person is you. So suck it up, SuperYou, and stop calling yourself a coward. Or I'll come round there and knock some sense into you. And you don't want that, because I've fought the kind of demons that would make Buffy drop her stake, wet herself, and run home crying to Giles.

'Just got to quickly wrestle these before work, won't be a sec....'

           

Prozac nation (is not my favourite nation)...

'YES! Yes I am!'

 

Greetings from a small, Viv-shaped Prozac nation!

My six months without antidepressants have been fairly hellish, so I finally surrendered and went to see my almost-hot psychiatrist who recommended a trial of Prozac. Cue much grinding of teeth and general nervousness. 'Me? On Prozac? Sounds so 'Girl Interrupted'! Why can't my brain do it itself goddamnit?! Why can't I just RELAXXX??!!' etc etc. Although pills aren't for everyone, there's no doubt that medication has provided a lifeline for millions of people around the world (myself included), and sometimes you've got to come to terms with needing a little help. See this article for a really clear-headed and inspiring take on an often maligned and misjudged thing.

I've been taking them for a week now, and...guess what?! They've made everything much, much worse! You've got to laugh - it is quite funny. Apparently they can do that (i.e. make you feel like you want to jump out of your skin for the first couple of weeks) before they make you better. If they make you better. 

I'm so bloody anxious, I could gnaw off my arm. I've been teetering on panic a number of times a day, and just feel jittery and speedy. I had two days of really bad nausea, which has now improved to simply not fancying eating anything apart from beige food. With cheese on top.

I'm persevering, because apparently I could exit the tunnel into bright daylight any day now. Please hurry up that day!

I have to remember that:

1. This will pass.

2. Sometimes the darkest night is just before the dawn.

3. Whatever happens, I can and will cope.

4. This will pass (again).

It's been a long old time in the tunnel, and I really just want to feel a bit better soon.

Whilst I'm waiting, I am consuming approximate 1kg of Rich Tea biscuits daily, laughing at the brilliant Twenty-Twelve spoof documentary, having loads of hugs, trudging into work in the snow, and crying into my decaf tea.

See? There are always bits of sunshine, even when things are shitty. 

'It'll wash your blues away! Or make you feel so anxious you feel like you can't breathe! Yay!'

And on the third day, she crashed (with apologies to Jesus and ELO)

No ruby slippers, no wonderful wizard; just terror and bright backlighting...

Well, talk about talking too soon. After the general 'I'm alive!' joy of days one and two, I plummeted like a burning, nervy, post-chop Icarus tangled in charred plumage and mixed metaphors. 

Wednesday morning I woke up, and suddenly all was not well. I felt anxious - really, really anxious -  I didn't want the operation to have happened, and I was almost fainting with squeamishness about the wounds on my body and the notion of what had gone on internally when I was not there to see it. It reminded me of my poor childhood cat when he had an abscess on his back - he kept on twisting and turning and shivering his skin along his backbone to try and slide it off and get out from under it somehow. I wanted it all not to have happened, and I wanted to get out from under it. 

I fell into a massive, familiar pile of panic and anxiety, and took a Lorazepam to try to dull the edges, but somehow it combined with the leftover anaesthetic and took me in a horrible way - all wide-awake crazy thoughts and palpitations and trembles.

I couldn't sleep, I couldn't sit still, I couldn't breathe. I couldn't listen to my post-surgery relaxation CD because it made me want to faint, I couldn't take a Lorazepam because I was frightened of making it worse, I couldn't lie still because I was petrified of clots forming in my legs, and I felt absolute, complete, suffocating despair. I tried all the old tricks, and they didn't work. I got disassociation - my whole familiar world started looming and stretching in sinister ways, and I felt trapped in a waking nightmare. It was like a big, fat, supersized Ecstasy comedown (apologies for mature references!) but without the ecstasy (with a small or a big e). All agony, no ecstasy?

I convinced myself I had post-surgery trauma syndrome, that I had clots in my legs and internal bleeding, that I had an infection, that I was going mad, that I would have to have another surgery to fix this one and this would all happen again, and above all - that I was a colossal, self-indulgent hypochondriac who couldn't handle a routine operation like the rest of humanity. My thoughts were just completely and utterly out of control - the horse was galloping away towards the inferno and the rider was just freaking out on the sidelines with wet jodhpurs and a frayed whip. 

Needless to say, it wasn't a vintage few days. It turns out that it's not such an unusual reaction after all - apparently the body's hormonal and endocrine systems go haywire after surgery - and couple that with the general anaesthetic wearing off and some anxiety about recovery and you have a perfect recipe for panic-a-go-go. I just wish I knew that beforehand! 

It, however, remind me of a couple of panic-related things that are worth repeating:

1. Nothing REALLY works in a panic the way you want it to - because the body is specifically designed to create terror that is virtually impossible to override.  The whole point is that you're not meant to easily cognitively disassemble it - you're meant to fucking RUN. So I was reminded, at a cost, that the best thing to do is to grab on to something and hold on, and wait it out. To weather the storm and try desperately to hear the tiny, squeaky voice a mile off that stutters 'this will pass' in the face of the terrifying succubus screaming 'IT WILL NOT' in front of your face.

2. It does pass. I felt like I was in a horror film last week, and I'm calmly typing this now after a relatively happy couple of days. Yes, I'm still a bit quivery, but that always happens for a while after a storm of panic - I know I just have to wait it out until it completely passes again.

3. Anxiety and panic don't make you weak. This one is thanks to my stepmother, who came downstairs and wrapped me in a tight hug when she found me sobbing uncontrollably on my own, and told me about her experiences with panic and anxiety (she's also hard as fucking nails, and you would never, ever characterise her as weak or even approaching it) and shook me back to reality and self-respect. Everyone is flawed. Everyone has their vulnerable moments. But that's not what people remember of them, and that's not what they should remember of themselves. 

So. That's it. I think I've earned a bit of a relax at long last, so if you'll excuse me, I'm off to watch Ingrid Bergman give weird, face bruising non-kiss kisses to Cary Grant - I've got a week's worth of recovery DVDs to catch up on...

Nope, that's still not it - we can clearly see your lips aren't touching, guys...

The interwebs can cheer us up!

' Gee whiz, now I've got these inspiring blogs to read I can cut down on the barbiturates  and unsavoury menfolk!' 

We interrupt this most fascinating of all fascinating blog streams about gallstones to bring you news of inspirational, anxiety-busting blogs and websites elsewhere in the world.

Firstly: XO Jane. Have I mentioned this one before? Sorry gents, it's definitely a ladies only one, this. Ladies - listen up. I've just discovered it - full of hilarious, sassy (I really hate that word, so why would I use it?), feisty (if anything I hate this even more than sassy, grrrr) and strident (ah, forget it) articles written by clever, funny women.  

Okay, so I've just somehow managed to make it sound really terrible (remind me not to write a review of your book if you ever publish one), so just go there and see. It's not remotely all about mental health, but there are some bits and pieces that are really pertinent to us worry-warts: Anxiety hero Sara Benincasa has written a great article on there about panic attacks, there's this one  and this one about depression, and even one about GALLSTONES, who'd-a-thunk-it?! 

Use the search bar - it's your friend. If you're in the UK it will probably try to steer you to the new UK version, but I personally prefer the US one (which still features a lot of the UK articles).

Nextly: The Big Scary C Word. It's actually a breast cancer blog that popped up on Huffington Post UK, but is such an inspiring and brave account of a young woman coping (well, hell, she more than copes) that it deserves inclusion in the push-up bra (uplifting, see what I did there) section.

 I initially internally shrieked with self-hatred after seeing how phenomenally well she was dealing with something infinitely more terrifying than anything I worry about, but then I realised - she doesn't have an anxiety condition! Or depression! Her boatload of shit is very different to our boatload of shit, but you can certainly draw a hell of a lot of inspiration from this woman's sunny outlook - I certainly have.

Nextly nextly: Panic about Anxiety. Summer Beretsky blogs at Psych Central about her agoraphobia and panic attacks. Loads of great, clear, honest (she doesn't hide behind anonymity, hmmm) articles there about anxiety in all its gnarly forms.

Question: Is an anxiety blogger blogging about other great anxiety blogs a little like a woman telling her boyfriend how gorgeous other women are and then giving him their numbers? Guys, guys - where are you all going...hang on, can I just.....guyyyyyys...? 

V x

Blogs: for when life feels like a metaphorical budgie is crapping on your metaphorical head

Operation Fawkes (aka Operation Operation)

''Ooooo-eee! Honey, you've got yourself a bad case of the SURGEON-GONNA-CUT-ME-UP-WILLIES - your anxiety temperature is th-rough the roof!'

Okay, I know my gallbladder has completely hijacked this blog, and I promise I will only write around two more organ-related posts. I'm sick to the back teeth of hearing about the bastard thing - so you guys must be begging for the scalpels too.

Long story short: I'm going nuclear - going private, because I can't live like this any more, and all my relatives are going to all pitch in with a bit of cash to make this happen. Should I put up a JustGiving page at work? I get them ALL the time (lots of athletic, overachieving, worthy colleagues, puke) so why not put together my own...? 'Hi All. Yep, you got it, it's another request for a needy cause, sort of. Just give me your card details and I'll post pics of my 'marathon' later...'

So will be having operation on the 5th of November. I am now, predictably, terrified, and my anxiety bugaboos (isn't that a type of pram? I've definitely got the wrong word there) have flown in to roost beside me.

'Remember, remember, the 5th of November' just sounds bloody terrifying now - is it an omen?! Am going to go the way of  Mr Fawkes, but minus the plucky heroism and fireworks? Am I going to wake up from the operation and not know where I am and have the worst panic attack ever and vomit into my hospital gowned lap? 

But it can't come soon enough really. Today I had an attack in the middle of preparing a VIP for an event - I went all 'show must go on' and gritted my teeth, smiled, chatted and managed to get them out on the stage before hobbling upstairs and collapsing underneath my desk. I stripped down to my singlet, popped some codeine, writhed there with my headphones on for a while (had to keep tabs on the event, what a control freak), covered in sweat from head to toe, and after 3/4 of an hour it completely passed and I went back down, said I'd been watching from the booth and no-one was the wiser.  But enough! Lady Macbeth of the Gallbladder says 'out, damn sac'!!

On the anxiety front, I've been finding it difficult to breathe, randomly, here and there. I REALLY hate that one. Just sitting there quietly and then suddenly, wheeze, wheeze, 'is my chest tight? Why can't I breathe? Shit'. I know it's just anxiety, and if I ignore it, it goes, but it's so bloody unsettling.

Onwards and upwards, though, hey?! No more gallbladder talk soon - promise! Only one more update about the operation (and maybe one afterwards, what the hell) and then back on track!

Hope all of you guys are fit and well and anxiety-free (ha - are we ever?!). And if you're not - screw it - grit your teeth, get through it, wait for time to pass, and better things will transpire for all of us soon. I'm a faithless, hippie-raised heathen but I'm trying on a bit of hope and faith for size! And weirdly, it kind of works! 

V x 

Don't pretend to be cute. You're going down, bitch.

Crying in hospital corridors (good potential band name?) ...

.

Nothing has changed in British hospitals since this picture was taken, except that the buildings have decayed and the instruments have grown rusty. And I don't think you get nuns now, more's the pity.

I had my appointment with the surgeon today. 

Managed to hyperventilate as soon as I started wandering through the hot, claustrophobic corridors  - American and Australian (hell, anything but British) readers, I know you're picturing a clean, bright, modern hospital right now, but please know that British hospitals are still using equipment from the 1930's, in buildings from the 1800's, and that that is truly terrifying. 

Burst into tears as soon as I got into the waiting room as it was full of hundreds of geriatric people coughing their wet lungs out. Was sweating so profusely I had to rip off all my layers, so was sitting there crying, practically naked in front of 100 staring old person eyes. I googled ' cute kittens' and flicked through those whilst I cried and waited and chastised myself for being a ridiculous wuss.

Half an hour later I see the surgeon, who is twelve. I just knew I would get a bloody junior doctor. No joke, he then launches into his special nightmarish bedtime story about EVERY SINGLE complication that has EVER occurred to people who don't get their gallbladder out. Terrifying things. Things even Google didn't tell me. He then told me EVERY SINGLE horrific complication that could occur with the surgery. At one point, when he was mentioning perforated somethings, drainage tubes, pus explosions, deranged sphincters (really) and mistakenly cut livers - tears just started pouring from my eyes (as in, I was silently crying). He got me some tissues, said nothing and proceeded with his list - nothing was going to deter him from the list.

I then get sent to the other side of the hospital for blood tests. Get to the desk and there's no-one there. Finally someone comes and points to a handmade sign that says 'No more blood tests'. No more blood tests? When I explain that a surgeon has sent me to get urgent tests, another harassed nurse comes up and starts shouting at nobody in particular 'Look at all these people! We just can't do it! There's too many people! Enough! We're closed! It's impossible!' and the guy nods and says 'nope, we're too busy'.  No sorries, and that's it.

So I go back to the 'digestive diseases' ugh, department, and tell them that apparently the blood test department is shut down for the day. So a very camp nurse takes me into a storage closet (I'm not joking), tells me he hasn't had a day off in three weeks, and does it there and then. The 'room' was so small we had to put together a military strategy for both of us to get out.

Okay, I don't want to be the standard NHS moaner, and apologies to all those of you who've had good experiences (and who will be affronted by bad language), but WHAT. THE. FUCK?! Is this country trying to kill its inhabitants so as to save money on welfare? Is there a grand genocidal, money-saving scheme going on that I don't know anything about?  

I have to wait FOUR MONTHS for the surgery. 

And I feel so ashamed  and furious with myself for having an anxiety attack (didn't quite reach the level that it needs to be to be classified a bowel-shuddering panic attack in my book) simply from walking through a hospital. How am I going to stay in it long enough to have surgery?! I feel like I've let myself down. I feel like I'm not a properly functioning adult - like I'm too sensitive and soft to cope with the harsh realities of the world. I feel different, and not in a good way.  

But I also know that empathy and sensitivity are what make me ME. I think deeply about people's experiences (too much maybe) and care about them - even if I don't know them - and most people don't. Maybe that makes me cry when I see sick people, and freak out when I'm in hospitals, but I'd rather be that than oblivious to suffering. 

And crying doesn't make you weak - everyone over the age of 13 knows that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I might go off and do it some more.*

*NB. Since writing this, some beautiful, charitable genius commented below and snapped me back to reality - so no more anxious self-pity and self-blame going on any more! I'll let this post stand as a perfect example of how easy it is for us GAD sufferers (and really anyone who sets far too high standards for themselves) to blame ourselves unnecessarily. Apparently, sometimes freaking out is normal and justifiable - particularly when surrounded by dying people! That does actually make sense, come to think of it. Thank god for you guys - you are all absolutely AWESOME and amazing and fantastic and I love that we almost have a bit of a community going here. Bring your nervous friends!  V x

This is me, hugging all of you (a little bit too tightly and needily). Awww.  <3

Better breathing for panicked panters...

'Doctor, Doctor, I just have this, sort of, suffocating feeling, like someone's got their hands around my neck and I can't get any air...'

I've just realised that I haven't yet shared one of the all-time best panic-busting tips I've ever been given.

After being diagnosed with panic disorder, I languished for six months on a CBT treatment course waiting list (thank you NHS), but I did finally wend my trembling way into a treatment room. And when I did, BOY was the wait worth it (thank you NHS, no sarcasm). 

Having the CBT was the first time I really got to grips with this gnarly panic crap, and began to lose my fear of panic a bit. I'd tried some CBT in self-help books prior to that (I ordered approximately 851,000 different books and CDs on Amazon), but it never really stuck, and being an impatient, type A sort of person, I would just race through the chapters, do the exercises quickly, shout 'FINISHED!' triumphantly, and then complain that it wasn't working. 

Before then, I think I still thought I would die with each panic attack. I thought I was completely insane, and needed to be locked up. I thought my life as I knew it was over. Of course now I still have a moment during panic when I think all of those things, but my more logical brain can fight back much quicker and win the day in the end. 

It's too much to cram into a single post (maybe I should do a series?), but the overriding rule that changed my panic-stricken life was: DON'T TRY TO CONTROL YOUR BREATHING.  It was completely at odds with all the other stuff I'd been reading and trying (breathing in for 5, hold for 4, out for 8 - that sort of thing), and with loads of other panic advice I'd been given.  

The guy asked me to hyperventilate with him so he could prove it to me. I cried and refused (why the hell would I do that?! I literally spent every second trying NOT to hyperventilate!) so we tried it in another session once I trusted him a bit more. He did it with me, and promised nothing bad would happen to either of us. We deliberately hyperventilated together (one of the stranger experiences I've shared with a complete stranger) and watched what happened afterwards. Essentially, your body regulates itself. It does not need you to sit and watch your breath. It does not need you to count each one in and out. It does not need you to DO anything. It just does it on its own! Miraculous, hey?! If you hyperventilate and go out of whack, in a short space of time it will come back into whack - without your help or control or vigilant inspection. 

I cannot tell you what a huge, unbelievably liberating relief it was just to LET GO of the goddamn breathing thing and just let it do its thing. It was like taking off a 100kg backpack and leaving it at the door. It sounds obvious to non-panickers, but it certainly wasn't to me then. I don't think I've ever fully hyperventilated (in an out-of-control way) since then. I may have got strained, and struggled, and started to breathe quickly, and worried I was going to run out of air, but the less I tried to control it, the quicker it came back round to normal in the end.

That's it. Don't control your breathing. Just let your body do its thing.

Sorry for a tortuously long, and possibly slightly dull post, chaps, but the fundamentals are important too, right?! 

A successful, non-panicked breather will look relaxed and beatific, like so.

Sweet (inner) child of mine...

Awwwwwww. But you wouldn't want a whole one...

Wow, well, it looks like I just can't stop the cheesiness from flowing this week! Today, kids, I'm going to talk to you about your INNER CHILD. Before you bring up your lunch, WAIT just a few seconds, and hear me out...

I know not all of you can afford therapy (hell, I'm not sure I really can either), so I'm going to maximise the efficiency of my therapy by telling you all the good tips I get given (you save money, face, and time this way). Good idea, huh?

I am (and I'm guessing a lot of you are as well) a bit of a big bully - to myself. To everyone else I'm like a soft, fluffy rabbit of empathy and joy. To myself I'm like a fiery ball of relentless, violent, satanic fury. Anyway, the gist of quite a few of my shrink sessions involved me trying to visualise my younger self (don't do this at work BTW- it can make your eyes leak a bit) and imagining saying the sorts of horrible things I say to myself NOW to that person. I find the best sort of age to remember back to is 5ish - maximum cuteness and innocence, and I personally can't relate to anything much younger than that.

If you do genuinely try and close your eyes and imagine saying 'You're pathetic, there's nothing to be afraid of, you're crazy, you're a loser, you're a waste of space' etc etc etc to this shining little blonde bundle of loveliness, it just feels abusive and utterly wrong.
And it's a pretty good lesson, because essentially, you ARE STILL that person, believe it or not, and your squidgy, vulnerable bits (the bits you shout at) are still about that sort of mental age, really, if you know what I mean. Ugh, I'm not sure I'm explaining this very well.

All I know is that the more I've made a conscious decision to take care of myself, as I would a fearful child; the more relaxed I've been a panicky situation. You wouldn't scream 'DON'T FUCKING PANIC YOU CRAZY BITCH!!' to a five year old if they said they were scared (and if you would, perhaps you should fork out for some therapy after all...). It is literally the most counter-productive and adrenaline-raising option available to you. You need to shush, and swaddle, and stroke, and hum to, and cuddle that petrified thing inside.

 If you want the science rather than the hippy version, it turns out that being angry with yourself causes just the same physical and emotional response as someone else being angry with you or shouting at you (tight chest, adrenaline, cortisol, fear, anxiety etc etc), so is a perfect cocktail for escalating your panic if it's beginning to rear its head.

I know it's hard to get out of the abusive patterns if you've spent a lifetime trudging up and down them, but the almighty God of science ALSO shows us that neural pathways CAN be rebuilt, and behaviours CAN change, so it IS possible to start again.

So go on, give yourselves a big cuddle y'all! Because inside, you are still that cute, innocent, freckly little ball of loveliness.  And, of course, because deep, deep down, you know you're worth it....*

If your inner child is this creepy, then you might need to shout at it to make it go away again..

*This blog post was in no way brought to you by L'Oreal or any other you-hating haircare or beauty conglomerate.

By jove - I did it!

'Smile! All together now, say HEAT RASH!'

Hey chaps. It's Viv calling. From England. After having got back from her HOLIDAY. Which she successfully went on without a single full-blown panic attack. Sure, she almost had one at the boarding gate, and she cried, and she about four more wobbles (mostly blood-sugar related) when she was there - but she DIDN'T have a big momma nasty one. She used her CBT, and her million other tricks and techniques, and actually had an AMAZING HOLIDAY despite her fears.

Guys - it wasn't like Berlin! Bad experiences can be one-offs! Things don't have to repeat themselves! I had a glorious, beautiful, relaxing holiday. My pre-panic disorder self woke up, and was like 'where are we? This is amazing - we LIKE going to new places and exploring things. Gee-up girl!' I swam in a freezing cold ocean that made my heart race - like in a panic attack, so I had to deal with that and rationalise that. I went to gorgeous restaurants (one of my panic stressors - I hate feeling trapped, and once you order you sort of have to sit and wait, and I used to get really freaked out about that sometimes) and bars on the beach. I walked down hundreds of steps to a REMOTE beach, which was hugely stressful, but totally worth it.

It's going to sound unforgivably cheesey, but I really lived in the moment (urgh, sorry - told you). There was one particular moment when I was lying by the pool, in the sun, with shade sails flapping above me, the waves crashing in the background and the boyfriend stroking my back, and I really felt an 'I am just here' sort of feeling. Not worrying about the future, not stressing about the past, just enjoying being an animal lying in the sun, feeling the breeze, and slipping in and out of sleep.

I don't want to be solipsistic about this, so the message is (for all of us): just because you've had a bad experience in the past, doesn't mean it will happen in the same way again. So you had a panic attack on a plane once. Doesn't mean you'll necessarily have another one. I did have a horrific one once, and I haven't had one since (although I've spent many, many wasted hours worrying about that very possibility). So you freaked out on the tube once - doesn't mean you will again. In fact, the only thing that will make you freak out, is freaking out about the possibility of freaking out again. 

So let's try to break all the bad, phobic associations we've made with places and people and things and start afresh, and act like the future will be different. Because nothing stays the same forever, and you never know - you may be in your room, sobbing and panicking and in pain today - but next week, or month, or year, you may be lying on a beautiful beach somewhere, peaceful and in the moment, with panic a million miles away.

                               'Goodness, Jean, what a glorious day this is!'                                                                    'Pffft. Let's just smile and get this over with and pray to God there aren't any sea lice...'

Here comes the sun REDUX...

'RUARGH! FEAR  IS JUST A FOUR LETTER WORD!!!'

Okay. It is 20 minutes since I wrote that last post, and I have cried like a baby, and apologised to my boyfriend yet again about Berlin. I have also realised something (both on my own, and with his help). That last post was only half of the story - but that's the bit I keep torturing myself with. I'm going to use all of my super panic-busting skills and re-tell that in a different (and much more accurate) way.

When I went to Berlin, I'd had no CBT therapy at all for my panic attacks. I still thought there was a possibility I might die. It was also minus 18 degrees, and was actually painful to breathe outside - panic attacks or not.  I have learned so much since then, and I will never again be in that early, terrified place I inhabited when the panic disorder first started.

I also only had about three Lorazepam which I tried to eke out over a week. I also thought I would become an addict if I took them.

And I didn't stay in my hotel all week. Despite my terror, I got out of bed every day, and walked out of doors in the bitter cold and discovered new things. I would have panic attacks along the way, and I would sit down and cry. I would then get up, wipe my face, and carry on again. I haggled in a market, I had hot chocolate with brandy in it, I ate kasespatzel, I went to a cafe where resistance groups used to hang out back when Berlin actually was a genuinely terrifying place to be. So it wasn't even a complete and utter disaster - because I was brave, I clawed some great experiences back from it. And that was the absolute WORST it will ever be, because I can never again go back to that place of confusion about my condition.

And since Berlin, I have had a wonderful holiday in Granada for a friend's wedding, a lovely family holiday in France for another friend's wedding (a panic attack here or there in both, but nothing terrible), and flew both to and from Cannes film festival on my own with no troubles at all.

I spent my entire childhood and adolescence on planes (between the UK and Australia) - often on my own. I LOVED planes, and I LOVED travelling. My mum took me backpacking around the world when I was four, and I loved every second of it - and was apparently never anxious, worried or nervous for a single moment. That is the true me - strong and tough and rough and brave - and this is just a blip.

I'm going to have an AMAZING holiday. And even if for some reason, I don't - it won't be the end of the world. I'll get back up and keep on going and keep on trying until I do.

'Take THAT'

Here comes the sun (and attendant free-floating anxiety)...

'Pssst, hey, girls, are any of you finding it hard to breathe right now?'

Hi guys. I know I'm getting slow with these posts, but I'm having some very boring and predictable anxiety of the self-pitying breed, and pretty sure no-one's really reading them anyway. Yawn.

I'm in a bit of a grump because I'm going on holiday.

Now how ridiculous does that sound?

Ever since the dawning of my new age of anxiety, the wonderful, incredible, blessing that is an annual holiday now fills me with fear and dread. And that fact fills me with fury and anxiety.

It's ever since I went to Berlin with my boyfriend and spent the plane ride in the grip of one of the worst attacks I've ever had, and then the rest of the week sobbing and panicking and sobbing and panicking, and ringing my mum in Australia and sobbing, and ringing my therapist every evening and sobbing, and walking down the street and thinking I was going to die and sobbing and panicking. We were in a five star hotel (the Ritz Carlton) and it was meant to be romantic. I felt so guilty I can't even tell you. How would you feel if you were my boyfriend and you'd got all ready for a romantic break after working hard all year, and your girlfriend totally and utterly freaked out and cocked everything up? No sexy time, no romantic dinner time, just getting places, panicking, and going home to the hotel and sobbing. And wanting to go home, but being petrified of the plane ride, so planning a land-crossing instead. Oh my sweet Jesus, it makes me feel sick to even think of it.

And of course then there was my most recent claustroholiday.

So despite the fact that I've had hundreds of amazing holidays in my life, and I have had a couple of reasonable ones since, I now can't get rid of the worry that this may be another horror movie like Berlin.

I went to my hypnotherapist last night, and he made it all better - and I felt amazing. But then this morning I woke up and was terrified again. We're leaving tomorrow morning.

Please God let it be okay. Let me not ruin things for my boyfriend. Let me not ruin things for myself. Let me not waste all of our money. Let me summon up my adventurous spirit that I USED to have in spades before all of this crap. Let the statistics be right and Berlin just sink into history as an aberration. Let me relax and enjoy this - because there is nothing to worry about, nothing to fear, nothing to feel unsafe about. Please God let me just be normal and enjoy this! And if anyone is reading this, if you could send some general good vibes in my direction as well that would be really, really very much appreciated.


V x

'Hey, let's play a really cool game - let's pretend that  sharks and body hatred and skin cancer don't even exist!'

Anxiety hero trading card #7...

#7 Sara Benincasa

And you thought Bruce Springsteen was the only ridiculously hot genius to come out of New Jersey...

Vital anxiety statistics: Trust me - Sara Benincasa is anxious. Her panic attack catalysts include (but are not limited to) trains, planes and automobiles, tunnels, tubes, food, sex, having a wet head, being pregnant, and just generally leaving the house. She once peed in cereal bowls because she was too afraid to leave her bedroom.

Career highlights: Her exceptional funny, brave, and inspiring stand-up show Agorafabulous. Her exceptionally funny, brave and inspiring book Agorafabulous. Her ridiculously hilarious, wonderful and candid podcast Sex and Other Human Activities. 

Why she's an AWESOME anxiety hero: She's beautiful, she's frank, she's filthy, she's funny, and she's single-handedly breaking down the stigma and embarrassment surrounding panic attacks, agoraphobia and anxiety. She is the Rita Hayworth of ritualistic hyperventilation. 

What you can learn from her: How to be open and honest and shout about your panic from the rooftops. How to live a fulfilling and full life with a gremlin sitting on your shoulder. How to make nutritious, grown-up-baby smoothies when you can't eat. Also, how to perform 'hairapy' on yourself, and amazing sex acts on other people.

Best anxiety quote: 'There are few things less pleasant than sobbing on the toilet, naked and shivering, as your heart pounds out of your chest and you piss out of your asshole'

Further reading: Get thee to a bookery and buy Agorafabulous NOW. And watch this.

'Goddamnit, I'm so panictastic I could puke'

Cheesy self-help alert - introducing the 'Happy Box'...

This woman does NOT own a Happy Box.

 My therapist told me to make a happy box. A hamper of cheerful delights - a 'break-in-case-of-emergency' toolkit to thrill me out of any depression and misery associated with bad panic attack days. I thought it sounded like a really, really stupid idea. Somewhere for girly girls to put their posters of Leonardo DiCaprio and uplifting cartoons and horoscopes.

But I did it anyway (you may see a recurring theme on my blog - my panicked desperation leads me to do things I would normally scoff at  i.e. creepy hypnosis, non-ironic meditation, giving up smoking, eating healthily, swearing off caffeine etc etc. And surprise, surprise - some of them have even worked a little bit!).

So I got a lovely, huge vintage suitcase from a flea market in Cambridge, and have stuffed it with 'you GO girl!' notes I've written to myself in odd empowered moments, expensive chocolate truffles, love-heart sweets, photos, music, self-help books, stuffed toys from childhood (sent over from Australia by my mum) and all manner of other random things. Essentially you're meant to cover all the 'sense' bases - i.e. scented candles, luscious chocolates, funny films, uplifting CDs, and any other things that make you feel safe/strong/happy/loved/horny (just kidding - although, whatever works...).

Only problem is that I keep raiding it for chocolate truffles on good days, so Mother Hubbard's happy cupboard is bare on the bad days.

Apart from that, I think it's a GREAT idea, and highly recommend it to those of you who are prone to the old post-and-pre-and-during-panic-blues.

And you know - it's not like you need to TELL everyone what you're doing. It can be your own special, self-helpy secret.

It's also a pretty fun thing to put together. And you can keep adding to it whenever you see something else that perks you up. Now how good does that sound? Go on. Have a go. You know you want to. Jooooooiiin ussssss...

V x

You NEED me.

Anxiety hero trading card #6

#6 Samuel Beckett

'You're on earth. There's no cure for that.'

Vital anxiety statistics: Monsieur Beckett regularly suffered from palipations and strange feelings of suffocation, and had nocturnal panic attacks so severe that his elder brother had to sleep in the same bed to calm him.

Career highlights: I can't choose! Molloy perhaps. Watt. Murphy. Goddamn it, just read them all!

Why he's an AWESOME anxiety hero: I cannot uberemphasise this enough. Samuel Beckett is a genius and a maverick and a hero in all senses of the word. He hung out with Joyce. He wrote some of the best literature of the 20th century. He slept with Peggy Guggenheim. He was a courier with the French Resistance and was awarded the Croix de Guerre. He risked his life for his Jewish friends, and smuggled his rations in to them when they were interred. He won the Nobel Prize for Literature and gave all the prize money away.

What you can learn from him: Fear, terror and existential anxiety can give rise to exceptional intelligence, humour and creativity. Panic attacks don't stop people from doing truly terrifying, brave, selfless things. Panic attacks don't make people gurning, pissy-panted scaredy-cats. Courage and fear can co-exist (I know I've said this before, but it bears repeating).

Best anxiety quote: Beckett described his attacks as 'sweats & shudders & panics & rages & rigors & heart burstings'. He also said... 'nothing is funnier than unhappiness...it is the most comical thing in the world'. 

Further reading: Everything he wrote. And you can read my final year dissertation too, if you'd like. It's truly FASCINATING and insightful and enthralling and will help you with your anxiety-related insomnia.

I own this poster. Beckett + letterpress = literary nerdgasm.

It's getting hot in here...(don't take off all your clothes)

'Haunting terror' in a heatwave. Is this film about my life?

Some interesting things I learned today:

1. Apparently if you press your nose and say 'beep' when you're panicking that can interrupt the panic cycle and stop it in its tracks. Not sure if this just makes you feel so ridiculous that you can't take your panic seriously, or if it has some more thorough psychological evidence-base, but can't harm, can it?

2. I learned yet AGAIN why I should never read free papers that come on London trains. The headline story was about a tube carriage that got stuck underground last night in the most horrendous heat for THREE HOURS (yes, London is hardly hot above ground ever, but underneath it, where you don't want it to be, it's like the fiery furnace of hell). This is why I must carry more Lorazepam in my purse so that if that does happen to me, I can take a big handful and just curl up on the floor in the foetal position and rock back and forth in the grime and sweat and commuter tears.

3. In the same paper there was a story about how all these children had been maimed and injured falling out of windows in the last few days... because they'd been open due to the 'heatwave'  we've been having.

 People - this isn't news!! This is an absurd, insane scare-fest! No wonder anxiety is on the bloody rise - we're being scared out of our bloody wits by the idea that OPENING THE WINDOWS IN THE HEAT WILL KILL OUR INNOCENT CHILDREN! If you care about your offspring at all, clamp those windows down against the breeze, and usher the little critters back in the centre of the room where it's safe.

4. Apparently pulling faces at yourself in the mirror during panic can help too. For much the same reason as number one, I guess.

So if you happen to be on the London underground in the next few weeks, and you see a slightly red-faced, sweaty woman punching her nose, beeping, closing the miserable excuses for windows, and furiously pulling faces at herself in a mirror, you'll know who it is.

Yours, fretful and hot as always (but more so)


Viv x 

Are you CRAZY?! GET AWAY FROM THAT GODDAMN WINDOW!

So, you're having the worst day of your life...?

I just thought I'd put together some emergency self-care steps for those days/nights when you really have been wrestling with the hideous dark panic demons, and you feel so anxious and bewildered you could chuck yourself under a truck. You can't do anything, you can't leave your house, you're having panic after panic, and you don't feel capable of even the tiniest thing. You're terrified, sleepless, and at your wit's end.

These are basic, emergency care steps that will help you back on the road to normality (and most of them were told me by my therapist when I was in crisis, so have official psych sanction).

1. If you have one, take a tranquiliser. Just take one now. Don't overthink it, just do it. This is an extreme and horrendous day - and they are specifically made for occasions like this. They will give you a small window of peace so you can collect yourself a bit, and give you a few hours away from fear, which will break the vicious cycle of fear-panic-more fear-more panic etc etc. You probably haven't slept very well, and these will give you space to do that as well (which you desperately need).

2. Drink a huge glass of water before you do anything else. You've probably been crying (which apparently dehydrates you more than you think), and dehydration makes anxiety (and everything) a lot worse.

3. Have a warm shower, rub yourself down with some nice lavender moisturiser, and get into some fresh, clean, soft cotton clothes (pyjamas etc). These tiny things you would never normally notice can mean so much when you're at rock bottom. Sometimes the pleasure of clean skin and clothes is all you're going to get in a day.

4. If you can't eat, try and drink a Complan (Ensure) or a smoothie. Just get even half of it down. The body produces adrenalin when your blood sugar drops below a certain level, so getting anything down will make you feel so much less jittery.

5. (This one's courtesy of my Dad) Do something small that gives you a sense of control and mastery. It can be absolutely tiny - doing the crossword methodically is what I did when I was beside myself with terror. It's something to do, it's something you know you can do, but it's manageable.

6. If you're on your own, call someone - family or a good friend. If you're with someone, explain what's happening - don't be ashamed - and get yourself a big-ass hug.

7.  Do whatever you need to make you feel good, and don't censor yourself. Watch gentle comedies if you can sit still. Hug your favourite soft toy (and don't feel stupid about it). Read your favourite kids' book. Call your mum. Leave the light on if you're scared and you need to. Don't judge yourself for regressing a bit - you're at rock bottom and you need these things, but you won't always.

8. If you're at this stage, go for a little walk. Round the block is fine, to get a magazine from the newsagents is fine. Don't worry, you'll be travelling to amazing places soon, but for today, a walk round the block is all you can manage, and it's enough for now. If you can't - DON'T WORRY. You're not going to end up housebound - you are just looking after yourself indoors for a couple of days, and that is OKAY.

9. Know that THIS WILL PASS. I know exactly what this feels like, I've been there, but I also know that I'm not there now, and it passed. You have to hold on, you have to be patient, you have to grit your teeth and BEAR IT, just like you would have to bear some sort of physical pain.

10. Check out the anxiety heroes here, and remember how many brilliant, beautiful, brave people have suffered with anxiety and depression, and remember that you are not alone. You're amazing and courageous for dealing with this, and you will come out the other side stronger. YOU CAN DO IT!