Don't worry baby...

...everything will turn out alright.


I was desperately trying not to worry last night (well, hell, when am I not trying not to worry?!), and this came on the trusty old iPod like a squeaky-clean, blonde, Californian angel from on high. It cheered me up no end - let the boys soothe you, too!

We're all goin' on a claustroholiday...

How bad can it be?!

Just got back from a weekend at a famous adventure holiday camp with my boyfriend's family. Having managed to resist it for two years in a row, this year I decided to bite the bullet, be a good auntie/girlfriend/daughter-in-law (ish) and join in. Everyone (including the boyfriend, who is now in the doghouse and never, EVER to be trusted again) promised me it would be far better than my worst, most fearful imaginings. 'How bad can it be?!' I thought to myself. Oh readers, how wrong I was...


Day 1: Arrived at aforementioned camp (in the middle of a huge forest) in the dark. Became increasingly aware of the remote location, thousands of cabins illuminated with cheap fluorescence and the glow of happy families, obvious impossibility of escape (one needed to walk for half an hour to get out of the forest and back to the carpark and civilisation), strange high-vis jacketed men peering through windows, and unidentified nature rustling in undergrowth. Went into bedroom, proceeded to get on the panic attack express (exacerbated somewhat by my conviction that I was trapped in a weird, Nazi-esque Hitler-youth camp), and only calmed down after my boyfriend managed to chuck a Lorazepam down my throat.


Day 2:  After planning my escape the previous night, I settled down and decided to try to enjoy the day. We took the kids to a massive water-park extravaganza for some swimming and water-sliding action. 'What larks!' I thought. 'Come on Viv, stop being a fretful, paranoid snob and get thee in a wave pool for some chillaxing.'

Now where did I put my Lorazepam again?

Gentle readers, it was in a massive dome. A huge, humid, insane, verruca-fest inside an huge, insane, impenetrable dome. And full of thousands, literally thousands, of screaming children. After retreating under a plastic palm tree I launched into holiday camp panic #2. Berated boyfriend for inexcusable lies and crazy masochistic family. Regretted leaving tranquilizers in damp locker miles away. Calmed down eventually after squashing poor, shivering three-year old niece to my bosom for about 20 minutes (NB. this actually works. If you can find a child to hug, it's just like a stuffed-monkey - only much, much better. I can't vouch for what effect this has on them though)


Day 3: The spa. I don't think I even need to explain why three hours in a succession of tinier and tinier steam rooms and saunas was not exactly what the doctor ordered for his claustrophobic, panicked patient. 


The moral of this story is not that we neurotics are right when we imagine terrible things, or that we should avoid leaving our safe, cosy, non-threatening bedrooms. It is to remind us that if we've ever felt trepidation about visiting an famous, fun-filled, family holiday camp, that we were GODDAMN RIGHT TO FEEL IT , and that sometimes our instincts are not anxiety-addled instincts at all, but the sane, rational instincts of normal, hell-avoiding people.


Thus endeth the lesson.

Anxiety hero trading cards #2

#2 Charles Darwin

Yes, that's right - I said monkeys

Vital anxiety statistics: Apparently poor old Charlie was crippled by panic disorder and agoraphobia - who knew?! He wouldn't leave home without his wife, had a phobia of both crowds and being alone, and used to vomit for 24 hours continuously before he had any sort of speaking engagement (not great news for a world-famous academic and explorer with a pretty big theory to spread).

Career highlights: A little thing called 'evolution'. 'Nuff said.

Why he's an AWESOME anxiety hero: Ummm, evolution? Changing the entire face of human understanding, knowledge, science etc etc. That enough for you?

What you can learn from him: Having pretty powerful panic disorder does not need to stop you from penning one of the most important books ever written, voyaging round the world in a rickety ship, or going down in history as one of the greatest and revolutionary minds to ever have lived. And just think - they didn't even have Xanax then - shudder.

Best anxiety quote: 'Fear is often preceded by astonishment, and is so far akin to it, that both lead to the senses of sight and hearing being instantly aroused. In both cases the eyes and mouth are widely opened, and the eyebrows raised. The frightened man at first stands like a statue motionless and breathless, or crouches down as if instinctively to escape observation. The heart beats quickly and violently, so that it palpitates or knocks against the ribs... That the skin is much affected under the sense of great fear, we see in the marvellous manner in which perspiration immediately exudes from it... The hairs also on the skin stand erect; and the superficial muscles shiver. In connection witih the disturbed action of the heart, the breathing is hurried. The salivary glands act imperfectly; the mouth becomes dry, and is often opened and shut...'

Further reading: 'On the Origin of Species'. Or just look at some monkeys.

You're feeling verrrrry sleeeeepy (you control freak)...

Wooooo, the scary hypnosis spiral...

Well, hello there loyal readers (love you, Mum). Thanks for popping by and entering the worrisome realm of the occasional teeth-grinders and fist-clenchers.

So what's been happening with you lately, Viv? I hear you ask. Well. There's a pretty ticklesome story there.

In a desperate bid to rid my mind of the anxiety demons once and for all, I've just started seeing a hypnotherapist (let's call him Hypno-Joe, which admittedly makes him sound a bit like a travelling circus-freak). I'd heard of someone who was agoraphobic for years, and was COMPLETELY cured by hypnotherapy, so decided to throw some more money at my neuroses and see what would happen.

For a man who treats people with extreme OCD, anxiety, agoraphobia, claustrophobia (and all the other exciting phobias), he has somewhat inexplicably decided to set up his consulting room on the top floor of a tall building - the only access to which is via the TINIEST, OLDEST ELEVATOR IN THE WORLD.  It's one of those ones that has a screechy cage door you have to pull closed after yourself, and all sorts of sinister, hand-made signs saying 'if this lift gets stuck, pull the red button out and press your floor again. If this doesn't work then pull this other lever etc etc '.

Uh, what do you mean 'if this doesn't work?' Why wouldn't it work? WTF? Is this Hypno-Joe's crazy idea of a JOKE?! Is it a test? Is he just some sort of sadistic bastard who wants to torment neurotic people? (Maybe he's a psychopath who is going to plant weird messages to burn things in my subconscious, or maybe he's a keen rapist with a fake certificate he made in Word on his wall...)

So after a *very* tense few minutes, I gingerly crawled out of the lift, choked down half a bottle of rescue-remedy and wiped my clammy palms down.

I'll have floor number 'sheer terror' please

Hypno-Joe was lovely (not a rapist), if a bit 'starey' (maybe that's part of the job description?) and he explained that we would need to chat for a few sessions before the really exciting stuff began.

He was fantastic actually - loads of really good insights, and funny to boot. When he asked if I might possibly, maybe, at certain points, might be a tiny-weeny bit of a control freak, I very patiently and calmly explained that it was actually QUITE a stressful job controlling the entire universe with my thoughts, and being CONSTANTLY VIGILANT and mentally preparing for all the infinite combinations of bad things that might happen, and that if that counted as being a control freak, then yes, perhaps I was. A little bit.

More about Hypno-Joe’s piercing insights and anxiety recommendations another day. (I need to do something to keep my poor, devoted mother reading, because if she stops following this blog, then where will I be?)

If I knew you were comin' I'd've baked a cake...

More lavender crack cake, vicar?

I think it was was Gandhi who said 'cake heals all wounds (apart from gangrenous and leprous ones)'.  Or was it Marcus Aurelius? Whoever it was, was a very clever man indeed, and definitely onto something.

I know some days are so full of anxiety monsters chomping at you that you can't think about chomping yourself, and your stomach feels like it's going to void itself all over your vintage velvet sofa. On those days the best thing to do is NOT FRET about the fact that you can't eat, and just sip at some smoothies or Complan or something. No harm will come to you, and your appetite will return. Honestly, the very worst thing you can do is start to freak out that you'll pass out and die (who moi? Catastrophise? Never!), or never be able to eat again (and slowly waste away and *then* die - you can see a recurring theme here if you look hard enough).

But on the days when you CAN eat, and you're just a wee bit maudlin, or blue, or depressed about your anxious mind, or just plain hungover - you need to march yourself down to your closest cafe, and EAT SOME CAKE and drink some spiffing British tea from the colonies. Preferably with a nice, left-wing, similarly prematurely-aged friend, but this is also a lovely solo pursuit too.

Yesterday I had a 'Lavender Victoria Sponge' (see pic above. I thought consuming a cake's-worth of lavender might be just as good as sniffing it), and I promptly fell into the peaceful, post-orgasmic, post-saturated fat happy state I like to call 'cake bliss'. My boyfriend loves cake bliss time, as this is when my most ardent declarations of love come, and when I am least likely to veto any plans he wants to run by me (but there's no mistaking the fear in his eyes - he knows he's living on borrowed time, and that cake bliss wears off just as surely as a bellyful of MDMA).

Take-home message: marzipan is medicine *or* don't cry - have some pecan pie.

We're gonna spit in the face of these badlands...

'You wake up in the night with a fear so real...'

As a special weekend treat, I am going to reveal two exciting and seemingly contradictory facts about myself, and they are going to blow your mind. Oh yes.

1) I am 27 years old. 

2)I love Bruce Springsteen.

People who don't like Bruce Springsteen are a) stupid (obviously) b) too lazy to listen to his shit properly c) trying way too hard to be cool.

I've spent quite a lot of my pub life trying to convert people to the Boss side, and I have mostly been successful. Even my boyfriend, who likes lame-ass hip-hop.

The reason I want you to spend some time with Bruce, is because his music is the most uplifting, kick-ass, HOPEFUL, beautiful, powerful, get-out-of-this-shitsville-and-find-something-better stuff in the world.

So when you're having a tough time, and you've been having ten panic attacks a day and you're wondering if it will ever end, and how, and when, I want you to watch this. Then I want you to go and buy his live boxset (1975-85) from your local music emporium, clench your fists, and get your Bruce on.

PS. I don't want to go all EMO on you, but you really need to listen to the lyrics.
PPS. Try to ignore the red-head on the guitar. That's the mistake Bruce made when he married someone who wasn't me. 

Anxiety hero trading cards #1

You are a lucky, lucky anxious person, because from now on, every week I will bring you some highly collectable anxiety hero trading cards. Here you will find some of the world's most brilliant and amazing neurotics and nail-biters, and you will begin to see (yes you will) what a wonderful bunch of creative, incredible and fan-freaking-tastic people we worriers are. 

                   
                                     # 1 Woody Allen

'Early in life I was visited by the bluebird of anxiety...'

Vital anxiety statistics: What isn't Woody anxious about? The godfather of neurotics, Woody's phobias reportedly include (but are not limited to) insects, sunshine, dogs, deer, bright colours, children (hmm, I know what you're thinking, but don't go there), heights, small rooms, crowds, cancer, and every place except Manhattan.

Career highlights: Manhattan, Annie Hall

Why he's an AWESOME anxiety hero: I hope I don't have to explain this to you.

What you can learn from him: Anxiety is FUNNY. Yes, panic attacks are one of the most horrendous experiences anyone can go through, but they are also pretty hilarious if you look at them properly. It is so easy to take yourself too seriously in this game, but finding all this stuff funny is one of the best things you can do for anxiety. Promise.

Best anxiety quote: 'I don't like to go into elevators. I don't go through tunnels. I like the drain in the shower to be in the corner and not in the middle.'

Further reading/viewing: Get stuck in with the films, and let yourself fall down the Woody-worry-wormhole. Perhaps also have a copy of his 'Essential Prose' on your bedside table too.