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!'

You're feeling verrry sleepy (you control freak) vol II

Another day, another trip to Hypno Joe's. Elevator conquered, I find myself back in his now familiar little chamber of weirdness. Big letters spell out RELAX on the wall (totally counter-productive, stuff like that - just so you know*) and the patient's chair is super uncomfortable (way to put us at ease, Joe!).


This time we're doing a combination of something with initials (EMDR?) and something else with initials (NLP). Hmmm - WTF? Essentially, this seems to involve tapping your face and saying reassuring things. Apparently it rid Joe of his hayfever (whaaaat? Is he insane?) and sounds like a massive load of old hogwash to me, and I'm disappointed in him for being so...weird. And gullible.


But I do it, because I will do ANYTHING even on the remote possibility it works. (And because I'm paying through the bloody nose for it.) And because a girl I once knew claimed that the tapping thing totally cured her of something or other. So lots of good, robust evidence-based reasons then.


So our conversation goes a little something like this...


'Relax, Viv, start tapping your forehead with two fingers, and repeat after me - I am a confident, strong woman'


'I am a confident, strong woman' (tapping, feeling VERY stupid)


'I don't need fear in my life any more' 


'I don't need fear in my life any more' (apparently we're moving all over our face with the tapping thing, so now we're on the nose)


'There is nothing to be afraid of'


'There is nothing to be afraid of' (chin)


'I am going to say goodbye to this fear, and hello to a new life'


I am going to say goodbye to this fear, and hello to a new life' (hands now)


'I am the hunter'


'I am the...whaaat?'


'I am the hunter'


I am the hunter?!' (incredulous, and now laughing in poor Joe's serious, tapping face. Is he for real? Is this really happening?)


'I am the hunter.'


'Uh, I am the...hunter..?' (faltering, tapping, laughing)


'I am not the prey'


 'I am not the prey' (now in hysterics, but also beginning to question the life choices that have led me to this moment) 


Things carry on is this vein for for another surreal ten minutes or so until eventually our time is up. I hand over the best part of a hundred quid, feeling suspiciously prey-like...


Has Joe just shot me with a metaphorical rifle and slung me over his metaphorical shoulder like a plump, metaphorical deer?


I will let time (or maybe you guys) decide...

* Oh rel-ax? Oh, wow, thanks. That simply hadn't occurred to me. IF I COULD RELAX, I WOULDN'T BE SAT HERE THROWING MY MONEY AT SOME FRANKLY, QUITE DUBIOUS AND NOT IN ANY WAY ENDORSED BY THE MEDICAL PROFESSION THERAPY, WOULD I?! Wow. Relax? Phew. Thanks.

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?)