I have never suffered from persistent depression. I know many people who have, and do, and struggle with it on a daily basis. I think my mental health is generally pretty good. But every now and then I have one of those down days where my head feels like it's full of marshmallows and cotton wool, my eyes struggle to stay open, there are tears lurking fully formed in my tear ducts and a permanent lump in my throat. Any small thing is likely to make me cry. The day seems too hard to do. Too hard to be.
On these days I would really like to find a smallish cubbyhole, climb in, close the door and shut the world out for the day.
It usually lasts only a day, so I know I'm lucky. And I've never been so down that I've been in danger of harming myself, or anyone else for that matter.
Today is one of those days.
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
13 February 2014
21 January 2013
Am I suffering from anxiety-anxiety?
In my last post I said that I've never really considered myself to be the anxious type, and at the time of writing, I did actually believe that to be true. However, I've been thinking about it quite a lot since posting and realised that actually, that's complete bollocks. I'm totally an anxious person, it's just that I don't get anxious about most of the things (I think) most people do.
Public speaking - love it. Exams - thrive on them. Spiders, bugs and creepy crawlies - not my best friends necessarily, but I'll happily scoop them up and put them outside. Heights - I LOVE being up high in trees, lighting rigs, roofs, ladders, climbing walls etc. Reading a roomful of almost-strangers a story about my vagina - no problem. (It probably wouldn't occur to most people to be nervous about that last one, but I'm pretty sure they would be if they were suddenly asked to do it!)
There are, however, a lot of things that do make me very anxious, which most people probably don't think twice about. These, then, are the things that make my hands clench, my heart beat erratically, my stomach drop, and a fizzy, needly sensation zing along all of my nerve endings:
Public speaking - love it. Exams - thrive on them. Spiders, bugs and creepy crawlies - not my best friends necessarily, but I'll happily scoop them up and put them outside. Heights - I LOVE being up high in trees, lighting rigs, roofs, ladders, climbing walls etc. Reading a roomful of almost-strangers a story about my vagina - no problem. (It probably wouldn't occur to most people to be nervous about that last one, but I'm pretty sure they would be if they were suddenly asked to do it!)
There are, however, a lot of things that do make me very anxious, which most people probably don't think twice about. These, then, are the things that make my hands clench, my heart beat erratically, my stomach drop, and a fizzy, needly sensation zing along all of my nerve endings:
- people who walk behind me, particularly in clippy cloppy shoes. I HAVE to either start jogging to get well in front of them, or stop and let them past me.
- taps that have been on for too long (in my opinion) or which are dripping.
- when the ads come on and no-one turns the volume down straight away.
- watching cringe 'comedy' on TV or in movies - I feel anxious and embarrassed for the character/actor and literally can't watch. I have never been able to watch "There's Something About Mary" right through for this reason.
- similarly, listening to someone give a speech which is too long, or not funny when they think it is, or just generally bad, even if I have absolutely no connection to that person.
- going somewhere or doing something that has been my suggestion, but it takes longer than I think other people think it should, or isn't as good as I think other people think it will be. It doesn't matter whether other people are actually thinking that, and usually I'm not worried personally about the time and/or crapness, its just that I feel responsible for other people's disappointment.
- thinking that I have done something bad or wrong (as in, sent an 'email that could be misinterpreted', not like 'killed someone') or that someone else will think that something I had done was bad or wrong. This happened at work just before Xmas, and I sent an email to my boss 'fessing up. When I didn't hear back I assumed she was so cross she wasn't replying, and spent several days fretting. It turned out she hadn't replied because she wasn't in the least bit bothered!
My worst ever anxiety attack, which I think was a full-blown panic attack, happened not long after The Kid had been diagnosed with retinoblastoma, childhood eye cancer. She had to have her right eye removed, and although she now has an amazing prosthesis, for the three months after the operation she just had a 'pink eye' (the implant) with a clear plastic shield over it. I decided to give her a haircut, as she's always been pretty anti having her hair brushed so we keep it shortish, but ended up cutting it too short on one side, to just below her ear. I ended up shaping it round into an a-symmetrical bob which actually looked fine, but when I finished and looked at what I'd done, I burst into uncontrollable tears. The Kid was very confused and I was trying to keep calm for her sake, but I was convinced that I had somehow ruined her life and mine, and that The Husband was going to divorce me on the spot the instant he came home. I was finding it hard to breath at one point, and when he did arrive home I think I terrified him by rushing out with The Kid and sobbing "Please don't be cross with me, I didn't mean to!"
He was understandably bewildered and thought something terrible had happened, and when I told him I was talking about The Kid's hair he was so relieved that it jolted me out of my panic and made me realise it was not such a big deal. I guess my stress was understandable, given the circumstances, but I've also been much more careful when cutting her hair ever since!
I'm not sure if I actually suffer from some sort of general anxiety disorder, or if I'm just a bit of a freak, but the good thing is that in recent years I've recognised the situations that stress me out, and have learned to deal with them. So do I consider myself the anxious type? I guess, if asked, I'd still say no. What do you think makes someone the 'anxious type'?
14 January 2013
Zen and the art of dirt road driving
I've never really considered myself the anxious type, although since giving birth to my daughter four-and-a-half years ago, I've certainly noticed my anxiety levels increase. Someone said that motherhood is like taking your heart out of your chest and letting it run around on its own, and I can relate to that. My daughter had a serious illness just after she turned three, and that, again, increases the anxiety quotient.
So anyway, I was driving home from work yesterday when it suddenly came into my head that my husband and daughter (and my brother-in-law who is staying with us) could have been in a car accident and all died. This happens on occasion (me getting thoughts that people have died that is, not people actually dying, although I guess that happens too) and so far I've always been wrong. Nevertheless, my heart sped up and my mind started racing through all the possible scenarios, and I knew I would have no peace of mind until I got home. I have a 45-minute commute, so I have plenty of time to mull, and by the time I was about 10 minutes from home, I had actually begun writing eulogies in my head. Yes, this is what my mind does.
Three kilometres from home I rounded a corner to see a fireman standing on the side of the road, waving people to slow down, and round the next corner was a road block with an ambulance, and police officer diverting traffic off the main road. Now, you might think at this point that I would have had a meltdown/nervous fit/etc, but instead I went completely calm. It was almost as if the world went silent and stopped. I followed the line of cars turning onto the small side road, pulled over into a bay when I could, and phoned home. Thankfully, husband answered, and everyone was ok. I've never been so happy to be wrong!
I pulled back onto the road, and, potential crisis number one over, now realised there was potential crisis number two. The place we live is on the coast, and there's really only one way in and out. So, the diversion we were being sent on was significant.
The black line is the normal route - about 3 kms. The red line is the diversion - about 22kms of windy, dusty, dirt road (what we call 'metal roads' in New Zealand).
I've only had my car for three weeks, so I'm not yet totally familiar with how it handles, and, more importantly, how much petrol it has when the needle is on empty. Which it was. Yikes. I figured I'd go for it - the warning light hadn't come on yet so I was (almost) sure I would make it and it would add another 15 minutes onto an already extended journey if I were to go back to the last petrol stop. "Sure" is relative though, and the further we got along the road into the wilderness, the less sure I felt. I turned off the aircon to save a bit of fuel, but it was hot and muggy so I put the windows down a bit instead. With the dry weather we've had, and the unaccustomed heavy traffic on the dirt roads, the air both inside and outside of my car was soon thick with dust. I was trying to use my windscreen wash sparingly too, as I wasn't sure how much of that I had left either, but the early evening light streaming through the dust clouds formed practically opaque walls along and across the road and I could barely see a thing.
It felt a bit like "The Hunger Games" for a while as cars began falling by the wayside - overheated engines, shredded tires, cars just not coping with the conditions. There were very few places to pull off the road, so I was keeping everything crossed that my car wouldn't suddenly shudder to a halt. The petrol light hadn't even come on yet, but as I had never seen it come on I started to wonder whether the light actually worked at all. The further we got, the more the traffic increased in both directions, and these roads are really only wide enough for one.
After what seemed like an hour at least, we came to a road sign - 10kms to go. My petrol light still hadn't come on, and I calmed down a little, almost certain that if the light did come on, I would surely make it 10kms. That was possibly the longest 10kms I've ever driven, and the relief I felt when we emerged onto tarsealed road, at the top of a hill I recognised was definitely palpable. We limped back into civilisation, a rag-tag line of brown-coated beetles. I felt a sense of collegiality with my fellow survivors and was almost sad when we started peeling away to our different destinations.
My heart ached a little for those cars just embarking on their dusty journey, but the crash was severe enough that the road was closed for several hours and I imagine many people had no choice.
I arrived home forty minutes later than usual, hot, dusty and heart sore with imagined tragedies. A cold glass of crisp white wine has never tasted so good.
So anyway, I was driving home from work yesterday when it suddenly came into my head that my husband and daughter (and my brother-in-law who is staying with us) could have been in a car accident and all died. This happens on occasion (me getting thoughts that people have died that is, not people actually dying, although I guess that happens too) and so far I've always been wrong. Nevertheless, my heart sped up and my mind started racing through all the possible scenarios, and I knew I would have no peace of mind until I got home. I have a 45-minute commute, so I have plenty of time to mull, and by the time I was about 10 minutes from home, I had actually begun writing eulogies in my head. Yes, this is what my mind does.
Three kilometres from home I rounded a corner to see a fireman standing on the side of the road, waving people to slow down, and round the next corner was a road block with an ambulance, and police officer diverting traffic off the main road. Now, you might think at this point that I would have had a meltdown/nervous fit/etc, but instead I went completely calm. It was almost as if the world went silent and stopped. I followed the line of cars turning onto the small side road, pulled over into a bay when I could, and phoned home. Thankfully, husband answered, and everyone was ok. I've never been so happy to be wrong!
I pulled back onto the road, and, potential crisis number one over, now realised there was potential crisis number two. The place we live is on the coast, and there's really only one way in and out. So, the diversion we were being sent on was significant.
The black line is the normal route - about 3 kms. The red line is the diversion - about 22kms of windy, dusty, dirt road (what we call 'metal roads' in New Zealand).
I've only had my car for three weeks, so I'm not yet totally familiar with how it handles, and, more importantly, how much petrol it has when the needle is on empty. Which it was. Yikes. I figured I'd go for it - the warning light hadn't come on yet so I was (almost) sure I would make it and it would add another 15 minutes onto an already extended journey if I were to go back to the last petrol stop. "Sure" is relative though, and the further we got along the road into the wilderness, the less sure I felt. I turned off the aircon to save a bit of fuel, but it was hot and muggy so I put the windows down a bit instead. With the dry weather we've had, and the unaccustomed heavy traffic on the dirt roads, the air both inside and outside of my car was soon thick with dust. I was trying to use my windscreen wash sparingly too, as I wasn't sure how much of that I had left either, but the early evening light streaming through the dust clouds formed practically opaque walls along and across the road and I could barely see a thing.
It felt a bit like "The Hunger Games" for a while as cars began falling by the wayside - overheated engines, shredded tires, cars just not coping with the conditions. There were very few places to pull off the road, so I was keeping everything crossed that my car wouldn't suddenly shudder to a halt. The petrol light hadn't even come on yet, but as I had never seen it come on I started to wonder whether the light actually worked at all. The further we got, the more the traffic increased in both directions, and these roads are really only wide enough for one.
After what seemed like an hour at least, we came to a road sign - 10kms to go. My petrol light still hadn't come on, and I calmed down a little, almost certain that if the light did come on, I would surely make it 10kms. That was possibly the longest 10kms I've ever driven, and the relief I felt when we emerged onto tarsealed road, at the top of a hill I recognised was definitely palpable. We limped back into civilisation, a rag-tag line of brown-coated beetles. I felt a sense of collegiality with my fellow survivors and was almost sad when we started peeling away to our different destinations.
My heart ached a little for those cars just embarking on their dusty journey, but the crash was severe enough that the road was closed for several hours and I imagine many people had no choice.
I arrived home forty minutes later than usual, hot, dusty and heart sore with imagined tragedies. A cold glass of crisp white wine has never tasted so good.
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