238857

Sometimes I question my sanity and at other times I question my common sense. Last night there was a beautiful half moon near dark. Well beautiful to the naked eye anyway. For all I love my camera the zoom is not great and the moon was tiny through it. So I thought I would get closer to it by walking up the top of my street to get a clearer photograph. At first I was bemused as to why it was no clearer. Possibly it was because although I had walked about 0.2 miles the moon was still 238,857 miles away. ;)

The Keys

Days, at times, now differ as I try to move out of my comfort zone. Variety brings new challenges. Some good, some bad and some bizarre. Today was one of the strangest. I had my camera in my pocket and pondered for a moment whether I should crouch down to take a photograph of the scene I had found myself in but I didn't. More pressing matters took precedence. I was standing in the middle of a busy roundabout surrounded by streams of cars moving on and off at speed. All the while I was spinning this way and that looking for an opening in the traffic which just was not coming. You see my keys were on the road and I desperately needed them. They were in sight but out of reach.

Normally I'm pretty edgy anyway but here I felt like I was suffocating and my legs were shaking. If I did not get my keys back I could not get back into the house and if I could not get back into the house I would go insane. What didn't help either was that this particular panto was being played out in the full glare of many bemused motorists who must have been worried what I was going to do. It was these kind of thoughts that were plaguing me and fuelling the fear as soon as I realised the ramifications of not having my house keys. All the while my wife was in the car park with the kids. She became impatient and joined me in the middle of the road as we both looked to play chicken with the speeding traffic. Later she told me she was shaking too so not that daft a reaction after all. It was she though who a driver saw and flashed her to get on the road for the keys. Scary stuff but relief in the end. And I might add something that we had a right good laugh about afterwards which released pent up tension.

Earlier my wife had to go to Focus to get some plants and I decided I would go with her. The good thing was that should I have felt the need it was walkable back home. So we drove down, went in, browsed about and came back out with the two kids. It was good. Quite a bit of anxiety and it didn't help for the most part that I was carrying the boy but at times enjoyable. At one point I lost myself in the garden attempting to snap a bee but came back with about 20 out of focus photos- fun trying though. And the good thing about that was that I was so involved in it I was unaware whether there was anyone else around me.

When we came out we put the kids in the car. While I put the boy in I left my car keys, which also has my house keys, on the roof. As I was adjusting the boy's seat I heard my wife clamber over and take the keys off the roof before getting in and starting the engine. So we were then off home. Going around the roundabout my wife heard a noise and I said it was probably just the plants moving around in the boot. Then when we got home I discovered that my wife was in fact using the other set of car keys and had not taken the keys off the roof as I thought. For once we shared the panic as we dashed back in the car and tried to locate the missing keys. And there they were on the road at the roundabout where countless vehicles were running over them.

A bit of an unusual day but a welcome break from the monotony. It has given me the appetite to get out somewhere tomorrow again during the day. More so since the dual carriageway will be closed this week again so day time seems as good as any for a drive.

On the trail

I was there and yet not there. Seeing something for so long and finally in that moment can do that. Waiting for so long with little hope to find yourself arrived has an unreal feeling to it. In fact I'd gone beyond what I'd hoped for. In a small woodland where lies a beautiful nature trail I stood at a tiny bridge watching the stream rush. The noise was astounding. The water echoed within the close confines of the tree. But for the whether I could have been on another continent rather than just over a mile from home. My only regret is that I forgot to put my hand in the water. Alone with no one to bother me and at one some what with nature in its sights and sounds all I had to do was put my hand in the crystal clear cold. Never mind I will do it next time.

I'd actually come for the above, that is down to the David Livingstone centre. The brilliant bronze monument to the explorer was what I wanted to photograph and finally today I managed it. I went in the car for the first time down there during the day fighting anxiety all the way with my wife driving and my son in the back with the daughters at school and nursery. I fought the urge to turn back as we sat in the car park, fought the urge to run back to the car when we were out and finally all seemed tranquil as I relaxed. I had my snap in the bag but we ventured further through droplets of rain.

Now that the boy can walk we allowed him to take the lead as my wife and I walked down to the Globe Fountain. It would be beautiful if the water did not look like a sewer- possibly something to do with cutbacks after the recent threat of closure. Unfortunately also the fountain was not on which was a pity but again probably cost cutting. Nice all the same.

Then I went a-wandering along the nature trail on my own my my wife looked after the boy, as described above. It was so peaceful I could have stayed there for longer and hopefully some time in the future will. A couple of momentary dizzy moments apart I had no anxiety and felt very relaxed. My wife also enjoyed it and the boy made his feelings known with a constant volley of happy shouting. Afterwards we drove to the nursery and picked up my daughter which topped off a perfect afternoon. Not one of the better days, the best day in a long while. I'm tired now but also content. Below are a couple of more photos from the nature trail which I hope to find out more about on a second visit and venture further in too as I only skimmed the top.

Restless solitude

For the immediate future there is no peace to be found, that is my conclusion. So I can either stress about it or accept it. Whatever I do its not going to change so I'm laying down my arms. I can't remember if there was a time when I was truly at peace. Maybe that in itself is an illusion that keeps me fretting, a perversity in my nature. Continually I am chasing rainbows which is futile and tiring. But that is not to say I am giving up. On the contrary I am still going to keep pushing forward but while I do I also have to develop a different mindset to my current habitually negativity mind machine. I have to carve in stone the understanding that this dark place I live is in a large part my own creation.

Over the course of however long I have struggled with the reverberations of my nerves being rapidly twanged like the strings on a Flamenco guitar and I have built alternative realities. Scenarios have been created which are false. Situations have arisen which cause fear when in fact they are all part of the bigger whole. Contemplating this week I have realised just how ridiculous this is. For the best part of this week I am alone at home and that is a scenario which causes my anxiety to rise as I become restless in solitude. On Friday I will become the stressful father as my family return home and my wife goes for a night out leaving me with the children. Two scenarios which in my head are going to cause me to become anxious but both are of my own making. I am anxious anyway and these are just structures to run away from.

The truth is I am always anxious. There is no situation where I am calm and relaxed. This is what I have to come to terms with. This is what I have to make my understanding without clouding it with terrifying visions of the yet to happen. The only purpose served by creating fearful scenarios is the cementing of apprehension. Wherever I am on the inside I am the same and it is only the external which changes. It is my fear of that change which disrupts the inside as I buy into my own self made horrors. It makes me wonder that if I were blind would I be anxious? If not then surely I must be the one perpetuating this myth of an attack.

I am an anxious person from waking until sleep. This is who I am. That is the truth I must learn to live with and stop myself falling into the trap that it is a variety of different situations I am forced into that is making me this way. Possibly only then will I find the peace I was searching for and also discover that it is not what I was seeking at all but something very different that only transpires through that much used word 'acceptance'. While my thoughts whizz like a humming top through every moment of consciousness it is difficult to hold on to those moments of clarity so I must keep reminding myself of it until it becomes habitual and the walls of this judgemental prison that have kept me imprisoned for so long are eroded.

Down to the bridge

Firstly I would like to apologise for the quality of the images in this post. Not what I hoped for but I will explain why later. They are so different from the ones I had in my mind. Well to be honest I had only one photograph in my mind. It has been building for a while now as I have been doing my drives. At night I always go under Bothwell Bridge. Or more precisely I go under the new bridge and can see the old historic bridge as I pass back and forth. The later at night I have driven the more often I have seen the bridge lit up in its splendour but with no way of getting to it- I cannot just stop the car on the dual carriageway. The bridge is not always lit and its not always the same when it is lit. Sometimes its blue underneath, red on top, white, partly green or a combination. In my head I have had an image taken close up in the dark which would provide a beautiful sight. In my head is where that will stay.

By road the bridge is 1.1 miles away roughly. That is a round trip of over 2 miles which is way out of my league. As yet I have to reach a 1 mile walk so walking was out of the question. I've spent hours looking over this map for places to park the car so I could walk to it but cannot find any. It is a shame that this is the case. Finally though last night I got the urge again. Having looked over the map yet again I decided that if I drove from my house, point A, to the slip road on the dual carriageway, B, I could then walk to a point where I would be able to take a photograph of the bridge, point C. I would have to do this in the dark to get the best effect, I thought, which wasn't a problem, or so I thought. Then measuring it up I found the walk itself would take a mile which is longer than I had walked before and on top of a drive that would already make me anxious it would appear an unlikely venture. But I had the urge so thought to myself I would at least make an attempt to see how far I could get.

Recently I have been reading of a few people feeling exhaustion. I know this feeling as I've had it before too but it is easy to make light of it when it is gone. Yesterday for some strange reason around mid-afternoon I was hit with a wave and struggling to keep my eyes open. In that agitated state where the mind is too awake with thoughts running like the Large Hadron Collider and the lifeless body just wanting to sleep it made for a long day. The last thing I wanted to do was go out but for some unknown reason I was also feeling compelled to. This was the first time I felt this way where I wanted nothing more than to stay indoors but at the same time had an overwhelming urge to go out and push myself. I guess that image in my head of the perfect photo was the major factor as I do get quite obsessive thoughts when I want to do something to the point that I have to do it to get some peace.

I got out in the car and drove up the dual carriageway taking the first slip road back off again. I've only been back driving 5 days and although its getting easier I am still very anxious in the car. Not knowing what to expect I found myself in an unlit little area where I parked the car. You can just about make it out in the photo above. Ironically the only thing that was clear was the one thing I had to smudge- the number plate. It was that dark- though my camera problems will become apparent later. The thought of leaving the car here did not temper the anxiety much as images of coming back to a smashed up car or it not being there filled my head. I had no time to think though. The more thinking I did the more likely I was to jump back in the car and head home so off I went walking into the unknown.

Looking at the map it all looked so simple. It was a straight path down to the bridge and depending on the layout I may not even have to go all the way down to get a photograph, I had thought. In reality it was a different prospect altogether. A narrow solitary path who's end disappeared from view. It was well lit though but if some nutter popped out behind me I was cut off or if there were some alcoholics or other problem people ahead I was in real trouble. I hadn't thought about that looking at the map. Even in day time this would be a bit worrying alone but at night it was more menacing. The further I got from the car the more I wanted to head back.



It seemed this path was never ending. The further I went the more trees enclosed and the lights disappeared. At some point the wall at my side vanished. It got more and more narrow and claustrophobic. What the hell was I doing this for? On hindsight it was stupidity. Even if I had no anxiety problems at all is this the kind of lonesome night journey a sane person would enjoy doing? Of course not. My wife later would get very angry at home because I had put myself in a potentially dangerous position without even telling her where I was going. As time passed she worried more and had no way of contacting me as I hadn't charged my phone. My folly was realised when I started to run out of breath and the path began to decline. I knew it was time to head back. But of course I didn't and instead pushed on. There should have been something liberating in that moment but there was not. It was more a growing regret that an obsession could keep pushing me deeper into my panic.

Everything was getting darker and I noticed my steps were all over the place as if I was staggering and swaying like a drunk. It was all a little disorientating as the horizon was gone and my fears pushed me in all directions. The anxiety was turning to panic and I had to fight it constantly. In almost complete black I could hear water running to my left. Very faintly I could make out the river. I must be close. There were some paths leading into the void but that was out of the question. Still I could not see the illuminated bridge so I had to push on. I did though see the new bridge. Amid the growing turmoil in my head I wondered how near it was to the old bridge forgetting completely that it is attached to it. It is impossible to think straight in such a state.



Finally I go the spot and here is where it all fell apart. I thought my planning had been meticulous but it had not up to this point and completely went to pot at that moment. The bridge itself, disappointingly, was not illuminated. It had a little bit of green light on it but nothing like the splendour I had previously seen, if you squint enough you might just see it in the image above. Regardless though I was taking a photo. I took a few and they were all terrible. It suddenly hit me that I had not set up the camera. God only knows what setting it was on. It has settings for night and even fireworks but I had left it on portrait or something like that. It was at the point where I tried to find the right setting that panic struck me. Not only were my arms and hands shaking, which I had been fighting against, but my neck started to shake which is the sure sign of a biggy. My futile attempts to find the right setting ended abruptly as I realised I now had to flee- as quickly as someone who cannot run can. The dial with all its letters signifying something was meaningless anyway now and the buttons made no more sense.

It was, I have to say, horrendous. I was scared out of my whits and shaking so much that I could hardly control myself as I tried to escape as fast as I could. Everything was too close and my sight was blurry. As the chest started to tighten each protracted inhale and exhale began to hurt and felt like there was nothing but a vacuum within. My mouth dried first and then the throat followed. All I could think of was water and some semblance of an end to this path. At one point I thought I would have to stop as I could hardly breathe and my heart was banging- which is very unusual for me. But how could I sit or lie down in this dark place not knowing what or who was around. So I had to go beyond myself and push further until eventually I got back to the car.


And I did get there but it is not something I will ever do again. As I turned the corner shock filled me as I saw an empty lane with no car in it. A couple of seconds later I realised there was another little lane beside it in the dark where I had actually parked. That little fright was the last as I climbed back into the car panting, soaked in sweat and still very shaky to drive home. Such a wasted opportunity. OK it is maybe courageous but the larger percentage was stupidity. There are no long term benefits to be had from this apart from hopefully a lesson in how not to do things. The poor quality of the photos pains the most though. That could have been avoided and was the easiest part of the night. Instead of worthwhile reminders I am left with a poor interpretation of the night's adventure.

Down to the river

One thing my driving has done is make me look more at the area around me. It has made me look for places I can maybe get to. In my mind what was once a drawer full of a multitude of single scraps of places this process has begun to stitch them together into a map that I am starting to see clearly. The world outside as a result doesn't seem as daunting.

About a month or so ago I was thinking about what I would like to experience most locally. There is not a lot to choose from if I'm honest. Then when I looked at the map one thought came strongest of all. It may sound silly to some but that thought was of a river. When was the last time I saw any body of water? At least three years but probably more. It began to play on me. The serenity of watching the water flow- always flowing. The tranquil sound of it gently passing. To touch the cold water and let it trickle through my fingers. Yes down to the river is where I wanted to go but alas it is out of my reach.

Believe it or not it was only in my first week of driving again, 17 June, I saw water again after over 3 years absence. Even in my good spell 18 months ago I was driving during the day but never out of town and never anywhere where I would see the river. Passing over the river Clyde last month I glimpsed it. I have seen it many times since but for me it doesn't really count as it is a short distracted moment from afar in a car. What I want is to be up close to it. Lingering there. To see it near, hear it and touch it.

For most the great stretch of water would be close enough to walk to from my house. For me though it is not. At first viewing on the map I was full of heart. It appears to show a road all the way up close to the river. I asked my wife about it she told me she's never been down there so didn't know if it was a through road. So off I hopped in the car one night drove down by the council building to be met with the road ending abruptly. Where the road stopped a path started which is shown in the top photograph. Not good as it is a 'keep clear' area so I couldn't park the car there.

For me there was no way of walking down there. The best I had achieved walking so far was walking around the council buildings and I had done that only once as physically it was a struggle. Last night I walked down there again soaked in the pouring rain. When I got to the end of the road anxiety was so high that I wanted nothing more than to turn back. But I didn't. The torrential rain also made the area people free and I had a strong pull of curiosity to see what was beyond the path. So with jelly legs and struggling to regulate my breathing I walked on knowing that every shaky step was one more away from the home. I cannot emphasise enough what that means to the anxious brain. When you are already struggling to move the last thing you want to be doing is moving further away from home.

An underpass leading under the railway line. I actually forgot it was the railway line in my confusion until shortly afterwards a train roared over at full tilt. At least now I knew what was here. A woodland path tailed off to the left into somewhere like a jungle labyrinth. Quite inviting in the wet but I had other plans. I had to see what was on the other side now that I was here. If only I could click my fingers to get back home but I was already too far so went on into the darkness.

To say the least I was disappointed. Two paths led off to the right into more woodland and for as far as I could see as I walked further and further forward were trees and more greenery. No sign of the river yet it was there on the map.

The last path sank my heart. Already I'd pushed myself further than I should have and was feeling it. Before me lay a way to get down to the water but I was already well spent and contemplating how I was going to make it home. Regret was what I turned to now. What seemed like a good idea has now left me exhausted and breathless with anxiety far from home.

Before I headed home though I moved forward again to the very edge of where I was and through the trees finally glimpsed the river. I had done it. Not as close as I wanted but I had at least done it. The easy part was over and for a moment it felt worth it.

Strange that as well as anxious I felt so paranoid. There was no one about that I could see but I had to force myself to take photographs and take them quickly as I didn't want to look like a loon. Then it was all over. Then it sunk in where I was and how far from home I was. My limbs now lead and the journey home all on an incline. It would take gritted teeth and head down with force of will to get back to the house. This I did but as most will know that is not where it ends.

The after effects lasted throughout the night and today on my walks I have felt tired and like I am in some sort of weird dream. With my curiosity satisfied and the momentary bliss of achievement passed I don't know when I will get back down there again. I hope soon. As always I am left frustrated that doing it once does not make returning any easier next time- in some ways harder because the initial push is no longer there. Was it worth it? At the moment I am not sure but maybe when the exhaustion passes, and it will, I will be able to feel a bit of pride looking at the photographs again.

Facing the sun

If you are scared of your own shadow then face the sun...


No, not a philosophical quote. In fact I don't think I can attribute it to anyone. Maybe it has been said before or maybe not. The truth is I don't know. If it has then it was probably constructed better. Its a thought. A plagiaristic thought welded together with some past experiences which make it relative to me and my anxiety- or the agoraphobic part at least.

I was reading about Bucephalus, Alexander the Great's horse. Legend tells that Alexander's father was presented a horse which could not be tamed and a young Alexander asked to ride it. With his father's consent that is what he did. The young boy had noted that the horse was unsettled by the sight of it's own shadow and so led it into the sun.

"...What looked like a big white hole in my photos was the low evening sun. It really was blinding. Maybe it helped not being able to see properly as I walked way further than normal..."


I noted that when I was out walking one day and walked further than I had normally done. That struck some sort of chord with what I read about Alexander and his horse. Maybe there was more to it than that. Was it because I could not see clearly in front of me or because I could not see my own shadow? My conclusion to that question is that it was a bit of both metaphorically speaking.

My agoraphobia can best be described as not a fear of what lies ahead but what lies behind. The sun is where I want to go and where I have come from I cast my shadow. I hope that makes sense. For example when I walk beyond my safe zone (that term is worth another post on its own) I do not fear where I am going but how I am going to get back. That is what builds the anxiety. If I tie that back to my driving then my inability to see a way back is what brings on panic not where I am driving too. That fear can occur when getting lost or getting stuck. When I have to think about the way back the panic starts to rise. In other words when I have to look at my own shadow I get afraid. But while I am facing the sun I am OK.

So I guess what I am trying to say in a roundabout way is the key to me filing away at these big stone walls that keep me penned in is to try to concentrate more on where I want to go and less on how I return. Easier said than done I can tell you. By making a conscious effort not to think a thought you invariably think it. That though is not the point. The point is to concentrate more on where I want to go and less on looking back.

Rex Nemoerensis

Coward

At 6 a.m. on 18 October 1916, at Carnoy on the Western Front, Private Harry Farr of the West Yorkshire Regiment was shot dead by a British firing squad. A volunteer with six years service, not a conscript, he had twice been withdrawn from the front line suffering from shell-shock. On the third occasion he had been refused treatment at a medical station, since he had no wounds, and, after resisting the Sergeant escorting him to the trenches, was arrested. He repeatedly said, 'I cannot stand it'. At the court martial, the general commanding XIV Corps said that the charge of cowardice seemed 'clearly proven'. This was confirmed by Commander-in-Chief Douglas Haig.

In due course Farr's widow, Gertrude, received a letter from the War Office: 'Dear Madam, We regret to inform you that your husband has died. He was sentenced for cowardice and was shot at dawn on 16 October'. She received neither a war widow's pension nor an allowance for her daughter. But she did receive a message via her local vicar, from the regimental chaplain: 'Tell his wife that he was no coward. A finer soldier never lived.' She lived to be 99 and to read the papers of the court martial, which were not released by Britain's Public Record Office until 1922.

Private Farr was one of 3,080 British soldiers sentenced to death by court martial in 1914-18, mainly for desertion, and one in 307 who were not reprieved. In rejecting the plea of mercy in a similar case, Douglas Haig minuted: 'How can we ever win if this plea is allowed?'

In the Second World Was, some 100,000 British soldiers deserted, but none were shot. Recaptured deserters from the Red Army or from the Wehrmacht were not so lucky.

A while back I read a fantastic book Europe: A History by Norman Davies. In 1200 pages it concisely covers the history of Europe brilliantly with a whole host of subjects including religion, politics, health, music, art, writing, numerology, spirituality, horticulture and fashion to name but a few. Included within are an array of well over 100 capsules which in themselves make for interesting reading and like the book itself cover a wide variety of subjects.

Today I was looking through some of these capsules again as they are a short read but very interesting. I've transcribed one of them above- a very poignantly sad tale about misunderstanding and trauma. Following is another I find interesting too so thought I would post it. A bit of a diversion from the the normal stuff posted here but I thought it would be nice to have a little break.

This capsule is actually rather big so I have only included part of it. It is about the legend that inspired Sir James George Frazer to set out on a quest of understanding. It sent him travelling all over the world collecting mythology and piecing the threads together which seemed to be constant in varying cultures despite being located far apart. He wrote about his findings in the rather large but hugely interesting The Golden Bough. This is the legend which got him thinking:

Aricia

A dozen miles to the south of Rome, in a crater amidst the Alban hills, lies Lake Nemi, the 'lake of the grove'. In imperial times, the nearby village of Nemi was called Aricia; and throughout the Roman era the woods beside the lake sheltered the sacred Arician Grove, home of Diana nemorensis, 'The Diana of the Grove'.

The Arician cult is known both from the writings of Strabo and from modern archaeology. In many ways, it was unremarkable. It involved the worship of the sacred oak, whose boughs were not to be broken, and a sanctuary of perpetual fire. Apart from Diana, it addressed two minor deities- Egeria, a water nymph, and Virbius, a fugitive from the wrath of Zeus. As shown by the surviving mounds of votive offerings, its main devotees were women who hoped to conceive. On the day of the annual summer festival the grove was lit up by a myriad of torches, and women all over Italy burned fires in gratitude.

In one respect, however, the cult was exceptional. The Chief Priest of Aricia, who bore the title of Rex Nemoerensis or 'King of the Grove', was obliged to win his position by slaying his predecessor. At one and the same time he was priest, murderer, and prospective murder victim. Stalking the grove with drawn sword, even at the dead of night, he awaited the hour when the next contestant would appear, break off a twig of the oak and challenge him to mortal combat.

There are so many other capsules I could have included but have held back so as not to completely bore the pants off everyone. I would though urge anyone who has an interest in reading about European history to have a look at this book. It is amazing how much has been crammed into the book beginning in ancient Greece up to the modern day and not a taxing read either. The variety and depth contained in short a short tome in comparison to other books on the subject is brilliant.

Driving Panic

After a long time of fearing driving I am back, tentatively, in the driving seat. Not going very far but its a start. In over two weeks of driving on Saturday I missed my first night. Determined that I would not miss a second night I went out on Sunday despite the discomfort- I had trouble turning my head for the pain in my neck. I drove down two short streets and then decided to do the dual carriageway run. Two weeks ago this was not even an option and has been that way for years since I became agoraphobic. I'm doing it now- even if it is a few minutes of panic and yelling like a mad man. Its a short run. Up the slip road, onto the carriageway, around a roundabout and back off the first slip road to go home. About a mile or so in total I think.

As I got on the slip road and joined the dual carriageway I was a little concerned to spot flashing lights and traffic cones on the other side of the road. On closer inspection a vehicle was moving along while men in the back were dropping the cones to section off one lane of the road. As the traffic was down to one lane it was building up quickly. My anxiety levels were rising at the sight of the building traffic. There was no way back so I would have to grit my teeth and go the route I had been doing with this added anxiety. That was bad enough but then it suddenly dawned on me that my slip road off may not be there, by that I mean accessible.

Approaching the roundabout I started to panic. The physical shaking started first.  I tried to remain calm and tell myself the slip road might still be open but it was no use. I shouted affirmations out loud but it had no effect. I could not stop my hands shaking and my body followed. As I struggled to calm my breathing I kept clawing away at my throat. What I knew in my head above all else was that I was trapped in a place I did not want to be with no escape route. After following around the roundabout I saw the sign I had been dreading telling me the slip road was closed. In total panic moving slowly nose to tail in one lane traffic I thought my head was going to explode. Pretty soon I was looking to the right where my house is and heading west away from it petrified. As I did so I was in new territory and on the road out to where I had my biggy panic attack 2.5 years ago.

I'd like to leave that scene as is for a moment to explain something. It is impossible to convey just how confused the mind becomes in panic. It freezes and just won't work as it should. I had vague memories of places I had been in the past but they were not stitched together in a mind map so my mind was making the wrong matches. On top of that I had also looked over this route countless times as it was going to be my next drive when I felt comfortable yet I could not recall it in my head. I'd looked at it at least 10 times that day alone getting it clear in my mind but in this panic I couldn't remember where to go or where I was. The confusion adds greatly to the panic and sense of being totally lost. In truth I was completely disoriented and entering a world I had feared to venture in for years.

Having not been able to take the slip road I headed away and finally to the next exit. Then a new fear gripped me. As I drove along the traffic vehicle, which was heading in the same direction as me but well ahead in the journey, was not in view. What if they blocked off the next exit too? Where the hell would I be heading next? That just intensified everything and brought thoughts of just ditching the car and running towards home- a journey I doubted I could make on foot. Thankfully though just as I was nearing the exit they came into view and I was past them as I left the dual carriageway before they had the chance to block it off. I have no idea whether they did block that exit off and don't want to ponder what would have happened thereafter had they done. Or had I taken to the road 5 minutes later than I did. But what I do know is I had one slip road after that and then no more and the road lead all the way to another town- the town where my agoraphobia began in one full blown panic attack.

Coming off the carriageway I approached a roundabout in two lanes. I stayed in the left lane because as I said above I thought I was somewhere else. I saw two road signs. Another town to the left and my town to the right. This wasn't logical in my head as I created my own logic. I was sure it was wrong. I turned left towards the nearest big town ignoring the right which was signposted to take me home. No sooner had I done so than I realised I was not where I thought I was. Quickly I turned off to make a decision at a recycling place or refuse dump or both. There was a layby where I could stop the car and try to gather my thoughts. I was sure I had been here before. Or had I? So bloody confused that I couldn't believe anything.

Sitting there I turned off the engine and tried to remember where the hell I was. All those maps in my mind and I couldn't recall the one I had looked at most. Then I cursed myself for not taking my phone. My wife would know where I was but I was shaking so much that I doubt I could have used the phone and my mind was so jammed that I doubt I could have explained my situation let alone take in advice. Then I thought about all those self help guides that say ride it out and it will recede. For 5 minutes I tried to stay with it but it did not recede. The alarm bells would not stop ringing and were telling me that I was lost, terrified and on the point of despair. And again all the while I was clawing my throat which was a bit of a mess by now and not helping my breathing.

I had to move. I didn't know where to but I had to keep moving as I was not going to get home by sitting still- I remember that urge before all those years ago. And it was obvious this panic was not going to go while I was lost. So off I went heading east believing I was going in the right direction. A welcome sign- but to the wrong town. And its a very big in comparison to where I stay and now I was going to get really lost. But for a moment I got excited and stopped. I knew this place or so I thought which I thought meant I had to head back the way. But then I realised that was not where I was. Confusion, confusion and more confusion. So there was only one thing for it and that was to head back the way I came and follow those road signs.

Here though is the irony. Had I drove 30 seconds more instead of turning back I would have recognised the place. It was a road I drove every day for over a year taking my daughter to the child minder. Not only that I had no idea that had I taken a left then very quickly I would have found I was where I had already been a few nights before. I had no idea I was so close to home. My mind had no room for rational thought as it was consumed by panic. And this panic was unbelievable by now. I was litterally struggling to control the car never mind my mind.

Driving back the way I came I followed the road signs for home this time. With a bit of brain work I would have realised that there was a turning back on to the dual carriageway and back home the way I had come shown here in with a green line. But I followed the road signs instead through places I did not know. I stopped at one point and thought about turning back again but then went on. All this time the panic was not subsiding contrary to popular mythology. Unknown to me I passed a right turn which I didn't recognise as being very close to where I had driven on my second night of driving again. This would have taken me home very quickly.

Instead I found myself at a set of traffic lights outside a pub I vaguely knew from the past. The funny thing is my wife and I had discussed this pub earlier that day because I was going to drive to there to take a photo but when I looked at it on the map I thought it was too far away. So that was another route I had looked at yet even here I was battling against the advice of the road signs and was determined to take a left rather than the advised right. Memory was telling me to do this but luckily I didn't. The reason I was going to go there earlier was for my one photo a day blog. Over the road from the pub is a memorial to a mining disaster in the town. And there I was sitting beside it with the camera in the car and not only did I not take the snap but I had forgotten it was there in my panic. Truth be told it was the last thing on my mind where it had been a prominant goal earlier in the day.

But from there I got home. The panic took a while after getting home to calm and has left its mark. Even days after I am still feeling on edge. That is inevitable. You cannot have an episode like this without it having some impact. The question is how big an impact which I will not be sure of for another week probably.

According to google maps the total journey should take around 25 minutes which is probably right. Given the slow moving traffic though and my few stops it was closer to 40 minutes of which at least 30 minutes were filled with panic- it was only supposed to be a 5 minute drive. My wife says at least I did it and the journey is something I should be proud of. She says I should remember that nothing bad happened (meaning I didn't die). I don't care. That is not the problem. The problem is that this is like a small trauma which at the time feels like a big trauma and it doesn't matter that you come out the other side because you know those intense negative emotions and sensations leave their scar for next time. In fact on paper it looks like you have gone forward but on the emotional front connected with driving I have gone back. That is the truth of it. There is no way you can panic for 30 minutes and not have some echo of that next time.

Last night I proudly got back on the dual carriageway and completed the run roadwork free. Now that made me feel better. But as I drove towards the school panic came again even though I was feeling more confident and happier than I had done when I set out. Before I got to the school I had to pull out. That is a worry. The last time this happened to me it took a week to disable me. Back then the next day I drove my daughter to nursery with panic and each day it got more intense until by the end of the week I was panicking before getting into the car and could drive no longer- it took over a year to get back in.

I hope that is not the case this time and I will still at least try every night but this week is going to be a big one for me in terms of driving and my overall anxiety state. Some may think it is a question of choice but it is not. I am trying. Staying with the panic didn't make it go away. Last night panic came at a time when I was at my most confident. There is just no reasoning with this thing. But it has made me understand one thing. The panic I have had at home and out walking is nowhere near the intensity to these episodes. Maybe that is one thing I can use to my advantage.

Gran

Another post about my gran following on from the last one and more specifically about her death. Her end lives with me as everyone can relate to when they lose someone they love. That last day in the hospital knowing it was the final goodbye and trying to overcome the agoraphobic urges which had kept me from seeing her for months of slow deterioration will forever live in my mind- have to note here that at the time I didn't know what my problems were and was scared because doctors couldn't tell me either. But there is more than that. There are stronger and more negative emotions still alive. There is a bitterness, anger and still after all this time a need bang my head off the wall over the day she was put to rest. It was a farce and far from befitting the great woman that she was.

Firstly I must paint a little picture. My parents moved from Glasgow to a new town in the early seventies. In the late seventies my dad's parents and his younger brother, who stayed with them, moved to the new town too. In the mid eighties my parents moved us all a few hundred yards to a house right across the road from my grandparents and uncle. It should have been good times.

Not long afterwards my granda was diagnosed with a brain tumour and though he fought tooth and nail beyond what the doctor proclaimed would be the end finally the fight was over. Someone took the decision to cremate him in Edinburgh and so we all traipsed through. I remember it well but what I remember most was wandering about the garden of remembrance locating his rose- how ironic. A decade later my uncle died and was cremated there too leaving just my gran in the house. I moved in to keep her company for a few years as she took it really badly. Not only because she was there when it happened but it was harder to see a child pass before you than a husband as you don't expect to outlive your children. Then another decade later it was my gran's turn to pass.

The day of my gran's cremation the cars arrived late and it was an ordeal getting through to the crematorium in time. When we got there a few of us needed the toilet after a long drawn out journey including me so we went and when we returned they were ready to start the service unhappy at having to wait on us. So we carried the coffin in from the car and sat down to the most cringe worthy service from a minister who had never met my gran followed by a hymn that nobody apart from the minister sang- to his credit. Then it was over. As we went outside I noted another hearse parked behind the one we arrived in with people in it. I planned to go to the garden of remembrance to pay my respects but was told I could not as we had to leave straight away. The car behind was the next load of cattle waiting to be herded in.

On the journey back I was fuming and still am. Where is the respect? These people charge enough but my gran's death was treated like an item on a factory conveyor belt. The whole point was to pay our respects and we never got to do that. And it was not the last time either. My wife's gran died and the cremation in Glasgow was almost as bad in that we were lined up as people came out and when we came out there were people waiting for the next service. What sort of remembrance is that for a life?

A red rose

Sometime between the ages of 7 and 9 years old I was in the living room of the family home seated on the sofa. In my lap was a book of drawing paper empty and waiting to be filled. By my side I had an assortment of about 10 different coloured felt tip pens. One was in my hand. Lacking inspiration I had surveyed the room for about 10 minutes before finally deciding on a single red rose in a vase on or near the TV. Thinking back it was possibly fake. I doodled away filling the page with vibrant colour and then finally bringing sharpness to the scene with the black pen. My little masterpiece. I remember it like it was yesterday. Then I pulled out the page and gave it to my gran who had brought both paper and pens as a gift on one of her many frequent visits. In the weeks to follow I would fill all the pages requiring more pens but for the life of me I cannot remember any other than that first drawing.

Both my grandparents and parents thought I was talented. They proclaimed I was very artistic and for years I bought into that. The truth is that I was good at copying. Left in an empty room I was starved. I needed to see with my own eyes as my mind never brought forth anything so vivid.

About 2-3 years ago I started a little pet project for the family. My gran had a lot of photographs which my parents kept after she died. It was my intention to scan them all and put them on DVD for everyone. Furthermore I would create additional playable DVDs setting the photographs to music. For 3 days after my parents dropped off the photographs to me I scanned them individually in what fast became a monotonous task. There were 4 black bin liners filled and even being selective I had a job on my hands. What pushed me on though was the fact that quite a few were fading and one day would be gone for ever were they not imprinted into the digital format.

Also among the photographs were a few things belonging to my gran and among them was a prayer book. Being the nosey sod that I am I opened it up and inside was a folded piece of paper. Without having to open it I could see what it was- a red rose. My gran had kept it all that time. It made me smile to know that she had it with her all her days. I'd imagine as a victim of cancer the prayer book was much looked at in the end and a red rose was always there maybe reminding her of better days. I put it back in the prayer book and there, to my knowledge, it remains.

Strange little girl

My youngest girl's siblings are outgoing and fearless. She is the same, as are most young children. But unlike the other two she is very sensitive- overly so. She is also brighter. In a few weeks times she will be 4 years old and some of the things she says astound us sometimes. There is also the incredible memory she has which maybe masquerades as intelligence. In her own way she is very different from her brother and sister. In fact those two are very alike.
Her memory as I said is quite unbelievable for her a child her age. She retains so much. For nearly two years she has been able to recite the alphabet and count to 20. This alone is not much but the capacity for remembering things is illustrated in other ways. About a year ago my wife took the kids to her mother's house for the weekend and when they came back she had a book which had been bought for her- about 10 pages with about 2 sentences per page. So I sat her on my knee and told her I would read the book to her. To my amazement every page I opened she read out word for word. Not obviously reading but from memory. When I asked my wife how many times the book had been read to her she said 3 or 4 times. She was approaching 3 years old at the time.

I've even found myself asking her for guidance. They watch 'Spongebob Squarepants' and we have 10 episodes which includes two per episodes. So when they want a particular one I have to ask her which one of the twenty it is and she tells me. Her older doesn't know despite watching it always with her. So many ways. She will sit in her own little world and recite 5-10 minute dialogues from 'Horrid Henry'. She will recite songs she has not sung for many months. There are so many examples I could give.

On the downside though she is super sensitive. Drying her hair and brushing her hair has her screaming the house down. Any little thing seems to bother her. When she was younger even washing her hair was damn near impossible at times. That though I put down to my wife's mum who is very much old school.She stayed there for a week and came back with this problem of having her hair washed. However well meaning I am sure when the suds got in her eyes her granny would not have been as sensitive as we are- maybe we are too sensitive. And so it took months of coaxing to finally get her at ease with getting her hair washed. We had to get a cap which stopped the water going into her eyes to begin with and then slowly remove that. The washing now is not a problem but the drying and the brushing still is- which happens a lot as my wife insists the children are bathed every single night. And in lots of other ways she is more sensitive than the other two.

As for intelligence over memory there is still a bit more of that in her. As an example I will give the kids TV program 'Captain Mack'. This irritating offering has some star captain who jets off to Sunshine city in one of his rockets. Every time he goes he takes a different coloured rocket- either yellow, blue or red. And on his journey there he flies over the sea where sometimes a whale jumps out of the water and sometimes not. The girls have turned this part into a game which ends up in one of them crying in defeat and the other sometimes trying to annoy the other to bring more tears. When he is about to launch the girls guess what colour of rocket he will take- mummy and daddy have to join in too. Then we all have to say whether it is going to be "whale" or "no whale". Randomly they would invariably get the colour of the rocket correct but every time it came to the whale she would always get it right much to her sister's annoyance. I had already worked out it worked on a system but had not mentioned it to the girls- sly old dad. So I was intrigued as to how she was getting it right every time so asked her. And it was exactly as I thought: if the rocket was red or blue there was a whale but if it was yellow there was no whale. Not rocket science but this was a year ago when she was two so quite a bit of logic and logic that her sister, twice her age at the time, never saw.

It got me to thinking. I read recently about Rupert Sheldrake's theory of Morphic Resonance. That is his thinking that there is a collective consciousness that similar species can tap into. In his view that fact that Blue Tits in Scotland found that by pecking through the silver foil on milk bottle tops they could get milk at around the same time as the same birds were doing it in England was down to this collective consciousness of a species. Similarly the claim that sheep in England were escaping from fields over cattle grids by doing a commando style roll at about the same time as sheep in Australia were doing the same thing was down to this morphic resonance. Now I had already worked out the system and then my youngest girl came to the same conclusion. In all cases was she tapping in to the knowledge via morphic resonance or was it just that she arrived at the same conclusion set with the same problem? That we will probably never know.

I would hope his theory is wrong and I'll tell you why. Were that the case then what else could she tap into? My anxiety of course. Is this why she is such a sensitive child? I see my own introspection in her when she sits in her own little world playing games, reciting scripted dialogue and having to be shouted at 4 or 5 times to snap out of it. I see it in her sensitivity to things- though in saying that her sister was howling the other day when she was calling her "Bum face" non stop so maybe sensitivity runs in the family. But she is very different and I hope the good outweighs any problems she may have in future. Certainly for now she is a very happy little girl who wants for nothing materialistic- unlike her sister. She is content in her own company as she is with others. The nursery tell us she is a very sociable little girl. And she has a boyfriend- that will be getting nipped in the bud when I am able to go to nursery!

All in all though she may just be a product of being a middle child who is sometimes overlooked. There may alternatively be no problems at all and she may just be average of mind but an oversensitive father is reading too much in to things. Ultimately though I wouldn't change her in any way. Sometimes she can be a strange little girl but that is not always a bad thing.

Conversations

Oldest Girl (to her mother): We need a helper at school. The teacher said so.
Wife: What type of helper?
Oldest Girl: A mummy or a daddy to help in school.
Wife: Well I can't honey because I work.
Oldest Girl: I know but can who can be my helper?
Me: It has to be someone who doesn't work. *Bites lip in realisation*
Oldest Girl: I know...daddy you don't work.
Me: Mmm...that's right.
Oldest Girl: But you don't leave the house, do you?
Me: Eh. No that's right.
*Long pause as I wait for the inevitable follow up*
Oldest Girl: Why don't you go out the house daddy?
Me: Eh...ah...well...I'm lazy.
Oldest Girl: *Laugh* You're silly daddy.
Me: *Smiles outside, cringes inside*

At some point I am going to have to explain this situation to my oldest daughter who is obviously picking up on it and starting to question it. Even her younger sister said the other day said "You don't go to the shops do you daddy?". It is impossible not to notice and I have no doubt in the oldest's case at least it may come up in conversation at school and make her ponder all the more. At six years old I am not sure she would understand but more than that I am not really sure how to explain it without lying. At some point though I am going to have to for her sake.

Some time ago I came to the conclusion that everything needs to be out in the open. I told my family and my wife told hers. A secret life was not reflecting well on my wife and me neither for that matter. By getting it all out in the open I hoped people would be more understanding and much to my surprise on the whole they were. To my face anyway because there is the occasional slip from my wife where she has obviously been told I'm a waste of space. Revealing all though did not have the long term desired effect I hoped for. The initial understanding was soon forgotten and now its as if I never said a thing. I get the feeling that there are a few people waiting for me to get a grip of myself and then everything will be OK. In this period of openness though I forgot the children. At the time they were too young to understand but as time passes they are becoming more in need of that knowledge to stop them getting confused. The last thing I want is my own kids tip toeing around me.

Summer ramblings

Apologies in advance for the aimless disorder to be found in the following post. It is a collection of thoughts over the past few days sitting out under the sun in the garden with nothing to occupy this little head of mine. Usually a couple of these inner beasts may form the basis for a post in its own right but giving my mind free reign for a few days has had it whizzing with an assortment from the sublime to the absurd too large in number. Now like I have rolled up to the local tip I tilt my head back and dump the useless and abandoned into the heap to make space. There is a lot to get out and as I don't want this post to be too long I will split it up in parts.

Why does an agoraphobic need a mobile phone? At Christmas I received one as a present on request and as I was sitting in the garden looking at it I posed this question to myself. I have never made a call on it and only sent one text to test that it works- in fact my wife has used it more when her own phone's battery is dead. The purpose I discovered was so I could take photos with it. So why not buy a camera then? I guess as a self conscious person I wanted to look less conspicuous and the irony is that as I posed this question I was about to snap the damn thing in two as lately it has become temperamental. As a camera it doesn't work that often which makes it really a phone I don't actually need.

After posing this question I looked along the grass to my left. There sitting on a door step 3 doors along was a guy taking in some sun and reading a book. Here starts the stupid irrational and obsessional thought process. What was he reading? That was the question in my head. If only I had followed it up with asking myself why it would matter but I did not. Instead I just kept asking myself the same question over and over until it got to the point where I was making a plan of attack. I could just ask him. I could try zooming in with the camera on my phone, if it worked, and check out the image later to see if I could glean a title from it. I could walk by innocently and try to snatch a glance. But what would it matter? If I did learn what he was reading it would mean nothing to me.

And that leads me to obsessional purchases. Still my camera has not come. In my head I see a van pulling up and a man getting out with a box for me to sign for. But no, not yet. Why though do I have such impatience for its arrival? When it arrives what am I going to do with it? I'll get it out and look at it. Take a photo of something irrelevant that will never get looked at again and most likely get deleted. Then I'll put it away. But it won't end there. More questions. Did I really need to spend that much on a camera. If I bought one at half the price I could have used the rest for my daughter's impending birthday and more. I have always been like this. I get a thought in my head to buy something, then obsess over it to the point where I have to buy it to get some peace and finally when it is in my hands I realise I didn't need it as bad as I thought with a feeling of deflation.

I can see these things in myself when I reflect but not at the time. Last night the boy started to walk his first steps. My joy was tempered by frustration. Mostly he would take a couple of steps and sit down. Lack of confidence more than inability. And annoyed I'd lift him up again telling him he could do it which of course he doesn't understand. The little soul would then have another go and sit down again. Why the frustration? I look at myself with my anxious problems and all that I have read lately on acceptance yet cannot see he is no different from me trying to walk while lacking the belief that it is possible.

More and more I relate things to my own anxiety problems as if I am searching for an answer that may be found where least expected. I see it in so many things but I suppose if you look hard enough and think long enough you can apply most things to another. I watched a documentary on Tourettes and one sufferer described their tic as like trying to suppress a sneeze. Yes I can see that. That is me trying to accept rather than fight. The satisfied urge is hard to stifle. Another documentary I watched was Armando Ianuuci's hour on Milton's 'Paradise Lost'. Even in there I was starting to draw parallels but one in particular has resonated even till now. John Milton was blind when he dictated his classic work which I did not know and to get inside his head a little Ianucci talked about blindness to a blind man. It was very poignant to hear him say that he awoke every morning to find that he was blind again. He explained this by saying that in blindness there are no faces and no places but there are in dreams so waking in the morning that realisation of blindness returns. I can relate to that. It takes some time in the morning for me to be reminded of that anxiety is holding me back and that returning daily knowledge is delivered in a dark cloud.

It has though been good to get out because this realisation in the morning that I an indeed a person trapped at home with anxiety cannot be lost for long in the little spells I leave the home. So although I am basically just down a staircase and sitting outside a door it is a big break for me because I spend too few moments outside. It is a change of scene and a break from the monotonous routine. Fresh air and sunshine are just some of the benefits but being taken away from the distraction of books and computers to be dropped right into the here and now is very beneficial to the state of mind. Believe it or not for the first half hour or so sitting outside I am restless. Being out of my natural surroundings takes some adjusting and I have constant thoughts about going back upstairs. Eventually though those thoughts recede.

Still I am prone to bouts of staring into the beyond and times where I am aware someone is talking while hearing the sound of their words but listening instead to my own voice. Interaction comes with getting out. Sometimes welcome and sometimes not. Being trapped by a neighbour who wants to spend a couple of hours in a one way conversation about every little irritatingly grating moment of their tedious existence from what they had for breakfast to what they seen someone do out of their window is not welcome. Nor for me are the jovial strangers who walk by and despite being foreign trespassers in my kingdom want to exchange pleasantries- usually about how hot it is or other statements of the obvious. With kids though other kids are attracted and I don't mind them so much as they pretty much do their own thing and bother little. Just yesterday we had a guinea pig running around our garden with the little girl next door and an entourage of others following the hairy little pied piper around. These things bring a diversity to my day and a nostalgic remembrance of summers past in what I knew then as normality.

The mood alters too. Despite still being caught in long periods of introspection I don't feel as down as I do in the house because their are people mulling, music playing, chatter in the background, incidents and accidents to be had. It allows me to smile more and even laugh sometimes which can be so good for the soul. Strangely one of the things that made me laugh most was remembering something I saw about one man trying to kill another man. My macabre sense of humour came to the fore in the garden when I remembered watching 'Have I got news for you'. One of the items discussed was a man trying to commit suicide in China by threatening to jump of a road bridge which led to a large traffic jam. One driver got so disgruntled that he got out his car, broke through the police cordon, climbed the bridge, shook the suicide candidate's hand and then pushed him off. Sorry but that kind of thing makes me laugh. Its not so much the act of violence or the intent to injure someone else but those feelings of rage in a situation we can relate to and have experienced- something I am sure we have all thought about doing in some way to spend out anger.

That is probably enough bizarre musings for one reading so I will wrap up there.

Waverley

It is strange the things we take for granted. Sometimes it is only when we cannot have something that our real desire burns to have it. Recently I've had the urge to take the kids to Rothesay. Not that the place itself has any allure, in fact its a dive, but its the trip there and back that has me in its hold- on board the Waverley. Of course at the moment its out of reach.

The PS Waverley is the last sea going Paddle Steamer in the world still in service. It is a piece of history virtually on my doorstep. The thing is I have been on it many times but never appreciated it. My grandparents took me to Rothesay numerous times when I was young, I went there with a friend's family, I went there with the school and about 10 years ago I went on my mate's work day out there. Its is a trip I think the girl's would love. Also it is something that I would really enjoy now slowly passing over the Clyde.

I didn't appreciate the history on my previous jaunts. Countless times I was invited to look in the engine room and declined as it held no interest for me. Little did I know that my grandfather was a Greaser in an engine room during the second world war, that his grandfather was a stoker aboard a steam ship on the Mersey and that his grandfather was a chief engineer with a pioneering company aboard a paddle steamer on the Clyde- in fact that is how and where he met his end. I'd love to see that engine room now. Also I would love to just appreciate the short journey down the river.

Rothesay is on the Isle of Bute. It was always a favoured destination with my grandparents. I always wondered why that was. Maybe it was because it was close by or maybe it was just because my granda loved the sea so much. I don't know. And I now wonder if they knew that we had ancestors who lived there. Not in Rothesay but in other parts of the island like Kingarth and Port Bannatyne. Being the happy soul that I am I wouldn't mind strolling through some churchyards looking at old headstones for clues to the past.

Now it all fits together for me but alas it will have to wait.

Nervous Fatigue

Out walking anxiety and panic are a given now but a couple of years ago at least that was the only problem. Bigger than those problems now is the exhaustion I get hit with when I go too far and it is this that I have to contend with for hours after. It is the reason I cannot stay and ride out panic. It is also the reason why I have a safe zone which is hard to expand. Everyone's agoraphobia, if you want to call it that, differs. In this I have found my own differs from a lot of people but still I know people who experience the same thing.

In fact looking back this problem existed before the panic attacks started. It was this problem which had me back and forth to the doctors believing I had something physically wrong with me before anxiety increased to the level of an attack. And there I found no answer. All the tests were fine and no reason was ever given. We all know doctors can misdiagnose so that has always left doubt in my mind and after all this time it is hard to shake that doubt. But then I ask myself why do I feel the same way in the car where I am not physically exerting myself? Well to be perfectly honest it is so long since I have driven regularly that I am unsure if that is true so will have to soon test that out.

The only explanation I have ever read for this which makes any sense I found in a book by Dr Claire Weekes written over four decades ago. It is according to her nervous fatigue. And this fatigue manifests itself in 4 stages though not always in order and all 4 may not always manifest. So why would I believe what she has written? I understand it and more importantly I can relate to it. Reading about this regression sequence I can actually see it happening in my time line and it makes perfect sense. My only concern would be as to why it doesn't appear to be so common among people with anxiety disorders. But then everyone is different. A racing heart is one of the most common symptoms experienced yet that is something I thankfully am not troubled with- or at least not aware of it. That leads me to another theory. It could be that some people do experience this but don't see it as a problem so don't mention it much as a result. There is every possibility that as with many anxiety related symptoms it is my reaction to it that is the problem rather than it being a problem in its own right. So what I want to do here is discuss nervous fatigue as detailed by Dr Weekes.

Nervous Fatigue
It was Dr Weekes' belief that the prelude to anxiety and panic disorders is nervous fatigue. This fatigue does not happen over night but over a period of time- sometimes years. Invariably there is a problem or problems to begin with such as stress, sorrow, bereavement, guilt, etc. Over time this has a prolonged and lasting effect on the nerves. Through this period the nerves become sensitised and anxieties are intensified as a result. The anxieties are the same for everyone else but it is the sensitised nerves that makes them feel worse for the fatigued individual.

The anxiety disorder that this leads to can be one of two types. It can be that the original problem is still there and needs to be dealt with as well as the nervous fatigue. Or it can be that the original problem has gone but it is the fear of the developed symptoms which is the disorder. From this it is clear to see that the former is the hardest of the two to deal with. But both start as a problem which produces nervous fatigue over time which becomes the ideal setting for an anxiety disorder. This disorder develops in up to 4 stages.

1. Muscular Fatigue
The first stage in the process is muscular fatigue. Persistent problems that plague the mind inevitably bring tension in the body. The tension becomes constant and this is not good for the muscles as they need rest as well as use. Tiredness then is inevitable and over a period of time this turns to exhaustion. It is a subtle spiral. It happens over such a long period that it creeps up unseen and while the body is tiring with tension yet more tension is still being added to the point where the body is spent. This can lead to a stage where even standing up is an effort and the most menial of tasks is exhausting.

This tiredness is bewildering as there seems like no explanation for it but there are also other symptoms produced. The most obvious are muscle aches and stiffness in the limbs. Also though other muscles are effected. A person's vision can become blurred and visual disturbances occur as a result of eye muscles being overworked. Speech can be effected as the face muscles tire. The list of possibilities is endless and each one also brings with it a worry for the person being effected. Ironically this leads to more tension then more fatigue in the vicious circle.

Muscular fatigue is almost identical to the fatigue that would normally be experienced through constant physical exercise which is easy to see. But there is a difference. Because the muscles are in a prolonged tense state there are no periods of relaxation so this leads to agitation rather than relaxation. Mostly the person experiencing this has no idea why unlike someone who has just completed a fitness workout so fatigue it is a worry more than a satisfaction. Sleep doesn't come so easily either as tired nerves are not comfortable nerves and no amount of sleep will refresh overworked nerves which in itself leads to confusion.

2. Emotional Fatigue

Muscular fatigue saps the body of energy and the nerves become 'sensitised'. They are likened to the well oiled gun in that it takes very little to set off the trigger and they themselves become trigger happy shooting off at will. This is the state where emotional fatigue begins. What this means is that every emotion is intensified. The middle ground is lost and instead things are either extremely bad or extremely good- though almost always the former. The person in this state can laugh uncontrollably at the most moderately funny thing and likewise cry their eyes out over a little sadness. What also happens is that emotions are recorded easily and become burnt in quickly to create habit. This is where the fear-adrenalin-fear cycle is created which we know as panic.

This cycle starts with a single fear- a thought, a sensation, etc. When the nerves are sensitised the slightest thing can be a fear that in a non-fatigued person is not an issue. The nervous system reacts to this fear by releasing adrenalin which in turn produces the sensations we all know and hate. And it is these sensations that brings about more fear then more adrenalin release and so on. This is how the cycle works and this is the reason we become stuck. This is a panic attack. The more this happens the more tired our bodies become and the more set this routine becomes making it easier to occur next time. This is why panic attacks can seem to increase in length over time. It is not actually this cycle which is lasting longer because there is only so much adrenalin which cn be released and eventually the nervous system will realise there is no real fear. The nerves and body though get so exhausted that it feels like the attack has not subsided. It is the repetition of these episodes which makes it become a panic disorder. Some people can have the occasional panic attack but then none after because it needs to happen repeatedly to become habit.

This cycle is important to understand because it is at the root of any self help guide you will read or hear relating to eradicating panic. Dr Claire Weekes states that there are two fears and that the panic cycle (panic attack) is the fear of fear. First fear is that initial fear. There is nothing you can do to stop it happening but it is harmless. Second fear is the big problem but this can be stopped as second fear is fear of the first fear- ie the individual's fear reaction to that first fear which sets off the panic cycle of fear-adrenalin-fear. Whether you listen to the 'Panic Eliminator' contained in the Linden Method, 'One Move Live' contained in Joe Barry's Anxiety Release Method or any other self help solution it is this concept which is being reworked (or more accurately copied). The key is in stopping second fear and by that you learn not to react to first fear. In Mindful Acceptance this is also used by labelling first fear as simply a thought, sensation or whatever and thereby attaching no negative emotion to it (second fear). It disempowers the panic attack at source and prevents the panic cycle occurring.

A person in the stage of emotional fatigue becomes introspective as a result of these alarming episodes. Going out just brings more suffering so they stay in and they tend to shy away from doing things as any physical effort just leaves them exhausted. The state then goes from bad to worse as introspection heightens anxiety and yet another cycle is formed. This person is caught in a state of almost constant anxiety waiting with apprehension for the next attack to strike unaware that this tension is feeding the anxiety and tiring the body in the process.

3. Mental Fatigue

A person reading or listening to a presentation at length loses attention after a time. The brain becomes mentally fatigued. The student studying for exams discovers this too. As does the person with nervous fatigue as the mind tires in time with the body. This is where unwanted thoughts can occur and where obsessive compulsive behaviour can begin. In a clear mind thoughts can come and go but not so with a tired mind in which they tend to stick. And when thoughts stick they are impossible to repel. The more the thought is pushed away the more intense it becomes.

The thought process alters. Although positive thoughts take longer to pass through than in a clear mind they pass through regardless. Achievements for example rarely stay in the mind for long. Negative thoughts however demand more attention and stick more readily. A process of negative thinking therefore develops with mental fatigue. Unwanted thoughts come back time and time again.

4. Spirit Fatigue

The final stage is fatigue of the spirit and that is something everyone with an anxiety disorder understands all too well. It is brought about with the seeming hopelessness of the situation. Being constantly tired, full of worry and awaiting the next attack breeds hopelessness naturally. It is not a nice place to be and being introspective the person in this position becomes worn down. As the world keeps turning the individual becomes detached from it seeing everyone else going about their business problem free. They may become resentful, feel victimised and concede defeat to ever returning back to normality. Life becomes an empty pleasure free existence of dark discomfort every day.

Conclusion

I can understand what Dr Weekes is saying and in my own situation it offers a reason as to why I am in the position I am in. That comfort though is not something to be used to wallow in self pity as an excuse for not trying to get better. It is instead an understanding which is needed because without that there is no chance of recovery lost in bewilderment. Whether it is fact or theory is irrelevant to me. What is fact? Some cite their methods are based on scientific fact but scientific fact can be a couple of government funded students conducting a study to see if people with dimples are less prone to hay fever. That for me is science. More real to me is something that makes perfect sense and that I can believe in because if it is something you cannot truly believe in then it is useless. It has to feel right and this explanation is right for me. But over and above all that the important thing is that before reading this I was extremely worried as no-one offered an answer. This woman had a practise and dealt with people like this, like me. So that gives me strength. But I can see it not just applying to anxiety.

Magik

The girls stood looking on frustrated. They looked at his hands but there was no way the ball could be in there- it was too big. Still they looked on anyway. They had spent frustrating minutes trying to prise open the fingers but to no avail. Finally they were ready to give up. Noticing this he released a finger from his balled hand to reveal momentarily enough of the pink plastic piggy ball to draw their attention before hiding it again with the finger. It did the trick. The two girls launched at the hand and tried once more to rip the fingers apart.

After a time they gave up so he relented and asked the oldest to open her hand. The balled fist hovered above it and then opened. No ball dropped though. He turned over his hand to reveal it was empty. The two girls gaped with eyes wide and then looked at each other to giggle. They were amazed.

"Wow, that was magic daddy" said the oldest.

"It was" I replied.

They insisted I do it again but this time the oldest was more attentive. She wouldn't take her eyes off the hand. Whereas last time they had been diverted enough to hide the ball while they were not looking this time there was no chance. I had in the end to say that all the magic had run out. The oldest pleaded to be shown how it was done but I had to say that it was magic and could not be shown.

Five minutes later after going away for a think my oldest daughter returned. She said nothing but opened up my hands and started rubbing her palms on my own. When I asked what she was doing she told me she was rubbing some of my magic on to her own hands. This made me laugh. She looked at me a little bemused.

"Its not really magic is it daddy?" she enquired.

At this point I wasn't sure what to say. Do I keep up the pretense and become the father of allure or do I come clean? I decided to be honest.

"I didn't think so" she said quite pleased with herself.

I thought it would end there but she insisted I show her how I did it. What had been a spur of the moment thing was now being prolonged. So I showed her and she was pleased going off to do the trick to her mum. But no end there. Now she had a taste for it. She was back demanding more. New tricks, better ticks. I didn't have any tricks so she was left disappointed. What I did promise her though was that the following day I would teach her something new.

That was yesterday. I have no interest in magic tricks but spent 4 hours last night browsing the Internet looking for something simple to show her. God it was mind numbing. Some were just rubbish. Some were too hard. Some just wouldn't work. Some needed props. Just a simple trick was all I wanted but the search was taking forever. Finally I found something. All it needs is a bit of paper and a coin. When she comes in from school I will give her a little performance and then show her how. I have a funny feeling it could become a daily occurrence until she gets bored. This is a great trick though and very clever yet simple. Its all down to how you fold the paper and after a couple of tries I've got it sussed. This will really give them a hoot. I am looking forward to it.