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.