It's like this: I know the external threat is internal but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with or understand but instead I grab at my neck which is only an initial response to a longer thought process which would have me tearing off every layer of skin and bone to delve beneath the bloody mess and grasp this anxious jumping bean which has been a-bounce bouncy bouncying about and grab it, crush it, smash it and kick it all the way to Timbuktu in a fit of fury until I am sure it has gone forever. And that begins and concludes my Kerouacesque analogy of agitation, deep breath. Restlessness is swinging me and shaking me at a time I would much rather just flop on a comfy surface. That is anxiety and again I am back in that dark place where the demons dance, prod, slap, scratch, bite and with shrill high pitched screams refuse to leave me alone. I'm sick to the back teeth off it to the point I want to vent my fury on something but the demons are inside. It will pass and I don't know why but I feel it is about to pass soon. This prolonged bout of illness frequenting the family home is no doubt the source of this current angst, agitation, tiredness and depression.
It has been so long since my last long stay in the confnes of madness that I struggle to remember the old ways of coping. Incidents occur and pass but when they are again becoming the norm its difficult to keep hold of the few strands of sanity in my grasp. Its like the climb and continually losing your footing to the point where you realise you have been sliding to a quick descent and it is time to grip something and hold on before you descend any further down until the storm passes. I had to find distraction and I finally managed to find that in reading a Dr Weekes book. Immediately she knew why, even all those years ago, I couldn't find some solace anywhere else:
It will not be difficult for you to read this book: it is about you and your nerves, and for this reason you will read it with interest, whereas to read an ordinary book or newspaper may seem an impossibility...
Too true. The previous day I read a wonderful short novel named 'The Alchemist' by Paolo Coelho. It was no problem at all but as it resonated so much with possible aspirations I've had and was such a joy to read it might have helped. During this period of peak anxiety though I had to turn the laptop off because I could not concentrate and every magazine and book I picked up I dropped just as quickly because I found trying to read agitating. Not with Dr Weekes though. It was a subject I needed to read because I always used to read about the simplicity of anxiety when I was anxious as it seemed to bring clarity. Dr Weekes' books are old and certain terms need to be swapped in the mind, for example scary references to nervous breakdown or nervous illness are more likely today to be referred to as an anxiety disorder- I guess. But something always speaks to me in those simplistic words of her type no matter how archaic they are in comparison to today's language.
Synchronicity brought the book and my blogging reading together as I read for the thousandth time the process of how someone develops an anxiety disorder. You know the tale so there is no need for me to give anything other than a brief outline. Palpitations or some other some other natural sensation occurs out of the blue giving a person a fright. They wait for another and if it doesn't come they are fine. If it returns though then there is the basis for a disorder to develop because here starts the cycle. The person tenses up fearing the next attack which makes it more likely to happen and when it does happen the tension and adrenalin release make the experience more intense and the likelihood of another happening soon pretty much certain. This is the cycle. And at some point the sufferer goes to see his GP. For me a quick diagnosis is what everyone needs to have a chance of not developing a disorder because I do see why a lack of a diagnosis can lead people into a disorder and in my own case I am convinced of the fact.
At this stage the sufferer consults a doctor, who usually succeeds in reassuring him and banishing his fear...On the other hand, should the doctor, in an effort to reassure, make too light of the palpitations, the patient may stay in bed of his own volition...
According to the wise doctor this is a crucial point where the sufferer's future depends on the diagnosis and approach to relating that of the doctor. A bit of a lottery if you talk to a variety of people about their GP. But in my experience these two possible outcomes are rare. The usual outcome of this meeting is a misdiagnosis and far from reassuring they are sometimes more frightened. In my own case I can count at least five times that I visited the medical centre seeing a different doctor every time, my current GP was not there at the time. Not once did anyone even mention panic or anxiety. I got an ECG, nasal sprays, pills for balance, blood tests, swabs and probably other things forgotten by time. One thing I can remember though was the looks of disinterest in what I was saying, the lack of belief in what I was relating and the frustration I felt afterwards. In fact I remember the last time I went the doctor looked at me as if I was telling a tall story, sighed and then wrote me out an appointment for the blood tests which I'd had only a few weeks previously. I put it in the bin outside and never went back. At that time I had a steady job and could travel the country, 2 years later I was housebound.
Oh my I sound bitter and if I am honest I am. What is the point though? Its not going to change anything. I really should stop mulling that over. But it does make me laugh and angry too when I read how much mental problems are causing the NHS when there are, I know, a lot of people who wouldn't be in this position were they properly diagnosed in the first place. One doctor I had took my pulse and noted it was very fast. Of course it is, I told her, look how nervous I am. I was so nervous I could hardly stop fidgeting but she obviously didn't think that was of importance and I had no idea that my problems could have been mental rather than physical. Even now I am still trying to understand it.
Some years ago, when recuperating from an operation, I stayed with some friends who were planning a bush walk.
They asked a young man to join us. It was not a long walk, they assured me, (but long enough for me I thought as I looked at his long legs). To my astonishment this big fellow soon fell behind and we frequently had to wait for him to catch up. At lunch he lay exhausted on the grass. Later he told me his story. For years, since his student days, he had had recurring spasms of intense panic, so that his life had become a nightmare. He was not afraid of anything in particular, only the feeling of fear itself, and this had become so intensified and exhausting that even that short walk had been too much. This man was eventually cured and able to lead a scientific expedition. I mention him because he was no weakling but a clever scientist in a responsible position. With help he recovered quickly, after having suffered for ten years.
For me this one paragraph was gold dust and I would have paid anything just for that confirmation. No medical person has told me this could happen and may be what was happening in my case. I've not seen it explained anywhere in the anxiety literature I have read. Even when I started frequenting forums and asked other agoraphobics if they had experienced this problem it took me months to find some one else as most have never experienced this or don't talk about it. This was a much needed path out of bewilderment for me to help me accept that my problem was probably not physical. I just needed that confirmation and I had found it- written 4 decades ago. When I read this the other day I had actually forgotten about it which is probably because my brain these days doesn't retain much. And again it gave me a comforting feeling as I was having the same doubts again. If I had known this 5 years ago then...more regrets.
All this reflection has taught me one thing. Happiness and peace are not to be found in the past but the lure of possibility lies ahead. Hope is a much better companion in the now than regret. It is time to let go of those feelings and look ahead. After reading some of the book yesterday I decided against my better judgement to go to the school with my wife which I did, for only the second time ever, and then we went to the shops after. This morning I took my son right into creche which I have never done before. None of these things were easy and I'm still feeling this heavy cloud of agitation over me but I know it will pass, and when possible I am not going to wait. On Sunday for the first time in about 4 months I didn't go out and around about that walks, and getting out in general, have been sparse. I'm determined to break that cycle as its just giving me more time to think- which is not a good thing.
