Healing Diary: Just Write it Out

Today is the day after Anzac's Day. I feel the need to mention that, because I've noticed that for all of this year, I have only been writing blog posts for holidays. Hell, the only reason I didn't post this yesterday is because when I came home yesterday, my PSU was fried, and I needed to head out this morning to buy a new one. And yeah, sure, I posted the New Years one twelve days late, and the Valentine's Day one early, but it is a worrying trend. I don't even like ANZAC Day that much, but this ANZAC day, I felt the need to post.
I promised myself I would write at the very least one blog post per month. But at this rate, you should expect just eight more posts for Cinco de Mayo, Winter Solstice, NAIDOC Week, World Elephant Day, Australian Citizenship Day, Halloween, World Toilet Day & Christmas. But I am not going to do that (except maybe NAIDOC Week, if I remember), because it feels insincere. For that same reason, there's no Word of the Day today, I am just here to write, because I need to write. I don't know what I need to say, but I do need to write . . .

The reason I have been so scant on my posts is because I am having some issues with mental health. Ever since my girlfriend broke up with me, I haven't been well. I am not in the doldrums about being single, and I am certainly not bitter about it, it's actually a lot simpler than that. I used to talk to my ex every day, but now that I don't, the amount of socializing that I do with others has been drastically reduced. I am naturally anxious with introverted tendencies, and I do not actively seek out social interaction, so whilst I used to just talk to her all the time, now I don't, meaning that I am not getting a healthy amount of interpersonal interaction.

See, some people that are introverted, they say that they need some alone time to "recharge", they like alone time because it allows them to be themselves, whereas extroverted people feel more energized when they are around others. I am not sure if I buy that - or if I do, I just don't fit the stereotype - because personally I feel good when I am around other people, I need to be around other people to socialize and have fun, but if I spend too long around other people I feel restricted. I don't like to relax at the best of times, I've even made a note of that in this blog, with references to how it relates to my anxiety. But, when I do finally relax, I only like to do so on my own. If I were to try to relax around other people, I would feel anxious, and cramped.
It's not the best metaphor, but think of it like driving a car. You have things to do, even if it's the most natural thing in the world for you, and there's no risk that you will crash, and there aren't even any other cars on the road, you still need to focus on the road. So, if you were asked to relax in that situation, if someone held your hand while you were driving down the road and told you to close your eyes, you would rightly freak. Heck, even if you knew you could roll in that gear for a while, and you're thinking now "that doesn't sound too bad" you couldn't do it indefinitely, and you definitely couldn't relax entirely. Eventually, you would need to wrench your hand away and grab the gearshift, or slam on the brakes, because the car is still in motion.
That's what relaxing feels like around other people, to me anyway. Even if I trust someone else implicitly, many of the people I hang out with are great mates, I would trust them with my wallet, my secrets, my unconscious body and even my heart-lung bypass machine in many cases. But I don't . . . think in a way that makes it so that I can de-stress, relax, process, think and just be myself without worry. Not around them. Not even around family. That's a kind of intimacy that I have reservations about. I'm not even talking about something that sexual or romantic, I am just talking about being able to unwind, but I can't do that around others.

So, when I am stressed, I want to be alone so that I can relax. But the longer I am alone the more stressed I am, because I need to spend time with other people because being lonely makes me feel more stressed. It's a vicious cycle.

That is the reason why I am not blogging as much as I would like to.

However, I am not completely without any work done. I have been working on some other projects. I have a novel that I have been actually writing, so that it can be actually published and read by all the wonderful boys and girls. And, I have another project on my YouTube channel.
Some of you may be a little confused now, since I don't actually have a "first project" on my YouTube channel, so reference to "another" might seem out of left field. But, this is just the nature of creating video content. See, around last March, I said that I wanted to do a major shake-up of my online presence, to change to a three-pronged approach. Two YouTube channels, and this blog, reducing the workload of Duke Forever as well as my blogging frequency, so that I could work on the channel and create videos.

I have not delivered on that, but it is not at all out of laziness, I promise you. You see, I did indeed do a lot of work attempting to create content for a YouTube channel. I started working on different programs, doing research into animation, looking into different forms of editing and special effects. I created several preliminary videos and screen tests as well as checking my own repertoire of acting and voicework.
However, I hit a major stumbling block . . . I am not an animator or actor. At least, not in any way a viably productive, fast or even competent one. I can act, poorly, but I didn't really want my face on camera that often. And also, I can create really good animations, but only short, simple, silent ones that take weeks and weeks to create.
So, a lot of my potential ideas required a butt-tonne of animation that I couldn't manage, and after learning that I quickly shifted gears and looked for simplified means of animation, but even the simplest animations (akin to the Zero Punctuation review animations, or even the Bible Reloaded slideshows) still take time and effort to do, moreso than I can achieve whilst also working on my other projects.
So, rather than leave people waiting for one of those every two or three weeks, I figured I could try to create some kind of show that I should create much more quickly, without as much effort, that I would create and upload more frequently, so that when people are waiting in the meantime they wouldn't be bored. You need to understand that YouTube subscribers are not as reliable as you faithful readers, and since YouTube is an advertising platform there is much more rigamarole in regards to creating, posting and sustainably receiving an audience for your content.
But, I never managed to come up with a simple, easy-to-create video series that I was proud of, so I abandoned many of those ideas, trying to find something I would be happy with, since the easiest thing to do would be a vlog, but I am not a vlogger, I am a blogger.

In the end, I decided that I can't just create content for its own sake, I prefer to educate, make people think and put effort into my work. That's not to say that I have abandoned the idea entirely, rather that my dream of perhaps "expanding my audience" with a YouTube channel has been side-lined, and instead I will just focus on using it as an extension of this blog.
I prefer to write. I can't create an "easy-to-create" series, because I don't think like that, and I definitely don't write like that. So, the current project on the go is a series that I am going to try to create in its entirety, then post when it's done.
I also still have the three-pronged approach I was previously planning, but rather than two YouTube channels (since I can't even create one effectively) and this blog, I will instead just have my YouTube Channel, my Tumblr and my Blog.

Anyway, this was fun and it made me feel a lot better, so I am probably going to try to do this more often. I'm the Absurd Word Nerd, and until next time thanks for reading my words, just make sure that you take care of yourself as well and I'll see you in my next post.

Healing Diary: With Thanks to My Psychologist

Hello, everyone, and welcome to the new year.

I haven't written here for a while, it feels weird. Like learning to ride a bike again, it's a little unsteady, but I'm remembering those innate skills.
Today, I want to just write, get it out, because there are things that I want to say, but I am still working it all out in my head. I am not alright, I'm not at my best. I think I am becoming more reclusive. In the summer, it is too hot to go outside, so I spend a lot of time inside, and I stay up late meaning I am most "awake" when it's late, and when I wake up, I feel anxious. And not a fun, excited anxious, or even a worried "oh dear" anxious. It's that brain-strangling, vicious cycle of self-critical thoughts . . . the Mind Trap I described. Thankfully, I have not had a panic attack, but I have become so close that the mere fear of actually having another panic attack is the only things that reminds me that I have ways of avoiding a panic attack.

It's times like this when I see that I have come quite far. I have suffered 3 panic attacks in my lifetime. But, I am determined to stop it there. Three, and only three; and the best part is that I think I can.

And a lot of that is thanks to the help of my psychologist, Dr Mona.

I won't reveal her full name, or specifically what was said in sessions. Not because I am embarrassed, but because there are some issues of privacy.
See, psychology is private. I don't really mind talking about it, because I am choosing to share what I'm going through experiences, but it is private specifically for the sake of providing a safe environment for those who need it. Unless you are at risk to yourself or others, then what you say stays in that room.
Don't get me wrong, there is some information shared between doctor and psychologist, but never without your knowledge. At the end of any session, if Dr Mona wanted to share something with my GP, she made it very clear what she wanted to share and made sure I was okay with that.

So, what is this? Am I just here advertising? Well, I guess so. If you get her as a psychologist, in my opinion she's a good one . . . although, there's more. I think it's more something that I noticed in these sessions which I feel the need to share.

See, as a recovering Chronically Anxious/Depressed person, I know what it's like to be falling down and to get back up, so I try to help people in a way that is open and understanding. I've spoken to people in person and online about what they can do to manage their mental illnesses, and something I've seen a lot is a reticence to go to a doctor.
There seems to be two things people dislike the most, namely medicine and psychology, which I think is kind of funny since those two are the most common methods of dealing with mental illness. But, let's look at these a little differently, shall we?

Firstly, these are not two issues, they are one: Fear that You will Change (for the worse).

And all I can say to that is . . . no. Medicine, even anti-depressants, are not magical. They are not designed to change your thoughts, just your emotions. If you, for example, are depressed because you're lonely, if you take anti-depressants, you won't stop feeling lonely, you'll just stop despairing about it. It doesn't change who you are, just how you feel. Or, if you are agoraphobic and that causes you anxiety, if you are on anti-anxiety medication, you won't suddenly be able to leap out into the street, you'll still be agoraphobic, you just won't be freaking out about it.

Alongside that, while it seems weird, psychology is exactly the same. Dr Mona didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, she didn't force me to change my mind on any ideas. Psychology isn't any kind of propaganda or "education" into the "proper" way of thinking. She did teach me about anxiety, what it is and how it works as well as ways to manage it, but you are never told that what you're doing or thinking is wrong.

You may now be asking "If it doesn't change me, then why bother?"
Well, purely and simply, because anxiety and depression are not you. You are not defined by your mental illnesses, they are - if anything - an addendum to you.
It's an imperfect analogy, but I compare it to a broken leg. If you broke your leg, went to a doctor, they would put a caste/splint on it and do what they can to re-set your leg.
When they take the caste off, are you a different person? No, you don't even have a different leg, the bones just work properly again. Same with your mental illnesses, if you take medication and manage to get to a stable mentality, are you different? No, you're just not suffering from mental illness anymore.

Using myself as an example, I am still myself, I am still quite anxious and I still make a lot of the same mistakes. As I said in the opening paragraph, I have come close to having panic attacks this year. But, do you know why?
Well, I do. I do because I saw a psychologist, and I now recognize that I am not maintaining my mental health. I know that I am not getting enough exercise, I am not structuring my day and I am allowing my anxieties to take control. Most specifically, I am not finding the time to slow my brain down after doing something intellectually busy.
In my instance, I use my brain to write stories, I find connections, I find patterns, I structure stories and I organize my thoughts into these tightly-bound constructions of reflection, perception, understanding, intrigue & fantasy. So, when I stop writing stories, but I am still thinking like a writer, the world is not as tightly structured as a novel, so I become self-reflective and introspective. And when I do that, I look around my mind until I find a thought that doesn't fit into a structure or pattern, something which I don't understand and then I get frustrated because something about my mind is wrong which I can't explain or understand.

This is just me, it can be similar to the way others think but don't be surprised if you are different. This is just using me as an example, but the point is that I understand all of this because of the helping hand of my psychologist. I talked to her about many things, up to and including my blog and writing. By understanding me, and the way my mind-machine works, Dr Mona found ways of fixing it. Just like you put water in a car's radiator BEFORE it overheats, there are also ways of countering anxiety before you have a panic attack. For me, it come from structure and activity, separating those moments of intellectual stimulation from moments of personal introspection, as well as meditation, medication and breathing exercises.

So no, I'm not perfect, but the reason why I am able to function so well these days is because I got help. Even if these things seem like common sense, a psychologist is trained to talk to people who are mentally ill in a way that we find most receptive, and has the knowledge of how to help us be ourselves, who we are meant to be without mental illness causing disorder in our lives.

So, in conclusion, thank you Doctor Mona. And, I hope you don't take it personally, but I hope I never have to see you again.
I'm the Absurd Word Nerd, and just by writing this, I feel a little better. I don't think this is the end of the Healing Diary, but it is definitely further from the beginning.

Healing Diary: The Mindtrap

Anxiety is a cruel beast. Just as I think of depression like a black dog, I think of anxiety like a living organism. Not exactly like butterflies, but it's as good an analogy as any. And just like any other living thing, it feeds, it grows and it fights for its survival. Anxiety feeds on doubt and stress, it grows in severity and avoids any predator that would defeat it.

In fact, butterflies are a good analogy, because they start of as cute, little caterpillars. But caterpillars feed and feed and feed until they're strong enough to grow up. Unfortunately, when these caterpillars grow, they don't turn into butterflies. In my case, they metamorphose into panic attacks.

The Word of the Day is: 'PANIC'.

Panic /'panik/ n. 1. A sudden terror, with or without clear cause. ♦adj. 2. (of fear, terror, etc.) Suddenly destroying self-control and causing hasty, unreasoned action. ♦v.t. 3. To (cause to) feel panic.

I had a panic attack three days ago. It was a terrifying, confronting and painful experience; so, I am dealing with it in the same way that I deal with a lot of life's troubles. I want to write about it, because it was a terrible ordeal, but here I am the one that's in control. I am here to vivisect this monstrosity, in the hopes that as I pull it apart, it will die on the operating table.

So, what exactly is a panic attack? Well, essentially, it is what happens when your body triggers a fight-or-flight response, without any actual, physical danger. It may seem like a malfunction, but it is more accurate to call it a dysfunction. The flight-or-flight response isn't broken, so much as overly sensitive; your fear response is working perfectly well, but when you suffer from anxiety, your body is responding to stressors more severely.
A panic attack is what happens when those stressors (or your response TO those stressors) develops to the point where something harmless makes you react as though it is an imminent threat. In my case, it was something as simple as boredom, silence and loneliness . . . to me, it felt like I was dying. So, why would something so simple set off a panic attack? Well, because it wasn't that simple.

It started way earlier than that. Remember how I said that anxiety defends itself? Well, regular people with regular anxiety know how to handle it; you do things you enjoy, you talk to people, exercise, eat food that you like, laugh and smile and ignore such petty problems. But when you have chronic anxiety, the way that it defends itself is insidious. It starts by feeding on those little doubts you have, the ones that we all have. But the really sneaky part is that it continues by attacking your defenses. If you eat to feel good, it makes you feel sick about eating and worried about your weight. If you like watching movies or listening to music, it occupies your mind; it makes you lose focus and forget about the joy that it brings you.
Or, like in my case, it made me draw away from people, I hid away because I began to worry about what could go wrong on social occasions. Then, as those worries continued to fester, I entered a heightened state of anxiety. It meant that my body was often producing adrenaline, I would feel a tightness in my chest and I would feel exhausted because of the drain on my body from worrying all the time. This meant that I would feel tired, and go to sleep. Fatigue is a common symptom of anxiety, and if you are sleeping during the day and don't get out of bed, it becomes practically impossible to do any kind of stress relief. Worst of all, this stress took something away from me that matters the most . . . my ability to write. When you're stressed, your mind wants to think about that stress, it becomes a constant distraction and makes it hard to focus. When I lose focus, I can't write, and so that wore me down the most. It will probably be different for different sufferers of chronic anxiety, but for me, this was when the trap was set. Not a bear-trap or mousetrap, but a trap to set off a panic attack; a mindtrap.

Everything was already in place, the target was isolated, demoralized, tired, distracted, weakened and surrounded by attackers, of anxiety and stress, and without even my ability to write all of my weapons had been taken away from me. Even though I worked to fix my sleep and exercise, it was already too late. It just took a trigger, and that trigger was silence, boredom and loneliness. I was watching a video in the hopes that it would cheer me up, but I was losing interest in it and when I lost interest, my mind began to wander. It started a cascade effect, and I began to doubt everything. I doubted the reason for what I was doing, I doubted my ability to cope, I doubted whether or not I would get better, my ability to write and my ability to cope. Then I started doubting my own life, if I was going to have anxiety for the rest of my life; would it continue to take the things I care about away from me? Then I doubted the purpose of my life, and what good it was to live if I wasn't doing any of the things that mattered to me; and I doubted whether life even mattered at all.

I felt trapped, and when my anxiety closed around me, I freaked out. My response was flight at first, I ran, I jumped from my chair. Then it became one of fight. But because the attack was in my head, I couldn't see what I was fighting. I ran outside, I threw my shoe at the floor, I yelled out and screamed. To any mentally healthy person, it would seem that I was acting like a crazy person, and by some definitions I was. But if you saw the steps that lead me to that position, and the way I had been trapped by my own mind, it would seem perfectly logical to you, as it did to me too.
I think that's the most disturbing part about mental illness. It's not mind control, it's not possession; and although I personify and identify my anxiety like an animal, it isn't literally a thinking creature. It is the result of my mind reacting to stimuli in a way that it considers logical. Like I said, it's not a malfunction, it's a dysfunction, and if you were in my shoes, you would act the same way.

As a result of this panic attack, I was exhausted, tired, unable to focus. But thankfully, I had one key thought, which was "I need help". So, I asked for it. I grabbed my computer, and I looked for help with panic attacks. I knew that more than anything I wanted to talk to someone, and I learned that Lifeline is not just for crisis support and suicide prevention, but that they offer support for those suffering a panic attack.
I called them up, and a very nice lady on the phone talked to me, and helped me to calm down. She talked some sense into me, gave me some advice and guided me to a better mind-space. I thanked her and hung up the phone, but since then I was in a much more vulnerable state. If I was left alone for even a second, or I was left in silence, I would feel stressed and depressed, and it was very tiring. And I think, if there is a reason why anxiety produces panic attacks, that is it - it leaves you prone for another one, while also providing plenty more stress, doubt and fear to feed those little anxiety caterpillars.

I am feeling better. You'll notice I'm writing again, I've also calmed down and I am no longer on the verge of another attack, I feel pretty good. And the craziest part is, all I did was some of the simplest stress-relief there is.
After seeking professional help, I spoke to my girlfriend; I got a good night's sleep; I got some exercise and I meditated whenever I felt my breathing get sharp and shallow. It's simple, but effective stuff. And I guess that's the part about this that you need to remember, although it seems like a silly analogy, anxiety really is a lot like butterflies. It's not really that powerful, all things told, and it can't really hurt you. That's why it needs to be so insidious and set up little traps to catch you. But, if you do those simple little things, you won't let the butterflies in your stomach get the better of you.

Healing Diary: Why I'm Nervous about Driving

I get very anxious about driving my car. I used to be really confident, and if you read my post about getting my provisional license, I was ecstatic that I could drive on my own, I felt free, I described it as one of the greatest feelings in the world.
But now, when I drive, I feel this sense of dread. Not about crashing or anything, oddly enough, I know how to drive safely and I have airbags even if I crash. No, my concern is getting lost, running out of petrol and, basically, my car losing its abilities to get me home.
It's irrational, you don't have to tell me that, I know that. But there's precedence for it. There were three incidents in my life which have triggered this anxiety when it comes to driving. The Word of the Day is: 'LOST'

Lost /lost/ adj. 1. No longer possessed or kept: Lost friends. 2. No longer to be found: Lost articles. 3. Confused as to place, direction, etc. 4. (of time, etc.) wasted. 5. Not achieved or won: A lost prize. 6. Attended with defeat: A lost battle. 7. Destroyed or ruined. 8. Lost to, a. No longer belonging to. b. No longer open to: The opportunity was lost to him. c. Unfeeling to: To be lost to all sense of duty. ♦v. 9. Past tense of lose.

Incident 1: You Can't Trust Petrol Stations

The first time I drove my car on my own late at night, it was because my brother James had just finished work and discovered a flat battery. He called me, asked if I could come with jumper cables, I said no problem. As I'm driving, I see that I have about a quarter tank of petrol. I figure, no worries, I'll just get some fuel. There are two petrol stations on the way, but one's on the other side of a busy road, I figure I'll pull into the one on the way. So, I pull in, open the fuel panel, undo the cap and rest it on the back of the car, then I put the pump in and pull the trigger . . . nothing. I was confused, so I put the pump back and walk up to the storefront. All of the lights are on, but it's closed, dead empty.
I thought that was pretty stupid, but I figure I'll cut my losses. I get back in my car and drive off. As I execute a lane-change, I see in my rear view mirror that I've left my fuel panel open. So, I easily pull over the car by the road. There, I get out, walk around to close the panel and . . . the fuel cap is missing. Because of the disconnect of not having the fuel pump work, the whole ritual of refueling had stopped mid-session, I hadn't put the cap on or closed the panel. I left it on the boot of the car, but it's not there anymore, it must have come off as I drove. I'd driven about 100 metres at this point, so I run up the road, looking in drains and all along the gutter for my fuel cap, but I couldn't find it. I looked for a solid 20 minutes, since I didn't know what would happen if I drove without a cap, but after searching for ages, I again, decide to cut my losses and drive on.

My dad bought me a new petrol cap a day later, but ever since that experience, I've been wary of petrol stations. I mean, if it's closed, why are the lights on? Even the lights up the aisles, is it for the security camera?
It's very confusing to me, because unless I'd looked it up beforehand, how am I supposed to tell if it's open or closed? The closed sign wasn't on the door, the shop was just empty and the door wouldn't open. I didn't even know that petrol stations could close, sure after I put some thought into it I can understand why some might, but I hadn't consciously considered it until then; especially because they leave their lights on even when closed, it was very misleading. So, I was wary of petrol stations.

Incident 2: "You Can't Find Your Way Home"

Not long after that, I was still pretty confident with driving, but I had become wary of petrol stations, so I avoid them unless I have to use them, not only because I don't want to waste money buying fuel any old time if I can wait for a cheaper day, but also because this was before I was on Newstart Allowance, so every tank of fuel was a scoop out of my slowly depleting bank account, and I liked to wait for a moment when I could con my parents into driving and then refuelling my car.
I organized to watch a movie with a friend of mine, at Indooroopilly Shopping Centre, a mall nestled beside the Brisbane CBD.
I left the house with a quarter tank of fuel, and I figured that, if it took too long to get home, I'd just refuel on the way back. In fact, as I drove into the city, I saw two petrol stations on the road I'd have to take back, so I felt safe that I could use them. In fact, as I drove into the carpark, I saw a third petrol station just next to the shop, so I felt satisfied that I had plenty of opportunities to refuel.
  Three hours later . . . 
I've seen my friend, we had a fun time at the movies, we had lunch, now it's time to go home. The sun is setting as I get in the car, and I see that my fuel is still around the ⅛ mark. It's enough to get home, but I figure I should get a refill anyway, if I can. So, before I even leave, I check my directory to make sure I know where the petrol station is. I find it, it's all good, I just need to go around the block and there it is. So, I drive out. Unfortunately, Indooroopilly is a shopping centre, and this petrol station is right beside it, as is the entryway, so by the time I spot it, I'm past it. But I don't worry at first, I just figure I need to circle the block and I'll get it next time, right?
Well, no. There's no "circling the block" in the city, because for some reason, whoever designed the city had more of a "plinko" style of traffic flow, whereby even if you knock around left and right, the one-way streets still drain you in the same, general direction. So, despite looking for more left turns to escape, I find myself passing down several side streets with "no left turn" signs, By the time I finally do, I'm passing a school zone, and I have no idea where I am. but, before I can take another left turn and start heading back, I find another "no left turn" at a T-section, I have to head right again.
So, I join another river of traffic, and I just get carried along. I consider pulling over to the side of the road to check my map, but I wasn't very confident with my parallel parking, and the side of the road was lined with cars bumper to bumper, no spaces except for alleyways, crossings and corners. Now, I'm heading further into hills and suburbia at this point and I have no idea where I am, so I decide "I'll meander until I can pull over, then I'll find my way again."
So, I find a side-street away from main roads, drive in and pull over next to some school field somewhere. Okay, so at this point, the sun is well and truly down, it's night time. I look for this school on the map and find it quickly, then I find a path back. I abandon that petrol station, it would be too hard to get back, I just want to find the highway that heads home, because I know there are TWO petrol stations there, remember. I'll be fine. The petrol is still around that eighth, but I'm feeling uncomfortable about it, and no longer is it an option, I know I need petrol, I just need to get back to the main road. So, with my path figured out, I get in the car and drive. I've memorized. Drive straight down, right, left, right, right (or something like that) and I'll be on the road back to the main path.
So, I drive straight down . . . right, then wait for it, drive down this road . . . left, and there's my turn . . . no right turn. I get to the intersection and it's a one-way street, or so it seems, I can't pull over, I have to turn in. So, I follow the road left instead, starting to feel uncomfortable, but maybe I can turn around? So, I try to correct this little error, but i can't. The road heads for an intersection, and my only options are to cross the road or turn left again into a slip lane. So, I opt for the slip-lane, but that slip-lane leads me onto a main road in a suburb I don't recognize. I am swept along, swaying and dipping with the hills as we go, and I don't remember this many hills driving into the city, so I feel very uncomfortable. But then I get to a T-intersection. I don't have time to decide, I have to turn right, I'm in the right-turning lane, so I enter it, but I'm on some kind of escarpment overlooking a rolling suburbia, and I start to get upset.
No no no no, I tell my steering wheel, as we follow another winding road, and I can't pull over, because cars line this street too. So I follow the street, but I don't know where I'm going, I feel lost. And I start going up and down hills, shifting gears so that the engine can manage. And I start to panic as I go up one hill that's so steep I'm in first gear, and I imagine the gurgling fuel getting sucked dry like chocolate milkshake at the bottom of a parfait glass, getting slurped dry.

In fact, as I head uphill, the "low fuel" warning light comes on. I panic and pull over. I immediately turn off the car and the lights and I start to fret. As I catch my breath, I realize that it's just the tilt of the car because I'm on a hill at a forty degree angle or so. There's still fuel, it's just not near the indicator in the tank; but I still feel my heart racing anyway.
I have no idea where I am, I have no idea how much fuel I have, I have no idea where the next petrol station is, I have no idea how much fuel I'll need to get home and even if I use my directory to point me in the direction of a local petrol station - thanks to my previous encounter with a small-chain petrol station - I have no idea if it will even be open at this time of night.
But, I am determined not to panic. With a surge of nervous energy, I jump out of the car and run up the street. There's an intersection up there, and a street sign. I just need to find two street signs, and I will have identified my location. Then, knowing that, I can find my way back to the main road. As I run up the street, I also realize, one of the stations I passed on the way here was covered with lights and had a recognizable name. Those brands are always open 24/7, I can feel hope for the first time all evening. So, with sore legs, I get to the top of this hill, I find one sign, but the other one is further down the road. I jog across for twenty metres or so before I come to it, I write the name down in my notepad, then I head all the way back. I walk down the hill, in an effort to slow my heart rate down, but it doesn't work, I'm anxious, but kind of excited, I have my first clues.
I get to the car, quickly open the door, grab my directory and shut the door. I don't know how long it will take to map this out, so I don't want to use my car's interior lights, I use the flashlight on my phone to search the book.

When I found out where I was, I realized it was rather far from where I had come from (about two pages in an A5-sized street directory), but I saw that I was close to a main road that would lead me to a highway, and towards home, I just needed to follow a little route to get to the highway. So, I double-check to make sure that I won't get turned away from my route, I hop in the car and, with fingers metaphorically crossed, I start the car. Easy as pie, Gemini fires up and we head up the hill, I'm a little upset that I have to head all the way up in first, but I follow the path and soon I'm on the main road again.
But, I'm not on the main road for more than a minute when I see an opportunity. A big, green sign pointing off, it had a street name on it that I recognized. It was basically a sign saying "highway - this way! >>" I took the chance, I slipped right through, and shortly after that, I was back on the highway, baby!
I came to a set of lights, and stopped, and as I sat at the lights, I realized that my feet were shaking. As my foot sat on the clutch, and my other on the brake, my heels were bouncing nervously, I couldn't control it. I used the floor mat to steady my feet, so that it wouldn't disrupt my driving, but it was very distracting. In fact, when I saw the petrol station, I didn't even realize that I was in the wrong lane. I quickly changed lanes, and as I did, I heard a screech of tires!

I didn't crash, but I don't know what happened, I can't remember. At the time, I assumed that I didn't check that the lane was clear, properly, and that the person behind me had hit their brakes, but I didn't see any lights in my rear view mirror, or in the lane I'd just left, and I hadn't hit anything because there was no crash. I pulled into the petrol station, and I checked the car and looked over at the road, there were no dings or skidmarks or wrecks, and I figured that if I'd gotten into an accident, one of the three other people at the pumps would have told me, but they didn't even look up when I checked around. Perhaps the brakes were mine as I slowed down to turn up the drive, and I was so focussed on turning I hadn't realized how quickly I'd decelerated, but I honestly don't know, all I know is that it also set me on edge.
I had a $20 note, so I filled up my tank that much, and paid the person inside. I made sure that I'd re-capped and closed my fuel tank, then I headed off. But I was shaken up, and the whole way home, my heels were still shaking.

Incident 3: "You Can't Trust Your Car"

Throughout all of these occasions, there has always been one constant: my car. I love my car, I call it Gemini. I bought the car from my friend who is a car fanatic, just like his father, and they took great care of the car. It has a lot of power, a lot of torque and although its fuel economy isn't as slick as newer cars, it's a reliable car and hasn't let me down.
Well, that is to say, it usually doesn't let me down.

It's probably my fault. See, I had an appointment to get to - I can't remember what it was, but it was just a month ago or so - and I got in my car, turned the key in the ignition and . . . nothing. I was confused.
There wasn't revving, no spinning, no lights. All I could hear was the keys jingling in my hand when I turned it in the ignition. The battery was flat. I didn't believe it, it made no sense that the battery would just die for no reason, so I checked around the console, and when I turned the dial for the lights, I realized that I could turn it off. The lights had been left on.
I don't know whose fault it was. There's a very high possibility that it was me, and I choose to believe that, although there is doubt in my mind because the "P-plate" stickers weren't on the windows (which are always on after I drive my car home), and the doors were unlocked, and since I park my car in an open carport, I always lock my car doors.

But, the reason why doesn't matter, what matters is my battery was flat. Now, I was fine with that. It's happened before, once Dad was driving and broke the alternator, but the alternator failed in an open position and that depleted the battery. That wasn't what made me anxious. Rather, Sean wanted to go out one time, and I told him "I can't, my battery is flat".
He said that he'd come around and we'd give it a jump start, so he drove over and we hooked up the cars, and we charged the battery. It was very, very flat because it took the full ten minutes before the ignition could even catch a spark, there was a tense five minutes when every turn of the key gave a slow, sad, rolling whir from the engine. But eventually, it started, and we got ready to set off.

Now, I think I made two fatal mistakes now. Firstly, I relaxed. I don't think that I should have been tense and anxious, that's part of why I have a problem in the first place, by being tense all the time. But I probably should have been a little more cautious, because I just rolled back into my same routine.
I got in the car, turned the air conditioner on, turned on the radio, all of that. Admittedly, some of this was to make me feel more comfortable. I don't like sitting in silence, so I always listen to the radio when I'm alone in the car, but that might have been a little silly. But I didn't think it would matter. I knew that the battery would charge when I got on the highway, I just needed to get onto the highway, so the alternator could recharge that battery as I sped along.
I stopped on one street to turn the corner, but as I hit the brakes, the lights dimmed slightly. I thought it was a little odd, but I was fine when the car stopped, so I went down the hill and turned the corner.
My second mistake was, I didn't use that opportunity to stop and/or change my driving. Because of my experiences with being unable to find a petrol station, I used to drive in quite a high gear, since that uses less fuel. It's a bad habit, but because my car has a lot of torque, it wasn't usually a problem. I could get away with it, since my car had the guts to do it. But I wasn't concentrating, so when I turned onto the main road, I revved up through second and third and got to my comfortable fourth, then cruised up the street and saw the lights.

I changed down to second and third, then I applied the brakes. As I did, the lights began to dim again. I figured I needed to come to a stop and revv the engine a bit, but I was freaking out about running up the arse of Sean's car that had stopped in front of me. If I had the time, I would have realized that I could have held the clutch in, and given the accelerator a tap. Hell, I could have slammed on the accelerator as hard as I wanted, since with the clutch disengaged the car wouldn't have moved forward; and after giving the battery some juice, I could have pressed the brake to my heart's content.
Hell, in a pinch, I could have applied the handbrake and given the engine a roar, ignoring the foot-brake completely. I did none of these things, however, I pretty much held the brakes, and prayed for a miracle which didn't come . . . the lights turned off, the engine went cold.
All warmth dropped out of my body, as silence and darkness fell over me. I turned the key, but it didn't even turn. The ignition lights turned on, but it wasn't turning the starter, the battery was as good as dead.

Sean was right in front of me. I pressed the horn, but the horn didn't work. I tapped it three times, hearing the pitiful click of the plastic button tapping against a metal switch that was on a dead circuit. So, I opened my door and rapidly tapped on my roof and waved to get Sean's attention. He got out and asked if the car would start. I showed him, no, totally dead out. I pressed for my hazard lights, but they too couldn't turn on, the car was dead.
He said to open the bonnet, and wait for him to come back, he needed to move his car out of the intersection. So, he got in his car, and drove around. As he left, I knew my hazard lights weren't working, and although my hood was up (the international symbol for "this car is fucked"), cars were approaching from behind, and couldn't see it. So, I stood around the back of the car, waving cars to go either side. That's perhaps the worst part, I was in the centre lane, cars either side and I felt like I was surrounded by danger. No sane person wants to get hit by a car, I needed to get people to go around me, as I stood in the path of oncoming traffic, hoping that they would see me and my unlit car as we stood in the middle of a busy main road.
Some people asked why my hazards weren't on, so I just called out "dead battery", they seemed to get it. But I was panicking, I wasn't sure what to do. I checked my RACQ card and called the number, but my phone was out of credit and wouldn't connect. Sean had disappeared from view (since it was a main road, and he couldn't just park on it, he had to move his car out of the way and run back), and I didn't know what to do. It was the only number I could dial anyway, so I tried 000. The operator asked if I needed fire, ambulance or police. I explained my car was obstructing the intersection, and I needed help to move it. He paused for a moment and asked. "So, do you want me to transfer you to fire, ambulance or police?"
I thought for a second, and in a stomach-sinking moment of clarity realized that I wasn't on fire, I wasn't hurt and there wasn't any crime going on. I apologized, and said I didn't really need any of them. I hung up as Sean returned. He asked who I was calling, and I said I tried to call RACQ, feeling embarrassed, exposed, lost and completely incapable of helping myself.
He told me to get in the car and he'd push. I offered to push, but he insisted, just get in, go down the hill and pull over somewhere. So, I got in my cold, dead car and he pushed the car to the intersection. My window was wound down so I could hear him, and he told me to ignore the lights, just go. The path was clear, so I let go of the brake, he pushed, and I turned the corner. I had to force the wheel around, because my power steering was off, and then I began to roll down the hill. Sean jogged to keep up and told me to pull over where it was safe, then he ran back for his car. I pulled into the first side-street, by braking slightly, then peering out my windshield in the darkness, trying to see where the curb was, and I steered myself as close to the side of the road as was comfortable, and braked to a stop.

After starting my car up again, I didn't feel comfortable driving at all. Even when Sean offered to drive my car for me and get me to drive the car he'd brought, I couldn't do it. So, we drove my car back to my place, and I got in the passenger seat, and we went to his house.
We just kinda chatted for a while, and blew off the outing we were going to go to, but for some reason, I lost my cool. See, I tend to just go with the flow, I enjoy different experiences, if someone needs for me to stay on the couch or make my way home, that's fine. However, I didn't feel comfortable, and as the time slipped on, I wanted to go home. So, although he was tired, Sean drove me to the train station and I caught one of the last trains inbound to the city.
But, as I stood at the train station, I felt uncomfortable. It's a feeling that I now associate with anxiety, but at the time I thought it was a niggling edge of depression. I was basically stuck, wondering what the point if that night was. I wanted to go out, and all I had achieved was a broken car, and feeling cold, stuck at a train station, with no idea when the train would actually come.
Worst of all, I remembered what I used to do at train stations. I used to think about story stuff, and solidify ideas. I tried to do it, but I couldn't, I was cold and exhausted and alone in the dark.
I managed to distract myself by reading the graffiti scratched into the chairs and phone alcove, and wondering what kind of maintenance would be required on the soda vending machine which stood out in the open, noisily humming away, and wondering what kind of technology stabilized the refrigeration temperature. It was all dumb, boring stuff, but it was better than sitting quietly and waiting, because my mind would then start going in circles, trying to figure out how exactly I got from happy at home to stuck at a cold, empty train station in the dark with a dead car battery, no writing done, no job and feeling lost.

I also had some trouble getting home, because after the train arrived, it was the last train meaning it stopped at central, and they told me to get a taxi home, and then I had trouble paying because I didn't have enough money in my front account. But, I was glad for that, because it occupied my mind, and kept me from worrying. When I finally did get home, I felt tired, but I talked to my girlfriend about it, and managed to move on. But ever since then, I have felt very uncomfortable about driving my car, especially refuelling it or driving with less than a half-full tank.


In conclusion, I know that it's irrational, and after buying a battery charger and restoring my battery, I have driven my car, and on some occasions - especially driving somewhere I know - I have even felt that sense of freedom I used to feel whenever I drove. I do enjoy driving.
But if anyone says they need me to drive somewhere, I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and try to avoid it, because there is this sense of unease. Thankfully, this is something that I'm working on with my psychologist, identifying these feelings and working to resolve, appease or annihilate them, but I'm not over it yet. I hope this has helped you to understand a little better what it's like to be inside my struggling mind.

Healing Diary: How to Panic

Ugh . . . I am writing this immediately after I finished writing the first blog post in this series, and I have to tell you, it was a harrowing ordeal. Not because of the doctor, the doctor was great, but the events leading up to it . . .
The Word of the Day is: 'APPOINTMENT'.

Appointment /ə'poyntmənt/ n. 1. An arrangement to meet a person or be at a place at a certain time. 2. The act of placing in a job or position. 3. The person who receives such a job or position. 4. The job or position to which such a person is appointed. 5. (pl.) A fixture or fitting. 6. Property Law Nomination to an interest in property under a deed or will.

Okay, two nights ago (at time of writing [i.e. the 22nd of June]), I realized that self-help and occasional calls to a support line weren't going to cut it. All my sources were advising me to see a G.P., and on the 20th of June, I booked an appointment online to see a doctor. I know this date is accurate because I have a text on my phone, sent to me on that date, asking to confirm my online appointment. I set that appointment for two days later, because I was terrified of the idea of having to suffer at home for too much longer, but I couldn't book it on the weekend. See, the opening hours were shorter on the weekends and my sleeping patterns were all over the shop, so I didn't think I could wake up early enough for even a midday appointment (it really was that bad).
Also, I already had a dentist's appointment booked that day. I didn't mention it in the last post, because it kinda slipped my mind (when I wrote that post, I'd just come from the dentist), but I figured, if I had a dentist appointment in the same place, I'd feel more confident leaving the house.
So, I booked online, and I could finally relax for a while . . . I was going to get help, it's a good feeling.

Now, fast forward, the time is 1:30pm, right after writing up the first blog post in this series. I go and eat some lunch, some leftover creamy tomato & tuna pasta; with some cheese on it, it's pretty tasty. Then, my phone alarm goes off, I have to leave in 5 minutes, I put my jacket on and grab my bag (with a book in it to read, while waiting in the waiting room), then I head out the door.
I time it perfectly. It's a gloomy day, but I feel good, because I'm doing what I set out to do. It's even a little sweaty in my leather jacket, but I don't give a fuck, because it's winter, and I'm allowed to wear my black leather jacket without looking like a spaz and I feel good.
I get to the door just as my 3-minute warning alarm goes off on my phone, which I set up so that, if I dawdled too much, it would be my "run, you're late" alarm. I delete the alarm, walk in and say to the receptionist:
  "I'm here for my 2:30 appointment."
She looks at her book, then looks at me.
  "I don't have one for you," she says. "Are you booked under 'John'?"
  "No . . ." I say, frowning. "No, it might be under 'Matt'."
  "One moment please," she says, as the phone rings. While she's on the phone, I grab my own phone to check if maybe they sent me a message or something to confirm the time, so I check my phone, and all I find is that text message, the one I mentioned in the earlier paragraph, to confirm my online appointment. The receptionist finishes on the phone and says. "Are you sure it was here? You might have booked for the dentist, and there's a G.P. at Sunnybank or Warrigal Square."
  "I've already had my dental appointment," I explain, feeling very sheepish. Then I show the phone to her and ask. "Do you do online appointments?"
  "No," she says.
  "Okay," I say. Immediately, I slip out of there and start heading along the road.

Where is it? It must be in Warrigal Square, I said to myself, but should I just head straight there? I don't know where it is, and that's a 40 minute walk from here, I'd be an hour late by the time I found it.
So, I made up my mind to go home, and drive to Warrigal Square. But, the lady said that there were a lot of doctors around the place, I didn't want to go to the wrong one again. I didn't want to leave the home, and get lost again.
With all this in mind, the plan was when I got home, I'd look up the website I'd used to book online, call them and make sure they hadn't cancelled my appointment, then I'd double-check the address, then I'd drive over there.

See, here's the fun part where I get to talk about some of the symptoms of my anxiety, because they're relevant to this story. One of them is having difficulty concentrating, because I get distracted with worry, with regret about the past or fear of the future, I lose focus of the present moment. The reason why I'd gone to the wrong address in the first place was because I wasn't paying enough attention when I booked it, so I saw the street and didn't concentrate on the rest.
(As a side-note, another symptom of anxiety is difficulty when it comes to uncertainty. Notice how I set two alarms for one appointment? It's because I was worried that, even if I adhered to the first alarm, there was a chance that I wouldn't move fast enough to get there on time, hence including a second alarm "just in case". But, as you can see, I was so worried about micromanaging the future, I completely missed that I was going to the wrong place. There's a difference between "preparing for the future" and "worrying about the future", I engaged in the latter.)
The third symptom of anxiety that I want to talk about today, is worry, but one of the differences between everyday worry and worrying as a symptom of anxiety disorder is severity; one way to identify worry as a symptom is if it has a cascading effect. Like dominoes knocking one another over, one worry will lead to another and another, almost like your mind is constructing a little narrative in your head to convince you that you're well and truly fucked . . .

As I walked home, for the full 20-minutes, as that hauntingly grey sky loomed overheard, I worried that I would miss my appointment; and if I missed that appointment, I may not be able to reschedule today (and may even get some kind of late fee, do doctors do that?); and if I couldn't reschedule today, then when could I? Tomorrow, or the next day?; and if I have to schedule for tomorrow, it means I would have to go another day without treatment. If so I could have another panic attack tonight, which means that I might stay up late trying to calm down and miss any appointments tomorrow, so I can't reschedule tomorrow, I'd need to book a few days later, so that I have time to get my sleeping schedule right; but if I have to postpone my next appointment for three days or so, then that means I'll have another week without help & my parents come back on Thursday and want me to pick them up from the Gold Coast! If I can't get help before then, then I can't pick them up, I can't drive if I'm still suffering from anxiety like this, because I'll be wound up tighter than a jack-in-the-box in that car, on my own, for two hours or so on the road! So, I'd have to let them down, and sit at home, suffering, waiting for someone to take me to the doctor.
I was literally on the verge of tears as I got home, I was a mess.

I know, if you're reading this, it might sound silly, but, that's because it is. I know that it's silly, that's one of the reasons anxiety is so stressful, because even if the possibility of that worry isn't real, the concern I feel - and the tension in my chest because of that concern - is real. And for me, if I worry about something and then realize that my concerns are unwarranted, I then get upset that I was worrying about something so stupid.
This is why, as I said in my last post, I think that anxiety is worse than depression. Not only can it have a cascading effect, but it can also have a cycling effect, worrying about worrying like a spinning top whizzing around in your head. So you can start worrying about one thing, and if you're unlucky, you can get thought in a cycle, and the longer it cycles around, the more likely it is to set off a cascade, like a set of dominoes, like I mentioned before. So it's like spinning tops and dominoes all colliding together and toppling over until you make a total mess of your toyroom, which is to say, your head.

Anyway, I got home, and I found the number for the doctor. I said my name and that I had missed my appointment, and the receptionist recognized me instantly, since she'd been wondering where their 2:30 appointment was. Thankfully, and perhaps obviously, she said I could reschedule, no problem. I said I could drive, and I'd be there in five minutes, but I asked her to give me a ten-minute window, because my heart was still beating really fast in my chest, and I could hear the upset in my own voice as I tried to explain why I'd missed my appointment. She was perfectly fine with that, she said she'd see me soon, and I hung up.
I used what time I had to go to the toilet and I even found our Medicare card and then I got in the car.

I am a little nervous about driving. I will get into why in a later blog post [since I tried to explain it here, but ended up writing five paragraphs. It's a long, episodic story, which I'll save for a later blog post]. But needless to say, when I'm nervous, I become even more nervous about driving because I'm nervous that my nervousness will make me nervous . . . and that makes me even more nervous (round and round goes the spinning top).
So, I attempted to calm down, planned my route and set off. I'm actually thankful that I passed through an active school zone, because I practically cruised in third gear half of the way, and the carpark was empty, and I'm quite proud of the fact that I claimed a space, then pulled out and lined up perfectly. But then, I went into the doctor.
My heart was beating like a thumping bongo of an enthusiastic Kongo. So, I filled out my form, and as I sat in the waiting room, my book was untouched. Instead, I practiced my mindful meditation. It's something I learned from E-couch, basically, you close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing and the different parts of your body in that moment. I did a quick, six-breath session, and although it didn't relax me fully it calmed me down enough that I could focus on the task at hand. Then the doctor called me in.

I didn't ask permission to reveal his name, so I'm going to call him Dr A.M., because that's anonymous enough for my purposes and because it sounds to me like the name of a kooky morning radio host. I told him what was going on with me, basically telling him what I said in my first blog post, with a few more specific details about the frequency and content of my anxieties and symptoms.
He listened to me explaining my symptoms and experiences and got me to fill out a form which basically confirmed my, and Dr A.M.'s, suspicions:
I am suffering from mild depression, as well as more serious anxiety and stress.
After talking to me about what I was comfortable with and what I could afford, Dr A.M. gave me a prescription for an anti-depressant, some sleeping tablets and said that he would set up a care plan whereby I could get up to ten sessions with a psychologist, to talk about what's going on as well as monitor my progress on the anti-depressant.

So, that's that. I have to admit, all things considered, I am a little sad that I'm on medication again, I didn't want to get back to this point, and now I'm very conflicted. I'm excited to be getting help, and I'm nervous about how my body will react to them. But at the same time, I'm not on medication yet [at time of writing], since I'm meant to take it in the morning (for the first few days), and the other medicine is to be taken only when necessary, to sleep.
And it makes me realize that, for the next few hours at least (or until tomorrow, if I have no trouble sleeping), I'm still technically the same way I was yesterday. So, I'm still just as vulnerable now as I was before. Of course, this is just my mind working against me, taunting me, probably trying to get the last few jabs in that it can before I start fighting back.
I know that things are moving up from here. And even though I have to ease my body into this new regime, and the doctor said it will probably be a week before the drug is working properly, in about two days I'll get a call about this care plan, and work on it from there.

In conclusion, the weirdest part about all of this is that (in a way) I'm actually kind of relieved that I had this little freakout before going to the doctor. One of the reasons so few people go to see the doctor about anxiety is because they think it's not serious. They may freak out, but either they know it's silly, or unrealistic or illogical; or, they are worrying about something worth worrying about, and think that panicking is a natural reaction, not worth "fixing", but that's not true.
So, although I hated it at the time, in retrospect I'm glad that I had a little tightness in my chest while I was there because it means that I'm not crazy. Well, I am crazy (I don't think that's derogatory, it's descriptive), but at least hypochondria isn't a symptom of my mental illness. Even while writing this, I feel perfectly fine, I'm writing, I'm glad to be writing again, so, it makes me feel a little confused that, without warning, I become a squonk, and feel dreadful.
If a tree falls in the forest, no matter how loud it is, that sound is meaningless unless they can hear it, and so I'm glad that someone else could see my anxiety and confirm "yes, that is a really big tree, we should do something about that".

I'm the Absurd Word Nerd, and I will keep you updated on my progress. But until next time I'll write about something other than my anxiety, I promise.

Healing Diary: Prologue

I haven't been feeling well, lately. I've written posts before about how I do have depression and I manage it, most of the time. But lately, I've noticed a new ailment which - and I can barely believe I'm saying it - I believe to be much more severe, and a much heavier burden to bear. The strange part is, from the outside looking in, it seemed so much easier. I've heard about people suffering from it before, but it didn't seem so bad, concerning but not life-changing. But now that I'm living with it, it's devastating. It's anxiety.
The Word of the Day is: 'BUTTERFLIES'

Butterflies /ˈbutəfluyz/ pl. n. Informal A queasy feeling or tremors in the stomach region, as from nervousness, anxiety, excitement, etc; flutters: I sure got butterflies thinking about it.

Yes, I know "butterflies" tends to downplay the seriousness of anxiety. But, just as my post on 'depression' was called black dog, I thought it was apropos that this one also related to some kind of animal synonym.
This also relates to my "My Little Pony" post. I've been feeling a little blue lately, and that's why my 199th post was about MLP:FiM, because that makes me happy, and it did cheer me up (as did post 200), and it also it occurs to me, the character "Fluttershy" from my My Little Pony (my favourite), she's an easily startled, anxious little pony, and her cutie mark is three butterflies . . . make of that what you will.
I am writing this with two hours before I'm going to the doctor, to get checked out, and I'm actually kind of glad for it. In fact, that's the only reason I can write this, is because I've been doing everything I can to get better.

See, it all started not long after my 200th blog post. After that, my parents went on a cruise, and I had the house all to myself. It has been forever since my friends and I have partied together, had a few drinks together and enjoyed ourselves, so I decided to host a party. It was fantastic. It wasn't too raucous, and although there was heavy drinking, we spent most of the time sitting on couches, watching sport or bad movies, and just joking around, laughing at our dumb games and getting drunk. It was a lot of fun.
This was three days of drinking and friends, and on the last day, it was just me and my two great friends, Sean and Kieran. I was feeling a little unwell then, I assumed it was a hangover. Since I always hydrate myself well, I never get the headache, but I do sometimes feel my guts churn from too much drinking, and I was feeling that, I assumed that was all it was. They asked if I wanted them to leave, and I didn't, I just said I didn't want to party anymore, and wouldn't be drinking. They were fine with that, and it was Monday oncoming, so they packed up and left. And I basically went to bed and slept, since I was tired.

I woke up the next day, and I cleaned up the house a bit, but I still wasn't feeling well, and more than just a hangover would cause. I assumed it was the food we'd eaten, since we'd had pizza and chips and take-away food, mostly. So, I figured a better diet would perk me up; and since I usually get upset during winter, I thought some sunshine, some warmth and some healthy food would perk me right up. So, I did that, and during the day, I felt okay, if a little tense. But as night fell, I just kinda broke.I lost interest in everything, I felt stuck, I felt lonely, I felt a pressure in my chest. And I started getting these panic attacks, fear that I couldn't get a job, couldn't support myself, couldn't move out of my parents house - fear that my life was meaningless.

I talked to my Beloved about it, and she was a great help, but one person could only do so much and there are only so many hours in the day, especially when living in different hemispheres. I started avoiding . . . everything.
I was scared of the coldness, I was scared of the darkness, I was scared of the silence. And so, I spent my evenings watching YouTube videos, talking to my girlfriend and trying to wade out the darkness, but I couldn't sleep when it was dark, because that tension in my chest was also in the back of my neck, and it didn't go away until I could see sunlight, but then I slept through morning, woke up late afternoon and panicked as the sun went down that I was wasting my days.

It was a vicious cycle, and on the third night, I couldn't stand it. I felt so alone, so stuck, so hopeless . . . luckily for me, when the going gets tough, my solution is "the worse the problem, the more I'll do to repair it", this was my Godzilla Threshold, and so despite feeling like frozen elephant shit, I picked up the phone and called for help.
I can tell you the exact time, because my phone is an internet phone, and it records all ingoing and outgoing calls. On Wednesday the 17th of June, 11:28pm, I called 1300 22 4636. That's the number for BeyondBlue's 24hr support line; an Australian service where you can talk to a mental health professional and get advice on how to deal with any mental illness you happen to be suffering from.
I can't recommend it enough. It is not a counselling service or a crisis hotline, so if you want a counsellor, or you feel like hurting yourself, it's better to call LifeLine (on 13 11 14), I was at my lowest, but I know some people can get lower than that, so you might consider LifeLine first.
But either way, it was helpful, because I talked to the woman on the line, honestly, about what was going on, how I felt and what I thought the issue was. She helped me to calm down, kept me company for a good 26 minutes, and gave me a lot of information. I feel guilty that I don't remember her name, since she really helped me. She didn't cure me, but she gave me the steps to help myself. If you are feeling down and calling this line, it's amazingly informative, I just have one piece of advice, make sure you find a pen and paper.
It's not immediate, and you have time while the robo-receptionist puts you through to an operator (it takes about a minute), but the lady I spoke to gave me eight different resources I could use, and if you're calling because your mind is working against you, you definitely won't remember it all, so most definitely, pen and paper.

After that, I decided to try some self-help. I was still anxious, of course, and a bit resistant . . . oddly, just like how an animal survives by running from danger and seeking out food, mental illness seems to work the same. It festers by encouraging you to avoid help, and makes you do things that perpetuate it and allow it to grow (like make you sleep during the day, despite feeling anxious at night when it's cold and dark). So, I felt incredibly anxious about using any of this self-help stuff or calling a doctor, but I tried it out, starting with E-couch. E-couch is a website that offers information about self-help programs in an easy, step by step guide, that allows you to identify what's wrong and then offers ways to deal with it, and it is entirely free to register and use, and if you get distracted, or feel like you want to stop, you can go away and come back, and it saves your place for you.
I highly recommend this website, not just because it's so informative, but because it's honest, accurate and, well, it doesn't feel too clinical. The site is an initiative by the government and BeyondBlue to give the average, Australian citizen information about how to deal with their mental illnesses, from anxiety and depression to grief management and divorce/separation programs. And now, I say Australian, because this site has data about Australian mental illness statistics and it is funded by our government . . . but, my girlfriend suffers from anxiety and I wanted to share some of these tools with her, so I told her about it, and she registered to check it out for herself. So, it doesn't seem exclusive, and although I'd recommend you look for local programs, help is help so I'd recommend E-couch for anyone that wants to try to manage their mental illness alone.

But, as I said a few paragraphs ago, I'm going to the doctor soon. The reason is simple, both E-couch and the BeyondBlue support line made it clear, no amount of self-diagnosis, online support or personal remedies can equate to professional healthcare. Don't get me wrong! I'm not saying this stuff is useless, it's very useful. I feel better using these programs, and using that website's criteria, I actually managed my depression from "high risk" to "medium-low risk".
However, both this site and the lady on the phone told me that I should see a G.P. (i.e. general practitioner), as I seem to be suffering from severe, chronic anxiety, and I should get a diagnosis from a doctor, so that I can consider medication or counselling.

So, that's what I plan to do . . . and I figured I'd record what happens, and show it all here, including the path to getting better, hence the title "healing diary", I plan to document my recovery. See, while suffering from anxiety, I withdrew from everything, because it wasn't bringing me joy anymore, and that included writing - not because writing isn't fun, but because my mind wouldn't allow me to have fun, because it was busy being anxious. But because I wasn't writing, I got even more upset, it's a vicious cycle. So now, thanks to the help of E-couch, and the knowledge that I'll soon have a doctor working with me to handle my latest mental illness, I am perked up enough to write, but the only thing on my mind is the illness on my mind that's kept me from writing for so long.
So, I decided to go for full disclosure, and maybe help someone else to find help by documenting not only the process of getting better, but also a prologue as to how it started in the first place. I've been going through this for a week, but I've been a high risk patient for anxiety for a while, since not only do I rely on the company of others a lot, but I've suffered from depression in the past, and I have had some of the symptoms of anxiety even though I could manage them before. So although I've only suffered from anxiety for one week, it hit me like a point-blank cannonball, and I've been in bed, hidden away from the world, as though I were suffering from a physical disability, because that's what anxiety can do to you.
Anyway, it's a 30-minute walk to the G.P., and I have an hour, so I'm going to take 30 for lunch and then go see the G.P., when you next hear from me, I'll tell you how it all went, then we can talk about follow-up stuff.

. . .

Okay, I've just gone through that ordeal, but it was a lot more 'dramatic' than I expected, so my next blog post will explain what happened. Until then, I'm the Absurd Word Nerd, and I suffer from anxiety; but hopefully, not for very much longer.