For years I insisted that I didn't have a creative bone in my body. It was a lament. I honestly believed I had no imagination or creativity.
For whatever reason, I completely overlooked the fact that, as far back as I can remember, I've made up stories in my head. I control them and they play like movies. Doing so helps me make sense of things, right wrongs, change endings and make me feel better about things. The righting of wrongs and changing of endings is metaphoric, of course, but doing so really does make me feel better.
It never occurred to me to write many stories or a novel because the stories in my head were visual. About eighteen months ago, however, I realised I wasn't visualising but writing a narrative in my head. I jumped up and sat in front of the computer and began to write. I didn't know where it would take me at the time; I simply wanted to strike while the iron was hot, so to speak. The end result is a 90K word novel which I'm currently editing.
Over the course of writing the novel, I realised that I was a creative and imaginative person; I simply hadn't acknowledged it. I began keeping a diary when I was eleven years old and haven't stopped. When I feel particularly low, poems pour out of me. The poems and diaries are overflowing with images, metaphors and analogies. Not creative? What the hell was I thinking when I used to say that?
Yesterday I saw the dark side of my imagination. It's been there all along but I had an experience in which I came to fully understand the link between imagination and anxiety. Awhile back I blogged about the link between mindfulness, writing and anxiety. In fact, the SA Writers Centre has a workshop coming up, Writing in Flow, which looks as if it is going to expand on what I wrote. If you want to read that post, click here.
My son had a dental procedure done. He had a baby tooth removed and an incision made in his gum so that the adult tooth would come down. When it was done, the periodontist asked if I wanted to see it. I quickly replied, "No, I'm a fainter." And I am. Big time. I fainted once in a First Aid course when we were learning how to stem blood flow. The instructor asked me all kinds of questions as to whether I'd eaten, if I was sick, menstruating etc and I kept having to repeat that it was the subject that had made me faint, nothing else.
Saying no was of little use. I began to picture my son's mouth. Soon the taste of blood filled my own mouth, my bowel and stomach both turned, black spots danced in front of my eyes and my legs felt weak. I didn't faint or vomit but I became acutely aware of what my imagination was capable of doing to me. That is essentially what a panic or anxiety attack is. It's the mind creating a scenario which is unlikely to occur and the body following with its "fight or flight" response. Even as I write, I can taste blood in my mouth. (I guess I'd make a pretty crappy vampire!)
One of my friends was seeing a psychologist for her anxiety but stopped. She told me that he would mention situations she hadn't thought of and then she would add them to her list of anxiety inducing ones. It was probably not his intention but he fed her imagination and exacerbated the problem.
Many high profile creative people suffer from anxiety. It just never occurred to me that there might actually be a link. Maybe it's not random. If we have the imagination to create, surely we have the side of imagination which shows us dark and frightening things. Maybe some can assimilate it perfectly into their work and not be physically affected. Others can't.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Better, Worse, Medicated or Unmedicated
I know a handful of people who also suffer from anxiety. I'm always surprised when someone tells me; it's hard to pick.
Some of the people I know live seemingly "normal" lives. I'm pleased for them and envious at the same time. It's not a negative gripping jealousy by any means; it's just something I'm always working towards and wish I were there already. On the other hand, I know people who, at present, are able to do less than me. I suspect they're happy for me and envious at the same time. It's a personal journey and we're all at different places. I've been both better and worse than I am now.
Of the people I know, some are medicated with anti-anxiety meds or anti-depressants on a daily basis while some take them sporadically, as needed. Others don't take any. I fall into the latter category. I'm not and never have been medicated. That's not a judgement, boast or lament; it's simply a fact.
The most recent help I sought used CBT and ACT rather than medication and no doctor has ever suggested it for me, although one wanted to give me anti-depressants for PMT once many years ago. I have to admit I love the idea of taking an anti-anxiety tablet when I'm overwhelmed by panic and have strongly considered asking the doctor. I haven't, however. First of all, if the doctor felt they were necessary she would have prescribed them. Second, I mostly feel that way when I'm going through a bad patch which means I'd be taking them often and they are highly addictive. I know people who only take them when they're travelling, for example. Unfortunately, my own anxiety is less specific than that so I wouldn't be able to limit them. That's my own story.
I also know people, however, who are so anxious they need one on a daily basis in order to be calm enough to function. They have tried CBT and/or ACT and it hasn't worked for them. As I wrote, it's a personal journey.
I'm really on here just to tell my own story. I thought it was important to qualify that by mentioning that everyone is different. We all have similarities that we can relate to and laugh about together but my story isn't anyone else's and I would hate it to be taken as such.
Some of the people I know live seemingly "normal" lives. I'm pleased for them and envious at the same time. It's not a negative gripping jealousy by any means; it's just something I'm always working towards and wish I were there already. On the other hand, I know people who, at present, are able to do less than me. I suspect they're happy for me and envious at the same time. It's a personal journey and we're all at different places. I've been both better and worse than I am now.
Of the people I know, some are medicated with anti-anxiety meds or anti-depressants on a daily basis while some take them sporadically, as needed. Others don't take any. I fall into the latter category. I'm not and never have been medicated. That's not a judgement, boast or lament; it's simply a fact.
The most recent help I sought used CBT and ACT rather than medication and no doctor has ever suggested it for me, although one wanted to give me anti-depressants for PMT once many years ago. I have to admit I love the idea of taking an anti-anxiety tablet when I'm overwhelmed by panic and have strongly considered asking the doctor. I haven't, however. First of all, if the doctor felt they were necessary she would have prescribed them. Second, I mostly feel that way when I'm going through a bad patch which means I'd be taking them often and they are highly addictive. I know people who only take them when they're travelling, for example. Unfortunately, my own anxiety is less specific than that so I wouldn't be able to limit them. That's my own story.
I also know people, however, who are so anxious they need one on a daily basis in order to be calm enough to function. They have tried CBT and/or ACT and it hasn't worked for them. As I wrote, it's a personal journey.
I'm really on here just to tell my own story. I thought it was important to qualify that by mentioning that everyone is different. We all have similarities that we can relate to and laugh about together but my story isn't anyone else's and I would hate it to be taken as such.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Strong Emotions
I had what Oprah would call "a lightbulb moment" yesterday. It happened when I went to see my mother's former house being auctioned. I sold the house five years ago. The whole process was conducted by an agent through telephone calls and face to face meetings. I never met the couple who bought the house and never actually witnessed the sale. I simply signed papers, packed things and never saw the house again. On settlement day, I felt vaguely sad.
Last weekend my sister called me to tell me the house was on the market again for the second time since my mother's death. I went to the open inspection. I thought I'd be wobbly but was fine. The house looked wonderful. Yesterday I went to the auction. Suddenly I got very wobbly. It was as though I were selling the house. The grief that never surfaced when I really sold it threatened to bubble up from deep within. I considered leaving before it even began.
It was then that I realised. When I experience very strong emotions - particularly "negative" ones - it brings on a panic attack. I remembered my mother's death. My sister and I were sitting in a lounge area at the hospice; Mum had sent us out of the room. The nurse came and told us our mother was passing so we headed back. I got to the door of the room and froze. My sister - my mother's baby girl - had lost it by that time and I knew she probably couldn't go back into the room. It was up to me. Panic washed over me. There is probably no greater "negative" emotion than the one you experience when you're about to watch a loved one die. I did exactly what I'd done on one of the happiest days of my life - my wedding day - when panic was triggered by strong emotion. I told myself I didn't have time for it and carried on. Of course, the anxiety still occurred but I didn't let it cripple me. The up (and down) side to PAD is that much of it is thought triggered.
My sister and I both managed to walk through the door that day. We're made of stronger stuff than either of us give ourselves credit for. I held my mother's hand as she left us and, as sad as it was, it was also a beautiful moment for me; Mum brought me into the world and I held her hand as she left it. Consequently, yesterday's auction really was a no-brainer. I stayed, as anxious as the grief had made me feel. (By the way, no one bid on the house so it was a non-event.)
Three years ago I attended the funeral of a friend who died of the same cancer as my mother. My friend was younger than me, however. Again, I was unsure if I could do it. I knew her through my children; she was the mother of two of their friends. As I sat there, panic rising, I looked over at both of my babies and saw tears streaming down their cheeks. Again, I knew I had to be the strong one. I took a deep breath and stretched my arm to reach across both their shoulders for comfort. We got through but panic was only a heartbeat away for me throughout the service.
Living with PAD is a lifelong learning process. I learnt something new yesterday. The important thing is not to avoid triggers but to boldly walk towards them. The next time I know I'm going to be faced with strong emotions I'll be on the watch to see what happens.
Last weekend my sister called me to tell me the house was on the market again for the second time since my mother's death. I went to the open inspection. I thought I'd be wobbly but was fine. The house looked wonderful. Yesterday I went to the auction. Suddenly I got very wobbly. It was as though I were selling the house. The grief that never surfaced when I really sold it threatened to bubble up from deep within. I considered leaving before it even began.
It was then that I realised. When I experience very strong emotions - particularly "negative" ones - it brings on a panic attack. I remembered my mother's death. My sister and I were sitting in a lounge area at the hospice; Mum had sent us out of the room. The nurse came and told us our mother was passing so we headed back. I got to the door of the room and froze. My sister - my mother's baby girl - had lost it by that time and I knew she probably couldn't go back into the room. It was up to me. Panic washed over me. There is probably no greater "negative" emotion than the one you experience when you're about to watch a loved one die. I did exactly what I'd done on one of the happiest days of my life - my wedding day - when panic was triggered by strong emotion. I told myself I didn't have time for it and carried on. Of course, the anxiety still occurred but I didn't let it cripple me. The up (and down) side to PAD is that much of it is thought triggered.
My sister and I both managed to walk through the door that day. We're made of stronger stuff than either of us give ourselves credit for. I held my mother's hand as she left us and, as sad as it was, it was also a beautiful moment for me; Mum brought me into the world and I held her hand as she left it. Consequently, yesterday's auction really was a no-brainer. I stayed, as anxious as the grief had made me feel. (By the way, no one bid on the house so it was a non-event.)
Three years ago I attended the funeral of a friend who died of the same cancer as my mother. My friend was younger than me, however. Again, I was unsure if I could do it. I knew her through my children; she was the mother of two of their friends. As I sat there, panic rising, I looked over at both of my babies and saw tears streaming down their cheeks. Again, I knew I had to be the strong one. I took a deep breath and stretched my arm to reach across both their shoulders for comfort. We got through but panic was only a heartbeat away for me throughout the service.
Living with PAD is a lifelong learning process. I learnt something new yesterday. The important thing is not to avoid triggers but to boldly walk towards them. The next time I know I'm going to be faced with strong emotions I'll be on the watch to see what happens.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Seal(ed) With A Kiss
Last night I watched The Voice. The last contestant, a young man who had performed with The Ten Tenors, had a wonderful voice. Coach, Seal, however, could sense something beyond the voice and gently coaxed information from him. The young man confessed that he had suffered from severe depression two years prior. Seal then also announced - on national television in primetime - that he had had severe panic and anxiety in the past. If that wasn't enough, Ricky Martin, also said that he, too, had suffered from depression.
By the time the three men had finished sharing I had both hands clutching my heart and tears streaming down my face. It was one of the bravest things I've ever witnessed. For the purposes of the blog I'm going to focus on Seal but that, in no way, belittles the other two men or depression in any way.
Seal is an intelligent, successful, talented and highly respected musician. For someone in his position to do what he did "normalises" Panic and Anxiety Disorder. He reached more people in one night on television than I can hope to reach in a life-time of blogging and I'm overwhelmingly grateful to him.
According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, Panic and Anxiety Disorder is the most common mental illness in Australia, with 14% of the population of 16-85 years olds affected. That means that, if you have 100 friends in that age group, 14 of them suffer from anxiety. I'm not talking about pre-exam jitters; I'm talking about anxiety crippling enough to limit someone's life. I imagine you're shaking your head and thinking that I can't be right. Let's look more closely at the people you know. There could be the friend who won't go out alone or the one who prefers to. Then there's the one who is always distracted when you run into them in public, their eyes darting all over the place. No, they're not bored or stand-offish; they're checking for escape routes. What about the one who won't take public transport or the one who refuses to drive. The one who always wants to eat the same meal at the same restaurant could be another. Then there's the friend who'd rather sit for hours in a car, bus or train than ever fly or their opposite, the one who'd rather fly than be trapped for so many hours in a car, bus or train. And my all-time favourite (not) is the poor stay at home mum that the other mums bitch about in the school-yard, saying how lazy she is and what a bad mum she is for not helping at her children's school.
I'm not saying all those behaviours mean Panic and Anxiety Disorder. My point is that you simply don't know because most sufferers keep that information hidden with their underwear. How, then, could you know? I can't even pick fellow sufferers. I guess I don't have a very good "PADar"!
So, when someone like Seal declares in front of a large viewing audience that he's had issues with anxiety we breath easier and think that, maybe, we're okay, after all.
Besides, "if we're ever going to survive, we need to get a little crazy."
By the time the three men had finished sharing I had both hands clutching my heart and tears streaming down my face. It was one of the bravest things I've ever witnessed. For the purposes of the blog I'm going to focus on Seal but that, in no way, belittles the other two men or depression in any way.
Seal is an intelligent, successful, talented and highly respected musician. For someone in his position to do what he did "normalises" Panic and Anxiety Disorder. He reached more people in one night on television than I can hope to reach in a life-time of blogging and I'm overwhelmingly grateful to him.
According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, Panic and Anxiety Disorder is the most common mental illness in Australia, with 14% of the population of 16-85 years olds affected. That means that, if you have 100 friends in that age group, 14 of them suffer from anxiety. I'm not talking about pre-exam jitters; I'm talking about anxiety crippling enough to limit someone's life. I imagine you're shaking your head and thinking that I can't be right. Let's look more closely at the people you know. There could be the friend who won't go out alone or the one who prefers to. Then there's the one who is always distracted when you run into them in public, their eyes darting all over the place. No, they're not bored or stand-offish; they're checking for escape routes. What about the one who won't take public transport or the one who refuses to drive. The one who always wants to eat the same meal at the same restaurant could be another. Then there's the friend who'd rather sit for hours in a car, bus or train than ever fly or their opposite, the one who'd rather fly than be trapped for so many hours in a car, bus or train. And my all-time favourite (not) is the poor stay at home mum that the other mums bitch about in the school-yard, saying how lazy she is and what a bad mum she is for not helping at her children's school.
I'm not saying all those behaviours mean Panic and Anxiety Disorder. My point is that you simply don't know because most sufferers keep that information hidden with their underwear. How, then, could you know? I can't even pick fellow sufferers. I guess I don't have a very good "PADar"!
So, when someone like Seal declares in front of a large viewing audience that he's had issues with anxiety we breath easier and think that, maybe, we're okay, after all.
Besides, "if we're ever going to survive, we need to get a little crazy."
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Adding Challenges
Before I start I need to share two facts with you. First of all, I'm currently learning French. Second, my daughter threw her French dictionaries in my general direction in a fit of pique at the end of her Year 12 last year, declaring that she would never, ever do French again and that I was welcome to the dictionaries which I'd been borrowing anyway. Never say never, my darling. Guess who's doing French at university and asked if she could have her dictionaries back?! By the way, I need to clarify that she wasn't throwing them at me. Hold that information.
I've just finished attending the Alliance Française Film Festival. Last Wednesday I had a ticket for one and, since it began at a similar time to my daughter's uni lectures for that day, she suggested we go into the city together and have lunch at Cafe Brunelli on Rundle Street. She further suggested I wait for her to finish uni and we go home together, as well.
Hmmm, I thought to myself. I'm not very good at doing multiple things away from home. It's okay if it's spontaneous but if I look at it as a whole to begin with I feel uncomfortable. The idea of lunch and the movie was bad enough but waiting around afterwards for another forty minutes??? So, I said I'd text her after the movie to let her know.
That was what my psychologist would refer to as "safety seeking behaviour" and those of us with Panic Disorder wrote the book on that one. It's different for each of us, of course. And it's never logical, except in our own minds. For example, if I leave home without a bottle of water I feel very uncomfortable because, of course, I can't buy bottled water anywhere so obviously I'll dehydrate and die.
Saying I'd text my daughter gave me "a way out". I hate feeling trapped in any way. What I should have done was say I would wait for her and only text her if I desperately needed to get home. Of course, if I desperately needed to get home I would be experiencing just the sort of symptoms for which I actually need to stay in the situation. Go figure.
What did I do? I was fine so I spent time while I waited buying myself a French dictionary! After meeting up, however, we didn't go straight home. My daughter, you see, is a cougar. While she's in her first year of university, her long-term boyfriend is in his final year of high school and his formal is approaching. So, before leaving the city, she wanted to look in a vintage shop in the city for a dress for that. My time in town was prolonged as she tried on a dress. Had I known that was coming it would have sent me into a tailspin but I didn't so it was okay.
Five hours after arriving I left the city.
Cheers.
I've just finished attending the Alliance Française Film Festival. Last Wednesday I had a ticket for one and, since it began at a similar time to my daughter's uni lectures for that day, she suggested we go into the city together and have lunch at Cafe Brunelli on Rundle Street. She further suggested I wait for her to finish uni and we go home together, as well.
Hmmm, I thought to myself. I'm not very good at doing multiple things away from home. It's okay if it's spontaneous but if I look at it as a whole to begin with I feel uncomfortable. The idea of lunch and the movie was bad enough but waiting around afterwards for another forty minutes??? So, I said I'd text her after the movie to let her know.
That was what my psychologist would refer to as "safety seeking behaviour" and those of us with Panic Disorder wrote the book on that one. It's different for each of us, of course. And it's never logical, except in our own minds. For example, if I leave home without a bottle of water I feel very uncomfortable because, of course, I can't buy bottled water anywhere so obviously I'll dehydrate and die.
Saying I'd text my daughter gave me "a way out". I hate feeling trapped in any way. What I should have done was say I would wait for her and only text her if I desperately needed to get home. Of course, if I desperately needed to get home I would be experiencing just the sort of symptoms for which I actually need to stay in the situation. Go figure.
What did I do? I was fine so I spent time while I waited buying myself a French dictionary! After meeting up, however, we didn't go straight home. My daughter, you see, is a cougar. While she's in her first year of university, her long-term boyfriend is in his final year of high school and his formal is approaching. So, before leaving the city, she wanted to look in a vintage shop in the city for a dress for that. My time in town was prolonged as she tried on a dress. Had I known that was coming it would have sent me into a tailspin but I didn't so it was okay.
Five hours after arriving I left the city.
Cheers.
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