Statistically Speaking

I was in a car crash on Tuesday morning. Nothing major. I rear-ended someone. I didn't careen into them; I simply wasn't able to stop in time. Contrary to what you may think - given my anxiety - I'm ultra-cool in those situations. I swapped details with the man I hit, drove the children the rest of the way to school and then reported it. It wasn't until my husband, who was interstate, called that I burst into tears.

Since Tuesday, road safety has been on my mind. I feel more anxious each time my daughter drives away. I also feel more anxious as I drive. A car was tailgating me the other day and I felt extremely uneasy. After all, I hadn't been tailgating - the cars in front of me had stopped suddenly. I began to worry that, if I had to stop suddenly, there would be no way the car behind could stop without hitting me.

At the moment, I'm at a fork in the road with anxiety. I'll either be able to move on from the crash and the anxiety it's provoking or I'll have a setback and get worse after so much hard work. The latter is not a very attractive option. I like where I'm at right now. So, this is what I've been doing to try to prevent it.

Acknowledging the possibility of a setback is a good starting point. I'm on red alert for extra anxiety. For example, yesterday I was out grocery shopping and felt extremely fatigued. I decided to just do what I had to do and get home. I've had a genuine health issue for the past couple of weeks that could have caused it but, as soon as I'd finished the necessary shopping, I began to feel a lot better. If I were truly tired, the shopping would have exacerbated it. That being the case, I made myself stay on at the shops until I'd completely finished and was fine. I had a lot of running around to do in the afternoon and evening and was not left tired. Conclusion: anxiety (which, for me, can manifest itself in extreme fatigue.)

I've been playing with statistics, too. I like to bombard my mind with them when I feel nervous. Each time I've had to drive to my son's school (or anywhere for that matter) I've told myself that, having lived in the same house for over 17 years, I've done each drive countless times and only been involved in one accident in that entire time. Consequently, it's far more likely that I'm going to get from Point A to Point B safely.

Using statistics is helpful in general. I've got a greater chance of getting ovarian cancer because a first degree relative had it. Statistically speaking, what it means is that my chance of NOT getting it has gone down from something like 97% to 94%.

Basically, if the chances of something bad happening are far less than not happening I like to point that out to myself. I haven't done the morning school run since the accident but I have driven to the school three times since and have been reasonably calm. It was only the first time I had to remind myself of the statistics. My daughter has done it twice since then and I've been anxious but, again, I have to keep reminding myself that it's far more likely all will be well.

The Old School Tie

The city where I live is one of those places where there are probably only two degrees of separation between any two people that live there. That degree is reduced further when it's between people who've lived here all their lives.

One of the first questions a native of Adelaide will ask is, "What school did you go to?" The question is partly to peg you socially. The other larger part, however, is to determine any mutual acquaintances you might have. And the chances are you will have some.

It's a question I love being asked. I loved my school when I was there and am still proud to have gone there. Every year it plays host to an afternoon tea for its "old girls". At that event, the prefects and house captains from fifty years before talk about their school days. It's always on the first Saturday of August and I've been going now for six years.

For me, the afternoon is an inspiration. I love the school and life stories of these women and I love being back in the school hall. The current women went to the girls' campus of the school before the school was amalgamated in the 1970s. I was in the last group of girls to enrol at the "Girls School". I spent Years 8, 9 and 10 there before we were moved to the "Boys School", completing the three year amalgamation.

It was - and still is - a very academic school. In those days we were streamed and I was in the top stream. There was an expectation of success at and from the school. There was never a sense of girls not being able to do as well as boys. (In fact, those of us in the top stream weren't able to do Home Economics. Hence my aversion to cooking.) The women that speak are testament to that. They often mention that the school motto, "Not for school but for life", stuck with them. They never forgot the school and its lessons and believe their success was because of the education and nurturing they received at high school.

I love their stories because they fill me with a sense of possibility. I look at these women and what they've accomplished and am filled with hope. They're older than me and are replete with life, passion and vibrancy. Rather than feel bitter that I've let my anxiety hold me back in many ways, I hear them speak and feel reassured that there is still much I can do and accomplish. We went to the same school and probably come from similar backgrounds. It's not as though I'm listening to some motivational speaker who's been paid to come and do it. I'm listening to women who sat in the same classrooms, played sports in the same fields and stared at the same school honour boards during assemblies in the same hall as me.

Being in the old school hall and seeing old friends triggers something else, as well. I'm with people who knew me before I was anxious, before I was someone's wife and before I was someone's mother. They simply knew me. I have trouble remembering sometimes who I was and what I was like so it's great to be reminded. Part of me and who I was walks invisibly through the corridors of that school and it's reassuring to get a glimpse of that "angelic rebel" sometimes.

Melting Down

I wrote a post quite early on about the "holy trinity" of self-care. On Monday I disregarded that. I went non-stop all day and fuelled myself with pizza, chips, chocolate and Chinese food. That night I slept poorly. And then yesterday morning I had a massive melt-down.

I periodically melt down. It's usually hormonal and that was a contributing factor yesterday. This was big, really big. This one saw me spending most of the day in bed in foetal position, covers over my head crying. The beds remained unmade, dishes unwashed until a family member took it upon himself to do them, clothes unwashed until late in the day, dog poop unscooped and pets' water unchanged. That may be the norm for some people but not for me; I usually have all that done by late morning at the latest. If it's not done, then either I'm very busy or something is wrong.

Of course, I'm not talking about clinical depression. I'm not even talking about depression really. If I were I might still be in bed today. I'm not; I'm feeling emotionally fragile and my eyes are puffy as hell but I'm up and about and not crying.

There were other contributing factors to yesterday which I won't go into. Suffice it to say, it's been a period of heavy stress for a few months.

What I found interesting yesterday was how I dealt with it. Or rather how I didn't deal with it. I have almost reprogrammed myself when it comes to anxiety. I have to be in a state of extreme agitation to be unable to use ACT, CBT or mindfulness. It's unusual to get to that point with anxiety these days because I'm attuned to it and on the watch for it so use the techniques as soon as I need to.

Not so with an emotional melt-down. A fog descends on my brain rendering me unable to have any thoughts except for the ones about how worthless and unloved I am and how much my life sucks. I know today that it's not true but yesterday was a different story. I was too agitated to be able to use any of the techniques. Maybe they're not effective for melt-downs anyway; I don't know.

The thing with anxiety is that everyone suffers from it. To have Anxiety Disorder simply means that the anxiety is out of proportion and affects the life of the sufferer. I don't really know if everyone has melt-downs or not. I do know people get upset. I can't tell you the last time I ended up in bed with one but I think it may have been in the wake of my mother's death six years ago. The melt-downs I usually have are intermittent and over quickly.

The point I'm making is that anxiety affects my day to day life and limits what I can do. It is crucial, therefore, that I use techniques that help me to live as fulfilling a life as I can. Sadness doesn't. It happens but it's not limiting my life in any way. Okay, so I didn't do the chores yesterday. I did them today. That being the case, does it matter if I'm in a fog of 'unhelpful thoughts' from which I can't escape. It passed. I could spend unnecessary time and energy trying to fix something that doesn't need to be fixed.

Obviously, if I were suffering from depression I would need to get help and anyone who thinks they are should see their doctor. I just had a bad day.

What Can I Do?

I write two completely different and unrelated blogs. The other day, however, they collided. A throw-away line by a friend had a big impact on me, both as an anxiety sufferer and as someone who is trying to live an alternative lifestyle. Yesterday I used her line in my other blog; today I'm using it in this one.

My friend suffers from multiple food intolerances and she said to me on Monday that she doesn't like to tell people what she can't eat, rather what she can eat. I found inspiration in that.

My relationship with anxiety has been up and down and weak and strong over the years. Five years ago, I went on a family holiday which involved two day cruises. There was a certain amount of anxiety but it wasn't insurmountable. Three months later, I crashed into a heap, after being well for five years, and could barely walk out the front door. Of course, I had no choice but to do so but, every time I did, I experienced severe anxiety.

At this point I don't think I could manage a day cruise but I can certainly leave home - especially to do routine things - without anxiety. To get back to my friend's point, there are things I can do now that I couldn't do four years ago. There are also things I'm yet to be able to do but I'd rather focus on how far I've come than on what I still have to do.

Like a lot of people I have a "bucket list". At the moment, there are a great number of things on it that I couldn't manage. My husband and I were chatting earlier today and he mentioned a restaurant in the city he'd like to take me to. As the conversation progressed and we talked about various things we'd like to do or try in our own city, I said to him that I'd like to create an "Adelaide Bucket List". Most of the things I'd put on there would be things I could do now.

I don't want to lament all the things I've missed out on; I want to be too busy doing what I can do. Maybe one day I'll do the other things, maybe not. Whatever the case, I don't want to feel as if I sat around waiting for my life to begin or to get better. The most inspirational people I know are the ones who are restricted in some way but still fill their days doing what they can on that particular day. My friend's line of "I tell people what I can eat" is a metaphor for that.

Cheers.

Running Screaming from the Train

Last weekend, my husband, son and I went to The Ghan's open day. I'd long been curious to see this luxurious train.

When we first got to the train station we had to line up. It was a long line. It was even longer than it first appeared because it snaked around portable fencing. I don't like waiting in long lines; it makes me anxious. I don't like feeling trapped and waiting in long lines makes me feel trapped. On second viewing, it wasn't too bad because I could see an escape. No one was forcing me to go on The Ghan so I could get out of line any time I needed.

The time spent in line went quickly. They were getting people on-board efficiently. While we waited, we amused ourselves by flirting with the baby in front; my son and I were competing to see who could make him smile. My son won; babies like him. I also tried to observe the people in line in front of me; people watching is one of my favourite activities when I'm in public. A couple a few metres in front of us were having a quarrel.

One of my followers on Twitter asked if I could write more about mindfulness. Truly, I don't know if I do it "right" or not; I don't even know if there is a "right" way of doing it. Standing in line I was feeling anxious; it was low level but it was there, nonetheless. Consequently, I was making a concerted effort to stay in the moment. Anxiety is the fear of what may happen - a fear of something in the future. Mindfulness keeps one planted firmly in the present. "I'm quite nervous standing in line here so I'm going to put my attention into watching people in line." If I'm looking at what people are wearing, who's in which family, how many children each family has etc, I can't be thinking about the sick feeling in my stomach. I know it's more complicated than that and I use it quite differently when I meditate but when I'm anxious I use my own modified version.

We finally made it into the train. The first carriage was fine. It was red class; the least expensive. We sat in the big comfortable chairs and imagined what it might be like to travel that way. After the first carriage, things got sticky for me. The train was full of people, all of whom were sitting in seats, reading menus and looking into private rooms in the more expensive gold and platinum classes. And the train was full; there were people from start to finish. And we weren't moving. We were just standing in a claustrophobic narrow corridor in a stationary train, not moving a millimetre. A recipe for the mother of all panic attacks.

There were two things I needed to do immediately. The first one was to plot my escape. I know this is "safety seeking" behaviour and I shouldn't but I do. So there. I looked up and down the corridor. Chockers. There didn't seem to be a way to escape. I told myself that I was thin and that, if I really needed to get out, I could clamp my hand over my mouth, dash through the crowd, jostling people as I went, shouting, "I'm going to be sick!" I figured that would make people move. I knew, however, once I'd worked out an escape route I wouldn't have to use it so it was immediately labelled "Plan Z".

The second was to be mindful of where I was and what was happening around me. I began looking around, trying to notice my surroundings and listen to conversations and other noises. As I did so, I could feel the wave of panic subside into something less threatening. It was a bleak and rainy day so I watched the raindrops roll down the window of the carriage I was in and studied the carriages of the train opposite. As I did so, the line moved forward bit by bit.

Then I got a distraction I wasn't expecting. The man in line in front of me turned and remarked, "You wouldn't want to be claustrophobic, would you?" I'm sure he'll always rue the moment he chose to do that because I replied, "As a matter of fact, I am and am feeling very uncomfortable at the moment." Interestingly enough, the conversation that ensued between us, comparing our most claustrophobic moments actually settled my anxiety. The only explanation I can think of is that I was so caught up in the conversation I didn't focus on how I felt.

Anyway, The Ghan is awesome. I'd love to do a trip on it one day. I don't think I want to be cooped up in a moving train for the time it takes so I think I still have much ground to cover until the day I climb on-board, platinum ticket in one hand and champagne in the other.

Word Vomit

As you may have guessed from previous posts I spend a lot of time trying to control my thoughts. I’ve written about making up stories and about trying to change unrealistic thoughts into realistic ones. In actuality, I think it’s my thoughts that control me for the most part and not the reverse.

I can’t really call it an internal monologue because it’s more of a dialogue or conversation. If I’m not directing and controlling my thoughts, I’m internally reacting to the ones that come up. I’ve already given examples of that.

So, what happens when I just simply let go?

About a year ago there was something in life that was causing me stress and anxiety. It wasn’t the kind of agoraphobic anxiety of leaving the house or having a panic attack; it was the common anxiety of being unsure how to proceed in a certain situation.

I was really at a loss as to what to do to help myself. One day, almost in desperation, I grabbed an A5 notebook and pen and began to write. It was an unplanned, uncontrolled stream of consciousness pile of word vomit. I have a very colourful vocabulary at the best of times but I swear I was using words even I refuse to use. When I’d finished I felt purged and clean. After a couple more stream of consciousness writing sessions I began to learn and see things that I had obviously only been aware of at a subconscious level. It created a major turning point for me.

The other night I couldn’t sleep. Something was weighing on my mind. After 90 minutes of trying to sleep I decided to give up and do a stream of consciousness writing session. The problem was, even though I wasn’t sleepy, it was warm and cosy in bed and I couldn’t be bothered sitting up and grabbing pen and paper. I chose, instead, to try to have a stream of consciousness thought session. I’d never done it before and didn’t really know what to do. But I didn’t know what to do when I was writing either.  I simply let whatever thoughts came up do so without trying to harness, control, manage or plan. Interestingly, I fell asleep while I was doing it.

My mind – maybe most minds – seems to want to constantly engage with itself. Stream of consciousness takes away the dialogue. When I was writing I was simply the scribe. In fact, my hand was racing so quickly across the page trying to keep up, there was no time to think, judge or interact. It’s harder to do it without writing. Instead of scribing it’s like trying to just neutrally observe the disjointed thoughts that flash across the mind. Doing it the latter way is actually quite relaxing. Some really hateful thoughts came up and I didn’t have to censor or judge myself because they came and went. Sometimes I raised my eyebrows and thought, “Oh, I didn’t know that.” One very old hurt that I hadn’t consciously thought about for years cropped up and I found myself thinking that I hated someone. The thoughts just kept meandering and I ended up, through no conscious effort, understanding that my life had turned out much much better than the person who’d hurt me. That wasn’t an attempt to make myself feel better; it was a disjointed thought. It was also a very powerful one.

I think it’s unlikely that stream of consciousness would be beneficial in a panic attack situation. Sometimes, though, when I’m feeling too overwhelmed to try to change my thoughts I use mindfulness. I’ve written about that before, too. I suppose that sitting on the sidelines and observing thoughts without interacting with them is a form of mindfulness. It’s just more of an internal than external focus and the whole point of the external focus is distraction.

One thing is for sure. It’s never boring inside my head!

The Powerlessness of Positive Thinking

Yeah, you read the title correctly. We anxiety sufferers tend to be negative thinkers. So, why can't we just snap out of it and think positively? Because trying to think or be positive is like putting a bandaid over a gaping wound. It is futile. End of post. Right? Wrong!

Let me give you a little glimpse into my inner monologue.

Walking out the front door. Thinks to herself, "I'm going to have a massive panic attack and die when I'm out."

Uses positive thinking. "I'm going to be calm the whole time I'm out and have a wonderful time."

"Not on my watch, sunshine."

Of course, that was an extreme and fictional example. Anxiety sufferers have what psychologists term unhelpful thoughts. It's an apt name so I'm happy to use it. We also have a distorted sense of reality when we're panicky. We can't just snap out of it but we can change our perception which I think is more helpful and productive than spouting falsehoods.

Consequently, the monologue above would be more like this:

I'm going to have a panic attack and die.

How many times has that happened before?

Never.

So, why do you think it's going to happen today?

I'm extra nervous.

How likely is it that you'll die from a panic attack.

Not very.

Is it realistic to think you will.

No.

You can see where it's heading. Ultimately, the thought that I'm going to have a panic attack and die will be replaced by I'm more nervous than usual today but it's likely that it will pass and I'll have a good time.

The difference between the positive bandaid I gave myself in the first example and the end thought in the second example is that I would actually believe the latter and go on to have a more successful and less anxious time out and about.

My first reaction to any situation is usually negative. The negativity came before the PAD. I can't help it; it's part of my personality. It's not something I can change. What I can change is my reaction to the negativity. Being positive will never be second nature to me but I'm working on always challenging the negative. I hope that the challenging will, in time, become second nature.