dominocat panics!

November 29, 2007

o hai

It started out with me being mentally knackered from doing all the gallavanting around for my CBT. It evolved into a bit of worry whether I was getting SAD again, and eventually mutated into Worrying About Other Things. It meant that I didn't update the blog for over four months. Oops...

Several things have prompted me to write again, one of which is the fact that I got a letter from the Benefits Agency yesterday asking me to "telephone to make an appointment for a medical". They took their time. Two things amuse me about the letter. First, it tells me that I must "contact them within two days of receipt of this letter". It wasn't sent registered post or anything, so how on earth could they know when I received it? I had visions of it spontaneously combusting like the Top Secret messages on Mission Impossible. Second, the whole "telephone to make an appointment" thing. When I filled in form IB50, I clearly stated I have problems using the telephone. I suppose they expect me to ask someone else, but it's just a teensy niggle that something I've said about my health problems has been ignored. Oh, and they STILL have me down as a "Miss". I've never been a Miss in all the time I've claimed IB...

These are little things though, and I know I'm being picky, but this letter has put me on my guard because of last time. I feel more anxious at the thought of attending this medical than I do walking into the village and looking round the shops. Of course, the anxiety was bound to happen, but I tried to convince myself that I could put on an act, and show them what I was like on a bad day. The ironic thing is, that it would be better if my anxiety was high during the medical, and it makes me hate the whole thing even more.

Getting there is still going to mean Mr D taking time off work, and therein lies yet another obstacle. I mentioned ages ago about "worries with money", well, things came to a head a couple of months ago, and Mr D had to get another job. It was only a temporary contract, so obviously he was looking around at the same time. He was offered a permanent position recently - and starts on Monday. Now, I'm certain that if push comes to shove, his employers will let him have the time off, but it still doesn't look good.

I telephoned the number on the letter yesterday afternoon. I picked up the phone without thinking about it, and just dialled. The chap I spoke to was very pleasant, and obviously in a call centre. I told him I'd had the letter, and he asked me when would be a good time for me to attend.

"Well" I said, "that's the problem."

I explained about Mr D's new job, and how getting time off might be an issue, and that I couldn't attend without him. The man offered me a cancellation today, which was impossible - Mr D couldn't even give his employers a day's notice, and it would be unpaid leave. I turned it down, along with another one for the beginning of next week. The man explained that he was only able to offer two appointment choices, and while my head was spinning trying to work out what to do, he said, "tell you what, I can put you down for December 14th in the circumstances". So, December 14th it is. Mr D will have to take half a day's holiday, but at least he's able to let his employers know well in advance.

Of course, my other big worry about this is who will be the examining medical practitioner. I asked the chap on the phone, and he said that all I could do was ring the place where the medicals are held nearer the time. What if it's that same doctor? Do I have the right to refuse to be examined without it affecting my benefits? I've been working on something to say just in case - along the lines of "I do not want to be examined by a doctor who has obviously no experience with mental health issues, and no idea what medical problem he is assessing". I don't know. If it comes to that, I'll probably gabble on incoherently and get upset. It may not come to that, though, and I have to keep my thoughts rational - at least, until nearer the time - I can be as anxious as I like on the day...

PS comments are off - I was being spammed to death, so email me if you have any burning thoughts.

Posted by domino at 6:49 PM | Comments (0)

July 12, 2007

Woolfest 2007

I know, I know, I've been back over a week and I haven't told you all about it. Truth be told, I'm utterly buggered, and now I'm home and don't have that Iminent Goal I've sort of pooped out.

The thing I want to say the most is that you can't put a price on good friends. These are people who look out for you without you even noticing it, who give you space without leaving you alone, and who really show they care. Thank you, Becky, Kath, Carrie and Andrea. I love you guys, seriously.

Becky and I set off on Thursday evening, our destination a beautiful campsite just outside Cockermouth (they do B&B too, Mr D and I are definitely going back someday). We got there around 8pm, and it was gloomy, windy and raining. Out of all the things I'd packed, stupidly I forgot a coat. For the most part, I was okay, and borrowed Kath's afghan blanket and fleece jacket when I needed to.

Kath had arrived the day before with her husband, who'd left her there with the caravan all nicely set up for us. The weather was so atrocious that night, I think if we'd had to rely on the tent, I'd have gone to ask if there were any B&B rooms spare. The caravan was lovely, though, and we cozied up with our knitting, a bottle of wine and chinese food. Heaven.

Woolfest itself was the same as I'd remembered from last year, but a few people have said in hindsight that it was better this year - and I agree. I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it was because I was with other fibre addicts rather than a bemused spouse, maybe it was the fact that (in Kath's words) I was "seeing it with new eyes" because of everything I've learned about spinning etc since last year, and I knew what I was looking for. Maybe there was some other mojo at work. At first, I stuck with the girls, my anxiety okay, but I didn't want to push it yet. We headed over to the raw fleece sale - Becky and Kath both wanted to check them out. I wasn't so bothered - I had two raw fleeces at home that I needed to work on, and knew another wasn't going to help. Carrie and I wandered off, and I slowly built up my confidence and wandered off a bit too.

I spent a small fortune, of course. My goal had been to get as many different fibres for spinning as possible, and (off the top of my head) I got small bags of cashmere, milk protein, bamboo, linen, ramie, cotton, tencel and Crokeback angora. I also got a larger bag of baby alpaca, something that I do intend to spin, but for now I'm just going to stroke it every now and again... I also got some yarn - some handpainted hemp in a gorgeous green colourway. I also got some handpainted kid mohair/silk, but only got 50g of it, so might have to mix it with something else to make a shawl or something. To be honest, it's very much like Rowan's kidsilk haze, only varigated.

Two days was wonderful, and flew over. Although three of us took our spinning wheels, only Becky did any spinning - the rest of us were too tired! It was lovely on Friday night just watching Becky spin - there's something very soothing about the rhythm of a spinning wheel. Aside from anything, the baby camel/silk she was spinning was incredible! You can see the finished result here - I've seen it "in the flesh" and believe me, it's utterly gorgeous.

It was also really cool to meet a few knitting bloggers I'd heard of, especially Artis-Anne and her daughter Kath, who are both really lovely.

So, what about the anxiety? Well, I only got properly anxious once. ONCE! Becky had gone to a lecture, and Carrie and Kath had gone to a workshop. Andrea was around somewhere, but as she only came for the day on Saturday, she was off on a shopping mission. I had her phone number, but wasn't sure where she was. Rather than instinctively trying to find a familiar face, I decided to stay where I was. My anxiety grew as I realised for the first time I was actually on my own. However, I managed it, telling myself that Andrea was only a phonecall away, and it wasn't long before we met up anyway.

In all, the whole thing was a resounding success, and now I just have to find another goal. I guess my maxim from now on will be "I managed Woolfest, I can do anything"

More photos on my flickr set.

Posted by domino at 9:27 AM | Comments (5)

June 10, 2007

Journey of the Something

I've fallen behind with the blog again. Not by much - not compared to my usual marathon sabbaticals, but enough to be sitting here with two or three half written blog posts in Notepad, that really should be published in order.

The truth is, I am mentally exhausted. I am trying so hard to go further, push myself harder, that I've tired myself out. I look at the text box on my blogging software and the letters turn to mush before my eyes. I write a couple of sentences, and my concentration wanders onto anything - usually nothing.

On Thursday 30th May, I walked to the corner shop by myself. I went inside, and bought a pint of milk and a rather delicious chicken sandwich. An achievement that warrants a blog post all of its own, and indeed, I had mostly written a blog post all about it. Then on Friday 1st June I did it all again, and waited at the edge of the estate for Becky to collect me for her knitting group. Monday saw another knitting group, followed by a grand outing with Becky and her two daughters to the Botanical Gardens. Another blog post. Somehow, I fell behind, and now I'm sitting here at 7am on a Saturday Sunday, thinking "Crap, I really ought to get my skates on and write".

I need to write. I need to document all the things I've been doing, partly so I can tell D my psychologist when I see her on Tuesday. The plan had been to write about each outing in detail, because if I said, "oh yeah, I've managed to go to the shop then walk down as far as the post office, cross the road and walk back home" it sounds like I've not been doing anything in between and I could do this all along. I'm supposed to be trying to convey what it's like recovering from agoraphobia. Saying "I went to the shop yesterday" doesn't quite do it.

The plan was to do "graded exposure", build up slowly with an eventual goal of going to the Post Office to post Something. I have been doing this, and managing well - thinking about what I'm doing, making a note of any negative thoughts, considering how I feel. On Friday, I walked to the shop and bought a sandwich again, then walked further down the road towards the Post Office. I felt like I was a million miles away from home, exposed, vulnerable. It's a strange sensation doing things like this when you haven't for so long. I know it will subside the more I do it, but right now, it feels weird. When I came home, I thought about when to post the Something at the Post Office. I decided against Monday, simply because it would be so busy, and I think the first time I do this, it needs to be on my terms.

So, yesterday morning as Mr D was getting ready, I wrapped the Something, put it in a jiffy bag, addressed it, and set off. Going with a purpose seemed better, somehow. I think this was partly because this was my End Goal - and I was doing it. When I'd mentioned to D about doing this before Woolfest, it seemed so distant and unreachable, but now here I was, striding off with a purpose. The more steps I took, the more I reminded myself that I'd already done this (barring going inside the Post Office) I'd gone this far, I'd managed and not freaked out.

I walked into the Post Office, and the chap behind the counter greeted me with a cheery "Good morning!" He's a lovely bloke, with a wicked sense of humour and always has a cheerful smile. He weighed my parcel, I paid the postage, took my receipt, thanked him and went. That was it - my Something was on its way. Walking back, I don't know if it was my imagination that I had a spring in my step. I'd done it - I'd gone to the Post Office, and no-one had died, the sky hadn't fallen, and I hadn't panicked.

I need to keep doing this, but there's only so much I can do at the Post Office before the postmaster thinks I fancy him. I might chuck stuff on ebay, so my therapy is lucrative in more ways than one. Whatever else I do, I can't stop now.

Posted by domino at 4:43 PM | Comments (10)

May 29, 2007

All By Myself

The latest Twitter thing - "in Borders ON MY OWN!" doesn't quite explain it.

Yesterday, Mr D and I went to the big retail park out of town. We'd gone into M&S where I'd found a massive stainless steel stock pot for £7.60 (bought for dyeing yarn in) and we'd bought things like wine and potatoes - then the man on the bakery tempted us with just-out-of-the-oven cheese scones. The bastard. We decided to take these things back to the car, but as I have a cold I balked at the idea of walking all the way back to the car, then retracing my steps as we went to the shops further away from M&S.

"I'll tell you what - you take the stuff back to the car, and I'll meet you in Borders"

I wish I'd taken a photo. I thought about it, but the fake shutter noise is incredibly loud, and I felt conspicuous as it was. To get to Borders, I had to go past a massive sports shop, an enormous Argos, and a dirty great travel agents. Not to mention the BANK HOLIDAY CROWDS.

I did feel odd, that familiar strange sensation that something was missing (yeah, Mr D!) or something was wrong. I cheated slightly and cut the corner off, but I would have done that anyway. In Borders, I went straight to the magazines at the front. Carrie Anne had found a copy of Spin Off Magazine in Borders, and I crossed my fingers and held my breath that they had a copy. They did - and I grabbed my prize and wandered off with a smug grin.

A blog entry about wandering around Borders book shop may sound a bit passe. In reality, I was aware of my heartbeat, the fact I was fiddling with the press stud on my jacket sleeve, my senses were heightened - I could hear everything louder, see everything brighter. I was anxious, but I rode it rather than run away. I went upstairs and looked at the craft books (how predictable!) then looked at the DVD's. I was looking for one in particular, and there was a man standing Just There where I needed to be. I said "excuse me" and we swapped places. I didn't chicken out, I didn't turn and go a different way, I faced him. Albeit for a second or two, I faced him.

It felt like I was in the shop for hours, but eventually Mr D turned up. I was relieved, but then I walked off and left him to pay for my magazine! I felt shattered afterwards. It's amazing how physically tiring this thing can be. It's also worth pointing out the effect that this has on people around you - Mr D later commented that it seemed to take him ages to get the stuff to the car and find me in Borders. I guess the time slowing down thing goes both ways..

I shall leave you with a shiny photo of my shiny stock pot:

(note strategic placement of the 50p Gap Jacket...)

Posted by domino at 3:34 PM | Comments (5)

May 17, 2007

I'm just really friendly, you know

Last night, Becky and I were invited to Alison's house. Alison is an incredible quilter, her work is amazing, and I've never seen anyone with so much passion for her craft.

I don't 'do' going to people's houses. It buggers about with my anxiety, and to be honest, I nearly didn't go. I've only met Alison a few times at a monthly knitting group, and I don't think I caught the whole conversation and thought that there would be Other People there. In the end, there was just the three of us enthusing over fabrics and yarns (Alison recently went to Liberty's and brought back some gorgeous fabrics) and it was lovely to natter with other people who could be passionate about buying a knackered shirt in a charity shop and cutting it up because we like the fabric.

Becky rang before she set off to my house, and when I'd got ready I made a decision. Usually, when she picks me up for knitting groups, I wait outside the house. It's something that I can use as therapy - to get used to the whole "being outside" thing - and it doesn't seem so bad because I'm waiting for something. Last night, I decided to start walking towards the edge of the estate.

I set off walking, feeling pretty okay. I was on the look out for a dark green car - my only anxiety was that she'd not see me and drive past. It was raining, and as usual my glasses needed windscreen wipers. I was trying to think of how I felt, so that I could write it down for my next meeting with D, when I saw a green car. I waved enthusiastically, a grin on my face because I knew how proud Becky would be. The car didn't slow down. As it got closer, two burly pit-bull-esque blokes gurned at me. What could I do? Well, I continued waving as they drove past. I have no idea who they were, and they did look confused. It was a rather priceless moment - and my reaction?

I just burst out laughing in the middle of the street.

Writing this, I'm thinking of how I would have reacted even six months ago. Probably "I'm stupid, I can't even see the right person, I want to go home.." It may have escalated into full blown panic, as I fretted over who the people were and whether they were going to stop the car further up the road and confront me. My reaction last night is a big step, I think.

Posted by domino at 9:09 AM | Comments (5)

May 7, 2007

What is this "blog" of which you speak??

God, I'm such a rubbish blogger.

I think part of the excuse, er problem is that at the moment I have so many things going round in my head that it's difficult to put them down into a coherent set of paragraphs that I'm happy to publish. I've tried a few times, and given up. Let's hope this isn't one of them.

There's such a lot to tell you, dear Internet, it's unreal. Firstly, and I guess most importantly, Mr D has a new job. He has gone into business with his ex boss, S and they are doing contract metrology. I won't even begin to explain. It's geek and engineering and maths and it helps to be a little bit anal. The upshot is that 1), Mr D has been concentrating on the business more than anything else, and 2), money has been a problem. You don't need to know the details, but it has been a little hairy recently, but hopefully things will settle down now as the business is gaining clients and recognition and stuff.

As a result, over the past couple of weeks my 'therapy' has been a bit lax. I've tried really hard, but when you're worrying about money and you don't have your partners full attention, it can be a pain. I have been making progress, and I have been doing things, but I'm scared it's not enough. See, there's something I haven't told you.

Several months ago, I was asked by some of my lovely knitting group friends if I wanted to go to Woolfest with them. Last year, they went for the whole weekend and camped, and had a marvellous time. I dragged Mr D for the day last year (having only found out about it the day before) and loved it but felt guilty that there was nothing to interest him. How wonderful, then, to go with people who can enthuse with me over spinning wheels and fibres and weaving and and and...

The agoraphobia. Gah. I talked to my therapist and told the girls that I'd love to come, but it was all dependent on my therapy. They all know about the agora and panic, and they're all cool. So, my therapy has been with an end goal. To go to Woolfest with the Girls for the weekend. My psych says it's good for me to have a goal, and at the time I remember thinking it would be an excellent thing to work towards, but if it all went pear shaped it didn't matter, because Mr D could drive me over for the day anyway. However, the closer it gets (eight weeks last Friday) the more vital it seems to be that I succeed. I CAN do it. I have to remind myself of the incredible leaps I've made in the last year. This is the final few steps - but in a way, it's like that final point where you've trained for the parachute jump and you know what to do - but you need to actually jump out of the plane...

I have set myself an intermediate goal, to go to the Post Office and post something. I have a half way point which is the newsagents, and I'm slowly building up to get there. This week, I am walking to the edge of the estate (about 5 minutes walk) and standing by the road sign until my anxiety lessens. Next week, I'll cross the road. It's a busy road, so feels like a massive step in itself. After that, I'll go into the newsagent. The Post Office is about another 3-4 minute walk from the newsagent, so the goal then will be to walk nearer to the post office.

It's called "graded exposure" and the idea is to repeat the task until it becomes less anxiety provoking. You stay in the situation until your anxiety goes down, and if you do it carefully enough and with the right back up it doesn't feel so enormous. I haven't walked to the newsagent or Post Office by myself in about seven years, and of course, in that time, I've been 'conditioned' to think that it's incredibly scary and I'll have a panic attack. It's all about not pushing yourself too hard, but still pushing yourself. As Æsop said, "slow and steady wins the race"

Posted by domino at 7:27 AM | Comments (3)

March 8, 2007

Perceptions

There's been a lot of stuff going round in my head lately. This might be difficult to write, so bear with me.

I've always believed that when writing a blog it's important not to 'bear your soul' to the Internet. There should always be things that you don't disclose, and this may have been one of them - except it has become the focus of my CBT.

I guess it was inevitable - after all, CBT can really get to the knitty-gritty of the problem. At my last appointment, D and I discussed how I was getting on with practical exercises, and whether the therapy was going in the direction I wanted. CBT has dissected my existance, my thought processes and my perceptions, and it's this last one that seems to need the most work.

Not too long ago, I wrote about my perceptions, and how what actually happened was very different to what I thought had happened. It's a huge problem for me - and always has been. I'm incredibly self critical. Often, my expectations of myself are incredibly high, and even when I manage a task that I set myself, I rarely acknowledge that I've done anything special. If I make a mistake, I berate myself for being stupid. As long as I can remember, I've not liked myself. Sometimes I've even hated myself - and not in a spur of the moment irritated way, but in a deep rooted, and sickeningly powerful way. Growing up, I didn't have much positive feedback, and there have been epsiodes in my childhood where I've literally been told I'm not good enough or that I'm stupid. As a result, my confidence has suffered massively. I guess that's to be expected. The thing is, I've not really realised how negative I am until now. I know that sounds silly, but I've lived with the perceived knowledge of my inadequacy for a hell of a long time. I've masked it with a nice cheerful friendly disposition, but I've never really believed that I could be anything more.

A few years ago, for example, I told a psych that I was "thick". He did IQ testing with me, and while I know many people don't give IQ tests much weight, we discovered that I have an IQ of 136. Proof on paper that I'm not thick (or just good at IQ tests - whatever). Now I've had a lot of time to think about it, I realise that at school I was just bored. I'd manage the work that was set, then get bored. I was good with reading and writing, and in the end, I remember the teacher giving me a slower kid to coach because I'd finished all the work they had. I didn't do so well in maths, and (typical for me) I'd get frustrated and leave it. Maybe I'd do well if it was explained differently - my IQ thing showed that I had an aptitude for logic.

My being self critical had never been a big problem in my adult life. I just plodded along, my mask intact. The only outward signs being my inability to take compliments or praise. When I started having counselling, it was one of the first things that was noted. Previous counselling has focused on the past, helped me come to terms with issues that have inhibited me, but now, CBT is looking at the present. It seems that my natural ability to criticise myself is a fairly big hinderance. Again, it may seem so obvious to an outsider - my recognising it almost seems like I've woken up from a coma, and I guess that's partly why my head feels all over the place right now.

In my present situation, dealing with an anxiety disorder that affects my daily life so strongly, my main fear is that people will think I'm being stupid, they'll think badly of me, or I'll make a fool of myself. J used to ask me "what does it matter what other people think?" and I couldn't answer - I knew it didn't really matter, or at least it shouldn't matter, but it did to me. I've long thought that I'd love to be one of these people who doesn't give a shit, someone who can be silly and not dwell on it for EVER. (I'm not exaggerating - I get reminded of things I've done or said in the past and utterly cringe, but in reality the other party has probably completely forgotten about whatever it was, because it was so damn trivial anyway.) It's easy to say "but everyone has these feelings from time to time". With me, it's all consuming. In my head, I strive for perfection so much, I'm beginning to think I have Borg implants.

Starting to realise all of this means that I have the power to counter it. Looking for the positive, D and I decided that growing up I developed into a well adjusted adult in spite of the crap and negativity. Yes I'm negative, but at the end of the day I've only rarely said "what's the point?" and not bothered with things - and that's when I've been really depressed. When I first started CBT, countering negative thoughts with positive ones felt like going through the motions.

Now, I'm really starting to believe in myself. I'm really making progress.

Posted by domino at 9:34 AM | Comments (3)

February 5, 2007

Visitor

I'm sorry I haven't posted recently, I've had flu and was going to post about how being poorly affects anxiety. This, I think, is much more interesting, although writing it has taken a while because it increases the anxiety when I think about it...

At half past seven on Wednesday morning, Mr D went out to work as he always does, locking the door behind him. I took more notice of this than usual, reassuring myself that the front door was most definitely locked. Trying to be aware of it, so I didn't start worrying later that he'd forgotten. I have placed a note pad and pen by each front window. I have left the blind in the kitchen closed. I have closed the bathroom door because it casts a shadow at the top of the stairs. I have brought my bag with keys and purse upstairs, and have the front door key and my mobile phone (fully charged) in my pocket. My anxiety was high.

Why?

Last Tuesday, at about 11am, someone knocked on the door. Well, "knock" is a poor choice of verb. "Bang" or "pound" might be better. I froze - then went to the front bedroom window to see if I could work out who it was. Normally, if it's the postman, I can see their van. The person knocking stopped a moment, then rattled at the letterbox, which is brass, spring loaded and makes one hell of a clatter, before going back to pounding on the door.

There was another knocking - fainter this time, and I wondered if they'd gone next door or something, before realising that they were knocking on the living room window. I peeked out of the upstairs window as much as I dared to see who it was. I could see nothing. They banged on the door again - persistent and belligerent.

Then I heard them try to open the front door.

Words cannot describe how I felt - my mouth was dry, and that familiar hypersensitivity prickled my body. My chest tight, my heart pounding. I ran into the back bedroom that is used as an office and picked up the phone, speed-dialled Mr D's number and when he answered I heard myself loudly whispering that "they won't stop knocking, they won't go away and they've tried the front door and..."

By this time I was in a full blown state of panic. I sank to the floor and sat against the wall in the bedroom, wanting to hide, wanting to feel safe. I could hear Mr D talking, yet again being my rock. He asked "can you see who it is?" and I stood up and peeped out of the window - in time to see a turquoise car pull off the drive. Yes, off the drive. I didn't have my glasses on so couldn't see a registration number, and because I was in such a state I don't even know what make and model it was.

My afternoon was spent in a state of high alert - every car that went past I was aware of. I closed the blind in the office, and stayed there, hardly daring to move. I didn't want to think about it because it was making me feel worse, but every distraction technique I could think of meant that if someone did try to get in again, I might not hear them. I was leery of putting the tv on in case the light or sound could be seen from outside. I didn't want to put my mp3 player on because my headphones are noise cancelling ones. I couldn't concentrate on a book.

Rationalising afterwards, and trying to figure out who it could be, I decided that it couldn't be anyone I know - they wouldn't be that cruel. Maybe a salesperson. We have some loose tiles on the roof, and sometimes builders knock to see if we want a quote. Maybe the police - but surely they would call out to announce themselves if it was that important? Plus in all of these scenarios, WHAT THE FUCK GIVES THEM THE RIGHT TO TRY THE FRONT DOOR???

I'm okay now. I think. I was thinking that this has knocked me back a bit, I've been way more anxious when I'm out, and on Friday when B brought me home from the knitting group, I was almost scared to open the door. However, nobody has been back since, so I'm inclined to think it was some kind of salesperson.

Bastards, whoever they were.

Posted by domino at 8:26 AM | Comments (4)

January 2, 2007

2006 review of the year

And what a year it's been!

In January, I got That Letter. It's clear that this had a profound impact on me, but reading back my emotions go from disbelief to anger to a resigned sadness that affected everything else. However, January also showed me that there are still Incredibly Decent People in the world, when I got an email from Wonderful Legal Secretary, offering to ask her boss for advice for me. He ended up representing me pro bono, and the rest his history.

February, I had some kind of bug, and although I didn't talk about it much, my GP was inclined to think it was a gallbladder infection because I was puking the most massive amounts of bile EVER.

In March, I started CBT. I remember that first appointment with J, telling him that I didn't think this was a good time because my mind was all over the place regarding my appeal. He advised me to "see how it goes" and I did. Progress has been slow, but it's still been progress.

By May, however, most of my focus was on Incapacity Benefit. At the time, there was a lot in the media about proposed changes to IB, and what I learned about how IB assessments are done left me both relieved that it wasn't just me, yet horrified at how many people had been treated so badly by the system - at a time in their lives when they needed support and guidance. I know of at least one person who didn't appeal against his IB decision because of the amount of stress and negative impact it would have on his health.

In June, it was all over. WLS contacted me to let me know that I'd won my appeal, and that my money would be backdated. There are still no words to describe how much I appreciate her help and support during that time.

The summer seemed to be mostly about getting rid of my anger over the whole appeal thing, and getting back to normal so I could continue with CBT and concentrate on that. By September, I was embarking on a new stage of my CBT journey - practical exercises. From that first attempt, I felt like I was finally moving forward - six whole years since Panic Attack Disorder started.

In October, I had my five minutes of fame when my blog was mentioned in The Guardian, and I indulged in a knitting frenzy for National Knitting Week. The Teddy Bear's Picnic raised money for a local hospice, and thanks to the lovely B, I made the biggest leap so far with my therapy by going with her.

November and December were all about trying not to get depressed thanks to the dark days of winter. However, I had the most colourful yarn ever and have knit a pair of socks with it. (Incidentally, Opal have re-released this yarn as "rainbow")

I'm glad I wrote this. I thought a review was a bit passé, but it's shown me that 2006 wasn't the washout I'd thought. All I could think about was the first six months being a Complete Waste thanks to that IB decision, but I guess that makes my progress even more impressive.

Stand back, 2007, I'm comin' at ya...

Posted by domino at 5:27 PM | Comments (1)

December 23, 2006

Don't say "I told you so"

I knew the town would be packed out yesterday. People thinking "ooh, must go shopping" and trying to avoid Saturday. We needed some bits and pieces, and although Mr D said, "I'll go by myself if you want" I decided to go with him, because hell - you never know what you might need in M&S's food hall...

We got there fairly early, and the town itself was busy but I could deal with it. As we walked from the car park, I made a note of saying to Mr D "look after me" which is my code for saying 'I don't know if I'll manage very well, and I need to know you're really switched on to my anxiety'. I know he already is, I guess it's just my way of being Absolutely Sure. We made our way along the high street, chatting about rubbish, and I was fine.

In M&S, the food hall is at the back of the store. It was busy when we went in, but still do-able. My focus was on getting a small trolley - it makes me feel safer somehow, and I don't go supermarket shopping without one. As we went further into the food hall, my focus became fuzzier - what did I want? Where was it? Things that I thought I knew started to get lost in a fog of "OHMYGOD where the FUCK did all these PEOPLE come from???" It was half past nine, and the queues for the checkout traversed up the aisles towards the back of the store. And people WEREN'T MOVING FOR ANYTHING. We needed breadbuns, which meant a marathon fight through five rows of people like that. Yelling "EXCUSE ME PLEASE!" fell on deaf ears. The anxiety grew. I turned to Mr D. "Sod this," I said, "just dump the trolley and let's get out of here."

Mr D insisted on taking the trolley back to the proper place, which (in my mind) seemed to take even longer. "I need to get out, please - just leave it there" I begged, as he stood waiting for people to move so he could put the trolley back in the line with the other ones. The world was swirling. "I NEED TO GET OUT! bollocks - I'll meet you outside."

The journey to the front of the store is a bit of a blur. I remember people walking towards me - so many people - please just MOVE. At the doors now. Two sets, and in my panic I try to get out of the one that's locked. I hit it with my fist, retreat and try again. Suddenly, cold air. I hit some railings, and sit down, head in hands, foetal. The panic washes over me, and I feel sick. I can't breathe - my chest hurts. Now Mr D is here, talking to me, telling me it's okay.

I sit like that for a while, until my breathing starts returning to normal. I feel numb, aware only of his voice - and the fact that my backside is cold from sitting on the icy concrete. I get up and my legs feel like jelly. I've been crying, and my glasses are fogged up. My chest still hurts, and I feel utterly spent.

This morning (Saturday), Mr D has gone back to M&S for opening time. And this time, he's gone by himself.

Posted by domino at 8:44 AM | Comments (4)

December 12, 2006

Don't be so bloody hard on yourself...

Okay, the format of this may seem a little odd. First thing this morning, I started writing a blog entry about how I'd done with my CBT in the last couple of weeks, ahead of an appointment with D this morning. I never finished it, and now I've come back from my appointment, Things Have Changed. What I've written in normal type (aside from this bit) is what I wrote first thing - in italics is what I've realised since I saw D.

* * * * *

I suppose it was bound to happen - CBT is frustrating the life out of me. [this is because I have very high expectations of myself]

Firstly, I'm not getting out to do 'therapy' as much as I should. In the last fortnight since I saw D, I've managed maybe three or four purposeful expeditions, and one of those was last night, at the last minute. Part of the problem is that life gets in the way. We had all that trouble with the car, which (and I won't bore you with the details) only got worse, resulting in Mr D driving around for a few days illegally because of a garage's incompetence. All non essential journeys were cancelled, and that included 'therapy'. Mr D has been worrying about his dad, who isn't well. Mr D's mind has been everywhere but on my therapy.

[okay, so things happen. I need to accept that it's not always going to be a perfect therapy scenario]

On Thursday, we went into town. I'd said "look, we really need to do something" and we'd decided to go to the retail park. Unfortunately, the weather was atrocious, and when Mr D got home from work, he said he'd rather not go there because there'd been an accident and the police had the road blocked off. Plans changing suddenly doesn't help my anxiety. Mr D suggested that all was not lost - our town centre opens late on Thursdays up to Christmas.

I tried to unravel my mind from the swirling thoughts of "hang on, this isn't the retail park" and we set off. I think everyone in town had the same idea, because it was really busy. The car parks were so busy, that we only found a space in the third car park we found. In my head, busy car parks means busy streets, so my anxiety was rising steadily.

When we'd planned to go to the retail park, I'd said I wanted to go into Staples for something, and said I would use that as my therapy. As we walked along the high street on Thursday evening, I wondered out loud if Stationery Box was open - and exclaimed "oh good!" when it was. Something was at least going to be the same. Maybe it was my fault that I didn't spell it out to Mr D. Inside the shop, he stuck to me like a damn magnet. I said "can I not do this by myself?" and he backed off a couple of steps. I ducked round a corner and he followed me, almost instinctively like the Old Days. I found what I wanted, went to the till and paid, and we left the shop.

I was frustrated, and mentioned it. He didn't hear me. I said something else, and had to follow it up with "HELLO??" to which he responded, "wha? sorry, I was miles off..." I got angry, and said "fuck it - I can't do any therapy if you're like this" and quickened my stride as I always do when I'm cross. He didn't say anything about it, and I didn't try anywhere else.

[so, in spite of the fact that my anxiety was high, I still TRIED. The fact that I was wanting Mr D to sod off so I could do it on my own was a GOOD THING]

On Saturday, we were going somewhere else, and by the time we got to some shops, everywhere was too busy. On Sunday, we had a chat about what was happening. I'd been building up frustrations about how much I was doing for a while - and had actually started worrying that D would discharge me if she thought I wasn't trying.

[this is my silly melodramatic over-reacting head. Of course D isn't going to discharge me. Maybe if I sat there sullenly and said "I don't give a fuck and I'm not going to try" she would, but not because I didn't live up to my OWN expectations!]

Monday, I went into Borders, and managed to get a DVD and wander about the store while he was upstairs. We went into M&S, and for some reason, my anxiety was higher, but I stayed there for a while, telling Mr D why I was wandering around in a seemingly aimless way. It seems that Monday's experience was the best of a bad bunch.

[in fact, what really happened was me trying incredibly hard IN SPITE of the obstacles in my way. Even with my low mood, I managed to do quite a bit, and I persevered.]

* * * * *

I told D all of this - including the bit where I was afraid she'd discharge me. She smiled a little, and said "that's over reactive thinking..." After listening to her opinions of how I'd done, it made me realise just how hard I am on myself. I mentioned that I'd done little things - for example on Sunday in Morrisons (supermarket) while Mr D was at the till, I realised that the latest issue of the knitting magazine that I get would be out. On a whim, I said "I'm just going over there to get my knitting magazine, you stay here" and went to get it. It wasn't far, but it was busy. I've always had this feeling that my 'therapy' outings should be structured and planned, and when I said meekly "do these things count?" to D, she replied "of course they do!"

Towards the end, she asked what I wanted to do for therapy before our next appointment. I thought for a moment and said "I want to do this last fortnight again - but this time without being so bloody negative. Try and look at the positive things I did." It's frustrated me that I can't accept that I did well in spite of things going wrong, and I needed someone else to point this out to me. I also need to stop the whole "so-and-so doesn't count" because dammit, it does count. I just read back a couple of posts - "I didn't treat [Harrogate] as 'therapy'." Why not? It was big and I achieved something!

I need to start again - and this time, I'm going to be kinder to myself.

Posted by domino at 5:43 PM | Comments (5)

December 10, 2006

Knitting Saved my Life!

I know, it sounds like something that should be in my email spam folder - "Learn to kn1t! Results Gu@ranteed!", but this morning as I was starting to write a post about going to B's other knitting group last week, it occurred to me just how much knitting has been a part of my 'therapy'. There are so many ways in which balls of yarn and pointy sticks have helped me.

Firstly, knitting gives me things to think about. I am an obsessive thinker, and while I have nothing constructive to think about, stuff goes round in my head that is both toxic and futile. Problems that are years old and have already been labelled as 'unsolvable' go round and round, rehashing the same old crap, getting upset by things in the past. I'm not saying I should "get over it" but frankly I'm not helping myself by obsessing. This is where knitting comes in. Obsessive bad thoughts come into my head, and I try and concentrate on learning a new technique. Look at a pattern that I thought was a bit too advanced for me, and work out in my head how to do it. Hash out a knitting problem, or work on an item while listening to something on my mp3 player. I had tried music on its own. U2 yelling at me that it was a "beautiful day" or something, yet still the bad thoughts seeped in. I'd turn up the volume to drown them out, but succeeded only in giving myself a headache. Sprinkling a liberal amount of yarn and bamboo into the mixture seems to help.

The self critical aspect of me has been kicked into touch by knitting too. As I finish something, I invariably put photos on flickr, and it's so nice to get comments from complete strangers complementing my work. My self confidence is rubbish, and it's lovely to get that little boost. This is something that shows a lot at the knitting group, too.

When B said she was starting an evening knitting group, I rejoiced knowing that I could get there. I knew about the monthly Friday morning one, but with Mr D working during the day, it would be virtually impossible to attend. Every journey at that point relied on him, I needed him to not only take me, but to stay with me and then bring me home again. When I asked if he'd take me to the Monday group, he was happy to - it meant that I was getting out and meeting people. He'd take whatever book he happened to be reading, and fight off the ladies er, attempts to get him knitting, and he was fine. At first, only B knew about my panic and anxiety, and I was happy with that. To be honest, I didn't want anyone else to know. There was still that worry that I would be treated differently, or people would 'back away slowly from the crazy lady'. As it turns out, I couldn't have been more wrong - these are some of the lovliest people I've met.

A couple of months ago, the conversation drifted on to pets, and I realised that I had some photos of the cats - on the moo cards that I'd had printed, with my website and email address on the back. Before I could think, people were cooing over my kitties, and enthusing about how cool the cards were. I mumbled something about it being "just my blog" and suddenly I was giving them away. Maybe I subconsciously wanted people to know - maybe I felt comfortable enough for them to know, in a Haley Joel Osment "Sixth Sense" kind of way - "I'm ready to tell you my secrets now." Still, I worried for a while about what they would think, and berated myself for opening up.

One thing that's very apparent when this kind of mental fart happens is that people who knew you before behave very differently. I guess a lot of it is lack of understanding and lack of communication (which is difficult on both sides) but it still makes me nervous when I tell anybody. The only change I noticed once the knitters knew was a sense of understanding and compassion, but other than that, nothing changed. This means a hell of a lot to someone who can get incredibly paranoid...

Last week, B picked me up and took me to the Friday group. I was a little bit anxious, but it was nothing out of the ordinary, and once I got there it was just like the evening group - only with more daylight. I had a great time, chattered non stop (K and CA, next time tell me to shut up if I go on!) and was able to show off my first complete Jelly-Tots sock, complete with groovy heel.

Maybe I would have found other things if I didn't knit, but right now, knitting is an integral part of my recovery.

Posted by domino at 7:16 AM | Comments (1)

November 28, 2006

Knitting and Stitching and PEOPLE oh my!

It nearly didn't happen, and in the end I'm amazed we actually got there.

On Saturday morning, Mr D took the car to the garage for its annual MOT test. I admit I got upset when he phoned me to say that it had failed its emissions test, and needed a new catalytic converter. At a cost of around £160, it would mean that Harrogate was out of the question.

"..but it's not that long since we had a new one put on!" I whined.

"about two years" he replied, "and they don't last forever"

I ripped through the house like a mini tornado trying to find the paperwork for the old one - I did, and looked at the warranty. It had a week left to run. Cue massive sighs of relief, and general swearing.

That night, neither of us slept very well, and Mr D wasn't feeling well. Inwardly my heart sank as I thought "we're not going to get there", but thankfully by morning he was feeling okay and the trip was back on again.

The journey there was straightforward and uneventful, and we found the car park easily thanks to a map I printed out from the Harrogate International Centre's website. Except they hadn't bothered to mention that it was a 'coaches only' park. Thankfully, there was a security guard there who gave us directions to the actual HIC car park underneath the Exhibition halls (which isn't mentioned on their website at all).

The halls themselves were set out as you would expect, except there were several of them - and they were all laid out the same. Some traders had more than one stall, and unless you paid for an "exhibition guide" you were more or less an explorer. I didn't mind too much, until the part where I said, "lets go back to so-and-so, they might have it..." and had no idea which direction to go. I guess the biggest obstacle for me was the people. I expected it to be busy, and had been advised to go on Sunday because it was the quieter day, but it was still incredibly busy. My anxiety levels were through the roof, and a few times, I stopped and looked at things I wasn't remotely interested in just to 'ground' myself.

For people interested in any crafting stuff, Harrogate was the place to be this weekend. Obviously, there was more than the knitting and spinning stuff that I was looking for, but it was still interesting to see other things, and most places had demonstrations or stall holders working on their particular craft. I managed to hold a conversation with Debbie Tomkies, and learned to my joy that dyeing wool doesn't necessarily have to involve nasty chemicals as I thought (you need to 'fix' the dye, and this is normally done with alum powder). My first purchase was a kit including 12 different colour dyes and fixatives for both animal and plant fibres. I fear for our kitchen...

I had a chat with a lady from the Spinning and Weaving Guild, and I sat for a rest on the spacious Rowan stand where they had sofas and coffee tables, where you could knit (they even had yarn and needles if you made a donation to some charity or the other). I on the other hand, pulled out the jellytots sock that I'd take with me. Trust me to be different.

I didn't treat Sunday as 'therapy'. It wasn't a structured or meticulously planned thing; I definitely went with a 'see how it goes' attitude. However, I managed to put into practice some of the CBT stuff (albeit consciously 'staying in the situation' until my anxiety lessened). As with the Teddy Bear's Picnic, I cheated a bit by distracting myself, but I'd like to think it was just distraction, not avoidance.

One interesting thing I picked up on was something that drove home how negative I am about myself. While we were there, I saw C, a lovely lady who owns a small yarn store in town. I knew she'd be going, so it wasn't a surprise to see her, and she said she was glad I'd made it, and well done for getting here. I said thank you, I was glad too, but it wasn't until Mr D and I talked in the car on the way home that it hit me just how profoundly different our attitudes were. While C thought I'd done well to go somewhere so busy, my thoughts were (as usual) something along the lines of "bloody hell, I should be managing this without even thinking about it".

Maybe I should give myself a bit more credit...

Posted by domino at 7:02 AM | Comments (3)

November 5, 2006

Fall Back

I've been trying to write this for a week. The reason why may become apparent as I progress.

Last weekend across the country, people engaged in the twice annual ritual that is Changing the Clocks for Daylight Savings. For most people, this is at worst a minor irritation, at best (at least at this time of year) an extra hour in bed. For thousands of people who suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, however, it acts almost like a switch, a harbinger of what winter has in store.

I suppose there are two schools of thought on this. One, that if winter depression is inevitable, then no amount of 'being positive' is going to help. The other is that if I'm expecting it, then it's bound to bloody happen. This year, I decided that I'd try and ignore it, concentrate on other things - metaphorically stick my fingers in my ears and shout "la la la I'm not listening". The problem being that when depression hit, it hit hard - like a sledgehammer to the stomach. My first indicator happened a couple of weeks ago. I was just sitting watching the local evening news with Mr D, when a report about a court case came on. The reporter recanted details of the evidence, and before I knew it, I was sitting there in floods of tears. There were many other incidents - I cried at the episode of Doctor Who, with K9 and Sarah Jane. Near the end, the Doctor says "you're a good dog" when he realises that K9 will have to destroy himself to save them. (for the uninitiated, K9 is a robot dog) I've seen that episode so many times, I know that the Doctor rebuilds K9 in the end, but it didn't stop me from blubbering.

Anticipating the inevitable, I got my SAD light out. I always work up to it slowly, increasing the time I leave it on by five minutes every few days, because if I leave it on too long, it makes me nauseous. Unfortunately my misery is accelerating at a faster rate than the light can keep up with, and I've found myself thinking it's utter bollocks and it doesn't work anyway. Luckily, I'm persevering rather than throwing it across the room..

On the clock changing front, I have been unable to sleep past 5.30am. My body clock is screwed, I start getting tired around tea-time, and by 7pm am looking longingly at the clock to see if it's feasably time to go to bed. Last Sunday, I deliberately stayed up, forcing myself to stay awake, thinking it would mean I slept later in the morning. How wrong I was. I went to bed with a stinking headache and still woke up at 5am.

On Tuesday, I saw J's replacement, D. I'd really wanted to write this thing about the clocks changing so I could tell you about her, (or at least our appointment) but everything's felt so much harder, and I've ended up doing my usual depressed thing of ignoring Everything. Anyhow, D is lovely (she did my initial assessment back in early 2005) and I think once I get over my stupid thinking (ie "ohmygod she's going to think I'm stupid, or there's nothing wrong with me, or what if she expects things I can't do" etc etc) I think I'll be fine. I told her about the negative thinking thing - how I'm always hard on myself - and we're going to look at that too. My anxiety was high, as expected seeing someone new, and I was so self conscious. I ended up telling her about the thing in the Guardian, and my blog, which she seemed to approve of, then I gave her one of my moo cards which I'd had printed with my website address on. Afterwards I couldn't help feeling a bit silly - maybe somehow she would think that it was a bit too much - and as I type it occurs to me that she could read this. Ah well - even if she does, I often put things down here that I can't express properly during appointments because my brain seems to go to mush and forget most of my known vocabulary. I see D again at the end of the month.

Finally, because I worry about people finding my blog and thinking it's all Doom and Gloom, I figured something out. At the Teddy Bear's Picnic, I started working with the most Gorgeous Sock Yarn Ever, and we decided that the colours were reminiscent of sweeties, but we couldn't figure out which ones. I worked it out - Jelly Tots. Ergo:

Posted by domino at 5:51 AM | Comments (0)

October 27, 2006

...aaand breathe

I try hard not to read the Daily Mail because I end up getting far too shouty, and I know there is little point in commenting on something written therein, but I get angry with articles published that are misleading, one sided and downright irresponsible - especially when concerning mental health issues. And, when TV psychologist Oliver James writes an article entitled "Therapy on the NHS? What a crazy waste of £600 million!" I can't help myself, even when I bear in mind that 1) Oliver James has recently had a book published and is therefore likely to want a load of publicity, and 2) this is the Daily Mail.

Dr James is an outspoken person at the best of times. He has made unethical and potentially damaging comments in the past - most notably about Peter Mandelson. Now, he turns his attention to the general public, poo-poohing CBT - one of the most successful treatments for mental health issues such as anxiety disorders, depression, PTSD, and others. He doesn't merely question the efficacy of this treatment, and provide links to evidence - instead he dismisses CBT as a "crazy waste" of money. He supplies anecdotal 'evidence' to support this. He spouts 'facts' about relapsing after CBT without backing them up. He comes out with impressive sounding phrases like "research has shown" without going further to say who researched what and where the reader can learn more.

The validity of his claims are questionable, however more worrying is that these claims have been published in a widely read national newspaper, and basically say "having CBT? Don't bother - you'll be just as bad as ever in a couple of years..." According to biographies all over the internet, Dr James has had clinical experience, so he should know that the mind is a fragile thing when it is being assaulted by a mental health problem - in other words, the very minds that CBT can probably help. He should know that many people with depression and anxiety disorders frequently have a negative image of the future. CBT is hard work mentally, and I can't help wondering how many people would give up if they read an article like this, written by a psychologist who has featured on "This Morning" and written successful self help books.

If Dr James is so against CBT, why not research it properly? Why not suggest possible solutions to the perceived problem? Dr James advocates Cognitive Analytic Therapy instead of CBT, yet studies have shown that in Generalised Anxiety Disorder, CBT was more effective. Dr James suggests that "where patients have been examined two years later, at least half of panicky ones have relapsed or sought further help." yet makes no reference to the fact that CBT is an ongoing process - and techniques should be practiced long after the patient has stopped seeing their therapist. I personally would like to see research into how many people expect to be 'cured' (indeed James uses that word in the article) and go back to their normal lives. How many people didn't really realise that they would need to practice CBT techniques to keep their symptoms at bay or help stem a relapse. But rather than suggesting that patient follow-up should improve, James dismisses the entire therapy.

He talks about CBT as though it's as structured as a course of antibiotics. In fact, CBT is tailored to the individual. The principles are essentially the same, but because the problems that CBT can help are so diverse, obviously individual patients receive individual care. The three cases he refers to in the article do sound as though they are very disillusioned with their experience of CBT, but this could be for a myriad of reasons, not because CBT "doesn't work".

I really can't understand why he has written the article in this way. It's certainly not been written with the best interests of sufferers in mind. Why be so negative? What does he stand to gain from approaching it in this way? At the start of the article, he talks about how CBT is inexpensive, therefore would appeal to the government. Maybe it's an incredibly round about way of saying the government isn't spending enough money on Mental Health Services. If this is the case, I'm sure there are a million other ways of doing it without saying 'CBT is a load of crap'.

I'd like to think that Daily Mail readers would have more sense than to take this somewhat vitriolic rant at face value, but I don't know. When you factor in things like third party recanting, and the strange way in which these illnesses mess about with your emotions, you have a rather worrying mix. The media's enormous reach has the power to cause much harm - just look at the MMR vaccine controversy.

I'm not writing this because of my own feelings on CBT. Having been 'in the game' for a while, I know better than to advocate one particular treatment over another. CBT seems to be working for me, others may find that it's not for them. I personally think it is up to the individual and their therapist to come together with a plan for therapy that is most suitable for them, their problem, their personality and their lifestyle. If your therapist suggests CBT, have a go and be open minded. If they say something or suggest something you don't feel happy with, tell them. Good communication with your therapist is paramount. Remember, even though it doesn't work for some people, it does work for a hell of a lot of others. Have a look here for some success stories where CBT was used to help people with Social Anxiety Disorder. Hopefully, it will redress the balance.

Finally, please for the love of all that is sacred, can the media get their facts right about how much disability benefit is? £750 a month? I bloody wish...

Posted by domino at 1:25 PM | Comments (5)

October 26, 2006

Picnic Ponderings

Apologies for not posting sooner, but truth be told, I've felt utterly wrecked all week. I've been going to bed at 8pm because I've been nodding off on the sofa, then not sleeping properly because both my neck and lower back have been painful. So, my brain has also been fried and concentrating on anything for very long has been hard.

Meanwhile, I've been trying to write something that makes what I achieved on Friday sound like I was climbing a mountain. In the end, I've decided that the right adjectives aren't out there, so just imagine, okay?

By half past eight on Friday morning, I was aware of every car going past, even though B wasn't due to pick me up until 9.30. I packed and repacked my huge wicker basket with knitted food, stuff to knit while I was there, my mp3 player, a little tin with my tablets in, a bottle of water - the list goes on. When I thought I was ready, I stood at the window, my thoughts swirling. "Do I take that yarn? Maybe I should take a book - what about..." and so it went on. Eventually I said out loud to myself - "stop it. There's only so much room in the car..."

The car journey was uneventful anxiety wise, we chatted about all sorts of things which helped, and affirmed the knowledge that B is very understanding. In fact, B should stand for brilliant. She reassured me by telling me what and who would be there, and told me that there were quiet corners in the place where we would be (an old converted church). I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel strange being out without Mr D, but even stranger, I didn't feel too terrible about it. Of course, I felt like something was missing, but once I got there and saw all the familiar faces from the knitting group, I was fine.

I took a few photographs, and sat down with the knitters. At first, I fumbled with bits and pieces, noticing that my hands were a bit shaky, but eventually settled down with the most Amazing Sock Yarn Ever. Casting on and doing some of the rib helped me concentrate. I know that's avoidance rather than dealing with it - but to be honest, I didn't care. I just wanted to enjoy my day.

A woman from the local newspaper turned up, and once she'd interviewed the organisers, she frustratedly lamented that her photographer had gone missing. My inward sigh of relief was shortlived - she pulled out a compact camera from her bag and announced "I'll just take a few photos". That, I thought, was a perfect opportunity to nip to the loo...

Four hours went over so incredibly quickly. When a voice piped up, "right, d'you think we should start packing up?" my response was "what, already???" Just as we were about to take things out to various cars, a flustered young man walked in and announced he was the photographer for the local paper. Torn between staying and lusting after his camera (a Canon EOS 1D if you want to drool with me) I chickened out and opted for the comfort of the lavatory again. When I later told Mr D, he joked that now I've been in the Guardian, the local rag isn't good enough!

I know it sounds so utterly ordinary, but it was a big step for me. Plus, the ordinary-ness means that it was a success. No panic or madness, unless you count accidentally stealing Carrie Anne's lemonade..

Posted by domino at 12:59 PM | Comments (2)

October 20, 2006

Anticipation

I thought I'd mentioned this, but looking back on my old posts, it seems I haven't.

As I mentioned a bit ago, this week is national knitting week, and my knitting group have been busy knitting items for a Teddy Bear's Picnic, culminating today in an exhibition and sale. On a Friday. Whose idea was that? When I found out, my response was "great, Mr D will never get time off work" but as the weeks progressed, so did my CBT.

About three weeks ago, I spoke to my friend B. She is my yarn guru - she has a market stall selling some gorgeous stuff, she runs weaving classes and the knitting groups, and I knew she would be going to the exhibition. I'd talked to her before about my CBT, and got the feeling she really understood. People like that are in the minority - usually it's between "pull yourself together" and "back away from the crazy person", but B was fine with it.

So, I asked her. "can I come with you?"

I explained that so far, I only go anywhere with Mr D. This could be part of my therapy - just outside my comfort zone. I said that I might back out, and she shouldn't worry. People, B was lovely about it. She said that it was okay, and that even if I felt like it was too much, she'd bring me home. That understanding has meant that I'm sitting here waiting for her, and although I feel anxious, I'm also excited, expectant, eager.

I shall let you all know how I get on...

Posted by domino at 7:55 AM | Comments (3)

October 19, 2006

Progress

The health food shop was small, familiar. Ideal. Heart in mouth, she glanced round. The street was still fairly quiet - it was only 9am.

"Can you wait there?" she asked, the words tumbling somewhat. "I'm going in by myself."

He nodded, going with the flow.

She took a deep breath, mentally reminded herself that her phone was in her pocket, and he would be waiting just there. Not too far away. Determined, she strode into the shop, aware that if she waited too long outside she'd put herself off and not do it. There were a few people around, but it wasn't busy. She knew what she wanted, and where it was. She had deliberately chosen something that was at the back of the shop - it would be far too easy if she could do this whole thing while barely taking a few steps inside. Remember, "just outside your comfort zone". Mentally taking the journey through a familiar shop, it had seemed so easy when she'd planned it. Now she was here.

She got to the back of the shop effortlessly, picked up the bottle of eco fabric conditioner, and started walking quickly to the front where the till was. Suddenly, she stopped. "I'm doing this far too fast" she thought. Aware of what J had said about staying in the situation until the anxiety had passed, she started to look at soap, essential oils, herbal teas - anything, something. She tried not to look at people, not wanting to be drawn into conversation. Not wanting to suddenly notice they were there. "right" she thought, "I need to pay for this".

At the front of the shop, she could see through the window to the street where he was waiting. The sight was familiar, comforting. This was nearly over. With renewed zeal, she approached the counter, smiled, handed over her money - and in a few seconds she was leaving the shop.

At the door, there was a moment of increased anxiety as she realised she was Outside again, but within moments she was standing by his side - safe again.

"OK?" he asked.

She nodded, feeling slightly sick, rather anxious, tired yet somehow happy.

Posted by domino at 9:05 AM | Comments (2)

September 20, 2006

Anniversary

It was September 2000. Things were going well for me - Mr D and I had got married earlier that year, my job was going well, and a couple of months before, I'd had a procedure done on my spine that alleviated about 80% of the pain I'd been getting from a back injury. The only thing that was bothering me was that I was still taking the strong painkillers (dihydrocodeine) for it, and was getting incredibly fed up with the side effects.

A couple of years earlier, a GP had told me (when I said that they weren't working any more) that I had developed a tolerence for them, and my body was basically better able to flush out what it considered to be 'poison' from my system. He told me that to get the same level of pain relief, I'd need to take more of the drug. Although he never wrote that in my notes, and the instructions on the prescription remained the same, the message was very clear. At the time, I was in so much pain that I could not get out of bed by myself, I was walking with a stick and I was constantly having time off work. Terrified of losing my job, I took an extra tablet with each dose. By September 2000, I was taking five times the maximum recommended dose, and feeling no effect whatsoever. I had been taking dihydrocodeine for approximately four years.

The side effects were unpleasant. Profuse sweating, sickly headaches, nausea, and a constant feeling that my head was filled with cotton wool. I made an appointment one day to see my GP after work to make sure it was okay to come off the tablets. The appointment was for 5pm - probably not the best time of day to see a doctor for advice, and I wonder in hindsight whether that had anything to do with his attitude.

The surgery was running late, as it so often does. I was called through, I knocked on the door (as I always do) and went in. The doctor was writing in someone's notes. I sat down and waited. I felt a bit uncomfortable, as though I was interrupting. He finally confirmed my name, and asked what the problem was. I said, "I've been taking dihydrocodeine for a while, and I don't like the side effects I'm getting."

"Well don't take it, then."

He didn't even look up from the notes he was writing. He didn't look at my notes. He didn't ask what dose I was on. I mentioned that I was worried about what to take if the pain came back, and he wrote me a prescription for tramadol, and said to take that instead. That was it. I thanked him, and left the room.

I'm often aksed why I didn't probe further, why I didn't ask about how to come off them, and the answer is that firstly, I think I simply wanted someone to say it was okay to come off them, and secondly, his manner was not conducive to asking more questions. I felt awkward, and just wanted to leave. I still wonder just how much the dihydrocodeine was affecting my thought processes. I made a lot of little decisions then that didn't make any sense.

I took my last dose on a Friday evening. By Saturday evening I had a headache and felt a bit sick, and by Sunday morning, after a poor night's sleep, I felt like shit. My first thought was "Great - I'm getting flu or something". I told you my thought processes were screwed...

Initially, the side effects were just like that - a feeling that I was going to come down with a really stinking cold or flu. My entire body ached like it never had before, my head felt like it was in a vice, and every time I blinked it felt like I was being smacked in the face with a brick. Before long, I succombed to extreme restlessness. I felt exhausted - not being able to sleep - yet I couldn't sit still. My body felt sensitive, crawling. I've felt nothing like it in my life. It took about five days before I realised that it was the withdrawal symptoms that were making me feel like this. I didn't know what to do. I toyed with the idea of going back to the doctor, but really didn't see what they could suggest apart from "start taking them again". I felt like I'd gone too far to do that.

Two weeks or so later, I didn't feel as bad, although I was incredibly tired. I made an effort and went into town for some fresh air and possibly a bit of retail therapy. I felt weird, and everything seemed different somehow, but put that down to having been 'unwell'. In Boots the Chemist, I sniffed bubble baths, and tested lip gloss on my hand. Suddenly, I felt awful. My heart pounded and I struggled to breathe properly. Everything was swimming, I was scared - and I had a strange sensation of not really being there. I was fairly near the door where there was a seat. Thinking I was going to pass out, I aimed for it and sat down for a few minutes, leaning forward, watching my hands as they shook. After a while, I felt okay to get up again, and decided to go straight home. Maybe I wasn't as well as I thought. Maybe I just needed to take it easy for a while.

A few days later, I tried again. I felt bored at home, I needed some distraction. This time, I was in Marks & Spencer when it happened. I was in the womens shoe department, and again thinking I was going to faint, I plonked myself down on the seat in the corner. This time, a member of staff saw me.

"are you alright?"

I shook my head, aware of the feeling in the back of my throat that I was going to cry. She asked me things - could she get me a drink, did I want to go somewhere quiet, that kind of thing. I shook my head each time, and eventually said, "I'm okay now". I brushed off the "are you sure"s and said I would go home and have a nap. "I haven't been well, lately" I said, managing a smile. She walked me to the door, and said "take care" as I left. I went home, my journey silent and almost dazed. I went into the house and sat on the sofa feeling weak and utterly shattered. I sat there, stroking the cat as he came up for a cuddle, and I cried.

The rest, as they say, is history...

Posted by domino at 2:37 PM | Comments (2)

September 7, 2006

Books as Therapy, part 2

Borders is considerably bigger than Waterstones. It's in a retail park, and we chose it because they are open in the evenings. Yesterday, Mr D and I planned to go there and continue the book buying extravaganza that is my therapy. Even before I left the house, I was planning. Waterstones was more of a spur of the moment thing, so I didn't have time to think about it too much. This time, my mind went through everything - from visualising the layout of the store to deciding what type of book to get.

Downstairs in Borders, as well as a gazillion books, they have an entire corner of the store devoted to magazines, and a Paperchase franchise. Upstairs, there's a large Starbucks and a generous section devoted to DVD's. Upstairs is also where the craft books are, and as I'd already decided that I needed a book on crochet (now that I've finally gotten the hang of it) that's where we headed. Of course, Mr D has no interest in crochet or knitting, so he wandered around the DVD section and left me to it.

Crafting books seem to fall into two distinct categories. Ones for absolute beginners that walk you through the basics in baby steps then give you incredibly simple projects to do, or ones which have complex advanced patterns, of which only a few are really nice. The thing about buying crafting books is that you need to bear in mind that the fashionable stuff soon becomes dated. You just need to look at some of the pattern books from the 1980's to see my point...

"Crafters Corner" has a row of padded stools for people to sit on, which is visible as you go up the stairs. It's nice to be able to sit there with a few books and leaf through them, but I noticed that someone was already sitting there, so mentally decided not to join her. I ended up sitting on the floor in the other corner, which is something I do when there are no seats. Presently, the lady from the stools leaned over to put a book back. I muttered "sorry" as you do when you may be in someone's way, and leaned back for her to have more room. She thanked me, and chose a couple of books - crochet books. I smiled. Somehow there was this unspoken craft-person thing between us, and without thinking I said, "This one's really good" and held up the book I was looking through, Essential Crochet by Erika Knight. Suddenly, that unspoken craft-person link became spoken, and we were talking about books and how hard it is to find good quality yarn. I even told her about a couple of places that I source my yarn locally, which she seemed pleased with.

Maybe it was because I was sitting on the floor, maybe it was because it was a subject I love, I don't know. Maybe it was because I was there to push myself, and this was part of it. My mindset was different, I wasn't thinking automatically "fuck off and leave me alone", I was thinking "I have to do this. I need to communicate. I will communicate.

Buying the book was a little different. I'd gone to find Mr D, and contemplated out loud going downstairs to pay by myself. J's comment about going "just a bit outside my comfort zone" came into my head, and I decided this was the way to do it. I hovered, putting it off, then thought, "sod it, I need to do this now" told Mr D I was off, and headed downstairs.

Towards the bottom of the stairs, I looked over towards the till area. There was someone waiting, but it wasn't busy. I headed over, pausing to take a different route when my chosen one was blocked (I didn't want to be in a confrontation situation by having to say "excuse me", which doesn't make much sense considering the conversation I'd had upstairs). I got to the till and waited. It was only when the girl beckoned me over and I smiled and said "hello" that I realised I'd been clenching my jaw.

The actual process of paying was very similar to Waterstones. An almost 'self service' system of putting my own debit card in the reader, and following the instructions on the lcd display - the only communication from the sales assistant was a "hello" and "would you like your receipt in the bag?". I'm thinking I need to pay cash next time, just to make them do some work for my therapy...

I looked round, and saw that Mr D had come downstairs, but had hovered on the bottom step so I could see him. It made me feel better, somehow I felt that going upstairs to find him again was a bit more than I wanted to do. At this point, I felt incredibly tired, but also felt like I'd achieved something.

Last night, I went to bed early, and took my crochet book up with me. Although I'd looked through it in the shop, somehow it was like I was looking at it for the first time. I was seeing the pages again, but this time I was taking it in...

Posted by domino at 8:29 AM | Comments (1)

September 3, 2006

Books as Therapy

Not long after my appointment on Thursday, I found myself standing outside Waterstones wondering what the hell I was doing.

I walked in, my anxiety a little higher than usual, knowing I was going to face something that usually made me more anxious. The first thing I did was look for a book I knew I wanted - Tom Reynolds' brilliant "Blood Sweat and Tea". I had been waiting to get it from Amazon, (with something else to qualify for free shipping) but I needed to buy a book for my therapy, and this was going to be it. Tom might be amused to learn that he's had a little bit of community psychiatric input, there! I found it (in amongst the biographies, not on the 3 for 2 tables as it should be) and asked Mr D if there was anything he wanted so we could take advantage of the 3 for 2 offer. As we both looked around, I found myself inadvertantly looking at the till area. I was already gauging what was going on there. I realised that I'd also been looking around to see how busy it was and whether there was anyone or anything that was going to make my anxiety worse. I was so acutely aware of it, that I suddenly smiled to myself. Sometimes, this is like looking in from the outside...

Mr D chose a book (I can't even remember what) and I was pleased to see the classics were included in the 3 for 2 offer, so I picked up HG Wells' "The Time Machine". Our local Waterstones isn't very wide, so I instructed Mr D to stand where he was, which was about 18 feet away from the till on the opposite side of the store. He was close enough, but I was doing this on my own. At the till, a young mum with a pushchair was being served (why do mums think that pushchairs don't take upany room, and park their 'wheels' horizontally?) and had a small girl in tow, who was pirouetting round the pole that holds the "please queue here" sign. In a way, I was pleased someone else was being served - it meant that I could do the whole queueing part of this exercise. My focus was on the mum and her kids - I didn't want to trip the little girl up, nor did I want to be run over by the pushchair. Another assistant beckoned me over to the till, and I went through the motions. Put my books down, got out my purse, watched her scan them and say "that's £14.98, please". Handed her my debit card, and obeyed the instruction to put it in the card reader myself. (As an aside here, I wish shops would make their sodding minds up - either take the card from the customer, or all of them become almost self service. It drives me nuts when you hold out your card and they give you this "oh, no - you do it" thing. What happened to customer service?) To be fair on the girl, she was pleasant and smiling, asked if I wanted the receipt in the bag, which I did, and she waited for me to put my purse away, then handed me the bag with a smile.

There. That was easy. Maybe too easy? Maybe I should have done this on Saturday when there's more likely to be a queue to contend with, and more people. But, as they say, I have to take baby steps. Two things have come to mind while writing this - firstly, I didn't get flustered when she waited for me to put my purse away. Usually, I can't organise my bag so that my purse slips down to the bottom, I'll just stuff it in my pocket or take my goods and sort my purse out later. Secondly, I'm a sod for saving the environment, and always have a roll-up bag with me. For the first time in ages, it never occurred to me to say, "I don't need a bag, thanks" - and I feel a tad ashamed.

However, Part One of my 'homework' is done. Because of the fact that Mr D works during the day and there's no daytime opportunity to do this again before my next appointment with J, we have decided to wander into Borders book store during the week. It is at a large retail park nearby, and open late in the evenings.

Now all I have to do is think of some more books I want...

Posted by domino at 7:17 PM | Comments (0)

September 2, 2006

Dealing With It

It was only a matter of time before J was going to ask me to do a practical CBT exercise.

For a few weeks, we've been dissecting individual places and events, what causes the anxiety, what makes it worse, what helps (safety behaviour) and where I could be in that place to ride out the panic rather than running away. I'd always visualise myself in these places with the thoughts and feelings I usually had. Going into detail has been difficult, partly because I don't really think about it at the time, (there's a lot of times I've had a panic attack and not even remembered much of what went on) and partly because it's hard to admit every little detail. It's validating the fear, making it more real.

So far, J and I have come up with a list of places with scores between 0 (completely calm) and 100 (full blown panic). Most of these places are shops, and although I said "cinema" and "going out for a drink" I don't think they count because they happen so infrequently. The last time I went to the cinema was when "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" was out... We picked a choice place, somewhere halfway along the list so it wasn't too easy and wasn't going to be the exotic pet store where the tarantulas live. 'Scuse me..

*throws up a bit*

I hate spiders.. Anyway, the place we chose was Waterstones. I'd already figured that my anxiety is less in there because of my love of books, and if I get anxious I know there is usually a seat nearby where I can flick through a knitting or photography book to distract myself. I guess there is the possibility that this knowledge means that my anxiety is lessened before I even get there. Plus there's the benefit of a bookshop actually selling lots of things that I really want, rather than popping into Sainsbury's for a pint of milk.

J asked me what part of the store would make me more anxious. This was easy - either standing by the front door, or waiting in a queue at the till. We looked in more detail at what I'm like waiting at the till to be served. He asked me about my behaviour - what's going through my mind, what am I doing, where am I looking - that sort of thing. At first, I wasn't sure - some things I do automatically, and some things I'm sure most people do, like check their purse, keep an eye on the till to see if it's their turn yet. As we talked, I realised I do as much preparation as possible. Not only do I get my purse out, I get my debit card out (or cash, depending on how I'm paying) and I have a tendency to watch the sales person. I try and figure out what mood they're in - are they chatty or efficient? Are they trying to get customers to fill in stuff or have a catalogue or store card? These things are important, because in my head I have everything in order. I know what will happen, and if I get to the till and they say something that throws me, it really increases the anxiety.

J and I then discussed my safety behaviour. What do I do to take my mind off the anxiety? There wasn't a huge amount to say here - if my anxiety is high, I often tell myself not to be so silly, and that I've done this a thousand times. I try to focus on the task at hand, and not get distracted by anything or anyone. Maybe this is partly why I avoid eye contact with people. I don't want to end up enganging in some (verbal or nonverbal) diatribe which ultimately would give me too much to think about and deal with at that moment. There's also the fact that Mr D is rarely too far away. He's convinced he doesn't do much - but just knowing he's around is a huge comfort. My biggest dread is having a panic attack when I'm alone.

What J picked up on is that I'm very negative about the whole thing. I hate my anxiety. I remember clearly what it was like to be 'normal' me, and this makes me feel like I die a little bit inside every time I do something ordinary and my stupid disease means that I freak out. The negative rebuke is now automatic, and J suggested that I need to approach it a different way. I can hate my anxiety as much as I want, but I need to accept that right now, it's okay to feel this way. Hence my new motto:

   "I'm anxious, and I'm dealing with it."

It looks like some new-age motivational speak, but it is right. I'm accepting the anxiety, rather than fighting it (I have a habit of saying "I'm fine" which Mr D knows means I am anxious) and I am reminding myself that I am doing something positive about it. I need to practice it, though. I guess the way it's worded is also helpful if the "I'm so stupid" thoughts come into my head. I can say "hey, fucko, back off - I'm dealing with it..."

What J said next made my heart race. "D'you think you could do a practical exercise?"

What J wanted me to do was this. Go to the bookshop and buy a book. Gradually drop my safety behaviours, and get Mr D to back away. This should be done over several times until I go into the shop and buy a book myself.

"When do you think you can start this?" J asked. "How about this afternoon?" I ventured. I always go into town after an appointment to 'treat' myself. It's an unspoken reward for dealing with my shit. This time, I could go and buy a book instead of a cream cake.

This was on Thursday. I have written about my experiences, and shall publish them tomorrow...

Posted by domino at 9:10 AM | Comments (0)

August 26, 2006

Belay that worry, ensign

My two main fears about how the CBT is going have been lifted.

Last Thursday, I asked J about the dihydrocodeine and whether the knowledge of how my panic attack disorder and subsequent agoraphobia started would have changed the direction in which my treatment was going. I didn't explain it too well (thanks to only 2 hours sleep the previous night) and he thought I meant "would he have had reservations about treating someone who got addicted to opiate analgesics?" Eventually, we both got our heads round what I was trying to say, and he told me that regardless of how it all started, the principle of the CBT is the same. *phew*

I then said I was worried about how long we had left for appointments. J reassured me that I wouldn't be "chucked out the door" half way to getting better, and that if needs be, I can be referred to his supervisor, D, who did my initial assessment a year ago. He also said that he could offer me weekly appointments instead of fortnightly, which I have accepted.

I feel a bit better about it all, although I still feel like I'm doing one of those orienteering things where you have to fall back into someone else's arms and trust that they'll be there to hold you...

Posted by domino at 7:27 AM | Comments (0)

August 16, 2006

CBT Thoughts Part 3

Since my last appointment my head has been swimming with thoughts. Not necessarily about me, but about this "whole CBT thing". It's hard to write them down because there's that telltale little voice yelling "you're giving up!". I'm not, though. Just voicing my thoughts.

There are a few things bothering me. Firstly, at my last appointment, my back was really sore, and I was hobbling a bit. J mentioned it, and I said that my old back injury flared up occasionally, but it wasn't too bad. At the end, as I was getting up to leave, something was said that made me say something about "stupid bloody back and stupid bloody dihydrocideine addiction". J stopped, and looked taken aback? surprised? one of them. I said, "you didn't know about that?" and when he looked puzzled, I explained that it was coming off the dihydrocodeine that started the panic attacks. J said, "We can talk about that next time".

Next time is tomorrow. J has had holidays, so it means there's been a four week gap between appointments rather than two. In the meantime, of course, my mind has been working overtime over what this means. Part of me is frustrated and annoyed that this has never come up. Isn't it in my notes? Maybe it's not relevant, but if sudden dihydrocodeine withdrawal started all this, then surely it is relevant? Withdrawing from massive amounts of an opiate drug as suddenly as I did left me feeling raw - my senses and emotions were heightened to levels I'd never experienced, and I just wanted to hide until it all went away. I developed coping techniques (actually avoidance techniques) to try and stem the horrible feelings, and gradually I learned to cope with them. That's left me where I am today - panicky and scared when I go out, those raw emotions bubble to the surface and I just want to hide again. That's why I think it's so relevant.

Secondly, I've been thinking about the fact that J is a psych student, and his placement at my hospital finishes sometime in September. This means that at worst, I have one or maybe two appointments after Thursday, and at best, three. I'm terrified that I'm going to be 'discharged' when I still need help. Okay, so this CBT can give me the foundations to work on, but there's been lots of times lately where I've thought "hang on, J said I should do x, what happens if y happens?" Right now, I have the comfort that I will see him tomorrow and I can ask him. However, the fact remains that once those few precious appointments are gone, I'm on my own.

I guess the upshot is, I'm terrified of failure. Again.

Posted by domino at 7:46 AM | Comments (1)

July 31, 2006

Out on the Town

Our town centre is being 'done up'. The council are putting expensive pavers down, and making the whole area pedestrianised. Unfortunately, they are cordoning off massive chunks of pavement and road while they do it. It will be nicer when they've done, but in the meantime it's a nightmare navigating - both mentally and physically. The gaps they leave between the shops and the barriers are literally only wide enough for two people standing very together, side by side. Someone with a wheelchair, or a parent with a buggy would struggle. It's no easier for the walking wounded - ie people with walking sticks (like me at the moment - my back went into spasm a fortnight ago) or indeed anyone with mobility problems. Although the council have had to (by law) tarmac the bit where the old pavement ends and the new one begins, it is so uneven that only hill walkers and mountain goats could confidently say they'd never struggled.

Add this to the fact that our town centre gets very busy with shoppers on Saturdays, all of whom have a wandering around agenda that involves aimlessly walking diagonally and changing direction at the drop of a spitwad (they don't wear hats where I live), and shopping is a nightmare.

Of course, J would say this was an opportunity. Maybe it is, but somehow I want these opportunities to be on my terms. If I'm going to confront* someone in the street who I can't get past, I at least need to know that I could go the long way round if I wanted. I know there are going to be occasions where I have no choice, but I don't want the idea of going into town to be my worst nightmare, thank you. At this stage, I am only dipping my toe in the water, I don't want to be pushed in.

One thing J has said to me is that my avoidance tactics (counting in japanese, reading labels on tins) are not helping. When he said this to me, I almost felt as though I'd been slapped. I don't blame J for that, as I keep reinforcing, he is only there to challenge my thought processes, but it's still hard when you think that you've found something that helps, and you're told that "actually, it's not helping.." I think this could be something to do with my sensitive nature. I am, however, much more aware of how I act when I'm out and about.

I need to be aware of the things around me, but when I'm faced with something that raises the anxiety levels, my instinct is to leave, or hide. J says I need to face the things that could make me panic. On Saturday, we detoured through the shopping centre which was wider, but still busy. Suddenly, my guard was up - a young man was running towards us. My normal reaction to this would be to look down, move totally out of the way if possible, while getting more and more tense. Yesterday, I thought of what J said. Confront it. So, I kept looking at him. I felt a bit spacy**, but not too bad. (In hindsight, I'm wondering what else was keeping my mind off the anxiety). Then I started wondering. What if the trigger was a parent with a fractious child? I'm sure they wouldn't take too kindly to some stranger staring at them. How exactly do I confront that sort of situation? As always, notes are being made for my next appointment with J...

* 'confront' doesn't necessarily mean an argument - more a situation where I'm forced into a situation where I have to communicate with someone, eg, that thing where you're trying to get past someone and can't because they're DOING A SODDING DANCE and can't make their minds up which way to go.

** I don't remember hyperventilating or anything, it just felt strange and disjointed watching this young man running.

Posted by domino at 8:17 AM | Comments (0)

July 24, 2006

CBT thoughts part 2

On Thursday, I saw J again, and instead of trying to tell him what I was thinking about our last meeting, I printed out the blog entry that I did last week. It made the most sense, rather than struggling with my words, the wrong word coming out and J taking it at face value. Sometimes, my mouth comes out with some utter shite rather than what I'm trying to say. My brain moves too fast for me, I think.

The crux of it is that rather than me seeking reinforcement - even subconsciously - it's a case of other people giving me that reinforcement. So, if I feel anxious, it's Mr D's instinct to comfort me, but in a sense he's perpetuating the problem. Coupled with the fact that instead of staying and dealing with the problem, I use avoidance tactics, it all adds up to why I'm just coping with my illness - not getting better.

This week, J and I looked at all the individual places that make me anxious, however at first he wasn't too impressed with my response of "everywhere"! For each place, we gave it a score out of 100, with zero being virtually asleep and 100 being a full blown panic attack. I looked at my list, which was mostly shops and very local places and said, "God, I have a sad little life..." J suggested that I could hang on to that thought with a view to making my life more interesting when I get better. He's right. I've lost count of the amount of times I've turned down invitations or longed to go somewhere. At the time, I struggled to think of a particular place or event that I'd like to do, and came out with "shopping in New York" which I guess is a bigger goal than J was aiming for. When I came home and thought about it, there was one thing. My friend B runs a weaving class. My rekindled interest in fibre crafts means that something like the class would be a perfect next step from knitting and handspinning. The thought of attending makes me want to puke, though.

My fear is not being in new places, but having to deal with people. I have visions of making a fool of myself, not being able to speak properly, people thinking I'm stupid. I said to J that you could stick me in the middle of a field and I'd be okay, but put me in a crowd and I'm a goner. It's made me think about just how restricted I'm making my life so that I don't panic - but at least we have something to work towards.

Posted by domino at 9:45 AM | Comments (0)

July 14, 2006

I love my GP

Okay, don't get a nosebleed or anything but yes, I am posting two days in a row. Someone fan me.

I had my monthly GP appointment this morning, and we chatted a bit about the benefits thing, and she told me about another patient (very vaguely to maintain confidentiality, of course) who was going through the same thing. I told her that my worry at the moment is about the new IB reforms, and how claimants are likely to be sent on training courses etc - see two posts down for the sort of thing I said.

Dr H was as always, lovely and supportive. She told me that yes, it was likely I would be caught up in these new proposals, but my best bet was to tell them in very simple language exactly what I can and can't do, and if the worst happens she will be happy to back me up with a letter.

I'm writing this for the benefit of the people who read my blog and (as I mentioned before) have emailed me worrying about the 'what ifs'. I felt better knowing that Dr H is completely on my side and totally understands me. She told me about a patient who had agoraphobia and got caught up in a similar scheme a few years ago. The patient was too ashamed of her condition to say something to the BA, and it resulted in her anxiety levels soaring. People, get a good GP who understands you. Then if you do need to fight the Benefits Agency, you have a damn good weapon.

Posted by domino at 3:21 PM | Comments (2)

July 13, 2006

CBT thoughts

I've been writing this blog entry for three er, four days now. It's not the usual procrastination thing, but a "where the hell am I going with this?" thing. If some of this comes out disjointed, I apologise, because I'm writing down all my thoughts, but don't want to publish everything. Suffice to say, all of this will be discussed with J when I next see him.

This CBT lark is er, interesting. Imagine me saying that in a guarded sort of voice, because although I really want it to work, it's challenging everything I ever thought about me and my health. It's almost like saying the logical and natural behaviour that I've demonstrated over the last five years has been (although logical and natural) misguided. I've taken the path of least resistance to reduce my anxiety levels as quickly as possible (ie by running away) and by trying to keep myself safe, I've perpetuated the problem.

When I kept saying during my benefits appeal that I knew I needed to be in a positive place mentally to do this, I was spot on the mark. To challenge my innermost instincts - ones which have dominated my life for the last five years - is incredibly hard. The therapy is also challenging why I do certain things, and the way I do them. A good example is this blog. Why am I writing it? Is it because I want to give an insight into my experiences (as I've always maintained), and to put my thoughts and feelings into a tangible form, or is it because I need validation, or a platform to say "look at meeeee!" J doesn't make these assumptions, just gets me to think about everything differently. I'm trying to take these comments on board in the spirit in which they are intended - just thoughts thrown out in the air to make me think - but there's that little bit of paranoia in me that says "where did that come from? he must have thought it to say it, so maybe that's what he thinks of me - maybe that's what everyone thinks of me.." But then J has also queried my need to not be judged and my need to know that people like me, purely in the respect of getting me to ask "what does it matter what other people think?"

I suppose I've always been that way. Doesn't everyone have some degree of desire to be loved and appreciated? I believe it's a rare person who can go through life with a steely "don't give a fuck what people think" attitude, someone who's so confident in themselves that they never ask for an opinion. We all have insecurities some are just more prevalent than others. I know my family history has a lot to do with it, and without going into detail, I guess it's become habit that I seek affirmation in what I do.

However, this is not why I write this blog. Okay, it's nice when I get messages from people offering cyber-hugs and support, but to be honest, if I have a bad time I have a small circle of friends online who I know I can always turn to. I don't write a blog that may or may not be read so that some random stranger might feel the urge to write and tell me it's going to be okay.

This entry has gone in a totally different direction to what I originally planned. I was going to write about the thought processes of panic, and what J is suggesting. I guess this whole validation theory has got my back up more than I thought. Oh well, at least I have a topic in mind for my next entry.

Posted by domino at 2:30 PM | Comments (0)

April 30, 2006

oh, how we laughed...

I was early for my appointment on Thursday, a combination of determination to tell J how I felt and the usual being over prepared for something. As I sat in the waiting room I looked at the posters on the wall. Among the usual posters for the domestic violence group and the fibromyalgia group were a series of new posters proclaiming "there's no healthwithout mental health - how's yours?" (just peachy, which is why I'm in the psychology department...) I love these 'stating the obvious' type of poster. One said, "there are many things you can do to improve your mental health, try: meeting new people." Other suggestions were "relaxing and making time for yourself" and "developing new hobbies and interests". While I appreciate why they make these things and put them up, I can't help thinking that they're just making blanket and rather vague statements suggesting things that the patient is probably *way* beyond.

J is a very approachable guy, which is why I have been so torn about this. I get the feeling that we are on the same wavelength, and that I can talk to him and be honest and open. That, as any therapist will tell you, is incredibly important. I talked to him about how I felt, even that I'd had difficulty writing down all the anxious stuff - and he sat and listened, then said that it was all understandable and made sense (thank god he doesn't think I'm a flake) and that I could "see how it goes" before deciding. It wouldn't be failure, it would be being honest with myself.

We also talked about the tape - which was sitting on the table mocking me. As soon as I saw it, I'd said something like "oh shitting buggery" before advising J that I was liable to swear a lot. J told me that I was in control, that I could withdraw my consent at any time, or he would stop the tape whenever I asked him. At this stage, I was more worried about how I would feel if I didn't give it a go than anything else, so I consented and he pressed the button.

We talked about stuff, about my panic and how I react to stressful situations. As usual, there's a lot that I promptly forgot once I'd left the room. Towards the end of my appointment, when J had switched the tape off and we were talking about me coming back again he said something like "...and there'll be no more of that".

"No more of what?" I asked, puzzled. "The tape" J said. "You've got the hard part over with."

Somehow, in the midst of my anxiety last time, I'd decided that he would be taping more than one meeting. He only needed to do one...

Posted by domino at 3:16 PM | Comments (1)

April 26, 2006

Ridiculous Thoughts?

Yesterday, I started writing a post about how J, my new counsellor, had asked me to write down all the negative shit that goes through my head when I'm anxious. I thought I'd blog it because it gives another little insight into how my head works right now. As I wrote, I started feeling incredibly crappy, which isn't surprising when things like "I'm useless" "I'm stupid" "why can't I manage this shit?" "I'm going to die" come out.

I have a funny feeling that J is going to go through each one and counter it with logic. The thing is, I do this all the time already. "I'm not stupid, I just have depression and things seem more difficult right now. Give yourself a break, already". "I'm not useless, I do all kinds of things that I take for granted, I should give myself a bit more credit". See? How easy is that? It doesn't help, though. The useless and stupid thoughts are ingrained, I've always had poor self confidence. How can I erase thirty odd years of that?

As I sat there thinking, I wondered whether this is really the right time to be doing this. How can I concentrate on what is probably going to be a difficult road to recovery when I have this benefits thing looming over me? Despite everyone's assurances that I have a damned good case, I still have that nagging doubt that I'll fail the appeal, and the consequences of that are just too hard to even think about. If I continue with my counselling and I fail, it'll be harder to do it next time around. I can't help thinking it would be better to say, "put me back on the waiting list, I'm not ready for this". There's another reason for my negativity and doubt. J is a psychology student. Although he's a fully qualified counsellor, he's seeing clients as a psych student, therefore needs clinical supervision. This means that he has to tape some of our meetings.

I'm not sure how I feel about this. At the time, I said that although I didn't like the idea, I understood that it was necessary for him as part of his 'training'. The only people who will hear my witterings on tape will be him and his supervisor, but when I feel so ridiculously self conscious anyway the thought of being taped makes me want to puke. Unfortunately, if I'm not comfortable with it and can't deal with it, I go back on the waiting list to see someone else. I was 'pulled out' of the waiting list to see J, because it was felt that I was an ideal candidate for him (fools). I guess I need to know that I'd go back to where I was on the list, and not right back at the end.

For this whole therapy thing to succeed, I need to feel comfortable, and I'm not. I hate this - it feels like I'm making excuses, and given that I've gone on and on all this time about how I want to get better, I also feel like a bit of a fraud. I see J again tomorrow morning, and shall talk to him about it.

Posted by domino at 12:37 PM | Comments (3)

March 30, 2006

previously on dominocat...

I wrote this in notepad whilst I was trying to figure out how to get my site back up

You know that saying about waiting for a bus then they all turn up at once? This is my blog. In fact, changing webhosts and having a brain spack trying to get my blog back up has been a boost for Things Happening, because they've all waited until I've no means to tell THE INTARNET.

Anyway.

In an hour, I meet my new counsellor. In June last year, I had an assessment with the psychology department and the deal was that I would go on the waiting list for CBT. I was told that it would be hard work, and that it would last no longer than 8 weeks or so. That day, I realised that I would need to be in a Good Place mentally to do this, and spent the rest of the year trying incredibly hard to not get depressed again. I know that sounds a bit weird - it goes like this. Any time I started having negative thoughts, I made myself do something else. I played a happy song and sing along to it. I knit some bright pink socks. Anything that will put my mind elsewhere, and away from the negative and intrusive thoughts. I seemed to spend the whole time on the verge of a mental precipice, afraid that one false step would see me tumbling over the edge into the abyss. As it turned out, someone else pushed me.

It's fair to say that for the last couple of months, I haven't been in that Good Place. Strangely, it seems to have kicked me hard since I handed over my appeal statement to my solicitor. Somewhere inside my head, I've heaved a sigh of relief, and relaxed. A bit too much, because I lost control of the depression. The symptoms are the usual suspects, coupled with a lot of anger over the situation - and I am absolutely knackered. My physical health has suffered, and I think this year so far, I've had about two or three weeks of wellness where I'm not suffering from a D&V bug, or a neck spasm or a bad cold or a back spasm. Those well times have been spent feeling exhausted, feeling the need to recover completely - but it never happens, because some other health thing always happens.

I am worried that the psych bloke will think I'm feigning to get out of the work, or that I'm not suitable for the therapy or something. I'm worried that my brain won't work properly, or that I'll bugger my back again just as I'm getting somewhere. Most of all, I'm worried that I'll fail.

Posted by domino at 8:21 AM | Comments (0)

February 4, 2006

Mental note to self...

Do not start thinking "hmm, I should write something in my blog but nothing's happening", because this is known as Tempting Fate.

Fate happened at around half past three this afternoon, when that big silver car decided to overtake at a place where there was clearly no room, and without checking for oncoming traffic. ie oncoming traffic being us. He swerved back into his lane, but it was too late. I'd seen him.

To be fair, the panic attack wasn't big, and didn't last long - but I still felt stupid and knackered and fed up. Why can't I just yell "stupid bastard!" like everyone else, then get on with life? I hate stupid primeval conditioned responses.

Posted by domino at 4:42 PM | Comments (0)

January 23, 2006

*puke*

I just telephoned the benefits advice line to get a claim pack for DLA. I am shaking, I got my words mixed up, and my heart is racing. But hell, I have no problems using the telephone..

A few minutes after writing that, the phone rang. I think there is a dent in the ceiling where I hit it...

Posted by domino at 4:31 AM | Comments (0)

March 9, 2005

Happy, happy tits!

I woke up yesterday morning after a night of fitful sleep, and surreal dreams that emulated the crazy thoughts that had been swirling around my head for the last week. I was totally wound up and emotional, dreading my appointment, convinced that I wouldn't keep my coffee and valium down.

The clinic was running late because someone was on holiday, but I found some trashy glossy magazine to read and looked at the pictures. I'd taken a book, but I just couldn't concentrate on reading it. Bitching about Callista Flockheart's dress was easy...

I think it was the Nurse Manager who examined me - she told me who she was, and I approved, but can I hell remember what she said. She was really nice though. Soothing, calming yet not condescending. My husband came into the exam room with me, and sat by the door looking like he was about to puke. The Nurse went through a form with me that they'd given me to fill in - everything on it was in Dr H's referral letter, but they made me write it all out again, because the consultant "preferred going by a set format" or something. Of course, the abuse history was all in that letter, and I didn't want to take any chances. At the bottom of the form, I wrote in capital letters: "please note: history of childhood sexual abuse" and "panic attack sufferer". It worked, because the Nurse was brilliant in explaining things.

She did a physical exam, which was just the same as Dr H's. She chattered to me the whole time, telling me that she could feel the lump, but it didn't feel like anything that could be bad. She said lots of women had lumpy breasts naturally, but said I did the right thing for getting it checked out.

As I got dressed she said she'd speak to the consultant and tell him what she'd found. She said normally on a patient's first visit, the consultant wanted to do an exam himself, but given the circumstances, he was happy for her to do the exam and report back.

When she came back, she said that they were almost certain that it was just a benign lump, maybe an inflamed mammory gland. They said they wouldn't do a mammo, because 1) it probably wouldn't show anything up because my breast tissue is too dense, and 2) it wasn't worth putting me through exams that I didn't need, given my history. So, no needles, no ultrasound. That was it. They said to keep an eye on it, but don't self-exam too often!

I'm grateful that Dr H told me what I could expect. It helped me feel in control of the situation. Since I saw her and she made the clinic appointment, I've told myself "it's my body, I know I need to get it checked out, but I can always say no..." Self empowerment is vital for abuse survivors, and believe me, it really helps to know that you are in control, and can say "no" at any time. The fact that the nurse explained everything she was going to do and why was such a help, and my telling the clinic about my history was