Today is a good day
Magnesium
Rescue remedy spray
Rescue remedy lozenges
Kalms natural anxiety tablets
CBD oil
Asthma inhaler
Paracetamol
Ranitidine
Panic Attack audio books
Anxiety audio books
Mindful breathing audio books
This is what I can’t leave the house comfortably without. It’s a well-stocked, portable apothecary. It’s 99% natural, apart from the ranitidine which controls acid reflux more successfully than any other treatment I’ve tried (seriously, ditch the Gaviscon, you can get low dose tablets under the name RaniCalm or just Ranitidine from Poundland, and it will demolish the pain within 10 minutes.) (Also, side note, avoid Proton Pump Inhibiting stomach acid medications like Nexium, those are medically linked to a higher incidence of cancer). It’s the product of an anxious brain that is trying it’s hardest to protect me from dangers it has invented or innocuous situations it has misinterpreted, the details of which it often doesn’t even bother sharing with me. It just engages the neurons, floods the chemicals and waits for a thank you. It’s sweet, almost.
Today is a good day. I do have anxiety-induced tinnitus that is unnoticeable when I’m distracted but very high-pitched and loud when I’m thinking about it, but that’s it. There’s no dread, no headaches, no tense neck muscles, no clenched stomach, no restricted breathing, no fast heartbeat, no dizziness, no heavy head, no fatigue, and no panic attacks. There’s no fear of all the diseases I might have, of the imminent deaths those diseases would surely involve. While I worry that writing about it might induce any or all of it, so far it is a good day and I am beyond thankful.
This first episode of anxiety hit, like a freight train, on the eve of my trip to Sardinia at the beginning of June. My left ear felt blocked for about a week, though I could hear perfectly, which in hindsight was probably the ouroboros of anxiety, the chicken-or-the-egg of anxiety. It was blocked because I was anxious and I was anxious because it was blocked. Mindful breathing and relaxation, as well as the distraction of solo travelling, curbed the anxiety within 3 days, but not the ear. This more severe, recent episode started three weeks ago today, a sharp headache that made me feel faint, and then a panic attack hit – and from there, it’s been a slow, bumpy progression to having days like today. Where it is a good day.
I have learnt a great deal about the physiology and psychology of anxiety in that time, that fascinating, totally insane beast. In reality, it is really just the overprotective parent of thought processes, who will not loosen the grip of fight-or-flight willingly nor allow you to forget that it’s there for you. It’s cloyingly supportive. You can calm it down once it’s engaged, but it’s still crouched down in there, sniffing around for consciously undetectable threats, ready to serve you the components to stimulate your nervous system that you need to survive. The most useful of the (several) apps I’ve explored is the DARE Response, a series of audio clips for every stage of your anxiety: one to listen to if you need reassurance, one for meditation, one that explores health anxiety, one that talks you through a panic attack as it’s happening. Several hours more of similar content, all designed to teach you to co-exist with your anxiety. To not try and banish it, to not try and ignore it, to not pretend you’re ok. To consciously acknowledge every sensation you’re having, tell it you accept it but you’re not scared or bothered, and let the chemicals wind themselves down without any additional panic.
The theory, which I am very much in support of and a supporter of based on my own anecdotal evidence, is that because even though it is trying to protect you, as there’s no actual danger your body cannot process the chemicals, which makes you panic, which makes your brain think there’s more danger, so it keeps supplying the chemicals, and round and round it goes. If you can tell it that you don’t care if it does what it is doing, because there’s no danger, it will have less panic feedback, and will cut the supply of fight-or-flight compounds. The move to start unconsciously fighting back in this way was swift: very soon after going through the audio clips, I learned to head it off at the pass. In the beginning of humanity, all of the responses you’re causing in me were very useful. Yes, that’s a headache because my neck and head muscles are tense, you can interpret that as a headache if you want but nothing is wrong. Yes, my hands and feet feel numb suddenly, that’s because all the blood is rushing to vital organs to protect them, you can let that happen but I’m not bothered, I know it will return in a moment. Yes, my breathing feels restricted, but that’s because you’re telling my body that we need to reserve out lung capacity, so short and shallow breaths are what is needed. I know that’s not the case, so let’s just get through this and you can stop whenever you like. This works really well for me, unless a particularly strong physical symptom crashes through suddenly. Even then, I can usually stop it progressing into a proper panic attack, but it does require a quiet room and guided breathing and meditation, and leaves me exhausted and sad.
Rescue Remedy, CBD oil, Kalms tablets – who knows. With so many techniques employed at once, it does make it difficult to narrow down which ones are the most effective. They’re all natural and don’t have side effects, so even if they’re an additional placebo assistance, I’m all for it. What’s going on in my head is a placebo – it’s not real – so it makes sense to me that placebo medication might work.
Therapy has been amazing. I’ve been lucky enough to fall into finding an amazing counsellor as a first try, only a four-minute walk from my house. He is a person-centered therapist, which I’ve not encountered before, but I’m finding to be incredibly helpful. We trialled a short hypnotherapy session the last time I met with him and afterwards, I felt actively happy and relaxed in a way I had not for a very long time – probably not since visiting home in March. It lasted until the next night, but gave me hope and a glimpse into how my brain can be retrained to behave itself.
I’ve stopped drinking caffeine, mostly stopped drinking alcohol, and am trying to eat more protein and vegetables. I’ve never listened to my body this closely before, nor respected it as much. In a way, I’m incredibly thankful this is happening – I feel like I’m taking my body, mind and the health of both, seriously, in a very active way, as opposed to the off-handed wrecklessness coupled with a vague hope that nothing goes wrong that I sustained previously.
I don’t know how long it will take. At times it’s sad and it’s crippling and it’s difficult, but I am getting through it. I have a small list of times that I thought it might build into panic, where I’ve managed to flow with it and calm it back down. Where I haven’t retreated, where I’ve forced myself to engage, to go out, to be present when I didn’t want to be. I’m reminding myself of the ‘I’m alright, right now’ tactic, paying close attention and being thankful when I feel normal, balanced, healthy, good. Holding on to that when it feels dark, scary, closed and endless. I don’t know how long it will take, but I’m proud of the hard work I’m doing to manage this, to recover from it.
