Small Steps

I'm not sure where I'm going with this write-up.

In fact, I'm not sure where I'm going at all...

All I know is I've taken a very small step today and it may be significant or it may amount to nothing. But I need to record it.

I had to phone the doctor today to talk about my stress making me physically ill. I'm fed up of these rushes of panic that come every day and every night and which are worse when I have to do anything new or big or different or that involves organisation.
I told the doctor I needed help getting through the next 24 hours and couldn't wait for an appointment or I wouldn't be able to leave the house for my graduation tomorrow. My symptoms are so physical they are disabling. Food feels like sharp stones in my belly, pressure pushes at my head, I can't sleep, I tremble, my hands shake, my legs are so weak I feel I am walking on the moon. I have palpitations and my chest aches. Sugar and alcohol make me swell up and my face and eyelids become puffy. I actually look fatter when I am stressing badly. On top of all this the mental symptoms are immense irritability and an inability to hold a thought. I simply flap and wander from room to room, often having to beg people to stop asking me questions.

The doctor has prescribed propranolol (beta blockers) to help with the palpitations and insisted I get an appointment and have a proper chat about all this and wants to refer me for cognitive behavioural therapy. Just telling her how I had been like this since I was a tiny child made me feel like a child. I struggled to speak on the phone, and feel tearful, vulnerable and tiny right now.

Maybe things will change soon and I can alleviate some of my symptoms. From a purely vanity-lead point of view I would like to get rid of the rolls of stomach fat that I have accumulated and no amount of yoga, walking or sit ups can get rid of. I've read that excess cortisol production can produce this fat around the middle.

I've avoided talking to a professional about this for years for many reasons: denial, shyness, the actual problem stopping me from using the phone to make an appointment (telephones and doorbells cause the rushes and all appointments of all kinds terrify me), modesty about having a whole conversation dedicated to me (it seems so American and self-centred to go for therapy!), putting the negative thoughts aside so I can get on with my life rather than dealing with them, fear of being prescribed debilitating drugs, fear of well-meaning - yet unhelpful - advice... etc...

But maybe today's extreme, extreme symptoms - and worries about my inability to reason myself out of them, were the catalyst I needed to help me to pick up the phone and do something. I guess I needed to be told to have therapy - I was never going to ask for it.

So, I took the first beta blocker 3 hours ago and I'm still getting the rushes, am still aching in my chest and still unable to talk myself into a reasonable state but I feel a bit better. I feel I have a chance, I feel someone is prepared to help me, I feel I have a prop.

Richard and I went for a walk to the beach with the dog and didn't speak much. I thought about myself and how I would rather avoid thinking about myself and if I could worry less I could get out of this bubble more often.

Onwards and upwards???

I hope so.

Just a little way.

Not too high.