Anxiety Depression Crash. Part 2

The panic attacks turned to obsessive thoughts. Lambo couldn't stop recounting all the things he got wrong before his wife died. Letting her fall out of the bed as he was too busy writing his bog a good example, he kept blaming himself and sobbing. I reminded him of his history of anxiety attacks, hoping it would help.

The panic attacks were just the beginning. It really started aged 8, when my sister was born but sent sky when abused by the baby-sitter. If you missed Part 1, just click here.

My sexuality being aroused had the additional problem of introducing me to a world of panic attacks . I was afraid to walk past the senior school in case she saw me. I literally shook with fear, I was scared to tell anyone as it was clearly my fault (amazing how we blame ourselves as children) and the first person I ever told was my wife, Kerry, some fifteen years later. I can still feel the fear typing this.

It started another problem. I was told masturbation was dirty and sent you blind. Rubbing my penis on the curtains (my bed next to window, two brothers in next bed) in the dark was fine cos I couldn’t see anyway. I felt shame, guilt and told no-one of my ‘dirty’ secret for a further fifteen years. When I did tell Kerry about my secret, she told me, ‘you don’t need to do that as you have me’. That made matters worse as I now had another secret to hide.

On discovering Kerry was pregnant, my secrets (I had others) came to a head. We went to Cornwall for Xmas, she was bed-bound for two days, I bought porn and entertained myself. The guilt and shame turned into full blown panic attacks. On returning home I played in the final England rugby trial at Twickenham. I was shaking on the pitch, obsessed with my secrets and six months later had;

Quit playing rugby, along with all the ‘perks’, aged 27

Quit being a schoolteacher.

Had couples counselling for the first of many times.

Become a dad.

Enrolled at the Royal Institute of Chartered Surveyors to undertake four years of professional exams through Reading University.

Become a trainee surveyor with Donaldsons Surveyors in Gloucester Road, Kensington.

Life back on track?  No…

One afternoon, first floor office, six of us managing blocks of flats (Service charge management for the informed), my head went a bit dizzy, my breathing got faster, a pain down my left arm. Oh fuck, I stand, downstairs to my car. Drive home (Holloway) through Hyde Park, I’m shaking, dizzy and having my first heart (no, just that old friend panic) attack. I park the car on the kerb, double yellow, flag down a cab and say, ‘please take me to the hospital, I’m having a heart attack’.

That’s happened more than once before being back with my psychiatrist Jeremy some twelve year later after having a panic attack in the middle of a lecture (Barclays bank, Holloway Road, my local branch even) one Thursday morning.

I saw Jeremy every Wednesday morning, 0840, for two years. He told me I was pretty normal, for a Viking, but said I need serious help with my love of Leeds United. I last saw him five years ago after spending almost twenty years, off and on, convinced he was the one needing therapy. He was an ardent Man U (not willing to say the full name) fan, the man was insane. My wife agreed, said he was rubbish and doing more harm than good. He put me on Prozac. I like it, with one exception but that’s for later.

Where was I?

Panic attacks, had them everywhere; on trains, boats and planes. 

Its early July 2020, slipped disk, throbbing knee & shoulder.  A concoction of Morphine, Codeine & Valium stopped the panic but;  No visitors, no family, no friends, no-one loves me (it’s your own bloody fault, whispers my ego) and the depression descends. It’s a bit like driving into thick fog.

I do have many fiends but none so close, or so I thought. Car into the drive, its my doctor Charlie, with my depression medicine…

Chicken Shorishiwala, vedge dansak and the rest. He stayed for three hours, the medicine was magic. 

But…

It get's worse, Stella and Anxiety return, in Part 3. Click here

Ps. Charlie gave permission to use his name on condition I said, 'As long as other patients don't expect the same'. He is amazing and cared for Sheila to the end.