My Story 18: Just below my skin I'm screaming - Anxiety Part 1.

Just below my skin I'n screaming. I have a good Movember facade. I've hid behind a tash for over 50 years. I've just removed it.

Tuesday 25.11.2025 Lambo’s anxiety is raging, horrible thoughts, psychosis even. Below has just entered his psyche. Could it be his brother John’s actions amount to IIED or just another manic Tuesday in Lambo’s life?

Intentional infliction of emotional distress (IIED; sometimes called the tort of outrage) is a common law tort that allows individuals to recover for severe emotional distress caused by another individual who intentionally or recklessly inflicted emotional distress by behaving in an "extreme and outrageous" way. Some courts and commentators have substituted mental for emotional, but the tort is the same. [Wikipedia]

Four weeks ago I spoke my mum, lovely conversion, she updated me on the family, I lustened for 20 minutes LOL and she ended by saying ‘I love you’ That meant a lot and hoped it would be the start of rebuilding time, in whatever form with mum. I tried to call her last week, to wish her happy birthday, only to find my number blocked. Anxiety hit me like tweak on my nipple and rocked my sensibility.

My brother John meanwhile puts a strange card through dads letterbox, see below. The message is odd as it pretends (no date stamp) to have come from Tenerife and inviting dad to call him. I called John to check it was genuine. I asked if he had sent it. 'Might have' he answered and hung up. An hour later Dad calls him, with Lucy his trusty carer managing the phone. It didn’t go well, dad was left in tears and my anxiety has been raging since. I was so bad yesterday I called the Dorset adult mental health team and asked for a chat.

Sally (Dorset mental health team) is a fab scottish lass, known her 16 months now, rang at 1100 this morning. 'Nothing daft on my shift' she says with a broad Glasgow accent. She helped Lambo remember to breathe, go to the gym and also remember that panic attacks are just that. 

Another call from a lovely friend Paul, known from age four, at three this afternoon helped remind him to focus on the possitives.  

I hugged dear old Lambo, we did five deep breaths together (6 seconds in and10 out) and asked him to share his anxiety story. This is what he said;

"It really started in July 1958,aged 8, when my sister Mandy was born but sent sky high when abused by the baby-sitter on New year’s eve five months later.  That anxiety is like a gentle -yet scary- electric shock from fingertips to toes or can  feel it in my gut (second chakra) right now. Alcohol helps but not on this journey.

Oh yes, the babysitter 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 anymore as you now 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.

Joined Donaldsons Surveyors in Gloucester Road, Kensington 1981.

Twenty eight years old, daughter Emily 6 months and all while hiding my anxiety until, 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 say not feeling great, downstairs to my car. Start to drive home (Islington) through London's Hyde Park, I’m shaking, dizzy and convinced it's a heart attack. I park the car on the kerb, double yellow, middle of park, 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 as a manchester United fan LOL.

Where was I?

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

July 2020, end of first lockdown, 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.

Lambo, closes his eyes and puls strands of hair through his top knot. 

I say, 'thank you Lambo, quite a story and looked forward to hearing more tomorow'

 And the point I am making is.

Sticks and stones will break my bones but a panic attack cannot hurt me. 

Have a good day

Colin