Bianca Wordley wrote a post at The Hoopla earlier this week about her anxiety issues, called Welcome to My Crazy Head. Reading it reminded me of the dark days when a bad situation and bad people left me with anxiety so crushing I had heart palpitations. Fortunately they’re gone from my life – the bad situation, the bad people and the heart palpitations – and the only signs I’m still wound a fraction too tight are a knot in my chest and a certain tightness of my jaw. You wouldn’t guess it to look at me, I project balance and calm (except when the Sprogs lose all their hairbrushes at 8.50am, then I turn into Linda Blair in The Exorcist). But it will always be a very busy place in my head. It’s just the way I’m wired. I wrote about my frenetic brainwaves in a blog a while back, called “Brain Jam”. Here’s what I had to say:
“Where’s she gone?” a woman cheerily asked me yesterday. I was on my own, she was with her husband and dog. I’d never seen her before in my life. What the hell did she mean? I obsessed over it for a good hour, because I think too much (and not in a constructive, find-a-cure-for-cancer way). The brain jam begins at 5.30am every morning and only ends at 10pm each night if I chant “nothing, nothing, nothing” to myself over and over and over …. zzzz. Between 6.45am and 8.30am yesterday, it went something like this: “Where’s who gone? Was that woman senile? Did she confused me with someone else? Is someone missing? Maybe I had my worried face on, which is actually my thinking face, or possibly my I-need-new-glasses face. I need to work on that face, it’s confusing people. I hope there are shops at the end of this path. I want a newspaper. And a bacon and egg McMuffin. No, not a bacon and egg McMuffin! This is why I’ll never lose weight. I don’t think there’s a shop at the end of this path. I should have gone the other way. There would have been a shop the other way. Typical, I always choose the wrong way. It’s only 7.30am, I’ll turn around and try the other way. Ewww, that guy is jogging with a dog poo bag in his hand. The poo is bouncing around like coins in a purse. I wouldn’t go jogging with a dog poo purse. That’s why my Puppy Love shop would be a good idea. You wouldn’t have to jog with a dog poo purse if you had a toy dog. I should start jogging again. I might lose weight if I started jogging again. I hate jogging. Why is that woman staring at me? My skirt must be tucked in my undies or something. Or maybe there’s an enormous pimple on my face. Finally, some shops. Damn, no McDonalds. Oooh, there’s a bakery, with a pie oven. I’d love a sausage roll. Eating a sausage roll for breakfast would be wrong. But I’m really hungry. Bugger it, I’m getting a sausage roll. The woman behind the counter is judging me for buying a sausage roll. She’s thinking, ‘Stupid ang-moh, no wonder she’s fat, getting sausage rolls for breakfast.’ Damn, the sausage roll isn’t very nice. I’ll just nibble it until the next bin, then I’ll throw it away. Ooops, I’ve finished it. I’ve just wasted 500 calories on a crap sausage roll. Fantastic. What will I tell my friend when she asks what I want for breakfast? I can’t say I’ve already had a sausage roll. I told her I was on a diet. I’ll just say I’m still full from my seven-course lunch yesterday. She’ll think I’m being very good, just having a cup of peppermint tea for breakfast. Why did that man honk his horn? I knew it, my skirt must be tucked into my undies. Where did that young guy get that plastic bag with a fancy baked goods box in it? There must be a fancy baked goods shop down the road. I knew I should have turned left, not right, when I got to Doncaster Road. The shops are obviously much better when you turn left. Typical. Oh look, there’s a Carols By Candlelight sign, and Santa will be there. Oh no, I think Sprog 1 knows there’s no Santa. Why else did she say she didn’t want to go and see him when I suggested it last week. I bet her cousin told her after we saw Arthur Christmas. I feel really sad now. I’ll be so cross if she tells Sprog 2 there’s no Santa. Should I say hello to those little old Chinese ladies? They can be a bit unfriendly sometimes. Why do little old Chinese ladies always have bowed legs? That’s racist. Little old Chinese ladies don’t always have bowed legs. They might not even be Chinese, they might be Korean, I can see a sign pointing to a Korean church. I’m so ashamed of myself. Oh dear, it’s 8.30am and I’m still not back. I said I’d be back by 8am. My friend will think I’m dead. I should have taken my mobile phone with me. What if I get lost? I am so thoughtless. She will be so worried about me. Phew, I’m back. Oh, no-one’s up yet …”
How about you? Does it get crazy inside your head?