Social anxiety - but is it all my fault?

Hi all

My previous blog, where I outlined that I believe that my future lies outside of this country, is being strengthened by the day, not least following the recent EU referendum result.  Far be it from me to focus this blog away from mental health and anxiety and onto politics for any length of time, but this recent result has turned this country into chaos, of that no-one can argue.  Maybe it is because I'm getting older (I recently "celebrated" my 29th birthday) but I genuinely believe this country is changing for the worse.  Couple that with my social pressures and own personal issues that, if they play out, could result in a very lonely future, and my craving to go somewhere else is getting greater by the day.

Being plagued by a swarm of arrows doesn't help either

On top of this, I believe that somewhere on earth lies a place when one can feel accepted, comfortable and at ease with any company.  Where everyone is open-minded and willing to respect everyone else who walks into their pub, social circle, school or workplace.  Perhaps this is fallacy, because this sort of atmosphere is not something I have ever come across living here.  I feel that I am always being judged, which, yes, is a feeling partly exacerbated by social anxiety but also a result of the British way of socialising - competition and disregard for those who don't "fit" the conventional psyche or fashion.  As much as this 'being judged' feeling could just be my paranoia (as a result of anxiety), I do believe the British way of socialising is not conducive to a) me generally and b) people with anxiety or whose anxiety has affected their social comfort, as in my case today.

Even before anxiety really started kicking in way back in 1997, even at primary school I never truly "fitted in;" I've always been a quiet outsider, found it difficult to make friends and had less confidence as a result.  Why this was the case I don't know; upbringing possibly, being an only child and maybe just who I am, but that's so far gone now it's irrelevant.  Then, when the anxiety did kick in (which, in part, may have been because socialising was so hard!), this made socialising even more difficult and as such most of my life has been spent relying on a small group of friends, most of whom I am fortunate to say are still in my life now.  The problem is, because my life has been ravaged by anxiety, this has done two things: 1) made my social opportunities today limited, as a result of the inability to make lots of friendships back when everyone else does (the education years), and 2) make forging new connections and making new friends very difficult, especially when I have to force the issue.  Obviously, anxiety for me today is far less of a day-to-day issue gladly, but the legacy remains.

I'm focusing primarily on (2) for the purposes of this blog.  I will reiterate - I have a select few who are very good friends. I know some people can't say this but fortunately I can.  I rely on them heavily for my social interaction, given that I have a very small family and no (prospective of) a relationship.  Naturally, as we get older, opportunities to socialise with these friends will become less (see last blog) so meeting new people is more crucial than ever.  The same goes for relationships of course, but (again, see last blog) the likelihood of this is so low that it's almost irrelevant mentioning it.  If I find it difficult meeting new people generally, what chance have I got in forging a relationship?

So why is it that I find it so difficult to make new friendships, and why is it that I am awkward in social situations even with people I've known for some time?  Why do I feel like I'm boring the person I'm with?  That I'm uninteresting?  That it's forced and hard work?  Here are my musings - and apologies for the sweeping generalisations.

1) The British social way that I outlined above.  Some social occasions are so analytical; people have high expectations that everything has to go just-so.  I don't understand this perspective and simply prefer to go out for a good laugh.  Apparently that's too simplistic.

2) The British materialism.  In my 'wannabe' middle-class town, all people seem to talk about is weddings, children, travelling, skiing, hang-gliding and generally other things associated with wealth.  I don't want to talk about things like this (and couldn't anyway).  Maybe if I hadn't had years of anxiety I'd be in more of a position to talk about these sorts of things, but in a way I'm glad I don't. I like being different.  Perhaps this is one positive that anxiety has brought about. However, being different is, for me, apparently seen as being dull.

3) Drink. I like real ales and tend to have a few of such when I go out.  But drinking is endemic in British social activity and again, if drinking excessively isn't involved things are perceived as dull.  Moreover, if I'm not drinking (as much) then people see me as dull.  Then everyone around you gets drunk and you're sober.  I'd still rather be this person than one of the drunkards, but it just makes for an uncomfortable (at best) evening.

4) Confidence I.  I've blogged a number of times that anxiety has affected my confidence in some ways, socially being the main one from a negative perspective.  Because I've had limited opportunities in my life to do things that are perceived as interesting I am perceived as dull (see (2)) and I can't make my life seem interesting - because of lack of confidence.  It's a vicious circle. 

5) Confidence II. This dullness is further exacerbated by a thought process I go through in social situations - I now notice when I think I'm being dull, e.g. when the other person looks away, yawns, or generally doesn't show much interest. Therefore I stop talking altogether, leading to uncomfortable silences, and overall, more dullness.  To the point where, now, I don't talk about things that I think people will find dull, like my job, or my house, or how many hours I slept (or not) last night.  And so ensues awkward silences.

Again I emphasise that I'm generalising and the fact remains that I do have friends who still like meeting up with me and they are very close to me, and are of course like-minded in many ways.  But throw me into a setting where there are new people (or even people I'm not 100% comfortable with), or, again, dare I mention building relationships, I feel useless, regardless as to whether I'm actually useless or not.  

So to go back to the start - I do believe that there is a place where numbers one to three above are less of an issue; where folk are accepted and where socialising is simply about enjoying the company of people, rather than playing games.  Where people are less materialistic and not smashed out of their heads more often than not.  If this were the case, numbers four and five would surely become things that would naturally be easier to overcome.  People would express more interest in me, simply because I was different and not the same.  Here, in this current society, unless you are the same, or have enough of a left-field talent that makes you cool to be different, you're automatically an outcast.  Throw into the mix anxiety, scenarios such as the one outlined in my last blog become reality.

Then of course there is social media, which provides a constant, permanent platform to vomit all of this materialism.  There's no escape.  That's why I recently deleted my Facebook profile and stick with the theme of mental health on my Twitter account, i.e., utilising social media for (hopefully) something useful instead of a podium to shout about my life.  

So yes, I do believe that years of anxiety is the cause of much of my social angst, but I also believe that the culture of social activity in this society does not help.  It's far too complicated and analytical for my liking, and my want to remove myself from this current situation in a few years time is emphasised by this.  I need to find somewhere with belonging - any suggestions gratefully received. 

Best wishes
Al

The future's not bright, unlike the sunlight

Hi all

There's nothing like a warm, sunny, summer day to bring you all back down to earth with a bump - or indeed, back indoors out of the way of this sort of weather which does nothing for me but stir up anxiety and feelings of general lowness (I have inverse SAD).

If you're reading this blog indoors and the weather outdoors is glorious sunshine I empathise - I'm the one typing the damn thing.  I'm also typing this in my bedroom with the blackout curtains closed to prevent the room getting too hot, with a LED USB light plugged into my laptop so I can see the keyboard.  So yes, I'm sitting in a dark room whilst the sun is shining outside writing a blog about my bleak future.  The irony is not lost on me.

This is more like it

I often feel lonely and morose when the sun is out.  It makes me feel that I should be out there enjoying it too, joining in with the fun and frolics that everyone else seems to be having.  Letting it all hang out whilst not giving a crap if any of their hanging out bits get burnt.  Summer is a time we Brits love.  Unless you're me.  Summer, this weather in particular, brings about an acute lowness in my mood, as all it does is remind how I've got no-one to enjoy it with.  Couple that with Sunday afternoon's, the part of the week that time forgot, a time when I'm usually on my own watching football on the TV (something else you can't do in summer), a time when I'm normally at my lowest anyway, and you get... well, a blog like this.

Any frequent readers of my blogs will now know a reasonable amount about me and the anxiety condition which has dominated my life to date, including the fact that it dominated my school and university life and made it impossible to do the things that "normal" people do - like enjoy myself.  It also made it hard to make friendships and nigh-on impossible to build relationships.  I'm fortunate that the friends I have made are a) both very close friends and b) mostly still local - at the moment.

And at the moment things are okay.  Despite sitting in a dark room whilst everyone else barbecues themselves, things are okay.  I have a job I enjoy, people I enjoy working with and that keeps me occupied enough to dominate my week. I have enough of the aforementioned friends around to keep my social life, whilst not rich, adequate.  I enjoy my own space more than I used to and have learnt to embrace this sort of time through walking, cycling and the like.  But even now, I fear I am losing out, largely due to being a singleton with a lack of confidence, ability or opportunity to meet 'that' someone who most other people my age seem to take for granted.  Or if they are single, it's because they want to be.  

Whilst I'm content with being single at the moment, my life in five years time does not look so good.  I will still be single.  People can say what they like - friends will try and cheer me up by saying this is untrue, that I will find the right person, yadda yadda.  The first person who said that to me was when I was 19, and here I am nearly ten years later still single. Surprise surprise.  I will, in fact, still be single. Anyone who had had my relationship history (or lack of it) would believe the same, regardless of what other people tell you.  Pluto, Jupiter and Venus have aligned with the Aquarius constellation at some point in 673AD meaning that I will always be single. Being single in five years time itself isn't a problem and indeed could make my life easier (!), but when combining it with the other likely changes outlined below, makes it part of a bigger issue.

For a start, in five years time I'll be nearly 34.  Dear God.  That means things like having children are starting to become more urgent, if they are to happen. I'm not even sure I want kids at the present moment, but it would be nice to have the choice.  

Secondly, the friends that I currently socialise will have moved away or be forever entwined with their spouses.  In other words, my already light (but acceptable) social life will become lighter still and weekends will be spent even more alone.  

Thirdly, my current job is hanging by a thread.  If I lose this job, I lose working with great people - something that, realistically, I would find hard to replace (I've been lucky so far in this respect) and I will almost certainly have to replace this job with working in a sector I enjoy less.  UK readers of this blog may have noticed that the environment and sustainability isn't exactly top priority under the current government, and jobs in this sector are declining.  I can't do a specialist Masters degree now - which could help to solve both my employment and social problems - because I own a house and couldn't afford to keep up the payments. So in all likelihood I'd have to get a job doing something else entirely, which would mean that my busy yet usually enjoyable weeks become busy and... well, less enjoyable.

On top of all of this, as I mentioned a while ago in a previous blog, a lot of other things I value in life are being scrapped and not replaced, again largely thanks to the government.  And this whilst living in a town where I've lived for all 29 years of my life which is becoming unrecognisable through its economic and demographic decline.

And ultimately, wrongly or rightly, I blame years of anxiety for much this.  Okay, so maybe not the political stuff, but certainly the social.  Most young person's social life these days is so rich that being on their own by the time they're 28 would probably be welcome.  Many of them will have naturally met their long-term partner, or at least been in a long-term relationship.  Many will have travelled the world.  And regardless of all that more material stuff, many will have at least been able to enjoy themselves, especially if they were fortunate enough to have a relatively-speaking privileged upbringing like me.  Sadly, anxiety destroyed these opportunities for me and has battered my confidence and self-worth in the process.

So, in what is probably the most pessimistic blog in history, I see my life in five years' time as a fairly lonely and depressing (note I've not used this term lightly until this point) place to be.

That is, of course, unless I intervene.  I have been considering what sort of interventions to take.  I've already taken some, let's not forget, during the lifetime of this blog (four years), including:
- Switching jobs to gain more experience, meet new people etc.
- Moving to two shared houses for new social experiences.
- Buying a new house as I move into adulthood to make the most of my own space.
- Started online dating to try and defy the 673AD lining of the planets.

All but the latter have had limited success and generated happiness, but generally only temporarily.   What other interventions could I take up?  A hobby?  I'm nearly 29, not a schoolchild or semi-retired, but still, it's an option.  Go to the pub more?  Possibly - such things may become necessary - but I think only a bigger intervention will suffice to prevent my five year forward look becoming a sad reality.  Something like emigrating to another country and starting afresh.  Putting this country, this town, my anxiety, all of what I believe is holding me back, behind me for good.  Taking a one way plane ticket to 'Somewhere-else-land' and not coming back. Somewhere more becoming and accepting of my personality.  Somewhere where I feel like I fit in.  All I would leave behind of value here are my small family and friends, many of whom I probably wouldn't see much of in five years time anyway if the above scenario plays out.  The older I get, the more I think that permanently jetting off is the only option.  

Despite this blog coming somewhat out of the blue, this scenario is not something I've only just thought about.  I've realised I don't belong here for some time now, and have a want to try and find where I do belong.  

I'd love for my pessimism to be wrong, for once.  The only time it has been wrong before was when I applied for my latest job two and a half years ago - I didn't think I'd get it, but I did.  Aside from that, most scenarios in adulthood that I've chosen or had to face have panned out more or less as expected, whether that's positively or negatively.  So I do trust my own judgement fairly well.  Which is why I feel that the only way my pessimism will be wrong is if I take the bull by the horns and make the big intervention in a few years time.  Even whilst typing this blog, it is becoming more appealing in my mind.

For now, I continue in this soulless place, clinging on to the positives that do remain - my friends, my job etc - and hope that something comes out of the blue.  And I don't mean the sun.

Talking of which, you can go back outside now and enjoy it.

Best wishes
Al

Reverse stigma and inverse SAD... and other tripe

Hi all

Well it's been nearly a year since I moved into my 'new' house.  I can say with confidence that this was one of the best decisions I have made in my life, despite the fact that my job is currently under threat (who's isn't?) I do not regret it one bit.  The current negative is that it has been a fairly difficult week for me, mostly due to the aforementioned job - trying to bring business into the organisation is not something I find very easy and it's something I'm having to do more and more of at the moment.  Lots of meetings, lots of train travel, lots of taking my bike on the train.  

Insert generic, stigma-heightening work place anxiety image here

I had a very awkward moment on the train on Thursday this week where my breathing went to pot and memories of my meltdown over five years ago kicked in.  Thankfully I managed to contain myself.  In fact, cycling when I got off the train from that journey seemed to help, as it released the anxiety adrenaline from inside me into some genuine adrenaline and physical breathlessness - rather than just mental breathlessness.  

I did, however, spend two hours in a meeting on arrival with five of those sort of blokes who think they are important whether they are or not.  I had to informally present about our organisation, which is normally fine for me these days but I don't normally do it after having a near-panic attack on the train and then having cycled forty minutes to the venue.  So that wasn't easy either.  But crucially, I got through it.  My CBT techniques definitely helped - as daft as it sounds, but rationalising things like 'I am allowed to duck out of the meeting for five minutes if I need to' or 'I can ask for water if I need some' etc often helps.  I think generally we spend too much time thinking people will judge us if we do things like this, and this is especially heightened if you have anxiety, but frankly, a) they probably aren't judging us anyway and will just be fine with it, and b) if they aren't fine with it, they probably aren't the sort of people you want to work with or be in a room with anyway.

My anxiety had improved once I was back at the station, albeit I was still on alert.  I contemplated speaking to my boss when I got back to the office to explain that I was feeling like this, but I did not.  Moreover, I have never told her about my anxiety condition more generally.  Okay, so it's less relevant these days, but why not tell her anyway?  Why not be open?  Hell, I write this blog, I speak to my friends about it, I splurdge on Twitter. So why not just talk openly about it with my boss and colleagues?

This is an even more a puzzling question when you consider that I really get on with my colleagues.  They are like friends to me, as much as work colleagues, which I know is a very unusual thing and something I try not to take for granted.  Just to set the scene - there are only three of us! We're only little.  So why not be open about my mental health?

Is it stigma?  Possibly.  I don't fear the reaction of my colleagues at all, but perhaps I stupidly do fear that they may treat me differently, or think that I am unable to cope in certain situations.  This is my problem, not theirs, as there is no evidence to suggest they would think that.  It's almost reverse stigma; I'm the one holding the stigma about my perceived reactions to my own condition!

I think as well, though, something I have always done since working is try and keep my personal life separate from my work life.  One of my two colleagues, for example, tells us about her personal issues which is fine, but that's just not something I would do.  I class my anxious past as a personal issue, rightly or wrongly.  But apart from generic things like what I did at the weekend (which I still get embarrassed about, because what I do is not 'interesting' compared to what I think other people will perceive as 'interesting' - reverse stigma again!) I don't tend to talk about my personal life, such as relationships (or lack of), my family's disabilities, or anxiety.  In fact, I think this thing about appearing 'uninteresting' is the main reason why I don't talk about such things - in that, I can't imagine for one minute why anyone would find my life interesting.  So perhaps that is more the reason why I don't talk to my colleagues about my experiences with anxiety, then - although I think it's a bit of both this and that reverse stigma bollocks I've just made up.

I only told my boss at my old workplace about my anxiety condition when I as good as collapsed on the floor because of it one time - so my hand was forced somewhat.  Apart from on my last day, where in my leaving speech I made reference to it.  It wasn't planned, so go figure why I did that.

Ultimately, though, everyone should feel that they can talk to their boss and colleagues about their mental health conditions freely and openly, without fear of ridicule, bullying or judgement.  From what I have read from many people with experiences of mental health conditions, this is not always the case, and from what I gather people have even been forced out of their jobs because of the lack of support they have received via their workplace, or even, their workplace exacerbating their problems after telling colleagues about them.  This is not acceptable. It's good to see the charities doing their best to raise awareness of course.

So all in all, with a lack of job security somehow making my job busier and more stressful, the combination of both factors makes this next few months probably the hardest I have been through, work-wise.  During my terrible times, work was one of the few fairly positive constants - whereas now it could be the cause of future troubles.  

Not helped by the fact that summer is not my favourite time of year.  I feel more lonely in the summer.  I think this is because you see people and couples outside in the park enjoying themselves in the warm sunny weather* and it's in your face all the time.  I also hate the heat.  So combine the two and you get what I call inverse Seasonal Affective Disorder, a condition normally experienced by those who are negatively affected by winter.  If anything, I'm the opposite.

Oh yes, and my latest on trying to find a partner.  I'm still online.  I've had another date.  Went okay but no further contact was made.  Still trying... 

Over and out and time for another new week to begin.  Positive thoughts...

Best wishes
Al

*It's currently raining.

NHS vs private talking therapy: My experiences

Hi all

There has been a lot of discussion recently in newspapers, mental health magazines and on social media about the quality of NHS therapy versus private therapy.  This has probably come about as a result of the recent junior doctor's strikes taking place and the continuous talk that the NHS is in financial trouble.  Mind has also been conducting some research with their members recently about primary care and their experiences of mental health treatment and their GP.

If only all therapy rooms contained a cushion like this

Ultimately, like everything, one's opinion of NHS therapy against private therapy will be down to individual experience, rather than the whole picture.  There will be exceptional therapists working in the NHS who I'm sure will be as frustrated as the next person about for how many sessions they can see patients for, and so on.  So yes, all I can go on is my experience of therapy, bearing in mind I've had both NHS and private therapy for chronic anxiety and I've also had many discussions with my GP about the subject.  I will attempt to describe these experiences and subsequent "advice," if you can call it that, on the back of this.

1) My GP

I first visited by GP with (what I now know was) anxiety back in 1998 ish, when I was only 11 years old.  I was accompanied by my parents.  All I remember about it was crying profusely and being referred to an NHS counsellor, as they called them generically then.  I can't comment on the quality of the appointment given it was about 17-18 years ago.  

Now this particular GP has been practising at the same surgery in my town for goodness knows how many years, so when I went the second time, on my own probably in around 2006, he at least knew me and would have been able to see that I'd been referred to a counsellor many years ago.  At this point, I was once again referred to an NHS therapist and prescribed beta-blockers.  I didn't have the knowledge to argue against any of this ten years ago.  Then, after my incident of hell that I described in my last blog, I went back to the same GP again - 2011 - but this time with more knowledge in my back pocket.  I told him what I wanted to do, and only went to see him for two reasons; 1) so he knew what was going on for his records and 2) to discuss beta-blockers, which I went onto again having come off them a couple of years before.

So overall, there were three times that I went to my GP over the course of about 13 years; I'm sure in total it was more than three times, but three batches if you like.  I know when I went in 2006 I had to go back a few weeks later and get a stronger dose of beta-blockers, for example.

Positives: 
- I've seen the same GP for 20 years.  This means that he knows me and my profile and is familiar with my background.

- His answer wasn't to automatically prescribe anti-depressants.  I've heard of a few cases involving friends when they have been to see their GP about what is clearly an anxiety condition and being prescribed anti-depressants without any other options being laid out before them.  Mind's latest members magazine says that "57 million anti-depressant prescriptions were written in 2014 - a 46% increase since 2012."  This is hugely worrying for me.  My view on anti-depressants is for a separate blog altogether, but to sum it up, they shouldn't be seen as the first or only option for people with anxiety.

- He is generally quite an approachable person and empathetic with what I was going through, taking it seriously.

Negatives:
- He had no real suggestion of what to do other than refer me to the NHS therapist and prescribe beta-blockers, making it sound like there were no other options.

- By his own admission he wasn't an expert in mental health conditions.  You could argue this is a positive, to at least admit it.  But it doesn't bode well.  The third time I went to see him when I told him I'd referred myself privately, he asked me how I'd done that and said 'through the charity Anxiety UK.' Needless to say, he hadn't heard of Anxiety UK or what such charities were able to offer. He did, at least, make a note of it!

Overall, though, compared to many people, this was a relatively positive experience and he at least listened to my issues, took them seriously and did his best.  Ultimately it's not his fault that he wasn't educated adequately about mental health back in the day, and has probably not had the time since to learn more about it given the pressure GPs are under to work all the hours God sends!

2) The NHS therapy

As the above describes, I was referred to an NHS therapist on two separate occasions; the first time in 1998 and the second time in 2006.  The former, I can't remember much about for the same reasons.  It was too long ago.  I remember doing some exercises at home that he gave to me that was something along the lines of drawing negative and positive characters, with the idea of reducing the size of the negative character to banish negative thoughts.  How effective it was is relatively unknown, although given I had a debilitating anxiety condition for 14 years subsequent to that probably speaks for itself.

The second time I was referred was nothing short of a shambles.  I've mentioned this on this website before, but from referral to seeing the therapist took 13 months.  Yes, 13.  Mind's latest magazine states that "50% of people wait more than three months for talking therapies."  Yeah, right.  Three months would have been a delight.  I remember receiving a call about nine months on, just before I was due to have the appointment, saying that it had been cancelled.  Little did I know it would be another four months before it would be rearranged.

This was hopeless, given that a lot can change in a mental health condition in 13 months.  Indeed it had; certain symptoms had changed quite significantly, albeit I was still suffering.  Moreover, had I known what the quality of the experience had been like, I wouldn't have bothered attending the appointments in the first place, as the below describes.

Positives:
- He was based locally.  That sounds like a minor point but as you'll see from the private therapy experience below, an important one.  

- It was free of charge.

Negatives:
- I had to wait 13 months between referral and appointment.

- I was limited to about seven sessions.

- The therapist was not very empathetic or understanding. He was quite brash compared to what you'd expect and I didn't warm to him at all. Maybe 'tough love' was his thing - well, it didn't work for me.  As such, I didn't find the therapy remotely helpful, and I can say with confidence that I was no better after the seven sessions I'd had.  

I have some sympathy with the therapist. It's not his fault that I had to wait 13 months, or that I was limited to so few sessions.  This is the endemic failing in the NHS mental health therapy system; it's creaking at the knees.  Is it any wonder that GPs prescribe anti-depressants so quickly and don't talk about other options enough, given that they know that local therapists are under so much pressure as it is?  Sadly, I suffered a combination of a failing therapy system, which in 2016 looks like it's only getting worse, and a poor quality therapist at that.  Overall, this experience was therefore a total waste of time.  

3) Private therapy via self-referral

In about 2010, I referred myself to a private therapist.  I still had chronic anxiety, although at the time I didn't realise I was as bad as I was.  The main reason I went to the private therapist was to 'resolve' my eating out problems, which were causing me great distress and preventing me from socialising properly.  What I know now, of course, is that eating out problems are just an output of a wider, more chronic anxiety condition overall.  At this time, its main way of manifesting itself was eating out.  However, I didn't find this out through the private therapy.  

In this instance, I didn't speak to my GP first.  I just went straight to the therapist and, having read up about Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) by this point, my only criteria was to see a CBT specialist and that it was local.  After some web searching, job done... or so I thought.

Positives: 
- She was based locally.

- I was seen less than two weeks after making first contact. Slightly different to 13 months...

- Compared to the private therapist, she was more approachable as a person and generally had a kinder nature about her.

Negatives:
- I was limited to eight sessions (although that was probably a good thing - see below)!

- I had to pay; I think it was £35 a session, but I could be wrong. £35 x 8 = £280 in total (yes I had to use a calculator to do this).  

- I didn't really appreciate this at the time, but the therapy I was getting wasn't actually CBT. I knew at this point that CBT was what I needed, but having never experienced it before, I didn't know what to expect.  What I got was counselling. The sessions were dominated by trying to work out why I was experiencing what I was experiencing, rather than trying to deal with the problem first.  When my Grandad died and how, surprisingly, had nothing to do with why I couldn't go to the local Wetherspoons and eat scampi and chips.  The counsellor was so desperate by the last session that we just spent an hour listening to sounds of the sea.  

So sadly, the negatives by far outweigh the positives again.  The key lesson here is, just because you're going privately, don't assume you won't meet the same restrictions as in NHS therapy and don't assume the quality is automatically going to be better.  

4) Private therapy via charity

When I had my meltdown in 2011, I knew I needed help, but of course I'd already experienced poor NHS and private therapy and didn't quite know what I was going to do.  Thankfully, I stumbled across Anxiety UK and read what they could offer.  Admittedly, I thought it was too good to be true.  Anyway, I chose to go down this route; I went to my GP as described above just to let him know the score and to go back onto beta-blockers and then wait in anticipation (an anxiety-filled mess of anticipation, granted) for my first appointment.

Positives:
- I was seen within two weeks of referral, this despite an admin error which occurred at the start!

- I had access to an unlimited number of sessions. I had fifty in total, which gives you an idea of the sort of help I needed.

- The therapist was excellent. For a start, I was getting CBT not counselling.  Yes we talked about my past (I generalise), but probably not until the 20th session or something like that.  I was given the tools to help with my anxiety condition. I was given the power back in my own hands. And I was given a shed load of homework to do, which is a good thing of course!  (I will emphasise at this point that as a patient you have to put in to therapy what you want out of it, as long as you get the opportunity to do so).

- She was also excellent because she made you feel like her friend. Between sessions, she must have seen scores of other people, and yet remembered everything we'd spoken about the week before. And, because of the 50 sessions, she got to know me as a person.  She was also warm and welcoming on each occasion.  What was clear was that she enjoyed her job.

- Webcam therapy was offered (see below).

Negatives:
- Anxiety UK didn't have a therapist based in my town, which at the time was hopeless because I could barely leave the house, let alone travel any distance. The person I saw was based in Glasgow, which is about 260 miles away from me... because they were able to offer webcam therapy. This didn't really matter in the end, as the therapy I obtained was almost as good as the therapy I would have got if it had been face to face. 

- It cost £20 a session, x 50 sessions = £1,000.  I didn't need a calculator for this one.  I was also lucky; the pricing structure was based on household income; at the time I was living with my parents who were both retired so I was able to obtain the cheapest bracket.  It was also £5 a session cheaper via webcam.  It was £35 for the next band up, which would have been £1,750, so a significant difference.  That said, it was worth £10,750 if I'm being honest, given the effect it had on me, as many of these blogs have described.  

What's the key message here though?  The lady I saw privately practised with a few patients at a time - the rest of the time, she was an NHS therapist in Scotland.  This proves that excellent NHS therapists do exist, although no doubt she may have been constrained to the same restrictions all NHS therapists suffer from.  In fact I recall her talking to me about this one time, saying that she dabbles in private therapy just so she can offer a less restrictive service at least to some patients.  

To say my therapy experiences have been mixed would be an understatement.  Based on my experiences, whether NHS therapy is any poorer or not in terms of quality is debatable, although in terms of logistics, such as waiting times, it is certainly much worse. The most frustrating thing is that I had to pay £1,000 to find good quality therapy.  WHETHER YOU CAN GAIN ACCESS TO GOOD QUALITY THERAPY SHOULD NOT BE BASED ON HOW MUCH MONEY YOU ARE ABLE TO SPEND, and this is the main problem with mental health therapy in this country, in my opinion.   

Ultimately, though, I strongly believe it is down to the individual therapist that you happen to be paired with, whether it be NHS or private.  My overarching advice would be, therefore, not to give up if your first experience of therapy is poor; keep striving for better until you get what you need.  If you can't afford to pay £1,000 of course, then you might be restricted.  See capital-letter bold font rant above.

Best wishes
Al

Five years ago today...

I am writing this at 22:30 on Friday 25 March 2011.*

I woke up, having of course only slept for around two hours despite being exhausted.  I had travelled for six and a half hours on the train the day before and as always, it's this sort of travelling that exhausts me.  So why did I sleep so little? Unfamiliar surroundings - I was in a Bed & Breakfast in Falmouth, Cornwall.  Today was the day that I had arranged a meeting with a course tutor at the Falmouth campus of Exeter University, to discuss potentially starting a Master degree in September.  I was determined, and convinced by this determination, that I was ready for this challenge.  My job had stagnated and anxiety had effectively ruined my chance of enjoying my University degree like the ones most people get - hard work, but fun and rewarding.  For the most part, mine had been an anxious mess, filled with panic and social angst.  

Falmouth - I'm sure it's a lovely place

So I feel that I need a clean break, and this course in Falmouth looked like the ideal opportunity to start anew.  However, the meeting with the course tutor wasn't at the forefront of my mind at this time in the morning; it was negotiating my way through breakfast.  Eating out isn't my strong point, and just the thought of going downstairs to eat anything was making my stomach turn.  The main concern, of course, was having to converse with the breakfast makers to tell them that I didn't want any of their apparently delicious breakfast.  The extent of deliciousness is irrelevant - I couldn't eat anything because I wasn't at home.  Simple as.  I used the "I'm nervous about meeting the course tutor" excuse, and made the whole thing into a bigger deal than it really was.  You see, I'd not actually even decided for certain that I was going to do this Masters - hence the meeting - so it wasn't a make or break trip. 

So I spent as little time as possible in the breakfast lounge, being glared at by people who wanted to make me breakfast but who couldn't for my refusal, went back upstairs to pack and then scarpered.  My meeting was at 9am and I had a bus journey to take.

I had prepared for the meeting yesterday by visiting the campus so I knew where to go, which bus to catch and where to visit, so this helped.  I was anxious, of course, but in control.  I had the meeting, which went well - it was just a fact-finding mission really, to see whether I felt that I could fit in.  As I write this, whether I fit in is now irrelevant. 

I made my way off campus but still had about an hour and a half to kill before the train home.  I went for a walk around Falmouth, a lovely seaside town, just to gauge the sites and get some exercise.  It was unusually hot for late March, and I foolishly wore my winter coat whilst having to carry my luggage with me, so by the time I got to the station for my train I was hot and even more exhausted than when I started.  And then for the seven hour journey back.  

I got on the first leg, Falmouth to Truro, sat down and attempted to chill.  What happened next was unimaginable.

The first thing I noticed was my hands and feet starting tingling.  This was getting worse by the minute and I was getting hotter.  I then knew what was happening.  This was the onset of a panic attack.  It then dawned on me that there was no escape; I was on a train, in unfamiliar surroundings, seven hours before I was due home.  All alone, with no-one but hundreds of prying eyes for company.  This exacerbated the panic.  My head started racing, heart started thumping, the tingling turned to numbness and it was at this point that I realised that I had lost control.  The panic was all encompassing.  I quickly looked to the floor as my eyes started blurring. 

All of this must have happened over the course of about 20 minutes - it felt like two - because we'd arrived at Truro station.  I somehow had to stand up and then get off the train.  I stood up, made my way to the door, and dropped my mobile phone in a trembling panic; fortunately it landed just ahead of the gap between the train and the platform.  I girl picked it up for me.  I couldn't really look up because I knew if I did I'd collapse.  I edged very slowly towards a chair.  There were no chairs!! Where are all the seats?? This is a railway station! 

Instead I saw a member of staff and told him I was panicking.  I don't know why.  I wasn't thinking straight.  He found a chair - I remember it because it was one of those chairs you get in schools. It was brown, relevant for no reason.  I sat near to the ticket barriers at Truro station, head permanently down knowing that lifting it wasn't an option.  I remember shaking and thinking "there must be a hospital in Truro, if it comes to that."  Then another staff member approached me.

He had obviously been called by the original staff member I spoke to and to be fair on him, he took empathy with me.  He asked me what was wrong, I was honest.  I remember repeating that "unless you can bring Stafford to Falmouth I'm not going to get better anytime soon."  He stayed with me for a while but then had to leave.  I sat there for a while longer, but knew I had to soon go over the bridge to the platform where my train was due.  I asked the original staff member if the other guy who was more understanding was around to escort me.  He wasn't.  I felt hatred towards this guy for not helping me. How ridiculous, did I think he had a degree in psychology? 

I staggered across the bridge and onto the next train - leg two, Truro to Taunton.  I sat down and barely moved.  I was next to someone.  Not even sure what gender they were. There was a small TV screen on the back of the seat in front.  The physical feelings were still there.  I was going mad.  I still am.

Oh for goodness sake, we're in Taunton.  I knew that this was edging closer to home, but at least sitting on the train I was able to just sit and not interact or move.  Luckily this time, the changeover of trains was only ten minutes and on the same platform, so I didn't have long to wait before leg three, Taunton - Birmingham.  This was the longest trip and where I made a fundamental mistake. I tried eating something.  It was a chicken sandwich.  Silly boy.  I was barely able to drink water, let alone eat a chicken sandwich.  I was panicking.  I was also concerned that by not eating anything I would make the situation worse.  Ultimately the good news was that I wasn't getting worse.  But I wasn't getting better. I was feeling sick. Hot, Sweating. Panicking. Unable to breathe.

I arrived at Birmingham.  It was dark by this point.  About a 30 minute wait.  I sat on the ground at the platform.  The last leg, from Birmingham to Stafford.  There was a delay, which didn't help.  Am I ever going to get home?  I sat at a table on the train back to Stafford, on my own, with a person on the table adjacent, looking at me. I looked at myself in my phone. I was pale. We arrived into Stafford, I was still feeling the same. My dad picked me up.  We didn't talk about my anxiety, ever. But I told him what had happened. He didn't say much.  What could he say? 

I got back home and I attempted to force beans on toast down me. This was about an hour ago.  I ate half. Wished I hadn't eaten any. I phoned my best friend. What was he supposed to do?  He tried saying the right things. They didn't help. It wasn't his fault, I was a mess.

Who am I kidding, I am a mess. I am still panicking.  It started at about noon and now it's 10:30. That's a ten and a half hour panic attack.  What am I supposed to do now? My chances of ever going to Falmouth are ruined. My chances of ever going to University again I ruined. My anxiety isn't any better at all.  I'm still a mess. I have had hundreds, literally hundreds, of panic attacks in the past and this is my worst.  I'm back to square one. No, square zero.  I can't see what I'm typing any more, my tears are filling up my eyes.  I need to try and sleep, how am I going to do that?

25 March 2016

For months after this incident, I could barely leave the house. I couldn't socialise, catch the train and even work was being affected. But it also prompted me to get the help I really needed, rather than the shoddy excuses for help I'd had previously.  This was ultimately CBT through Anxiety UK, which lasted for 13 months and a total of 50 sessions.

In those five years, I had gone from the wreck portrayed above to someone who has their anxiety condition largely under control. I still have my moments of course, I always will. But I have achieved some good things, all of which seemed impossible five years ago.  I cannot advocate therapy enough. I was in crisis and hope I never get there again. I now realise my destiny is in my own hands.  I will never forget the help my therapist gave me.  But now I truly feel what happens in my life is down to me. 

Anxiety will always be a part of my life. But I'm determined never to let that happen to me ever again. Life is too short.

*To clarify, this was actually written today, I wrote it as if I had been writing it five years ago.

I present to you... varying degrees of confidence

Hi all

I had an interesting conversation with a friend the other day about confidence.  He was talking about another friend he knows and how he was surprised that he was comfortable and confident in certain situations (e.g. lecturing) and not in others (e.g. clubbing).  His argument was that if you're confident at delivering a lecture in front of say 50 to 100 people that you're more likely to be confident in a social situation too.  

Apparently a cheesy grin and a beard also helps

I disputed this strongly as I have experience to back this up.  I have to deliver quite a lot of presentations for work; these are usually in front of around 20-30 people but occasionally up to around 100.  As long as I know what I am talking about, which I normally do otherwise I wouldn't have been asked to present in the first place, then I am totally fine with this these days, probably because I have been tasked with delivering several presentations in career so far.  My university degree was also quite presentation-heavy, which at the time I hated, but now I'm grateful for it.  

It's actually got to the point where I enjoy presenting on most occasions.  I feel it's one of my strong points and feedback from various people has backed this up.  I enjoy feeling like I am telling people something useful, I enjoy being a bit less bland than some presenters you get and know ultimately I understand that delivering a strong presentation could improve my own reputation if I ever needed/wanted to get another job. 

It's not always been like this though.  It may not surprise regular visitors to my blog that once upon I time I hated presentations.  I used to ruminate about them for weeks, even months, prior to their occurrence.  I then started to improve and feel less nervous about them (although I certainly couldn't say I enjoyed them), especially when I started my first main job.  However, all of this then changed when I had my breakdown in 2011.  I could barely leave the house let alone get up in front of several people and present.  I vividly remember a presentation I was doing in front of about 70 people on a topic I was confident about - but it was only few months after my mother of all panic attacks, so it was absolute hell.  I didn't sleep for days previously, and on the day itself I was shaking and in deep distress.  I'm amazed I got through it; at one point I felt like I was going to pass out.  So I can fully appreciate how daunting presenting can be, especially for someone with anxiety.  It's the idea of hell.  Therapy, medication or whatever route one chooses that hopefully helps to alleviate ones anxiety as a whole, will also hopefully in time make presentations easier - but trying to do presentations with an anxiety condition is like trying to knit a jumper wearing steel gloves.

That said, once the severest part of my anxiety condition had passed, for the last couple of years or so I've started to enjoy presenting and today I barely even get nervous on most occasions.  I've provided some pointers that I have used that have helped me get to this point at the end of this blog - although ultimately, without my 50 sessions of therapy, this apparent confidence I have with presenting would not be possible.

So if presenting is okay, why are social situations not?  I would say I am better at social situations now than I was in 2011-13 (when I could barely interact with anyone), but I'm certainly not as confident in social situations, especially those with people I'm less familiar with, and I'm still at best very awkward.  This is why I disputed my friend's argument that if you're confident at one thing you're likely to be confident at the other situations too.  Not the case.  Whether his theory could be applied to people without an anxiety condition I'm not sure, but I know people who have had similar experiences who have never told me that they've had anxiety.  

Even worse, of course, is the 'asking a girl out' conundrum which lags me about 15 years behind everyone else my age.  The thoughts of going up to a girl I hardly know (or vaguely know, or know quite well, or know very well - you get the idea) and asking her out makes me want to run for the hills.  Why this is the case would require an entirely separate blog (and indeed I don't really know the answer) but I think this proves that for me, at least, being confident in one situation requires totally different skills to being confident in another.  And of course, what do most girls like in a guy?  Confidence.  I really don't stand a chance, do I?

The summary is that having a chronic anxiety condition can have a hugely negative effect on someone's confidence full stop.  My concern is that in the areas where I'm least confident, this lack of confidence is terminal and irreversible.  Regarding presentations, I'm just grateful that I generally do feel good about doing them and am trying not to take this for granted!

So to finish, here is my guide to delivering a good, confident presentation.  I'm not saying it's right - it's just my guide! (Appropriately caveated, I feel). 

1) Take the opportunity to do as many as possible, even if you hate the thoughts of it.  They can provide you with exceptional anxiety-managing skills as well as the added bonus of projecting yourself; very useful for work.  Practice may or may not make perfect but it can certainly help.

2) Know what you're talking about. If it's a less comfortable subject, do your research.

3) Ditch the notes.  This follows on from point 2.  There is nothing worse than reading from pages of notes, not least because it restricts your expressionism but people can also notice the paper shaking if you're nervous.  Reading off notes can also make your style naturally more monotonous.  

4) Be clever with PowerPoint.  It's vital not to put too much text on a slideshow, but I tend to use succinct textual bullet points on the actual slides as my notes / prompts (see point 3).

5) Move around, if it helps. I'm quite expressive when I'm presenting - I tend to move around a lot and I'd recommend this.  This helps to achieve point 4 (e.g. you can point at the screen if you want to emphasise something and it doesn't look awkward) and also helps to release that nervous energy a bit, whilst masking any nervous shakes you might have.

6) Don't worry about the audience.  I used to play off people's reactions - yawning, looking away, fiddling with their phones.  Why aren't they writing any of this down??  Don't worry about any of that.  Think about what you might do during someone else's presentation.  It doesn't mean what you're saying isn't interesting, it might just be that they have had a long day!

7) Be honest with your incompetence.  What I mean is, if you make a mistake, e.g. stumble over a word because you're nervous, let people know you've noticed and make a joke or light hearted comment about it.  One of my best errors was saying 'depravity' instead of 'deprived' - I then made a joke about how all deprived people are evil.  It works, you get out of it with class (well, maybe not in this case!) and confidence.

8) Practice before you are due to do the talk, both on your own with a timer and in front of someone you trust if possible.  The former is always important regardless of how confident you feel.  The latter might not be so relevant if you're getting better at presenting, but still useful to consider.

9) Don't forget the other stuff.  I used to spend so much time worrying about the presentation that on the day I'd forget to consider the logistics, e.g. where do I need to be, when, etc.  This will reduce your stress on the day and allow you to focus.

10) Take a bottle of water.  Naturally, when you're combining nervousness and talking your mouth becomes dry.  If you have health anxiety like me, I'd always notice this and start worrying about it.  I now always make sure I take some water so I can pause if needs be to take a swig - don't be frightened to do this!

Any other ideas duly welcome!

Best wishes
Al

Trying to be positive

Hi all

As you will no doubt have picked up on this site via previous blogs, I have undertaken various rounds of therapy over the years for my chronic anxiety condition.  The only successful round was the fifty sessions of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy I had most recently, when I paid £1,000 in total (£20 per session) via Anxiety UK to obtain private therapy, as is the sad reality of the difficulties of accessing mental health support in this country.  

Not quite, but you get the idea

Anyway, before I get political, one of the many things I grasped whilst undertaking these therapy sessions was trying to be positive.  CBT is all about re-wiring of thought processes, something that takes years to master - and actually, I would argue, something you can never master completely.  One example of this is turning a seemingly negative situation into something positive, and trying not to let the little things that don't really matter get you down.  I was naturally a very negative person; I would say CBT and years of hindsight has turned me from a negative person into a slightly more positive but still very sceptical person, but still I count this as an improvement.

One of the CBT techniques that I commenced in 2011 was writing what I call a 'Positive Journal' (PJ).  This is a notebook that I keep in the drawer at the side of my bed that is there to capture all the positive things that happened during the day, effectively in the form of a detailed list.  

Now this didn't faze me, because I used to keep a journal from 2003 to 2007 ish.  The key difference, though, is that these older journals recounted everything that had happened on every given day, whether it be positive or negative.  And, it perhaps won't surprise you to know, most of it was negative because for the majority of the time I was suffering from severe anxiety.  I remember one post that just said "why is this happening to me?" The rest of the articles were of much the same ilk, coupled with re-telling the embarrassing cavorting that one did as a lanky, unpopular schoolchild (and early University student).  I swear to this day that routinely filling in my journal day in day out did me more harm than good, because it captured the horrible feelings and emotions that I went through on any given day, when really I should have tried to forget about them!  

So whilst, at first, I was sceptical (surprise surprise) about starting a new journal in 2011, I realised soon that by only documenting the good things that happened on any given day gave me some warm memories and thoughts to look back on, rather than all the other bilge that goes with it.  And, of course, this is coupled with the fact that I have been much better in terms if controlling my anxiety since around 2013 anyway, so really bad days became less.

So what exactly do I record?  Mostly things to do with other people, so whether it be having a laugh down the pub with a friend, some chats and banter with work colleagues, or anything where I've had a chat with someone else.  It could also include things I do alone, such as enjoying a walk (which as you know I do) or watching my football team win. It could be a compliment someone gave to me or a personal achievement.  Or it could be even more simple, like feeling chilled out or even having a good dream.  I also carry a small jotter with me in my bag, so that if I'm out an about and something happens that I must record, rather than forget when I get home to write in my PJ, I capture it there and then (if feasible!).  It can also include personal winning battles against anxiety, like going out for a meal where I can actually eat everything - the sort of thing most people take for granted.

So why bother?  Mainly, because it makes you appreciate things in life.  Just the other day, I had a couple of really good meetings with people at work, one because I was able to impart my experience on someone else which obviously felt rewarding, the other because I liked the person's company.  Might not sound a lot, but whilst writing these entries into my PJ, it made me realise how many good people are in my life and how many things can make you feel good, warm or hopeful.  It also gives you that ability to turn something bad into something good.  An example of this would be when I was campaigning to bring the local bus service back.  At the time, the campaigning wasn't going well, and yet people kept thanking me for trying.  So I captured the thanking bit into my PJ and ignored the rest.  It just makes you realise that things aren't all that bad and that there are often more people who positively influence your life than you think.

It also makes you appreciate things more.  I'm sure that by writing certain things - take walking again as an example - into my PJ it has made me appreciate them more when I'm doing them again, because I think "this will be one for the PJ later!"  It almost gives you your own competition, to make everything better than before.  To increase the positive things in your life.  And it can also increase your compassion, by realising that many of the positive things that happen are as a result of other people.  This can make you want these things to happen more often, therefore by being more compassionate, you get these feelings again and more people want to be part of your life.

It all sounds like flowers and roses in the sky doesn't it... but it's not without it's flaws, of course.  If something bad happens on a particular day, of course you don't write it in the PJ.  However, you might still write a couple of other things that occurred that were of a more positive nature that happened on that day.  The issue is, when you read back through, you can often still remember what day the negative thing happened based on the positive things that happened on the same day, which of course then triggers the negative memory.  So over time you have to learn to write things in such a way where this is minimised, which is not easy.

However overall, I've found this to be a very simple way of trying to stay positive, which of course is good for helping to improve the state of your mental health.  I'm not for a minute suggesting that if someone with chronic depression or anxiety suddenly started doing this it would transform their lives, but I would certainly advocate it as a small part of a recovery process.  I'd even suggest it to people who perhaps don't have a mental health condition, as I'm sure it would still make them that bit happier when they read through their entries again.  Try it and see how you get on.

Best wishes
Al

Dates

So I can officially announce that I have been on an online dating site since July. 

AAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!!....

....says someone online dating with an 18 year history of anxiety.

So why have I done it?  Many factors, both demographically, logistically, and anxietally... (there's a new word for you):

1) The town where I live contains 116 men for every 100 women and is in the top ten in terms of towns in the UK with the highest ratio of men to women.  So that doesn't bode well for starters.

It's Christmas, don't you know

2) I know how 35 different couples met.  Of these, 31 met through either work, school or university.  The latter two have long since gone, and whilst, for me, meeting someone through work is a possibility, the nature of my job renders it very unlikely.  I work in a team of only three other people (two from January!) and they are all married (and older, and one is male... you get the idea).  I run a lot of events which attract many people but I'm too busy running round like a tit in a trance to consider who might take my fancy in the audience!  So meeting someone via these seemingly usual channels for me seems unlikely or impossible.  Of the four couples I know who didn't meet in one of these ways, two met online.

3) My confidence has been shot thanks to years of anxiety.  On the rare occasion I grow to like someone, I don't have the ability to ask them out anyway.  At least online you can hide behind the mask of this and appear fairly confident, as much as emails can do this anyway!  Anxiety has also made me look at myself as a boring, uninteresting person with a lack of self-esteem - again resulting in talking to someone I like very hard.

4) I want to find someone.  I've blogged many times recently about loneliness and how this is already starting to creep in, and more importantly how I feel isolation for me will only get more severe the older I get.  Reasons 1-3 render finding someone unlikely so to try and eradicate these feelings of loneliness I considered online dating to be my only option (rightly or wrongly).

5) To test myself.  Whichever way you look at it, meeting someone for the first time after only relatively brief conversation online is a rather daunting experience.  Having gone through my 50 sessions of CBT for my anxiety condition in 2011-12 and since then having moved into two shared houses, bought my own house, moved jobs and improved vastly in other smaller ways, such as the ability to eat out with friends, I knew the one key thing I'd yet to crack - or get anywhere near to doing so - was meeting a partner.  So I felt the only way to be able to test my ability to do this in the face of my anxiety condition, and to experience 'adult' dating, was to force the issue.  I'll come back to this shortly.

Despite it being nearly six months since I first signed up online, I have only been out on three dates in that time, all with the same person.  I had spent four months of total frustration, emailing several women who I felt I'd like to converse with further (none from my male dominated town) and with the few who did respond initially the conversations still seemed to wither.  On the only two occasions prior to my actual date that I got round to asking to meet the girl, they politely didn't respond.  This, of course, is not a good feeling for someone with already a fragile confidence on such issues.  So of course, when I finally arranged to meet with a girl who I seemed to have a connection with, my confidence improved a little.  Especially given that she had 'favourited' me in the first place.

Incidentally, I'm not going to go into the politics of online dating - this is a separate blog on its own.  Sufficient is it to say that I don't really understand it.  What do women think of 'winking' (please read this carefully)? What to put in your profile? In an email? When to arrange to meet? When to give out your phone number? I can safely say I haven't learnt the answers to any of these. Ladies, feel free to help me out.

Anyway back to the story.  So I arranged to meet this girl, and overall the date was successful.  Granted, I'd deem 'successful' as being able to get on the bus (remember, I don't drive thanks to years of anxiety) and actually arrive at the destination, let alone go through with the date.  But despite the expected anticipatory anxious feelings - which I handled pretty well!! - the date was good.  We chatted about a lot of things and we were quite relaxed, despite me being thrown light years outside of my comfort zone.  Remember, this is not dating someone I've already begun to know or who was a friend first.  This is someone I've seen a few photos of with some trivial textual based information, meeting her in a town 20+ miles away from my own.  Me with anxiety.  So I deem this experience as a successful one.

Even more so because we arranged to meet again a week later, this time over lunch and a mooch around a local-ish tourist attraction.  Lunch would have been impossible a few years ago, so the fact I managed to eat something with no major hitch is the first tick in the box.  I wasn't sure after this second date whether we would continue seeing each other because at this early stage I couldn't tell whether there was a proper potential relationship brewing between us.  But alas, we agreed to meet again, and this time she was to come to my home town and we would go to a traditional pub first for a meal and then to watch a gig by one of my best friends (also my tenant) at said pub.  It was something I would have gone to anyway, so it offered me the opportunity to provide her with more of an insight into my life whilst hopefully discovering more about her.

The start was more of the same - a little uneasy between us but overall okay and chatting, followed by another successful meal.  What followed, however, was not expected.  She got totally annihilated by alcohol.  Perhaps this shouldn't have come as a shock, given that she had talked a significant amount about alcohol since we first met; I just assumed it was to make her come across as interesting, because that's the only reason I ever talk about 'alcohol related incidents' (of which there a few involving me, and if they do involve me it's usually someone else that was drunk).  But this was our third date, and by the end she was barely coherent.  Other things happened too, which I won't go into.  I had to almost literally drag her back to my house and put her into bed.  The worrying thing is that we didn't know each other that well - for all she knew, I could have been planning this all along and many guys would have grasped at the chance to be with a girl who, lets say, was offering them anything they wanted.  

But the main concern for me was that this is normal behaviour for her.  I knew this, one because of the amount of time she referred to past alcohol-fuelled nights, as previously mentioned.  Two, because she basically admitted to me that this was actually a fairly quiet night for her and should I not have dragged her home, she would have carried on drinking somewhere else. Three, she wasn't hungover the morning after - suggesting her body is used to this extent of binge.

I, however, am not used to this, nor would I want to be.  I spent much of my life unable to drink anything (due to the physical effects of anxiety, surprise surprise) so I've learnt to enjoy social occasions without the need to drink.  I do drink sometimes now, but in moderation. It's not even the getting drunk I'm bothered about, it's all the factors that went with it.  Again, I won't go into the details.  And as I said, the main concern was the fact she considered this to be normal behaviour, and my other concern is how many other people of both sexes consider this behaviour to be normal?  My naivety knows no bounds, clearly.

I spent the night (in a separate bed) barely able to sleep, my heart thumping.  Anxiety-wise, it was one of the most difficult nights I've experienced for a long time (although nothing compared to my panic attack dominated days years ago, I must emphasise).  My mind was racing - what happens now?  Fortunately, I had the guts to at least speak to her the morning after and rather than blame her I just said that I didn't think I could make her happy from a social perspective.  And that's true, as I'm sure some guys (most guys?) would be more than happy to get smashed with her and do whatever they want with her (which in my book equals disrespecting her). What I actually wanted to say to her was that I am deeply concerned that she is going to ruin her life by depending so much on alcohol and drinking that heavily (and 'socially smoking' when she has been drinking, something else I can't tolerate - although that's just my bugbear I appreciate).  Fortunately, my friend who was gigging at the venue backed me up.  You'd expect this given he's a friend anyway, but he's also honest and would have told me if I was over-reacting.  

And it is a real shame, for she was a very nice person - interesting and ambitious. She's currently in the process of setting up her own business, which is admirable.  But had you been me, with my history, in my position that night, all of this would have paled into insignificance. It's difficult to write about this experience without sounding like I am blaming her, or disrespecting her - who knows what circumstances she has had to go through in life up to now.  And I'm also not trying to say that the relationship would have worked anyway, as getting close to someone like me with anxiety can't be easy either.  I suppose I am just shocked at how different social lifestyles can have such a significant impact on people's overall livelihoods.  And again, my naivety in terms of what people enjoy doing socially knows no bounds.

It did allow me to learn from the experience though, and despite what happened, I now feel more confident about what to look for, how dating should feel, and what I want.

And, despite the lack of success with the general online dating experience so far, it has also given me a little more overall confidence.  Confidence that to some women I might be vaguely interesting.  Confident to feel a little more proud of who I am and confident that I can potentially find someone if I persist.  

However, it has also made me realise what a hard task this is - and it still feels like I'm forcing the issue.  The experience with my date didn't help with this - the whole thing always seemed forced and I wonder, still, how 'natural' a relationship can feel when you're ultimately forced together online.  My six month subscription has just ended and I haven't renewed, but this isn't necessarily the end.  And now I've opened up about this on here, I will keep you updated.  Deep joy, I hear you cry.

I'd like to conclude by wishing all readers a fantastic Christmas and a prosperous New Year.  I know this can be a difficult time of year for many people and my thoughts are with you.  Lets hope 2016 is a better one for all of us.

Best wishes
Al