Agoraphobia 101: why "anxiety" is not a general term.

"Anxiety" is such a vague term. When I say I have anxiety each person hears very different things and to be honest it drives me mad. There are so many types of anxiety disorder, and each one has branches. Anxiety isn't black and white, every single person will be affected differently, what works for some won't work for others and what some are capable of despite their anxiety does not mean all anxious people are capable of it too. Accept it.

I have Agoraphobia, which despite popular belief is not the fear of wide open spaces at all. Around 0.6% of the country suffers from Agoraphobia and less than 1/3 achieves a full recovery. It is a vicious blend of panic disorder, OCD and General Anxiety Disorder. Agoraphobia is the fear of being unsafe, trapped or being left alone. It's a fear of anywhere where escape or a safe retreat doesn't feel possible and that includes being left alone in my own home. Usually it is due to being afraid that you'll have a panic attack, or feel the symptoms of anxiety, it's a fear of being afraid. It's a cycle that's near impossible to break without consistent hard work and it's completely exhausting, which is ironic really, because god forbid it loosens its grip on me for one night so I can sleep properly.

In no uncertain terms, Agoraphobia is self inflicted torture. I'm afraid of myself and it's incredibly hard to put into words how that makes me feel. You may feel that a situation is plenty safe and has many easy ways to escape, but trust me I've laid awake all night working out just how unsafe it is and there's no changing my mind. It's taken over a year to feel comfortable at home by myself, but even now it's not exactly my favourite thing to do. I'm terrified of restaurants, waiting in queues makes me shake uncontrollably and a trip to the cinema is just about my worst nightmare, new places are a no go and please don't ask me to go more than half an hour away from my house.

Have you ever felt like you so desperately wanted to go home that you'd give an arm or a leg to be there? Maybe you were on holiday or just having a terrible day away from home and your body feels as though it's screaming for the safety of home. For an agoraphobic, that's how I feel every second of everyday, even when I'm home. I am never safe. I am never relaxed. It is no exaggeration to say I no longer know what it feels like to be unafraid. That's the problem with a persistent anxiety disorder like Agoraphobia, I can't close the door on it or hide from it no matter how hard I try, it's inside me, I am the root cause of my own anxiety. It's fair to say it's a living nightmare.

I know my loved ones mean well when they say "it's okay, I'll be there, I'll hold your hand", and I hope they know I appreciate it with all my heart, but honestly, it's not that straight forward no matter how much I wish it was. You can't fix this with your support, it's myself I'm afraid of and no amount of love takes that away. There's no doubt it helps though, if not for feeling less anxious then simply for feeling less sad. Depression and anxiety go hand in hand, and mine is no exception. I'd be lying if I said I didn't already know exactly what I'd write in a suicide note. You see that's what an anxiety disorder does to you, especially one you can't get a moment of peace from. There are days, sometimes weeks, where I can't possibly imagine a life where I don't feel afraid, and that's no way to live. The worst part is that I'm not alone; this is the same case for thousands upon thousands of people all over the world.

My anxiety is understandably difficult for the people in my life to handle. I have a very small group of friends now and I love them more than anything because they are the only people who have stayed beside me despite the strain I know it is on them. The fact of the matter is, mental health issues mean people abandon you. That's just how life is. It's hard for some people to understand why you can't just make it better or be stronger for a day, for them, and don't even get me started on trying to form romantic connections. But truthfully I couldn't care less, it's shown me who I can rely on in my darkest moments and for that I will always be grateful to this monster that lives inside me. Explaining anxiety is an incredibly hard thing to do because everyone interprets it in a different way. Some will ask you to "just try", they are the worst kind of people and you must avoid them like the plague. In case you were unaware, that's not how it works kids. I'm lucky enough to have friends and family who have never asked me to explain, and I've never felt like I had to justify myself to them. They are without a doubt the only reason my suicide notes have never had to be a reality.

Look after your anxious friends, they're trying their best and pushing them will only damage your friendship and probably their recovery, they just need to know you'll wait for them to be ready and that you aren't giving up on them. 

Little Victories: How to be happy or at least less sad.

There's this strange phenomenon that exists among the mentally ill, you see somehow despite being depressed and even suicidal, these are some of the happiest people I know and it's all about learning to appreciate the little victories.

There's something about sitting up at night and wondering which would be more practical, swallowing bleach or cramming painkillers that turns you into some sort of sun-beam-earth-child. I can say, hand on heart, that I'm so much happier now than I ever was before my world came crashing down 2 years ago. It's complicated, I know, but it's a way of life I think the non-dysfunctional should take on too. 

"Little victories" is a phrase I use just about every time a friend comes to me with a problem. I'm certain it drives them mad, I don't care, sorry guys. (Yes it is a piece of wisdom I gained from an episode of Scrubs, because where else?)

We live in this era where it's become cool to hate things unless they're pre-approved and somewhat edgy and to be honest it's just unhealthy. At any given time, on any given day, I can promise you there will be fresh cut flowers in my bedroom and ridiculously patterned socks on my feet. Currently I have pink roses in my room and owls on my socks. I love Frank Sinatra and cartoons made for children in the 90's and some days, when I couldn't possibly be doing much worse, these are my little victories. They prevent my days from feeling like a total loss and if that's all I'm given then that's what I'll take. I appreciate nature more than ever and the parts of life that would understandably irritate the average person, like surprise road works that last way too long, genuinely make me laugh because life in all it's frustrating and unpredictable glory is uncontrollably beautiful and I wish more than anything that more people would see life this way. 

Our lives are full of horrendous events and the most minor inconveniences, some we can't control in any way and yet still allow our entire being to be consumed by them. For the people who go through life blessed with only minor inconveniences, complaining is like second nature. The world would be a much happier place for them if they considered the little victories during an otherwise shitty situation; I promise you there will always be a little victory in there somewhere. 

The fact of the matter is that you just can't win every time, a lesson some of us have had to learn the hard way, but complaining is never ever going to fix it, it's only going to further embed the negativity you feel into your mind and prevent it from escaping. Most days I feel as if a small black cloud is following me around, my family joke that I am the human embodiment of Eeyore, but without a doubt I am an optimist (at least for things that don't involve my questionable mental health). A while ago I caught myself an aggressive northern cold and as a weak southerner it floored me, and a friend was genuinely surprised that I'd said it was okay; at least I was enjoying getting to do nothing. The truth is, you don't know how good life can be until you've seen it at its worst, and pretty quickly it gets easy to be grateful for whatever you're given. In the end that's all it ever comes down to, gratitude. 

The greatest advice I could ever give is this, take some time everyday to enjoy life for all it is, even at its worst, at its most inconvenient and painfully irritating. Take a deep breath and stare at the sky and realise that nothing is worth allowing yourself to be broken down by parts of life you just can't fix. Whatever it takes, whether it's ridiculous socks or vegetables that look like they have faces (god I love those), learn to appreciate the little victories and the beauty life has to offer because, honestly, life is so damn short.

My Glass Box

Some time ago I had a nightmare that I was trapped inside a glass box, but no one believed it was real because they couldn’t see it themselves and, although I didn’t think much of it at the time, the glass box became my go to metaphor to describe mental illness to those who had never experienced it themselves, because honestly that's exactly what it is. Mental illnesses are a prison, an invisible cage holding your entire being hostage. It isn't romantic or beautiful like teenagers on the Internet would have you believe. It's ugly, it's painful, it's destructive and it's a darkness that consumes you like you couldn't begin to imagine, and the worst part is that it's created entirely in your mind. It is as fictional as your favourite childhood book and yet somehow it is the realist thing I know. 

I’ve found that metaphors are the easiest way to describe how mental illness has affected me because it’s a difficult concept for some people to get their head around, and to be honest, I don’t blame them. I barely understand it myself so I can't possibly expect anyone who hasn't lived this way themselves to understand it. However, there's a special place in hell for the people who reject the concept entirely. 

You see, there are three types of people in this world. There are those who will believe in the glass box even when they can’t see it, those who will question its existence but ultimately take your word for it and those who will never, ever, no matter what you go through, believe in the box. Every single day without hesitation I find myself thanking my lucky stars that I was given the family I have who, although unsure how to handle it at first, have never once pushed against or questioned my illness. I was also blessed with the financial stability that meant I could get professional help when I urgently needed it, to which, in no uncertain terms, I owe my life. My heart breaks for people struggling to get by in families whose belief in mental illnesses is nonexistent, or who have to get by on the minimal help offered on the NHS, usually only accessible when the medications forced on them have failed to complete the job and the six month waiting list has finally gotten round to them.

Around 1 in every 4 people will experience some form of mental health issue each year, and yet, it’s still a topic we’re afraid to talk about and this mostly comes down to the stigma of being “over dramatic”, “crazy” or the simple fact that so many refuse to believe in its severity. My mental illness snuck up on me like a bad cold in mid-summer, eventually forcing me to leave college and put my life on hold at the very age you're supposed to start living. It's understandably hard for people in your life to handle, I lost friends and relationships and opportunities that I’ll never get a second chance at. Despite this, every so often I find myself faced by a person whose mentality is simply that I just need to “try harder” and “stop over thinking it” or even better “take more walks” and “drink some tea”. Promise me you'll never be that person. Your leaf water can't cure this. There will always be people who treat mental health as an option, whose opinion is that it was a choice to allow my life to end up this way, as if it’s not that I have a medical illness that means I struggle to breathe when I leave the house, I'm simply attention seeking. 

It wasn’t until I developed the illness myself that it became apparent to me just how many other people, even some I’d been close to for a very long time, had been struggling too. Of course we keep each other’s secrets; it’s like an unwritten code of conduct among the mentally dysfunctional. You wouldn’t believe how many people in your life have a mental health problem and simply haven’t felt the courage to speak out about it. To those people, I say this, you are not, nor will you ever be alone and you don’t need to feel shame for what you’re going through. 

I wish I could say something like “it’s going to be okay” or “things will get better”, but if I’m totally honest I’m nearly 2 years down this road and I’m still not sure if that’s true. It’s a day-to-day battle and that’s okay, some days you’ll win and some days you’ll lose, hard. What I can tell you is this, the human mind is an incredible thing and on the worst of days I try to remind myself of one simple message, if your mind is powerful enough to create the chaos you're living with now, then it’s certainly powerful enough to fight back. 

Porn vs Romantic Comedies: Feminism or Hypocrisy

I'd like to begin by pointing out that I'd happily consider myself a feminist. I'm the type to catch a glimpse of the Valentine's Day lingerie collection and mutter "misogyny" under my breath, but I also understand that the point of feminism is equality, and that means respecting male issues too. 

Which brings me to a debate I'm full of opinions on: the dangerous effects of porn verses the dangerous effects of romantic comedies.. you heard me..
Let me explain, as a society we're quick to blame porn for the way men treat women, both in the way they expect sex to be and the way they expect women to look. Don't get me wrong, I agree with that entirely. Porn creates pressure on women and especially on young girls whose young boyfriends don't understand the difference between it and reality. However, I've come to the conclusion that there's some real similarities in the way women are treated because of porn and the way men are treated because of romantic comedies. Let's call it the Ryan Gosling Effect. 

I'll be the first to admit I'm obsessed with romantic comedies, I've seen them all and it's unhealthy. Somehow I'm okay with that. I'll also admit that my obsession has affected my expectations of men more than once. I'd be lying if I told you I haven't ever expected a man to pull some sort of large romantic stunt at some point in my life. Of course I was horrifically disappointed as a result because, let's face it, unless you're naked that man probably isn't thinking about you. 

There are countless studies on how romantic comedies have altered our view of relationships, we have unrealistic expectations and I'll admit I'm guilty of holding those expectations too. We expect some form of magic, a cupid’s arrow of sorts, to lead us to "the one" without so much as an awkward first date, a swipe right or an unexpected dick pic (sorry mum). 

They teach us that we could do downright awful things to our partners and they'll probably forgive us if we run across an airport to stop them using their excessively over priced and non-refundable ticket to fly away to something probably very important. They teach us that a man will drop everything at a moment’s notice to have the woman he truly loves, leading us to refuse to believe a man loves us like he says he does unless he makes some grand gesture and the truth is that's just not practical, and it's unfair to assume it could be. 

Let's not forget the wildly inappropriate expectations men have of women's bodies because of porn, right? Big boobs, wonderfully toned and flaw free, with less body hair than a baby seal. My blood boils when I hear a male pass judgement on a girl because she doesn't meet these standards. To be honest for most of my school years boys would comment on how flat chested I was while I pretended it didn't bother me, and yet, do we not do the same to them without even realising? You see, a major part of the Ryan Gosling Effect is wanting a man who looks like Ryan himself. So we judge those who are a little chubby, we turn down those just a little too short, we require chiselled jaw lines and bulging muscles in places we didn't even know there were meant to be muscles (seriously what's a trap and why is it so attractive?). Maybe as females we're a little less vocal about it, but ask any average Joe and he'll tell you he's been made to feel inadequate because he doesn't look like Channing Tatum. I mean really ladies, what do we expect? Some Greek God looking bloke to wander out of the local co-op and sweep us off our feet? I don't think so. 

I cant help but compare these issues to the expectations men hold of women as a result of porn. Most of us have been victims, at some point or other, of a man whose perception of what sex is like has been manipulated by porn. Whether it's how rough he expects it to be, how easy or simply the noises he expects you to make (which to be honest is a concept always lost on me), the majority of men have at least one misinformed expectation of sex. But can we blame them? Are we allowed to be so aggressively dismissive of their assumptions if we treat them just the same when it comes to expecting romance? 

Hypocrisy is a major issue I have with the concept of feminism and a reason I'm slowly losing faith in the movement entirely, we're so quick to pull the trigger when males do something harmful, and yet so easily allow ourselves to repeat the pattern. Take the song Blurred Lines, for example, a god awful song about a man convinced a girl is just teasing him and does in fact "want it". But, if you take the same lyrics, sung by a female, it becomes a song about a boy who's messing this girl around, giving mixed signals all the while the girl is clearly the victim. 

I'm all for women's rights, but sometimes we have to accept when we're not in the right and I'm afraid the porn verses romcoms debate is just one of those matters.