LHB Blog

A girl, a blog and a cactus named Pudding

Tag: anxiety (Page 1 of 9)

Introducing the Psychiatry Doctor

Alternative title: My Mental Health has thrown me down shit creek (again) without a paddle, or boat … Or even a sodding life jacket! My brain has kicked and screamed and bellyached at every opportunity (over the slightest of things) … And yet to many, I seem completely in control.

One of the few that does know that I’m suffering, is my new Psych Doc (Dr. C) as during our first meeting I was in floods of tears because my brain was telling me that I needed to check the handbrake on the car (for the 10th … 11th … 12th time!) and that by being in the waiting room I was being negligent and that someone would get hurt (they might even die!) and it would be all my fault … I’d already been back to my car twice and ready to dash for a third time when my name was called.

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C25k Week 3!

Alternative title: At 5:15am my alarm jolts into life, at 5:30am I’m chugging a protein shake, at 5:40am I’m arguing with a sports bra and at 6am I’m running with the group … The cold air caused my lungs to shriek, my body wondering what the hell it was now encountering, every part of me wants to stop, but we trudge on … With only street lights to guide us. 

“I’m going to be sick” my stomach muttered.

“Why aren’t we still sleeping?! This is inhumane!” screamed my brain.

“It’ll do us good” I murmured between heaving breaths, only half convinced.

“I’m telling you I’m going to barf” my stomach whinged.

“Dude …” my brain said with disdain “I want to be adopted”

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Placebo – Manchester

**Because of the note at the bottom of the post I’m putting a warning up for this one as I’m talking about Cancer**

Alternative title: Music … A healer of sorts.

Over the weekend I found out that my dad has a tumour behind one of his eyes, yesterday I found out he also has shadowing on one of his lungs … He is on a 2 week waiting list to find out if either of those is “the big C” (as he can’t bring himself to call it cancer). It feels like a significant part of my world has shifted … A part I don’t want to shift … A shift filled with guttural shrieks of a pain I have never experienced before. A fear I have never experienced before. An anger I have never experienced before. An unknown.

And a need to feel a link to our bond, to ease the hurt of the possibilities … That link for me was Placebo celebrating their 20th Anniversary. That link, for me, was hearing Brian Molko singing “Nancy Boy“. As strange as that may seem.

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OCD 1,2,3

**Ok folks – I’m talking OCD (obviously), body image, a tiny bit about self harm and A LOT about checking … This is your heads up warning!**

Alternative title: My fingers are numb, rain and hail are bouncing off my face mixing with the tears, I’m sobbing … I’m counting … I can’t seem to stop, because it doesn’t feel safe. Because it isn’t safe. Because I can’t feel my fingers the ritual feels broken … I’m hunched over the drivers side door, yanking at the handle … Over and over and over. 

It’s assumed that when you crack the ritual once, that you have cracked the OCD cycle, but it isn’t true. Some days go by without checking being at the forefront of your mind, other days you spiral and find yourself back in that all-consuming place … Stuck in a loop. The need to complete the ritual overriding everything else and panic floods your system with each ritual that fails to complete.

Lost to a cycle of broken rituals.

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