Thursday, 8 May 2014

Anxiety and Me

06:30:00 Posted by Lara Clayton , , , , 3 comments

At four I push myself to the middle of a privet bush.

At five I stand frozen at the edge of the swimming pool.

At seven I lock the car door at traffic lights, and unlock it when we're moving.

At nine I start biting my fingernails.

At ten I never put my hand up.

At twelve I press my forehead against a radiator and pretend to be ill.

At thirteen I run.

At fourteen I write my mind into a diary.

At fifteen I fracture into a thousand pieces.

At sixteen I fail my English oral exam.

At seventeen I faint.

At eighteen I feel like I'm drowning on dry land.

At nineteen I try a cigarette for the first time.

At twenty-one I sit in the dark.

At twenty-three I start biting my fingernails again.

At twenty-four I f**k up my first year exams and forget how to spell 'literature'.

At twenty-five I listen to Simon and Garfunkel's I Am a Rock on repeat.

At twenty-six I look at an unopened envelope for over three hours.

At twenty-seven I feel like an ant in a wind-tunnel.

At twenty-eight I grind my teeth while I sleep.

At twenty-nine I cut myself off from the world.

At thirty I start smoking again.

Thank you for reading, 


vicky ellis said...

I know this is a serious issue but the ant in a windtunnel image keeps making me smile.

I think the four year old approach is the one I'd favour now. Perhaps a combination of a few. Hiding in a privet bush, smoking a cigarette, writing, listening to Simon and Garfunkel. There would be ants too I suppose.

It seems we're all in the same boat this week. Or at least know the boat of old. And anxiety seems to have been a trigger for writing. Interesting.

Thanks for sharing :)

Christo said...

Only just got to this, Lara (and maybe others< I hope.

So trusting of you toShare these feelings with us, Lara (and Vicky).

Every day of every year I feel so, so, so blessed when I read the pain of other childhood lives, and too often into teens adulthood and getting much older too.

Of course I've had "bad patches' as they happen for everybody, but the love of my parents and extended family saw me through the 40s, 50s and 60s, and was unequivocal.
The only fright I can remember over those years were the deaths of my much-loved Dad in 1953, and of my equally well-beloved Nan when I was 15 (1961).

Any pains by then I brought upon myself, but I have never been nervous, panicky, nail-biting or self-cutting. Perhaps self-confidence and flamboyance in language are inherited, though I doubt that.

Much food for thought here - thanks so much, Lara.

Colin Davies said...

Thank you Lara, for me that was stunning.