Don't call me contra, til you've tried.

My anxiety is all over the place at the minute. Some days I'm OK, other days it creeps up on me because I'm under a bit of stress, and occasionally it acts up just to be a bastard. Like today. I was supposed to be going to see my friend's boyfriend do stand up comedy tonight, but a bit of panic fun in the supermarket has put a stop to that. Far be it from me to expect normality, or dare I say, a social life.

I've been crying a lot lately. I'm a notorious crier, but things seems to be getting a bit too much of late. I think it's because it's 7 months down the line, and I'm still not cured. Every little knock feels like I'm back at square 1. Plus I'm at the stage where I can't really remember what it's like to be truly rested. I fall asleep simply because I am so shattered, not because I'm relaxed, and I have a few blissful minutes in the morning after I wake up before the usual heart-pounding, thoughts-racing, adrenaline-dizzy bullshit starts all over again. I appreciate that a lot of people have it far worse than me, for excruciatingly long periods of time, but I'm finding it increasingly difficult to deal. I'm seriously considering asking my GP for anti-depressants; it's a route I was adamant I would never take, but I can understand why people end up taking them.

However, I must be an optimist at heart, because I still have high hopes for the future. I still want to do a job I love, maybe even PhD, buy that drop-top Mini, glide into a pair of size 10 skinny jeans (I'll take US size 10 as a compromise), and run a half-marathon on a whim just because I can. I still want to meet a cute boy I can watch Question Time with, and Star Wars, and maybe even Mean Girls (probably pushing it!?), who I'll grow old and senile with in a sprawling beach house on the South coast. I want to be able to go to the pub with my friends without worrying about whether I'm going to panic. Fuck it, I want to get to the stage where I can't even remember what a full-on panic feels like. I still believe I can achieve this. I know that life can and will get better, and the only person who can make all of this happen is me. Now all I need is the confidence to actually do it.

Fingers crossed.

Yalla yalla!

Well, it's been a while, hasn't it? I've resolved to try to blog more, in lieu of actually giving anything up for lent this year (technically I've given up chocolate, but in the past week I've eaten half a KitKat on the plane back from Egypt and demolished red velvet cupcakes with white chocolate icing...). I've also resolved to hit the wagon hard, and try out the Tracy Anderson method (thanks Jess!).

So, what have you missed? Christmas was great; my Aunt and Uncle hosted a big family gathering, so it was nice to open our presents at a leisurely pace and not have to worry about poultry cooking times and re-ironing the napkins. I also saw my MSc buddies, reconnected with friends closer to home, and just got some rest. I hadn't felt that relaxed since the first panic attack in August, which allowed me to go out and enjoy myself a bit, with far less of the anxiety and jitteryness that usually blights me.

Speaking of anxiety (ad nauseum), it's still pretty rough, but I've identified a few ways to reduce it; it's just a matter of sticking to these techniques and not reverting to the late nights/sleep deprivation/comfort eating/zero exercise pattern to which I've become accustomed. In short, I need to stop coasting. I've finished therapy, and while it did help massively, the onus is now on me to stop being such a diva and sort my life out. Harsh, but true. One great thing did happen last night though; it all started when my friend Jess and I went to a bar in Uxbridge, where as usual we were harassed by some drunk tool. He wouldn't take no for answer, started getting abusive, and I began to shake. It's my nightmare symptom, because it signifies a panic attack is no longer on the way, but that it's actually happening. I was gutted, and excused myself to the bathroom to go and have a word with myself. To my surprise, it actually worked! A few minutes later I was back in my seat, and the douchebag had been shown the door. Even better, the manager treated us to a free round to apologise. Yay! Getting my social life back on track is so important to recovery, and to claw my composure back from full-on panic was a massive step for me. I think having Jess there was crucial, because she completely understands and wouldn't have made a big deal even if that incident had cut our night short. I'm incredibly grateful to have friends like her.

I've also just got back from a very lovely holiday in Sharm el-Sheikh with my cousin Michelle. It was fantastic! Egyptian people are SO friendly, and a week of sunshine, chilling, and very strong cocktails was exactly what I needed. The title of this post comes from one of the animation team in our resort (an amazing Tunisian guy called Baboo, who greeted Michelle and I with a gravelly 'hello beautiful ladies' every time we saw him), who would shout 'yalla yalla!' every morning as we lounged around the pool. It means 'let's go!' in Arabic. I've tried integrating it into everyday conversation back in the motherland, but it's far less effective when spoken in a West London accent, alas. Anyway, I would love to go back there, definitely for a bit longer, so that I have enough time to take trips to Luxor and Cairo, pending governmental stability of course. However, if anyone is debating whether to visit Egypt given the political situation, I would certainly recommend the Red Sea resorts without hesitation. If you fancy Cairo, just be careful and follow travel advice, as you would with any other destination. As our rep Samir rightly pointed out, we wouldn't expect last year's riots in London and beyond to permanently scar our reputation among tourists. So if you're thinking about Egypt, do it! And try haggling, it's a brilliant experience :) Our technique was to offer half the quoted price and a cheeky wink. It worked a treat!

I don't think there's much more to update on other than that. I'm going to blog much more often now, so stay tuned!

Peace out :)

Nanny Doff, this one's for you!

We received some very sad news today; my surrogate grandmother (my cousins' Nan on the other side of their family), Nanny Doff, passed away late yesterday evening. She was an absolutely wonderful lady, and I mean lady in the most literal sense - she was a real class act. Her incredible warmth was evident in the way she treated all of her grandchildren's cousins as if they were her own, including sending us birthday and Christmas presents when we were kids. Her parties were legendary, and I will always remember her dancing away at my cousin's wedding after a few glasses of wine, sliding down a wall and still dancing when she reached the floor, laughing the whole time. Everyone absolutely loved her. Unfortunately in recent years she suffered from dementia, and while she had declined significantly the last time I saw her, she still had that unmistakable twinkle in her eye.

I'm so grateful she was part of my life, and she will be sorely missed by all of us. Dorothy, you were an absolute diamond. Rest in peace xxx

I went to the nurse for a flu jab and all I got was this lousy cold.

O hay.

One of the perks of my job, highlights of which include unlimited Galaxy hot chocolate from the machine and all the post-its I can smuggle*, is the free flu jab available every winter. Seeing as I'd have to pay to get one from the GP, and I can't really have any more sick leave for the next decade or so, I decided to take the plunge and get my first ever flu jab. Apart from a bit of stinging when the juice actually went in, it was alright. What is not alright is the fact that my arm looks and feels like the jab was administered by Mike Tyson's fist. It really fucking hurts man. And 2 days on, I now have a cold, which I know isn't the flu, but still - good one irony. Alanis Morissette would have a fucking field day.

Not much gwannin other from that. I've managed to stay on the wagon, aside from a minor blip involving seasonal apple crumble, so that's good. I'll be seeing Mands and Jules tomorrow for Mands' looming big 2-5, which I am well excited about. Aaaaand I'm going to actively hunt for an iPhone this weekend, because if I'm not dealing with my BB's drama anymore. It needs to recognise that I'm the diva in this user-appliance relationship, and I will relinquish none of my rights for that fool.

Wishing you a happy and restful weekend. Peace out x

*This is a self-appointed perk which may in fact be frowned upon.

The wagon, mental locums, noPhone, and mo' shit.

Wagwan.

First up, I'm back on the wagon. For those of you unfamiliar with my usage of the term, it relates to food rather than the demon drink. Coming from a family that celebrates pretty much everything with an elaborate meal (including, but not limited to; birthdays, graduations, promotions, anniversaries, Saturday...), food is intrinsically linked with emotion for me. I am quite literally an emotional eater. Earlier this year, I lost 23 pounds on a simple low fat/calorie diet combined with exercise - boring but effective. Then Easter happened, I had chocolate for the first time in six weeks, and the diet went out the window. I've had a few half-arsed attempts to get back on the wagon, but my heart hasn't been in it and inevitably I've given up. Now I'm back on the wagon, HARDCORE, and it's boring as fuck. Salad is at least 90% less enjoyable in winter than it is in spring. However, I'm determined to shift a bit of weight before Christmas and my trip to Egypt next year, so that's what I'ma do. Word.

Speaking of Egypt (seamless link), I'm going there in February with my cousin Michelle. I can't WAIT! We're going to Sharm el-Sheikh for a week on what I think is my first ever all-inclusive holiday. Obviously going to be taking full advantage of whatever I can legitimately claim as part of the package. Also, as Michelle is on the Irish side of the family, we're both ethnically pale, and as such the February heat/sun will suit us perfectly. I'm also going with MC to Berlin the week before Christmas to see Carla, who interned in our office for 5 months. They are both awesome, and there will be historical stuff/relics of communism, plus Christmas markets, so I am all kids of excited! AND I'm off to Ireland at the end of November for Dad's early birthday meal in his favourite restaurant in Killarney. You see, we don't just celebrate stuff with food, we take that shit international yo.

Tomorrow I'm going back to the GP to get a referral for the ENT specialist or neurologist, whichever's more appropriate for my labyrinthitis. I had hoped to get this sorted last week, but unfortunately the surgery is having a bit of trouble retaining staff (not gobby receptionists though, still plenty of dem bitchez), and so I saw a locum. Well, she was supposed to be a locum. I suspect she was either a geriatric witch doctor or an escaped mental patient. Or both. Not the best person to see when one is suffering with anxiety, put it that way. I went in, sat down, told her what I needed, and she responded that as she was a locum, I only had 10 minutes and that I had to decide which was more important; a referral to the therapist, or the ENT. By this point I was so anxious that my throat started closing up, so I chose therapy. She did the standard psych questionnaire, an A4 sheet which took about 15 minutes to complete, 14 of which she spent either checking her iPhone, calling reception, or trying to count to 19. Seriously. She asked me several times whether I wanted to top myself (slightly more eloquently), and the rascal in me wanted to say "not before this appointment", but there was a high chance she would have had me sectioned as a suicide risk. Anyway, questionnaire complete, she decided I was mental enough to get therapy, and proceeded to dictate my referral letter. At the time, I felt this was slightly unusual, but I hoped she would be passing the dictaphone to one of the gobby receptionists to type up and send to me. It has now been 8 days since the appointment and I still don't have the letter, which has prompted me to assume the 'dictaphone' was in fact a scale model or craft project. Anyway, I'm going back tomorrow, so I'll demand another one. And I requested not to see a locum again. Ever.

Finally, my BlackBerry has been doing my brain in. It broke down during the server crash last week, and for some reason hasn't been holding a charge since. I'm keen to get an iPhone, but there is a massive lack of white 32GBs at any o2 store. And I need to go to a shop to upgrade, which is laaaaaame. So yeah, as soon as I can get my hands on one, it's bye bye BB. BB bye bye.

And that's it! May Xenu be with you.

Panic! At the *insert location*!

So, a lot has changed since last we spoke. Firstly, I've been bladdy ill. Unfortunately not the kind of illness where you can milk the outward symptoms to the max (those are the best), but the kind where some observers believe it's being put on, or exaggerated, or it's all in my head. Well, they'd be partially right on the last point. I have a condition called Labyrinthitis (not Bowie related - sorry if you've already seen this pun repeated on Twitter and Facebook ad nauseum), which is basically damage to the inner ear, usually due to infection, a head injury, or a multitude of other possible reasons. When it is uncompensated (i.e. the brain finds it difficult to re-adjust given the ear damage), it can lead to balance problems, dizziness, faintness, feeling like the ground is moving or jolting, tinnitis, headaches, sensitivity to light and other sensory stimuli etc, and the real bastard of the whole thing: anxiety and panic attacks.

I didn't appreciate just how terrifying panic attacks were until I started having them; I don't think anyone can. The overwhelming feeling of fear is something I've never experienced before, and although my parents tried to get me to breathe through it and assure me that it wouldn't last, I was genuinely scared that it would go on all night. Since the first attack, I've had ongoing anxiety that varies in intensity day-by-day. I've been prescribed diazepam in the short term to deal with the acute symptoms, but I'm on a tiny dose now and some days I go without it completely. Plus I'll shortly be starting cognitive behavioural therapy (luckily I have Bupa through work, so I shouldn't have to join some long arse waiting list), as well as going to see a consultant about my ears. I hate that my anxiety has taken away so much of my independence, and has made me call in sick several times, but luckily most people have been incredibly understanding. It was actually my boss, who I expected to be really annoyed at my absence, who said one of the nicest things about the whole situation - that being "I know you're not faking it." That was a massive relief, because I hate letting people down, and as there's still so much awkwardness about mental health it was actually great to have someone talk honestly and openly about it. His next words were, and I quote, "if I thought you were putting it on, I would have been like, for fuck sake Jenah!" Awesome.

Now begins the road to recovery. I know that getting over my panic and anxiety issues won't be a linear process, but I hope the CBT will give me the tools to deal with it better. Fingers crossed!

Unfortunately I haven't really been on many adventures since all this started. I did, however, go to a very nice members-only cocktail bar for my friend Jess' birthday, where the beautiful waiter made me an even more beautiful non-alcoholic peach and passion fruit cocktail. I had to keep it teetotal due to the meds, but the proper cocktails looked frickin' awesome too! They also played Marvin Gaye, so I was all kinds of impressed. We had munch at The Diner beforehand, which was yum yum yummy as always. It was so great just to get out and be kind of normal for an afternoon. I'm going to attempt shopping this weekend, because I am in desperate need of hair dye.

Oh yeah, I dyed my hair RED. Properly. As in permanently. Air five! As I'd had an absolute fucking mare with the John Frieda Go Blonder stuff (I wanted to just add a bit of a golden tint to my light brown hair, and I ended up revealing myself to be somewhat of a secret ginger - this will undoubtedly come up in therapy), I decided to take advantage of the bleaching and go red. It looked even more awesome than I could have dreamed of, but now I've got some badman roots. Apparently my hair grows quite fast. Motherfucker. So yeah, I need to dye it as a matter of urgency.

Work is fine - I'm starting to feel a bit antsy and eager for change, but there's a chance I may get promoted soon, so it might be worth staying for now. Plus I have a deep love for my health insurance. Maybe not the best reason for staying with an employer, but yeah. I'll definitely still be there as long as I need therapy, put it that way!

So that's it, you're updated. I can't think of anything else and my Chinese is on its merry way. I will leave you with a quote from a rapper in the episode of The Simpsons where Bart does that cringey 8-Mile tribute thing:

Now let's go murder our enemies. Peace.

Be (Intro)

Hi!

Welcome to my new blog. For those of you who were with me during The Blog That Jenah Built days, nice to see you again :) I closed TBTJB primarily because I didn't really use it any more, but also as my life had changed so much since I started it (December 2007 yo!), a natural break had presented itself.

I expect this blog will be much of the same - life updates, commentary on the news and politics, misplaced hip hop references, and hopefully less angst.

I borrowed the title of this post from the opening track of Common's 2005 album, Be, and will conclude with a very fitting line from it:

Never looking back, or too far in front of me. The present is a gift, and I just wanna be.