Journey to normal

by Lyndal Curtis

Anxiety and depression can make no sense to people who don’t suffer from them.  They are not the same thing as nervousness and sadness. They don’t affect the things you might assume they would affect.  It is possible to have anxiety and to be quite happy doing things that might terrify people who don’t have anxiety.  

I love being on air.  I love interviewing and asking what some see as pointed or even rude questions.  I love working under pressure.  I am calmer in a crisis than I am at other times.  My anxiety is not nerves.

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I return to the office after doing a big interview.  It was a good one.  I’m not anxious at all during it.  Several people say nice things to me about it.  One person suggests there’s a question I should have asked but I didn’t.  That’s the thing that sticks in my head and stays there for days.  Sometimes a single comment weighs on me so much that at night I go home and sit on my couch under a blanket day after day, sure I’ve failed.
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If I can avoid it I don’t make phone calls.  I’m terrible at small talk and worried people don’t want to talk to me.  At work I have to make sometimes tens of calls every day.  I have to psych myself for each one of them.  I’m just staving off or covering up a panic attack all the time.  Sometimes I have a panic attack that seems to go for days.

 

Finding places of calm is important to me.  Photography is my happy place.  I can spend hours out with my camera and it feels like no time has passed at all.  It’s mostly a solitary occupation for me but I’m happy chatting about it and spending time with other photographers.  But it’s mostly devoid of people.  I would love to do more street photography but I’m not there yet.


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I’m sitting in a cafe I go to all the time after dropping the kids off at school.  There are patterns everywhere which would look great as a series of photographs.  All I need to do is ask the manager who is making the coffee.  I can’t.  I’m scared.  I leave without asking.  Again.
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I receive an invitation to a function at one of Canberra’s embassies.  It will be a lovely evening.  I accept.  But there may not be anyone I know there.  I’d have to walk in by myself and talk to people I’ve never met.  I’m sure I’ll do something to embarrass myself.  I don’t go.

 

I don’t experience life like my friends do.  It wasn’t until my friends started having children that I began to realise that their experiences were very different to mine.  That they didn’t worry all the time.  I was diagnosed with post-natal depression after my first child but I thought that diagnosis was wrong. I didn’t feel any different to how I had felt my whole life.

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It’s night.  I’m trying to sleep.  Instead, I’m going through the list of things in my head that I’ve failed at or mistakes I’ve made or ways I’ve embarrassed myself.  It’s a long list and it pops into my head all the time.  I don’t have a similar list of ways I’ve succeeded because every time I think I’ve done well, it’s accompanied by something I’ve done wrong.  In my view.

 

 

Very few people know I have anxiety and depression.  By the time I figured out what was going on, the way people talked about mental health issues at that time made me pretty sure I didn’t want to tell anyone.  I always felt like I was on the outside looking in at a club I could never join so I assumed another thing that made me ‘less’ would only make that feeling worse.

 

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I’m sure I talk too much and look like I’m trying to impress people.  I’m sure I’m boring. I’m sure I'm not as smart as other people and everything I say sounds dumb. I walk away from most social occasions hoping that next time I just shut up and don’t say anything. 

 

 

I’ve been on medication for 18 months now and dealing with psychologists for a bit longer.  It’s changed my life.  The anxiety isn’t completely gone but worries pass quickly, in seconds instead of hanging around for days.  I lose the thread of my list of failures as soon as my brain starts scrolling through it.  The thought that it would be better if I was no longer around is rare. 

Would my life have been different if I’d been on medication from 16?  Yes, of course.  But we knew much less then than we know now.  Now is better.  Much better.  

If you think you’re having a problem, get help.  The help does help even though you may not think it does.  There is lots of stuff you can try and it’s worth putting in the time to find a psychologist or counsellor who you like.  You might see a few before you do but don’t give up.  It would help if Medicare funded more than ten sessions,  especially in the early days.

You can talk about it with people you know too.  You don’t have to but you will find more people are like you than you think.  

Life won’t suddenly become rainbows and unicorns even when the help is working.  But there’s a good chance it will become normal.  And normal is great.

 

19 comments

  • Thanks for writing this Lyndal. While reading it I recognised in myself many of the social worries and self-criticisms you described. But I have never thought of them as “anxiety” before. Maybe this is something I should consider and talk to someone about as it would help me to explain some very debilitating thoughts that I’ve just come to accept as part of me ever since I was a boy. In any case, your post stopped me in my tracks and moved me very much. I always respected your “classic” identity as a journalist but your more recent contributions as a photographer and writer of meditations like these are even more wonderful and valuable.

    Vincent

  • Thanks for writing this Lyndal. While reading it I recognised in myself many of the social worries and self-criticisms you described. But I have never thought of them as “anxiety” before. Maybe this is something I should consider and talk to someone about as it would help me to explain some very debilitating thoughts that I’ve just come to accept as part of me ever since I was a boy. In any case, your post stopped me in my tracks and moved me very much. I always respected your “classic” identity as a journalist but your more recent contributions as a photographer and writer of meditations like these are even more wonderful and valuable.

    Vincent

  • One of the things I find interesting is the contrast between the inner voice and world and the outside world. For example, I’ve always found you funny, engaging, interesting and smart. I wanted to know you from the first day. This blog just confirms it. You are brave and insightful, generous and empathetic. And I love your photos.

    Kirsty Gowans

  • So much here resonates. You’ve always been amazing, but this just confirms it

    Annie

  • Gosh Lyndal, this is powerful, important, and moving. It’s also surprising – I remember, during an epic trio of life crises 20 years ago, looking at you & drawing inspiration from your strength, wisdom and apparent calm despite your own heartbreak. You are so impressive, so generous, and it’s painful to know that you have been so gripped by self doubt when the rest of us were in awe of your abilities and insights. I hope photography continues to give you a window through which to view and share life’s struggles and triumphs xx

    Julie Posetti

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