A Tough Few Months

After leaving school about six years ago, my life became plain sailing. I was never ill, I had no mental health issues, and I could socialise without simultaneously screaming and vomiting, which, as a friendless introvert, had been tricky during my school years. 
 

I was like a prick in an advert for a bank, where upon having switched to a negligibly higher interest rate my world had turned from greyscale to a sickly, oversaturated rainbow of piss-easy existence, allowing me to strut around getting whatever I wanted like Jim Carrey in Bruce Almighty but without the sexist bit where he lifts up the woman’s skirt because I’m not like that.

(It’s a fun way of selling a product, implying it will allow you to just do what you want without anyone stopping you. Unfortunately I think whoever came up with that advertising trope failed to acknowledge that that’s what it’s like to be a straight white male anyway, assuming you’re not somehow still banking with Northern Rock.)

THAT SAILING LOOKS A BIT PLAIN OH IT'S JUST ADRIAN'S LIFE

Even during the supposed boiling-pot of Cambridge I was never stressed or anxious. I just got on with it, and I kind of thought people who had ‘problems’ just needed to get on with it too.

But since the start of February I’ve had at least one thing ‘wrong’ with me, or my life, at all times. And I’ve been stressed. Perpetually stressed. Unable to focus on things. I’ve been to A&E three times, visited my GP four times, had my blood taken five times. I’ve vomited. I’ve had sleepless nights. I’ve had panic attacks. I’ve cried. I’ve ingested painkillers, antibiotics, Yakults. I’ve stopped eating and lost weight. I’ve been on the phone to friends and family members for hours and hours, begging them to convince me I’m not going to die.

I’m not going to die. In fact it’s pretty rare that the combination of jaw-ache and mild testicular pain is fatal. But that’s not the point. 

The point is how I’ve felt. I’ve felt scared, and anxious. And even if some of the problems were in my head, that didn’t make them less real. Fear is fear, and pain is pain. Whether it’s exacerbated or even caused by anxiety, it’s still there. So, what I’ve learnt is that stress is very rarely a result of simply not taking control. And if it seems like someone just needs to ‘get on with it’, chances are they would if they could. 

Anyway, a couple of observations to lighten up the piece (because, let’s face it, it’s been a bit dark and confessional since the Northern Rock bit):

Yakult. It kind of tastes like milk and juice, but with the nice bits of neither. You’d think that that would put me off but it actually gives me confidence in the product. If it tasted great there’s no way it could be useful. The fact that it tastes like something a six-year-old would ‘invent’ when left alone in the kitchen for five minutes makes me think that whoever came up with it had to compromise on taste in order to give it some sort of health benefit. 

One of the special 'low resolution' editions they released

That’s a good rule generally, I think. If something tastes or feels nice, chances are it won’t get you better. Imagine if antibiotics tasted of Pom-Bears. You just wouldn’t trust them. Especially if they were bear-shaped. Likewise, pretty much everyone who receives homeopathic treatment has an absolutely lovely time, until they die from their tumour. 

A&E. Ideal if you think you’re suffering, because it gives you some perspective - in the sense that nothing could be worse than working in A&E. Even the people who turn up with a cement mixer caught in the more sensitive bit of their spine are instantly humbled by just how pissed off and underpaid the doctors are. 

The internet. Not great as a doctor, really. Googling your symptoms is about as relaxing as watching Zac Goldsmith try and name something he claims he likes. If the internet was your GP you’d assume you were on a hidden camera show called ‘The Big Cancer-Scare Lolathon’ (I’m guessing ITV) and were about to meet Ant & Dec. Avoid like the plague (which I apparently have, for fuck’s sake). 

Anyway, I’m in pain, so I’m going to stop writing and start necking Yakults mixed with vodka (because, as we know, worse taste = healthier thing).

I’ll see you in A&E.