Hi, I'm Stripes... and I have anxiety

I haven't posted in a while again. My bad.
But what with it being Christmas less than a week ago, I'm sure you'll forgive me.

As I'm sure most people can attest to, the weeks leading up to Christmas can be really hectic, with a lot to organise and book and generally sort out. The same is true of our household.
Moreso because both Lil Monster and I travel to go and see our respective fathers over the season, as well as celebrate at home. That's on top of seeing extended family, friends, Christmas shopping, cooking... It's making me yawn just thinking about it all.

Since I turned fifteen or so, when we moved to Birmingham, I can't think of a Christmas that wasn't stressful in some way, shape or form. Part of it is the general seasonal stuff. You know, choosing gifts for people, wrapping and hiding them, all of the associated cooking, the travel, booking people in for a festive meet and greet.
Part of it is a more personal issue.
You see, about two and a half weeks ago, I was officially diagnosed with anxiety.

Looking back, it's probably something that has been present since I was a young teen, maybe even a little younger. This little voice in the back of my head that tells me that I'm not ready for something, that I'm forgetting something important. I had never been able to quiet it, and had in fact accepted it as the way my mind worked.
It got worse when I started learning how to drive. I took lessons for almost two years, spending each lesson drenched in sweat, with my heart in my throat, terrified that I was going to kill someone, or myself, or wreck my instructors car. When I tried to talk about how I felt, I couldn't seem to find any words to describe it, other than 'It stresses me out.'. Because I couldn't work out how to put it into words, I couldn't get the help that I needed at the time.
After three failed tests, I stopped with the lessons, deciding that I needed to get help with my mental health before I picked it back up again.
I tried for months to get an appointment. Unfortunately, with the health care system being as stretched as it was, there just weren't appointments to spare. Those that were available were - rightly- kept aside for children, the elderly, disabled people and pregnant women. I understand that this needed to be the case. But it did mean that I just had to struggle on.

When we moved in August, we registered at a new doctors surgery. It took a while for all of our information to transfer over, but when it finally did, I decided to book an appointment.
So, I fought my way through inches of snow and ice (my appointment fell during that snowstorm we had in mid December) to get to the surgery to speak to a doctor.
When I sat down to talk, to tell her the issue, my whole mouth dried up, my teeth sticking to my lips.
This is ridiculous. There's nothing actually wrong with you. Clearly, you just can't cope. There are thousands of people out there who have it harder than you, who get by just fine without needing to go and whine about it. You're wasting time, time that might be needed for something real.
I told her that I was worried, about everything, all the time. Some of it may feel rational, but I can't always differentiate between a legitimate concern and an anxious thought. There isn't a specific pattern to that feeling. There are a few triggers that I can pinpoint- driving, large gatherings, my extended family in particular. It's just this kind of... constant feeling of wrongness. I felt as though I was constantly waiting for something to go wrong. When it did, that voice was vindicated. When it didn't, I would feel as though I was going mad, because who thinks like that?

She listened to me talk, asked me a few questions about my eating and sleeping. I spoke to her about the disordered eating I'd suffered when taking my GCSE's. She nodded a few times, and told me that it sounded like I have anxiety. I remember feeling so shocked. I'd suspected it for a while. I described myself as an anxious person. But to hear someone tell me that I wasn't mad, that there was a cause, and that there was something they could do to help? Mind = blown.
She prescribed me 20mg of Citalopram, with the intention of increasing my dose once she was sure it agreed with me. She has put me forward for CBT, to help me change the way that I think.

We had a review just before Christmas, to check that I was OK taking the tablets. I have another in a few days, because she's leaving the surgery, and I'll be passed on to another doctor.
In all honesty, I can't say that I've felt a major difference, but I know the tablets take two to four weeks to start working.
But I do feel better for finally talking to someone, for finally reaching out and accepting the help that I need. I feel better for taking what feels like a giant step towards taking better care of myself, which I have to remember is important for my sake, and Wheelz's.

Let's get inked...

First of all, I suppose I should apologize for not blogging since the start of November. There are a whole host of reasons, none of which I'll get into now. Perhaps my New Years resolution will be to blog at least once a week or something.


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Anyway.
This time last week, Wheelz and I were getting tattoos, our Christmas present to one another. It's something we've been meaning to set up since... well, last Christmas, actually. We bought each other a voucher for Christmas last year, and tried to set up our appointment's in February, around the time of Wheelz's birthday. But the studio that we'd bought the vouchers on ended up messing us around, and then there was everything with our home situation, and Lil Monster and... it didn't happen.

So this year, we were determined to make it happen, even if it meant we had to go before Christmas. Especially if we had to go before Christmas, because it meant we could be sure that Lil Monster wouldn't be around.
So after looking around online, we bought each other a one hour session at Cannock Ink. Both Wheelz and I have plans for bigger, lengthier tattoos than can be completed in an hour, but we didn't know the studio that well, and decided to err on the side of caution.

A day or two after we'd bought the vouchers, I called up to get us booked in. I don't love making phone calls, but this was fine.
As I always do, I made sure to ask about parking and disabled access. The lady I spoke to on the phone said that there was parking nearby, and she'd have to check the disabled access.
I messaged her on Facebook later that day, to confirm our designs and get the info about the disabled access. In her reply, she said that they had an upstairs room, but they had a space downstairs that they could get us into. I said that I'd appreciate it, and as far as I was concerned, we were good to go.

Fast forward to last Tuesday, then. Our appointments were booked for 10:00, so we left out at quarter past nine, after a quick stop off elsewhere to sort something else out. Cannock is only, according to google, thirty minutes or so away, but we wanted to leave time to get lost and figure out parking.
We got to Cannock, and spotted the studio, just before ten. But I couldn't see any parking, apart from at the Aldi down the road. We ended up parked in the Aldi car park, as the only other parking we could see was up a hill, and neither of us fancied trying to get the wheelchair up that later.
In the end, we didn't actually take the wheelchair in. The door wasn't wide enough for it to fit, and there wouldn't have been room for it in the waiting room/ barber shop. Unfortunately, that meant that Wheelz had to walk all the way from the car park to the studio, only for the receptionist to warn us that the chairs sometimes pulled away from the wall and probably wouldn't be safe for Wheelz to sit on. She wandered off upstairs to collect a computer chair. I felt awful for not thinking to check on that before Wheelz came up to the shop.

Eventually, Wheelz was able to take a seat and have a drink before we had to fill in all the forms.
In the past, when I've gotten tattoos, I've been asked to bring in reference images, for the artist to work on. When I got in touch to confirm our appointments, I asked if they needed anything else from us, and they said no. This meant that quite some time was spent hanging around whilst Alex, our artist, trundled up and down the stairs to get images for us to approve before he made the stencils for us. Around an hour and a half after we'd arrived, it was finally time for me to go downstairs and get my ink.

When they'd told us that there was space downstairs, they neglected to mention that they were in the process of moving everything downstairs. That ended up happening whilst I was downstairs getting my tattoo, and Wheelz waited upstairs.
Now, all credit to Alex. He was fantastic. He was incredibly thorough throughout the whole process. I got the chance to check the stencil before he started, twisting my arm this way and that to ensure that I didn't mind the warping. He was a very careful worker, tracing the curves of my design before actually tattooing them, to ensure that they were the right shape. He made sure I got a proper look at it once it was finished before wrapping me up in cling film. He even went so far as to tell me to get in touch if it faded at all, or looked off once it had healed, and that he'd book me in for a free touch up if that was the case. I cannot fault him at all, he was absolutely fab.

Once I'd had a chance to sit for a minute and have a drink, it was time for Wheelz to come downstairs and get her tattoo done. I stayed at her side, having stolen one of the tattooists chairs to perch on, and chatted with Alex whilst he worked. The whole time we were down there, they were moving in furniture, personal fixings and all sorts. It was a bit distracting, truth be known.

Some forty minutes later, Wheelz was done. She loved her art as well, and was told the same by Alex- to just get in touch if there was anything she was unhappy with, and he'd sort it for her. This was an unfamiliar, but much appreciated, practice, which we both appreciated.
We tipped him for the great work, and drove home.


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Unfortunately, I'd happily go back to Cannock Ink if I could guarantee that I'd get Alex again, but Wheelz wouldn't be able to come with me. Despite checking beforehand, there were just too many factors against it. The parking, or lack thereof. There were people who just parked on the double yellows outside, but knowing our luck, we'd be the poor sods who got a ticket for it. Aldi was just too far for Wheelz to walk, and as I said earlier, the wheelchair wasn't a viable option. The set up inside was odd, too. Weird chairs, that you have to warn people about, probably shouldn't be in waiting rooms- just a thought.
If Alex just worked somewhere on level ground, with parking nearby, I could easily see him becoming a go to artist for me; I'm that happy with the piece I got done, and I think Wheelz agrees.

So, with one Christmas present down, and just under two weeks to go... Bring on Christmas!