Saturday, February 15, 2014

Hi I'm Wendy And, Yes, I'm pleased To See You....

I suffer from an anxiety disorder. It’s known medically as Anxiety. Capital A.
This condition was first diagnosed some 10 years ago. These days, mercifully, it’s something I rarely think about. Anxiety, in many forms, is seen as a relatively common disorder. Some medical professionals suggest that the condition has a genetic component, and indeed one of my children suffers from Anxiety to an occasional debilitating level.
I now recognise that my own mother probably suffered the same.
I say probably because we never discussed it, or anything like it. I do, however, have a very clear memory throughout my childhood and adolescence of my mother ‘just taking half a Diazepam’ before bed, and sometimes in the afternoon.
I thought they were sleeping pills, and they are, to an extent.
It was only recently when, having suffered from a sudden bout of unexplained insomnia that I headed to an ‘ Apothecary’ to grab myself some Diazepam that I discovered something I found amazing.
Now in Thailand you can buy anything in a chemist over the counter, and I mean anything. Even the things marked ‘only by prescription’. Sometimes the word ‘prescription’ in English can be interpreted as those small rectangular colourful bits of paper known in other countries as ‘Money’.
So my very helpful chemist was all too pleased when I wandered in and told him that I wasn't sleeping, and that in fact I had been feeling a little anxious.
“Ah,” he said “the best thing is Xanax, but it’s only available by prescription”, and he then proceeded to pull out a strip from his trouser pocket. It turns out the prescription for 10, 2 mg tablets of Xanax in Thailand is 300 Baht. Which seemed a lot. On the other hand, 10 bright yellow Diazepam were mine for 5 baht each. I took the yellow pills and happily headed out the door.
That afternoon I looked up ‘Diazepam’ on the internet just to check that it didn't contain anything that involved the word ‘codeine’. As has been discussed many, many times in this blog and in others, Codeine and I are not mates. We think we are, but we’re not. Anyhoo, I discovered that Diazepam is a newer fancier word for Valium!!! Diazepam = Valium rebranded. Who knew? Well maybe you did, but I didn’t.
News that my mother had been quietly doping herself up over the years came as quite a shock. In hindsight, it was a most unexpected blessing, so I’ll take that one with an appreciative smile, wink and a nod. Thank You Chewbacca (the least thanked of all The Gods).
In spite of said mother being a nurse, the only thing I knew about medicine was that unless both my legs were broken and blood was pouring from a neck wound it was not an emergency. As a consequence of this I have been in Hospital precisely 8 times in 44 years. My birth, having my tonsils and adenoids out, a broken wrist, producing 3 babies, the aftermath of a rather sad miscarriage, and my recent trip to get a broken rib x-rayed. I have seen doctors for other things, including pap smears, about the same number of times (I know, I know) so that would perhaps be a total of 16 conversations with a doctor in 44 years. I don’t get sick; I don’t take medicine, apart from the occasional painkiller, because unless both my legs are broken and blood is pouring from a neck wound, I’m probably fine.
Anyway, back to my story. That evening, as I prepared for bed, I popped half a yellow tablet onto my tongue and.
That is the last thing I remember about that night, and most of the next day.
Turns out Valium and I are not such good friends either, but not in a Codeine/fun bag/ let’s all get tattoo’s kind of a way. More in a waking up physically holding your eyelids open with your fingers and using your hands to lift your head off a saliva soaked pillow sort of a way.
Diazepam, even half a Diazepam, kicked my arse.
No Xanax, and the Diazepam now flushed down the toilet, the only solution to any Anxiety I was having was to work through it. And today it hit. Big time.
I knew I was in trouble yesterday. There are 3 ways my Anxiety condition shows itself.
1) I start cleaning
2) I obsess about things (for example the length of my hair, or serial killers)
3) I get horny
The last one may come as a surprize, but physiologically it makes perfect sense. A number of years ago, when my anxiety levels were at their highest, I would spend hours and hours….and hours and hours…administering what is politely known as ‘self-gratification’ as a way to relieve my stress.
This may seem indulgent. Logic, however, tells me my endorphin levels are low. I need, literally need, the boost.
Yesterday, after a rather long and frankly kinky session with Hugh Jackman (as Wolverine), his wife (as his wife) and the guy who plays Nick Stokes on CSI, I decided things were defiantly amiss.
This morning I hand washed my bed sheets and pillowcases, the clothes I wore yesterday, the clothes I was wearing, the floors including the shower recess floor – especially in the corners, under the bed, the railings on the balcony and the floors again, just in case.
By 2pm I was on the verge of standing over my medical grade clean sink and cutting two inches off my ponytail when I grabbed myself by the psyche and walked out the door.
A good long walk will do you wonders, and thankfully the weather here is always kind.
I walked to a café I knew would be quiet, and as it was after the lunchtime rush, empty. It’s called Deya, and it’s owned and run by Jackie, a British private boarding school educated half Thai, half Anglo Indian who studied Art at one of The Better British Universities, and whose father was a famous photographer who played Tennis with the former Prime minister.   
Jackie once trained (?) as a Monk, and he told me, being ‘half foreign’, he earned so much money from donations that the other Monks grew to hate him (which doesn't sound very Buddhist).
He also told me about the staff from the palace (the King lives here) who come to his shop to have him read their tarot.
He is a right Character, Jackie, and his business may be a café, but it’s a dead posh one, and being a proper shopkeeper, Jackie is a complete snob.
All afternoon, over my Pasta Verde and soda water, he sat with me somehow knowing that I needed company. He gossiped as the day trippers from Bangkok in their overheated Mercedes pulled into the car park, small dogs under their arms, maids dutifully exiting from the back.
It’s a long weekend, and Jackie snorted at the ‘fashion show’ as it rolled into town.
Hua Hin is rich. It’s always been that way, and Jackie has lived here for long enough to remember the original families. Occasionally a matriarch would wander over and air kiss his cheek and he would conspiratorially whisper and giggle with her and she would blush and coo, and get into her Volvo and drive away.
As I left his company for home, he shook my hand and told me it was always nice to spend some time with a ‘lady of intelligence’, and I all but floated out of there, Anxiety magically evaporated, the voice of his stories drowning out the fears of mine.
And that was what I learned today, even though I have learned it many times but somehow always seem to forget.
That when people say the best things in life are free, they are not talking about ‘The Air’, and porn on Redtube, it could be something like a conversation and a walk in the sun.
Or it might be a few kind words, and the sharing of ideas, the warmth of a smile perhaps.
Or a moment of kindness.
The best medicine of all.

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