A Fibromyalgia Diagnosis Was Not On My 2023 Bingo Card…

I’ve been trying to write this post for a couple of weeks now but I’ve been finding it difficult to accurately describe my feelings about the whole experience. To cut a long story short, I have been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia (on top of the Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome) but, given my traumatic history with doctors and the medical system, it’s left me feeling shaken up and vulnerable…


Several weeks ago, I went to the hospital for an appointment with the Rheumatology Department. It was my annual follow up, post my diagnosis and then confirmation of Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, despite it being a different hospital, a different doctor, and having had no support for it since the diagnosis. I was, let’s say, perplexed by the purpose of the appointment, given the lack of contact with them but apparently the appointment was important to insure that I wasn’t discharged from the system; I’m not entirely sure how being in the system is helpful (given the lack of contact and support) but I wearily (and warily – I’ve had so many traumatic experiences at the hands of medical professional that just walking through the door can trigger a panic attack or a meltdown) agreed to go.

I’m not sure the doctor knew exactly what the purpose of the appointment was either because he meandered through a series of questions without an apparent destination. But when he asked about pain and I described the ebb and flow of the chronic pain I live with day-to-day, he started talking about Fibromyalgia, whether I’d heard of it, and whether I’d ever been assessed for it. I told him that I had been and wasn’t found to have it, a snarky comment – “I thought doctors didn’t believe in Fibromyalgia” – slipping out. Over the last decade or so, my apprehension (read: trauma response and resulting severe anxiety) in medical situations tends to manifest either as becoming non-verbal or triggers a snarky, provocative attitude (depending, I think, on whether I’m more upset or angry – what determines that, I’m not really sure). That day, apparently, the snark was winning out. I don’t particularly like this about myself but the emotions are always so overwhelming that I feel about as in control of it as I do the non-verbal periods – as in, not at all. My therapist and I are talking about it but sixteen years of traumatic experiences aren’t going to be solved in a handful of sessions. Fortunately the doctor didn’t seem offended.

He asked me to fill out a couple of questionnaires and I scored ridiculously high on both of them, indicating Fibromyalgia. He asked me a few more questions and then had me lie on the gurney, pressing on the Fibromyalgia Tender Points and rotating various joints. To his credit, he told me exactly what he was going to do before he did it – with the explicit option to say no – and he was as careful and gentle as was probably possible while still learning was he needed to. Usually an appointment that involves a medical professional touching me ends in emotional disaster (panic attacks, meltdowns, etc) and while there’s no world in which I could describe myself as relaxed during the exam, it didn’t end in tears, literally or figuratively. He also carefully examined my hands, given how much pain I have in them. He couldn’t find anything specific but acknowledged that that didn’t mean there wasn’t a problem and said he’d arrange an ultrasound to be sure. That surprised me; in my experience, most doctors stop at not finding a problem. I don’t think I’ve ever had a doctor run tests ‘to be sure.’

He diagnosed me with Fibromyalgia (my thoughts on that in a moment) and ran through the (limited) available options. He listed various medications to manage the pain, none of which I can take due to previous bad reactions or because they’re contraindicated with my anti-depressants; he said he’d look into some funding for more hydrotherapy since the NHS only gives you maximum two, although I’d be very surprised if he managed that; and he said he’d refer me to an inpatient centre that specifically takes people with hEDS (but just the thought of the inpatient format makes me very anxious, unsurprising as an autistic person who finds change difficult to say the least). So I don’t feel particularly convinced by any of that but I have to give him credit for trying; I don’t usually get even that.

So, according to at least five different doctors, I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Chronic Pain, Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, and now Fibromyalgia. These conditions can and do exist together but I remain unconvinced that I have all of these conditions when so many of the same symptoms occur in all or multiple conditions, such as pain (in both joints and muscle), muscle stiffness and/or weakness, severe fatigue, difficulty sleeping, difficulty with concentration and memory, headaches, heart rate irregularities, dizziness, and low mood. I feel reasonably sure about the hEDS – given the joint hypermobility and instability, as well as the autonomic dysfunction, the postural tachycardia (and the connection with neurodiversity makes for an even stronger case) – and I definitely struggle with something or some things that involve severe pain and severe fatigue, but I don’t know how to be sure which diagnosis or diagnoses those fall under. In an ideal world, I’d be able to trust these doctors and the diagnoses they bestow upon me, even if the number of them and the overlap of symptoms feels unlikely (to my admittedly untrained eye). But my experience and the trauma I live with as a result of how medical professionals have treated me, reinforced by the all but unanimous lack of support, has left me unable to trust them and trust them with something as precious and fragile as my health, physical and mental. So I find it very, very hard to take any of them at their word and then to believe that they’ll do what they say they’ll do; I’ve long stopped having expectations.

Even though I remain skeptical about the Fibromyalgia diagnosis and the options I’ve been presented with, I was reassured a little when the doctor asked if I’d mind having a series of blood tests done (including ones for thyroid function, liver function, and cortisol) and more so when he was happy to include a couple more – ones relating to my ADHD – that I’d been waiting to ask my GP about; I was more than a little taken aback that he was listening and willing to help, even though it wasn’t a part of his job. I was surprised again when he rang to check whether there were any problems because he was still waiting on the results (I’d had to postpone the tests when I was felled by an ear infection); that’s a diligence I’ve seen so rarely that I could probably count the occasions on one hand. So I am grateful for that, even though I find it unsettling, even though the whole thing was very stressful.


A new diagnosis (and yet more time in medical establishments with medical professionals) isn’t a road I wanted to go down and the confusion and internal conflict over how Fibromyalgia fits into the picture (especially since I’ve been told in the past that I don’t have it, making the whole thing even more confusing) have been really draining; my anxiety has been running high, especially around medical stuff (which made going to the doctor for the aforementioned ear infection a difficult and distressing experience). I’ve been talking to my therapist a lot about these experiences (more on this in a separate post, I think) but, given how long this traumatic cycle has been going on, it’s not something that I can simply deep breathe my way through. No, it’s going to take rather more than that, I think.

Trying To Get Tickets To The ERAS Tour As A Disabled Person

TW: Mentions of ableism, severe depression, suicidal thoughts and ideation.

Us international Taylor Swift fans have been waiting for The ERAS Tour to come and visit us for months and finally, we have dates! (Through some bizarre twist of fate, the announcement, the registration, the extra dates announcement, and the opening of resale tickets all occurred while I was at therapy, so I don’t think it would surprise anyone to learn that I rescheduled the sessions that were booked for the days of the actual ticket sales – thank god for my very understanding therapist).

So the tour is coming – possibly the most exciting event of next year – but before I could be excited about that, the ticket sales had to be navigated. And given how horrific the US sale had been, I was – at the very least – very apprehensive. I hoped that, after the previous fiascos, this sale would be smoother but, having witnessed the anxiety and misery and disappointment, I couldn’t help but worry that this sale would be just as bad, with the added hurdle of trying to get accessible seating.


Having pre-ordered the Midnights album during the period in which it granted you a code for tour dates, I had access to the ticket sales a week earlier than the ticket sales for which you had to register. That was definitely helpful, in some ways at least. In the week leading up to this first sale, my Mum and I spoke to the Wembley accessibility people several times, trying to get the most accurate information about getting tickets through them. My Mum had to actually make the calls since making a phone call is something that is a real struggle for me as an autistic person, especially when the phone call has high stakes or I have anxiety about it (I can handle other forms of communication – I just can’t gather enough information from just a voice to keep up a conversation in real time and the anxiety of screwing up just makes the processing worse and the whole thing snowballs until I become non-verbal or descend into a meltdown). So Mum made the phone calls and we tried to get the clearest picture we could, but the information changed with every call and, on the Friday (with the tickets going on sale on Monday morning), they still weren’t sure of anything. They were really only certain of one thing: they were very, very aware of how high the demand was, part of the reason why they were so reluctant to commit to any of the information they did have. It was very stressful and I spent the weekend consumed with anxiety over whether or not I would be able to get tickets to even one show, having hoped to go a couple of times with different friends and family members. The dread I felt at the thought of not getting to go was paralysing.

Most people don’t seem to understand the intensity of my emotions. Technically, it could be part of being neurodivergent or mentally ill but it’s always just felt like part of me: it’s me, hi, I feel everything at 500%, it’s me. I feel every emotion with my whole body; it’s just always been that way. And people have always been weird about it (especially when it comes to loving Taylor actually – I’ve been mocked and harassed for years for being a fan of hers, often for reasons that completely baffle me). It hurts – and that hurt is very intense too – but I’d always rather love things, regardless of what people say. Taylor and her music (and seeing her live) are and always have been so important to me, getting me through hard times and bringing me such life affirming joy; as hard as it can be, it doesn’t surprise me that the thought of not getting to see her live after waiting so long feels like a lifeline being cut.

Monday morning, I woke up so anxious that I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t do anything. When the time came, when the online queue and phone lines ‘opened,’ Mum rang the accessibility number. It rang and rang until it went through to an automated message before hanging up. We tried again. And again and again and again. We kept getting the same message and we were still calling when the queue moved from the first of the Wembley shows in June to the first of the Wembley shows in August in the early afternoon. We were still calling as the clock inched towards five and the closing of the phone lines. I’d been sitting with Mum, unable to do anything and on the edge of the meltdown all day. I was exhausted, in pain, and swinging between misery and rage, in tears over how awful the experience was. It was (and still is) so desperately distressing that it seemed literally impossible to get a ticket for accessible seating, to access the concerts as a disabled person. It just felt – and feels – like yet another part of the world telling us that we’re not worth the effort, that we don’t matter as much as everyone else. It’s a deeply hopeless feeling. And as if the situation wasn’t hard enough on its own, I’ve been struggling with suicidal thoughts and impulses for a while now and between the dwindling possibility of getting accessible tickets and the crushing display of ableism, those thoughts were only getting louder and more difficult to block out.

Tuesday was more of the same, just with an awful day and awful night’s sleep under my belt. Mum and I were glued to the sofa again, calling over and over and over. Morning turned into afternoon, another show disappearing. Wembley Stadium had tweeted a response to the criticism on social media: “Due to unprecedented demand waiting time for Taylor Swift | The Eras Tour Disabled Access is longer than normal. For those unable to wait on the phone we have a call-back system.” Seeing that filled me with the urge to throw my phone across the room: when we’d spoken to them, the ‘unprecedented demand’ was the only thing they had known about. I wanted to scream.

The night before, a friend had suggested looking at Twitter to see if other disabled fans had posted about having a similar experience. I didn’t remember her suggestion until the afternoon but once I did, I went searching and found my experience repeated over and over. On one hand, it was reassuring because I wasn’t alone but on the other, here was this huge number of people who weren’t able to get tickets because Wembley’s accessibility department wasn’t doing its job. I spent the afternoon tweeting back and forth with this group of people: trying to find a better way, sharing different phone numbers that different people had had success with, updating each other on our progress, sharing the successes and the miseries and frustrations. One fan, Faith Martin (she wrote a great piece for Metro about what the experience was like was disabled fans), spent an amazing amount of time trying to help people get tickets, long after she got tickets for herself; I really appreciated her support and encouragement. (I’m sure there were other fans doing this, helping other fans for other UK venues but Faith is the person I saw doing this, the person who helped me.) Having that little community in such a fraught time was comforting; I’ve never had anything like that before.

Eventually, just before the lines closed for the day, we got through and were finally, finally able to get tickets. When my Mum hung up the phone and triumphantly announced that we had tickets, I collapsed back onto the sofa and burst into tears. I was overwhelmingly relieved but also totally overwhelmed by the exhaustion and anxiety making my hands shake, by the excruciating pain in my limbs, back, neck, and skull. But most of all, I was just completely overwhelmed by how hurt I felt by the ableism of the process (especially compared to the ease of the online general ticket sale), by how little my very existence meant to them even though I was paying them for the space I would be inhabiting. God, you know it’s bad when you’re paying to take up space and still no one cares because of the ‘inconvenience’ you present. I was pleased – of course, I was – but all the other big emotions were drowning it out. I knew I’d be thrilled later on, once I’d recovered from the unbelievable stress of those two days.

And it’s true. It took a couple of weeks to fully return to my day-to-day state but now that I have, I am really, really excited. But having said that – and I know I’ll say it a lot over the next year – I still feel hurt by how Wembley handled it all, how they treated their disabled patrons. I’m hurt and I’m angry and if there was anything I could do that would affect any change, that would be more than me simply shouting into the void, then I’d do it. Without a second thought. But if there is, I have no idea what it would be. So here I am, sharing my experience about, if only to remind people that this sort of thing – and worse, of course, much, much worse – happens every day. Even the processes set up supposedly to help us are failing us, and worse, hurting us.


I’ll leave you with what I tweeted after I got my tickets: “I knew that getting #ErasTour tickets would be hard but I didn’t expect the level of ableism. By making it so much harder for us, they’re essentially telling us that we aren’t as important as everyone else, that we don’t matter as much, and that was deeply, deeply upsetting.”

And here are some of the articles that have been written about this, including the experiences of several disabled fans. (Note: please don’t read the comments sections of these articles because the dismissive, ableist bile coming from people – most of whom are totally missing the point – is honestly painful and there is no reason to subject yourself to that if you don’t have to.)

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#ToHelpMyAnxiety

TW: Mentions of self harm and Trichotillomania. 

So the theme set by the Mental Health Foundation for Mental Health Awareness Week this year was anxiety. They pushed the hashtag #ToHelpMyAnxiety to raise awareness but I didn’t see it once on social media so I decided to write a whole blog post on the topic, on what helps my anxiety as well as what I’ve heard from others about what helps them. I ranted recently about how people engage with Mental Health Awareness Week, and awareness days in general, but I do think that sharing coping mechanisms for anxiety is a useful thing to do and a good use of those days.

I live with very severe anxiety, so bad that nothing I do actually banishes it, but I have found certain things that help to manage or reduce it. And I’ve spent a lot of time talking with friends and acquaintances about anxiety, discussing how we all try to cope with it. So I have a lot of tried and tested methods that have all worked for at least one person and therefore will hopefully be useful to at least one of you. If any of these ideas help just one person, then it’s worth the work to compile them. (Some of these have been pulled from my experience as an autistic person but many of them are useful for anxiety so I figured it was worth including them.)

I do think it’s worth mentioning that not all of my coping mechanisms are good, healthy ones. I’m focussing on the healthy ones because those are the ones we should all be aspiring to practice but I felt it would be remiss to not even mention them.


General Tips:

  • Maintaining a healthy lifestyle – Getting enough sleep, eating healthily, moving your body, and, in some cases, taking additional supplements (I am not knowledgeable about this, nor qualified, to give advice but I do personally take supplements on the advice of a nutritionist, one who has experience with my health problems) are all important in managing anxiety. Not getting enough sleep or not eating enough can drastically increase anxiety, as you’ll know if you’ve struggled with anxiety in the past (and present).
  • Make sure I’m breathing properly – I know people who swear by deep breathing exercises but I don’t usually need to go that far; I often find myself breathing very shallowly and need to reset, take a deep breath and remind myself what normal breathing is. At home, singing is really useful for this, I think because it forces me to control my breathing, plus it’s something I love to do.
  • Consciously relax my body – When I’m really anxious, I’ll suddenly find my body so tense that I’m like a coiled spring. I have to focus and physically relax my muscles – drop my shoulders, unclench my fists, uncurl my toes, etc – sometimes multiple times a day. I usually find the tension creeping in again but making the effort to relax over and over does seem to help.
  • Avoid loud noises – Loud noises are a serious trigger for my anxiety so I try to avoid them as much as possible, although some environments seem to be exceptions, like concerts for example. Most of the time noise cancelling headphones do the trick so I’m very grateful to have such a great pair.

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  • Avoid certain fabrics – This is probably more Autism anxiety than general anxiety but I thought it might be useful to someone. The sensory irritation of some fabrics (I particularly struggle with acrylic and polyester) slowly overload my brain until my anxiety makes it impossible to concentrate. So sticking to safe textures, like cotton, is a good strategy, even if it does mean I miss out on cool clothes occasionally.
  • Fidget toys or fidget jewellery – We all stim (shortened from self-stimulatory behaviour) to some degree, both neurodivergent and neurotypical people, and one of the most common reasons for stimming is anxiety. Many stimming behaviours aren’t harmful (and many autistic individuals enjoy their stims) but sometimes they are and sometimes they can draw unwanted attention. This is where fidget toys and fidget jewellery can be really helpful because it fulfils the same need as stimming but allows that behaviour to stay under the radar, if that’s what you want. I’m not ashamed of being autistic or of my stimming behaviours but some of them are harmful and need redirecting and some of them are such that I don’t always want them to be people’s first impression of me; I prefer to choose when I reveal that sort of information but still need to stim in the meantime.

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  • Creating something with your hands – I’m not very artistic, not in the making of physical art anyway, but I do find it soothing to make things with my hands, whether that’s doing origami or making friendship bracelets. This is apparently a very common thing, as it allows our brains to essentially switch off and take a break from the relentless noise pouring in.
  • Bullet journalling – Organising and updating my bullet journal (or my version of it that’s accidentally evolved over the years) and to-do list help me to keep track of what’s happening so I don’t have to worry that I’m forgetting something.
  • Learning a language – This is something I’ve learned over the last year. I started using Duolingo and found it to be a really good way to distract myself when I was anxious, plus I was learning something new at the same time. I would like to use the language and, in theory, I will but even if I don’t, I did manage to reduce my anxiety, learn a new language, and feel better about myself.
  • Socialising (to the best of my ability) – Depending on what’s best for you, a certain level of socialising can be really good for managing anxiety (especially if you have someone to talk to who understands what you’re going through). It’s a bit of a balancing act because it can help up to a point and then become overwhelming, but if you can walk that line, you can find relief from anxiety in both socialising and alone time (as many of us know from experience, too much of either can just make the anxiety worse).
  • Therapy – If your anxiety is ongoing or seriously impacting your life, therapy might be something to consider. I talk about my anxiety in therapy a lot: what I’m anxious about, what I can do to mitigate it, short term and long term strategies, what else it might be connected to. I’ve learned a lot about myself and my anxiety and although some anxieties are impossible to avoid, I have learned how to manage some of them.

At Home:

  • Blanket – Unless it’s absolutely sweltering, I usually have a blanket draped over my legs and lap. It’s not a weighted blanket because those are just too much for me but a light blanket provides just enough weight to be calming, to be grounding.
  • Controlling the temperature – I’m more able to handle my anxiety when I’m comfortable, regulating my temperature included. So that I don’t have to adjust the whole house, I have a little electric blanket that I can sit on if I’m cold (also great for my chronic pain) and an amazing fan (noiseless because the noisy ones can trigger my anxiety) and that way I can adjust the temperature really easily as I need to.
  • Burning my favourite candle – When I’m feeling anxious, burning my favourite candle (my personal choice is the pink pepper grapefruit candle from The Candle Bar, but really any pink grapefruit candle will do) helps to relax me; I feel safer and calmer and like I can breathe more easily.
  • Stroking my cats – It’s been scientifically proven that spending time with animals lowers our stress levels and I absolutely know it to be true from my personal experience. Being around my cats relaxes me and it’s only when I’m away from them – even for only a few days – that I realise just how much they reduce my anxiety. So being with animals, if possible, is definitely a good tactic and fortunately, these days, there are many ways to do that if it’s not possible to own a pet yourself.
  • Favourite movies and TV shows – When I’m having a bad day, returning to my favourite movies and TV shows (even if I have to work on stuff while I watch them) is very calming. The familiarity and nostalgia of those stories and characters makes me feel safe, pushing the outside world and all its stresses away for a while. As psychologist Pamela Rutledge says, “It can become really therapeutic, especially if you are feeling anxious. Watching the same piece multiple times reaffirms that there’s order in the world and that it can create a sense of safety and comfort on a primal level.”
  • Diary writing – I feel like, with every day that passes, I’m carrying around more and more memories and the longer I go without writing them down and putting them somewhere safe, the more anxious I get. This is where my OCD chimes in. Complying with that need to write everything down may feed my OCD but it also brings me huge relief, both in that it relieves the weight that I feel like I’m carrying – and the anxiety that I could forget those memories and that they’d therefore be lost forever – but also in that it helps me process what I’ve been going through; the act of writing out my thoughts and feelings helps me untangle and make sense of them. I couldn’t cope without it.

Out and About:

  • Have a well packed bag – It often ends up being a little over excessive (and heavy) but by making sure I have everything I know I’ll need (or might need), I can avoid a lot of anxiety and uncertainty; it’s my safety net. The contents depend a little on where I’m going but I usually have my phone (and portable charger so that I’m always able to reach someone if I need to), my noise cancelling headphones, my ID, my wallet (and travelcard), my keys, my sunflower lanyard, a bottle of water, a face mask (and a spare), hand sanitiser, medication (for anxiety and pain), my bullet journal, a fidget toy, and something to distract myself with if necessary, like a book. I think that’s everything. But if I’m prepared for everything, I’m less likely to end up in a situation that triggers my anxiety because I already have a solution.
  • Exercise – I think there’s a bit more nuance to this one than is often made clear. Because of my mobility and chronic pain problems, exercise is hard for me and swimming is the only thing I can reasonably do at this point, which isn’t something I can just get up and do. But I do love it and I do find that it makes me feel better. I do agree that moving your body is helpful but I think that you get more out of it when it’s a form of exercise you enjoy, rather than exercise for the sake of exercise. Some of my friends love running and find that really centering and yoga is often recommended as a good choice of exercises, particularly because of the relationship you develop with your breathing, another well known coping mechanism for anxiety.

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Other People’s Tips:

  • A change of scenery – Sometimes we can just get stuck in the spiral of anxious thoughts and one way to break that spiral is to literally move to a different place. Our brains are super sensitive to changes in our surroundings and new experiences are closely linked to reward and positive feelings.
  • Gardening – While gardening is not something that helps me, it’s something that many people find really helpful, whether that’s tending a full garden or looking after plants and window boxes. My Mum loves to garden and when I asked her why she finds it relaxing, she said that part of it is that she’s outside and away from work, but also that it requires all of her attention and that there’s always progress to be made. I can definitely understand that even if plants specifically aren’t my thing.
  • Reduce caffeine – I don’t understand the science, but it has been scientifically proven that reducing caffeine reduces stress. As far as I can tell, caffeine has no effect on me at all – energy-wise, at least – so I have no idea if it affects my stress levels. But if you’re ingesting a lot of caffeine, it might be worth cutting down your intake and seeing how you feel.
  • Listening to music – Some people find listening to music deeply relaxing and it’s true that, as an activity, it lowers your heart rate and cortisol levels. Personally, it might physically relax me but since music is my job, it’s not very relaxing for my brain. I think they call it ‘a busman’s holiday.’
  • Reading – Reading is also proven to lower your heart rate and ease tension in your muscles so it’s a technique worth trying but, of course, reading isn’t everybody’s cup of tea.
  • Puzzles – My friend loves doing puzzles and, as it turns out, puzzles actually help release dopamine in your brain, which is why we feel good when we do puzzles. I prefer doing puzzles with people rather than doing them alone and I’m sure that that has its own benefits too.
  • Self care – The idea of doing something that helps you feel good, mentally and physically, seems obvious but it’s so easy for all of us to get caught up in everything we need to do and everything we’re worried about, that we often forget. For some people, this is taking a long bath, for others it’s painting their nails, or catching up with a friend, sleeping in, or keeping a gratitude journal. The list of potential options is probably longer than The Lord of the Rings books so I’m sure there’s something useful there for all of us; it just might take a while to find the right thing.
  • Meditation – I don’t know a whole lot about meditation (and all of the different types) but I know that some people swear by it. Not only does it reduce symptoms of anxiety, depression, and PTSD, it can also improve your sleep, blood pressure, and heart rate. Regular meditation can also physically change the structure of your brain, improving your senses, your concentration, and ability to process emotions. Knowing it can do all of that, it definitely seems worth researching.
  • The 333 rule – I’ve seen many variations of this technique so you don’t have to stick to these rules, just the ones you set for yourself, the ones that work best for you. In this example, when you’re anxious, you try to redirect your focus to three things you can see, three things you can hear, and three things you can touch. I’ve heard some people say that this is too easy and doesn’t distract them enough, leading to all sorts of imaginative versions of this idea: my favourites, I think, are three things you can fit in your pocket, three things you can balance on top of each other, etc. Whatever works for you, if it works for you.

Other notes:

  • I’ve been taking medication for my anxiety for a long time now, Diazepam as and when I need it (although it does have to be monitored, which it is). It has been incredibly helpful although I’m careful about never getting dependent. There are ebbs and flows in my anxiety where I take it more and I’ll take it if I know I’m about to do something stressful, like have a stressful meeting or take a flight, but it’s very much a balance of taking them and using other strategies like the ones I’ve listed.
  • As I said, I do think it’s also worth noting that I have some harmful, self-destructive methods of coping with my anxiety. I’ve been self harming on and off since I was twelve because I just needed to give all of the intense feelings an escape route out of my body, like a pressure valve (it’s always been sporadic though – I’ve never been a really serious self-harmer, not in comparison to how much some people struggle with it). My hair pulling is worse though. I’m not sure if it’s Trichotillomania or if I’m stimming but either way, it’s not good: I’ve always been able to avoid it being visible but I have so many patches of hair at different lengths and my scalp gets so sore. I’ve also developed problems in my hand, wrist, elbow, and shoulder from the repetition of pulling. But it’s so hard to stop and trying to resist the urge to pull causes me incredible stress and anxiety so I just end up pulling to escape it. I’m talking about it in therapy though so maybe we’ll make some progress with that.

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So I hope this has been helpful. Hopefully there are enough ideas here that there’s something for everyone, to try at least. If you’re reading this and struggle with anxiety, I feel for you and I’m in this with you and I hope that you find something to help you manage it. Severe anxiety is not something that we just have to accept, just have to live with. There are ways to make it easier – maybe there are even ways to shed it – and I hope you find them because you deserve to enjoy your life. You deserve to feel everything, not just anxiety.