But there was one problem I felt unable to face. I had happily sailed through my music exams and the day came when I was told that I had to play the piano at assembly. To play in front of the whole school, knowing that many girls would be only too eager to criticise my performance, was unbearable.
Again the nights of frantic anticipation. I could imagine all the things that could go wrong. I could see all the gleeful faces as the whole school enjoyed hearing me make a fool of myself.
Why did I not just refuse to play? I could not bring myself to do it. I couldn't run away this time, so I cracked my thumb joint with a hammer. A difficult 'accident' to explain at the hospital, but I ended up with my arm in a sling and an overwhelming feeling of relief at the honourable way of escaping from my ordeal. I now suffer from chronic arthritis in my hand as a reminder.
II scrambled through my exams. There were too many gaps in my education for me to do really well, but at last I reached my final day at school... and I didn't want to leave.
Even travelling was no longer a bugbear. I attended a secretarial college, travelling into the centre of London every day. The fears were all behind me and I could look ahead to a future as a normal person. A relative in the Foreign Office got me a job in MI6. Sounds exciting, but it was basically just another secretarial post where I was very happy and made many good friends.
I was engaged to be married, although we had a five-year wait ahead of us as Michael had to get his law degree and qualify as a solicitor.
One winter's day I was just recovering from a bout of flu and waiting at a bus stop on my way to work. Disaster. Back swept the terrifying feelings that I thought had gone for good. I didn't know how to handle them and staggered into a shop, where I asked for a glass of water and telephoned for a cab to take me the ten miles home from the centre of London. Of course, as soon as I arrived home I felt perfectly all right apart from being a bit shaky. After-effects of the flu, I decided, and opted to take another week's sick leave to make sure I had completely recovered. I never dreamed that the old demon had raised its ugly head again.
I put the episode out of my mind and happily travelled back to London the following week. Back at the same bus stop, and my knees started to wobble and my breathing speeded up. It was all coming back. Luckily a bus came along and, jumping on to it, I broke the sequence of panic.
I couldn't believe I was back to square one, but I became increasingly worried abut my journey to work and organised my day around a variety of coping strategies. There was no way I could avoid the bus journey to the centre of hondon and, desperate for human contact, I would talk to anyone else standing at the bus stop. I always carried a newspaper to look at while I waited, and when the panicky feelings started to build up I would dart into the nearest telephone box. (How I would have welcomed a mobile phone.) I would telephone my mother, the only person who knew about my struggle. Having once suffered from agoraphobia in her youth she would talk me through the feelings and encourage me to keep going.
Every day was a continual fight against rising panic and feelings of unreality. Every morning I felt sick with appre¬hension but I was determined to hide my distress. I could not bear anyone to know about it and dreaded making a fool of myself in front of other people; I was determined not to draw attention to myself though I may have looked somewhat twitchy and uncomfortable to anyone who studied me care-fiilly as I stood at the bus stop. I carried a card on which I had written my name, address, date and destination.
When the real world started to slide and my memory played tricks I would read this over and over again to reassure myself that I really existed.
I would deliberately arrive at my office half an hour before anyone else so that I had time to have a cup of tea, sit down and recover my equilibrium. I loved my job and dreaded the fact that I might have to give it up, despite the misery of getting to the office each day. Sometimes when I felt really bad I would think of looking for work nearer home, but I knew instinctively that once I gave in the phobia would follow me; then I would give up the local job and retreat into my home. I had to conquer the problem before it conquered me.
I was not tackling the phobia correctly, any expert would tell you today. Face the panic, experience it and go through it, they would say - but I was trying to avoid it at all costs. Every time I experienced a severe panic attack I would become more sensitized and likely to have another one. Avoiding the panics enabled me to operate on an even level and live a normal life, but I am sure I would probably have overcome it more quickly had I known the modern way of going about it.
I combed libraries and bookshops looking for information about agoraphobia (panic disorder wasn't known to the lay person in those days). There was very little written for the sufferer, and what I could find frightened me even more.
I consulted a psychiatrist (I picked his name out of a newspaper, hoping to find an expert in his field). 'You are probably quite a nice young woman/ he told me. 'But you are obsessed with your symptoms which are caused by an anxiety state, and you will just have to learn to overcome them.' I had hoped some sort of treatment might be available but was warned off by the great man, who felt that as I did not appear to have any underlying problems and was managing to cope, any treatment might result in aggravating the condition rather than curing it. This was in 1953.
No treatment, just keep going! At least I had acquired one comforting piece of information: agoraphobia would not kill me and it would not ruin my life unless I let it.
Recovery would take me five years. It was very gradual but I tried to adopt an optimistic approach to life. Every day I would find something to enjoy. It may have been a compli¬ment - oh how vain I was! — it may just have been enjoying the music of the buskers on the way to work; I have always responded to any kind of music. One spring, Piccadilly Circus was filled with multi-coloured bubbles inviting the public to the Ideal Home Exhibition.
I talked to people - anyone who looked as though they might be responsive - so I was never alone. These tactics would do nothing for my panic attacks but they made me feel more cheerful. I learned to smile at everyone and was gratified to find that about 80 per cent of the public would smile back. Life was definitely looking up.
II still had trouble travelling around London. My office had moved to the bottom of Whitehall and I had to cross Parlia¬ment Square every morning. Sometimes I couldn't do it and would have to take a taxi, making some feeble excuse such as that I was late for an important meeting.
It was at this time that my future in-laws invited me to join them and Michael on a summer holiday to Wales. I gritted my teeth on the long journey but would not have dreamed of admitting that I felt nervous. My father-in-law to be had been my family doctor all my life — but I never consulted him about my agoraphobia!
I felt relaxed and at ease with my second family, but then Michael announced that he and I were going to walk up Snowdon. Remember I couldn't walk across Parliament Square without feeling ill. I was really stuck. No way was I going to let on that I couldn't face that mountain.
It could have been worse. I kept my head down all the way as I found the open sky too vast and overpowering. I had blisters on my feet and took off my shoes as I felt happier concentrating on my sore feet than on any panicky feelings.
I have photographs to prove we reached the summit, but I couldn't wait to get to the bottom again, pleased to find I felt a sense of achievement. Two weeks later I was back in a taxi circling Parliament Square to get to my office in Whitehall.
Gradually it all faded. I hardly realised how much I was progressing until it became obvious that my nerves were no longer dominating my life. It takes some time to appreciate that one is really free. The biggest bonus was discovering that all the other anxieties disappeared, and instead of being a permanently anxious person with many devastating fears I discovered that I had become less fearful than most of the people I knew, that having trained myself not to worry, I didn't worry. It is possible to change one's life around.
I have described how my life changed when I had overcome my fears, but my crowning success was my wedding day. Four hundred guests in a London church in the middle of Piccadilly - one of my 'panic spots' some years earlier. The service was long and I thoroughly enjoyed every moment without even a frisson of fear. My self-confidence was so high I felt like floating off the ground. I will never forget that day.
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Saturday 31 January 2009
My Panic Attack III
It took a term for the novelty to wear off. The feelings of anxiety which had been pushed below the surface began to trouble me once more and I felt increasingly trapped. Sleeping in a dormitory with rigid rules about not talking after lights out and no reading in bed left me with too much time alone with my thoughts and my out-of-control imagina¬tion. Mealtimes meant more rules and there were no accept¬able excuses to leave the table. Eating became a problem with so many people watching and noticing my jittery behaviour.
At first I was able to cope with services in the school chapel (two each day and three on Sundays) but, inevitably, as the panicky feelings began to recur I found it more and more difficult to sit still until the end of a service.
Lessons were becoming an ordeal too. I would watch the clock: twenty minutes until the bell goes ... ten minutes ... five minutes. Little wonder that I started to slip behind with my school work again when sitting through a forty-minute lesson was purgatory. The feeling of being trapped built up even when I was sitting near a door. There was, of course, no chance of asking to be excused; you might get away with it on one occasion if you could plead an emergency - but not a second time.
i The last straw came when I was told that I had to propose a vote of thanks to a visiting lecturer. It meant standing up in front of the whole school to speak and I knew I couldn't do it. For days - and worse, for nights — beforehand, I lived with this terror, visualising how I was going to make a fool of myself, forgetting what I had to say, breaking down in front of the whole school. My imagination was as usual running out of control and I knew I would not be able to walk on to the stage, smile sweetly and say my piece.
On the day itself I was sick several times and the terror built up and up. There was no way I could tell anyone that I couldn't go through with it, and as the time approached I felt even worse. I ran away from school.
I went back, of course, and I won't go into details of my punishment and disgrace. This was fifty years ago, and no one then would have considered that I might actually have needed help for a psychological problem.
I asked my parents to take me away and let me return to the local high school. Panic attacks and daily assembly would be preferable to a twenty-four-hour school environment. I said I was unhappy at boarding school and told some lurid stories about life in that eminently respectable establishment. Being unhappy was reason enough where my sensible parents were concerned, but I was grilled by the headmistress, house mistress and other members of the staff who insisted on being told why I wanted to leave their precious school.
Was I leaving because I was unpopular? I was indignant about that as I had many friends. Anything wrong at home? Death in the family? Bankruptcy? Divorce? I looked at them blankly and then explained that I was suffering from delayed shellshock after my - mostly imaginary - experiences during the Blitz. Did they believe me? I never found out.
It was such a relief to make yet another fresh start that I felt practically normal again. It didn't last, of course, but as the old feelings crept back, the time had come to do something about the problem. Hauled up before the head, I found out that at the age of sixteen I could at last explain why I was invariably late for school.
At last the adults were sympathetic. During assembly I was allowed to slip into one of the side rooms if I felt unwell. Better still, I was not forced to attend assembly at all but could wait in die classroom until the other girls returned. My form teacher let me sit near the door and I had permission to slip outside the class for a few moments if the tension became unbearable. Would you believe it, as soon as I ceased to feel under pressure I found many of the hitherto impossible situations I had avoided before became tolerable; now I could talk about the things that bothered me and tackle problems such as standing on my head in PE or hanging upside down on the wall bars in the gym, both of which activities invariably made me feel sick and dizzy.
I would take a packed lunch instead of eating with the crowd; but that didn't last long, as I found I was missing out on most of the news and gossip, so I was soon back lunching with my friends. The best thing was that nobody thought there was anything peculiar about me.
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At first I was able to cope with services in the school chapel (two each day and three on Sundays) but, inevitably, as the panicky feelings began to recur I found it more and more difficult to sit still until the end of a service.
Lessons were becoming an ordeal too. I would watch the clock: twenty minutes until the bell goes ... ten minutes ... five minutes. Little wonder that I started to slip behind with my school work again when sitting through a forty-minute lesson was purgatory. The feeling of being trapped built up even when I was sitting near a door. There was, of course, no chance of asking to be excused; you might get away with it on one occasion if you could plead an emergency - but not a second time.
i The last straw came when I was told that I had to propose a vote of thanks to a visiting lecturer. It meant standing up in front of the whole school to speak and I knew I couldn't do it. For days - and worse, for nights — beforehand, I lived with this terror, visualising how I was going to make a fool of myself, forgetting what I had to say, breaking down in front of the whole school. My imagination was as usual running out of control and I knew I would not be able to walk on to the stage, smile sweetly and say my piece.
On the day itself I was sick several times and the terror built up and up. There was no way I could tell anyone that I couldn't go through with it, and as the time approached I felt even worse. I ran away from school.
I went back, of course, and I won't go into details of my punishment and disgrace. This was fifty years ago, and no one then would have considered that I might actually have needed help for a psychological problem.
I asked my parents to take me away and let me return to the local high school. Panic attacks and daily assembly would be preferable to a twenty-four-hour school environment. I said I was unhappy at boarding school and told some lurid stories about life in that eminently respectable establishment. Being unhappy was reason enough where my sensible parents were concerned, but I was grilled by the headmistress, house mistress and other members of the staff who insisted on being told why I wanted to leave their precious school.
Was I leaving because I was unpopular? I was indignant about that as I had many friends. Anything wrong at home? Death in the family? Bankruptcy? Divorce? I looked at them blankly and then explained that I was suffering from delayed shellshock after my - mostly imaginary - experiences during the Blitz. Did they believe me? I never found out.
It was such a relief to make yet another fresh start that I felt practically normal again. It didn't last, of course, but as the old feelings crept back, the time had come to do something about the problem. Hauled up before the head, I found out that at the age of sixteen I could at last explain why I was invariably late for school.
At last the adults were sympathetic. During assembly I was allowed to slip into one of the side rooms if I felt unwell. Better still, I was not forced to attend assembly at all but could wait in die classroom until the other girls returned. My form teacher let me sit near the door and I had permission to slip outside the class for a few moments if the tension became unbearable. Would you believe it, as soon as I ceased to feel under pressure I found many of the hitherto impossible situations I had avoided before became tolerable; now I could talk about the things that bothered me and tackle problems such as standing on my head in PE or hanging upside down on the wall bars in the gym, both of which activities invariably made me feel sick and dizzy.
I would take a packed lunch instead of eating with the crowd; but that didn't last long, as I found I was missing out on most of the news and gossip, so I was soon back lunching with my friends. The best thing was that nobody thought there was anything peculiar about me.
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My Panic Attack II
War was looming and we moved to the country. Sometimes at school I would experience fluttery feelings of anxiety, but being fairly stoical I put up with them. After all, my mother had assured me that they couldn't hurt me.
Unfortunately my all too vivid imagination was getting out of control, and as more and more phobias became part of my life I would go out of my way to avoid anything that might upset me. Apart from medical and dental phobias I had a horror of skeletons, people with any deformity, being blind¬folded, hanging upside down (how I hated PE lessons), tunnels, travelling any distance, sleeping away from home, nose-bleeds, abstract thoughts, infinity, cemeteries, clouds, darkness, silence, thunderstorms - and tidal waves! I knew I would never see a tidal wave but the thought was disturbing.
The list was almost endless. There seemed to be so many upsetting things to cope with that I was only really happy in the fantasy world into which I slipped at every available opportunity.
\ School was becoming a problem. Morning assembly became an ordeal which had to be faced every day, but the dread of it was with me every waking moment. Most nights were disturbed by troubled dreams, and at breakfast I would feel sick and tearful, filled with worry about the coming day. The journey to school involved a long walk, a bus ride and another walk. This itself was becoming more and more difficult as panic was always just below the surface, waiting to strike if I allowed myself to stop and think. I became addicted to daydreaming to get away from the situation, pretending to be another more glamorous person triumphing over difficult and heroic situations. In my fantasy world, I was in control.
When filing into the school hall for assembly, my first thought was always what the hymn was for that day and how many verses it ran to. Up to three was bearable but any more and the panic would well up, making me feel sick, dizzy and unsteady. My great dread was that I might faint, though I never did. As things got worse I frequently had to slip out of the hall with the excuse that I felt unwell. There was no point in trying to explain further, I'd tried that and nobody understood.
Then sitting through lessons became difficult, and I was trying to avoid assembly by arriving late to school almost every day. The atmosphere that I had once enjoyed was becoming unbearable: too many people, too much noise — my mind felt overloaded and I could not concentrate on my lessons. I withdrew from my friends, who found me odd'. I still managed to hang on, though too many days off meant my school work was affected.
Strangely enough, the adults around me never suggested I saw a doctor. In those days one was just considered to be a 'difficult* adolescent. In any case, the suggestion of a consultation with a doctor would have filled me with horror. I had to cover up my real problem.
Boarding school, my parents decided, and I went along with this idea. A new start, a different atmosphere. I had read so many books about girls' boarding schools and I knew it was all going to be jolly good fun ... new friends, midnight feasts and lots of practical jokes. Above all there would be no travelling to and from school. The daily journey to my present school was becoming a nightmare in itself. Being privately coached soon helped me to regain my educational level and my confidence was returning when I passed the entrance exam to the new school.
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Unfortunately my all too vivid imagination was getting out of control, and as more and more phobias became part of my life I would go out of my way to avoid anything that might upset me. Apart from medical and dental phobias I had a horror of skeletons, people with any deformity, being blind¬folded, hanging upside down (how I hated PE lessons), tunnels, travelling any distance, sleeping away from home, nose-bleeds, abstract thoughts, infinity, cemeteries, clouds, darkness, silence, thunderstorms - and tidal waves! I knew I would never see a tidal wave but the thought was disturbing.
The list was almost endless. There seemed to be so many upsetting things to cope with that I was only really happy in the fantasy world into which I slipped at every available opportunity.
\ School was becoming a problem. Morning assembly became an ordeal which had to be faced every day, but the dread of it was with me every waking moment. Most nights were disturbed by troubled dreams, and at breakfast I would feel sick and tearful, filled with worry about the coming day. The journey to school involved a long walk, a bus ride and another walk. This itself was becoming more and more difficult as panic was always just below the surface, waiting to strike if I allowed myself to stop and think. I became addicted to daydreaming to get away from the situation, pretending to be another more glamorous person triumphing over difficult and heroic situations. In my fantasy world, I was in control.
When filing into the school hall for assembly, my first thought was always what the hymn was for that day and how many verses it ran to. Up to three was bearable but any more and the panic would well up, making me feel sick, dizzy and unsteady. My great dread was that I might faint, though I never did. As things got worse I frequently had to slip out of the hall with the excuse that I felt unwell. There was no point in trying to explain further, I'd tried that and nobody understood.
Then sitting through lessons became difficult, and I was trying to avoid assembly by arriving late to school almost every day. The atmosphere that I had once enjoyed was becoming unbearable: too many people, too much noise — my mind felt overloaded and I could not concentrate on my lessons. I withdrew from my friends, who found me odd'. I still managed to hang on, though too many days off meant my school work was affected.
Strangely enough, the adults around me never suggested I saw a doctor. In those days one was just considered to be a 'difficult* adolescent. In any case, the suggestion of a consultation with a doctor would have filled me with horror. I had to cover up my real problem.
Boarding school, my parents decided, and I went along with this idea. A new start, a different atmosphere. I had read so many books about girls' boarding schools and I knew it was all going to be jolly good fun ... new friends, midnight feasts and lots of practical jokes. Above all there would be no travelling to and from school. The daily journey to my present school was becoming a nightmare in itself. Being privately coached soon helped me to regain my educational level and my confidence was returning when I passed the entrance exam to the new school.
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My Panic Attack
Panic attacks and agoraphobia were part of my life from childhood until my mid-twenties. My mother was agoraphobic and at one time was housebound for two years. I didn't even notice this, mainly because my brother and I, and later our sister, were brought up by a nanny. We had a very happy childhood and a good social life, but I was a nervous child with an over-active imagination. I was happiest when retreating into a fantasy world and weaving stories to entertain my siblings and my friends.
One day I was enjoying my weekly ballet lesson. My mother sat with her friends and smiled encouragingly every time I caught her eye. As the winter afternoon was bleak and dark, someone switched on the lights, and suddenly from being a carefree child I became a nervous wreck for no apparent reason. The noise of the music was overwhelming, the lights were too bright and everything around me seemed unreal. I ran to my mother for reassurance, and after I had calmed down we went home and the family doctor was summoned. It was decided that I was suffering from a reaction to a tonsil operation I had had a few weeks earlier.
These days, I suppose this would have been diagnosed as a panic attack caused by post-traumatic stress, and certainly the experience had been particularly stressful. In the 1930s there was no such thing as a pre-operative sedative; I was wheeled straight into the operating theatre and, amid the frightening sight of surgical instruments and gowned adults, was held down while the rubber mask was placed over my face. I fought against the horrible smell of the gas, screaming with fright as the anaesthetic took effect. I can still remember vividly the sensation of falling and the blackness overcoming me while disembodied voices alternately soothed and scolded me.
Two weeks in hospital did not unduly disturb me and I didn't appear to have any after-effects. In fact, I soon forgot the ordeal and didn't worry abut it until the panic attack when I was dancing.
I never did go back to ballet lessons. I had a few mild panic attacks and felt generally jumpy but my mother reassured me and said the nerves were just something one had to put up with.
Some time later I had to visit the dentist. This was a regular occurrence and did not bother me until I saw the family doctor in the surgery and knew what that meant.. . gas. I fled from the surgery, out of the front door and along the road, pursued by several adults.
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One day I was enjoying my weekly ballet lesson. My mother sat with her friends and smiled encouragingly every time I caught her eye. As the winter afternoon was bleak and dark, someone switched on the lights, and suddenly from being a carefree child I became a nervous wreck for no apparent reason. The noise of the music was overwhelming, the lights were too bright and everything around me seemed unreal. I ran to my mother for reassurance, and after I had calmed down we went home and the family doctor was summoned. It was decided that I was suffering from a reaction to a tonsil operation I had had a few weeks earlier.
These days, I suppose this would have been diagnosed as a panic attack caused by post-traumatic stress, and certainly the experience had been particularly stressful. In the 1930s there was no such thing as a pre-operative sedative; I was wheeled straight into the operating theatre and, amid the frightening sight of surgical instruments and gowned adults, was held down while the rubber mask was placed over my face. I fought against the horrible smell of the gas, screaming with fright as the anaesthetic took effect. I can still remember vividly the sensation of falling and the blackness overcoming me while disembodied voices alternately soothed and scolded me.
Two weeks in hospital did not unduly disturb me and I didn't appear to have any after-effects. In fact, I soon forgot the ordeal and didn't worry abut it until the panic attack when I was dancing.
I never did go back to ballet lessons. I had a few mild panic attacks and felt generally jumpy but my mother reassured me and said the nerves were just something one had to put up with.
Some time later I had to visit the dentist. This was a regular occurrence and did not bother me until I saw the family doctor in the surgery and knew what that meant.. . gas. I fled from the surgery, out of the front door and along the road, pursued by several adults.
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Thursday 29 January 2009
Social Phobic Case Study - Allison
Allison is in her late twenties:
I am a social phobic. My panic attacks started when I was at secondary school. I was always blushing from an early age but hadn't actually experienced panic attacks until I I was directly asked questions in a classroom or had to give presentations. Simply walking into someone I knew would leave me a mess. After leaving school I chose a university course that avoided presentations and tutorials, for I knew that if I had to talk to a group of people my panic attacks would be unbearable.
However, after I arrived at university I found the course had changed and tutorials and presentations were compulsory. I managed to get away with attending the minimum of tutorials or being signed off sick, but every -presentation I had to do would end in a severe panic attack, even after four years. Sometimes the panic attacks would last up to an hour or more, and the embarrassment and shame lasted for a year afterwards. Sometimes I would get -so drunk the night before that I would still knowingly be drunk while doing the presentation the next morning ... the alcohol helped me to avoid a panic attack.
After leaving university I worked in various jobs where I could avoid any position of responsibility and confrontation with others, although tasks such as typing, writing or answering the phone in front of anybody would leave me shaking, flushed, faint, having palpitations and with a numb left arm for anything up to an hour afterwards. If anyone came to talk to me and looked me in the eye, the same things would happen. I could not even carry a cup of tea without having to sit down if I knew someone was watching.
Socially I could not eat in public without severe tremors - or even lift a glass to my mouth in front of anyone. I could not sit at a table with people looking or talking to me without blushing, which would lead to panic attacks. I could not take hold of salt or pepper pots without shaking, or even sign my cheques or Switch receipts in shops. All these things became impossible and I avoided them at all costs - unless, of course, I was drunk first, knowing that the next day the symptoms would then be much worse! If ever I walked into someone I knew, I would have a panic attack when they saw me and so I avoided going out. If anyone stared at me on the tube I would have an attack, and if I was standing up I would feel I was going to pass out, blinded with dizziness and acute panic.
This has been my life for the last five years, and each new counsellor I got I prayed would help - but to no avail. I have had cognitive behaviour therapy, hypnotherapy and done a lot of work myself to try and solve the problem. Nothing worked, much to the dismay of all my counsellors, who knew that I knew what they were going to say next!
So I ended up severely depressed whereas I had not been depressed before. I was ashamed to go to work where everyone felt sorry for me and I left my job. I was scared to go out in public places where I knew I'd meet someone I knew, and as my depression worsened I couldn't face any public place. Sometimes when I was on my own I also, suffered - if I got a piece of food stuck in my throat, if I thought I had left the gas cooker on, if I thought I might be late for something - so it was not just social situations that instigated the panic. Carrying around an enormous and unbearable weight from my throat to my stomach became my life, until I finally accepted the fact that I would have to take medication as I couldn't continue like this.
I was loath to take drugs but took my doctor's advice and am now on an antidepressant which took some weeks to work, but I persisted. This drug has had some side-effects but I am no longer suicidal. The weight has lifted; I can get out of bed, can work and not panic and I can go out in public. Although nobody believes me I would definitely not be here today if it was not for this drug.
Many social phobic young people find school life very difficult. They may be brilliant scholars but they are struggling with their fears of people and find it difficult to settle in school and make the most of their academic talents.
An adolescent social phobic is in a sorry plight, particularly if he also develops agoraphobia, which often happens, causing him to become housebound. Lack of contact with his peers exacerbates the condition and may result in a retreat into daydreams and fantasies, avoiding contact with the real world outside his home and inevitably losing touch with other people. A girl may hope for a romantic hero to arrive at her front door and sweep her off her feet, though she certainly would not be able to cope if he wanted to take her away from the safety of home.
It is especially difficult to persuade adolescents to take part in a treatment programme, as recovery would mean having to face up to the realities of normal everyday life.
Some older women who have become housebound may focus all their emotions on to a well-known celebrity - often an actor or a pop singer, and often dead (safer). Recently there was a television documentary about a woman who was in love with Elvis Presley, and her restricted life revolved around the singer, his recordings and a mountain of other memorabilia.
It is not only in the Western world that social phobia is a problem. In Japan, 1.2 million young people, 75 per cent of them boys and young men, suffer from severe social phobia known as bikikomori. They become completely isolated in their bedrooms, refusing to see or speak to anyone, including their own parents. Their families are so devastatingly embarrassed and ashamed that they keep it a secret and virtually isolate themselves. Because of their embarrassment the condition is only just becoming recognised, and at last counsellors are being trained to help the sufferers and the rest of their family.
It is suggested that the problem arises because of the huge pressures young people are under to succeed at school. They often start by developing school phobia and agoraphobia as they begin to avoid school Severe social phobia develops from there, and the sufferer retreats from the outside world altogether.
This state of affairs wouldn't arise in Great Britain as therapy is available, although the waiting lists may be long. In the meantime, the phobia organisations can offer advice and practical help.
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I am a social phobic. My panic attacks started when I was at secondary school. I was always blushing from an early age but hadn't actually experienced panic attacks until I I was directly asked questions in a classroom or had to give presentations. Simply walking into someone I knew would leave me a mess. After leaving school I chose a university course that avoided presentations and tutorials, for I knew that if I had to talk to a group of people my panic attacks would be unbearable.
However, after I arrived at university I found the course had changed and tutorials and presentations were compulsory. I managed to get away with attending the minimum of tutorials or being signed off sick, but every -presentation I had to do would end in a severe panic attack, even after four years. Sometimes the panic attacks would last up to an hour or more, and the embarrassment and shame lasted for a year afterwards. Sometimes I would get -so drunk the night before that I would still knowingly be drunk while doing the presentation the next morning ... the alcohol helped me to avoid a panic attack.
After leaving university I worked in various jobs where I could avoid any position of responsibility and confrontation with others, although tasks such as typing, writing or answering the phone in front of anybody would leave me shaking, flushed, faint, having palpitations and with a numb left arm for anything up to an hour afterwards. If anyone came to talk to me and looked me in the eye, the same things would happen. I could not even carry a cup of tea without having to sit down if I knew someone was watching.
Socially I could not eat in public without severe tremors - or even lift a glass to my mouth in front of anyone. I could not sit at a table with people looking or talking to me without blushing, which would lead to panic attacks. I could not take hold of salt or pepper pots without shaking, or even sign my cheques or Switch receipts in shops. All these things became impossible and I avoided them at all costs - unless, of course, I was drunk first, knowing that the next day the symptoms would then be much worse! If ever I walked into someone I knew, I would have a panic attack when they saw me and so I avoided going out. If anyone stared at me on the tube I would have an attack, and if I was standing up I would feel I was going to pass out, blinded with dizziness and acute panic.
This has been my life for the last five years, and each new counsellor I got I prayed would help - but to no avail. I have had cognitive behaviour therapy, hypnotherapy and done a lot of work myself to try and solve the problem. Nothing worked, much to the dismay of all my counsellors, who knew that I knew what they were going to say next!
So I ended up severely depressed whereas I had not been depressed before. I was ashamed to go to work where everyone felt sorry for me and I left my job. I was scared to go out in public places where I knew I'd meet someone I knew, and as my depression worsened I couldn't face any public place. Sometimes when I was on my own I also, suffered - if I got a piece of food stuck in my throat, if I thought I had left the gas cooker on, if I thought I might be late for something - so it was not just social situations that instigated the panic. Carrying around an enormous and unbearable weight from my throat to my stomach became my life, until I finally accepted the fact that I would have to take medication as I couldn't continue like this.
I was loath to take drugs but took my doctor's advice and am now on an antidepressant which took some weeks to work, but I persisted. This drug has had some side-effects but I am no longer suicidal. The weight has lifted; I can get out of bed, can work and not panic and I can go out in public. Although nobody believes me I would definitely not be here today if it was not for this drug.
Many social phobic young people find school life very difficult. They may be brilliant scholars but they are struggling with their fears of people and find it difficult to settle in school and make the most of their academic talents.
An adolescent social phobic is in a sorry plight, particularly if he also develops agoraphobia, which often happens, causing him to become housebound. Lack of contact with his peers exacerbates the condition and may result in a retreat into daydreams and fantasies, avoiding contact with the real world outside his home and inevitably losing touch with other people. A girl may hope for a romantic hero to arrive at her front door and sweep her off her feet, though she certainly would not be able to cope if he wanted to take her away from the safety of home.
It is especially difficult to persuade adolescents to take part in a treatment programme, as recovery would mean having to face up to the realities of normal everyday life.
Some older women who have become housebound may focus all their emotions on to a well-known celebrity - often an actor or a pop singer, and often dead (safer). Recently there was a television documentary about a woman who was in love with Elvis Presley, and her restricted life revolved around the singer, his recordings and a mountain of other memorabilia.
It is not only in the Western world that social phobia is a problem. In Japan, 1.2 million young people, 75 per cent of them boys and young men, suffer from severe social phobia known as bikikomori. They become completely isolated in their bedrooms, refusing to see or speak to anyone, including their own parents. Their families are so devastatingly embarrassed and ashamed that they keep it a secret and virtually isolate themselves. Because of their embarrassment the condition is only just becoming recognised, and at last counsellors are being trained to help the sufferers and the rest of their family.
It is suggested that the problem arises because of the huge pressures young people are under to succeed at school. They often start by developing school phobia and agoraphobia as they begin to avoid school Severe social phobia develops from there, and the sufferer retreats from the outside world altogether.
This state of affairs wouldn't arise in Great Britain as therapy is available, although the waiting lists may be long. In the meantime, the phobia organisations can offer advice and practical help.
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Scial Phobic - Eating In Public
Another problem the social phobic has is eating in public, particularly in a restaurant or at an important social function, though some people may find the experience of eating with just a couple of friends or even members of the family equally distressing.
Rose, aged twenty-two, had an unfortunate experience: when lunching with a group of old school friends, she had to eave the table, feeling unwell and nauseous.
I could not rejoin them because the feelings just over¬whelmed me again, and although my friends were sympath¬etic I felt ashamed and embarrassed. Since that time I have felt unable to eat in front of other people. As I am to be married in six months' time the thought of the wedding reception is with me the whole time and I live in dread of the occasion.
I make no excuses for including all these examples of social phobia. I feel it is important that people understand just how life-disrupting this problem can be for the sufferer.
Blushing is a major problem for those who feel the need to hide their fears from other people. A scarlet face is impossible to conceal and inevitably draws attention to the blusher and comments from their companions.
Martin: I have been a social phobic since I was a child of ten years old. Even before this age I had other phobias and terrible anxiety. This phobia has ruined my whole life. The main symptom is a terrible fear of blushing, which happens instantly in nearly every social situation. The way I deal with these situations may sound pitiful to others who can't possibly imagine how it feels.
At the age of eleven in school I used to sit always against a wall so that one side of my face would be covered. Nobody could see that side because of the wall. Then I would rest my elbow on the desk and cover my other cheek by resting it in my hand. 1 would literally be trying to hide my face from everyone. I would avoid any group situation and I used to spend hours walking the playing fields on my own, avoiding contact with anyone.
Other ways I would try to deal with this phobia were to pretend I had a cold or flu and whenever someone spoke to me I would take my handkerchief and blow my nose (another way of hiding my face). At other times I have burned my face on purpose with a sun lamp so that no one could see when I was blushing. I was teased and ridiculed in school, even by my so-called friends.
I can still recall the terrible anxiety that I felt from 9.00 till 3.45 every day of the week. However, it didn't end there because the phobia applied to absolutely everybody, so when I got home I couldn't eat with my parents. I would take my food on a tray to the darkest room in the house to eat it, as I was ashamed of blushing in front of my family, and unfortunately today at the age of thirty-five I still am.
Because of PAX I have been able to face up to the problem and seek help at last. Though I have a long way to go I am determined to overcome this, having tackled the first obstacle - learning that it doesn't matter.
If You Want Immediate Anxiety Relief, Check Out Our New Natural Technique To Stop Panic Attacks and General Anxiety Fast!
Rose, aged twenty-two, had an unfortunate experience: when lunching with a group of old school friends, she had to eave the table, feeling unwell and nauseous.
I could not rejoin them because the feelings just over¬whelmed me again, and although my friends were sympath¬etic I felt ashamed and embarrassed. Since that time I have felt unable to eat in front of other people. As I am to be married in six months' time the thought of the wedding reception is with me the whole time and I live in dread of the occasion.
I make no excuses for including all these examples of social phobia. I feel it is important that people understand just how life-disrupting this problem can be for the sufferer.
Blushing is a major problem for those who feel the need to hide their fears from other people. A scarlet face is impossible to conceal and inevitably draws attention to the blusher and comments from their companions.
Martin: I have been a social phobic since I was a child of ten years old. Even before this age I had other phobias and terrible anxiety. This phobia has ruined my whole life. The main symptom is a terrible fear of blushing, which happens instantly in nearly every social situation. The way I deal with these situations may sound pitiful to others who can't possibly imagine how it feels.
At the age of eleven in school I used to sit always against a wall so that one side of my face would be covered. Nobody could see that side because of the wall. Then I would rest my elbow on the desk and cover my other cheek by resting it in my hand. 1 would literally be trying to hide my face from everyone. I would avoid any group situation and I used to spend hours walking the playing fields on my own, avoiding contact with anyone.
Other ways I would try to deal with this phobia were to pretend I had a cold or flu and whenever someone spoke to me I would take my handkerchief and blow my nose (another way of hiding my face). At other times I have burned my face on purpose with a sun lamp so that no one could see when I was blushing. I was teased and ridiculed in school, even by my so-called friends.
I can still recall the terrible anxiety that I felt from 9.00 till 3.45 every day of the week. However, it didn't end there because the phobia applied to absolutely everybody, so when I got home I couldn't eat with my parents. I would take my food on a tray to the darkest room in the house to eat it, as I was ashamed of blushing in front of my family, and unfortunately today at the age of thirty-five I still am.
Because of PAX I have been able to face up to the problem and seek help at last. Though I have a long way to go I am determined to overcome this, having tackled the first obstacle - learning that it doesn't matter.
If You Want Immediate Anxiety Relief, Check Out Our New Natural Technique To Stop Panic Attacks and General Anxiety Fast!
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