A Problem Shared…

An old friend and I used to have the phrase ‘A problem shared is a problem doubled.’ I really believed that was true.

This evening I was supposed to be going out to see some friends who I had not seen since my depression and anxiety really kicked in and I went underground. Since last night, I had really had the fear. What would I say to them? How would I explain my past absence? I feared the drinking; I cannot stand to be drunk now and the next day is physical and mental misery. I feared the loud music, the nudging elbows at the bar, the uneasy nodding when the conversation is drowned out. I feared the social interaction.

A friend, whose friendship I have recently re-established (although it never disappeared, I had just disappeared as a person) was also meant to be going. It was because I did not want to let her down, that I was trying to force myself to go. She texted this morning to say she wasn’t feeling good. I asked what was wrong and she described herself as ‘panicky’. This was how I was feeling about it all. I was planning on going to the park and invited her to come too.

We walked through the park, feeding duck and squirrels and petting dogs. I was feeling better, for once, just in someone’s company. I wanted to talk to her and felt the tension of this hanging over us. I didn’t know if she wanted to share. I didn’t want to scare her away.  Anyway, the walk and the company alone were, surprisingly, helping. We were alone together, with our own worries, but the together felt a little more of a togetherness than usual. We could feel our problems were, perhaps, the same.

I went back to her flat for a while. I could still feel that pressure. I had an almost overwhelming desire to speak to her openly about my anxiety and fear. But I could not do it. I left, although I didn’t want to. I actually wanted to stay with someone instead of being alone, but I still made myself leave. I was scared of opening up to someone. I was worried I had outstayed my welcome. I felt the fear return as the door closed behind me. As I walked home it intensified.

I was shocked that spending time with someone had lifted the burden of fear and worry, if only for a short while. Being with somebody – who perhaps was not in the exact same boat, but was at least in a similar vessel trying to survive the same unforgiving, choppy sea – had helped me. It was not about talking and listening, but the actual understanding between us; the sharing and relating, even if we did not say it out loud.

This evening she texted to say she also was not going out. I opened up. We actually began to share our feelings and experience with anxiety. Ok, so we had the conversation we could have and probably should have had earlier, but, as you know, sometimes it’s easier to write. It was the first time I have spoken to someone I know, who has felt the same as me. I did not feel that guilt or embarrassment that I normally do when I’m trying to explain my fear to someone. When you try to explain without completely exposing yourself and they look at you like you are crazy, thinking to themselves ‘why would you be scared of that?’.

Today, I felt a little less alone.

I am finally starting to see what this problem shared thing is all about. It doesn’t halve it, but sometimes it actually…helps.