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| Photo credit: Elise Gravel |
Yesterday, early in the morning, a tiny larvae of worry started forming in my head; a little pulsating sac - just a twinge really - at the back of my mind, not yet causing too much of a disturbance. Mid-morning, it started niggling, this little concern that I was inadvertently nurturing, creating an uncomfortable feeling of pressure as it began to expand and take up more space in my head. Unperturbed, I did a few exercises to get the blood circulating in a bid to divert attention to other vital organs, away from this little germ of concern. I recognised the need to busy myself, to give myself other tasks to do, instead of just oiling the wheels of worry as they turned in my mind.
Still, the worry grew.
By lunchtime, it had grown into a gristly grub, burrowing into the pink fleshy matter of my brain. It was being fuelled by anxiety, which fed this hungry little fellow, so that the worry quickly got bigger in my mind.
I was sitting alone in my house, in the quiet; furloughed from my frenzied pace of life. The silence was deafening. More than once, I had to turn up the volume on the tv in order to drown out the sound of the bug in my head - by now a hungry caterpillar chomping away on the problem, which in turn was also getting fatter and squishier.
As the afternoon wore on, this little worry had grown at an alarming rate, and was almost completely filling my skull. No longer a larvae, nor a grub; by this point the issue which had started off so small this morning had expanded exponentially, so that it now resembled a transparent tapeworm, a parasite inserting itself into every crevice in my head: pressing against the backs of my eyes, threatening to escape by burrowing out of my ears. My head was pounding with the pressure. I had to find a way to let it out.
I picked up my phone. I Googled my complaint. Big mistake. Huge!
Dr Google confirmed that the concern was legitimate; serious, even. I was right to be afraid. I could feel the Worry Worm growing bigger, segment by slimy segment, as it wrapped its cold form around my brain, before sliding downwards; down, down, until I felt it form as a lump in my throat.
I tried to reason with it, this worry worm. It wasn’t listening. (What did I expect? Worms don’t have ears.)
Feeling overwhelmed, I finally gave in to the worry. I allowed it to wash over me. What was it, this ‘thing’ that was torturing me? I looked the bug squarely in the face, until finally I recognised this creature for what it really was: FEAR.
I was afraid.
Afraid of giving up the lifestyle I knew so well. Afraid of losing the comfort that age-old habits and familiarity bring. Having turned my back on my old lifestyle over 100 days ago, I now had to face my New Normal. Giving up alcohol, and all the behaviours associated with boozing, had been easy enough during this pandemic, when everything I previously considered fun was banned anyway, but how would I cope when everything opens up again and we are granted our Old Lives back? What then?
How would I fare amongst my friends, who have not changed their lifestyles in the way that I have? How would I fit in? Would I even want to go to all the parties like I did before; revisit my old stomping grounds? Why return to the scene of the crime? What will my New Life look like?
There were other fears rising in my mind also. What damage had I done to my body over the years with my party lifestyle? Having recently been diagnosed with an underlying heart condition, I couldn’t help but worry that I’d stored up health problems for my future, and by getting sober I would suddenly be overwhelmed by the extent of the damage that I’d previously been too blind (or blind drunk) to see...or really consider.
Now that I was healthier than ever wouldn’t it be a shame to discover that it was already too late: the long-term damage to my body had been done? As everyone knows, every action has a reaction - so why should I expect to swerve the repercussions of my lifelong love of The Sesh?
Is my newly-diagnosed health condition simply karma - payback for the frivolous folly of my idea of ‘fun’? As the worm burrowed deeper into my thoughts, I resigned myself to my fate: the chickens always come home to roost eventually. If I do suffer the consequences of my actions, surely it will be no more than I deserve?
Whilst ruminating over my ruined health and social life, and rueing the day I first picked up a drink, my phoned pinged with a message. It was from one of my besties, within a Whatsapp group of my 11 closest girlfriends. Before I knew it, the Worry Worm - which had earlier dislodged itself from its cosy spot camped out in my hippocampus and made its way down to my throat - was tumbling out of my mouth in the form of so many words spilling like verbal diarrhoea onto the phone screen.
Oh no!
The Fear had escaped.
I hadn’t intended to let my worry out in this way, but once it was unleashed I couldn’t stop it, and before I knew it the Worry Worm was worming its way into their brains too, attempting to feed on these nutritious new hosts.
Only the opposite happened.
Because my friends didn’t share my fears, the Worry Worm had nothing to feed off. Instead of multiplying in size and seriousness, my calm and rational-thinking pals quickly quelled my fears and shut that motherfucking worm right down. Starved of the oxygen it needed to breathe and fuel my anxiety, the worm simply shrivelled and died.
My friends held up a mirror to my fears, and showed me that, like the worm, they didn’t exist; not really. The worm wasn’t real - it was a figment of my imagination, which I had manifested by spending too much time alone in my house and in my head, where my irrational feelings of anxiety and self-doubt lived.
I don’t know yet if my heart condition is a result of my lifestyle habits, but if it is, I’ll deal with it as I have been doing lately: by being as healthy as I possibly can.
So if you have the germ of a worm in your head: let it out. The stress of carrying the Worry Worm is worse than the problem itself. By speaking to someone about your worm you can starve it of the Fear Fuel it craves and kill it stone dead - before it can kill you. (You never know, you might even be able to kill theirs too, and return the favour.)
And take comfort from the fact that if you’re fearing, you’re feeling. Which means you’re still very much alive.
Day 104.
Sam x
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