Friday 12th May
The call from Mary, the Counsellor, always comes at the same time every week. It runs like clockwork and, of course, I am always in to receive it. We talk about anxiety coping mechanisms and how my progress is coming along. Of course, it never changes. They said that the cognitive behaviour therapy or CBT would work, but I’ve yet to feel any real significant difference.
Right on cue, the land line starts to ring. I move from my spot at the window and walk the short distance across the room, ten steps to be exact, and answer the call on the fifth ring. Yes, I have counted how many steps and how many rings. I have to pass the time somehow so I have made up little games in my head, just like I do with the people I see out the window.
“Hello, is that Jessica?” I mean, come on, as if it is going to be anyone else!
“Yes, this is Jessica.”
“And how are we doing today? Any improvements from last week? How are the breathing exercises going?”
“I’ve tried the breathing, but to be honest I still can’t face going past the doorframe, even with the breathing exercises. I’ve also tried the activity of questioning my thoughts, and even though I know nothing will hurt me in my block of flats, I still can’t let a stranger come to my door.”
“It’s OK, Jessica. Do the techniques help with the anxiety at all?”
“A little. I’m able to go to the door now without any anxiety, and I use the breathing techniques to make me feel strong enough to open it when the corridor is empty but I can’t do it if someone is near the door or if I can hear or see anything in the corridor. Those are my limits! Even the delivery man, James, has to wait downstairs until I bring the shopping in. Don’t even get me started on the poor postman!” I say, with a little giggle, remembering the freak out I had when he first insisted he had to see me to give me a letter and I basically broke down. I’m talking a full on meltdown. He was a bit more lenient after that.
“Well, it’s good you’re opening it, at least. Let’s focus on people at the door next week.”
We talk for a little longer about trying to organise some ladder of progress, but to be honest I’ve kind of switched off. It’s not that I don’t want to get better, it’s just nothing seems to help. Plus, what’s the point? I’ve really not made much progress in the last year and let’s face it, my life is in these four walls and nothing is ever going to change that.
After we hang up, with the promise of another call in a week’s time, I walk back over to my window. This window has become my one link with the outside world, well, except for Claire. On some of my dark days I even wonder how much longer that friendship will last before she gets fed up with me.
I don’t really know how long I have been sat at my window. I lose track of time when I’m creating my own little worlds and stories in my head of the people down below. My delivery is scheduled for today and I still have the kitchen to sort out before anything is going to fit in there. So, I drag myself away and set to work in the kitchen with my music on full blast to help with the ominous task I find myself doing every week.
I just start to put the washing up away when my favourite tune starts to play and I find myself dancing around the kitchen as I work. I always feel a little down on the days I am called for my CBT session, so I try to throw myself into some type of mindless, play your music as loud as you can, task. I’m just putting the last of the plates away when the buzzer on the intercom buzzes. Even though it’s such a rigmarole I still love delivery day as it is the one day I allow myself my one guilty pleasure… chocolate cake! The rest of the week I remain as healthy as I can since exercising is limited due to my confinement. I really don’t want to be piling on any more weight. It’s not that I’m ugly, well not totally ugly anyway, but with my confinement and lack of exercise, I have gained weight. My clothes are all tighter, even though I haven’t actually gone up any dress sizes. I am still a size fourteen … just! I knew I was never as pretty as Claire, but at least I used to be proud of my figure. Now I am just a pale skinned, dark haired, lump with bumps and rolls in all the wrong places. Claire calls me curvy, I just call myself fat.
Have I mentioned how great James is? We have a great system now, actually the shopping delivery is the one time I don’t get anxious about answering the door. I know James will just leave it all and come back once he knows I am done. Plus, he is never late.
I walk over to the intercom and greet James in my normal way. It’s at times like these I’m so grateful that I have my regular man for my supermarket deliveries.
“Hi James, I’ll buzz you in. Any problems today?”
“Sorry, is that Miss Wentworth?”
My whole body goes ridgid. I can feel the attack coming on before I have the chance to stop it, or even do anything about it. My breathing quickens and my body trembles. The next thing I know I’m crumpled on the floor frozen in fright. I didn’t even realise that I was still holding the intercom until I heard a voice.
“Umm, Miss Wentworth. I’m sorry, do I have the correct address? I’m looking for a Miss Wentworth.”
I can’t talk. I can’t make a sound. It isn’t James. It’s meant to be James and I have no idea who this is on the end of the line. Who is outside my door? What do they want with me? I am crippled with fear as my body starts to shake violently.
“Hello?” questions the voice across the intercom. I know I have to speak to whoever it is, but I just can’t find the words. How can a faceless voice cause me so much fear? But then, if I am being honest, it isn’t the voice that has me paralyzed, but what the voice might make me do.
By the time I pull myself together enough to move. I know whoever it is outside has long gone. I even heard them mumbling something about having the correct address for deliveries as they walked away. I make my way back over to my safe place at the window. I know I won’t be able to see who was there, but at this point I’m not even sure I want to know. I am just thankful they have gone.
It’s several hours later when I eventually pull myself together enough to function once more. It’s then I realise James still hasn’t come with my delivery. It really isn’t like him not to turn up. It’s never happened before and I’m worried about him now. So, I do the only thing I can think of at a time like this. I phone Claire and ask for her help. I really would be lost without her. She is my rock, my one ray of hope that never allows me to give up.
The phone barely rings twice before Claire’s reassuring voice echoes down the phone.
“Hi Jess, I was just about to call,” she says happily into the phone.
Claire’s voice is all it takes for me to lose the composure I have gained in my safe place and before I know it I am bursting into tears and spilling out word after word of what has happened to me. That’s what I love about Claire. She is never judgemental, always supportive, and just lets me spew it all out. She never interrupts or judges me and I often find her more helpful than the professionals. Once I finish talking and take a breath, there is a short pause before either of us speak.
“Oh Jess, I wish I could just come and give you a big hug,” Claire finally replies. Hearing the sadness in her voice makes me miss her all the more. It has been far too long since she has come to visit.
“Me too. When are you next down this way?”
Claire lives over two hours away but we have remained the best of friends. She never misses a call and is always looking into new therapies or ideas to help me. I know she still feels guilty as I was meant to be going out with her that fateful night. She had come down for a long weekend to see me as her father was doing better. But as I often explained, I don’t blame her at all. In fact, I don’t blame anyone other than myself and my own messed up brain.
“Not for another month, work is really busy and I can’t get any time off.” I can hear the sadness in Claire’s voice again and it floors me. I hate having this effect on someone, especially since it feels like there is nothing I can do from here.
“It will fly by. Anyway, don’t you have a date tonight?” I ask trying to change the subject. I know she has as she has just started seeing a new bloke and, let’s face it, who in their mid-twenties and single would be staying in on a Friday night?
We talk about her date for a while and by the time we hang up I am feeling much better. I hate the way a person at my door can throw me so much, but something must be working as the bad episodes after something like that are getting shorter. It used to be days before I could function properly again. It would also send me into a deep depression, where I would lock myself away in the bedroom and just sleep. That’s what I do when the depression gets too much, I sleep. After ending the call I take a look at the clock and realise that my order with James isn’t going to come.
I decide to rifle through my receipts and find the number to call the store to investigate. I have had a good relationship with the store manager since James sorted everything out for me so many months before. I pick the phone up and dial the number. Just my luck! I get the relentless chintzy music they play when they put you on hold. I mean, seriously, if I wasn’t already suffering with anxiety and depression this music would be enough to drive me to it. After about five minutes, and just as I am about to give up, the phone is finally answered
“Hello, how can I help you?” comes the annoyingly over friendly voice on the end of the line.
“Is Mathew there please? I need to speak to him about my order.”
“Oh yes, please hold on. I’ll just put you through.”
The music starts up again and I am sure this time I may just scream. I mean can’t they play something decent like; well anything that was this turn of the century.
I am saved from annoyance by my call connecting.
“Hello, Mathew here. How may I be of assistance?”
“Hello, Mathew it’s Miss Wentworth here. You might remember me, I have my shopping delivered by James. He sorted out a new procedure with you about my deliveries.”
“Ah yes, Miss Wentworth. Did you not get the call?” he questions. Call? What call?
“No, sorry I didn’t. Is everything OK?” It’s then I notice my mobile sat on the side and clearly visible is the missed call message and I see a voicemail has been left. OK, maybe having my music on as loud as I did wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done. But seriously! It never rings unless it’s someone trying to sell me something or Claire.
“I’m afraid James won’t be able to deliver to you for the foreseeable future. He was involved in a car accident over the weekend.”
“Oh no, the poor man,” I reply. I’m saying all the correct words but what’s really going through my head is ‘Shit! What do I do about my order now?’
“He is fine but has fractured his ankle,” Matthew says on the other end of the line. “I believe his replacement, Steve, may have tried to call earlier.”
Now it all started to fall into place. I remember I was expecting James when the doorbell rang, which was why I was so thrown when I heard the strange voice.
“Oh, I didn’t. I wasn’t. I’m sorry I think I may have missed him.” I can feel my anxiety building up and I really want to get off the phone. It is hard enough suffering with the conditions I have, but at times like this you just end up feeling one hundred times worse.
“Would you like me to reschedule your delivery, Miss Wentworth?” He asks, trying to get me off the phone.
Did I? I really wasn’t sure. What if I couldn’t open the door again? What if I have another panic attack? I have obviously spent too long asking these questions in my head as before I reply, Mathew continues.
“I have a slot opened up for ten thirty tomorrow, if that’s any good to you?”
Before I even know what I’m doing, the word “yes” has come out of my mouth and I am hanging up the phone. Did I want a strange person coming to my house tomorrow? I can’t even remember who he said was going to come. I guess I did need to eat though, so what else was I going to do? It’s not as if I could just pop down to the shops myself. I know I am going to be in for a bad night now. So, I do the only thing I can do in this situation, I make myself a hot chocolate and try to do my relaxation techniques while in the bath.