Claire Eastham - F**k, I think Im Dying: How I Learned to Live With Panic

Claire Eastham is a Manchester-based author, award-winning mental health blogger, campaigner and keynote speaker. Regarded as one of the UKs foremost mental health bloggers, Claires witty and self-deprecating sense of humour has seen her attract thousands of readers to her blog, Were All Mad Here. Claires first book of the same name sold out its entire first print run in just five days and was selected for Reading Well Books on Prescription in 2018. Claire is an ambassador for the mental health research charity, MQ, and has regularly appeared on TV and radio, including appearances on This Morning, BBC Breakfast, and across BBC Radio.

To anyone whos ever freaked out, frozen, felt scared, made a tit out of themselves, or been a prisoner of panic. This ones for you.

Every effort has been made to ensure that the information contained in this book is correct, but it should not in any way be substituted for medical advice. Readers should always consult a qualified medical practitioner before adopting any complementary or alternative therapies.

Neither the author nor the publisher takes responsibility for any consequences of any decision made as a result of the information contained in this book.

Allow me to be frank from the first sentence.

My name is Claire Eastham and I have, to date, experienced 371 panic attacks over a seven-year period. An average of fifty-three per year. I live with panic. Panic is in my veins and we cohabit; were roommates, lovers, enemies and all the rest. There are times when I notice it more, poking me, taunting me, knocking me off course, and times when I barely register its existence at all.

I understand the psychology of a panic attack, the purpose of one, the symptoms (physical, mental and emotional), the drugs used to sedate them and the therapy devised to find the root causes. I know it all, truly. Ive been writing about mental health for nearly a decade, translating medical jargon and making coping techniques more accessible. I have an award-winning blog, Im an ambassador for a national charity, and my first book Were All Mad Here sold out its entire first print run in just four days. This, along with personal experience and obsessive research, makes me an expert. Self-made, I might add. I cant follow up this claim with a medical qualification, but Im an expert all the same.

There is no cure for panic attacks. No magic wand I can wave, or snake oil I could flog. This is not a self-help book. A self-help book implies that a cure lies hidden somewhere within the contents. I have no method to share or solution to sell. But dont lose heart just yet, because what I do have to impart is experience, and I pledge that with a little work and understanding, panic attacks do not have to control you. They wont stop you from working, socialising or living a fulfilling life. We can remove their power.

There might not be an officially recognised cure, but what we can do is learn how to communicate with panic. We can learn what triggers our attacks, how to stop the attacks from being triggered in error and how to deal with them when they are triggered.

I learned how to communicate with panic the long and hard way, through a variety of experiences and complete fuck-ups. Not that Id change anything. Fuck-ups are how Ive learned the majority of lifes lessons. Im not saying this as an affirmation, or even to be used as inspiration. Its a fact: mistakes make for a superior teacher.

Before we start, I feel I should warn you that I am what some people may find to be a frustrating person. Ive made the same mistakes repeatedly in my life, particularly when it comes to mental health, to the point of pure idiocy. My anger is short-lived but explosive, Im emotional, chronically insecure, opinionated and a bit of a gobshite after a few drinks. I overthink things to the point of self-indulgence, care too much what people think, hurt too easily, and I swear A LOT. Positivity doesnt come naturally to me, whereas, cynicism is part of my DNA. I make jokes when Im uncomfortable and I struggle with affirmations such as: Its OK not to be OK, or Youre not alone, because honestly, I dont find them at all fucking useful when Im the one rolling around on the bathroom floor.

Still, Im also funny, generous, kind, ridiculous, perceptive, reasonably smart, loyal, honest and my bark is worse than any bite I could deliver.

If you trust nothing else, then trust that I AM a panic attack expert. Panic is something I live with, like IBS or eczema. Its not ideal, but we make it work. Even during the darkest periods, panic has NEVER controlled my life and I can help anyone who reads this to change their attitude towards panic attacks. Thats a promise.

All the rest is just white noise and jesting.

Trigger warning: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of panic attacks and deals with the topic of self-harm.

My head jerks back violently and collides with the concrete wall. I dont register the impact, it barely signifies. My jaw clicks loudly and my mouth sags. I vomit again from the pain, as my neck spasms. Ive spent seven hours, seven fucking hours in hell, without a single moment of respite. I twitch and pulse, tremble and convulse and the pain is so overwhelming I see stars. Im sweating, my mouth is like sandpaper and Im frightened, terrified in fact.

Dan, my husband, will later comment that I looked possessed, as though a demon was trying to claw its way out of my face.

Panic attacks are nothing new to me. Ive been experiencing them sporadically for years and have already survived one mental breakdown. Ive built a solid reputation as an authority in mental health over a three-year period. I preach about treating the brain with the same respect as the body and looking out for the warning signs. So, with all of my valuable knowledge and experience, what am I doing here? How have I found myself face down on a kota stone floor, wishing I was dead?

Forty-eight hours prior to this, I was on the M5, travelling back from Cheltenham. Id taken part in a panel event with other mental health experts and hated every moment of it. I was exhausted and uncomfortable, but spent the evening pretending to be fine. The irony being that while on stage talking about panic, I was experiencing back-to-back attacks.

I completed the seven-hour round trip in one evening, rather than staying overnight at the hotel with the other speakers, as would have been the sensible decision. Due to road closures I didnt get home until around 1 a.m., then stayed up until 3 trying to wind down and was up again at 7 for a business trip to London.

It had been an incredibly busy period. On top of my normal work duties, Id secured a second book deal and was working non-stop to a deadline that may have been achievable if I hadnt then seen the house of my dreams and moved in a month away from the first draft deadline. We had contractors and decorators in for weeks, making the environment chaotic, then to make matters worse, I contracted flu just as Dan was away with work.