Loyalty is its own reward

So aside from a peculiar mountainbike crash, last weekend was an excellent one for a budding loyalist like me.

I was riding next to a rusty wire fence that had been allowed to deteriorate, with bits of the wire hanging out over the trail (unbeknownst to me). As I rode by, a pointy bit of wire hooked me in the crease of my left elbow, and pulled me backwards off the bike...which continued for a yard or so and then toppled over. It gave me a nice gash across my arm where they say is the best place to slice y'self if you're intent on suicide. More annoyingly though, it tore a gigantic hole in a long-sleeved top from MEC I only bought in March. Eff.

Anyway, Friday I helped throw undercoat on the walls of Terri's condo, and Saturday I helped Andrew & Kathy move house. This is perfect loyalist stuff, and dovetails nicely with the research I've done about self-worth.

One's sense of self-worth is at the core of an anxiety disorder. A great many decisions in my mind are influenced by whether or not I perceive myself to be 'worthy'. For example, let's say someone compliments me on, I don't know, the clothes I'm wearing on a night out. A normal person would accept the compliment with a smile, relish the boost to their ego, and probably say "thank you". With me it depends on how I'm feeling at that particular moment in time. Thus, on occasion, I've been paid a compliment, but, my brain thinks something along the lines of, "Wow, they were really clutching at straws when they said that - my clothes are the only thing they could think of to compliment. They're just being charitable, and there must be something else about my appearance that's really bad. They're just trying to divert attention from it."

I feel for my ex-wife when I talk about things like this, because living with and having to 'handle' someone with GAD is like walking a tightrope. Even the most positive of affirmations can sometimes be received in a negative way. This is one of the reasons why the disorder is so difficult to understand for friends and relatives, and why it's so difficult to get better. Even when people are trying to help, and doing or saying things that'd cheer up a regular Joe, in the case of someone with GAD it might actually be making them worse. It all depends on the level of self-esteem at that specific moment in time.

Anyway, smoking marijuana is a great way to initiate lateral thinking. In one of my smoked-up brainstorm-of-one sessions I sat down and tried to figure out what makes me feel 'worthy', like I actually deserve the nice things that happen to me, and have a genuine right to be upset or angry about the other things.

A lot of it is financial. The reason why I've written (and had cognitive distortion-ridden spats at HRM people and the like) about money so much is because if I can't fend for myself, it strikes right at the heart of my self-worth. Not only can I not pay my way (and therefore cannot go out for dinner, drinks, or anything else), I cannot host people at my place, cannot be philanthropic which is something I often long to do, and can't be a - financial - caregiver for friends and/or family when they might need it.

In love, it's very similar. I remember that one of the conversations I had with my Mum when I first opened up to my folks about my disorders was about my Grandad (my Mum's Dad). He had agoraphobia, and never left the house without a bottle of beta-blockers he could turn to if confronted with an anxiety attack far from home. At certain points in his life the disorder became debilitating, and would dictate to him when and where he could go. For example, he never left the UK in his life. Whenever he went on vacation, he went to the same place. I don't mean the same Mediterranean resort, I mean the same seaside town. Not just the town, but the same hotel. And, not just the same hotel, but the same ROOM in the hotel. The route to get there was probably similar each time, if not exactly the same.

One one occasion my grandparents started driving there, got halfway, and my Grandad decided he just couldn't do it. They turned around and came home. That's what I mean by debilitating, and it's a similar issue to that which keeps me housebound and afraid to answer the phone when my GAD has been really bad.

The point about my Grandad, other than the fact that mental disorders aren't strictly hereditary but one can have a genetic predisposition to certain ones, is that his own anxiety increased and decreased according to what was going on in his life. When my Mum left home the first time, it got worse. When I was born, it got better.

Thus when it comes to me, I have had to learn to be extraordinarily careful about who I get into relationships with. As a partner I have to also be a soulmate and a lover. If that woman doesn't need me as much as I need to be needed, then the relationship will inevitably fail unless my self-worth is supplemented in another area. I'm two weeks from 38 years old and - I hope - still have time to be a father one day. Again, this is a key source of self-worth for me - being not only everything I am to my wife/partner, but also a role model, a caregiver, and - on occasion - even a teacher to my child or children.

When it comes to friends, I strive to be trusted and reliable. The guy you can call at 3am and say "I've broken down on the 401, I don't have anyone else I can call. Can you come and get me?" and know I'll be there ASAP. Which, of course, would be a f**king long time given that I lost the car in the divorce and would have to ride my mountainbike down the 401 without getting busted. You get the point though.

I strive to be the person that other people can talk to. The one people come to for advice. And it's all because the GAD makes me desperate to be trusted, to belong to something bigger than myself. Happy to be odd, different, or eccentric so long as I am respected by those who know me. You'll probably start to see what a disproportionately positive effect the replies to my Facebook e-mail had on me now, and why.

So shifting a friend's entire world into a new home, or painting it once they're there are high up on the list of things that make me feel good about myself. Strange isn't it? For most people it's a long soak in the tub or retail therapy. Not me, they don't do anything for me. This was why my ex-wife was so surprised when I was happy to give up so much joint stuff when we separated our possessions. The car, the house, the 12+ hours of special edition Lord of the Rings DVDs. Stuff doesn't mean anything to me. In fact, the very second she asked for the divorce my wedding ring immediately became scrap metal in my eyes, no longer symbolic of anything other than a failed marriage.

Point is, let me know if you're doing home improvements (that's "DIY" in the UK, though I won't be flying out just to help you paint the hallway). Let me know if you need help. Let me know if you need someone to do something where menial labour and a few brain cells can fix it.

Because chances are, it's therapy for me.