Hey all!

First time, long time...

I've always suffered from low level anxiety, don't we all? But, upon turning 30, my hypochondria skyrocketed.

I assume this was in line with some kind of sudden realisation that I was a mortal. That's not to say I was swanning about thinking that I'd live forever, but I certainly hadn't given the eventualities of life much thought.

Throughout the next decade, I began to experience niggling little pains, which led me to GP after GP, test after test, and dead end after dead end.

I've gone to physio's, neurologists, urologists and countless other ologists; consultants/specialists, etc.; had X-ray's, CT's, MRI's, and ultrasounds. I've had scopes down (and up), the worst of which was a number of cystoscopies - for all the lads reading, thread carefully if you Google that one - and at the end of it all? Nothing.

Years later, I look back and realise that everything I experienced was as a result of anxiety. I had a pain. I'd worry about the pain. The pain which was in nothing would manifest into a physical ailment, and become something, whilst also still being very much nothing.And then, covid. Since landing in our lives, I have gone full metal germaphobe.

Over recent months, I have convinced myself that I have all things horrible that can befall a person. Some highlights from my flights of anxious fancy, outside normal diseases, have been tetanus &amp; rabies, as well as ending up in A&amp;E with heart palpatations, which I think may have been my first true panic attack. Currently, I'm battling with the idea that I have somehow introduced a brain-eating amoeba into my system, but more on that later.

Since the influx of this spate of anxiety episodes, I have begun counselling. It's taken a few years to build up the courage, but so far, mostly, so good. The sessions, although quite valuable and freeing, in that I do sense genuine progress being made, are also dredging up a lot, and this rise to the surface of long-buried trauma, is making things feel a lot worse initially, before what I'm hoping, will be a "better" me.

Coupled with the counselling, I have also started into anti-anxiety medication. I had prescribed them a few years back, but foolishly(?) read the side-effects docket inside the box, and neglected to start into the course. These tablets are similar to therapy in that I believe, they can have adverse effects on anxiety, before an improvement is experienced. I'm about 10 days in, and going by last nights episode, they've yet to take hold.

The way in which my anxiety now develops is akin to Dr.Stange in Infinity Wars. An incident occurs, a brief calm follows, and then I explode in a whirlwind of thought; experiencing 14 million different outcomes. Regardless if presented with a clear, sensible reality, I will continue to search out an outcome that will allow me to devolve into a spiral of catastrophy. Once latched, my mind, usually fairly terrible at focusing, becomes a catastophising super-computer.

You might think it strange for me to say, considering everything in this post, but I am someone who feels very privileged to be able to say that I truly love life. Days like yesterday though, can be so incredibly, unnecessarily exhausting.

Cut to last night.

I popped into town on the bike. At some point along the way, on my way home, a fly (I assume), slammed straight into my face, and up my nose. A one-in-a-million shot. Skywalker would have been proud. I expect the impact killed the little fecker, but his parting gift, remnants of his former self, strewn about my nose, felt like they'd made their way up into my brain. I know, I know. It was really up in there.

I stopped, and cleared as much as I could, but upon getting home, could still sense something lingering in the balcony seats.

I cleared my nose again and again, but nothing seemed to be lodging it. This was around the moment I can remember my mind spiralling.

I made my way to the kitchen tap and began splashing water up my nostrils, but was getting no purchase for the efforts, so I cupped small amounts of water, and snorted it all the way back. It worked. I cleared whatever it was I could feel back there, and that was that.

But, it wasn't.

The memory of how I cleaned out my sinuses was one of a quite frantic nature. The anxiety had taken hold, but it had also aided in clearing it out. Upon cleansing, I showered, and tried to settle my mind, but then a thought began to grow in my head, a memory of a Neti Pot, and a brain-eating amoeba.

Cut to, hours and hours of catastrophising last night, descending into the bottomless rabbit hole that is Google, concluding with much certainty that I have now introduced bateria of some sort into my nasal cavity, enough that it will travel to my brain and wipe me out.

A few things I've tried to introduce with some sanity to my thought process here:

* I checked the local water quality, and apparently all is good (to drink, at least)
* Irish water is chlorinated, which apparently kills off a fair bit of bacteria
* As far as I can tell, this neuron-nommer is generally not found this side of the Atlantic (but can be)

If you've gotten this far, bravo (and thank you)!

I have two questions:

* What do you reckon are the odds I've introduced something nefarious into my system?
* Does anyone else out there experience anxiety in the same way? Surely, I'm not alone.