What lies at the bottom of the ocean and shakes a lot? A nervous wreck

Flicking through the pages of  'Vogue', it's hard not to feel shit about life. Images of rake-thin, beautiful women abound, their waif-like frames hanging off impossibly sharp cheekbones. Glossy photos of smug celebrities grace the pages, flaunting their perfect lifestyles. Each turn of the page reveals a tantalising smorgasbord of skirts, shoes, tops and bags, each promising to make your life perfect in exchange for prices of mortgage-sized proportions. As you munch your way through an entire pack of Maryland cookies whilst sporting your favourite fleecy pyjamas, with toothpaste dotted all over the stubborn pocks on your face, it's hard not to feel disheartened and downtrodden.

But what if this doesn't pass as soon as you fling 'Vogue' across the room? What if you wake every morning with an agonising knot in your stomach and a general feeling of dread? What if the simplest tasks leave you gasping for breath, trying to quell the rising panic? What if you spend much of your time blinking back the tears, willing your chin not to wobble? What if everything feels like just ... too ... MUCH? Then, my darling, there is every chance you are suffering from anxiety or depression (or both – hell, in for a penny, in for a pound).

Women in their 20s and 30s are under a huge amount of pressure. The pressure to be thin, perfect and happy is reinforced everyday through the media. We're constantly bombarded with demands on our time and wallets. We're expected to be high-powered career women, yummy mummies, sex kittens and domestic goddesses, all in one go. It's no wonder that sometimes the pressure to be perfect all gets a bit much. Depression, stress and anxiety are at an all-time high among young women, yet most cases go undiagnosed as many girls aren't even aware of the full extent of their stress.

How do I know? Well, I was one of them. I had a stressful job, an embarrassing lack of self-esteem, and a severe case of compulsive perfectionism. I'd get up at 5am each morning to beat the morning rush hour, ignoring the rising fear in my gut. I'd be at my desk by 7am, and would skip every breaktime to keep up with my mounting piles of work. I'd get home by 7pm, cook dinner, burble witlessly at my fiance and pass out by 9pm on the sofa, before rising at 5am the next morning to repeat the process all over again. "Of course I feel like shit," I'd tell myself. "I have a full-time job which stresses me out. It's perfectly normal to dread the dawn of each day." My loved ones desperately tried to suggest that maybe I should slow things down a bit, as I sobbed helplessly at the bottom of my wardrobe because my favourite angora cardigan was nowhere to be found. But still I blithely ploughed on, oblivious to the impending earthquake that was to shake my world.

Shortly after I turned 30, having ignored advice, warnings, pleas and ultimatums, I broke down. Utterly. For 6 long months, I recuperated at home, supported by my wonderful family, a brilliant GP and a superb therapist. I knitted, I walked, I slept ... a lot. I cried endlessly, tears of rage, despair, frustration and utter exhaustion. The black tunnel seemed endless.

But here I am, 3 and a half years on, almost entirely healed with a job, a wonderful husband, a beautiful daughter and an amazing new outlook on life. I had to navigate my way through hell to get here, and as I was doing so the one thing I was determined about was that something positive should come of all the mess and tears.  I stubbornly vowed that if I could stop this happening to someone else, then all the shit would have been worth it.

And so, Mad Cow Disease and Me was born. It's a practical guide for helping women in their 20s and 30s to understand and cope with depression and stress. Unlike many self help books, this is written from a real-life perspective, rather than a clinical one. In my entries I hope to help you understand what to expect from your illness and treatment, as well as provide practical advice on how to cope. I'll also be sharing articles, memes, photos and the best that the Web has to offer about mental illness. It's written by a girl who has battled depression and anxiety (and continues to do so), for girls with depression and anxiety, and I send it to you with my love.

Xxx

The nature of anxiety

Your Best Frenemy

We all have that one friend. You know, the one who you've known for years and who persistently 'zings' you with backhanded compliments, questions your life choices and leaves you with a niggling feeling of self-doubt. That one person who is guaranteed to keep pushing your buttons until you can't tolerate it anymore, but for some reason you just can't sever ties with them. They're your frenemy. The thought of confronting them about their behaviour is infinitely more stressful than putting up with their shit. You know that breaking up with them would stir up monumental amounts of aggravation and heartache. So you suck it up. 

Well, think of anxiety as your best frenemy. You spend all day with Anxiety, listening to her spout bullshit about the way you look, the way you act, your friendships, your career and your life in general. You expend a huge amount of energy on your relationship with Anxiety, far more than you get in return. Spending time with her leaves you exhausted and tearful, wracked with uncertainty and despair, yet you just can't shake her. Anxiety is a limpet. She just won't let go. And for some reason you just can't end your relationship. You know in your heart of hearts that you'd be much better off without her, but her presence has become reassuring. Those soft whispers telling you that you're not good enough and that the sky is about to fall on your head have been your soundtrack for so long that the thought of quieting them seems too daunting. Anxiety just continues to lurk, feeding off your insecurities and reinforcing them with her 'helpful' advice, logging her opinions in her Burn Book and sharing them with you at regular intervals. In short, Anxiety is a total bitch.

Well, let me tell you something. You don't need Anxiety. It's time to put that bitch in her place. Let's face it, if a real person treated you the way Anxiety does you'd have kicked them to the kerb a long time ago. So why should this relationship be any different? 

It might seem like an insurmountable feat, but it is possible to live without being ruled by anxiety. I won't promise you 'a life free from anxiety': that little sucker is still going to stick around and rear her ugly head from time to time, but you can keep her in her place. It takes time, patience, self-love and a lot of help and it's worth every difficult moment. How you choose to do it will be personal to you and there are many avenues available to you. But it all starts with one sentence: "We need to break up".