No and No and No and that's OK

I seem to have to answer no to a lot of the random questions people ask. Strangers like hairdressers, people when you first meet, family I don't see often. Usually my answer to polite small talk questions is no.
"Do you work?" "No."  "So you're looking for a job?" "No."

"You married?" "Nope." "Partner?" "No."

"Any kids?" "No it's just me."

"Going on holiday this year?" "No I don't think so."

"Do you drive?" "I'm not allowed due to my disability."


"So did you see Eastenders last night?" "Nah I don't watch it."

I swear the only polite small talk questions I can answer well are the boring British weather related ones. And those "no" answers can shut down conversation.  I ask about the other person but it can feel a little one sided and maybe uncomfortable for them.

 Sometimes the questions are put in a different way and I can answer them - "What do you do?" is easier than "do you work?" because I can talk about my writing and my volunteering.  Sometimes I answer differently - "no, I'm not going on holiday but I've been having a day out a month" means we might talk about where I was and what I was doing.  "I don't have kids but I have a nephew."

But the fact of the matter is that those questions are the ones that society expects me to be able to say yes to most of.  As a woman in my 30s it's expected that I'll have a job or be looking for one, drive some form of car as opposed to a powerchair, take holidays, be in a relationship and either have kids, be planning for them soon or be definite that I don't want them.


Society doesn't really know what to do with me.  I'm very disabled, I don't have kids but don't rule it out, I don't work and couldn't manage to do so, I haven't taken a holiday since 2007 and I travel everywhere by train or not at all.  I'm very happily single and don't really want to be in a relationship.  I don't even watch Eastenders!


It almost feels sometimes that those negative answers define me more then who I am.

 My friends and family accept and love me for that and I wouldn't change myself.  That doesn't mean it's always easy or comfortable polite small talk and quick encounters don't always give time to share who I am and make the positive impression I'd like.  I worry that those strangers see my disability and not the girl in the chair.

As I've gotten older I've gotten much happier about that situation.  It is what it is and I am what I am.  If people only want to ask those questions, judge me by those nos and not take the time to get to know me they aren't worth my worrying about (although I can't always help it).

I'm someone whose always going to have to answer no to the questions society expects. And that's OK.

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Hi, I’m Jess and I’m a Hypochondriac

Admitting to you that I’m a hypochondriac is a hard thing for me to do.

When I talk about my anxiety, I’m fine.

OCD? Not a problem. 

Depression? Sure thing.

But it’s hard for me to sit here and fess up to being a hypochondriac and that’s because being a hypochondriac carries a bad rep.

Over the years I’ve been called a “drama queen” and an “attention seeker” by my nearest and dearest. I’ve been told to “get a grip” and that I need to “stop worrying about nothing.” I think it’s hard for me to write this post because hypochondria is an anxiety disorder that’s hardly ever spoken about and therefore has a long way to go in fighting the stigma surrounding mental illness that we’re just starting to break.

In contrast to what has been said to me, my hypochondria is something that I live very quietly with, much more so than I live with my other mental health problems. Unlike common perceptions regarding hypochondria I rarely go to the doctor with my worries and I hardly ever discuss my fears with anyone for fear of being called silly.

For me, living with hypochondria is losing a whole night to googling symptoms and reading about various illnesses online spending hours trying to self-diagnose. It’s lying awake terrified that I’m ill or dying. It’s having intrusive thoughts about all of the big scary illnesses out there and the chances of me one day having them. It’s about worrying that even getting help for these illnesses, like having surgery, carry a risk of death. Truthfully, having hypochondria is terrifying and something that I often sit with alone.

In my experience, when people think of death they see it as a far off thing that won’t happen to them, or at the very least is something that they won’t have to face for a long time. I’m the complete opposite. I’m very aware that death is a part of life and that one day I will die and so will everybody that I’ve ever cared about. I know that death can sweep in and happen unexpectedly when you’re not looking and so I’ve made death my personal enemy.

I try as hard as I can to fortify myself and those I love from death by being a hypochondriac, by worrying and thinking of the worst possibility so that I can act quickly. I’m on constant high alert for the grim reaper knocking at my door.

There are so many health warnings these days, everywhere you look from posters to TV adverts. Now I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m sure these advertisements save lives. But when you’re a hypochondriac being reminded that 1 of 2 people in the UK will be diagnosed with some form of cancer during their lifetime is not helpful. I look at those odds and I look around at the people I love and a wave of paralysing fear washes over me.

Every. Single. Freaking. Time.

And what’s worse is that I know that dying is inevitable and that for all of my worry and trying to protect myself and those I love against it ultimately there’s nothing I can do to stop it when it does finally decide to arrive.

Because as well as worrying about my own health I also am a hypochondriac when it comes to the people I love. My family get so annoyed with me when they’re ill. If they have an illness for longer than two weeks I’m certain that they’re going to die. I will nag at them to see a doctor and spend countless nights until the illness has passed crying myself to sleep and having panic attacks because I’m certain that something is seriously wrong with them.

In society hypochondria is a mental health condition that is still very much seen as a joke. It’s perceived as self-indulgent, dramatic and pathetic but in reality it is a terrifying condition to live with. On a regular basis I convince myself that I am ill and that I am going to die. I may not be physically ill but mentally I am there living it and experiencing it. I believe it deeply and wholly. To me, in my mind, I am sick and I am dying. Fact. And it’s not until my symptoms subside or I get a doctor's diagnosis that I believe otherwise. It’s petrifying and mentally exhausting.

Hypochondria is not a silly, frivolous or indulgent condition to have. It’s no fun to live with and is certainly no joke to be laughed off. I hope that one day it will be seen as the crippling anxiety disorder that it is and treated with the respect it deserves. But until that day I refuse to be ridiculed for a condition that I have as little control over as my OCD, PTSD and Depression. I refuse to be made fun of and refuse to believe that my very real fear is trivial, petty and insignificant.

My name is Jess. I am a hypochondriac and I will not be ashamed.

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Food, Glorious Food!

Food makes the world go around. Food is glorious, sensational, yummy, tasty, fantastic and just absolutely amazing. It’s a necessary part of the human condition. Without it we would die. But, of course, what isn’t necessary is the way we indulge in food. Not that I’m complaining. I love food. I love that I can indulge.

My love of food, I am very certain, is the reason that I put on weight throughout my teen years and why I have been incredibly unsuccessful in removing the weight now. It was my comfort. When I was feeling low, I could turn to a good tub of ice cream or a bar of chocolate and feel a little better. If someone I knew was feeling low, I could bring them food to make them better too. I love not just eating it, but loved cooking too. I loved the process of turning different ingredients into a dish that is devoured quickly because it tastes fantastic. I loved cooking for others and witnessing their murmurs of approval as they tucked in too. Not just cooking, but also baking. There’s just something so wonderful about making something from nothing, right?

It was so obvious how much that I loved food that it was commented on that I act about food how people act about sex. I loved it, I wanted it, it was an amazingly pleasurable activity.

You’ve noticed the past tenses by now, right?

I still love food, I do. But it’s nowhere near what it was. Something changed. About two to three years ago, I suddenly lost part of my love of food and I am not so sure that I will ever get it back. Which does make me more than a little sad some days.

So I’m sure you’re wondering what changed, right? It’s simple…

My anxieties.

Three years ago I was officially diagnosed with GAD (Generalised Anxiety Disorder) and this has changed a LOT of things in my life but the thing that has changed the most is my relationship with food.

I no longer eat to indulge. I no longer eat to feel better. I no longer eat for pleasure.**

I now simply eat to survive. I eat because when I don’t, my stomach aches. Because if I don’t, I will die. And I hate it but I don’t know how to change it.

Now when I eat, I have so many worries and paranoid thoughts going through my head that I feel physically incapable of enjoying myself while I eat.

It started with chicken. Something simple that soon spiralled. I cut it out. Avoided it. Which is the worse thing you can do for anxieties but I didn’t know that at the time. But to me chicken related to food poisoning, a food poisoning that has a high chance of killing you. So every time I tried to eat it, I could not stop thinking about what would happen if this peice was the one that killed me.

But then it got worse. I couldn’t eat eggs either. And then just all meats became difficult because they all had the same issues surrounding them. It then spiralled to food that I ate with my hands because what if my hands weren’t clean and the germs on them got transferred onto my food? And then every piece of food became a problem to the point where food just became lost to me.

But it’s not just the fear of food poisoning. There is also a fear of allergies. I only have a few very rare allergies but whenever new food is given to me now to try, I really struggle. What if I’m allergic to it? What if this causes me to have a reaction that then kills me?

And then there’s my god awful digestive system to deal with too. There’s the fact that some foods cause me to bloat and feel awful, some foods make me feel constipated or cause me to have bad diarrhea. And I have only a little idea of what does what because once I think I know, I’ll cut it out, and then something else will affect it and going back to the first item does nothing. Meaning that eating causes me to always be on edge.

Of course all of this stems from the fact that once food has been ingested, I can’t control what happens. I literally leave it out of my control. WIth my other anxieties, I can control some of it. I can do little tasks to make myself feel at ease. I can wash my hands fifteen times if I feel I need to. I can jump in the shower and clean my entire body if I have to. I can just not get onto the train or get out of the small room. I can control the situation until I feel I have control over the outcome.

But I cannot control the outcome of what goes into my body. It just happens. It just is.

So basically, every time I have to eat, especially if it’s something new, I end up feeling a little like this:

Trust me, I don’t like this. And I hope that I can do something soon to reignite my love of food because I know it’s still there. I still get cravings. I see pictures of food and salivate a little, even while a part of me knows I would really struggle once the food is in front of me.

Things I do now that I didn’t before:

1. Wash my hands or use hand sanitizer right before eating.
2. Take ages to choose food in a restaurant because although x sounds good, I know y will cause me to not have an anxiety attack.
3. I no longer cook; because raw meat, unclean dishes, I just… can’t.
4. I also no longer bake; Same reasons as above.
5. Over-analyse everything.
6. Worry that my odd eating habits get noticed and people think I'm weird
7. Worry that people will choose restaurants where I feel unable to eat anything
8. Worry that I can't make any changes to the food on the menu
9. And feel I can only make two substitutions before I worry the chef will spit in my food
10. Worry about the chef spitting in my food
11. Feel unable to eat food where I have seen the person touch money and then touch my food
12. Eat a buffet comfortably. Other people have used their hands to eat those things... when did they last wash their hands?
13. Wish I could just not eat.

But the hardest part of it, is that I know everything in this post is irrational. I know that I should just get on with it and eat the food, but I just really, really struggle. And it’s really not the easiest thing to deal with ever.

**Okay, that was maybe a little bit drastic. I do still occasionally eat for pleasure and to feel better, it just doesn't come as naturally or easily to me any more.**

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