When the going gets rough

By Lesley Hart

Published:

WHOA! Just when I thought things were going smoothly here on the wagon, I seem to have hit a rough patch in the road.

I don’t want to drink particularly, but am finding it hard to switch off of an evening, and feel pretty wound up through the day too.

My stomach – a constant menace – has been at war with me this week, even more so than when I was smoking, drinking, and eating spicy food. I actually feel like I’ve been swallowing knives and eating fire – which is so unfair because I gave those up months ago.

A consultation with my tum-doctor confirmed that no, I don’t have an ulcer (which calmed me down a bit), and it’s not any serious disease (hallelujah), but that it’s mostly stress-related (What? Me – stressed?).

“Some people get headaches when they’re stressed,” says Dr Tum, “some have a sore stomach.”

I don’t really get headaches much, unless I’m hungover, so I must belong to the latter clan: the Bellyachers (sounds like a Happy Mondays tribute band).

At least I don’t have actual gut rot, or gallstones, or an alien in my gullet, which is something of a relief. But I’m afraid that’s one thing I just can’t get enough of at the moment (not aliens) – relief.

Of course I have an overarching sense of relief that I have made it through the tail end of the festive season and all of this week without a drink or a fag or anything toxic whatsoever (besides my own cooking). It’s “short-term” relief that I’m short of.

I seem to be experiencing a kind of cheap thrill withdrawal; instant gratification starvation.

One glass of wine can be just enough to ease the stress of a hard day at work. Two glasses and you’re nicely winding down towards peaceful slumber. Three and you’re happy to crash out on the couch.

But not me – I’m up until all hours, mind racing, tummy churning, cream-crackered but can’t get to sleep. Then when I do sleep I wake up in a blind panic at 4am, thinking I’m birthing an alien. The light goes on. I clutch my upper gullet, and wait for the slimy glove puppet to burst its way out.

But that doesn’t happen so I start reading, and then stay up for another hour. Then fall asleep. Then wake up in alien labour again first thing in the morning.

I TRIED drinking camomile tea but for all the good that did I might as well have poured it in my pants.

It actually gave me heartburn – most herbal teas do for some reason. Someone told me you can snort the tea leaves but snorting is not an activity normally recommended by health experts, and there are very good reasons for that – which I need not go into I’m sure.

Exercise is a good way to find relief, and I have been doing much more of it these past few weeks.

But no amount of punching the air at Body Combat, or busting a gut in spin class, or star-jumping like a numpty in Body Attack seems to suffice.

Of course they help, and I sleep better and feel better for exerting myself, but somehow I still just cannot relax.

Yoga fans, I know what you’re going to say. And yes, yoga is good way to relax and free your mind – if you are supple, have good digestion and a high boredom threshold.

I’m fairly supple but too easily bored, and too volatile in the old alimentary canal to risk such a gas-inducing workout. Indeed, any time I’ve been to yoga I’ve come out feeling more stressed than I went in, because I’ve been trying to keep a lid on the gas. Instead of limbering up, I seize up, and end up looking like I’m walking in callipers.

In theory, Zen Buddism does hold some appeal, but I couldn’t be doing with all that meditation and chanting – I just don’t have the patience. Besides, chanting infuriates me – it’s like self-inflicted tinnitus, and who in the right mind would suffer such a thing?

Maybe I just need to be more patient, and persevere with yoga and chanting and whatnot.

The problem is I’m far too busy doing other more important stuff to train my gaseous tracts to behave in yoga class, or meditate (whatever that involves – nothing I assume. How dull). On the other hand, it could be that my priorities are wrong. Perhaps it’s just as important to take time out to breathe and bend and wrap my legs around my head. If my stomach gets any worse, I’ll give it a go.

There is some relief in knowing that I’m not the only stressed-out person in the world today.

On Monday – officially the most stressful day of the year – the majority of people returned to work to face a sea of troubles: bulging in-trays, mountainous backlogs, hassle, hassle and more hassle – depression, colds, wishing “Happy New Year” when you couldn’t be more miserable.

THE sheer undiluted horror of having to peel yourself out of bed in the freezing dark is enough to send the average post-festive body into spasms. And then, when you come home from work, in the dark, there’s a hillock of bills to greet you on your doormat. Joy.

Don’t get me wrong I’m not depressed. I’ve got lots of exciting things happening at the moment. I’m just very busy working to deadlines, and trying to prepare for this and that, and trying to concentrate on reading or writing one thing when a million other things are on my mind.

Once Sunset Song is recorded at the end of next week – I’m doing it on the radio – I think I’ll feel a wee bit more relaxed. By then I’ll also have paid my tax and hit a few deadlines, and will have a better idea of what I’ll be working on next.

I plan to stay on the wagon for another week, maybe more – although it could be a bumpy ride. At least I can still bite my nails, and swear. That’s a relief.