Today, I failed. Yesterday, I also failed. I failed the day before too, as I do every day.

Today, like yesterday, I failed to be well enough to work.

There are two things wrong with this statement. The first is about class, hierarchy, and the boot-print of generations of exploitation of the working class. From not talking about politics, or wages, to not complaining when you get shit on, to never admitting you’re ill. I failed because my collective folk-memory, and the behaviour that’s been conditioned into me since childhood tells me that taking a sick day is a heinous crime reserved only for those that Satan himself has claimed. Or something. I know this is ridiculous. I know my colleagues think this is ridiculous. I know my employer thinks this is ridiculous. Unpacking this particular problem has been a lifelong struggle, and one I regret I’ll never complete.

The second part of this is that I’ve perceived myself to have failed because I haven’t recovered from yesterday’s failure, which itself is a hangover from the day before’s failure. Which is, frankly, bollocks. Let me illuminate…

On Sunday I had (at least) two panic attacks. The first was early in the morning while getting ready to leave for a triathlon. The second was in the water 115 metres into the swim. I managed to gather myself enough to signal for help and was fished out by a marshal. Another failure.

I cannot recommend having a panic attack in a lake. I really suggest you avoid it wherever possible.

Andy Cowley 2019

The panic attacks, as far as I can tell weren’t related to anything. This is most often the case for me. I was a bit tired from waking early without enough sleep; I was a bit later than I wanted to be; I hadn’t really trained enough. None of these things really would even usually leave me nervous, never mind panicky.

I’m working on the panic attacks with my GP – through the prescription of SSRIs – and with my therapist. They’re a part of my life now, and while prevention would be nice, the best I can probably hope for is learning to live with it.

Yesterday, after spending almost four hours driving home and collapsing into a heap in the bed with the hound curled up on my feet, I was the proud recipient of a migraine. I thought it was just fun with sinuses at first – everyone around me seems to have a cold – but after an hour trying to work, I ducked out and went to bed with painkillers and blackout curtains.

Migraines suck and for those of you who suffer with them more than I do (once a year, perhaps), you have my deepest sympathy and empathy. There’s also nothing you can really do about it. Like a wizard, they arrive precisely when they mean to. Then they eat all your food and drag you off into dangerous situations…

I have little doubt that the migraine was triggered by spending the whole of Sunday with the anxiety level cranked up to eleven. It’s fucking exhausting. I was as run-down by the end of Sunday as I would have been had I finished the triathlon. Panic attacks are physical entities that sap your mental and physical energy. It is hardly surprising I felt like I had a hangover the next day. However, that little bastard that lives inside my brain was telling me how I was failing again for not ‘just getting over it’.

He’s a prick.

He’s back today. I’m trying to exorcise him by writing this drivel. We’ll see how well that goes.

My point however, is that none of these things are failures at all. They are simply the outcome of the complex and inscrutable tapestry that is the sum of all of my experiences and my body chemistry. Trying to blame this on myself is like shouting at a thunderstorm during a barbecue. Yeah, you could have paid closer attention to the weather reports, but they’re never that accurate. You could have bought a cheap gazebo from Homebase, but it would still be raining. You just live with it, or order a Domino’s.

Some things can’t be controlled. They’re shit, but we’re only going to make ourselves worse by trying – and failing – to fix them. That’s a real failure. Trying to change the things we can’t. You should avoid those They’re rubbish.