I went to a party last week, said hello to the host … then left about 15 minutes later. I didn’t mean to be rude. But faced with a large room, noise, heat, numerous groups of people – and the fact that I didn’t know any of them – my anxiety levels were rising. Feeling it would be worse to stay, I just had to go.
Last week, during a routine trip to the GP, my mum was refused the sleeping pills she’s come to rely to get a night’s rest. ‘Good’, I secretly thought. Maybe someone might suggest other ways of addressing the insomnia – and the anxiety and depression – that blight her nights and days. Because older people get depressed too, and although rarely offered, talking therapies could make a world of difference. Continue reading →
Feeling the squeeze 