That bloody little A word. I hate it.
Thanks to my father, I’ve always had a drop of anxiety. He’s riddled with it.
Claustrophobia is something I’ve had to endure since I can remember. My first memory of being claustrophobic was a school trip to Southampton. Like a ‘team building’ day. Build a raft, climb a wall. Yeah yeah. Crawl through this dark concrete tunnel carrying a jug of water? … erm, I don’t bloody think so. I got, literally, one knee in and my heart fell out my chest and into my jug.
”Nope. No thanks. Hell noooo” I said to my team. Cue lots of ”Uh, Jemma’s scared”. Then lots of crying on my part. Kids can be such bastards, am I wrong?!
Anyway. I’ve had a few ‘moments’ in nightclubs, where it’s got too crowded and I’ve had to get friends to pull me outside…
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