I was never an anxious child or teenager; I was pretty laid back and chilled. It wasn’t until I got to around 26 and started a high-pressure job that a low-level anxiety kicked in. I would get panic attacks every now and again, but I wouldn’t really know why. I had CBT at the time, but for that to work, you have to know the root of the problem, and I didn’t at that point. I muddled my way through with the odd panic attack once a year or so.

When lockdown hit in March 2020, I was living alone; I spent about six weeks not seeing a single person I knew in the flesh. I felt a bit numb and lonely, much like everyone else.

Fast forward to 2021 and it was like all of the built-up stress from lockdown had decided to come out. For the whole year, I had constant adrenaline shakes due to stress and anxiety. My hair was falling out and my periods stopped for a few months. I lost a lot of weight, I had severe panic attacks and I experienced derealisation. I didn’t know what that was at the time, but I woke up one morning and thought: This is it; I’ve lost my mind. I didn’t feel real. It was as though I had disassociated from everything and was in a dream. I went for a walk at lunchtime and I was looking at my car and wondering if it was really my car or if I was imagining it. I kept touching things indoors – the sofa, the bed covers – to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming. 

I listened to a podcast about dealing with feelings of unreality that explained how your body deals with feelings of stress: it can detach itself from the physical symptoms you are experiencing to give itself a break, but while it does this, you may not feel present and may feel dreamlike. While I didn’t feel the stress anymore, it was still scary. I didn’t know what was and what wasn’t real. I decided not to go on medication.

I couldn’t work out what was triggering me. I think it was the fear factor brought on by lockdown: I was on my own and worried that no one would be there to help me if I needed someone. My trigger was being alone and from there it snowballed until everything else became a problem for me. Often people would say, ‘Oh I’d love some time on my own – just enjoy being alone,’ but there’s something not right about being alone day after day for months on end.  

As we entered winter, things continued to deteriorate. When October hit and it was getting dark in the evenings, I became terrified of the dark. I associated night-time with no one being available – that everyone would be in bed and I wouldn’t be able to get hold of anyone if I needed to. Things got worse nearer Christmas as I kept seeing videos of happy families playing quizzes on Zoom and families in matching PJs. At that point, I felt so lonely. My mind was in a downward spiral. I’d exhausted all avenues – calling my mum, my friends, my work friends – I felt like I was becoming a nuisance, like a broken record.

I had always associated calling Samaritans with being suicidal. I wasn’t suicidal; I was just desperate. I remember putting up the Christmas tree on my own, being sad. The world was coming back to life again but I was still on my own, feeling low and alone. I thought: I can’t call anyone else; they’re sick of hearing from me, so I called Samaritans as a last resort. 

When I called, a man answered, but I didn’t know what to say to him. I said something like, “I don’t know why I’m ringing; I just needed to speak to somebody.” I can’t remember what he said from there, but he was so friendly and so kind. I didn’t feel like he was a counsellor trying to solve all of my problems. I didn’t feel like he was trying to diagnose me with anything. He was a normal person that was just talking to me to take my mind off of everything. He made me feel that I wasn’t a nuisance, that I was normal and others feel the same. But he didn’t pretend to know how I felt. It felt nice to speak to someone and feel like I wasn’t being ignored or a burden. 

We spoke about my Christmas tree and what I was putting on it and I came away from the call thinking there are other people out there in the big wide world and it wasn’t just me in my dark hole. He gave me hope that I’d feel better at some point in time.

I called Samaritans again a few weeks later when I was worried about getting back into a spiral with my anxiety and vertigo. The Samaritans volunteer helped me remember who I was and forget about what might or might not happen. I spent 2022 getting better and better.

Looking back, I knew that the feelings I was having were temporary and I wasn’t about to call it quits. I knew I had people around me that loved me. I was desperate though. Desperate for something to change in how I felt. When I was in that moment, I called Samaritans for help and I even began laughing at the end of that call. It gave me hope: if I could feel OK at the end of that call, I would feel OK again in life. 

Francesca is supporting Samaritans’ Break the Silence campaign to encourage people to open up about their struggles with mental health and raise money for Samaritans life-saving service. Donate now to keep Samaritans here for people to talk to this Christmas at samaritans.org/breakthesilence.

If you’re struggling with your mental health, you can call the Samaritans in the UK on 116 123 or email jo@samaritans.org. In a crisis, call 999.

Frame Of Mind is Stylist’s home for all things mental health and the mind. From expert advice on the small changes you can make to improve your wellbeing to first-person essays and features on topics ranging from autism to antidepressants, we’ll be exploring mental health in all its forms. You can check out the series home page to get started.

Images: Paul Driver