I was delighted to read Polly Hudson’s article on overthinkers like me (Faithful, sensitive, forgiving: overthinkers like me make the best partners, 29 March). I am 51 now and have spent most of my life at the mercy of my ability to “turn even the most pleasant, benign interaction into a horrifying encounter that definitely caused offence”.
Someone once described me as a sentinel – forever observing and analysing myself and, as a result, never actually living in the moment and enjoying the freedom from guilt and shame and self-loathing that the under- and perfect-level thinkers around me appeared to achieved without effort.
Advice to just “be myself” fell on deaf ears. I couldn’t simply “turn off” my thinking – in the same way that someone who is diabetic cannot think their way to producing more insulin. Believe me, I tried. The back of my cupboards are still rammed with self-help guides and meditation CDs, and I have been previously diagnosed with everything from depression to bipolar, although none of the labels ever quite fitted.
That is, until about 10 years ago, when one amazing (female) GP (it only takes one) diagnosed me with anxiety and prescribed a medication that has finally plugged the gap. For the first time in my life, I felt at ease. The worrying natter of my internal world fell silent. I am now able to live the day as a gift, and while I may still wonder at the history and the mystery, I no longer fret about them. It is a joyous thing, to live free from the worry. I would now encourage anyone recognising themselves in your article to talk to their GP.
Tracy Marshall
Sheffield
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