The first time I went to see a therapist, she asked me why I had come. I said, “My goblins are hyperactive.” My negative thoughts – or as I call them, my goblins – were running riot. Any time I’d try to write, a goblin would pop up in my mind’s eye: a snarling, pot-bellied widget (imagine the antithesis of a helpful Microsoft paperclip).
“I see you’re writing a resignation letter,” it would say.
“No,” I’d reply. “I’m just writing an article.”
“I have scanned this document for quality and humour and I see you’re writing a resignation letter.”
If I tried to phone a friend, a goblin would answer first: “Bothering your friends with your issues again? You’re embarrassing yourself.” I’d hang up.
“Usually,” I explained to my therapist, “I can handle one or two goblins. They’re susceptible to drowning in booze. And they’re distracted by Netflix. But when they team up, when all my negative thoughts interact with each other, they create an impossible hurdle. That’s when I feel overwhelmed. That’s when I feel hopeless.”
The therapist advised me to find support, and tell others about my goblins, which I did. My old schoolfriends responded as expected: “I should punch that goblin right in the nut!” said Clara. Auntie B offered me an exorcism, which I declined. And Mum told me she’s seen it many times; that we live in a maddening world and if there is one thing I can learn from Bollywood melodrama, it is that it’s good to cry.
My goblins still visit – I expect they always will – but I’ve learned to manage them. As the apocryphal “Blue Monday” approaches – 21 January, supposedly the most depressing day of the year – I’m sharing my best adult learning yet: if you’re struggling, ask for help.
