Young people are told they have a kaleidoscope of opportunity, but are fettered by a complete lack of stability Clinical psychologist Alex Fowke defines it as “a period of insecurity, doubt and disappointment surrounding your career, relationships and financial situation” in your 20s. The quarter-life crisis, or my experience of it, manifests itself in me wanting to run away to start again or bury myself in anything that will distract me from my own reality. A very different animal to its middle-aged cousin, mostly because no one aged 26 can afford a vintage Jag and is unlikely to have progressed far enough in their career to have a secretary to shag. I’m in the throes of a quarter-life crisis. The idea that people are “achieving” while I flounder fills me with panic. The smallest things set me off: an Instagram post announcing a friend’s engagement finding out a celebrity I fancy is several years younger than me Monday mornings anyone “living their best life” on a beach. Except, over the past few months they have returned with a vengeance. But, as life settled into a more stable rhythm and I stopped consuming Chekov vodka at the rate of a thirsty Cossack, the attacks all but disappeared. A doctor prescribed beta blockers during my third-year dissertation, which I was too scared to take.
I’ve suffered from anxiety attacks since my first year at university when, with the trusty help of WebMD, I diagnosed myself with late-onset asthma and, on occasion, cardiac arrest. My head began to spin, a familiar tightness seized my chest and the sweat glands in my palms went into overdrive, signalling the beginning of a panic attack that would last the best part of the day. I am 25 and a half single, unable to pay my rent and the closest thing I own to a car is a broken skateboard. “Fuck,” I thought, not for the first time that day.
THE GAME OF LIFE QUARTER LIFE CRISIS TV
These included: own a house in Notting Hill be a successful TV presenter be engaged own a pink Audi TT.
In its angst-riddled pages alongside gripping stories of unrequited love, fake IDs and Lambrini-fuelled exploits, I discovered a list of things I wanted to achieve by the age of 25. L ast week I found my 15-year-old self’s diary.
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