I was born in the late seventies and grew up in Stoke Gabriel, a sleepy village in The South Hams. After graduating from Cardiff University in 2002, I began a career in writing funded by temporary office work. My anxiety began in my early twenties, when I started to reel from the effects of panic attacks. Without order, the chaos in my head was, and still is – something that I need to address. OCD is still a problem.

At 21, after my world began to fall apart at the seams, I attempted to get some of these ideas down on paper, but quickly scrapped it. I can only put this down to youthful impatience, and perhaps a disbelief in myself, my ‘skills’ as a writer, and perhaps more importantly – the state of mind that I found myself in. Memories can be twisted – for better or worse.

Before I moved to London in 2006, I was having real problems. Panic, anxiety – and subsequent depression, were peppered with an increasing feeling of alienation and an inability to cope with what was fast becoming a more severe form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

Having gone down many self help routes in the previous 10 years, and thinking that maybe I was “fixed”, this dramatic downfall in my mental state caused me concern, yet also served as a significant catalyst for change.

I began to read, what I now consider the “other side” of self help. Heller, Bauby, Haddon…. I could engage and empathise with these characters. The fusion of self help/fiction books is a new phenomena, but the notion that by reading a story based on fact, with characters that people are able to empathise with, could possibly help the reader is fast becoming more accepted.

I undertook an intensive course of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy that both drained and revitalised me in equal measure. Using the techniques I learnt from this, and inspired by my reading, I began the painstaking task of developing my ideas for a book.

After leaving an office job in January 2007, I found myself unable to sleep, and on a particularly rushed journey to Devon, I pulled over at a service station and began to write. The next eight weeks were spent writing, and drinking coffee. I don’t remember sleeping - I don’t remember seeing friends.

I am an intensely private person, and therefore when attempting to relive some of my experiences, I felt more comfortable in transferring them to a new character and setting - hence, the idea behind my debut novel. The characterisation of what I consider to be – at times, my driving force, is critical. Perversely, it is only by distancing myself from my anxiety, that I can be truly honest.

The mind is a powerful tool – we are all a walking result of the sum of our experiences. Our hopes and fears we take with us on our journey. We are living on a knife edge, and the cosy surroundings and sometimes puerile relationships that we grow hold us together like glue. So much of life is being held together by a thread, and most folk don’t let that thread simply be. You either toy with it, watching it fray, or you strengthen it.

If the planning stages of my writing work took years, the actual process – albeit a messy period, was a short affair . I am now (cautiously) optimistic about my future. Life is full of possibilities, and doors are beginning to open. I would like to be able to define myself as a writer, rather than allow my anxiety to define me.