My mum tried to help with my anxiety by buying me a teddy—a companion, someone who I could tell my worries to. But you only had to look at the bear to see that he had some serious issues. His eyebrows were knitted (in both senses), his little mouth was wonky, and his ears looked extremely perturbed. I named him Anxious Bear. I tried to help him, but this was a bear with multiple neuroses. He was fucked up. He was scared of heights, scared of noises, scared of being alone, scared of other people . . . he worried about illness, about death, about a meteor hitting the planet. He was one
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