Trust Me, I'm Dr Ozzy (24 page)

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

My friends have started to tell me that I’m way too paranoid—about my boss, my girlfriend, the government… you name it. Isn’t a bit of paranoia good for you, though?

Jamie, New York

No. Being paranoid’s a terrible way to live. For example: every so often when I get on a plane, I convince myself that it’s doomed, and that everyone’s gonna die. So I spend the whole twelve hours in the air sweating and trying to stop my heart jumping out of my ribcage… which is a total waste of time, ’cos my panic attack ain’t exactly gonna stop a bomb going off, or the autopilot breaking down. I mean, I suppose you could argue that being a worrier makes you more likely to live longer, but if you’re feeling paranoid 24/7, what kind of life are you living anyway? It ain’t comfortable for the people around you, either—especially not if you’re giving your girlfriend the Gestapo treatment every time she comes home. Listen to your mates and chill out, man.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

Can you finally explain why is it so bloody hard for men to cry?

Abigail, Wexham

It’s not that it’s hard, it’s just that we don’t particularly enjoy it. I mean, yeah, every now and again—like once a decade—a good old cry clears the air. But it ain’t something your average bloke wants to do on a regular basis, ’cos it’s exhausting. Women, on the other hand, can’t seem to get enough of it. For example: my wife insists on going to see these awful films—“slurpies,” I call ’em—where you spend the whole time feeling like your gran’s just died. I can still remember the last one I was dragged to:
The Notebook
. By the time the credits rolled, I was just about having a nervous breakdown—then I thought to myself, “Why am I sitting here, in darkened room, feeling all unnecessarily choked up?” When I looked over at Sharon, she was even more puffy-faced and snotty than I was. Then she goes, “Oooh, wasn’t that brilliant, Ozzy?” At moments like that, I think that men and women might as well be from different universes.

Hi Dr. Ozzy:

I suffer from a condition known as bipolar, which makes me impulsive and harm people when I don’t mean to. It started when my father began drinking a case of beer every night. He would get rowdy and mean and drive me to school when he was drunk. Now he’s divorcing my sweet mom. Could this be the cause of my problems?

Christina, Texas

I strongly suggest you find a good therapist. And by that I mean someone who has in-depth knowledge of bipolar—not your local GP, who’ll probably tell you to take an aspirin and sleep it off. I’m not bipolar myself, but I’ve been to the dark side more than a few occasions, and therapy has helped me a great deal over the years. It basically gives you a different view of the things you think might have caused your problems—like your old man’s drinking—’cos when you’re in the depths of a mental freak-out, you often don’t understand why, and you end up blaming it on the stuff and the people around you. In other words, you end up telling yourself that the way you
see
the world is the way it is… when in reality your problems could have been caused by one of many, many things. You might also need anti-depressants, or some other kind of drug, but—as strange as this might sound coming from an addict like me—I honestly believe that in your case, therapy is the best medication. Or at least it’s a good first step.

DR. OZZY’S INSANE-BUT-TRUE STORIES

History’s Biggest Nutters

Joan of Arc:
Cross-dressing French teenager who led armies into battle and got burned at the stake—at an age when the worst thing most chicks have to deal with is Bieber Fever. Some think her “visions from God” were caused by bovine tuberculosis, from unpasteurized milk.

Pythagoras:
Brainy Greek. Loved animals and triangles. Also fucking crazy. For example: the guy was totally freaked out by beans. Good job he never had to sit in a confined area with me after a burrito.

Charles the Mad:
French king who thought he was made of glass (he had his pants reinformed with iron bars in case he fell over and shattered). The guy was so nuts, he couldn’t even remember his own name. I feel sorry for the poor fucker who had to keeping reminding him: “Your Royal Highness’s name is
Charles the Mad
, Sir.”

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart:
Totally mental German composer. Suffered from attention deficit disorder, bipolar disorder, and Tourette’s syndrome. The real title of
Piano Concerto No. 24 in C-Minor
is actually
Piano Concerto No. 24 in C-Fucking Minor, You Asshole
.

Lord Byron:
English poet. Mad as a bag of pissed-off ferrets. Had a pet bear at college—and a litterbox the size of Buckingham Palace. Later, when he got bored of writing soppy verses, he formed his own navy and declared war on the Turks. (This is true, honestly.) Then he caught a cold and died.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I can’t control my temper. I finally realised this when I recently spent the night in jail after punching someone in the face for “looking at me funny.” What can I do to calm myself down?

Graham, Yorkshire

Generally speaking, people don’t just wake up angry. There’s got to be an underlying cause—something in your past, or maybe even just anxiety. Anger is a
symptom
. Beer also fuels anger: once, a long time ago, I hit someone with a bottle in a pub when I was blasted out of my mind, and it still haunts me to this day. So if you drink, you’d better think about stopping immediately. If I were you, I’d also get some anger management therapy. If you think that sounds like a joke from an Adam Sandler movie, wait and see how funny it is when you hit someone again and get 20 years for grievous bodily harm.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

A few months ago I was laid-off from the company I’d been with for ten years, and although I’ve found another job since—with better opportunities—I can’t stop dwelling on how I was let go, and it’s making me grumpy and depressed. Should I see a shrink?

Mark, Cleethorpes

I know exactly how you feel, Mark. I was fired by my old band, Black Sabbath, in 1979. I mean, granted, I was a horrendous alcoholic—but it wasn’t like they were all fucking choirboys, either. Just to make things worse, it was my best friend Bill Ward who broke the news to me. I can’t remember the specifics, ’cos I was shitfaced on beer and cognac on the day it happened, but I’ll never forget how bad it felt. After ten years, you’re practically married to what you do for a living. When you’re given the boot, it’s like going through a divorce—even if you know in your heart it’s the right thing. It might be that you’re just angry, in which case I would definitely recommend going to see a shrink. Otherwise, getting over it will just take time. Whatever you do, don’t try and vent your frustrations in other ways. In my case, I set fire to my back garden, shot all my chickens, and went to the pub, but it only made me feel worse.

I still feel bad for the poor chickens to this day.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I have a terrible, gnawing sense of dread about the state of the world—in particular the environment. (According to the news, this has been the wettest\driest\hottest\coldest winter on record for just about any country you care to mention.) Is this anxiety normal? Is there
anything
any of us can really do about it?

Carel, Dubai

Number one: stop watching the TV or browsing the internet. Number two: replace the time you’ve been spending doing those thing with something healthier and more constructive. Me, I like to draw. Just doodles, really. But it’s a great release. Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t saying we should all just bury our heads in the sand. But the point of the news is to keep you watching the news—so they only focus on the most horrendous stuff. If you’re sensitive to it, you can literally make yourself sick. In fact, I once heard about a guy who had inoperable cancer, and he went to a Chinese doctor, who told him, “Here’s what I want you to do: get rid of your TV, get rid of your radio, switch off your computer. Just focus on the positive.” After three months, he was in remission. I ain’t saying he was cured by giving up
News at Ten
. But I bet it made him a lot happier.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

My GP recently put me on anti-depressants. Are there any side-effects I should know about?

David, Surrey

Anti-depressants are fabulous things, David, but they’ll play havoc with your meat and two veg. I’ve been taking them for years and what I’ve found is, I can get a boner, but no fireworks. So I just end up pumping away on top of Sharon like a road drill all night. I tried Viagra once, but by the time it kicked in, the missus was fast asleep. So it was just me and this tent pole in front of me, with nothing to do but watch the History Channel.