A Grumble

They say you should never write in anger. However, I feel this is the exact time to say what I need to say.

I’m bloody angry. 

I’ve spent years dealing with anxiety and depression. I know who I was before I became unwell. But what is becoming crystal clear now that I’m recovering is just how many people DON’T know who I am.

My mental illness does NOT define me. It is not who I am as a person. It’s merely a set of symptoms and behaviours associated with anxiety and depression. It’s not an intrinsic part of my personality. 

Now that I’m in recovery and making great strides, it really hurts when people say “Oh, that’s not like you!”. They express surprise, even shock, when I do well at work or follow through on something I said I would do. 

They even comment on the fact I wake up in the morning - never mind the fact that I’m a mother to a toddler and wake up every morning anyway?! Plus I’m up several times through the night breastfeeding. So if I’m tired in the morning and choose to sleep for longer, while the father of my child takes over, that doesn’t mean I’m lazy or sleep all the time. It means I’m a tired mum!! 

Yes, my productivity levels have increased. That’s cos I’m in recovery and my brain is no longer struggling to form coherent thoughts through a heavy fog. It’s like I’ve been walking through mud, rain, and fog only for the clouds to clear and the ground to become firm again. The contrast is amazing. You know when you’ve been on the treadmill and you get off and walk on the ground. The feeling of almost walking on air? That’s how I feel now.

It hurts when people make comments saying that I am unreliable, flakey, all talk - why can’t they stop for a moment and consider that maybe, just maybe, that was due to my mental health issues? I may have appeared that way in the past. Maybe I actually was those things before - but that was before, not now. 

The real me is ambitious, driven, passionate, efficient, reliable, productive...

But doubt creeps in. Maybe my memory of who I was is skewed. Maybe I am actually unreliable, lazy and flakey. Maybe I am actually all the things I blamed on my mental illness.

When someone is in recovery, they are still fragile. Their sense of self is being rebuilt. They are still fighting with the demons in their head. That voice saying they will fall again. That they are the manifestations of their mental illness.

If you truly want to support someone going through recovery, don’t make comments on their behaviour/personality/any other changes you note. Because maybe they are just going back to who they were and you never really knew them in the first place. 

Praise them, be positive, support them. Leave the past where it belongs and keep an eye to the future. Accept them for who they are and let them simply be. 

Light & Dark - The Agony & The Ecstasy

I'm lying in my bed watching the sun pour through the window. As I feel its warm rays caress my bare skin, I'm reminded of days when even the sun's warmth could not penetrate the heavy veil of misery enshrouding me. The dark days of depression and anguish.

Today, I'm feeling blessed. I can appreciate the sight of the blue sky outside, with wisps of clouds strolling lazily by.

However, days like this are a double-edged sword. While it is a wonderful feeling to be reminded of my capacity for joy and happiness, it is also a reminder of just how dark those days of depression were.

It is said that light cannot exist without darkness, and vice versa. How true this is. Just how dazzling that light is. How fathomless that darkness is. The contrast is almost unbearable.

You see, while I'm happy to finally be in a place of recovery, it is also a bittersweet experience. The enjoyment of reading a novel after so long not being able to even pick up a book and read, while a wonderful feeling, is also a sad reminder of a time when I was not able to experience that joy.

My brain is working now. I can see and think clearly. Ideas, thoughts and inspiration are pouring out of me, impossible to suppress. Like a river that's been dammed and ready to burst at the banks.

To be at this point in my recovery is like standing at a bend on a mountain path. Able to look back and see where I've been, and to look forward and see how far I have to go. The summit is in sight. I want to run there! But dammit, it's hard work. So close and yet so far.

What no-one tells you about recovery is the pain you feel at every new achievement, every step forward you take. The constant reminders of just how suppressed, how fallen you were. In some ways, it was easier to be depressed and blind to the potential life has to offer - after all, you can't miss what you don't know.

What I am now is hungry. Hungry for joy, passion, life. Having been starved for so long, I now want to make the most of every sunny day. Take those sun beams into my hands and dance, swirling them around my head. More than anything, I want to LIVE - suck the marrow out of life and embrace life for what it has to offer.

After all, what is living if not taking the rough with the smooth, the sweet with the sour, the highs with the lows? What is life if not agony and ecstasy all at once?

Time to Talk...

I'm writing this as a friend sent me a link to this BBC article. Thursday 2nd February was Time to Talk Day, which aims to remove the stigma surrounding mental health.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-38814377

Reading the stories touched me. People spoke of how they had lost jobs, friends, relationships because of their illness and the lack of support and understanding. I could empathise because it happened to me too.

Yes, I'm coming out as someone with mental health issues *rolls eyes* Like it's even something to come out about.

Just to get one thing straight before I continue, EVERYONE has mental health just like physical health, We all get colds right? Same goes for mental health. We can have bad days where we feel a little "meh". Sometimes we get seriously ill like cancer. Same goes for mental health, where you could get depression.  And I don't mean "Oh I'm so depressed, my favourite band just broke up". I mean "Life is not worth living. I feel no joy. The world is better off without me". That kind. The true kind. We ALL have mental health. I repeat myself as I really want to press home this point, The question is how good our mental health is and how we and others react when it starts declining.

Looking back over the years, I recognise that I have had periods of ill mental health. When I was a teenager, I was full of rage and self-loathing. Such a cliche. But it was a dark period. I self-harmed because it was the only way to release all those dark churning emotions. I cried myself to sleep at night cos I didn't want to be me, I didn't want to feel those things anymore.

You want to know what I remember the most, looking back? It's not the pain and self-loathing or the pillows soaked with tears. It's how my family reacted. They said I wasn't "right in the head", and that I was fucked up. Even now, they bring up what an "horrible person" I was back then. As if it was a personal failing on my part.

As a new graduate, I started a new job as a rehabilitation co-therapist (posh word for mental health support worker) at a mental health hospital. It was there I discovered just how non-supportive the workplace can be. At the time I started the job, I was having issues with my brother who was drinking and living with me. I made the hospital aware so they could hopefully understand when I couldn't make it to work. After all, they specialise in mental health right? They would surely understand right? ....

There were times I really struggled to get out of bed. The shifts were long, 7am to 7.30pm. I lived more than an hour away by public transport. So this meant waking at 5am. Anyone who has experienced depression will understand this when I say it was a fucking massive achievement to arrive at work albeit five minutes late. Even at all! But all I got was a bollocking for being five minutes late. Zero understanding. Eventually I quit because I just couldn't face it anymore. Looking back, I can identify that I was suffering from anxiety. At the time, I had no label for the paralysing sensation I experienced when I tried to go to work.

The next workplace was amazing - I was still suffering lingering issues. My manager sat me down and offered his support, explaining about counselling and flexible working. That changed everything. I started counselling for nearly a year and was given time off to attend the sessions. And it really really helped. I was finally able to identify the self-destructive habits I was engaging in. They may have changed from when I was a teenager but still self destructive nonetheless.

I'll share one thing about this. The counsellor asked me why I stayed up late knowing that I had work the next day. I shrugged. Because I couldn't sleep?? She said it was because I didn't value myself enough, that I was engaging in a behaviour that would ultimately make things harder for myself i.e. wake up late for work and thus berate myself for it and continuing the cycle of self-hatred.

Sounds so obvious, doesn't it? But it was a light-bulb moment for me. Identifying behaviours can be the first step towards changing for the better. And so it was for me.

Thus followed a period of happy years where I met someone, fell in love, started my dream career, got engaged, bought a house nadanada.

Then it all started going wrong. I experienced a difficult time at work and developed anxiety. Which then turned into depression.

"How to Lose Friends and Alienate People" ?? Become depressed, Watch as people around you struggle to understand and deal with your moods. Watch as they drift away. Feel even shittier as you convince yourself it's your fault and you're worthless.

Shit. Didn't mean to vomit all this onto here. But perhaps it's just as well. After all, people should know this kind of stuff right?

Anyone who knows me should (hopefully) know that I am not one to wallow - except for the occasional bad day where I'll hide under the duvet. I am a problem-solver. I like to think positively. I like to keep moving forward and think of Plan B, C, D and so on....I'm currently on Plan E, ha. But I'm still here and still fighting. I WILL get better. I AM getting better.

But....I'm angry. I'm angry that my family said I was fucked up. That I wasn't right in the head. I'm angry that my mother's sister killed herself having suffered anxiety and depression for years. That despite this, my mother still does not understand how debilitating it can be.

I'm angry that I've lost a career I loved, and that I was treated appallingly by so-called professionals who really should have known better. I'm angry that my plans changed.

And yet...I've learnt so much about myself, other people and life. I now have a beautiful baby girl, good friends who have stuck by me through the dark periods, a supportive partner. I'm even still great friends with my ex-fiance who is still in my life. I'm very lucky.

However, I'm keenly aware that it could be so different. I try to be open about my health issues so people can learn from it and break the stigma. You'd be surprised how many people are going through a silent battle. The cry of "Me too!" is something I've heard so many times.

What I want all of you to take from this post is this....
1. Mental health is something we all have - good and bad.
2. Talking helps. Addressing issues head on helps. Don't avoid them.
3. If you don't understand what someone is going through, research it. Ask them how you can help.
4. Offer support whether it's professional or personal. You'd be surprised how effective a cup of tea or a hug is at brightening even the darkest of days.
5. Most importantly, don't be an ignorant dick. Mental health issues are not something to be glossed over or ignored or joked about. They are real and painful. Be kind.

It's time to talk. It's time to remove the stigma of mental ill health for once and for all. I have mental health issues. I choose to stand up and be counted. Will you??

My Self

So... Where to begin? 

I wanted my blog to be about my personal journey so it's rather apt I'm writing this post while on an actual journey. I'm on my way to spend a week away with friends. Camping, fresh air, walking, laughter - just what the doctor ordered!

I'm reflecting on the journey I've made in the past two years particularly. For many reasons, it's been a wonderful and also painful time. I've loved and lost, gained new opportunities, seen others fall by the wayside. But most of all, I've learned a lot about myself. 

So what have I learned, you ask? Well...

I've learnt that I give away a piece of my soul with everything I do, and when things don't work out, it hurts like hell. Even something as seemingly mundane as a job. I've also learned that I'd rather it was this way than do something I don't believe in with every part of me. No do-overs, no regrets.

However, my passion for life has come at a price. I've lost people close to me because they couldn't handle my intensity. I've even been told that I'm "too much". Too much of what exactly? Simply that. Too much.

But what the hell does that mean? To have the life I crave and yearn for, does that mean I have to be a diluted version of myself? I tried that for a while and realised that it was simply unsustainable. I exhausted myself. 

I recall an English lesson once where the teacher was talking about growing up and getting older. He was my favourite teacher, and I learned a lot from him. Not just the beauty of literature, but of life itself. He made words dance and sing across the page, all the while throwing in snippets of insight about anything and everything. 

He was brought up strictly Roman Catholic. He told us that no matter how hard we may try, our true self will always find us and "grab us by the throat". Years since, I now realise he was talking about himself, and his sexual identity. However, those words have stayed with me. No matter how hard I try to please others, I simply cannot be anyone else other than me. It may seem obvious but it's taken me a while to learn this the hard way. Ironically, this teacher is now a priest...perhaps there's a lesson there about the influence of our upbringing??

Nevertheless, one cannot deny the truth of those words. I am me. Nothing more, nothing less. I'm passionate, impulsive, demanding, mercurial, cynical, romantic, angry, loving, full of good yet unfulfilled intentions. And more. Oh, so much more.

I suppose I'm beginning this blog again with the acknowledgement of my self. My beautiful, messy self. My self that is a work in progress by an inexperienced artist armed with nothing more than curiosity, passion and the unrelenting desire for more. More of what, we don't know. Just...more. 

Do not press....!

Why, oh why do I insist on procrastinating? Why do I leave super-important things to the last minute and cause myself hair-pulling, lip-chewing, piercing-fiddling stress and anxiety?

I mean, I know what's good for me, and what I should do. After all, I'm a "mature, young adult" (apparently). I'm reasonably successful at holding down a job, managing bills and all the little things that make up "adulthood". And yet I trip over stupid little things. Like that membership I keep intending to apply for, that big bottle of bubble bath I need to replace, picking up that piece of paper on the floor - you get the picure.

I suspect it's all down to my tendency to press that shiny red self-destruct button with "Do Not Press" emblazoned underneath it. You know how it is. Someone tells you not to laugh, and somehow you get this uncontrollable urge to do just that. It's the same with the shiny red button. Tempting you, seducing you with its ruby hue and forbidden status. It's like a bar of Munchies. You know, the ones with "You Know You Want To" written on the side. I know I shouldn't press the button. But damn, do I want to!

Ok, so I don't go out partying until dawn every night, drinking myself into oblivion. I don't tell my boss to go **** himself. I don't walk around causing public disorder, starting riots and whatnot. I don't do anything illegal (I think!!). But the tendency to be self-destructive is not limited to major things like all the examples I listed just now. It applies to doing things (or not doing things) you know you shouldn't (or should do). Like right now. I'm stressing cos of a deadline that's fast approaching, with relatively little done. I could have avoided this so easily. How? By being nice to myself, through being proactive and thus allowing myself to have a stress-free existence. It's my own fault for leaving what I had to do to the very last minute. It may come as a surprise to some, but that knowledge is of scant comfort...!

DO NOT PRESS

So, in the meantime, I'll breathe through the stress and meet the deadline, ploughing through what has to be done. And I'll tell myself, firmly, that this is the last time. That I will be more organised. That I will remember the crappy feeling associated with exactly this kind of situation. "I.will.be.nice.to.myself." - my current mantra, repeated through gritted teeth.

But, oh, what's that? Flashing in the corner of my eye? My nemesis, aka SRBSD, aka Shiny Red Button of Self-Destruction! Nooooo.....!!

Friendship

Friendship is...
A guiding hand through all your troubles
A smile to light up your world
A light at the end of the tunnel
A signpost in the middle of nowhere
Such a bond no others can share
Such a love no others can compare

Going nowhere?