Sometimes things happen that really shouldn't. They have little rhyme or reason. The toolkit of emotional responses and coping strategies that you carry as an adult suddenly look rather useless and pathetic. You look to others to maybe help out, but they too are woefully under prepared. I feel like a fish, flapping on the dirt, after being rudely thrown out of the stream onto the river bank. There is nobody willing or able to chuck me back in, as they too are further down the bank flapping away, gasping in anxiety and dread.
Something terrible happened. Thankfully my family and kids are OK, and we live to tell the tale. Someone else didn't. And it's funny because normally I can be quite forthright and vocal if I am experiencing justified anger. However in this instance, my anger in particular, has been quiet and measured. My personal and geographical landscape is forever changed and making loads of noise seems like a self obsessed luxury that I do not wish to indulge in.
Coming from a background of some difficulty gives you things, like coping behaviours. Some of my behaviours are unhelpful and skewed. But some, as I learned very recently, are actually quite helpful. Like recognising danger and unpredictability, pushing through fear to do something that is positive and right, not judging others in fear but practising compassion, support and love.
However, when you hand over some of that power and skills to people who profess to be professional, in a position of trust and power or security, you hope that they will honour your truth and experience and carry it to a place where goodness and safety will be achieved. In this instance, that didn't happen. For whatever reason, my 11 years of experience did not win out, versus 24 hours of snapshots of people who could make decisions that would affect so many lives.
I did my best, or so I have been told by many people. But I feel let down, incredibly sad and dis-empowered. So I will keep it very simple. Keep it in the day, rest and take it easy. I will be gentle with me and my community and maybe eventually we will adjust to what is.
I am grateful.
Sunday, 26 February 2017
Tuesday, 21 February 2017
Metamorphosis - Franz Kafka's Gregor actually returns to "normal". Only 1 swear word.
OK so in "Metamorphosis" by Franz Kafka, Gregor, the salesman, wakes up one day and has turned into some weird kind of bug. Just go with it..... His family cannot adjust or accept his change; what it means for their relationships, the impact on their home and the embarrassment they experience of other people in their circle of friends and life in general. Although it was written in 1915, it's an amazing parallel of mental illness arriving uninvited into a family setting and ruining the gentle world in which everyone was just getting on, blissfully unaware of any potential chaos and fear. Sadly in this scenario, Gregor gives up, and for what he feels is the greater good, goes into his room and dies. Sound familiar anyone?
So why am I going on about this? I had a lovely chat with someone yesterday about transformation, letting go and moving into newness. Metamorphosis, transformation or change, involves a process of fear and letting go. Even if you don't believe in God, in changing you have to step out into the unknown with a degree of "faith" in the hope and expectation that something good may come of your exercise in positive risk taking. It's either that, or fester in the rut of comfortable suffering.
We talked about tadpole to frog. The tadpole may never believe that it could live without water or a tail. But, as it forces its way upward to the meniscus, new legs popping out of its side, tail diminishing, there is a beautiful resistance between old an new; friction as it presses its face towards sunshine and fresh air and explodes through an invisible barrier. And in its arrival into the new universe, surprisingly it finds it can breathe, jump on lily pads, eat flies with a very long and exciting tongue and generally have a whole new experience. The struggle was real, but it was worth it. And our frog can still dip into the water, know it's depths and challenges, but it no longer needs to spend its whole life there. He has been transformed.
For me, living with a debilitating mental illness makes me feel like I have been cloaked in otherness. I wear the insect like exoskeleton. Although I am me, it's not the uninhibited real me. Whilst poorly and attempting recovery, I push against the invisible film surrounding me and fight to break out of the constraints to reconnect and to breathe effortlessly. In this space, I am Kafka's constricting, life limiting insect. Whilst suicidal, I am the tadpole, sitting on the algae in the bottom of the pond, wholly believing that I will never reach the surface again. I consider going to my bedroom and not returning.
However, I find myself more recently, throwing off the shackles that have held me back and am spending more time on the lily pad. The things I believed were helpful or necessary have been discarded in order for me to grow skills for the world of the well. And although this process is uncomfortable, fear provoking and throws everyone I know into mild disarray, it has been worthwhile. I am beginning to feel "normal".
The biggest indicator of this transformation is when my Mum and sister recently saw me (In the real flesh sense and by photo) and both commented, "Oh, you actually look like you!". A sentence of 6 words, encompassing 10 years of hard work, struggle, terror and a "Fuck you mental illness" attitude.
Struggling with the invisible monster is a daily occurrence. The degree of struggle varies, but it doesn't disappear. Wellness, recovery and happiness are achievable. I know it isn't that way for everyone, but for me, giving it a go is everything. The desire to really live is strong. Existing for me is not enough. SO I will keep showing up, and if you think I don't really look like me, I am still there. Maybe I just need you to recognise my struggle and walk with me patiently whilst I readjust between pond and pad, exoskeleton and the glorious nakedness and freedom of wellness.
So why am I going on about this? I had a lovely chat with someone yesterday about transformation, letting go and moving into newness. Metamorphosis, transformation or change, involves a process of fear and letting go. Even if you don't believe in God, in changing you have to step out into the unknown with a degree of "faith" in the hope and expectation that something good may come of your exercise in positive risk taking. It's either that, or fester in the rut of comfortable suffering.
We talked about tadpole to frog. The tadpole may never believe that it could live without water or a tail. But, as it forces its way upward to the meniscus, new legs popping out of its side, tail diminishing, there is a beautiful resistance between old an new; friction as it presses its face towards sunshine and fresh air and explodes through an invisible barrier. And in its arrival into the new universe, surprisingly it finds it can breathe, jump on lily pads, eat flies with a very long and exciting tongue and generally have a whole new experience. The struggle was real, but it was worth it. And our frog can still dip into the water, know it's depths and challenges, but it no longer needs to spend its whole life there. He has been transformed.
For me, living with a debilitating mental illness makes me feel like I have been cloaked in otherness. I wear the insect like exoskeleton. Although I am me, it's not the uninhibited real me. Whilst poorly and attempting recovery, I push against the invisible film surrounding me and fight to break out of the constraints to reconnect and to breathe effortlessly. In this space, I am Kafka's constricting, life limiting insect. Whilst suicidal, I am the tadpole, sitting on the algae in the bottom of the pond, wholly believing that I will never reach the surface again. I consider going to my bedroom and not returning.
However, I find myself more recently, throwing off the shackles that have held me back and am spending more time on the lily pad. The things I believed were helpful or necessary have been discarded in order for me to grow skills for the world of the well. And although this process is uncomfortable, fear provoking and throws everyone I know into mild disarray, it has been worthwhile. I am beginning to feel "normal".
Normal- noun
- 1.the usual, typical, or expected state or condition. Or maybe not the whole 9 yards eh?
The biggest indicator of this transformation is when my Mum and sister recently saw me (In the real flesh sense and by photo) and both commented, "Oh, you actually look like you!". A sentence of 6 words, encompassing 10 years of hard work, struggle, terror and a "Fuck you mental illness" attitude.
Struggling with the invisible monster is a daily occurrence. The degree of struggle varies, but it doesn't disappear. Wellness, recovery and happiness are achievable. I know it isn't that way for everyone, but for me, giving it a go is everything. The desire to really live is strong. Existing for me is not enough. SO I will keep showing up, and if you think I don't really look like me, I am still there. Maybe I just need you to recognise my struggle and walk with me patiently whilst I readjust between pond and pad, exoskeleton and the glorious nakedness and freedom of wellness.
Monday, 20 February 2017
It's been 10 years - lets have a review!!!!!
I realised yesterday that it's been pretty much 10 years since I entered secondary care services and first experienced a psychiatrist, cpn's and the whole system of mental health provision. In hindsight, which as we know is a beautiful tool, I could never have imagined the journey I have been on. When they told me at my initial assessment they'd like to keep me in services for a little while to assess my symptoms, I assumed the whole cycle would take 6 months to a year. I had no inkling that 10 years down the road I would still be turning up at the cedars centre (Not a gentle old peoples home) and sitting in the crappy reception with it's water dispenser and oddly inappropriate magazines. So lets have a recap!
I have taken:
Citalopram
Quetiapine
Abilify
Procyclidine
Propananol
Valporate semi sodium
Lithium
Lamotragine
I have received:
12 sessions of Understanding depression cbt
12 sessions of Understanding low self esteem cbt
3 sessions of exposure therapy (trying not to avoid bleach, glass, knives, boiling water etc. in daily living)
3 sessions of mindfulness (But had to stop as I was so sedated by quetiapine I kept falling asleep; I did come off that stuff.)
5 sessions of family intervention with Ian
1 session of Schema and domain work
5 days respite during crisis
Crisis team intervention twice
A cpn on and off for 2 years - 3 different people
Recovery college courses living with bipolar, anxiety management, comedy and creative writing
6 different psychiatrists
3 manic episodes lasting up to 4 days
What I have done:
Not drank alcohol
Not taken illicit or unprescribed medication
Not actually attempted suicide even though it's been a bit dicey a few times
Asked for help and done what was suggested by professional people
Fought discrimination and stigma
Tried to be unafraid and rooted in faith
Been rigorously honest (Which doesn't always go down so well when your intrusive thoughts tell you to do incredibly random stuff and you share it with your husband!)
Attempted optimism and hope in the darkest of times
Forced myself to parent, show up to the business of living and try really hard to have a recovery centred, solution focused life
Smashed the odd plate and used the C word (By the way Christian friends that wouldn't be the Christ word sadly :) )
Reached out to others and tried to express how it really is for me in the hope that I might be understood
Sometimes I wonder how on earth I have got through it, survived it and am still here to tell the tale. I got fat, got thin, got fat; my hair fell out; I slept all the time then couldn't actually sleep at all. I got a rash that they thought was life threatening. I had a psychiatrist who told me I was really ill and needed to do nothing except sit and get well, but wrote on my notes that I was in remission and needed no help. Someone told me how to hang myself properly (That was the day of the guy who had tried to remove his eye with a spoon), have been held and prayed for and felt love that is so strong it has kept me wanting to live. I have run about a work office like an insane person and heard voices.
My mood barometre is bouncy and flutters erratically, but in amongst the peaks and troughs, I am living and engaging and attempting all that boring normal stuff that some people take for granted. Never under estimate the power of the ordinary. And never doubt that God isn't in the very fabric of your every breathe and heartbeat.
I have taken:
Citalopram
Quetiapine
Abilify
Procyclidine
Propananol
Valporate semi sodium
Lithium
Lamotragine
I have received:
12 sessions of Understanding depression cbt
12 sessions of Understanding low self esteem cbt
3 sessions of exposure therapy (trying not to avoid bleach, glass, knives, boiling water etc. in daily living)
3 sessions of mindfulness (But had to stop as I was so sedated by quetiapine I kept falling asleep; I did come off that stuff.)
5 sessions of family intervention with Ian
1 session of Schema and domain work
5 days respite during crisis
Crisis team intervention twice
A cpn on and off for 2 years - 3 different people
Recovery college courses living with bipolar, anxiety management, comedy and creative writing
6 different psychiatrists
3 manic episodes lasting up to 4 days
What I have done:
Not drank alcohol
Not taken illicit or unprescribed medication
Not actually attempted suicide even though it's been a bit dicey a few times
Asked for help and done what was suggested by professional people
Fought discrimination and stigma
Tried to be unafraid and rooted in faith
Been rigorously honest (Which doesn't always go down so well when your intrusive thoughts tell you to do incredibly random stuff and you share it with your husband!)
Attempted optimism and hope in the darkest of times
Forced myself to parent, show up to the business of living and try really hard to have a recovery centred, solution focused life
Smashed the odd plate and used the C word (By the way Christian friends that wouldn't be the Christ word sadly :) )
Reached out to others and tried to express how it really is for me in the hope that I might be understood
Sometimes I wonder how on earth I have got through it, survived it and am still here to tell the tale. I got fat, got thin, got fat; my hair fell out; I slept all the time then couldn't actually sleep at all. I got a rash that they thought was life threatening. I had a psychiatrist who told me I was really ill and needed to do nothing except sit and get well, but wrote on my notes that I was in remission and needed no help. Someone told me how to hang myself properly (That was the day of the guy who had tried to remove his eye with a spoon), have been held and prayed for and felt love that is so strong it has kept me wanting to live. I have run about a work office like an insane person and heard voices.
My mood barometre is bouncy and flutters erratically, but in amongst the peaks and troughs, I am living and engaging and attempting all that boring normal stuff that some people take for granted. Never under estimate the power of the ordinary. And never doubt that God isn't in the very fabric of your every breathe and heartbeat.
Friday, 27 January 2017
The healing of the blind man - Some God talk today people
9 As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. 2 His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
3 “Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him. John 9 1-3
________________________________________________________________
These three verses sum up the last couple of days for me. It is interesting that as human beings, we struggle and resist difficulty and suffering. We cry out against emotional discomfort and seek a quick fix. We run away from things that might challenge us too deeply for fear of change, rejection or of people laughing at us.
I am sometimes asked if I have a) Asked to be healed, b) If I have demon activity going on and a need to be freed/released or c) Why haven't you been healed (Inferring I am doing something horribly wrong or it's my fault!) The way my body is made when I am born is by a combination of DNA from 2 people. It's a physical manifestation of a body, in the physical world. Spiritually, at that point, I am dormant, and awaiting a reboot from the divine. In biblical terms this is a fallen world, where humans are spiritually disconnected from God, and through the correct use of the will, we can return to that relationship by seeking a covenant with Christ, accepting his sacrifice and our salvation. Then, by the Holy Spirit, I am reconnected through the spiritual switchboard to God, where He has been waiting eagerly for me to sign in for conversations, gifts of the spirit and the odd miracle. He didn't want to force me. He wanted me to come by choice. To some of you this is either ridiculous, on a parallel with Santa and faeries, or the best thing since sliced bread. Some waver between these states.
But what I am getting at is that actually, I don't need to know why I have bipolar. I don't need to find out if it was drugs that did it, genetics, my environment or all of the above. My brain chemicals are just disordered. What I become aware of more and more through this journey, is that my illness is an opportunity to get to know God more intimately. I can resist His intervention, believing that I know the answers or that if I try hard enough it might go away. Or I can try and perceive my situation from a spiritual perspective and see, in amongst the madness, where God is at work and laying out a discreet plan of action for me. I can let Him reveal to me where He is honing me, encouraging me, putting people in my path, granting me wisdom or divine guidance. It is also an opportunity for me to nurture and foster a genuine spiritual relationship. Not one where I go about judging everyone and being pious like some weird Christian legalistic biblical Olympian. But one where I listen, He speaks. I speak, He listens. We journey together. I am trying to live the parable. Bipolar happened and God's work is now being revealed in me. What that means is that I am not beholden to my illness. I am not a victim of it. I can use it as a tool. I can be a living testimony to God's love and powerful Holy spirit.
When I was in deep depression relapse in July 2015, my thought processes were very dark and suicide was on the cards. I remember being on my knees, head on the floor and completely submitting myself to God as I had felt totally overwhelmed by the power of my mind. In the acute darkness, God revealed to me the cross. I was placed on a plinth, laying quietly at it's base covered by a sheet, resting and at peace. The light illuminated Christ in splendour above me, and God gently told me that the sacrificial work had already been done. Dying was not what I needed to do and He would honour my life and continue to restore me through this period of terror and despair.
God has never abandoned me and I trust His will in my life implicitly. For me my faith is not a convenient idle crutch, or a way of elevating myself above you. It is a living, breathing, active relationship and in my illness I have been able to access something deep and meaningful beyond my wildest dreams.
I don't know whether healing or a cure is on the cards for me. I sometimes resent the illness and it's consequences, but wild flowers can grown amongst the most broken rocks. I will keep allowing the spirit to work in me, and if I am lucky, you will see the face of Christ in my life and recovery.
Monday, 23 January 2017
Glimpses of the bigger picture
Have you ever experienced that space between sleeping and awake, when you think you've dropped off but actually you can still hear things and have random thoughts flying around your mind? This happens to me quite a bit as I struggle with sleeping these days. However, what happens in that suspended reality state is that images and subconscious thoughts materialise from the hidden parts of my psyche, as well as symbolic memories and connections that reveal deeper truths about my life. Cool eh!
So last night, I had a huge experiential memory moment laying there in the darkness, and a realisation of how that past moment gave me a glimpse into what was happening in the now. As a caveat, we have decorated the bedroom so it could be the wall paper paste and gloss, but it still felt meaningful and uplifting. I felt amazed and moved.
(Warning - I'm about to share a memory about drug use about 25 years ago so if you aren't up for it, exit now!)
So I took LSD once. (Or maybe more than once, but that's another story). I remember going up to the common in the inky darkness. It was very early in the morning about 4 a.m, very cold and my breathe misted in front of me. I was wrapped up warm and didn't actually have a plan or direction. I found myself in a large circular clearing, trees around the edges, and lots of knee length heather. I spreadeagled on the ground and looked skyward and was completely overwhelmed by the sight above me. As I lay there, I was surrounded by a fringe of leaves, edging a huge dome of the universe above me, which on one side was black with bright stars, then graduating from left to right from an Indian ink navy blue, all the way through to red, and orange and yellow as the sun peeked it's head above the tree line. I felt like I could see the whole world in one small moment of time. I was laying inside a snow globe of space, floating on the heather totally connected to my environment.
What strikes me about this is that I never see the whole picture of my life at any time. To see everything of God's plan for my entire life would just be too intense to deal with, so I am privy to snapshots and the odd connection and memories that reflect back to me the journey so far. It can also make it hard for you to measure where you are at.
Recovering from a severe episode of mental illness takes time. And what I realised yesterday is that I have been trying to recover since I had Oscar in 2005 and it's been incredibly hard. The last 8 months has been the first time that I have totally dedicated myself to getting completely well. I have fallen foul of the "Have to do it all" even though I have a severe mental illness mantra. On some level the deep acceptance of my condition is still happening, but I am also influenced by the expectations and hopes of others. In acting out my desire to be well in the world by going back to work too quickly or down playing how bad it actually is, I have thwarted my own recovery. And this made complete sense to me when yesterday I was chopping vegetables for Ian's lunch. For about 5 minutes I was totally relaxed, I had energy, I had motivation to do something boring but necessary to help my husband that wasn't forced, I had no anxiety in my body, and my mind was almost silent. I didn't feel chained to a concrete block or feel like my breathe was laboured or that in any second I would be taken hostage by a thought of self harm or death. I felt what I can only term as "Happy and normal". It was truly humbling.
The Dome of the universe connects to this, because as I wander around in the snow dome of recovery life, I only ever see a small section of the sky. Three years ago we were in inky darkness, but my eyes had adjusted to living within that tone, Now, as I look skyward, it's actually turned orange and although it's shaded differently to before, it still has it's challenges and again I adjust. Yesterday in my kitchen, God allowed me a glimpse of the amazing place I was in, in relation to the rest of my recovery journey. Meeting with God, in simplicity and deep soulful gratitude whilst chopping veg. How very Brother Lawrence!
"The time of business does not with me differ from the time of prayer, and in the noise and clatter of my kitchen , while several persons at the same time calling for different things, I possess God as if I were on my knees at the blessed sacrament." Brother Lawrence c. 1614 – 12 February 1691
So last night, I had a huge experiential memory moment laying there in the darkness, and a realisation of how that past moment gave me a glimpse into what was happening in the now. As a caveat, we have decorated the bedroom so it could be the wall paper paste and gloss, but it still felt meaningful and uplifting. I felt amazed and moved.
(Warning - I'm about to share a memory about drug use about 25 years ago so if you aren't up for it, exit now!)
So I took LSD once. (Or maybe more than once, but that's another story). I remember going up to the common in the inky darkness. It was very early in the morning about 4 a.m, very cold and my breathe misted in front of me. I was wrapped up warm and didn't actually have a plan or direction. I found myself in a large circular clearing, trees around the edges, and lots of knee length heather. I spreadeagled on the ground and looked skyward and was completely overwhelmed by the sight above me. As I lay there, I was surrounded by a fringe of leaves, edging a huge dome of the universe above me, which on one side was black with bright stars, then graduating from left to right from an Indian ink navy blue, all the way through to red, and orange and yellow as the sun peeked it's head above the tree line. I felt like I could see the whole world in one small moment of time. I was laying inside a snow globe of space, floating on the heather totally connected to my environment.
What strikes me about this is that I never see the whole picture of my life at any time. To see everything of God's plan for my entire life would just be too intense to deal with, so I am privy to snapshots and the odd connection and memories that reflect back to me the journey so far. It can also make it hard for you to measure where you are at.
Recovering from a severe episode of mental illness takes time. And what I realised yesterday is that I have been trying to recover since I had Oscar in 2005 and it's been incredibly hard. The last 8 months has been the first time that I have totally dedicated myself to getting completely well. I have fallen foul of the "Have to do it all" even though I have a severe mental illness mantra. On some level the deep acceptance of my condition is still happening, but I am also influenced by the expectations and hopes of others. In acting out my desire to be well in the world by going back to work too quickly or down playing how bad it actually is, I have thwarted my own recovery. And this made complete sense to me when yesterday I was chopping vegetables for Ian's lunch. For about 5 minutes I was totally relaxed, I had energy, I had motivation to do something boring but necessary to help my husband that wasn't forced, I had no anxiety in my body, and my mind was almost silent. I didn't feel chained to a concrete block or feel like my breathe was laboured or that in any second I would be taken hostage by a thought of self harm or death. I felt what I can only term as "Happy and normal". It was truly humbling.
The Dome of the universe connects to this, because as I wander around in the snow dome of recovery life, I only ever see a small section of the sky. Three years ago we were in inky darkness, but my eyes had adjusted to living within that tone, Now, as I look skyward, it's actually turned orange and although it's shaded differently to before, it still has it's challenges and again I adjust. Yesterday in my kitchen, God allowed me a glimpse of the amazing place I was in, in relation to the rest of my recovery journey. Meeting with God, in simplicity and deep soulful gratitude whilst chopping veg. How very Brother Lawrence!
"The time of business does not with me differ from the time of prayer, and in the noise and clatter of my kitchen , while several persons at the same time calling for different things, I possess God as if I were on my knees at the blessed sacrament." Brother Lawrence c. 1614 – 12 February 1691
Thursday, 19 January 2017
The dreaded DWP medical assessment
Can I just say, those of you who offered prayers, good vibes, love and support, I am totally grateful. I have actually survived, and now that I am home I am experiencing some kind of weird adrenaline/anxiety neuro-hormones come down. I feel slightly floaty and mentally scattered. Weirdness aside, I wanted to write before I forgot how it was today.
So, I think the beginning part of the assessment is seeing whether or not you can actually park and find the centre. It's above an NCP car park in disguise. You have to walk past the pay stations and up some stairs and there is a small door with a very small sign. There are strict instructions to only press the entry buzzer once. My fear and paranoia at this point are quite high and I wonder how many people push it in annoyance and impatience and get sanctioned as a result! Next we are ushered through a small square holding section with a very grumpy security guard into a waiting area. Blue and green nylon chairs line the walls and it is packed. You have to approach the man in the security glass hatch and show your passport, sign a document to say who you are and take a seat. He is forced jolliness personified. He must have some kind of special rhino hide personality to work in this environment. So Ian sits and I go to you the loo. The door/loo is part of the large room, so initially I wonder if everyone will hear me pee. Also, considering the amount of people that have been through the centre, my germ fest OCD kicks in horribly.
I sit down and I am overwhelmed by the smell of dirty oily hair and sweat. There are some magazines on a table near me. There are a whole stack of auto traders, some good house keeping, digital photography and a glamour. There is also a small booklet entitled "Urban fox" with some young blonde on the front. I am unsure as to whether this publication is about city living in Leicester with the football "Leicester foxes" reference, or the slightly sexualised Leicester provocateur on the cover. There is also some weird air con machine, with a huge tube attached to the windows with brown sticky tape. There are bars on the window, for either keeping robbers out, or stopping people like me throwing themselves out of the window in despair. And everyone is moaning. Moaning to each other, moaning to the the jolly man at the hatch of despair or just grumbling. The man adjacent to me is actually groaning and rocking.
What I glean from the titbits of conversation is that everyone's appointment is late, and everyone is enormously pissed off. The guy behind me has 3 people with him to actually help him make the appointment, the couple in front of me are going to be waiting more than an hour and a half as the person before them is running over and there is also a double booking. Jolly man comes out to explain why it's all so hideous. Apparently there are different practitioners for different illnesses and the contract providers, "MAXIMUS" have only been doing this 18 months and the whole system is in melt down. The back log of customers is enormous and there are no targets to meet so it's bumbling along whilst slowly falling apart. "A 6 month wait for an appointment isn't bad deary" jolly man tells me.
When I finally get summoned I am in such a state walking down the corridor that my knees almost buckle and I can hardly see straight. I am nearly crying with fear. I give the lady my letter from the GP (Picked up this morning after a 6 week wait and a £20 charge) and my latest psychiatrist appointment. She asks me what my day to day living is like and after a bit of explanation, I am crying. It's hard telling strangers that your head horror story and the mad crap that goes on every day, some some relentless punishing machine. She is actually kind, knows what mental health is and is a nurse by trade. Last time I dealt with an admin worker who didn't even know what bipolar is. She tells us that just by looking at my GP notes I shouldn't have even been asked to come in. It's obvious that I am unwell and find living difficult.
I am flooded with relief and explain that the worst thing is thinking that I will be called a liar and forced back to work. She tells me that her recommendation is to get esa, and not be hassled to go to "Back to work" interviews. She will send her findings to the faceless cretin in decisions (Please watch "Brazil" for a clear explanation of this process) and now I will have to wait. More waiting.
Maybe I am actually dead, and I have gone to hell. I am going through the circles of hell, layers of demoralising tests, criticism and punitive questioning and all for nothing. Then it all starts again!
So I am home and and coming down from the anxiety and stress. I have a creme egg in my pocket which I shall lovingly demolish in a second as a small gesture of reward for surviving. You know, I had Ian to take me, stroke my back when I was crying and bring me home. I have a loving family and circle of friends who are amazing. I cannot even begin to imagine doing all of that alone. Although I am diminished in mental health, I am rich in love and fellowship and for that I am forever grateful xx
So, I think the beginning part of the assessment is seeing whether or not you can actually park and find the centre. It's above an NCP car park in disguise. You have to walk past the pay stations and up some stairs and there is a small door with a very small sign. There are strict instructions to only press the entry buzzer once. My fear and paranoia at this point are quite high and I wonder how many people push it in annoyance and impatience and get sanctioned as a result! Next we are ushered through a small square holding section with a very grumpy security guard into a waiting area. Blue and green nylon chairs line the walls and it is packed. You have to approach the man in the security glass hatch and show your passport, sign a document to say who you are and take a seat. He is forced jolliness personified. He must have some kind of special rhino hide personality to work in this environment. So Ian sits and I go to you the loo. The door/loo is part of the large room, so initially I wonder if everyone will hear me pee. Also, considering the amount of people that have been through the centre, my germ fest OCD kicks in horribly.
I sit down and I am overwhelmed by the smell of dirty oily hair and sweat. There are some magazines on a table near me. There are a whole stack of auto traders, some good house keeping, digital photography and a glamour. There is also a small booklet entitled "Urban fox" with some young blonde on the front. I am unsure as to whether this publication is about city living in Leicester with the football "Leicester foxes" reference, or the slightly sexualised Leicester provocateur on the cover. There is also some weird air con machine, with a huge tube attached to the windows with brown sticky tape. There are bars on the window, for either keeping robbers out, or stopping people like me throwing themselves out of the window in despair. And everyone is moaning. Moaning to each other, moaning to the the jolly man at the hatch of despair or just grumbling. The man adjacent to me is actually groaning and rocking.
What I glean from the titbits of conversation is that everyone's appointment is late, and everyone is enormously pissed off. The guy behind me has 3 people with him to actually help him make the appointment, the couple in front of me are going to be waiting more than an hour and a half as the person before them is running over and there is also a double booking. Jolly man comes out to explain why it's all so hideous. Apparently there are different practitioners for different illnesses and the contract providers, "MAXIMUS" have only been doing this 18 months and the whole system is in melt down. The back log of customers is enormous and there are no targets to meet so it's bumbling along whilst slowly falling apart. "A 6 month wait for an appointment isn't bad deary" jolly man tells me.
When I finally get summoned I am in such a state walking down the corridor that my knees almost buckle and I can hardly see straight. I am nearly crying with fear. I give the lady my letter from the GP (Picked up this morning after a 6 week wait and a £20 charge) and my latest psychiatrist appointment. She asks me what my day to day living is like and after a bit of explanation, I am crying. It's hard telling strangers that your head horror story and the mad crap that goes on every day, some some relentless punishing machine. She is actually kind, knows what mental health is and is a nurse by trade. Last time I dealt with an admin worker who didn't even know what bipolar is. She tells us that just by looking at my GP notes I shouldn't have even been asked to come in. It's obvious that I am unwell and find living difficult.
I am flooded with relief and explain that the worst thing is thinking that I will be called a liar and forced back to work. She tells me that her recommendation is to get esa, and not be hassled to go to "Back to work" interviews. She will send her findings to the faceless cretin in decisions (Please watch "Brazil" for a clear explanation of this process) and now I will have to wait. More waiting.
Maybe I am actually dead, and I have gone to hell. I am going through the circles of hell, layers of demoralising tests, criticism and punitive questioning and all for nothing. Then it all starts again!
So I am home and and coming down from the anxiety and stress. I have a creme egg in my pocket which I shall lovingly demolish in a second as a small gesture of reward for surviving. You know, I had Ian to take me, stroke my back when I was crying and bring me home. I have a loving family and circle of friends who are amazing. I cannot even begin to imagine doing all of that alone. Although I am diminished in mental health, I am rich in love and fellowship and for that I am forever grateful xx
Tuesday, 17 January 2017
Anxiety management course and my shredded emotions
Anxiety is useful and totally NOT USEFUL. It's all about where and when it kicks in. When we were all hunched over and running away from T-Rex (Not a 70's glam rock nightmare), our fight and flight brain helped us survive the onslaught of imminent death. That's actually really useful! Imminent death these days is more about avoiding getting run over and sprinting away from a mugger. However, what happens with problematic anxiety is that the "surviving death" mechanism kicks in when non life threatening circumstances occur.
The brain has a thought, believes you are at heinous risk and the body responds in kind by employing the full apparatus of the sympathetic nervous system. It prepares your body to run away at pace or stand and kill something or someone. So your senses become heightened, blood rushes to your muscles away from your tummy (Butterflies), your heart pumps faster and you breathe more quickly to flush oxygen around your body and it can feel like your body is going to collapse and die. Actually it is doing all of the right things to run away from T-Rex and his gong; your body is amazing. But you don't know that is what it's doing, so you think you are having a heart attack, or can't breathe or might actually be going blind or having a stroke.
Then you come down. The para sympathetic nervous system turns up to mop away the chemicals no longer in use and puts you back in to calm mode. You get woozy, heavy legged, tired, emotional and most of the time, slightly weirded out. It's pretty amazing from a biological perspective, but as a life style choice it is massively destructive. You can end up avoiding people, places and things, shrinking your universe and being held hostage by it. It makes you feel like a failure and destroys your self esteem.
(See mind.org.uk for further info and support)
So is there a solution? We've been working on distraction, mindfulness, planned trigger situation exposure to build resilience, and catching the thought of major doom which is usually the paralysing feature of a thread of mind activity that leads to the anxiety episode. We also looked at unhelpful thinking patterns like catastrophising, mind reading, negativity/doom projection, avoidance and unhelpful "Fixers". You know wine, shopping, hiding....
I have homework this week to practise more mood and thought monitoring.
You know my "discovery of self" journey started almost 20 years ago. At that point my head was firmly up my arse, and although people say ignorance is bliss, I was a self centred, narrow minded and treated people without thought or care, including myself. On reflection I have come quite a long way! "Praise the Lord" I hear you say! But on a serious note, change takes time, patience and commitment. It's also bloody hard work and can be incredibly painful. I still have lots so iron out, which is why I am grateful for this course I am on and that there is still room for growth. It also reminds me that actually lots of stuff is massively better and my head only revisits my arse on rare occasions. Today is a non-arse day...Arse, arse arse.... Sorry.
Next week I shall discuss my homework with my fellow emotional travellers and see where we are at. Hopefully we will all be a step closer to freedom.
The brain has a thought, believes you are at heinous risk and the body responds in kind by employing the full apparatus of the sympathetic nervous system. It prepares your body to run away at pace or stand and kill something or someone. So your senses become heightened, blood rushes to your muscles away from your tummy (Butterflies), your heart pumps faster and you breathe more quickly to flush oxygen around your body and it can feel like your body is going to collapse and die. Actually it is doing all of the right things to run away from T-Rex and his gong; your body is amazing. But you don't know that is what it's doing, so you think you are having a heart attack, or can't breathe or might actually be going blind or having a stroke.
Then you come down. The para sympathetic nervous system turns up to mop away the chemicals no longer in use and puts you back in to calm mode. You get woozy, heavy legged, tired, emotional and most of the time, slightly weirded out. It's pretty amazing from a biological perspective, but as a life style choice it is massively destructive. You can end up avoiding people, places and things, shrinking your universe and being held hostage by it. It makes you feel like a failure and destroys your self esteem.
(See mind.org.uk for further info and support)
So is there a solution? We've been working on distraction, mindfulness, planned trigger situation exposure to build resilience, and catching the thought of major doom which is usually the paralysing feature of a thread of mind activity that leads to the anxiety episode. We also looked at unhelpful thinking patterns like catastrophising, mind reading, negativity/doom projection, avoidance and unhelpful "Fixers". You know wine, shopping, hiding....
I have homework this week to practise more mood and thought monitoring.
You know my "discovery of self" journey started almost 20 years ago. At that point my head was firmly up my arse, and although people say ignorance is bliss, I was a self centred, narrow minded and treated people without thought or care, including myself. On reflection I have come quite a long way! "Praise the Lord" I hear you say! But on a serious note, change takes time, patience and commitment. It's also bloody hard work and can be incredibly painful. I still have lots so iron out, which is why I am grateful for this course I am on and that there is still room for growth. It also reminds me that actually lots of stuff is massively better and my head only revisits my arse on rare occasions. Today is a non-arse day...Arse, arse arse.... Sorry.
Next week I shall discuss my homework with my fellow emotional travellers and see where we are at. Hopefully we will all be a step closer to freedom.
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