I am currently slightly distracted by chair dancing to Radiohead and wondering what to write. You know, "Creep" was the first song I learned to play on my guitar. "How to disappear completely" touched my darkness and made me cry. "Body snatchers" makes me flail around my kitchen in indie dance joy. And "Burn the witch" reads "Bum the witch" on Ian's display in the car! It's also a great tune I might add. I am totally in love with Radiohead. I digress.
Creativity. That's what I'll share about.
Creative expression and art play a vital role for me in connecting, sharing experience and lifting my spirit. I think that's why I started blogging initially, and I'm now attending recovery college to harness that part of me some more. The creative writing course gave me a direction and tips of how to begin that process. I have written some poetry too, and now with the comedy course, I am encouraging my brain to use my personal experience, my understanding of language and my desire to use my illness in a positive way to generate fun and humour.
I went to an interpretive dance show about three years ago about drug addiction recovery. I was so moved I started crying. The colleague who was with me was totally embarrassed. But surely a human response and empathy are what it's all about? If someone cannot hear you by speaking, show them something or create something that they can receive and gives meaning. Not everyone can make sense of what you say. Sometimes a visual snapshot is all it takes to reach someones soul. Take Pablo Picasso's "Guernica"or "Myra" by Marcus Harvey. The impact although not always palatable, is clear for all to see. I think it's very brave (or stupid) to expose yourself in such a way. You show the world your naked soul, uncloaked by bravado or lies, and it's open season on criticism. However, at least the world at large might actually get what you're on about.
Also music, film and the written world, can stimulate responses in me when I am so ill that responses are few and far between. When I am very depressed, my ability to feel is very limited. This is know as being in a retarded state. So watching or hearing something can connect with me and help to generate untapped feelings and encourage re-emergence. The flip side of that is not listening to The Smiths "Last night I dreamt that somebody loved me", Amy Winehouse "Love is a losing game" or reading Sylvia Plath when you are at your darkest. Or Thomas Hardy...
I wouldn't necessarily see myself as creative, but I suppose it is within all of use to use these mediums to express our inner turmoil, joy or displeasure. So this afternoon I shall go to comedy school, and see what happens. I'll probably be deeply unfunny, but the process isn't about being successful. It's about experimenting with something new and making real time connections with other human beings and being vulnerable and not self obsessed. What a gift!
Thursday, 12 January 2017
Saturday, 7 January 2017
The blessing of having kids when mentally ill
Although my mental universe had been colourful and erratic preceding giving birth, actually having children concentrated it and increased the volume ten fold. Having the children was a trigger which launched my fully fledged bipolar career. It would be easy to say "I wish it hadn't happened" but actually that couldn't be further from the truth. Having babies admitted me into another galaxy of weirdness and complete joy that I would never have been privy to. They drive me to distraction but the love I feel for them is a force of nature in itself.
So to recap, I had Oscar over a 3.5 day period (of no sleep, hideous drugs and stress) resulting in a c-section and thinking I was still pregnant and that the child in the room with me was God, could read my mind and was omnipotent, followed by 3 months of crippling depression and OCD bleaching and control. Anti-depressants helped enormously. Fast forward 1 year and 20 days and Ralph enters the world in 24 hours after my placenta decided to make an appearance at 37 weeks on the bathroom floor. Another c-section. Just to say, I don't think most people having babies go through this. Don't be put off by my experience. HA! *rolls around cackling on the floor like a nutcase!!* So when they were really little I realised my symptoms went beyond normal post natal depression. I flagged it with the GP who at my request referred me to the mental health team. I had my first monitored manic episode when the boys were 1.5/2.5 years old.
Moving forwards a little, the kids have actually had to attend psychiatric appointments with me, have been at home when the CPN has visited, and also met the crisis team. I have been very mindful and measured about what they hear, and how much I disclose to them about my illness. I'd never put them in danger. But what is fantastic, is that they are fully integrated into my recovery and a part of my healing process on many levels.
Having little people around makes you work hard at wellness. Not just for you, but for them, my husband and the extended family. I want them to be fully aware of what mental illness is, to not be afraid, to be free to ask questions and to know that sometimes it's hard but it won't always be like that. I've introduced them to my illness in stages of explanation. They see the physical side very obviously, so when I am depressed it's about me needing lots of sleep, feeling sad and tearful and not always being able to deal with bad behaviour very easily. They respond with lots of cuddles, being gentle with me and helping out with practical stuff a bit more. I tell them where I'm at and they step up. Don't get me wrong, I am not forcing this upon them. They are not my carers.
I explained to them about medication. They way I packaged it was about my brain chemicals being out of kilter. Bipolar is a chemical affair, so explaining that my feeling happy chemicals don't flow the way that other peoples do made it clear for them. The tablets help re-balance that, with me trying out new things to make me feel better too. I know they understand this, because Ralph very kindly told the school parents on the drive that "Mummy isn't allowed to drive now for 6 months because her brain chemicals aren't right at the moment," and Oscar says, "Yes mummy I know you're fatter because of your tablets."
As they get older, they see things on TV or hear news articles etc. and they pick up on mental health. Being able to talk about mental distress, and the fact that I refuse to be fear based about it means that they have an open minded attitude and empathy. It also means when they feel "off" they ask if it is a problem or not, and explore triggers and solutions. I want them to know on a deep level that mental illness is not the end of your life.
When I am hideously poorly, the boys are my protective factor. What that means is they are the intellectual obstacle between me and serious self harm. All of my decisions take into account their well being and needs. They are also brilliant at helping me be in the moment, whether that be doing play-do when they were little, or now going on walks, playing football down the park or baking with them. They remind me to be silly, to show affection. I knew I was starting to feel better last year when on a really sunny day, I got Ian to lock the house and totally terrorised them in the back garden with the hosepipe. It was unplanned, I didn't have to force myself to do it and I belly laughed to the point of nearly wetting myself. It felt good to be fully immersed in "Being" without trying to be.
Finally, I do worry about them in the future. Bipolar is still not fully understood, whether it be genetic or social factors that cause it, but apparently if you are exposed to less stress, abuse, drugs/alcohol and have emotional resilience built within you, your chances are far greater than most. And this is what we do as parents. We try to teach them about sharing honestly how they feel, expose them the sport and challenge, encourage them to experience risk and failure in a loving environment and arm them with the reality of life. We also try to keep them grounded about money, and the illusion that "Stuff" does not make you happy. They can be little bastards a lot of the time but people tell me they are great. This fills me with hope. They stretch me emotionally like a rubber band and sometimes I wonder what on earth I am doing but chaos aside, I am glad that being mentally ill means I have a chance to be there for them in ways I might not have been if it had never happened. Who would of thought that being a bipolar girl has so many up sides!
So to recap, I had Oscar over a 3.5 day period (of no sleep, hideous drugs and stress) resulting in a c-section and thinking I was still pregnant and that the child in the room with me was God, could read my mind and was omnipotent, followed by 3 months of crippling depression and OCD bleaching and control. Anti-depressants helped enormously. Fast forward 1 year and 20 days and Ralph enters the world in 24 hours after my placenta decided to make an appearance at 37 weeks on the bathroom floor. Another c-section. Just to say, I don't think most people having babies go through this. Don't be put off by my experience. HA! *rolls around cackling on the floor like a nutcase!!* So when they were really little I realised my symptoms went beyond normal post natal depression. I flagged it with the GP who at my request referred me to the mental health team. I had my first monitored manic episode when the boys were 1.5/2.5 years old.
Moving forwards a little, the kids have actually had to attend psychiatric appointments with me, have been at home when the CPN has visited, and also met the crisis team. I have been very mindful and measured about what they hear, and how much I disclose to them about my illness. I'd never put them in danger. But what is fantastic, is that they are fully integrated into my recovery and a part of my healing process on many levels.
Having little people around makes you work hard at wellness. Not just for you, but for them, my husband and the extended family. I want them to be fully aware of what mental illness is, to not be afraid, to be free to ask questions and to know that sometimes it's hard but it won't always be like that. I've introduced them to my illness in stages of explanation. They see the physical side very obviously, so when I am depressed it's about me needing lots of sleep, feeling sad and tearful and not always being able to deal with bad behaviour very easily. They respond with lots of cuddles, being gentle with me and helping out with practical stuff a bit more. I tell them where I'm at and they step up. Don't get me wrong, I am not forcing this upon them. They are not my carers.
I explained to them about medication. They way I packaged it was about my brain chemicals being out of kilter. Bipolar is a chemical affair, so explaining that my feeling happy chemicals don't flow the way that other peoples do made it clear for them. The tablets help re-balance that, with me trying out new things to make me feel better too. I know they understand this, because Ralph very kindly told the school parents on the drive that "Mummy isn't allowed to drive now for 6 months because her brain chemicals aren't right at the moment," and Oscar says, "Yes mummy I know you're fatter because of your tablets."
As they get older, they see things on TV or hear news articles etc. and they pick up on mental health. Being able to talk about mental distress, and the fact that I refuse to be fear based about it means that they have an open minded attitude and empathy. It also means when they feel "off" they ask if it is a problem or not, and explore triggers and solutions. I want them to know on a deep level that mental illness is not the end of your life.
When I am hideously poorly, the boys are my protective factor. What that means is they are the intellectual obstacle between me and serious self harm. All of my decisions take into account their well being and needs. They are also brilliant at helping me be in the moment, whether that be doing play-do when they were little, or now going on walks, playing football down the park or baking with them. They remind me to be silly, to show affection. I knew I was starting to feel better last year when on a really sunny day, I got Ian to lock the house and totally terrorised them in the back garden with the hosepipe. It was unplanned, I didn't have to force myself to do it and I belly laughed to the point of nearly wetting myself. It felt good to be fully immersed in "Being" without trying to be.
Finally, I do worry about them in the future. Bipolar is still not fully understood, whether it be genetic or social factors that cause it, but apparently if you are exposed to less stress, abuse, drugs/alcohol and have emotional resilience built within you, your chances are far greater than most. And this is what we do as parents. We try to teach them about sharing honestly how they feel, expose them the sport and challenge, encourage them to experience risk and failure in a loving environment and arm them with the reality of life. We also try to keep them grounded about money, and the illusion that "Stuff" does not make you happy. They can be little bastards a lot of the time but people tell me they are great. This fills me with hope. They stretch me emotionally like a rubber band and sometimes I wonder what on earth I am doing but chaos aside, I am glad that being mentally ill means I have a chance to be there for them in ways I might not have been if it had never happened. Who would of thought that being a bipolar girl has so many up sides!
Wednesday, 4 January 2017
New year
My Facebook feed reads like a daft punk song - fitter, stronger, thinner, faster.... (Daft punk - harder better faster. Catch it on YouTube...insert your own new year resolutions!). Don't know about you lot, but I am glad the festive madness is over. It truly feels like everyone turns into Buddy from "Elf" and the world has gone syrup and sprinkles mad. And why make a resolution on just one day out of the available 365? Nothing like a bit of pressure. If you want to change do it when you feel it's right. Don't wait for ever and then accidentally cock it up on day 2 of the new year because it was a bank holiday and your days are all wrong and the gym was shut! Do it on April 25th. It's quite nice, spring is arriving and noone is paying attention to your "New you" agenda. Or shockingly, don't do it at all!
I often feel like I have lost my footing at Christmas as you spend the whole time eating at odd times, walking about a lot, and generally not knowing what day of the week it is. For me too this year, we visited at least four places and I slept in strange beds and spent quite a bit of time in traffic jams on the motorway. I like watching everyone sporting their new threads, cycling about on new bikes and having a spring in their step. It's like the pressure knob has been released, they've all opened their gifts and we can all relax.
So here I am. I have been delivered safely into 2017. For some I assume it's an anti climax. Nothing is actually happening other than the dross of normal life. Banality reigns supreme. For me it is manna from heaven. Lovely boring routine, no drama and a little bit of baking and/or cleaning. I am SO rock 'n' roll. I have 2 courses to do at recovery college which I am looking forward to. Anxiety management and comedy in recovery. I'm hoping I don't slip up and make too many jokes about being at the end of my rope or depression being the death of me! It's a very fine line. I suppose really I am just hoping for wellness this year. I had a discussion with my sister-in-law about success, and explained that for me being emotionally available and engaged in the land of the living for me was enough. That for me is success. For others it's about the job promotion, completing a course or reducing the size of their back end. We are all different. I would just love to feel OK for a long period of time and not feel dread, fear and panic on a moment by moment basis. Enjoying the moment, feeling lifted in spirit and free.
I am also going to keep focusing on my spiritual growth.This past year has been quite revealing and my God antenna has been buzzing all over the place. My Church family have been amazing in helping me navigate the path. It was lovely to talk to my mum too about this over Christmas. I am from a long line of mystical people, or people who are a bit odd, and although my Christian journey has veered quite dramatically away from the family party line, she still completely gets the whole reverence and sacredness of the spiritual life, and taking it seriously and practising with great care. She's wise. Earth bound people just think you're a frigging nutter.
So lead on people, lets put one foot in front of the other, and see where experience takes us.
I often feel like I have lost my footing at Christmas as you spend the whole time eating at odd times, walking about a lot, and generally not knowing what day of the week it is. For me too this year, we visited at least four places and I slept in strange beds and spent quite a bit of time in traffic jams on the motorway. I like watching everyone sporting their new threads, cycling about on new bikes and having a spring in their step. It's like the pressure knob has been released, they've all opened their gifts and we can all relax.
So here I am. I have been delivered safely into 2017. For some I assume it's an anti climax. Nothing is actually happening other than the dross of normal life. Banality reigns supreme. For me it is manna from heaven. Lovely boring routine, no drama and a little bit of baking and/or cleaning. I am SO rock 'n' roll. I have 2 courses to do at recovery college which I am looking forward to. Anxiety management and comedy in recovery. I'm hoping I don't slip up and make too many jokes about being at the end of my rope or depression being the death of me! It's a very fine line. I suppose really I am just hoping for wellness this year. I had a discussion with my sister-in-law about success, and explained that for me being emotionally available and engaged in the land of the living for me was enough. That for me is success. For others it's about the job promotion, completing a course or reducing the size of their back end. We are all different. I would just love to feel OK for a long period of time and not feel dread, fear and panic on a moment by moment basis. Enjoying the moment, feeling lifted in spirit and free.
I am also going to keep focusing on my spiritual growth.This past year has been quite revealing and my God antenna has been buzzing all over the place. My Church family have been amazing in helping me navigate the path. It was lovely to talk to my mum too about this over Christmas. I am from a long line of mystical people, or people who are a bit odd, and although my Christian journey has veered quite dramatically away from the family party line, she still completely gets the whole reverence and sacredness of the spiritual life, and taking it seriously and practising with great care. She's wise. Earth bound people just think you're a frigging nutter.
So lead on people, lets put one foot in front of the other, and see where experience takes us.
Friday, 23 December 2016
Christmas time
Christmas is an odd time for me, as I am sure it is for many people. For some, there seems to be a veneer of happiness, thinly spread across the reality of life which is sometimes very challenging or painful. Some people actually love every minute and plan for months in advance and get their tree up in mid November. We miss people who cannot be with us, or those who have passed away. Some people go away, some stay at home, some people get together with family and friends. Some people actually think about Jesus. Shocking I know!
From a mental health perspective, the trigger issues ramp up at a rate of knots. Emotional and financial stress, spending time with family that do not understand mental illness, late nights, too much booze, relationship problems and an overwhelming desire to actually try and feel happy when all you want to do is hide under a duvet and wish the whole thing away. I know these issues are there for normal folk too. My dear sister; Germany and the red cabbage. Say no more!
But what I am keenly aware of is that the crushing separateness and disconnectedness you can feel in depression, is accentuated at Christmas. Life seems to be bigger than usual, people are happier and celebratory, they bask in the joy of a festival and run around with a lovely sense of freedom. It magnifies your isolation and inability to connect. It's not their fault. It's the illness. It is a hideous reminder of how totally shit you feel. Faking it to make at Christmas is particularly hard, and reaching out to a load of disgustingly happy people about your doom just doesn't seem appropriate. Would you like some doom with your turkey? Misery pudding with sad face cream? "Come on, smile it's Christmas!" Sadly, you cannot suspend chronic mental illness for the day to make you and everyone else feel OK.
Self care for me at this time of year is key. Knowing who to call in an emergency. Taking little time-out rest breaks during social gatherings. Reminding yourself that in 24 hours it will all actually be over for another year. Being kind to yourself with baths, naps, small walks and mindfulness to help calm the head traffic. Oh and it is just a day of the week. This year it happens to be a Sunday.
My Christmas experiences have been varied with my bipolar companion brain. Pre-diagnosis, mostly chaotic, sometimes very lonely, homeless, knocking on heavens door, fuelled by inappropriateness and dodgy people (Me being the most dodgy of all). Then with insight and finally a diagnosis, less chaotic, much more ordered, fun with kids and family and generally manageable (with a large dose of internal misery and hatred every now and then!).
What I would wish this Christmas, is that anyone who is struggling has at least one person they can reach out to and speak with about their feelings. That they can have a real experience of friendship and support, and stay safe if things go awry. Look out for your friends and relatives. Make a small space to spend time with someone you know feels the harshness of life, and show them gentleness. Be a light in the darkness.
I wish you peace and love this Christmas. May you feel joy and companionship and a spirit of grace x
From a mental health perspective, the trigger issues ramp up at a rate of knots. Emotional and financial stress, spending time with family that do not understand mental illness, late nights, too much booze, relationship problems and an overwhelming desire to actually try and feel happy when all you want to do is hide under a duvet and wish the whole thing away. I know these issues are there for normal folk too. My dear sister; Germany and the red cabbage. Say no more!
But what I am keenly aware of is that the crushing separateness and disconnectedness you can feel in depression, is accentuated at Christmas. Life seems to be bigger than usual, people are happier and celebratory, they bask in the joy of a festival and run around with a lovely sense of freedom. It magnifies your isolation and inability to connect. It's not their fault. It's the illness. It is a hideous reminder of how totally shit you feel. Faking it to make at Christmas is particularly hard, and reaching out to a load of disgustingly happy people about your doom just doesn't seem appropriate. Would you like some doom with your turkey? Misery pudding with sad face cream? "Come on, smile it's Christmas!" Sadly, you cannot suspend chronic mental illness for the day to make you and everyone else feel OK.
Self care for me at this time of year is key. Knowing who to call in an emergency. Taking little time-out rest breaks during social gatherings. Reminding yourself that in 24 hours it will all actually be over for another year. Being kind to yourself with baths, naps, small walks and mindfulness to help calm the head traffic. Oh and it is just a day of the week. This year it happens to be a Sunday.
My Christmas experiences have been varied with my bipolar companion brain. Pre-diagnosis, mostly chaotic, sometimes very lonely, homeless, knocking on heavens door, fuelled by inappropriateness and dodgy people (Me being the most dodgy of all). Then with insight and finally a diagnosis, less chaotic, much more ordered, fun with kids and family and generally manageable (with a large dose of internal misery and hatred every now and then!).
What I would wish this Christmas, is that anyone who is struggling has at least one person they can reach out to and speak with about their feelings. That they can have a real experience of friendship and support, and stay safe if things go awry. Look out for your friends and relatives. Make a small space to spend time with someone you know feels the harshness of life, and show them gentleness. Be a light in the darkness.
I wish you peace and love this Christmas. May you feel joy and companionship and a spirit of grace x
Monday, 12 December 2016
The role of the spiritual in my recovery
I am a woman of faith. Most people know this although I do not profess to be pious or saintly in any way. The God I choose to believe in is not necessarily the same as yours, but I would never make you uncomfortable about your beliefs, or reject you for your difference. I understand about other faiths, spiritual practices and philosophies, and embrace their similarities. I will pray for you even if you do not have belief. If we disagree, I'll still give you a cuddle.
Having faith has been a bedrock of strength throughout my recovery journey. I know the old adage of "Opium for the people", having a crutch, believing in the invisible because you can't deal with reality of the world. But actually what I have found is the opposite. My faith has actually enabled me to have honesty about myself and my limitations, it's taught me about compassion and forgiveness, it's taught me the importance of fellowship and trusting in others when you feel you cannot trust yourself. It has furnished me with the skills to live life on life's terms in all of it's hideous realness, with integrity and courage.
You know, the bible is an extraordinary book. Whether or not you believe in God and the fabulous J.C, it's wisdom is without question. Parables, proverbs, family murders, alcoholism, vastly inappropriate relationships and nude bathing on the roof tops... you name it, it's in there. There is also incredibly scary spiritual warfare stuff, that although people like to dismiss as silliness, sometimes come across by accident, and get a shock. It's actually got advice about that too thank goodness. But importantly for me, it shows me that for thousands of years, the struggle for peace, peace of mind, of country, of family, for belonging and wholeness has been rolling on for a really long time. I am not alone in my struggle and I was never the only one having a difficult time. Not that I really believe that truth, but that these people overcame, they succeeded in times of despair and they continued on for generations, with hope and perseverance. This is something I strive for. I am connected to this thread of survival in all of it's glory.
And I know other faiths or groups or ways of living, have a similar vision. I am glad of this, and hope that you will find yours as I have found mine.
What I know, for me, is that in the darkest moments, the ones where I am literally on my knees, crying out in despair, contemplating whether or not to give in to the desire to end it all, I surrender and open myself up to a love that is vast and unending. A power so great that my soul is soothed, my mind calmed and my compulsions relieved. The reality of my faith is that I truly experience the wonderful revelation of the creation within me, ministering to my inner most fears with unabashed love and compassion. Awesome doesn't even cover it.
Those of you that know me in my spiritual gifting, will probably recognise that I experience a connection to the God of my understanding. I feel privileged that for some unknown reason, I am privy to a world that some people cannot see or experience. I am humbled by this fact, and it feels like a precious stone that I have been given to carry around and protect.
Being mentally ill is incredibly difficult, but with God, all things are possible. I pray it will be for you also.
Having faith has been a bedrock of strength throughout my recovery journey. I know the old adage of "Opium for the people", having a crutch, believing in the invisible because you can't deal with reality of the world. But actually what I have found is the opposite. My faith has actually enabled me to have honesty about myself and my limitations, it's taught me about compassion and forgiveness, it's taught me the importance of fellowship and trusting in others when you feel you cannot trust yourself. It has furnished me with the skills to live life on life's terms in all of it's hideous realness, with integrity and courage.
You know, the bible is an extraordinary book. Whether or not you believe in God and the fabulous J.C, it's wisdom is without question. Parables, proverbs, family murders, alcoholism, vastly inappropriate relationships and nude bathing on the roof tops... you name it, it's in there. There is also incredibly scary spiritual warfare stuff, that although people like to dismiss as silliness, sometimes come across by accident, and get a shock. It's actually got advice about that too thank goodness. But importantly for me, it shows me that for thousands of years, the struggle for peace, peace of mind, of country, of family, for belonging and wholeness has been rolling on for a really long time. I am not alone in my struggle and I was never the only one having a difficult time. Not that I really believe that truth, but that these people overcame, they succeeded in times of despair and they continued on for generations, with hope and perseverance. This is something I strive for. I am connected to this thread of survival in all of it's glory.
And I know other faiths or groups or ways of living, have a similar vision. I am glad of this, and hope that you will find yours as I have found mine.
What I know, for me, is that in the darkest moments, the ones where I am literally on my knees, crying out in despair, contemplating whether or not to give in to the desire to end it all, I surrender and open myself up to a love that is vast and unending. A power so great that my soul is soothed, my mind calmed and my compulsions relieved. The reality of my faith is that I truly experience the wonderful revelation of the creation within me, ministering to my inner most fears with unabashed love and compassion. Awesome doesn't even cover it.
Those of you that know me in my spiritual gifting, will probably recognise that I experience a connection to the God of my understanding. I feel privileged that for some unknown reason, I am privy to a world that some people cannot see or experience. I am humbled by this fact, and it feels like a precious stone that I have been given to carry around and protect.
Being mentally ill is incredibly difficult, but with God, all things are possible. I pray it will be for you also.
Thursday, 8 December 2016
My emotional barometre and the lack of verbal sieve
Something I have learned about my illness is that my mood fluctuates more often and to a greater degree than most. Sometimes it's quite manageable but when I am more manic or depressed is resonates more furiously and with less control. This can sometimes be seen in my outward behaviour, but more often than not, it's all going inside my little inner universe of chaos, and I am working tirelessly to respond appropriately when actually I want to smash up everything in site or run around yelling expletives.
Imagine your moods on this scale. Most people range somewhere between 20 and 20 with the odd spike here and there. I am constantly fluctuating between -50 and +50. The plus side of this is that I feel everything. I have a response to all situations, am sensitive and empathetic and almost vibrate with realness. However, it also means that I don't always deal with challenging stuff very well. Most people find anger, conflict and hatred unpalatable. They have uncomfortable feelings towards those situations but manage to plough through with some semblance of order and direction. It happens, it passes and they move on. For me it takes a concerted effort to engage, process and travel through those experiences. The indicator spike will be wildly flailing backwards and forwards on the dial. And the mood variance and intensity can trigger a depressive episode or a manic phase. It's all a very fine balance. I have learned that some situations are better to avoid for me or it can have dire consequences. Not for you, but for my head. Lithium helps to "Damp down" the extremes without stopping me being a zombie of no thought or feeling at all.
Emotional self care for me relates largely to being selective about who I spend my time with, choosing my battles very carefully, accepting my difference within an environment that doesn't always suit me and asking for help to deal with stuff that I know will cause me damage. Toxic people are a no go area. I also try and improve my resilience in safer scenarios. Practice makes improvement, not perfect!
So the verbal sieve. My verbal sieve does not always work when required. I am, as a rule, a pretty honest person. Not blunt, but I will tell you how I feel or what I think if it's appropriate. I wouldn't massage the truth to make you feel better. I'd call it as I saw it and help you do it differently if that was what you wanted. But sometimes, without announcement, the sieve of appropriateness goes on a lunch break without my knowledge. Stuff comes out of my mouth from my brain without a check point station and even I am surprised by the outcome. It's like somebody else said it out loud. Now I still don't know if this is to do with a mildly dysfunctional brain or if it happens to normal folk. However, when it happens in company, I am always a little worried as firstly it's a shock to me, but also a shock to the company I am with. Then I also worry if they are going to be offended and tell me off. It's all a bit risky. Let me give you an example. Standing on the touchline with football parents at school. It's very cold and the morning had a hard frost. We're discussing illness in winter, noro virus and the like. My friends says, "But isn't the cold meant to kill off stuff like colds and virus'", to which I respond, "yes, and old people." Now this is actually a statement of fact, not intended to be malicious in any way. It happens so fast, we're not sure I actually said it. The look of horror, quickly turns to hilarity and statements of, "Dear god you're awful!" I don't want old people to be alone, ill or at risk of death. But this weird nugget has just escaped anyway. Like the time I said with rather too much volume, "Gosh his face looks just like a walnut." The list is endless.
I suppose it is all a part of my multi faceted personality. Thankfully noone as yet has punched me in the face for it. I'd be interested to see how many other people are blessed with this foiball. Answers on a postcard please!
Imagine your moods on this scale. Most people range somewhere between 20 and 20 with the odd spike here and there. I am constantly fluctuating between -50 and +50. The plus side of this is that I feel everything. I have a response to all situations, am sensitive and empathetic and almost vibrate with realness. However, it also means that I don't always deal with challenging stuff very well. Most people find anger, conflict and hatred unpalatable. They have uncomfortable feelings towards those situations but manage to plough through with some semblance of order and direction. It happens, it passes and they move on. For me it takes a concerted effort to engage, process and travel through those experiences. The indicator spike will be wildly flailing backwards and forwards on the dial. And the mood variance and intensity can trigger a depressive episode or a manic phase. It's all a very fine balance. I have learned that some situations are better to avoid for me or it can have dire consequences. Not for you, but for my head. Lithium helps to "Damp down" the extremes without stopping me being a zombie of no thought or feeling at all.
Emotional self care for me relates largely to being selective about who I spend my time with, choosing my battles very carefully, accepting my difference within an environment that doesn't always suit me and asking for help to deal with stuff that I know will cause me damage. Toxic people are a no go area. I also try and improve my resilience in safer scenarios. Practice makes improvement, not perfect!
So the verbal sieve. My verbal sieve does not always work when required. I am, as a rule, a pretty honest person. Not blunt, but I will tell you how I feel or what I think if it's appropriate. I wouldn't massage the truth to make you feel better. I'd call it as I saw it and help you do it differently if that was what you wanted. But sometimes, without announcement, the sieve of appropriateness goes on a lunch break without my knowledge. Stuff comes out of my mouth from my brain without a check point station and even I am surprised by the outcome. It's like somebody else said it out loud. Now I still don't know if this is to do with a mildly dysfunctional brain or if it happens to normal folk. However, when it happens in company, I am always a little worried as firstly it's a shock to me, but also a shock to the company I am with. Then I also worry if they are going to be offended and tell me off. It's all a bit risky. Let me give you an example. Standing on the touchline with football parents at school. It's very cold and the morning had a hard frost. We're discussing illness in winter, noro virus and the like. My friends says, "But isn't the cold meant to kill off stuff like colds and virus'", to which I respond, "yes, and old people." Now this is actually a statement of fact, not intended to be malicious in any way. It happens so fast, we're not sure I actually said it. The look of horror, quickly turns to hilarity and statements of, "Dear god you're awful!" I don't want old people to be alone, ill or at risk of death. But this weird nugget has just escaped anyway. Like the time I said with rather too much volume, "Gosh his face looks just like a walnut." The list is endless.
I suppose it is all a part of my multi faceted personality. Thankfully noone as yet has punched me in the face for it. I'd be interested to see how many other people are blessed with this foiball. Answers on a postcard please!
Wednesday, 7 December 2016
Attempting recovery
I've not blogged for a few weeks as I have been attempting a personal recovery revolution. Turns out mental health services are so ridiculously stretched that unless I am trying to end my life, the wait for help is 2 years. I threw a minor tantrum at my mental health service, the first of my entire secondary care career, which has resulted in a few sessions of schema work/domain work being offered (To help challenge blueprint behaviours entrenched from early life) and an agreement that I should go on the waiting list for psychotherapy.
I discussed this with my GP, who, after also throwing a minor tantrum about the NHS and mental heath care himself, signed me off work for another 3 months to pursue self-help courses at recovery college. These will be anxiety management, the role of comedy in recovery and somantics. I'll be less stressed telling jokes about suicide in a flexible muscle stance!
I have also had the joy of my ESA being suspended this week. They won't pay you if your sick note doesn't arrive either in advance of the end of your last one, or the day after. You cannot get a sick note from a GP in advance. Also, post to the DWP takes 3 weeks to get to the right department. I ended up cashing in Ian's 2p jar to pay for parking, driving on fumes to Leicester, sat in the jobcentre plus office for 90 minutes, and got is scanned and sent via email encryption. They grilled me about my identity, why my kids weren't on the system, am I a single parent and why am I not receiving any other benefits, why didn't I get my note in on time and no I cannot tell you why your capability assessment information hasn't yet been processed... since August. I will take a plastic bag to sit on next time. The place is filthy. I then had to come home and wait for a phone call to clarify my identity again, and discuss whether or not to "Unsuspend" my claim and pay me. They decided YES, but it could take 24 hours. The mind boggles. They have shame and degradation down to a fine art.
I also got a tax bill. Apparently at some point, I earned a fraction over the limit of the basic earnings, therefor, I needed to be taxed on any other income, in this instance, ESA. Yes, taxed on my benefits. So I have to pay £328 in April.
I'm sorry your brain is experiencing technical problems. Please allow us to shaft you in as many ways as possible to help you reach the suicidal rock bottom required for treatment, at which point we might assist you.
So here are my achievements for the month of November and early December :
Not killing anyone in a government office or health profession
Cleaning the fridge
Washing the car by hand and cleaning out the inside
Perfecting cookie making
Not using the C word half as much as I would really like to
Being really pushy with services - so not me!
Attending recovery college and planning new courses
Surviving an argument with Ian - think it's about the 3rd one we've had in 17 years!
Still parenting with compassion when the kids are like Regan from the exorcist
Attempting to live the spiritual life in pretty challenging scenarios
It's not strictly rock 'n' roll but it's a damn site better than being bullied by the Vicar from hell or feeling that I cannot carry on living. Actually, I'm a very lucky girl.
I discussed this with my GP, who, after also throwing a minor tantrum about the NHS and mental heath care himself, signed me off work for another 3 months to pursue self-help courses at recovery college. These will be anxiety management, the role of comedy in recovery and somantics. I'll be less stressed telling jokes about suicide in a flexible muscle stance!
I have also had the joy of my ESA being suspended this week. They won't pay you if your sick note doesn't arrive either in advance of the end of your last one, or the day after. You cannot get a sick note from a GP in advance. Also, post to the DWP takes 3 weeks to get to the right department. I ended up cashing in Ian's 2p jar to pay for parking, driving on fumes to Leicester, sat in the jobcentre plus office for 90 minutes, and got is scanned and sent via email encryption. They grilled me about my identity, why my kids weren't on the system, am I a single parent and why am I not receiving any other benefits, why didn't I get my note in on time and no I cannot tell you why your capability assessment information hasn't yet been processed... since August. I will take a plastic bag to sit on next time. The place is filthy. I then had to come home and wait for a phone call to clarify my identity again, and discuss whether or not to "Unsuspend" my claim and pay me. They decided YES, but it could take 24 hours. The mind boggles. They have shame and degradation down to a fine art.
I also got a tax bill. Apparently at some point, I earned a fraction over the limit of the basic earnings, therefor, I needed to be taxed on any other income, in this instance, ESA. Yes, taxed on my benefits. So I have to pay £328 in April.
I'm sorry your brain is experiencing technical problems. Please allow us to shaft you in as many ways as possible to help you reach the suicidal rock bottom required for treatment, at which point we might assist you.
So here are my achievements for the month of November and early December :
Not killing anyone in a government office or health profession
Cleaning the fridge
Washing the car by hand and cleaning out the inside
Perfecting cookie making
Not using the C word half as much as I would really like to
Being really pushy with services - so not me!
Attending recovery college and planning new courses
Surviving an argument with Ian - think it's about the 3rd one we've had in 17 years!
Still parenting with compassion when the kids are like Regan from the exorcist
Attempting to live the spiritual life in pretty challenging scenarios
It's not strictly rock 'n' roll but it's a damn site better than being bullied by the Vicar from hell or feeling that I cannot carry on living. Actually, I'm a very lucky girl.
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