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

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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.

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

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

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.

This is my 100th post

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!

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!

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.