Time moves on

Its now June and many months have passed since I last wrote on this blog. I just haven't felt like it.

For a long while I wasn't even sure if I would continue at uni or rather if I could. A step at a time, a day at a time, I made it to Christmas 2014 and then second semester and I knew I could and would continue.

I have had my medication changed and upped and am now much more settled with myself, learning to live with my illness. I walk twice a day with my adopted labradoodle, Lola; I try to go horse riding each week, weather and hooves permitting, with my neighbour. Accepting and being gently with myself.

In the lead up to end of year assessments for Level 5, I started having major meltdowns, anxiety attacks, the worst I've ever had. Or so I thought. Except that one of them took me back to post natal depression and I suddenly realised I'd been here before. Not just then, but all my life, before children, as a teenager, as a child. I've always suffered with them, but hadn't realised until now. Had anyone else ever realised?

I get so tired, mornings are the worst for me, not wanting to get up, the lure of going back to bed sometimes too great. If I need to rest, then I rest and its ok to do so. It was like this when I first started taking my medication and again, when the dose was upped, but this is different, this is one of nature's gifts, of being a woman.

While friends around me have only just started families, my ovaries are winding down, moving into retirement.

Is it fun? No.
Are their effects? Yes! Sweating, tiredness, memory loss and my joints hurt, arthritis!!!
Do I mind? No, I don't, its really ok!
Its just another stage in my life, to learn to live with, to embrace. But maybe after just a small nap!

There's been a lot in between my last posting and now; I'll fill in as and when, but then I shall be moving to a-n website through to my graduation!!!

Silence: 'Coming out'

At the end of July I wrote the post Summer Project - Silence: Black Dog. At the time I was trying really hard to do all the right things, being Mindful, soaking up some Vitamin D, gardening etc etc. But to no avail, I just wasn't improving . . . why not?

Because, I was trying too hard . . . to do the right things, to do my best, my utmost, pushing and pushing. I just didn't see what I was doing to myself . . . and then I crashed. It felt like the end of the world, anxiety went through the roof and I fell apart.

This isn't the first time, but for some reason I haven't so far been able to see the pattern, to learn from it and not keep doing it to myself. This in itself is cause for self loathing:

"How can I be so stupid?"

In my mind I'm smacking my hand repeatedly against my forehead . . . screaming inside.

"Stupid, stupid stupid, idiot, incompetent, no wonder people don't like you, think you're useless and crap . . . why can't
you just be normal, what's wrong with you????!!!!".


I had offered my help volunteering at a 'Time to Change' event at the Museum of East Anglian Life and attended training on the Wednesday before. At the training I had been really anxious to attend, but everyone else was so nice and it actually ended up feeling safe to be there with them all. Everyone had their own issues, but still wanted to help others. I was looking forward, although nervously, to attending on Saturday. It was the Friday night before the event that I crashed. I wasn't sure I'd be able to attend I was in such a state, but after crying in the shower first thing, I thought no it would be good for me to go ahead and do it anyway. It was good to do it, I think I was a bit neurotic with the other volunteers, but hopefully they will forgive me.

It felt really good connecting with people and I felt a particular connection with the young Mums there and the pressure of being a parent. I had some excellent frank conversations, with people opening up to me. It was also good to be volunteering with other people who also have problems, lets hope I don't mess it all up.

That evening and the following day were difficult dealing with the aftermath of events. I awoke in the night having a major panic attack, but I knew from experience that if I could get back to sleep I would be able to recover, thankfully this was correct. Sleep has always been my saviour.

I spoke with my doctor, who referred me to the Mental Health Link Officer attached to our surgery (apparently every surgery has one). I went in to see her and couldn't stop crying. She took notes and referred me on and a doctor proscribed some antidepressants. The side effects weren't too bad, apart from slight nausea and tiredness. I very soon had an initial assessment with the mental health team, followed up by an appointment to see the psychiatrist, this alone gave me some comfort. When I saw her she asked more questions and we talked. She feels most of my problems stem from dysfunctional relationships in my childhood and very low self esteem. My meds are to be upped and she feels that I really need to be on them permanently to stop me cycling back down again and again (something i agree with wholeheartedly), this in itself with be challenging. There is the danger that as soon as you feel better you convince yourself you don't need to be on them again, that you are cured!

I had hoped for a label, something to grasp onto to explain why I am the way I am, or even blame, but even without this 'label', I actually for the first time feel I can see a glimmer of hope in the distance. But still one day at a time.

The next step was to talk to my tutors about what has been happening as I was getting really stressed about starting back, recommended by the psychiatrist. I emailed them all and had a chat with one of them and others said we would talk first week back. Plenty of support, encouragement and just general heart to heart chat. I need to have a balance of uni to private/home life this year and not to work too hard, but work smart and not burn out again.


With this awakening of the reality of the extent of my problems I decided to 'come out' on my mental health issues. I've spent my entire life hiding from 'me', probably subconsciously trying to be someone else and constantly seeking approval. I think I also get scared and back away from new relationships for fear of people seeing into me and seeing what an awful person I feel that I am, not letting them get close.

I'm not expecting 'coming out' to be completely plain sailing, but so far I am getting really good support, positive comments and lots of frank conversations from people also struggling. Some of whom have said since talking about their medication they have found out that others they know are also on meds, some for years and they had no idea.

We are not alone!!!

I know its going to be a long journey and possibly very difficult, but I want to be happy, I have to be happy, primarily for myself, but also for the people that love and care about me, they deserve to have me happy.

So if you know me or meet for the first time, if I'm reserved or awkward or uncomfortable, or just quiet, there is a reason, I'm not 'stuck up' or rude, just in pain.

Suicide

As part of my Summer Project 'Silence: Black Dog', I have talked about the recent suicide of Brittany Missen and touched on my own depression and anxiety.

Having spent the usual time on Pinterest today, I started a new board on suicide. I looked at the feelings of those who feel suicidal, attempt suicide, succeed in ending their lives and also at the aftermath for those left behind. In the majority of cases no suicide note is left, unlike in the movies. This leaves so many questions for the family and friends, for which there often are no simple answers, especially if it was completely unexpected.

Having let it all mull around in my head I felt I wanted to write something in response:

Suicide

Everything stops . . .

Silence . . .

The world is still revolving . . .

The clocks keep ticking, reminding you that in spite of the end of life as you knew it, as you didn't know you loved it and wouldn't, NOW, have changed for the world . . .

You can't eat, why would you . . .

To eat, breath or unforgivably, laugh, would mean life was moving on, continuing . . .

But that isn't possible, how can it, it isn't right . . . is it?

No, we must mourn as no-one has ever mourned before . . .

We berate, flagellate, wail . . .

But mostly, we just ask, ‘why’? . . .

They were loved so much, meant so much, were such a good friend, so many memories, so many laughs . . .

So we look back at the photographs . . .

Can we see a change? . . .

Were the eyes dead, when the face was smiling? . . .

There aren't really answers . . .

For them . . . there was either so much pain, that if it were physical, you would hear the screams from the moon . . .

Or there was nothing . . . no pain, but equally . . . no pleasure . . .

Just . . . a never ending vision of nothingness . . . no hope . . . no joy . . . nothing . . .

Stretching further than they could see . . . further than forever . . . .

Suicide.