Return of the Blogger

My second blogger birthday seemingly passed me by this year (21st October). I suppose it's fair that I won't be celebrating, I feel that I've neglected the blog and people deserve to know why. I never expected to look forward to baring my soul on the internet, it's entirely the opposite of the safe internet practices we were told about when we were younger. I've only ever done it because I believed and still believe, that my words and experiences can help people. In the past two years I have been told that friends of friends have benefited from me sharing my mental health journey.

The truth is that I've been majorly struggling in recent months. In July I had a breast reduction, something which I have been longing for since I was 16 years old. Since the days of being bullied, I have struggled with low confidence and self esteem, particularly when it comes to my body. I piled on a lot of weight in a short space of time and...poof or rather KAPOW big bazoomas on my chest, all of the cake had fallen through my mouth and directly onto the cake shelf that is my clevage. I was ecstatic that 2016 was going to finally be the year that I'd make the change, that I'd finally have breasts that would be in proportion with the rest of my body. Although the operation was going to massively impact and improve my body confidence, I knew that it wasn't going to resolve all of my problems. I was even prepared for the post-op period of not being able to do much, of being in pain, being unable to have a comfortable night's sleep and being unable to exercise after consistently working out regularly for a few months prior to surgery. I had the slump, a major low period and over a month of insomnia.

We then went off on a holiday of a lifetime in September. Of course I was anxious about navigating through the airport and getting through the long haul flight. Even if I'm being jetted off to paradise I'll still want to launch myself at the emergency exits because I hate being confined and unable to escape. I had a fantastic time when I got there, for the most part anyway. The bright sunlight, the warmth on my skin, being consumed by two books (non-fiction still), swimming amongst fish of all colours and sizes and doing all whilst comfortably wearing a bikini brought me a great deal of joy.

Unfortunately when you check your bags in and hop aboard a plane you can't leave depression behind. There were some days when I resented how bright the sun was, I felt exposed and uncomfortable. I had bad stomach reactions to the drinking water, was often left feeling downbeat due to poor vegetarian options and generally felt anxious at all mealtimes and social occasions. I felt that I ought to be having a great time, that this was the break I needed and that my gratitude should be beaming from my every pore. Yet, I found myself punishing myself almost every evening. Old habits, an old illness broke thorugh the surface. I was purging all of the bad feelings and resentments I had. It wasn't the first time that I've had bullimia and unfortunately it wasn't the last. I've had a terrible relationship with my body, diets and eating disorders since I was 16. I'm hoping that this will be the year when I learn to love the body I have, or at least be a little kiner towards it.

There was a really bad night that I can't even go into right now. Even before all of this I had been considering that I needed to be put on an increased dose of anti-depressants. I'd had multiple breakdowns before and after the holiday and had generally been feeling empty for a long time. It might sound like the basis of depression anyway, but I knew it was getting worse. It was agreed that increasing the meds was the best way to go. However, due to mess ups with my prescription multiple times it was a couple of months before I was consistently on my new doseage. I knew it wasn't the only change I needed. I decided to enforce a schedule for my week: 3 days of working on my book and filming videos and the remainder of the week would be devoted to household chores and attempting to take care of myself. I'm still not sure whether things will work out, whether I'll start to feel happy or even content ever again. Even when I've achieved something like filming and editing two videos or tackling a load of laundry, I fail to feel good about it. People might praise me when I can't do it myself and I come up with an argument for why I don't deserve their praise. I know I can't just win at life without buying a ticket. I have to enter the prize draw, I have to back my own horse and accept the result I get and aim to improve on it or maintain my winning odds.

I'm hopeful that I will return to blogging more often. It might take me a while as I attempt to balance all of the other plates in my life. My plates might not be loaded with immense culinary dishes and I might have signifcantly lighter dishes than others, but to me it's a hardship and I need time to work on my balancing act and feel OK with the way my life is panning out.

I hope you're all well, happy or simply working on keeping your own plates spinning in the air right now.

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Motivation and Small Victories

For a long time I wasn't able to see the progress I was making in my recovery. It required a lot of energy, effort and mental soundness for me to even leave the house. I'd go out to walk my dog in a beautiful wooded area, I was ready to fill my lungs with fresh air to blow through the cobwebs that had accumulated over many months. Despite the seemingly serene picture I've painted for you, I'd feel overwhelmbed by the wind catching the leaves, the creeks of the trees and the dizzying green canopy that threatened to fall down on my head. I'd somehow begin to feel claustrophobic in the most natural, open spaces.

Despite those suffocating moments threatening to jeopardise any progress I was making, I eventually managed to see that I was achieving things. They were small steps, perhaps not monumental victories but they all accumulate towards feeling better. Not long ago I would have been consumed by what seemed like a failed outing and would have trudged upstairs, drawn the curtains and shut myself vements away for hours, sometimes days. Now I can see that I managed the following: I left the house, I may have driven to the National Trust site for the walk, I took my dog on a walk, I walked a fair distance after being static on the sofa for months on end. It's easy for these things to be overlooked. For most people they are seemingly easy actions and sound like a pretty uneventful day. For those with mental illness they can be the biggest achievements you've noticed for a long time.

There was a time when I had a sticker chart to reward actions like having a shower, getting properly dressed or putting on a fresh set of pyjamas. To some that might sound pathetic. Screw those people. I needed that sticker chart in those days, and I still do. Despite being able to achieve solo dog walks, driving somewhere without having planned the trip in every detail the day beforehand or even managing to kickstart my exercise routines, there are still days when I fall down and feel as if I'm a nobody, that my life is meaningless and that I'm a massive nuisance and liability to all those in my life.

I've become a HUGE fan of the 30 day habit cards made by the same people that produce the Happiness Planners. I started off with small goals such as eating breakfast every day, I was pretty bad at feeding myself for a long time! If I jumped to setting myself goals that were too big I could definitely tell, there would be days between me earning a sticker on the chart and that was an easy indicator that I wasn't ready to be pushing myself that hard yet. I've since managed to maintain a regular chart for exercising. 6 months ago I would have struggled to workout once a week. Since March I've been exercising up to 5 times a week, sometimes more, sometimes twice a day! I always make a note of my start date on the habit cards so I can see how quickly I filled up the cards. Upon completion of each habit card I will keep them as a record for me to look back on, a nice reminder to have as your collection grows as you make progress and also a reminder of how much you are capable of achieving if you have another down period. The 30 Day Habit cards are availbale here.  If you are a new customer of the website you can get 10% off your first purchase!

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Love Letter

A phrase about love is thrown around a lot, that being "we accept the love we think we deserve". In my case I'm frequently rejecting the love I (possibly) deserve. I'm often trying to convince Robbie that he needs to find the receipt and get an exchange due to receiving faulty goods. When I'm in a really bad place I'll consistently do a few things: I'll eventually reach out to Robbie, usually with some kind of cryptic message rather than saying "I'm balling my eyes out, come help". I'll sob uncontrollably and almost choke on the amount of liquid pouring out of my face and saturating my pillow. I'll somehow choke out the words "I can't do this anymore", "it hurts so bad", and "just let me die". None of which are pleasant phrases to hear from the person you love.

There have been many times when I have pushed Robbie away. I say hurtful things because I want to protect him. Twisted logic. I want to protect him from me, from 'it'. When I'm in that state I decide that hurting him is the only way to convince him to leave me. Regrettably on a couple of occasions in the past I have physically pushed him away. Something which ended up causing me more pain. All of this is to no avail. What actually hurts him the most is finding out that I've been suffering and haven't told him. He only ever wants to help, finding out too late is what truly wounds him.

To all those suffering and still have loved ones that remain by your side, do not push them away. Their love should be accepted. As resilient as they may seem, if you (we) continue to push them they may just let you defeat them one day. Learn to accept the love that is present in your life, the love you obviously deserve.

The Author Of My Life

I usually remain quiet about social movements that pop up in the media as I don't want to push my views down people's throats. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, and we are fortunate enough to live in a society where we can air out our opinions without the risk of capital punishments. I am so glad that I'm part of a generation that IS the change we've wanted to see for some time. Our actions and our voices can be used for the greater good. I was incredibly happy, albeit quietly so, about the US passing the bill for gay marriage across all of the American states. In my eyes, love is love, and no-one should get in the way of that. As you will know I also believe that illness is illness, in whatever form it comes in it deserves compassion, sensitivity and sympathy.

Over the past few weeks I've noticed the emergence of the 'semi-colon movment'. A social movement surrounding grammar? Not so much. The semicolon ';' is used in a sentence when the writer could have ended something but instead chose to continue; a time to pause but not the end. This is a definition that is poignant to myself and so many others. The semicolon movement is based around this definition and the idea that people mark themselves with the symbol. This permanent or semi-permanent marking shows others that they have either experienced depression, know someone who has/had depression or even as a dedication to those who were killed by this illness. I've seen a variety of coverage on the movement from news articles to comments posted on social media. Some people believe that it's nonsensical, that these tattoos will become this generation's equivalent to the tramp stamp. I can understand how some people would think it's a bit much to permanently mark yourself with a grammatical tool. However, when they've been informed of the strong meaning behind it I wish they'd keep quiet. Others had mistakenly believed that it was simply a hype or fashion trend, only to realise it's true meaning and hop aboard the support wagon. I'd like to believe that even if I hadn't got a tattoo, I wouldn't be so quick to judge someone by their physical appearance, even by the type of body art they choose for themselves. We don't always know what others have been through, or what they may currently be experiencing. We all need to give and receive more kindness in this world.

I don't believe that this movement is just a phase. I certainly hope that those taking part have really understood it's intention and that they haven't gone out and got a tattoo on a whim. PLEASE do not go out and recklessly get a tattoo, think about it seriously, mull it over for a long period of time, if it's something you really want it won't hurt to wait a few more weeks to be 100% sure. Do your research about the tattoo artists around you, or even look at those further afield to make sure you have a good experience with the right artist for you. Ensure that all the equipment is new for each customer and that the environment is sterile. I could do an entire post on my experiences of being tattooed, there is A LOT to cover, so please let me know if you'd like to see a post on that subject.

Some people have been slamming the movement because they saw it pop up a few years back. Why criticise it for re-emerging? I for one am glad it's come up again, it's a sign of progress. It's a sign of understanding the effects and devastation that mental illness can cause. I'm delighted to see Instagram, Pinterest and Facebook being bombarded with photos of people with the semicolon tattoo, either as a standalone symbol or it being incorporated into a more personal design. It's not a fad, it's not about hopping aboard a popular craze. If someone in a bad way notices someone with this tattoo it could help them, albeit in a small way. Just seeing that on the streets, next to you in the uni library, passing you your cup of coffee, it can assure you that you are not alone. Others have been and will be affected by this illness at some point in their lives, either you directly or a loved one could experience depression in your lifetime. It doesn't have to spark a conversation, it would be fantastic if it did, but just seeing it could provide some much needed comfort during a low point. I'm certainly not instructing anyone to go out and get inked. Perhaps donate to a local or national mental health charity, show your support by inking yourself with a Sharpie pen and sharing it on social media and wear it out to see if anyone notices. After much consideration I've decided to get my own permanent sign of support (sorry mum and dad!). For me it's also a reminder that my story could have ended, it very nearly did; I'm still here and I'm not finished yet.

Wrap Me In Cotton Wool

I'm currently being reminded of just how bad and maddening depression can be to live with. This wasn't exactly the post I was hoping to publish today. My mentality with blogging is that I post what feels right at the time. I do have a lot of pieces written and scurried away to post when it seems appropriate. Most bloggers produce posts on mass and schedule them weeks in advance to relieve some of the pressures that come with producing a blog. I seem to be able to write in this way, but I like to post on the basis of whether the written material matches how I've been feeling and thinking that week. 

Unfortunately my shoddy immune system or lack thereof has been under attack since my surprisingly proactive weekend (to be commented upon in a future post). I've been plagued with sinusitis multiple times a year for a long time. Apparently I broke my nose at some point in my life, I cannot recall this ever happening, which has left me with a deviate septum. Woop woop in need of a nose job, but it's risky and could leave me with a botched nose in the centre of my noggin. I'm nowhere close to having enough confidence with my appearance to warrant risking the worst case scenario. So instead I'm left with feeling like my head is trapped in a mace, every bone in my skull feels like it's been battered and should leave me looking mottled with bruises on my face. It's another one of these delightful illnesses that you feel a great deal on the inside, but it doesn't look like I'm going through hell on the outside. Combined with an increased sensitivity to light and sound I'm left to wallow in pain in bed for most of the day with my gloomy thoughts to torment me. My mood swings would make for an impressive line graph. The good comes with the bad, the higher you climb the further you have to fall.

Pot Kettle Black

 Just a few of the Tweets that fuelled this blog post.

This certainly isn't the post I had planned on doing this week, but current affairs pop up on my radar and I just can't keep quiet! It is quite obvious that I understand my illness, after years of being convinced that I deserved it and that it wasn't a 'real' illness, someone finally told me it was real. Just because you can't see the illness doesn't mean it isn't real. If someone scanned my brain they wouldn't find a big dark tumour-like monster sitting in there feasting upon my happy memories and convincing me that I'm an unlikeable person. I know its a real illness. If you see someone with a plaster cast on their leg you don't question whether their leg is truly broken and hurting, why would we? I really hope that if anyone saw me on my bad days that they'd worry and wonder what was wrong. I hope that they don't see my grey toned face, dark under eye circles, and extremely casual dressed in the dark type attire and think "she's a lazy bitch",  and "why isn't she at work somewhere?!".

Of course most people will have heard about the devastating German plane crash that occurred last week, and may have seen or heard coverage of the event since then. I can't stand that there are people in this world that judge that co-pilot so much. HE has a name, he had a family, he was important to someone. Most importantly and tragically, someone out there knowing he had a mental illness allowed him to continue working as a pilot. The airline should be getting slated for failing to protect an employee's welfare. And a great number of lives were lost because of that poor decision. Of course the families of the victims might struggle to feel sorry for the co-pilot, but I hope that some people out there believe that he was a vicitm too.

My blood is boiling right now because of a certain attention seeking woman whom refuses to be considerate of most of the human race. Katie Hopkins. Oh the things I could say about her, all of which will remain in my head as I do not wish to stoop to her knee scraping level. Some of you may remember the post linked here in which I thought that Katie Hopkins may have finally been able to empathise with some of the people she's insulted so much. After her dramatic weight gain project she broke down in a psychiatrist's office as she realised how hard it is to wake up every day to a body she wasn't happy with. In her documentary we also saw how self conscious she felt when she attempted to resume her exercise routine, she had anxiety over being seen and judged by others. Pot kettle black! Yes I understand that exercise and moving more is good for a great many things, even depression can be relieved (not cured!) by exercising due to the hormones it releases. In her words "people with depression do not need a doctor and a bottle of something that rattles. They need a pair of running shoes and fresh air", perhaps that works for some people, and of course some patients and doctors prefer not to use anti-depressants when possible. Accepting that you need to take anti-depressants isn't an easy way out, it isn't a sign of weakness or admitting defeat. However, sometimes its needed. I certainly wouldn't be in any position to lace up my trainers and go for a run without the assistance of medication. And even whist I have been on anti-depressants I struggle to consider doing this, sometimes I truly am housebound, paralised by anxiety and the phsyical symptoms that come with depression. The medication does more good than harm, yes there can be some nasty side effects, but I've weighed up the pros and cons, and after experiencing life without medication, having a breakdown and seriously considering whether I ought to be admitted into a psychiatric facility I'd say they help me!

 In her usual fashion Hopkins jumped in on the conversations sparked by the German plane crash, unfortunately the more outrageous things she says the more attention she gets and so her career has established on the back of her running her mouth. I understand that everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but there ought to be room for a little sensitivity and restraint especially if those opening their mouths have never experienced what they are bashing. In Hopkins's words depression is a fashionable illness for lazy people and is used as a quick diagnosis to get rid of paranoid people in doctor's waiting rooms. Excuse my language but that is bulls**t. She also stated that stigma against mental illness does not exist, I wish that was true. However she managed to contradict her statement all over Twitter, so Katie...the stigma doesn't exist and yet there you are bashing a mental illness and cowardly attacking thousands of people with said illnesses. And the blood is boiling again, the ignorance and arrogance of this woman is unbelievable. I wish I could ignore her, acknowledging her only keeps her career alive, but I can't stand the idea of keeping quiet and allowing her to potentially convince others that her statements are facts.