mental illness

A central part of your mind’s landscape…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 2 Comments

Are you respectful? Do you try not to hurt other people’s feelings? How often do you reassure friends that they have done a great job, tell them not to be so hard on themselves? Almost everyone manages these things & more. Most of us know how treat others kindly. We’re all delighted to be our loved one’s cheer leaders. So why do we find it so hard to be in our own corners?

For a long time I thought my negative self talk was a rare thing. I was battling severe mental illness & I assumed the cruel way I addressed myself was justified. I didn’t really speak about that abusive voice in my head outside of therapy. I did CBT, compassionate mind training, EMDR and a variety of other therapy techniques. Regardless, I still talk to myself in a manner that I would not dream of confronting others. Yes, this is part of my mental health problems, but I’m realising it’s also really common.

I am not alone in berating myself. In fact, I think to some degree or another, we all do it. My problem is keeping it under control. I can spiral from ‘that was daft’ to ‘I’m utterly useless’ in a flash. I am aware that haranguing myself in this way is damaging. I know it plays into other aspects of my poor mental health; it lowers my self esteem, leads to second guessing & most dangerously makes me feel like I should punish my incompetence.

Lately, I have noticed a lot of public discussion on this topic. It has become clear that women in particular fall prey to negative self talk. We undermine ourselves. We judge ourselves not good enough. I’m wondering why.

Is it a side effect of our culture? There’s a constant onslaught of just keep grinding messages. Everyone has a side gig. Many women are trying to juggle careers & motherhood. We’re all trying to fulfil multiple roles. All the while being bombarded by media images of perfection. Is this why we fall short in our own estimations?

I’m not superwoman. None of us are. I have learned to cope with lots of aspects of mental & physical illness. This one I cannot seem to conquer. My first thought in the face of almost every problem is ‘this is my fault’. Although not in such polite terms. I can take a part the situation logically and prove that I am not always to blame. Intellectually I can believe that I’m not the cause of every misfortune, but I can’t feel it.

As I’ve said I have received significant psychological intervention. I know all theory behind the skills that are supposed to combat these thoughts. Somehow, I remain immune to the entirety of it. So, I ask you, what do you do when that horrid internal voice pipes up? I’m really asking & I am absolutely open to suggestions.

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The dog days are done…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 1 Comment

It’s been a rough couple of weeks. Extra illness, extra stress & very little sleep have taken a toll. My mood has taken a nose dive. I’m battling a fairly substantial wave of anxiety & the urge to just hole up at home.

I am fighting, though. One of the things keeping me going is how far I’ve come. These lows will probably always hit, but it helps to know things are not as bad as they once were. On days like this reading my own dark words shine a tiny light through today’s depressive fog.

The blood jet is poetry, ly h Kerr

I’m hoping some sleep & resolving some of the stress inducers will alleviate this bout of blue. In the mean time I’ll be digging deep in my chest of resources to keep myself focused on the light.

Bronan Kerr

Rest assured this boy is always looking after me.

This week I have been mostly…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 2 Comments

Trying (& failing) to get some sleep. I’m really fecking tired. Once I’ve done all the yoga, watched all the relaxing tv, had baths with bombs, face masked myself into oblivion, finished the housework & whatever book I’m reading & sprayed every calming scent known to man there is just one thing left to do. Lie still in a dark room & turn up the music.

I require only a couple of things from my insomnia tunes; they must be deep enough to flood the room & gentle enough to let me float away. Wonderful by Lianne La Havas complies. Her thick sweet voice coats me in wistfulness. I feel this song’s warmth in my chest. Its steady pace a comforting secondary pulse. The lyrics tempting & bittersweet. This is perfect middle of the night music.

Every now & then I stumble across music from my past and it opens a door to another time. David Gray’s White Ladder is just a such a time capsule. The intro of Please Forgive Me was enough to shoot me back to the year 2000. Despite that being a fairly mixed year for me this song holds only uncomplicated feels. It has connected itself to chilled after parties; the smell of dope & DKNY. To falling asleep in beds shared with a bunch of friends & waking up to 5 girls talking at once. It feels less like lightening & more like friendship running through my veins. I know it’s a love song, but for me it’s an ode to student flats & almost adulthood.

A Star is Born almost killed me. Seriously, I weeped myself raw, but Shallow saved me. Man, it is hard keeping it hardcore. I’m so relieved to have found softer ways. This is one of those songs that rouses every bloody emotion. I seems like I’ve been far from the shallows for a very long time. It feels good to sing it out loud.

Which brings me to my brand new discovery, Yoko Pwno. I heard them play at the last Yellow Sunday & was utterly captivated. A unique & totally bewitching band; they are comprised of violins, drums & techno synth type sounds. They’re hard to quantity, but oh so easy to fall in love with. Currently blasting in my late late playlist is It could always be worse. Mainly because when played at volume it washes over me & allows my mind to drift. Also, though, because that title’s a good reminder not to despair when I find myself still awake a 5am. It can always be worse, but it’s likely to feel better if you stick Yoko Pwno on.

Don’t forget to shout…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. It’s a wet, grey day & my mood is bleak, so it seems like an apt day to talk about suicide. Although, to be honest I want you to do more than talk about it.

Suicidal ideation impacts the lives of more people than you would imagine (1 in 5). It’s not rare for a person to reach a point where they are so desperate that they just don’t want to continue. In my experience those thoughts are insidious. Once you have seriously considered ending your life, it enters the sphere of available options. So, whilst I absolutely do not want to die; I can’t deny that occasionally at really bad times ‘kill myself’ would be the last entry on my list of possibilities. What makes it a remote last resort rather than an actual risk is a combination of factors. People love me, I love them, there is joy & purpose in my life. The only reason I can recognise & enjoy those factors is years of intensive support from mental health professionals. I am grateful for the people who stood by & helped me access the treatment I needed because without that professional intervention, I would certainly be dead.

World suicide prevention day

So, yes, I do want to us all to talk about this. I want to break the taboo. I want people suffering to not be silenced by shame. It is important that you listen to loved ones in trouble. It matters that you care, but what is even more important is that there are effective mental health services to seek help from. Talking & listening isn’t going to save anyone unless it’s backed up by solid treatment. In short, we need better mental health services.

There is no point in asking people to reach out for help when none is available. A cup of tea & chat with a friend is nice, but it will not solve the underlying issues that lead to suicide. We need to be able to offer people more than a 6 month waiting list for a hand full of CBT sessions. When your loved ones tells you they want to die, you should be able to take them to a dr & get them immediate help. Instead the current response is often no beds & here’s a crisis team number.

I want you talk about suicide. I want you talk about mental illness. I also want you to do more. Don’t vote for people who will continue to decimate the NHS. Find out how the mental health services are performing in your area. Write to your Mp/Msp about provision of those mental health services. Sign petitions. Write to newspapers. Share your experiences. Do everything within your power to raise the profile of mental health services. We are failing really vulnerable people everyday. We beg them to ask for help & then tell them none is available. If you really want to help those struggling with suicidal thoughts, you have to do more than talk. We have to fight to give them another credible way to end their pain.

Actions speak louder than words

Find your MP here.

Find your MSP here.

Check your MP’s voting record here.

Woman of the week…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

This week’s celebrated woman is someone I have the pleasure of knowing. She is a bopo goddess, a thrifting maven, accomplished public speaker & possibly the bubbliest person I’ve ever met. Ladies & Gentlemen, I give you Hayley Angell.

I met Hayley at a blogger event in Glasgow & was instantly impressed by her vintage look. I was also a little intimated by her polished confidence. I don’t find these events very easy. I have a lot of anxiety around new people & situations. I have even more anxiety about hiding my discomfort. The moment I spoke to Hayley I felt more at ease. Her sincere warmth allowed me to collect myself & have a good time.

Taking Shape blogger event, Glasgow

I obviously immediately commenced following her on social media and have done so since. Hayley’s accounts are bursting with life affirming energy. Her honesty about her body positive journey; discarding control garments, trying new activities & generally enjoying her body is inspiring. She recently discussed her experiences as a plus size women taking burlesque classes. Despite outward proclamations of inclusivity she still felt it was assumed that fat women would be less assured. She got the sense that fatter folk were quietly ushered into the background. It takes guts to be open about this stuff. Even more to be honest about how often we convince ourselves that we belong at the back of class. Thus, she used her Instagram account to launch #stepforward a reminder to all plus size people that we are worthy of taking up space & being seen.

The Body Positive community has given me so much. I always want to say thank you to those who inspire me. I also want to spread their work because I know it can bring others happiness. Hayley is one of those fabulous women who can help you change how you see yourself. She is an insta must follow.

Hayley Angell

*

Bopo aside Hayley is, as I mentioned, a thrifting magician. Her Instagram is worth following for her second hand style alone. If you need tips on trawling the charity shops for fashion gold, Hayley is your woman. If you simply enjoy seeing a person enjoy themselves & clothes, she is still your gal.

I’ve only met Hayley in person once, but I would not be without her online presence in my life. For a shot of genuine self love, go press those follow buttons.

* Photo credit : Hayley Angell

Do I wear you out?…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 4 Comments

I’ve had another really bad week pain wise. It feels like I’m been having a lot of bad weeks recently and I’m tired. So very tired.

Life goes on, though. Nothing stops because I’m in pain. So, I try to keep on going too. It’s exhausting. Pain wears you out. Even before you attempt to do anything, just being in pain is tiring. I’m not sure that many people know that. You start the day fatigued. Every single task you perform from that point takes enormous effort. You’re fighting the pain and the growing exhaustion.

Drs will tell you to rest, but complete rest isn’t feasible for very many people. I can’t rely on or expect other people to take care of my life for me. My house will stay dirty if I don’t clean it, my fridge will stay empty if I don’t fill it, my bills won’t pay themselves, medical treatment doesn’t come to my house, my cat needs fed and my teeth, hair, body won’t clean themselves. Those are just the very basics of life, but they can be overwhelming when every move you make is agony. It’s a no win situation. If I neglect these basics my quality of life is seriously impacted. My stress levels soar & mood plummets. Trying to keep up with daily life saps all my energy. Pain is exhausting & exhaustion lowers your ability to cope with pain. It’s a vicious circle with no obvious escape.

Plus living is more than one’s basic responsibilities. There has to be human contact & stimulation. Unfortunately those can be just as tiring as the daily dirge. I love writing. I love swimming. Both are good for me, body & mind. Doing either involves a string of wearying steps. I have to wear myself down in the hope of benefits that are never guaranteed. I have a wonderful friends & family. Excellent relationships I don’t want to lose or neglect. However, just making myself fit to be in company is sometimes a mammoth task. I don’t even mean appearance wise. My people will accept me with no make up & greasy hair. They can handle the days that I can’t walk very far or do very much. For which I am grateful. What I can’t ask of them is to soak up my ill temper. Pain makes you snappy & negative & frankly unpleasant. No one wants to be around that. Also, no one wants to treat the people they love that way.

What do I do? I monitor myself. I constantly keep a tight grip on that grump. Take a deep breath & swallow it down. Let me tell you, maintaining that front, is exhausting. Also, essential. I don’t want to be a nasty bitch. I want to treat people with respect. Of course I gain from this; my life is immeasurably better for having date nights & sister time & lunch with my bestie & joyous mini people in it. Pain is absolutely not an excuse for being a fuckwit. It’s right that I censor myself into being nice. It’s just that it’s incredibly draining. It is the same catch 22, don’t push myself to do these things and my life would be empty. Do them & I pay the price.

None of this is anyone’s fault. There isn’t really anything anyone can do to change these things. This is just my life. Oh & a lot of other people’s too. I have this idea that maybe if we understand each other’s experience we might understand each other a little better. I think that would probably be a good thing. Further more, I’ve been trying to hold in all my grump & I am very tired.

** Apologies. I know this is not my best writing. I’m really sore & really tired.

You make me sick..

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 4 Comments

Chronic illness is a shit show. Sometimes literally. Which is thing a that often goes unmentioned. Beyond the pain, being incapacitated & generally hindered in life there is the embarrassment factor. Believe me, that’s no small thing.

Disability brings many embarrassments. Perhaps most notably, for me, is the discarding of a layer of delicacy that I cherished. I am not by nature a person who cares to discuss certain bodily functions. I don’t find toilet humour funny. I don’t need the details of your bathroom trip. I have weird anxieties about toilets/bathrooms that are not my own. I’ll hold a pee for ten hours because the toilets in the bar aren’t spotless or because I saw a hair in your bathroom. A pee used to be the absolute limit of what I would even consider doing in toilet outside my own house. Now, I long for the time when I could reject toilets willy nilly & only go in the privacy of my home. Those were the days.

These days I always need to know where the nearest ladies is. Often I can’t leave the house because I cannot be more than a few feet from my bathroom. If I go out the choice of where & when I deign to use the facilities is no longer mine. My stomach now reigns supreme. It’s not a benevolent ruler. IBD has put paid to any friendly relations between myself & my digestive system. Throw in a hiatal hernia, GERD, anxiety & fibromyalgia and you have the making of all out war. In short, my digestive tract rarely behaves. Whether it’s vomiting, diarrhoea or constipation it’s always up to no good.

Sick emoji

Now, along with cramps & heartburn & nausea & wind & reflux & horrible, horrible pain I get to deal with the crippling embarrassment. I have to worry that the public toilet will be packed when my stomach is in distress. I panic that I won’t get off the bus in time to not ruin everyone’s day with the smell of my vomit. I have to use friend’s bathrooms & worry if I’m taking too long. My boyfriend gets to listen to me throwing my guts up whilst he lies in bed; trust me, it’s not sexy.

I am constantly trying to manage these symptoms in ways that allow me to avoid talking about them. I time eating around when I will be in locations that I can easily to escape to the facilities without drawing too much attention. I’ll avoid eating before car or public transport journeys. Often, I’ll just stay home. At heart I’m still a person who doesn’t want to even allude to any of this stuff. I’ll say I don’t feel great when what I mean is one way or another the contents of my stomach are going explode. I’m embarrassed to talk about it. I’m embarrassed for other people to know much about it. I’m mortified at the thought of it getting worse.

Embarrassed chimpanzee

As hard as I find it I’m now a person who has to do these cringe inducing things ALL THE TIME. I find myself having a near panic attack in a cubicle because maybe people can hear my insides trying to get out. I’m quietly dying whilst Drs question me about my bowels. I am rushing into pubs you usually couldn’t pay me to step into to use toilets worse than the one in trainspotting. It’s awful. I hate every twinge & cramp & wave of nausea; partly because they feel rotten, but mostly because I’m embarrassed.

So, here I am talking about it. I’m hoping if I just put it out there for all to see I can stop freaking out. I know other people experience this stuff & I’d hate to be part of the silence that makes anyone else feel this rubbish. If nothing else perhaps being a bit more open will alleviate some stress, which can only be good for my tum.

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Most of the time…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 4 Comments

I haven’t cut myself in a very long time. Realistically speaking, I cannot ever cut myself again. They call this recovery. Apparently, I’m recovered. I just don’t always feel it.

Tonight I looked through my old self harm pictures. Yes, I have pictures. When I was in the thick of it I always took photographs. Firstly because I felt compelled to, it was part of my ritual. Also, because I couldn’t trust myself to judge the severity of my wounds. Those pictures gave me the tiny bit of distance required to see what level of medical intervention I could get away with. Now, they’re a stop gap.

They’re the thing I do when I want to cut so badly it hurts not to. I look at those images of gore & miss it.

I miss the blood. The hot, flowing, staining everything I own blood.

I miss the smell & that crackling sound my skin makes when I slice into scar tissue.

I want the pain. I want the deep, sharp trauma my blade inflicts & the hot throb of infected tissue. I long for the ache of putting a butchered arm into a sleeve.

I know that doesn’t make any sense. I know it’s sick & crazy. It is still true. There’s a reason I yearn for the carnage; it works. Only briefly and, sure, it also fucks up your life, but those moments of respite are everything. Physical pain is nothing compared to the relentless agony that can exist in my head. Most of the time it’s manageable. Most of the time I can make it sleep. Most of the time I’m in control. Control isn’t easy. It is work. Exhausting, consuming labour.

The blade is easier. In the short term it’s beautiful relief. All those horrific feelings pour out with the blood. I can slash through my anguish just as easy I hack through my flesh. That’s why we do it. In case you were wondering. The reason some us do insane things to ourselves is because it’s effective. We hurt ourselves to heal ourselves.

The calm just doesn’t last very long. The sickness comes back. It returns stronger every time. The crazy grows. You need bigger, deeper, scarier cuts to keep it quiet. Then the self harm becomes a crazy of its own. You need it. You find yourself listening to drs who say you’re going to die. And even though you really don’t want to die. It’s hard to care. Now the crazy is trying to destroy you & the cutting is competing to do you in first.

So, I don’t cut anymore. I can’t cut anymore because I cannot control it.

If I want to be in charge,

If I want a chance at living a life I love,

If I don’t want to not hurt everyone who cares about me,

I can’t cut.

Sometimes, though, I desperately want to. The easy way out looks good. The horror movie in my head wants to come to life, but I can’t let it. I don’t cut.

I just look at old pictures

And

Write all the things I can’t bring myself to say out loud.

I don’t cut anymore & most of the time I’m glad.

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Whatever gets you through your life…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

I’m the kind of person who can be prone to feeling a bit too sad. Sometimes there are specific reasons for my sombre mood, others I’m blue without a clue. Obviously this necessitates developing sad day strategies. One of my most straightforward techniques is pop culture distraction.

Basically I immerse myself in literature, tv, movies or music that either soothe or swallow up my sadness. It’s a shallow technique. It has no chance of curing what ails me, but it can get me through a rough day. There are times when whatever gets you through the night really is alright.

My all time favourite tv show is pretty effective. Pick any random episode of Grey’s Anatomy and there’s a very high chance I will cry before it finishes. Select an episode that pushes my weepy buttons & I’ll have a mini breakdown. I can see why some may think this would be terrible viewing for a sad person. They’d be wrong. Crying is so incredibly cathartic. Balling your eyes over someone else’s pain, even more so. You get all the release with none of the troublesome self examination. I know, I know, you have to deal with your issues to solve them. However, when your issue is not entirely fixable & not even always knowable, Grey’s works. Throw in amazing uncliched female characters, very hot men, proper happy endings & your heart wrench is balanced. Need a good wail, but to still feel like there is good in the world? Meredith & Cristina are your girls.

Jane Austen serves the same, save me from drowning in melancholy purpose. She just does it in a very different way. Austen soothes me. I know those books inside out. I know I can trust Jane to guide me to a satisfying ending. There will be no traumatic twists. Manners will keep almost everyone in line. Characters I love will learn their lessons gracefully & reap their rewards. The baddies will get their just desserts, cads will rue the day. All with a dash of wit & a knowing wink from Austen. I know these novels have zero relevance to my life. To be honest that’s kind of the point. Ordered escapism is a marvellous distraction from messy feelings.

Lost in Translation combines both functions. It lets me cry whilst letting me believe. Unconventional happily ever after is the best kind. Meeting someone who can help you find yourself spoke to my deepest desires for a very long time. Now, I can enjoy the film safe in the knowledge that I managed it all by myself. All of those arty shots of Tokyo at night calm me. Bill Murray dispersing quizzical wisdom lifts me. Sad people finding there might be answers to their frustrated situations gives me life.

Which brings me to my ultimate sad girl medicine; Alan Bennett. Every single word he puts on paper is a tiny cure. His writing is both real & magical. His diaries reveal a decent man. His fiction & his life are built on a solid social conscious. Biting wit, cosy sentiment & articulate commentary somehow abide comfortably together in his work. I love Alan Bennett. I can lose my pain in his pages, sedated by seemingly effortless talent.

I’m grateful my bad life evolved into just bad days. It doesn’t always happen that way. Plus, when the bad days stack up it doesn’t always feel like they’ll fade away. We all need ways to temporarily escape. Those of us who’ve had a brush with crazy, even more so. These work for me. Perhaps they’ll help you too.

Why don’t you mind your own business?

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 8 Comments

I had an interesting twitter conversation this week. Some people wanted to know how I deal with strangers asking questions about my scars. Unfortunately this is a thing that happens & one of the reasons many people feel they must conceal their scars. Fortunately it is not an everyday occurrence & you can learn to handle it. I wanted to quickly share some tips that I hope will help you do just that.

First of all I feel it’s essential that you realise that no one has the right to ask you these questions. It is rude & intrusive. You do not owe these people answers, you don’t even owe them a polite response.

I totally understand that depending on a variety of factors unexpected questions about your scars can strike different chords. Sometimes I feel enraged, other days I panic & sometimes I’m just over it. Thus, my responses can differ. That’s ok. You are entitled to feel however you feel. You are not obligated to be nice or to hide those emotions from ill mannered strangers.

I tend to have ready made responses for the most common comments. They range from just shutting someone down to embarrassing them the way they tried to embarrass me. (Note : most people who ask already know what your scars are. They know their questions are akward & unkind).

Let’s get to it. I’m going to give my to go to answer to my most often asked questions.

Q/ What happened to your arms/legs/body part?

A/ What happened to your manners?

A/ Shark attack.

A/ Me.

A/ Exactly what you think.

Q/ Why did you do that?

A/ Why do you think it’s your business?

A/ Why are you a nosey bitch?

Q/ Why don’t you cover those up?

A/ Why don’t you mind your own business?

A/ Why don’t you cover up your horrible personality?

A/ Why don’t you fuck off?

All of these responses are blunt & let nosey people know you are not all impressed with their questions. I refuse to pander to other people’s rudeness, but I know there are times when you don’t feel confident or just want to avoid a possible confrontation. I find the perfect answer in those instances is ‘it’s a long story’. It’s vague, but it is also obvious that you have no interest in pursuing the topic.

Whatever you say the important thing to remember is that you don’t need to reveal details to anyone unless you want to. It’s not your responsibility to make strangers feel comfortable. It’s certainly not your job to safeguard the feelings of people who don’t care about hurting yours. Shut them down & live your life.

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