Managing mental health while juggling this parenting gig is no mean feat but for the most part I've been able to get by by faking it till I made it and hoping for the best. But one thing that has been a constant and ongoing struggle for me is when my anxiety clashes head on with playground relationships.
I spoke about my anxiety on YouTube recently but this is bigger and longer than I can fit into a ten minute video.
Since Dylan started nursery last year my anxiety has been running wild twice a day five days a week. Standing in the playground with all the other parents sometimes feels like I'm standing in front of a jury silently pleading my case and praying that they take my side. And as I watched them interact and build friendships my anxiety worsened.
The thing about anxiety is that it's completely irrational.
I can look back on my time making the school run and clearly see that there is absolutely no reason for me not to have built the relationships the other parents have. The only thing that got in the way was my anxiety and the barrage of negative opinions about myself it throws at me in order to silence me.
I stayed silent because I'm scared of making a fool of myself, of making people thing I'm stupid, an unfit mother or just as awful as I feel about myself.
I stayed silent because sometimes I feel like the other parents already think I'm absolutely awful without me having said a word.
My anxiety caused my silence and my silence fuelled my anxiety because the longer I went without saying a word the harder it got. As I watched the other parents make small talk and arrange to see each other over the weekend my silence allowed my anxiety to formulate the idea that the reason I wasn't included was due to my faults and not due to the fact that I was keeping my mouth firmly shut.
The problem is, I worry that my anxiety doesn't just affect me. I worry that my anxiety induced silence has stopped Dylan being able to have more out of school play dates. He is the opposite of me, he is confident and popular but we don't see people outside of school. And I wonder, is that because of me? Is that the result of my anxiety? Or is it just how life is?
I can't answer questions like that but my anxiety is having a grand old time coming to its own conclusions.
I'm making progress though
Dylan's birthday party forced me into sudden terrifying interactions with other mums that turned out to be less terrifying and more relieving because wow it was fine. And now my school runs aren't silent, I actually talk to people.
It's still incredibly hard though.
I still constantly worry about what I'm saying and what they other parents think.
I still worry that the fact that I held back for so long has had a negative affect on Dylan's friendships somehow.
I still worry.
But now my fear doesn't silence me.
Juggling parenting and mental health problems is incredibly difficult and it's a learning experience.
My experience with Dylan has taught me so much that I've brought forward into my life with Isla at nursery and that's really all I can do.
It's all any of us can do.
Live, learn and bring our lessons forward so we don't stay stagnant, anxious and suffering when we have the tools to pick ourselves up and be the best parents we can be.
And the best versions of ourselves that we can.
Our children deserve that.
And so do we.
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
20.3.16
INVISIBLE ILLNESSES - MENTAL HEALTH
Most illnesses at some point are invisible that's how so many people get so incredibly ill before they discover they're ill and are able to seek treatment.
By definition and invisible illnesses are chronic illnesses that significantly impair daily living. If you search online the lists will include auto immune diseases, such as lupus, arthritis and chronic fatigue syndrome. The lists are long, the symptoms varied but painful and exhausting. I know, I have arthritis myself and another auto immune disease that is currently yet to be given a name because it can't commit to a part of my body quite yet (or something).
But unless you're reading a mental health related blog or article you won't find any mental health conditions listed under invisible illnesses.
As someone with both a chronic physical disability and mental health problems I can tell you, mental health problems significantly impair daily life. And not just on an emotional or psychological level, physically too. The fatigue that washes over you when depression hits in overwhelming waves and refuses to lift for weeks and weeks. The pain and tightness of constant anxiety that makes it hard to breathe all day and that doesn't even come close to the intense and terrifying pain that you can experience with an anxiety attack. Mental illness toys with you so much that physical symptoms are just part of the package.
There's a strange heaviness that comes with mental health problems that is unrelated to the problems themselves. It's like a cloud that rains down emotions that soak your clothes and make it harder to navigate your path through life. Fear, anger, anxiety, resentment, raining down and holding you back just a tiny bit, but enough for you to be constantly aware of it.
I'm scared that people will judge, that because of stereotypes or their prejudices I'll miss out on opportunities. I'm training to be a counsellor, it doesn't take much for someone's preconceived ideas about my mental health problems to get in my way.
I'm scared of that.
I'm anxious that people won't understand. That when I'm overwhelmed and can barely drag myself out of bed to look after the children that people won't understand why I look like hell and can barely speak. Or when I'm impulsive and spend money I shouldn't or take on more than is realistic, that people won't understand and I'll be judged or penalised for it.
I'm angry, so bloody angry because it's invisible and I have to explain over and over again that sometimes my behaviour is a symptom of an illness that I have "but yeah sorry you can't see it or really understand it".
And I resent that I have to prove it. People question the validity of my illness because they can't see, hold or quantify it. And I have to say "well on a scale of one to suicidal I'm about 500 so....?" And hope that they understand or will at least accept it because lord knows on a bad day I don't have the energy to justify myself as much as I have to sometimes.
And then then even when things are good, when I've had a few good days or better yet a few good weeks, the heaviness is still there raining down its anxiety. When will I have another episode? How will I cope? How will it be? Will people understand? Will it get in the way? That in itself is pretty exhausting.
I have the same anxiety with my physical disability. And the same resentment. Wow the resentment with that is huge and accidentally slips into anger if I'm having a bad day pain wise and a bad day with being a little loopy and someone asks why I'm sitting in the priority seats on the bus.
But that's for another time.
But people will understand physical illness to an extent, even if they can't see it.
Mental illness though? That's another story. And so you walk through life carrying it around with you like an oversized bag no one can see and have to apologise each time your invisible bag hits someone as you pass them on this metaphorical journey. And all the while as much as you continue to empty it out this bag fills up and weighs you down and yet no one can see it. People judge you for lagging behind in the race but they can't see the extra weight you carry. I mean, it's in your head, skulls are pretty thick. They don't have much chance with that one.
And it's not unless you're privileged enough to get to the point where your mental illness displays such blatant physical symptoms that people notice. For me, that's my weight loss.
And that is why mental illnesses are unique.
With my physical disability I wish people could see and understand without me having to explain. Physical disabilities are widely accepted and acknowledged.
With my mental health (despite talking about it openly online) as much as I wish people understood, so many don't. And that makes me want to hide it away whenever it becomes visible.
And yet as soon as that happens, the resentment and difficulties of living with invisible illness return.
By definition and invisible illnesses are chronic illnesses that significantly impair daily living. If you search online the lists will include auto immune diseases, such as lupus, arthritis and chronic fatigue syndrome. The lists are long, the symptoms varied but painful and exhausting. I know, I have arthritis myself and another auto immune disease that is currently yet to be given a name because it can't commit to a part of my body quite yet (or something).
But unless you're reading a mental health related blog or article you won't find any mental health conditions listed under invisible illnesses.
As someone with both a chronic physical disability and mental health problems I can tell you, mental health problems significantly impair daily life. And not just on an emotional or psychological level, physically too. The fatigue that washes over you when depression hits in overwhelming waves and refuses to lift for weeks and weeks. The pain and tightness of constant anxiety that makes it hard to breathe all day and that doesn't even come close to the intense and terrifying pain that you can experience with an anxiety attack. Mental illness toys with you so much that physical symptoms are just part of the package.
There's a strange heaviness that comes with mental health problems that is unrelated to the problems themselves. It's like a cloud that rains down emotions that soak your clothes and make it harder to navigate your path through life. Fear, anger, anxiety, resentment, raining down and holding you back just a tiny bit, but enough for you to be constantly aware of it.
I'm scared that people will judge, that because of stereotypes or their prejudices I'll miss out on opportunities. I'm training to be a counsellor, it doesn't take much for someone's preconceived ideas about my mental health problems to get in my way.
I'm scared of that.
I'm anxious that people won't understand. That when I'm overwhelmed and can barely drag myself out of bed to look after the children that people won't understand why I look like hell and can barely speak. Or when I'm impulsive and spend money I shouldn't or take on more than is realistic, that people won't understand and I'll be judged or penalised for it.
I'm angry, so bloody angry because it's invisible and I have to explain over and over again that sometimes my behaviour is a symptom of an illness that I have "but yeah sorry you can't see it or really understand it".
And I resent that I have to prove it. People question the validity of my illness because they can't see, hold or quantify it. And I have to say "well on a scale of one to suicidal I'm about 500 so....?" And hope that they understand or will at least accept it because lord knows on a bad day I don't have the energy to justify myself as much as I have to sometimes.
And then then even when things are good, when I've had a few good days or better yet a few good weeks, the heaviness is still there raining down its anxiety. When will I have another episode? How will I cope? How will it be? Will people understand? Will it get in the way? That in itself is pretty exhausting.
I have the same anxiety with my physical disability. And the same resentment. Wow the resentment with that is huge and accidentally slips into anger if I'm having a bad day pain wise and a bad day with being a little loopy and someone asks why I'm sitting in the priority seats on the bus.
But that's for another time.
But people will understand physical illness to an extent, even if they can't see it.
Mental illness though? That's another story. And so you walk through life carrying it around with you like an oversized bag no one can see and have to apologise each time your invisible bag hits someone as you pass them on this metaphorical journey. And all the while as much as you continue to empty it out this bag fills up and weighs you down and yet no one can see it. People judge you for lagging behind in the race but they can't see the extra weight you carry. I mean, it's in your head, skulls are pretty thick. They don't have much chance with that one.
And it's not unless you're privileged enough to get to the point where your mental illness displays such blatant physical symptoms that people notice. For me, that's my weight loss.
But when people notice and it's not invisible anymore the stigma and judgement that you've feared for so long while your illness has been hidden inside your head is suddenly something you have to face. Constantly. And that can be just as awful and overwhelming as you feared.
And so you go back to trying to hide your illness, after all that time, all the resentment you've felt from it being invisible you wish it could just be so again. And that is why mental illnesses are unique.
With my physical disability I wish people could see and understand without me having to explain. Physical disabilities are widely accepted and acknowledged.
With my mental health (despite talking about it openly online) as much as I wish people understood, so many don't. And that makes me want to hide it away whenever it becomes visible.
And yet as soon as that happens, the resentment and difficulties of living with invisible illness return.
8.3.16
A BREAKDOWN OF A BREAKDOWN
I feel guilty.
I feel guilty all the time and some times I have to sit down and work out if it's rational guilt (I feel guilty for the awful things I've said and ways I've treated people) or irrational guilt (I feel guilty for not being a 'Pinterest mom' or a 'blog mom' and providing my children with a picturesque childhood). Rational or not it's there, it torments me and suffocates me and generally makes me feel shit which in turn makes me feel guilty for being so self centred.
Today has been very intense. I debated whether or not to post this but I realised that my nature is to bury this intensity away as fast as possible so this is really my only chance to get it out. Although whether or not that is good is questionable. And I'm supposed to be reining my blogging in and trying to find a niche so I can succumb to the pressure of trying to be a swanky and very interesting blogger. Posting how I feel when I feel rather mental is pretty much the opposite of that. I'm also unsure of what exactly this is. I would question some sort of episode except it doesn't feel like one. But that's even worse because I don't want this to be real because it hurts. A lot.
I know what triggered it at least. A possible opportunity that would change all of our lives for the better. Better than that if I'm honest, its relatively huge. Anxiety, mania threatening to burst out, fear, doubt, uncertainty. Hope? I struggle with hope. I struggle to believe that happiness is really 'out there' for me. Unsurprising given my history, more than my history, it flows into my present and why would it stop there? Why would now be the time for it all to stop? The constant darkness that seeps into my life and snatches the light that I'm clinging onto.
Sometimes if I rattle off my story people think I'm lying because no one can have that much bad luck. When I was an obnoxious brat on the Internet people used to accuse me of making things up for attention or sympathy (which is weird because I don't know how to process sympathy or compliments or attention properly, especially not in relation to my life). During a tutorial my tutor asked me how I cope. I don't have a choice but to cope, there's no how to consider. I just have to.
But even when I'm coping the darkness is still there and if I manage for a minute to find a space filled with light it's like how I imagine living inside a balloon would be. A space filled with light but darkness is pressing, squeezing and it's going to pop my ballon and I'll be engulfed again.
I accepted this as fact years ago, somewhere between my breakdown and Isla being born I realised that holding onto the hope that pain and darkness would stop interrupting my life and taking over the reins was far more painful than accepting the reality that it would happen and apparently pretty frequently.
Of course it's not always the same darkness either. Sometimes it's like the darkness in your childhood bedroom that's still lit by a nightlight or the light out on the landing. Other times it's like deep space and I can't breathe and I just want it all to be over.
I accepted this as some sort of a reality for me, I can't change it, nor can I fight it so acceptance was the only way forward. But I feel so guilty because my darkness doesn't limit itself to my emotions. It spreads itself out manipulating situations, time and people so it's not just how I feel it's bad luck, lost friends, lack of treatment options, my house, my body and it's pain and limitations. But bad luck doesn't just affect me. I'm pulling the people I love into the darkness with me just by continuing to be in their lives. This darkness that feels one step ahead of me is playing out the game of my life and I'm losing. I try to play my cards right but it's one step ahead and I can't ever seem to beat it. Sometimes I feel like I've caught a break, something gets better, I rebuild burnt bridges, make progress in my recovery etc and then it plays its next hand and I'm back exactly where I was before witch a few extra bruises where I've been kicked when I was already down.
Bad karma. Bad luck.
I am the queen of bad luck.
And everyone I love is getting hurt or losing out because of me.
Sometimes I feel like my children drew the short straw having me as a mother because of this darkness that interrupts and invades and somehow manages to always leave me as the one who misses out or is left alone.
They deserve more.
Everyone in my life deserves more than what I can bring to them because no matter how hard I try I won't ever be able to make up for this.
Sometimes I want to run away to keep them all safe.
Stop this thing, whatever it is seeping into their lives anymore.
But I don't, of course not.
I couldn't ever leave my children.
And that makes me feel guilty because isn't that just so selfish?
Ive been told I'm being over dramatic and ridiculous before but what people can never argue is that there is something in my life, in me that seems to poison the light. Everyone can see it, or at the the trail of destruction it's left behind.
And now we have this opportunity and I know it will fall through. These things don't happen to me. And so many people say that exact line that it's losing its validity a bit. But they really don't. And why would they start now? I can't believe it's possible.
And that makes me feel so guilty because if I were someone else it would be utterly possible and just by being me, by having this darkness it's like I'm taking away everyone else's chances.
My children's chances.
I feel so guilty.
I can't imagine I'll ever stop, unless whatever this is stops. Unless the darkness lifts and stops lurking and threatening to come down and snuff out the light again.
But I can't imagine that it ever will.
I feel guilty all the time and some times I have to sit down and work out if it's rational guilt (I feel guilty for the awful things I've said and ways I've treated people) or irrational guilt (I feel guilty for not being a 'Pinterest mom' or a 'blog mom' and providing my children with a picturesque childhood). Rational or not it's there, it torments me and suffocates me and generally makes me feel shit which in turn makes me feel guilty for being so self centred.
Today has been very intense. I debated whether or not to post this but I realised that my nature is to bury this intensity away as fast as possible so this is really my only chance to get it out. Although whether or not that is good is questionable. And I'm supposed to be reining my blogging in and trying to find a niche so I can succumb to the pressure of trying to be a swanky and very interesting blogger. Posting how I feel when I feel rather mental is pretty much the opposite of that. I'm also unsure of what exactly this is. I would question some sort of episode except it doesn't feel like one. But that's even worse because I don't want this to be real because it hurts. A lot.
I know what triggered it at least. A possible opportunity that would change all of our lives for the better. Better than that if I'm honest, its relatively huge. Anxiety, mania threatening to burst out, fear, doubt, uncertainty. Hope? I struggle with hope. I struggle to believe that happiness is really 'out there' for me. Unsurprising given my history, more than my history, it flows into my present and why would it stop there? Why would now be the time for it all to stop? The constant darkness that seeps into my life and snatches the light that I'm clinging onto.
Sometimes if I rattle off my story people think I'm lying because no one can have that much bad luck. When I was an obnoxious brat on the Internet people used to accuse me of making things up for attention or sympathy (which is weird because I don't know how to process sympathy or compliments or attention properly, especially not in relation to my life). During a tutorial my tutor asked me how I cope. I don't have a choice but to cope, there's no how to consider. I just have to.
But even when I'm coping the darkness is still there and if I manage for a minute to find a space filled with light it's like how I imagine living inside a balloon would be. A space filled with light but darkness is pressing, squeezing and it's going to pop my ballon and I'll be engulfed again.
I accepted this as fact years ago, somewhere between my breakdown and Isla being born I realised that holding onto the hope that pain and darkness would stop interrupting my life and taking over the reins was far more painful than accepting the reality that it would happen and apparently pretty frequently.
Of course it's not always the same darkness either. Sometimes it's like the darkness in your childhood bedroom that's still lit by a nightlight or the light out on the landing. Other times it's like deep space and I can't breathe and I just want it all to be over.
I accepted this as some sort of a reality for me, I can't change it, nor can I fight it so acceptance was the only way forward. But I feel so guilty because my darkness doesn't limit itself to my emotions. It spreads itself out manipulating situations, time and people so it's not just how I feel it's bad luck, lost friends, lack of treatment options, my house, my body and it's pain and limitations. But bad luck doesn't just affect me. I'm pulling the people I love into the darkness with me just by continuing to be in their lives. This darkness that feels one step ahead of me is playing out the game of my life and I'm losing. I try to play my cards right but it's one step ahead and I can't ever seem to beat it. Sometimes I feel like I've caught a break, something gets better, I rebuild burnt bridges, make progress in my recovery etc and then it plays its next hand and I'm back exactly where I was before witch a few extra bruises where I've been kicked when I was already down.
Bad karma. Bad luck.
I am the queen of bad luck.
And everyone I love is getting hurt or losing out because of me.
Sometimes I feel like my children drew the short straw having me as a mother because of this darkness that interrupts and invades and somehow manages to always leave me as the one who misses out or is left alone.
They deserve more.
Everyone in my life deserves more than what I can bring to them because no matter how hard I try I won't ever be able to make up for this.
Sometimes I want to run away to keep them all safe.
Stop this thing, whatever it is seeping into their lives anymore.
But I don't, of course not.
I couldn't ever leave my children.
And that makes me feel guilty because isn't that just so selfish?
Ive been told I'm being over dramatic and ridiculous before but what people can never argue is that there is something in my life, in me that seems to poison the light. Everyone can see it, or at the the trail of destruction it's left behind.
And now we have this opportunity and I know it will fall through. These things don't happen to me. And so many people say that exact line that it's losing its validity a bit. But they really don't. And why would they start now? I can't believe it's possible.
And that makes me feel so guilty because if I were someone else it would be utterly possible and just by being me, by having this darkness it's like I'm taking away everyone else's chances.
My children's chances.
I feel so guilty.
I can't imagine I'll ever stop, unless whatever this is stops. Unless the darkness lifts and stops lurking and threatening to come down and snuff out the light again.
But I can't imagine that it ever will.
26.2.16
WHAT CAME FIRST - MENTAL ADJ. OR MENTAL ILLNESS?
I should sleep more. But I suppose if I did I wouldn't come up with highly interesting and somewhat amusing questions like that. Although maybe that's a good thing because a) I'm pretty sure I am the only person who finds my own humour amusing and b) questions like that keep up all night trying to answer them. Either way I thought of it and have been turning it over in my mind and on Google and unless I'm missing something obvious I still don't have an answer.
But that's unimportant really, just a (not very) witty way to start a post that I hope people will like because right now I'm going through a short phase of uncertainty and need validation from someone other than my children who are apt to telling me that I am awesome and amazing because I've bought them a Kinder egg. I suppose it also led to the thought process I'm currently toying with, what comes first? In relation to my mental health.
I have a number of mental health problems listed in my medical records. I actually saw it all the other day during an appointment and I had no idea that some psychiatrist or other at some point in my adult life had decided I'm on the spectrum of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Who knew? (Answer: not me).
Over the last few years I've noticed how my various disorders intertwine and a bad episode of one can easily result in a bad episode of another.
For instance, last year the first disorder to rear its ugly head was depression, in full force, absolutely out of nowhere. Quickly followed by crippling anxiety. The struggle was far more than real. Every day I felt like I was dragging my body along as if it were a corpse and the only break in the crushing depression that felt like it was a heavy weight suffocating me was anxiety and its corresponding panic attacks that genuinely did suffocate me because I couldn't breathe. While struggling to cope with the overwhelming emotions I fell into the obsessive and ritualistic cleaning and organising as a way to create some sense of order in my world that was suddenly complete chaos. At the same time the reckless spending and evening bottle of wine amped up, which at the time I rationalised as perfectly normal things that people do to cope. However while this is true, people often turn to alcohol or materialism to cheer themselves up, I am not people. I am a person with a personality disorder and these things are not nothing, they are the starting point of reckless behaviour that damages myself and those I love if I don't confront it. Which is difficult because when my borderline comes out to play I struggle lots with dissociation. It's difficult to hold yourself accountable or even recognise the extent of a problem when half the time your body feels like a car and you've suddenly handed the wheel over to someone else and climbed into the back seat (or sometimes the boot depending on the day). I don't know if lucky is the right term although I continue to use it regardless, before my BPD had the time to become what it could and has done in the past I stopped eating.
Being in recovery from an eating disorder is a long old slog. I have been diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa - purging subtype. It's been a long time since I received my initial diagnosis (thirteen years to be exact) and longer still since I actually developed my eating disorder. And since then my life has been in part a journey of fighting it. It's long, hard and doesn't have any certainties even when I feel like I'm in the clear. Last year when I stopped eating I wasn't even aware of stopping. And by the time I realised I had stopped I had also rationalised reasons why it was a perfectly ok thing to do, for now. Despite being in recovery and actually doing very well (have you guys seen the muscles on some of my yoga pictures? #hollydoesyoga) eating still brought anxiety and guilt with it at almost every meal time. And as my anxiety was spiralling out of control it relieved some of it by not facing that daily challenge. That was probably the most rational thought in regards to my mental health for a long time. In part utterly ridiculous, but it made sense.
So within a month I had gone sort of loopy. One disorder either masking or triggering the next. My borderline an unwelcome symptom of my declining mental stability, my anorexia and OCD symptoms I was grasping onto to cope with my anxiety and depression. And as the year went on they overlapped more and more until I wasn't really at all sure if my sudden bouts of anxiety were a product of the initial anxiety or if they were coming from my borderline, and the same with my depression.
It's all well and good being able to map it all out on paper or screen like this where it almost makes sense if you read it a few times over. But when it comes to treatment I'm left with a problem. That question, what comes first? In a way my wellbeing depends on it. Because it's all well and good treating a symptom but if I don't tackle the cause then I'll be back at square one faster than I care to think about.
And it's not just last year that I'm considering. Maybe because I'm just curious or maybe it really does matter, I'm unsure about that too (I'm planning on hashing it out with my psychiatrist) but despite the fact that my anorexia was the first of the list to present itself diagnostically what if that was because I was predisposed to it because of another mental illness that I just hadn't been diagnosed with yet?
They say eating disorders come hand in hand with both depression and anxiety and science dictates that if you starve yourself you'll feel pretty crap and your brain will go a bit wonky. But not everyone starts with their eating disorder as their first diagnosis. I've also noticed that eating disorders and personality disorders seem to go hand in hand a lot. Or at least people claim they do (more on that later).
I often feel like the mistreatment of my body, the behaviours and rituals I adopt due to my anorexia mirror those I fall into when I have a particularly bad episode with my personality disorder. So then I wonder, did I only develop anorexia as a symptom of something else? Is that why I've been fighting this fight for so long? Because I haven't been treating the cause, just a symptom? Am I essentially putting a little Peppa Pig plaster on an open wound and expecting it to heal?
On the other hand I may just be making excuses.
But now I'm faced with decisions about my recovery. This is the first time I've been given the chance to properly discuss my options and it's a heavy burden to carry sometimes because I want to get it right. I need to get it right. Right now, despite my weight I am fighting against going into an eating disorder specific route of treatment. And of course that raises questions about my motives, and I won't lie, I don't want to gain weight. The thought terrifies me, and I have had genuine dreams of suffocating in fat.
But the thought of leaving the people I love scares me more. The thought of an NG tube scares me far more than eating does and that scares me a lot. So no, I'll admit it, I don't want to gain weight, but that's not why I don't want to go down that road.
I'm fighting because this time I truly believe that the anorexia didn't come first and at least in this case I have absolute and concrete evidence of that. And regardless of my weight, regardless of it being my first diagnosis tackling it first will leave me out in the cold and possibly/probably worse off than I already am.
How does an anorexic with untreated borderline personality disorder react to gaining (a lot of) weight? Answer: Badly. So, so badly.
And I don't want to go there thank you very much.
So this is where I am. I'm hedging my bets on a question I don't really know the answer to but I'm willing to risk it. I wager that I might know my own mind better than anyone outside of my skull and while I have the clarity and opportunity to be part of the (very important) decision making I shall do just that.
For the most part I'm back in the drivers seat as of the last two months and it's tiring but a lot better than being in the boot. (Remember the: my body is like is car analogy I made at the start before this post made your brain fall out of your ears?)
I've also decided that the mental vs mental question will probably join my list of things that bug me so much I don't sleep at night.
The current top of that list is
What came first orange (colour) or orange (fruit)? And was orange even a word before those two things?
Also isn't it really lazy that they didn't think of a different word for whichever came second?
But that's unimportant really, just a (not very) witty way to start a post that I hope people will like because right now I'm going through a short phase of uncertainty and need validation from someone other than my children who are apt to telling me that I am awesome and amazing because I've bought them a Kinder egg. I suppose it also led to the thought process I'm currently toying with, what comes first? In relation to my mental health.
I have a number of mental health problems listed in my medical records. I actually saw it all the other day during an appointment and I had no idea that some psychiatrist or other at some point in my adult life had decided I'm on the spectrum of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Who knew? (Answer: not me).
Over the last few years I've noticed how my various disorders intertwine and a bad episode of one can easily result in a bad episode of another.
For instance, last year the first disorder to rear its ugly head was depression, in full force, absolutely out of nowhere. Quickly followed by crippling anxiety. The struggle was far more than real. Every day I felt like I was dragging my body along as if it were a corpse and the only break in the crushing depression that felt like it was a heavy weight suffocating me was anxiety and its corresponding panic attacks that genuinely did suffocate me because I couldn't breathe. While struggling to cope with the overwhelming emotions I fell into the obsessive and ritualistic cleaning and organising as a way to create some sense of order in my world that was suddenly complete chaos. At the same time the reckless spending and evening bottle of wine amped up, which at the time I rationalised as perfectly normal things that people do to cope. However while this is true, people often turn to alcohol or materialism to cheer themselves up, I am not people. I am a person with a personality disorder and these things are not nothing, they are the starting point of reckless behaviour that damages myself and those I love if I don't confront it. Which is difficult because when my borderline comes out to play I struggle lots with dissociation. It's difficult to hold yourself accountable or even recognise the extent of a problem when half the time your body feels like a car and you've suddenly handed the wheel over to someone else and climbed into the back seat (or sometimes the boot depending on the day). I don't know if lucky is the right term although I continue to use it regardless, before my BPD had the time to become what it could and has done in the past I stopped eating.
Being in recovery from an eating disorder is a long old slog. I have been diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa - purging subtype. It's been a long time since I received my initial diagnosis (thirteen years to be exact) and longer still since I actually developed my eating disorder. And since then my life has been in part a journey of fighting it. It's long, hard and doesn't have any certainties even when I feel like I'm in the clear. Last year when I stopped eating I wasn't even aware of stopping. And by the time I realised I had stopped I had also rationalised reasons why it was a perfectly ok thing to do, for now. Despite being in recovery and actually doing very well (have you guys seen the muscles on some of my yoga pictures? #hollydoesyoga) eating still brought anxiety and guilt with it at almost every meal time. And as my anxiety was spiralling out of control it relieved some of it by not facing that daily challenge. That was probably the most rational thought in regards to my mental health for a long time. In part utterly ridiculous, but it made sense.
So within a month I had gone sort of loopy. One disorder either masking or triggering the next. My borderline an unwelcome symptom of my declining mental stability, my anorexia and OCD symptoms I was grasping onto to cope with my anxiety and depression. And as the year went on they overlapped more and more until I wasn't really at all sure if my sudden bouts of anxiety were a product of the initial anxiety or if they were coming from my borderline, and the same with my depression.
It's all well and good being able to map it all out on paper or screen like this where it almost makes sense if you read it a few times over. But when it comes to treatment I'm left with a problem. That question, what comes first? In a way my wellbeing depends on it. Because it's all well and good treating a symptom but if I don't tackle the cause then I'll be back at square one faster than I care to think about.
And it's not just last year that I'm considering. Maybe because I'm just curious or maybe it really does matter, I'm unsure about that too (I'm planning on hashing it out with my psychiatrist) but despite the fact that my anorexia was the first of the list to present itself diagnostically what if that was because I was predisposed to it because of another mental illness that I just hadn't been diagnosed with yet?
They say eating disorders come hand in hand with both depression and anxiety and science dictates that if you starve yourself you'll feel pretty crap and your brain will go a bit wonky. But not everyone starts with their eating disorder as their first diagnosis. I've also noticed that eating disorders and personality disorders seem to go hand in hand a lot. Or at least people claim they do (more on that later).
I often feel like the mistreatment of my body, the behaviours and rituals I adopt due to my anorexia mirror those I fall into when I have a particularly bad episode with my personality disorder. So then I wonder, did I only develop anorexia as a symptom of something else? Is that why I've been fighting this fight for so long? Because I haven't been treating the cause, just a symptom? Am I essentially putting a little Peppa Pig plaster on an open wound and expecting it to heal?
On the other hand I may just be making excuses.
But now I'm faced with decisions about my recovery. This is the first time I've been given the chance to properly discuss my options and it's a heavy burden to carry sometimes because I want to get it right. I need to get it right. Right now, despite my weight I am fighting against going into an eating disorder specific route of treatment. And of course that raises questions about my motives, and I won't lie, I don't want to gain weight. The thought terrifies me, and I have had genuine dreams of suffocating in fat.
But the thought of leaving the people I love scares me more. The thought of an NG tube scares me far more than eating does and that scares me a lot. So no, I'll admit it, I don't want to gain weight, but that's not why I don't want to go down that road.
I'm fighting because this time I truly believe that the anorexia didn't come first and at least in this case I have absolute and concrete evidence of that. And regardless of my weight, regardless of it being my first diagnosis tackling it first will leave me out in the cold and possibly/probably worse off than I already am.
How does an anorexic with untreated borderline personality disorder react to gaining (a lot of) weight? Answer: Badly. So, so badly.
And I don't want to go there thank you very much.
So this is where I am. I'm hedging my bets on a question I don't really know the answer to but I'm willing to risk it. I wager that I might know my own mind better than anyone outside of my skull and while I have the clarity and opportunity to be part of the (very important) decision making I shall do just that.
For the most part I'm back in the drivers seat as of the last two months and it's tiring but a lot better than being in the boot. (Remember the: my body is like is car analogy I made at the start before this post made your brain fall out of your ears?)
I've also decided that the mental vs mental question will probably join my list of things that bug me so much I don't sleep at night.
The current top of that list is
What came first orange (colour) or orange (fruit)? And was orange even a word before those two things?
Also isn't it really lazy that they didn't think of a different word for whichever came second?
3.1.14
YOU'LL BE FINE
If we as a society treated all physical illnesses with the same stigma and sense if blame and shame as mental illnesses what would the world be like.
If we told people to just stop having cancer.
That they need to get over it and walk on a broken leg without a cast.
That taking medication to cure migraines is a sign of weakness, that they should just get over them.
What if we attached such stigma to physical health problems that people hid them and allowed themselves to slip further into their illnesses?
What if we attached so much guilt to physical health problems that people doubted their ability to function in their daily lives?
What if we blamed people for physical health problems?
I see people stigmatise mental health problems so often, see people so ashamed of their depression or self harm that they hide it and let it consume them rather than reach out for help.
After speaking out in the media I saw countless comments about how selfish I was to have children while suffering from anorexia. How I would undoubtably be harming them irrespective of the fact that I'm in the process of recovering.
Would I be accused of the same thing if I was in remission from cancer? Or had diabetes?
If I had diabetes would I be accused of being weak for not curing myself rather than give myself insulin?
Would I be blamed for having cancer? Then blamed again for not getting better fast enough?
It's so wrong that people with mental health problems have to constantly fight the stigma that is places on them. Constantly justify their actions, stand up for themselves and their lives, prove their abilities and fight the judgement thrown at them.
At least once a week I get a message or comment expressing the view that I am in some way harming my children by being ill, that despite perusing the road of recovery I'm not doing enough. "Don't you think they deserve more?" "Shouldn't you be doing more?" Etc.
And I always wonder whether if get these same questions if I had diabetes or cancer or a physical disability. Would u be made to feel guilty? Would I be expected to recover at a superhuman rate?
I think probably not.
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