A Million Pieces

I didn’t see this one coming. I was blindsided by my own brain. To my knowledge, no one can predict depression, but there are certainly warning signs. I used to be able to feel it coming on. My body would start to feel heavier, and my mind would turn to darkness.

Sometimes, this disease makes me feel locked out of my own life. Everything still goes on without me, even though I should be right in the middle of it. I worry about anything and everything. In the back of my damaged brain, I know that worrying won’t help the situation. Right now, though, it feels like the only thing I can do. 

I need to wake up tomorrow with a renewed sense of hope. I don’t want to carry around this black cloud above my head. The truth is, I hope for that every single night.

In June, my husband and I took an all-expense paid trip to California for a mental health conference. I thought I had left my social anxiety and agoraphobia at home. Even though I loved where we stayed in Laguna Beach, and the people were fantastic, I still dealt with daily migraines and the feeling that everyone was staring at me all the time. My health isn’t so great. My weight is out of control, and both of my knees have been injured. Anyway, I’ve been struggling ever since we got home. I do miss Laguna Beach.

This time feels different; it’s not just vacation is over blah; it’s crippling depression and anxiety constantly bubbling up to the surface. I won’t even try to go into the family issues, because quite frankly, it’s far too upsetting. But, things are not good there either. Just thinking about it all causes panic attacks.

I rescheduled my most recent doctor visit due to a migraine, and I should feel relieved, but all I feel is guilt. I know it was last minute and I should have gone, but nothing gets me out of my bedroom these days. I feel like such a tremendous failure.

People are very nice about my struggles, but how long will that last? That isn’t to say that they aren’t good people. I just mean I’ve been stringing them along for a while now.

I feel like I’m about to shatter into a million pieces. 

As if I didn’t have enough to be emotional about, we had to take our beloved cat, Hayley to the vet, and have her put to sleep. She was 18 (that’s how long we’ve been married) and had gotten very sick. I know it was the humane thing to do, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Aside from my husband, that cat was my whole world. I was literally with her 24 hours a day. Right now, I’m stuck between denial and just completely falling apart.

I miss her so much.

So, I ask…how long will it last this time? When will I wake up in the morning and want to live? Don’t get me wrong; I’m not suicidal. I’ll never go back there again. I just don’t feel like a part of the world right now, and with Hayley gone, I’m now alone constantly. What a crippling and painful experience. Depression brings out the worst in people, especially me. The question is: When will I find the good in me?

I’m grateful that I’m still here and that I can put my thoughts down on paper. I never want to think about suicide again. I suppose every day that I wake up is a good one. Let’s just hope that it can be enough for me right now. Enough to stop feeling so lost and alone. I can only hope.

What Now?

I can’t believe I’m back here again. I don’t know why I’m so surprised, I’ve never claimed to be cured of Bipolar Disorder, nor do I think I ever will be. It’s going to happen for the rest of my life. I guess this time is different because I have done pretty well for quite a while. It felt like my depressive states weren’t as long and believe me; I was enjoying that. I’ve felt this way for a week now, and it’s taking everything I have to force myself to sit down and write this blog post.

I should be doing something; anything. Something on a grand scale that cements my legacy. Instead, I feel like I’m failing at life once again. I need to stay relevant. My story needs to stay relevant. But, how can you claim to be a writer when you can’t even write. I’m not suicidal. I put that notion out of my brain in 2013. I can’t even site anything specific that has happened to cause me to feel this way, but despite my best efforts, I do feel this way, and I need to deal with it.

I can’t keep my garbled up thoughts together. I’m struggling, and I’ve crashed hard. 

I keep telling myself, just get up and do it! Why is it so hard? Even writing this, I feel unorganized and disjointed. I don’t know how to get my thoughts together. So I write, regardless. You never know when you can suddenly have a breakthrough or make a connection. You may never even realize you helped someone.

You’re a fighter – I’m a fighter

We have no choice but to make it through this round.

I can’t concentrate, but my head keeps screaming, KEEP WRITING!

Bipolar Disorder is a painful, insidious disease. I’ve experienced depression before that just kind of felt like the blues. This is not that. I’m stuck here in this painful, crippling rut. I can’t even remember my name somedays, but I keep fighting. We did our podcast today, and I spoke to the audience and the guest. Does that mean I feel better? Hardly, it means I can put on a mask if I need to.

Someone out there may feel the same way. I could help people. That would be worth tearing off this band-aid and exposing the wound, wouldn’t it?

So much is racing through my brain. I just don’t want to fail yet again. It hurts, and it’s humiliating. I think when you have Bipolar Disorder, it hurts even worse. I need rest and some way to keep my mind off the bad stuff. So, I’ll figure that out and try to move forward. I can only go up or down, and right now, I feel as if I’m just about as low as a person can go. Here’s hoping something positive heads my way. Until then, I’ll keep trying and keep fighting. That’s all I can do.

Guest Post - Mental Health Awareness Month - Death Becomes Her - Erika Reva Memering

“What we have once enjoyed deeply we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.” -Helen Keller

Death becomes her. I’ve written quite a bit about loss, life, living and Death. Capital D. If you’ve encountered my ramblings on the subject you’ll know I give her the respect of the capital. It seems owed her, even after all I’ve given; paying the piper, as they say. It’s also been said, as so many things are, “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.” Whether or not Helen Keller was correct in that I cannot say. I will however express my annoyance with the sentiment. 

By age five I was quite finished with the idea of adventure. For those who may be unfamiliar with the word, it is defined as: an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity. Simple enough. Though I don’t much care for the idea of myself as a five year old, or any preschooler for that matter, being intimately aware of the word and all it can entail, nevertheless, here we are. 

I was taught that the way of progress was neither swift nor easy. That little nugget of truth came to me from two very important women in my early life. Madam Marie Curie was far wiser than could have been fully comprehended, even today in some respects. She is someone I have looked up to since I was that inconsequential, five year old child and I stumbled across one of the many biographies written about her. I was lucky in that for the first decade or so of my life, there was a Chicago public library right on the corner of my street. That librarian was far and wide one of my favorite people. Parts of me still miss her even today some twenty-five plus years later. She was warm. Soft. Curvy but rather short. Deep brown eyes that never seemed bothered by my incessant questions and small maundering. Her dark chocolate skin was exquisite with her full face and lips. Hair, always expertly polished and that full beautiful face held the strength, grace, and nurture I had never known before. Understated, elegance; she was my hero. My beautiful book of never ending knowledge. 

I don’t remember the day in full glorious technicolor, but what I know was this:

1. I was alone
2. I had read a book that depicted men on a ship who tied knots.
3. I was always alone, or so I thought and felt more often than not.
4. I had a circus themed toy box. A giant burnt orange tiger painted on the white wood behind green wooden dowels held it back, keeping me safe from it’s bright yellow eyes. I can recall the mantra of “it’s caged,” careening throughout my mind day in and day out. Night after night. 
5. My closet was a bit larger and so my father had kept some of his items in the back.

I scaled (with only minimal difficulty) the toy chest, procured one of my father’s neckties, looped it round into a slip knot, tossed an end over the wooden clothes bar,  and slipped it 'round my little throat. Precariously standing atop the wooden toy chest with the yellow eyed tiger leering up at me, I took a step to await her arrival. Death. It was as though my slight self desired to snub her, perhaps dare her come to me. This obviously didn’t occur and I wouldn’t know just how I survived my first and only suicide attempt until nearly two decades later. Which let me tell you, was a bitch of an experience…rather a couple dozen years of experiences that I was only half conscious for and some I have no idea about to this day, but that’s life with Dissociative Identity Disorder; rather, it was what my life was like. 

At the evening of my writing this piece: I am thirty-two years old, an author, podcaster and an advocate for those living with Dissociative and trauma based disorders. I still live in the Midwest but not alone. My husband of five years, our gardens, and animals keep me pleasantly busy and content. Dare I say even happy. All day every day? No of course not, that’s not the human experience, all emotions are important and valid. This is something I’m still working on today. The trauma’s of my past still haunt me today, but that doesn’t mean I am not equipped now to handle these instances, soothe myself and carry on with my day(s).

I am fourteen days “PD,” post doc; if you will, has been an experience. A positive one yet still bizarre to recognize and sit with. I’ve spent the better part of the last six+ years in intensive outpatient therapy. Multiple days a week with extended sessions each day/night. My six years is the mathematical equivalent to the average work that is done in a fourteen-fifteen year period. Yes, I sat down and did the math. I always call therapy, work. Because that’s the point. To work on oneself, learn, grow, adapt and whatever else ones goals or reasons may be it is most certainly work. I find the notion that people, meaning the broad spectrums and groups of them, need to adapt to me bizarre. Life adapts. Things ebb, flow, and evolve. I am no different, but that was on me to do the work. Now, it most certainly took years and years…and years to find someone able to help me with this. To help us with the chaos and turmoil was in short, an epic battle of ridiculous excessive repetitive exhaustive recurring traumas. Ok, so it was not short, but it was still accomplished because part of me despite fear, horror and all the etceteras life hurled at us, she chose to keep going. We did. I did. The We in Me, are no longer surviving but now I am living. It’s a heady accomplishment.  The labor and exertion have been found worth it with insistent gusto. Persistence, determination and a tenacious take no piss attitude drove myself and every part of me forward. No offense to Helen Keller, but I’ve made so much of my nothing that it would make her head spin. 

“One never notices what has been done; one can only see what remains to be done.” -Marie Curie 

What was is no longer what is. What has been has come to pass. What will be? Well, I have no definitive idea, but I certainly have hopes, fears, wishes, so much more, but the most invaluable of these that still remains etched upon me is words. I have every word I’ve obsessively studied and still restudy due to the discomfort of my losing it. Given the amnesia aspects of living with DID (especially, when you are unaware of the fact pre-diagnosis) I still do some things in my day to day life in quite the obsessive manner. I am, however, working on this ever-day. Yes, I still have Dissociative Identity Disorder and OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), but I’m working on treating the annoyances that poke their ugly heads outta my brain every now and again. It’s work, as I said; work I will gladly continue for the betterment of my own life as well as others. 

“Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less.” 

- Marie Curie

Guest Post - The Stigma Surrounding Bipolar Disorder is Real - Mental Health Awareness Month - By John Poehler

The dictionary defines stigma as, “A mark of disgrace associated with a particular circumstance, quality, or person.”

In this instance, stigma is associated with bipolar disorder. There is definitely “a mark of disgrace” accompanying bipolar disorder.

There are a number of ways we can help to stomp out the stigma of bipolar disorder.

First, let us take a look at how and why there is a stigma in the first place. 

INTRODUCTION TO STIGMA

Most people do not take the time to learn about mental illness unless they are directly impacted. I know I fell into this category when I was younger. 

Growing up, I never took a psychology class or a class about mental health or mental illness. My education about anything related to mental health was limited to pop culture and those closest to me. Most of my friends and family knew nothing about bipolar disorder.

I completely understand.

A ROOT OF STIGMA

Bipolar disorder is an illness. Unless you are a doctor or other medical professional, most people do not take the time to research sickness or other maladies. Even then, medical professionals are not properly trained about bipolar disorder (or mental illness and mental health) unless they specialize in psychiatry.

How is the general public supposed to understand bipolar disorder if those who are supposed to be treating it do not even have a basic knowledge about it?

Psychiatrists are specialists. They get extra training on how to treat different mental illnesses and other mental health issues.

The problem arises when general doctors, emergency personnel and other medical professionals that see patients on a regular basis, do not have the training or education to help those suffering from a mood disorder.

See how the breakdown in how information is siphoned through the mental health system contributes to the stigma surrounding bipolar disorder?

If those who are supposed to have the knowledge of bipolar disorder do not, how should we expect the general public to understand?

Please, do not get me wrong. It is not my intention to point blame. 

My hope is by pinpointing one of the root causes of stigma, we can take action to reduce it in the future. 

MISCONCEPTIONS

It is easy to get frustrated with the misinformation plaguing society.

Some of these misconceptions can be easily clarified. The problem is getting the right information to those who need to hear it.

It may not feel like it but you can make a difference by simply correcting those who are spreading the wrong information.

There are countless misconceptions that I would like to clear up for you today.

Let us dive right in.  

1. BIPOLAR DISORDER IS NOT SERIOUS

Downplaying the seriousness of bipolar disorder minimizes our daily fight with the bipolar battle. When you hear individuals candidly joke about bipolar disorder, they are contributing to the stigma surrounding it.

Yes, there are degrees of severity when it comes to this illness. The severity is regarding the symptomology. However, it does not matter what type of bipolar disorder you are diagnosed.

Bipolar disorder is bipolar disorder.

The type of bipolar is just a way to communicate the treatment route you should follow.

As a mental illness, bipolar disorder is extremely serious. It is not only an illness about mood fluctuations. 

By the way, everyone experiences the daily ebb and flow of emotions. It is human nature.

Bipolar disorder increases the intensity of these mood fluctuations. It also directly impacts energy level, motivation and overall ability to function.

Suicide is also a real threat.

It is estimated that 25% and 60% of individuals living with bipolar disorder will attempt suicide once in their lives. Between 4% and 19% will complete suicide.

Is bipolar disorder serious?

You’re damn straight it is!

2. BIPOLAR DISORDER IS “THE IN THING”

Sensationalizing bipolar disorder is another way to minimize it.

Celebrities and those in the spotlight are “coming out” with their illness. Please do not get me wrong. I think any way we can open up the conversation about mental illness is a positive step forward.

The problem comes when those interpreting these actions digests the information as something cool. Then, the news spreads about this new exciting and mysterious phenomena.

Perceiving bipolar disorder as the “cool” or “in thing” downplays the seriousness of the illness.

In turn, this further contributes to the overall stigma.

3. “EVERYONE HAS A LITTLE BIPOLAR IN THEM”

You may have already caught on that these misconceptions come back to the idea that bipolar disorder is not serious.

I understand the whole premise of this statement.

Everyone has varying emotions throughout their lives. This is completely true and valid.

The misconception arises when people pair the normal ups and downs of life with that of bipolar disorder. They are completely and utterly different.

Only a medical professional can properly diagnose bipolar disorder.

No, everyone does not have a little bipolar in them. 

4. YOU CAN TREAT BIPOLAR DISORDER WITH EXERCISE AND A HEALTHY DIET

If you could treat bipolar disorder with exercise and a healthy diet, you would never see any professional athlete with the diagnosis.

Granted, the seriousness and intensity of symptoms can vary extremely between patients. The first line of attack is the medical model – medication management and talk therapy.

When I was first diagnosed in 1999, my doctors hammered home the idea that I needed medication and therapy.

I have learned and am living proof of the importance of medication and therapy in my treatment plan.

For the long term management of bipolar disorder, I have found that healthy habits and choices directly impact my success.

For example, I lift weights every day with a rest day every so often.

I also eat healthy meals, drink plenty of water, and supplement on a daily basis.

Exercise and a healthy diet are components you should add to the overall treatment of your bipolar disorder.

No, exercise and a healthy diet will not cure bipolar disorder but they will help you successfully manage it.

5. BIPOLAR DISORDER IS THE END OF MY LIFE

This could not be further from the truth.

No one wants to hear that they are sick. I completely understand.

For me, my diagnosis of bipolar was a welcome relief. I learned that, yes I was sick, and I could do something about it.

I am a firm believer that with the proper treatment, bipolar disorder can be successfully managed. The hard part is navigating the path to the right treatment. That is the reason you have both a doctor and therapist to help guide you.

Most of my plans, goals, and aspirations were completely changed after I learned of my illness.

Bipolar disorder sets clear boundaries as to expectations and functionality.

With these boundaries, I know my limitations and strengths. They may not be apparent when you are first diagnosed but you will find them with time and further introspection.

Therapy is a wonderful tool to help build your self-awareness.

Bipolar disorder is not the end, it is only the beginning.

WHAT CAN YOU DO ABOUT STIGMA?

Advocates and advocacy groups are ways we can help break down the walls of stigma.

We have the power to enlighten those who have the wrong information and do not understand bipolar disorder.

The misconceptions about bipolar disorder are running rampant throughout our society. Most people already have a negative outlook regarding bipolar disorder.

If you are diagnosed with bipolar disorder, take positive action in your treatment. Work with your doctor, therapist and loved ones to create a crisis and treatment plan.

You can help stomp stigma by being a positive role model in how you manage your bipolar.

LAST THOUGHTS

I can’t tell you the number of times I have spoken to people who have no direct experience with bipolar disorder. They tell me all about their perceptions (or misconceptions).

Recently, a guy told me, “You don’t seem like you have bipolar disorder. I thought all of those people with bipolar disorder don’t take their meds and do whatever they want.”

I explained to him my story and how I manage my bipolar disorder on a daily basis in healthy and proactive ways.

With my treatment plan, I have put myself in the driver seat of my own life.

I don’t want it to seem like I am tooting my own horn.

It is my firm belief that if we can show to ourselves and society, that we are responsible for our illness and we are positive contributing members of society, we can help to destroy stigma.

Yes, it does start with one person.

That person is you!

Guest Post - Mental Health Awarness Month - By @My_Simple Mind

I've been diagnosed with having depression and anxiety. 
When it comes to my Mental Health issues, I tend to classfas  'High-Functioning'.

When people picture someone with anxiety, they tend to think of someone who is perhaps Piglet (from Winnie The Pooh) in human form - knees constantly knocking, voice wavering, hyperventilating...

...But anxiety can be silent. You can't always see the physical effects of anxiety. It isn't just about panic attacks and over-worrying. It can come in the form of intrusive thoughts, compulsions or urges, upset stomachs, nightmares.

Anxiety is attached to many mental health disorders, just some of which include:

- Phobias
- Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD)
- Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD)
- Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

(For more information on those and other Anxiety disorders please see link https://www.nhs.uk/common-health-questions/lifestyle/do-i-have-an-anxiety-disorder/)

When people picture someone with depression it's likely they picture someone who spends half of their days in bed, crying, suffering from a bereavement or separation, unable to leave the house. Someone unable to be employed, spending their days indoors avoiding people.
They probably see a crumpled mess of a person. Someone more like Eeyore maybe?

Depression comes in many different forms and in various severities. It isn't a 'one size fits all' illness. 

So what do I mean by classing myself as 'High-Functioning'?

Well firstly, 'High-Functioning' isn't a diagnosis - it's more of a category I put myself in within my diagnosis.

Being 'High-Functioning' means I am employed as I'm able to work full time, I am meeting achievements, I am productive, and from the outside, everything appears to be going well.

Anxiety is something I have sought help with in the past, and have struggled with for years - sometimes worse than others.

Though I've had difficult patches, and had serious low times, for most of it I've been without medication and have been 'pressing on'. I've been kind of ignoring the fact it was crippling at times, with the thought that everyone struggles, and that I'd be OK once I had pushed myself through this latest rough patch.

Looking back I think depression has been interweaved with the anxiety over the years, but I never really gave it the attention it craved from me, until it reached the point I couldn't ignore it any longer.

I continued to press on with things, waiting for the magical moment my life would give me what I wanted, and all my anxieties would be magically gone, along with any hint of the threat of depression.

No matter what, I've always worked. 
Before my current job, I had a rough patch with my anxiety and hated my job so I left the place I was employed at the time. I immediately found a new position for a great Company, where I started (the Company in which I'm still at with my current job) a couple of weeks later.

I've rarely had time off work - never previously taking time off for anxiety, but looking back I guess that some of the physical illnesses I took the odd day off for were (what I am now able to recognise as) physical symptoms of my Mental Health Issues.

Not only did I not take time off but I excelled in my roles.
I was the person on the team that people could rely on. The organised one.
The one who planned social events. The one who organised the team Birthdays. The one who sorted out the Secret Santa every year.
The one always putting myself forward for things.
The one who threw myself into any (what I used to describe as) 'extra curricular activities' outside of my day to day job. 
If there was some training I'd take it. If there was a chance to train others, I'd take it. If there were development opportunities, I'd take them.
I'd be involved with all kinds of groups on top of my job and I loved keeping myself busy that way. I had to feel useful... needed... wanted... good enough.
The hard work paid off in my year end reviews and promotions. 

When people think of people having mental health issues, What they probably don't think of is someone who is super organised. Someone who is on the ball with things. Someone on top of everything. 
Someone who has everything under control. 
Someone who is so on top of things that they feel in crisis if something doesn't quite go to plan, but they don't show it on the outside - they just suffer internally while they sort things so that everything can appear as 'normal'.
Someone who needs to know what's coming next because not knowing what comes next is highly stressful for them, though they continue going along with things while they frantically figure out in their minds how they can cope with the lack of control.

They probably don't think of someone who turns up for work every day.

Someone who attends social events.
Someone who has everything in hand.
Someone who is the person anyone goes to with questions and who always has the answers.

They probably don't envision someone who is swan like. Someone who gracefully glides on top of the water, looking like everything is fine and going well. Like everything is smooth and effortless.
But the reality is that those swans have their feet underneath them, paddling furiously beneath the surface. 
We see the elegant grace of the swan, not giving a second's thought to the legs of the swan powering away in the water.
We don't stop to think that those legs might even be a little tired. 

That, to me, is what being high-functioning is.

You may be interested in the below article if you enjoyed this:
https://themighty.com/2017/05/signs-of-high-functioning-depression-or-dysthymia/

If you are worried that you may be suffering with anxiety and/or depression, have a look at this link from the NHS:
https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/stress-anxiety-depression/mood-self-assessment/

Guest Post - Mental Health Awareness Month/Week - Better Late Than Never - Keith Allison

              

What happens when you are raised without any knowledge of mental illness? Sure, I knew that people, including myself had felt anxiety, anger, confusion and maybe even a little depression. My parents got me self-help tapes to listen to when we drove around doing errands in the car. They knew something was up but really didn’t do what was needed to educate me. They just thought I needed to turn my stinking thinking around. That wasn’t the problem.

                They taught me that whatever happens in the house stays in the house. My sister just found out that when I was 17, thirty years ago that I was arrested and went to jail. My parents pushed upper middle class and their biggest fear was that people might find out we didn’t belong in the upper class. Anything that didn’t include a silver spoon as the topic wasn’t talked about outside the house and even sometimes to the other siblings.

                At the time there were two types of people, or so I was led to believe, when it comes to mental health. One was you don’t have mental health issues and you live your life outside of a mental hospital or you had mental health issues and you are locked up in a hospital most likely in a padded room. That was the extent of my thoughts and those around me in the late 1970’s. Massive stigmas abound.

I was very smart… almost too smart. I have that issue where common sense really isn’t my specialty. I am not a genius but I do have some of those common sense side effects that happen to geniuses. I really thought that the anger, anxiety, depression, guilt, abandonment issues and the like were what every single person went through. Those emotions are felt by everyone but not to the extreme as I had felt them. My parents used to love telling me, ‘life is not fair so don’t expect it to be.’

I thought my anger was under my control. I thought that my anxiety was me not being able to correctly control my emotions. I thought that my guilt was normal and that people don’t normally forgive themselves for something they did 20 years ago. I thought my extreme anxiety of looking for reasons why my girlfriend’s will leave me was normal but didn’t realize it was what made them leave me. I knew I had some issues but nothing too serious as I was always told that I am in control of my thoughts and behavior. That if there was a problem that it was for me to fix.

                Even though I went to therapist and tried some depression medicine the realization of how serious my illness is was never discovered. Even until now and I am almost fifty years old. I am doing the right thing now. I am back on anti-depressant medicine for the first time in thirty years.  I am scheduled to see a therapist also to try and find out why I think the way I do.

                I want a diagnosis, a real one. Not one where you take a test on the internet that you found by searching “Do I have Borderline Personality Disorder.” I want a doctor to tell me that my quick to anger isn’t something that I can control easily because you have this. That helplessness and hopelessness you feel is because of this. I want answers and I want them as fast as possible.

                I spent my whole life blaming myself for actions I did because of mental illness. I am not saying I am a perfect person but most of my BIG messes that I have created while living life has happened because I was unable to control something because of Mental Illness. I want someone to tell me that it is ok to forgive yourself for what you did in 1989. It is ok to let myself feel real emotions again as it is ok that I want to cry, to yell, to scream and to hide under those covers.

                I also want to know that it is ok to be happy. Every time I was happy as a kid someone pulled the rug out from underneath me. I learned to stop looking forward to anything and to not feel happy about stuff because it will be taken away from me and I am going to be in a worse spot because of it. I have lived a good forty years stealing any happiness away from myself because it scared me. It scared me because I have been gaslight so much that it was expected from my family.

I am done living my life in fear. I am going to find out exactly what makes me tick, why I am the way I am and I am not going to be done until I can feel happiness again without a sense of dread. I want to write about what I learn as I go through this journey of self-discovery and teach it to you. The reason why is that I was suicidal and then I decided if I can’t live my life for me, I will live my life for you. If I can help you not feel the way I do then I feel better about my life.

I want to live my life for me!

Guest Post - Mental Health Awareness Month/Week (UK) - What Does Mental Health Awareness Week Mean to Me? By Martin Baker

What Does Mental Health Awareness Week Mean to Me?

By Martin Baker

I’m grateful to Beka for inviting me to share what Mental Health Awareness Week means to me. Such campaigns attract their share of resistance and criticism for not addressing some of the bigger issues. Some people feel that awareness campaigns trivialise the lived experience of people with serious mental illness, giving the impression that simple strategies like talking to someone or going for a walk can take the place of professional treatment and support. I agree that a chat with a friend or a breath of fresh air is never going to cure anyone. But I do believe there is much we can do to lessen the burden of isolation and misunderstanding.

For me the principal value of campaigns like Mental Health Awareness Week, and why I support them, is that they bring like-minded — and like-hearted — people together. That has certainly been my experience. It is in such ways that we build connections, relationships, friendships, communities. It is in such ways that we empower ourselves and each other to address wider concerns and “make a sodding difference.”

Talking about mental health is a big part of that.

What Does Having a Conversation About Mental Health Mean?

Having “a conversation about mental health” might sound daunting, but it simply means allowing someone to talk openly about what’s going on for them. It might be a face-to-face conversation, a phone or video call, or a conversation by e-mail, text (SMS), or instant messaging. The important thing is that it works for you and the other person. Whatever the channel, there are a few things that distinguish a supportive conversation from the normal everyday kind. I have written previously of a few different types.

https://www.gumonmyshoe.com/2018/09/lets-talk-about-talking-three.html

I find the following reminders helpful.

Don’t interrupt. This is self-explanatory, but can be one of the hardest to remember. Let the other person share what they want to share, without giving in to the urge to interrupt with your own ideas, suggestions, and questions. I certainly need reminding of this one!

It’s their story, not yours. Don’t monopolise the conversation by recalling times you have been through what they are talking about. “I know just what you mean” is particularly unhelpful. No matter how similar your experiences might seem, their situation is uniquely theirs, and what worked — or didn’t work — for you might not be relevant to them at all. If you are asked for suggestions or advice, fair enough, but wait until you are asked.

Save your judgments for later. It’s hard to listen to someone without analysing and mentally judging what you are hearing. This isn’t wrong in itself — you might need to assess whether the person is in immediate danger, or in need of professional help — but beyond that, your internal dialogue only serves to distance you from what they are sharing with you.

You don’t have to fix everything. Depending on your relationship (partner, child, parent, family member, close friend, colleague, acquaintance, or stranger) you may be in a position to offer help, advice, or support. But it is not your responsibility to fix everything, so hold back with your suggestions unless they are asked for. On the other hand, don’t feel paralysed or useless if you can’t think of anything that could possibly help. If you are present and engaged, you are helping. Often, that is precisely — and all — that is needed. You’d be surprised how rare a gift holding space for someone can be. As the UK anti-stigma campaign Time to Change puts it: “… if you say something, you realise how many people around you haven’t, and needed to.”

But I’m Busy

We are all so busy these days. School, college, work, commuting, chores, children, our own issues and problems, fill our days — and often our nights too. When are we supposed to find time for all these conversations?

It isn’t about blocking out chunks of “Mental Health Conversation Time” in your calendar — although it might involve committing to meet up for lunch with that friend you haven’t seen in a while, calling on a relative on your way home from work, or turning off the TV after dinner to talk with your partner or child. It’s about being open to what the other person wants to talk about, and not being scared if that includes their mental health, or that of someone they care about.

Think of the people you talk to already. The colleague who gives you a ride home. The person you speak to every Saturday in your favourite café. Social media and the internet mean you can connect with almost anyone, almost anywhere, at almost any time.

It’s Not All about Mental Health

You won’t always be “talking about mental health,” of course. Open conversations span the full gamut of topics: deep and trivial, funny and sad. But if they are genuine, they encompass whatever is going on for you and the other person, and often that does include some aspect of mental health. That said, if you are open to such conversations, you might find yourself having more and more of them. I consider it a privilege that people feel at ease talking with me about topics which so often are kept hidden because they attract judgemental attitudes, stigma, and discrimination.

Balance and Boundaries

You can’t be there at all times for everyone, however. You are not a 24/7/365 crisis line. Aside from the dangers of burning yourself out, doing too much can lead to codependency, which is unhealthy for both you and the other person. Don’t take on too much, and pay attention to your own health — physical and mental. Remember that being open about mental health includes sharing your issues and concerns, as well as listening to those of others.

What Difference Can I Make, Really?

Fran and I believe passionately that all of us — you, me, everyone — can make a difference. Fran knows this first-hand, and I can do no better than close by sharing her words from the Epilogue to our book High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friend’s Guide to Bipolar Disorder.

There are many like me who live in invisible institutions of stigma, shame, and silence, the walls built by others from without, or by ourselves from within. Dismantling these walls invites connection. Be the gum on someone’s shoe who has one foot inside and one foot outside. Stick around. It may not be easy but you can help someone make a life worth living. Maybe even save a life. One little bit by one little bit. A smile, a wink, a hello, a listening ear, a helping hand, a friendship all work together to interrupt the grasp of illness. Be open and honest, with your friend and others you meet. Judge not, for misunderstandings abound. Acceptance, understanding, and kindness can pave another way. Let’s.

About the Author

Martin Baker graduated in pharmacy from the University of Bradford in 1983 and completed three years’ postgraduate research at the Institute of Psychiatry, King’s College London. Despite this background he had little awareness of mental illness until a chance online encounter in 2011 with American writer and photographer Fran Houston. Fran lives with bipolar disorder and other conditions. Despite living 3,000 miles apart Martin became – and remains – Fran’s primary caregiver. Their book High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friend’s Guide to Bipolar Disorder inspires and informs others who support a friend or loved one living with a mental health condition. You can contact Martin on his website/blog (www.gumonmyshoe.com), Twitter (@GumOnMyShoeBook) or Facebook (MartinBakerAuthor).

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