A Day in the Life Part Three: An Ordinary Day Between Anxiety and Side Effects

It's that time of the year again - time for post 3 in the Day in the Life of MH series #dayinthelifemh. I found this one harder to write because I didn't really feel particularly like writing anything, and in any case the entire day appears to have been one I spent either eating or drinking, sleeping, or reflecting on the day gone and the day to come.

Still, I believe that in this week, Mental Health Awareness Week 2015 (#MHAW2015) which has #Mindfulness as its theme it's a good chance for everyone to think a bit about his or her days and whether they pass us by or are something that we take notice of, or do sometimes at least.

Find out more on how you can contribute to the exciting and 

important #dayinthelifemh project below

If you haven't already and would like to you can still post your entry for 10th May by clicking on this link. I encourage you to share if you have / or know someone who has a mental illness close to you so that we can all work together to raise awareness and understanding of this much misunderstood group of illnesses. Here's my entry. Tomorrow I'm off to Rome...expect #mindful posts on #gelato and #pasta. And then posts on doing a lot of exercising and juicing when I'm back. Till soon! x

I woke up feeling a little more rested than on some other days. Sometimes the medication means that my husband and I sleep in separate rooms because the level of snoring from the clonazepam that I take on and off to combat (partially) the intense restless legs syndrome that I used to think was some kind of made up condition, but actually is a very real and unpleasant one I have as a side effect of escitalopram. On this night my husband had the Hobson’s choice of napping with me or with his best friend from school. All things not being always equal where love and childhood friendships are concerned, in this case my poor husband was caught between a rock and a hard place – both of us snore like fluey walruses.

"Who me? No, I don't snore."

When I don’t take the clonazepam I find myself withdrawing on those in-between days, causing massive anxiety (or perhaps not combatting it…anxiety is also a side effect of escitalopram, which for an anti-depressant is kind of, erm, depressing…)

Fun times with information on escitalopram side effects from the NHS website

Because my depression has been very bad again recently I went to hospital for day patient care the week prior to this day in the life, completing treatment on Friday and going back to work tomorrow (Monday 11^th). By today I’m feeling more normal again than I did a couple of days back. I’m looking forward to a slap up lunch which I’m helping aforementioned husband and friend cook. Not, though, before we go for a slap up breakfast to give us the energy to cook. They certainly can both eat, I’ll give them that.

Lunch is served. Pork belly for three. Needless to say we could have fed six.

On some days I don’t want to wear makeup or make an effort but I nearly always do because I feel better looking okay on the outside, even if on the inside I feel horrendous. Eating out can be an effort because it requires not only engaging with people at the table, but with waiting staff, greeters and potentially members of the public also. Sometimes the sound of plates clanking, knives and forks scraping and chatter and muzak above it all overwhelms me, but today, thankfully, it was relatively quiet in the restaurant.

Luckily it wasn't one of these days...

Added to which I’m thankful for a whole lot more: the fact that I was among close friends and with my husband; the fact that there was no expectation of me beyond being just as I was; the fact that I didn't expect anything of me than that. That last one’s the hardest, and one I keep working on. And on. And on.

I had to get something in about ice cream. It's on my mind...

After a big lunch and a few drinks I was ready for bed much earlier than usual, and aware how much I needed to get a decent rest before the day in the office ahead.

More lunch. It was that kind of a day.

I spent about an hour reading and resting before finally nodding off. It's good to have some down time when I'm enjoying reading. Sometimes I'm too distracted to work on it, but luckily today I was feeling just calm enough to enjoy rather than endure it - it can be a good distraction, but it's not fun when I know that distracting rather than de-stressing is what I'm doing.

Duck or you'll miss it!

As I read through this piece, I’m focusing on the day before and the day ahead, not so much on the day itself. All in all things went fine – I coped with socialising, having house guests, and managed to try and get some rest both before and afterwards. That’s a pretty good day. Not the most exciting, but I’m fine with that.

Me, Myself and I Part Two: A Day In The Life of MH Tuesday 10th February

Back in November I took part in A Day if the Life MH, to catalogue in four days across a year the different days experienced by the many, many of us who suffer with mental health conditions. 7th February saw part two of this. 

It was interesting re-reading my first contribution from November and then the entry I wrote (below). How much has changed; how much has stayed the same. Physically I am so much stronger than I was only a month after my accident; mentally I've also come a long way, but there is a difference between the physical injuries that I sustained, which are temporary in so many ways, and the depression I've been battling against (or with...sometimes perhaps that is a better way to put it) for most of my life.

Sometimes I hate Mondays. And sometimes Tuesdays. 

And Wednesdays. And...well, you get the picture.

Luckily day two of this four day project didn't fall on pancake day or I may have been tempted to write a piece as if talking wiv my maaf full of so you cnt tarl wurt m sehng. 

Or another where I wrote: "I didn't get out of bed today because I felt too terrible." This is exactly the reason the project is so special, though: it allows all the many voices and experiences of mental health to speak side by side. I follow many sufferers on twitter whose illnesses mean they can't work because their conditions are utterly debilitating; others like me can work and function day to day, in spite of the (at times) horrendous demons we're fighting inside of us. This project sends such a fundamental message about mental health: we are not one or two diagnoses. We are all different and we are all functioning in different ways. 

"When Great British Bake Off ended. When will it start again. When?"

For me the most important aspect of this is for people everywhere to realise that, while mental illnesses can be exceptionally challenging, debilitating, ruthless in their devastating impact on sufferers, sufferers fight on through them. Sometimes people can't cope anymore and end their lives; sometimes people keep living with their illness. Sometimes people work, like me, because it is possible to live with an illness and still work; some cannot. I'm one of the lucky ones. I can work. I can go out - most of the time.

"Now how do I work this thing again?"

Here's my entry. And now you must excuse me, I'm going to get back into bed and eat ALL THE PANCAKES. All at once.

"Back off, Bart, those pancakes are MINE!"

"Tuesday was slightly better than Monday, in that I treated my restless leg syndrome and extreme anxiety (side effects of taking escitalopram) with a full clonazepam tablet and therefore managed to sleep, and have anxiety dreams only for the last two hours of the night, rather than all night long. It's hard to start a day when you feel that you've already been on the stress treadmill for 8 hours before 7am.

Thanks for the memories, scary dreams. You really help start my day with a bump in the night.

It had already been an overwhelming week, work-wise, with not one but three full time things to work on in only seven hours a day, at least in theory. In practice I worked twelve hours on Monday and was so tired out that I didn’t make it to my class in the evening. I am conscious of not wanting to let people down and not being seen as weak or less than because of my illness. I get told a lot that I’m still seen as valuable, but I’m not sure that I believe it myself, so I work very hard. Since the last day in the life in November I’ve worked at being more assertive about my needs, but I do wonder whether this will affect my career long term. I know that my company is supportive, but because I doubt myself and 'mind read' or 'fortune tell', I sometimes wonder whether anyone will ever promote me now that they know that I have a mental illness.

"There's not much room for mindfulness when my mind is full. Mmmmm, Donuts."

Yes, at times like these the worse angel within me likes to practise mind reading, where I concoct in my head a limitless list of scenarios of what people might think of me: “She’s good but always ill.” “She’s not working enough hours to have a chance of being promoted.” “She needs to do more work.” “She didn’t try hard enough.” I have to be careful not to push myself so hard that I break or burn out because that would be bad too: “She’s always pushing herself too hard and doesn’t know when to stop.” “She is always stressed because she isn’t working ‘smart’ enough.” And on it goes.

"You're crap."

"No you're not, you're great, you work really hard and do well!"

"No, you're crap, 'cause you have depression so you're defective. No one's ever going to value you."

On and on it goes

I start the day with a short run of two miles, slowly getting my body used to exercise after the horrific fall last year which nearly paralysed me / nearly ended me. The mind reading comes and distracts me from my run – a good thing. I manage to do the run without stopping and feel some of the nervous energy dissipate, which is a welcome relief.

Today I get some help with parts of my work, and I make more of an effort to list my tasks, prioritise and take action step by step, which makes me feel more in control.

I’m juicing breakfast, lunch and afternoon to try to improve my mood with added nutrients and after a break at the weekend, two days into the week and I’m already feeling calmer and healthier. After my physical accident last year I lost my sense of smell and most taste too, so gingery, veg and fruit-filled juices are something I can taste, and feel the benefit of in spades. I never thought I would go down this route but with all the medication I’m taking it’s hard to be healthy and I’m enjoying the mental benefits this is having.

"A ba-what?"

I make sure I take a short break in the afternoon over lunch because if I don’t take breaks I tend to become more stressed and less productive. It helps – a bit – but it’s hard to stop thinking about all the work items on my list and my head is spinning with a desire to do well and deliver what I said I would.

This is what taking breaks, prioritising and getting exercise helps me avoid. Most of the time.

The end of this day is better. I make it to my art class and really enjoy painting with acrylics – I learn some blending and mixing techniques and paint plausible looking autumn leaves (if more impressionist than a photo fit). Creativity makes me feel good. I come home, write a blog post, and get into bed to listen to Woman’s Hour, another technique for focusing my mind on interesting things and not on my negative thoughts. And I sleep. Today was quite a good day."

A Day in The Life: Depression - Me, Myself and I, Warts, Clutter and All

Today I participated in a project called 'A day in the Life, a project which intends to offer a snapshot of the lives, and wellbeing of people who experience mental health difficulties in England. I and - hopefully - 800 others - will post their 700 word account of their day living and coping with mental health, as it presented itself, today 7th November. https://dayinthelifemh.org.uk/ (#adayinthelifemh)

“What day is it?"

"It's today," squeaked Piglet.

"My favourite day," said Pooh.” 

As I'm working from home at the moment on a phased basis, no one really gets to see what a day in the life, or rather, a day in my life, is like. I might exchange the odd pleasantry with a passing neighbour, with the woman who served me at the post office or (quite frequently these days) at the pharmacy, but then I go home to my flat while Mat is at work and lead what is a sort of hidden life.

Of course, none of us really knows what the other is up to. I have a friend who is a high powered communications professional (as she is so high powered I really feel it should be communications with a big 'C' but grammar forbids it!). When I imagine her at work I see a corner office, both sides floor to ceiling glass, looking out over the beautiful city of London. I see the latest Mac computer on her desk and expensive impenetrable modern art hanging on the other walls of her office as she takes phone calls from Dubai and Hong Kong whilst eating a Larabar for energy, with a coterie of secretaries taking minutes from her meetings and telling the CEO that she will be with him / her in "just a few moments". Carly Simon's "Let the River Run" is playing loudly as the camera pans out to the whole of London, which my friend will shortly be in charge of. That and the rest of the world.

Executive Barbie. Surely an oxymoron?

Anyway, my friend is super high-powered and would be unlikely to wear her hair like this.

Another friend is the CEO of a charity which helps African children. When she goes off to African I imagine her days as Diana-like footage of her in a series of villages where hundreds of children crowd around her, clinging to her legs and arms and screaming her name with joy on their faces (she's wearing a tasteful white shirt and pale khaki trouser outfit) as the music from LiveAid or the Soweto gospel choir (either, depends on the day) plays in the background.

From Working Girl. Still SUCH a good film.

In my case, I'm working from bed because there is no chair in the house that I can sit in for more than an hour without being in such discomfort that work becomes impossible - which doesn't sound like rehabilitation to me. Today I was just getting ready for a snooze mid afternoon after finishing my half day of work when suddenly my phone rang. I had totally forgotten that I was expecting an appointment from Posturite (a company which supplies ergonomic equipment for people like me who've chucked themselves down the stairs accidentally or have RSI etc.).

I think I need one of these home recliners. And the chair, too, obv.

I struggled out of bed to buzz them in and went down to greet them. It was really only when we were climbing the stairs (carefully, always so carefully) that I realised that the flat was (is) in a complete state. There are medication packets and pots and pans all over our kitchen table. There is clean washing in small piles over every visible surface in the rest of the front room and hall. And then there's the bedroom. This is a domestic bombsite. Clothes, unfolded, cover the desk, chairs, and end of bed. On my bed itself are about 6 pillows, several cushions, one double and one single duvet, my laptop, my iPad, two books, medication, water bottle, two phones and chargers, and possibly a plate which once held some biscuits. And the rest of the room was already in a state - bags all over the floor (the edges of the floor, so I can't trip over them, but still) a stepladder in the corner by the wardrobe. Oh dear me. I don't need a Posturite assessment I need the Obsessive Compulsive Cleaners.

I'll spare you the picture of my bedroom. Shame prevents it I'm afraid. Tangerine face: yes. Lying under the duvet: yes. Complete carnage which would make my poor mother die of shame. (And my husband, friends, and even me): afraid not.

Here is what I posted for the #dayinthelifemh collective writing exercise today. This is my day, warts and all. I wish you all good days, and a wonderful weekend ahead, whatever you do and wherever you go.

“Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” 

― A.A. Milne

Today: 7th July. Jessica Carmody for A Day in the Life - Mental Health

Subtitle (credit to Pooh): What I like doing best is Nothing.

At 7.04 I slowly rolled and cajoled my frail frame from its imprinted resting place in the bed and put on layer after layer: jumper, cardigan, scarf, woolly hat, woolly socks, Ugg boots. Then I shuffled slowly into the kitchen. Morning breakfast and pills are a routine I go through without much thought or emotion. Rice Krispies weighed, milk poured on, spoon from drawer, vitamin C & pain killers taken. I felt unemotional about the whole routine. Back to bed.

Today was a work day so I looked through my emails. I opened documents sent to me for review and started to make comments on each one. Once I get going I find it easier to do. Today wasn't one of my worst days so I only felt a medium level of fatigue perusing the documents line by line. This woke me up - or woke my mind up at least, and I started thinking about the document from more angles. I'm glad that this works. Work works on my by making me feel more capable of participating in it, of having a view and of contributing to my job. Today - or at that moment anyway - normal me won the depression versus normal me contest that is fought every day.

I worked for 2 hours then went out. Despite the ache in my back today I wanted fresh air. I'd been so exhausted the past two days that I had avoided going out and this had taken its toll on my back which was stiff and uncooperative. So wrapped up in a further thick coat I made my way to the outside world.

Because I have physical injuries you can't see from the outside, I avoid people. That could also be an excuse. I don't much like running into people when I feel low, certain that they can tell I'm struggling and wondering what I will do if they ask me a question, fearing I might burst into tears because that conversation is a step too far. I don't feel too ill today, so when I meet a server from the nearby pub I say "Hello" without avoiding eye contact. It's a slight struggle but I do it, and this is good.

The foot bridge is the hardest part physically, but inside the park I am afraid of other people’s dogs and – complementing this – dog owners who don’t understand how terrified I feel if their dog rushes at me barking. Again, today is a good day and although I have three close shaves with rushing, barking dogs, they keep their distance from me and I kept going. Another fright came when a runner whipped past me too close for comfort. I felt like crying because I was afraid of being hit and upset by the thought of falling.

“Just breathe” I told myself. And I did. “The park is beautiful. Look at the leaves. Look at the deer.” And I saw them. And they were.

I made it to the shop to buy more Rice Krispies but felt extremely tired and weak. I had been out 1.5 hours and now craved secure, locked distance between me and the world outside.
I had lunch –more Rice Krispies, a slice of cold pizza, two biscuits. I can’t be bothered to prepare anything more complex. Food then rest. And I knew I had more work ahead.
I didn’t want to do more work, at this point. I was exhausted from the walk and “depression” was winning over “normal me”. I fought back. I took phone calls, made decisions, followed through with the actions required. “Keep going,” I told myself. Just a while longer and you can rest.

I checked Twitter and my blog to see if anyone knew had followed me or showed interest in my writing about depression / life. Then I relinquished all external communications and picked up my book, ate two chocolate biscuits, and buried myself down into the duvet for a rest. I had gone out, worked, eaten and spoken to people. Enough. I wanted time to rest and gave myself up to reading and then to sleep.