M'aidez on May Day - Getting Help

I've been meaning to write about the rest of my Japanese adventures, and they will come. This week has been interesting, though, for a number of other reasons, as I've returned to a semblance of normality with the working week, weekend and so on. And with those normalities come some of the 'normal' feelings of depression and anxiety that at times I feel that I want to run away from and at times just bury myself in the sand (i.e. the duvets) and hide from the world.

Saying this out loud has taken me a long time. But I've got there.

I may have mentioned this before, but a lot of people who have not previously been diagnosed with depression don't recognise the symptoms, in their infancy, for what they are. A change in appetite, a few bad nights' sleep and a lack of interest in doing things might slip by unnoticed for a while. Added to this the fact that many people who suffer from depression (and I would include myself in this 'many') are people who push themselves fairly far towards (and sometimes past) their own limits to 'succeed' in whatever way they can, whether it's at work, with a partner or in social situations.

Being superwoman isn't possible, and the kryptonite that gets me every time is depression coming back to remind me that I need to balance what I can do with what's realistic for my health.

There have been many posts and articles this week elsewhere which have sparked my interest in writing about my own situation again. This week is a pinnacle in my long road of depressive episodes as I can feel myself getting worse and worse towards next week when I have a planned hospital recovery period in the calendar for the whole of next week, and know that I will benefit hugely from some rest, some structured help, and just by being around other people who are freely talking about their struggles in a safe environment where there is no potential for shame, stigma, or having to pretend to be something that one is not.

I've now stopped pretending, but I still expect people to dislike me a lot of the time,

 and am a work in progress towards accepting myself

The fact is that when we can recognise the symptoms sooner we can stop the depression getting so terrible that we need to take many weeks off and have years of recovery ahead. It's hard to spot the signs and do something about them when you're feeling absolutely dreadful, but if you can do anything towards this it's a real bonus.

I've stopped pretending now - to a large extent: as difficult as I find it to accept myself to be myself, the real myself and not the garrulous 'great pretender' for whom everything is joyous, funny and to be made into a grand joke,, but I am trying to be just me whether it's me not having a great day or something else.

Sometimes plugging in or distracting is the safest way to get through to tomorrow

Here's a comment I wrote just now for a piece published recently in the Guardian:

Quoted from article: "People suffering from long-term conditions, such as mental health problems, will spend most of their time outside of NHS and social care settings."

[My comment]: I first realised I was depressed aged 20 when I sat in my university room, crying and crying but pushing my fist into my mouth or my head into the pillow, hoping my roommate couldn't hear and hoping that she could.

Fifteen years later I understand I was depressed and anxious as a young child, with the dreadful dread in my stomach, aged three or four.

My help has rarely come from the NHS; I'm not 'bad enough' or 'Ill enough' to qualify for anything more than a gp appointment. So I saw a (private) Ed Psych when I couldn't go to school anymore; I saw a wonderful (private) counsellor who helped me get back to university and complete my degree; I took pills from the NHS when I couldn't get (afford) help elsewhere. I had therapy again (privately) which was terrible and didn't help. And last year I was in hospital (privately) because I didn't want to live but - again - I wasn't ill enough for NHS help of the kind I needed. And now my GP remains supportive but my major support comes from (private) medical care. This weekend and next week I'll get some more of this kind of help to keep me going, to not take the worst step. Thank you to my brain for just about enabling me to study, work and pay for my life in private mental health care.

Thank you to all of those charities mentioned above. Although I have not benefited from you directly my knowledge of others who can't afford care privately need you now more than ever. You are amazing and I pledge to continue to support Mind and Time to Change and others as much as I can. Because not everyone is as lucky as me and can afford this care or have it covered by private medical care. And for goodness sake, we're still working hard to get it recognised as with equal rights to those with non-mental health conditions. It's already so hard. Let's help each other. And by the way, #GE2015 candidates, I'd gladly pay extra tax to support the NHS to be able to survive and serve us all - mental health and other patients - better. Just give me a call. @volette or via my blog Laptop on Tour.

Thank you Guardian for publishing this piece. I believe the third sector is critical for helping those in need struggling with all the debilitating effects of many mental illnesses. Thank you.

There's a third element that supports recovery that is not mentioned here, and I think is truly, critically important, and that is the support that comes from one's friends and family. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my friends and family for their unswerving support for me through all the difficult times that I've experienced. I continue to need them (and this is challenging, as I ask myself, "When (soon surely) will people become sick of my sickness and my need for support?" I don't know the answer but I hope it lasts a bit longer than my illness does...and in return I hope that I try to be a good friend when I can, and answer texts or send them, make phone calls or meet up when I'm well enough, and when not that I'm accepted to do that. I hope so. 

I find these positive statements hard to hear, but I'm glad some one is saying them.

I don't think it matters whether it's a friend or a family member (or indeed a partner) who is your go-to person when struggling. I hope that everyone can have someone, and if not someone in their personal or professional lives, then I find all the more reason to support the vital charities mentioned in the Guardian piece and many more who do so much. I am an advocate for supporting one another, and for feeling free and able to go in search of that support without fear of judgment or censure. With that said, I wish you all a healthy weekend ahead, and hope that if you need help you can find it from your friends, your support networks, third sector organisations or medical professionals. After all, we all need a little help sometimes, and we can share in the mutual support of others and ourselves by working together. Take care. x

With a little help..this can be true.

Tis the season to be...whatever you wish. Make your Christmas happy. Your way.

En route to a Christmas Party, with a smile. See, I'm not all Scrooge.

I've been a bit miserable about the Christmas season recently, I've realised, mostly because I do find lots of things about this time of year very hard and getting through it is a challenge. It's not easy being depressed and feeling like you have to go out and about whilst miserable in the presence of everyone else being jolly. However, although it's true that I'm hardly a saintly Tiny Tim about the whole affair, nor am I a curmudgeonly Scrooge pulling down his nightgown and ignoring the fact that the stairs sound as if they're in the midst of a marathon steel band session.

Tiny Tim teaches us all a lesson about accepting people and seeing the good in them

Actually there are lots of things I love about Christmas, especially now that we've got into the ironic spirit (pun intended) of the thing properly. Sincerity is strictly reserved for good will to all men: the part about loving one another and "God (or the higher power of your choice) bless us every one" is the only part I really get on board with from that perspective. In my view Christmas is what you want to make of it. And in my view that's spending time with ones I love. And irony. And food.

This would be fine, except clearly this woman is taking the whole thing DEADLY SERIOUSLY

When I lived in America I spent a memorable Halloween in Southfield, Michigan, where I was working at the time. I was amazed as I went to my beloved (and much missed) local Chipotle to see cars pulling up as usual, but emerging from them not the casually dressed office workers I usually saw in line ahead of me, but instead, a pirate, a teddy bear and some sort of fairy princess. Yes, Halloween in America is a Whole Other Proposition. We've all seen the films of adorable little darlings parading the streets in their cute miniature spaceman or cowboy outfits, a sort of Toy Story Comes To Life parody; but adults? I could hardly believe what I was seeing.

Home Alone Lives in Ironic Christmas Jumpers. LOVE

Of course, this is a country which loves its candy, so I don't know why I was as surprised as all that, but I was quite shocked by the lengths to which people would go to dress up and embrace the 'holiday' which carries such little weight in the UK and elsewhere. We find sincerity of this type quite the challenge in the UK. But last Friday in Britain, we had a holiday we as a nation can all, just about, with all our 'I'd like to but really it's terribly embarrassing and I couldn't possibly' reserve, get on board with: Christmas Jumper Day. Or, as I like to think of it, dress-like-your-mum-and-dad-would-have-in-the-seventies,-except-without-a-hint-of-irony day. I have to admit that this title does not quite have the same ring to it.

Lampooning. Irony. Except that in reality families like these really exist in a suburb near you

I spent Christmas in the USA with a great friend in 2003. As we went to buy our Christmas feast we marvelled at the lack of irony of the earnest shoppers all around us in their not quite ridiculous enough 'seasonal sweaters'. I'm talking about the single coloured-jobby with the white patterned reindeer dancing across the front. Or with big stars covering bigger bellies. Surely these people realised that they looked like extras from Home Alone? Apparently not. And Britain being Britain, we couldn't possibly engage in a jolly jape like Christmas jumper day without it being obvious that we're doing the whole thing for a proper giggle, and aren't taking ourselves seriously in the slightest.

Pigs in blankets. Nomnomnomnomnom.

So, back to what I love about Christmas. Food, obviously. And specific types of food at specific times. These have become a tradition with me. Crazy meatballs for Christmas eve dinner, slow cooked pork meatballs with cranberry sauce, brown sugar and sauerkraut mixed up and made into a sttick sauce, baked in the oven while my husband races around the nearest high streets frantically panic buying despite the fact that he's probably already bought better presents than I have anyway; Smoked salmon and (lumpfish, I'm not a millionaire!) caviar on tiny blinis with sour cream and a deliciously cold glass of Champagne to start Christmas day. Some sort of meat for Christmas dinner - I'm not at fussy about this actually, as long as it's not turkey, but with stuffing, port and cranberry-sauce braised red cabbage and as many little sausages with bacon as can be bought in a single trip to Marks and Spencer. And probably pommes Dauphinoise. Cream + potatoes = winning formula.

Mulled wine. Christmas dessert and hot water bottle in one

We sometimes go to a local pub for a Christmas drink on the day. This is one of my favourite times to go out in public, as I love to watch other people enjoying their day and one another's company. This seems like a special way to mark the day, and the neutral ground helps. The weekend before Christmas, my extended family and I come together for a Christmas feast and sharing of silly presents and jokes. Everyone dresses up and we enjoy a catch up and seeing the younger members of the family having fun on the day.

As mentioned in a comment in my previous blog, I don't hold that you have to spend Christmas with your family to be happy. In fact for many that would be a recipe for unhappiness, where resentments long-harboured, traditions which are upheld in the absence of any civil tongues, or where presents are shared with expectations of larger and more expensive offerings to make up for any real warmth or love in the room. That is a traditional Christmas for many, and I don't like it one bit.

One's onesie

My latest Christmas love is the onesie. Ah, the onesie, unattractive in most ways, but warm, snug and comfortable to wear. This is my perfect Christmas outfit. I also love the fact that I don't have to leave the house. I used to wear a variety of Christmas jumpers and pyjamas (and probably a hat too) that Mat will proclaim adorable despite the fact that I wouldn't even be allowed on Jeremy Kyle in such an ensemble. Now I can climb into my onesie and I'm done for the day. Just add woolly socks and my Ugg boots and I'm ready for the Christmas film marathon, sitting in front of our real Christmas tree decorated with tiny white lights and white card stars, shimmering with their gold and silver glitter in the soft lights.

 The films are probably worth a blog post to themselves, so I'll think about that over the next few days. In the meantime I'll take my Christmas radio times, bought once a year, and start circling my Christmas viewing timetable. Home Alone will definitely be on at some point, I bet.