Alice Threw The Looking Glass: Misconceptions of Mental illness and Depression - My Five Cents

“I'm not strange, weird, off, nor crazy, my reality is just different from yours.”-- Cheshire Cat

I joined a creative writing group last week, which is ever so conveniently located only moments from my front door, so even a broken soldier like me can shuffle along with my massive extra large Tesco hessian bag filled with pillows and cushions of various sizes to see me through the session. One for my arm, which is a pain (literally and figuratively) and aches in the cold, when I move it, when I don't move it...you get the picture; another two for my derriere and my back. It's held in a church hall where we have to choose between the heat provided by a tiny, robot-shaped electric heater in the corner - but no ability to hear what anyone is saying or reading aloud - and my usual experience of church halls which is: chilling to the bone, no matter how many layers you're wearing.

Heater on. Alive. Heater off. Dead but trying to listen anyway.

The course focuses on non-fiction and this week our home work is to research something 'we're interested in' and write a 'short' piece about it. We did receive feedback on our chosen pieces. I - predictably - opted for mental health in the work place to enable me to bang my apocryphal drum a little louder to a new audience. This provoked feedback from the teacher that I could of course choose several aspects of this - mental health in general, stress, depression, different eras of work. After three minutes or so of this feedback he considered himself satisfied and moved on.

I neglected to say that Mat is doing this course with me, and it was to him the focus of attention now turned. He explained, "There have been many popular science books addressing the figures and ideas from the scientific revolution of the 17th century aimed at mixing biographical details with scientific facts in a way that is both educational and entertaining. A similar project would envisage taking the ideas of figures at the time more usually considered as philosophers - Descartes, Leibniz, Locke, Spinoza, etc. - and looking at them and how their thinking was revolutionary...". To this the teacher said, "Yes, that sounds very interesting," and moved on. (Translation: "I've no idea what you just said but it sounds erudite and complex so I'll let you get on with it and I'm too afraid to ask for more details.)

(And don't be afraid to talk to Mat about philosophy. He'll keep explaining till you get it. I promise.)

This week mental health has once again featured quite prominently in the news. There have been several articles about depictions of the mentally ill on television - both in dramas (like Homeland and Eastenders) and in Broadmoor, a new documentary on the most severely mentally ill people in the UK, some so severe that they have committed terrible crimes and will never be able to be released, such is the gravity of his illness (it's a male institute). The latter programme was only made after five years of waiting and negotiating to be granted permission for cameras to enter the grounds. I watched the documentary and was afraid it was going to make people afraid of mental health again - thinking that everyone with some sort of illness related to mental health was the same as those depicted (though they varied in the degree of severity / type of illness). Let me clear this up right now. No - we're not all like that.

Carrie in Homeland has bi-polar disorder.

All of the above prompted much commenting in the UK online press, which led me to consider how I perceive myself in society, how I think society perceives me, and what I think the misconceptions are that I struggle with as a result of having (and now recovering from) a mental illness.

Here is a lovely cartoon of misconceptions of mental health, challenged. Then you can read mine.

Yep.

My top five pet peeves about conceptions of mental illness, from personal experience.

1. "Just get over it." Depression is a real thing, not something in my head whereby I can just 'Pull myself together' and instantly bounce back to my well self from. It also can't be cured in twenty minutes with the right medication. For me - and this is my opinion, not that of any medically qualified person - I need some help from medication at times combined with cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) to help me to recover. Most of the time I'm fine. And I am trying to be better - all the time. I am not giving up and sometimes it's really bloody hard, thanks, even though you can't see the blood, I promise you, it is!

2. "Your can't possibly be any good at your job if you've got a mental problem." I can still do my job / function perfectly well when I am well (even though I've had depression in the past / still have it as a condition). I'm doing it now. I'm doing it part time, admittedly, because it just so happens that I fell, not down into the rabbit hole but down two stairs and have damaged myself severely so that I need to recover and rest.

3. "Medication doesn't work" OR "Medication is all you need." I need both medication and CBT as part of my recovery process. When I take medication because I need it to be well, I can also do my job perfectly well. And sometimes, yes, I do need medication. I need it to help me to rebalance my brain's chemicals somehow, in the same way someone with a cold needs Sudafed to help a congested nose feel better. It works for me. So I do it. and I trust my psychiatrist. Incidentally, there was some horrible psychiatrist trolling this week. "Psychiatrists aren't real doctors...BLAHBLAH". Really? Mine has several other previous medical qualifications and I can assure he is probably the most qualified doctor I've ever met. Finally, when I see a psychotherapist to talk through various topics that is part of the recovery process and does not mean I cannot do my job well.

4. "Depression is just like glandular fever, ME or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome." I do not have M.E. or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome I do have a symptom of depression which means that I become extremely tired by things that I find hard. I am a classic overachieving under-confident person, perfectly formed for the world of consulting, banking etc. As if hatched from a perfect consulting bird egg, here I am, ready to over perform but oh so unsure at times, and the need to over-perform - to have what is called 'unrelenting standards' of myself, makes me sometimes absolutely knackered before I've even begun. It's a bit like having to go and have a lie down at the thought of doing a little washing up, because you want to do the washing up the best, better than anyone has ever done it before, ever. Yawwwwn. Still, if you look at previous blogs you can see that I've gone running when I've been depressed, and delivered on some massive pieces of work while ill, so I really feel this is not the appropriate way to think of me.

Unpredictable emotions, and sometimes no emotions. 

5. "You're always smiling and laughing, you can't possibly be depressed." I can still enjoy things while being depressed. (Or I might be pretending to, true.) But this is a really odd one. I don't understand myself why sometimes I'm crying uncontrollably (well, except while watching 'Up' at Christmas, but then EVERYBODY is crying when they watch that movie) or why I'm laughing. I'm always laughing when Mat makes me laugh because he does silly things like balancing spoons on his head or pulling funny faces. Or I put Mat's copy of Locke's 'Essay Concerning Human Understanding' in the bin, again (hate, HATE Locke) and find this endlessly amusing. But the next minute I can feel the empty feeling inside, the tiredness, the stupor and feel stunned by it again, like a deer struck with a dart.

I laughed and laughed this week when a lunch with friends went from disastrous to hysterical. My friends, two sisters, both thought they were meeting me this week, but then it turned out both had a different date in their diary. I was faced with lunch with each of them on consecutive days, or neither and a future date in January. I suggested Wednesday, which - miraculously - worked out, although I couldn't eat as I already had a work lunch to go to. The restaurant in Waterloo we went to shall remain nameless. Oh, alright then, no it won't. It was Topolski's and it had possibly the worst service and worst idea of menu / timings I've come across in a long while. (I did live in New York, yes, but I'm back now to the reality of British service, and I know that it still, well, sucks.)

Topolski - great artist. Shame about the service in his namesake's bar.

(Them) Yes, we had to come to the counter to order [There's no one else here.]
(Them) No, we couldn't just have bread [Bread clearly existed in the place as it was served with other dishes.]
(Them) No, we couldn't have fresh mixed juice as the juicer was broken. [Losers.]
(Them) No, that part of the menu's only available after 5 and before 5.05pm. [Points to 90% of menu]
(Them) Yes, I can reheat your cold soups for you. [More waiting.]
(Me) Yes, I can tip you nothing and smile directly into your eyes while doing it you dreadful example of waiting staff everywhere.

Luckily we hadn't seen each other in yonks so we were chattering away happily as all these foibles went on around us.

Unfortunately all this fun means I need to spend more time this weekend doing more research on mental health. I've opted for mental health in literature and drama so watch this space for that. In the meantime, think of me changing all the time. That's what I'm doing. That's what we're all doing. Ageing, growing (in whatever way). We're changing. And since I wrote that I've changed again, somehow.

“I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.” 

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.