Overcoming Mental Illness

If you had told me 14 days ago that I would be sitting in an internet cafe in Alice Springs, pretty much in the dead red heart of Australia about to commence a new job and a whole new life - I would probably have guffawed one of those huge belly laughs in your face and hoped not to get any spittle on you.

But yet here I am, in the middle of a town in the middle of a desert surrounded by thousands upon thousands of kilometres of red dust, camels and backpacking tourists eager to take trips out to the Rock (which is 500km away by the way).

So yeah.

Absolutely insane crazy day at the end of an absolutely insane crazy week at the end of an absolutely insane crazy month at the end of an insane crazy eighteen months! Is it any wonder I’m completely and utterly insane on every level? I mean who ups and moves to the middle of the desert without ever having gone there before - potentially for the rest of his life.

Someone who runs from social contact, that would be who!

Alice Springs, however, is a far nicer place than Sydney. I’ll be honest, I seriously didn’t like Sydney. As a city there was nothing wrong with it - but unlike other cities (Vancouver, Montreal, Quebec, Brussels, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Inverness, Melbourne, Adelaide…as examples) that I’ve been to, there was just no spark in any way throughout the entire time that I was there. It was just - yep, that’s a skyscraper, yep that’s a shop, yep that’s a bus, yep that’s a somewhat arrogant yuppified moron who doesn’t care about anyone but himself.

This wee town in the middle of nowhere positively bristles with activity. Tourists buzzing around checking out art and planning their tours and trips and camping excursions before throwing themselves into their swimwear and basking by the pool for a few hours. Not a bad sight I should tell you. Locals buzzing around in a slightly less frenzied state than the tourists, but then locals always do.

So yeah.

All this insane shenanigans, flying thousands of miles, uprooting myself (again), generally not having any time to check the interent, visit my support network sites or just be “normal” (which let’s be honest I hardly am anyway) is taking it’s toll on the state of my mind somewhat but I am (a) too exhausted (b) too confused and (c) too much in an internal mixed state to even begin to explain the ramifications of such activity on the state of a bipolar mind right now.

When the mood has settled down a little, when the mania has subsided a little, I’m sure it will come. Until then I will watch the stars and try and actually stop for two seconds to take in what is currently happening; something I have yet to do at any point in time over the last 14 days.

In the five and a half years or so I lived here before returning to the UK there was very little postive action in promoting mental health awareness in Australia. Sure there was the odd poster here, the odd sign on a tram there, but that was about it.

To most Australian’s I met and spoke with mental illness seemed to be this pseudo-mythical condition which meant you should spend the rest of your life locked up in some institution somewhere never to see the light of day again.

Some may continue to think like that, sometime’s it’s difficult for people to fit into the widely expected Australian stereotype of ‘laid back surfer dude’ or ‘funky coffee shop chick’ when they are dealing with depression, anxiety, bipolar, schizophrenia or the like.

It’s also been my experience that a lot of people (not just in Australia) are not that interested in understanding what mental illness is or how it affects someone, as long as it doesn’t effect them.

Directly or indirectly.

As long as it doesn’t get in the way of their happy little life, I mean who needs someone suffering from mental illness to drag you down, eh? They’re just useless frackwits!

But since returning here about a month ago I’ve been pleased to see not one - but two - major campaigns running to assist in promoting mental health awareness; both by leading mental health charities in Australia.

The first is from SANE Australia, who have a print, television, radio and internet campaign running.

The national campaign features everyday street signs and billboards replaced with titles such as ‘depression’, ‘anxiety’ and ‘mood swings’ to represent how mental illness is a part of everyday life for many people – and the importance of identifying possible signs.

‘Friends and family are often the first people to notice the changes in behaviour or thinking that can be early signs of mental illness. SANE encourages people to have the confidence to act on their concerns as soon as possible and simplify what can be an overwhelming process by providing clear information and advice,’ says Barbara Hocking, Executive Director of SANE Australia.

The ‘Signs’ campaign has been developed through the generous support of award-winning ad agency, Commotion, and the TV commercial was directed by David Jagoda, renowned for his work on high-profile campaigns for Nokia, Ikea and MTV among others.

Find out more information on the SANE campaign and VIEW THE TV adverts here

The second is from Beyondblue: the national depression initiative who have also launched a radio, print and TV campaign.

There are six new TV commercials in the series and an additional one aimed at men, which has already been seen in rural areas across Australia.

Produced by Frontier Advertising in close association with beyondblue, each commercial provides a candid insight into the experiences of people with these conditions and how they hide their symptoms from friends, families and work colleagues.

The message is: “Helping someone with depression isn’t beyond you. For more information visit this website or call the beyondblue info line 1300 22 4636 (local call).”

beyondblue Chairman The Hon. Jeff Kennett said: “These advertisements are so real, everyone will be moved by the message and circumstances of the characters in the ads. The campaign will help beyondblue to get the message out that depression is common and help is available.”

Find out more information on the BEYONDBLUE campaign and VIEW THE TV adverts here

I have myself witness the SANE campaign in many locations, and only came across the BeyondBlue campaign today whilst visiting a public bathroom - only to be met with a poster regarding bipolar disorder.

According to the Beyondblue website this campaign was launched in 2006, and I’m sorry I was not aware of it running until now.

Having witnessed the SANE television campaign I can only applaud it, I truly hope both campaigns run and run and people start taking notice and broadening their understanding of this issue which affects so many lives not only in Australia but the world over.

I can only hope more campaigns are running like this the world over, if not, then they need to start. Which gets me thinking…how would you like to see a campaign run to raise awareness of mental health? How should it be handled? Any thoughts?

I always suspected that when the affects of the jetlag began to wane I would suffer a…retrograde step…shall we say. So much happened to me in this city last year that few people understand why it is that I’ve come back here.

Surely I would avoid it for the rest of my life?

Surely if a city and it’s people caused you so much pain you would never again wish to return?

This is my home though.

Walking around this morning in the early morning twilight it was hard not to flash back to those twelve months of intense pain I endured last year. All of the bullshit I had to deal with on a daily basis - all of the bullshit I have to deal with on a daily basis. It’s all still there, hidden beneath the surface, hidden under dustbins and benches and doorways which once were my homes, my beds for the night. Secluded beneath the smiles and lies and conversation. I thought I’d changed. Maybe I haven’t?

It’s weird. Confusing and frustrating all in one gulp.

I self-harmed for the first time in a month and half.

The early hours of the morning.

I’m not saying it because I’m proud of it, I guess I’m saying it because I need to, because I need to be honest with what’s happening to me. Even though this blog isn’t about mental illness it’s still about me - and self-harm, for good or bad, is part of who I am. I don’t even really know why I did it. Couldn’t sleep, demons rising, as they do from time to time, nothing calling them, nothing bidding them, they’re just there, always, in the shadows and the darkness waiting to pounce.

So I feel bad today. Guilty. Angry. Annoyed with myself. It’s only one setback, but still, one is sometimes enough.

So it’s a day trying to forge ahead without falling back, glance at the scars and use them to gain strength I guess. I hear the sound of the Staff Flag’s calling. A chirpier post tomorrow, surely :)

Rebuilding my life is no longer exiting, I’ve been trying to do it for fifteen months now - but it’s a credit to my strength and determination that I keep on fighting, surely that’s commendable? I think so. Even if others don’t.

Although this blog isn’t a direct continuation of my previous one - in other words this is intended to be more of a stand alone progression rather than a direct sequel - it occured to me today that there will inevitably be references made to my previous life and my previous blog. Thus, treat this entry as a wee “Previously in the journey of Addy,” designed to fill in the blanks as to exactly who Addy is.

I’m a 29 year old guy who was born in Leeds. I spent my pre school years in Treharris (South Wales), my primary school years in Portlethen (Scotland) and my secondary/high school years in Caldicot (South Wales). Following leaving school I backpacked around Scotland and then onwards to Canada before returning to Inverness (Scotland) where I spent a few years studying photography/film at college before beginning a long career in backpacker hostel reception/management which would span two continents.

In 2002 I emigrated to Melbourne (Australia) where I continued my backpacker hostel career before leaving this in order to kill myself. You see to understand me, you have to understand my mental illnesses. I suffer from many, and have been fighting them my whole life. That’s what the last blog was about. To strip it down to lamens terms:

I developed social anxiety when I was at school, which led to depression and self harm. All of these three illnesses grew in strength throughout my teenage years and came to a head in late 2000 when I prepared myself for my first suicide attempt. Unsuccessful in this I carried on fighting. In December 2007 I was struck with Glandular Fever, which came at just the moment I had overcome all of my mental illnesses. A series of events followed in February 2007. Over the course of ten days I was diagnosed with leukemia, dumped by text message, kicked out of college and had my study/medical benefits denied - all whilst suffering from Glandular Fever. With no income, a serious terminal illness and the loss of my social network my brain collapsed and I suffered a nervous breakdown, which I am still battling against to this day. In November 2007 I was diagnosed with Bipolar Type 1 and in January 2008 forced to leave Australia. Which didn’t help, in fact it made everything worse. So now I’m back in Australia, in the city I love, doped up on medication and fighting hard to make my life work and prove to everyone that I’m not useless pathetic fuck up - that I am actually a decent human being worthy of life. A fact which is debatable in itself.

Although this blog isn’t about mental illness I have no doubt there will be references here and there to this part of my life. I still have good days and I still have bad days, there’s not much I can do about that. As I stress however on my previous blog I am more than my depression, I am more than my mental illnesses. I am a person, full of love, life, passion, exitement and humor - I know who I am at heart, it’s just that most people can’t see past the illnesses I suffer from, the illnesses I am tired of hiding from everyone and pretending aren’t there just to earn acceptance into the lives of the judgemental majority.

So that’s kinda a brief history of who I am, more detailed information can be found through the old blog at www.myjourneywithdepression.com, this blog is more about me; my life, my passions, my desires.

To paraphrase the ’about me’ page of my previous blog; I am a self harming, frequently suicidal, manic depressive with a severe social anxiety problem. I have few friends, am terminally lonely and suffer from a terminal illness along with numerous other physical complications. The chances of me living the life I wanted have gone, I just have to make the best of what time is left.

This blog is me - sharing my life, thoughts and loves with the world.

So here we are, after nearly 6 months, over two hundred posts across three different web addresses, the end is here. So what better topic to write about than what is, in my opinion, the greatest treatment for depression. I should point out that all names in this post have been changed and may or may not reflect gender, aside from mine of course!)

For a moment I would like you imagine what it would be like to have no friends. Now I know there are people out there who already know what this feels like so I’m not trying to rub it in, but for those of you with friends, think for a moment about what life would be like without those special people in it.

Think about what it would be like to be completely by yourself.

No one to share smiles with.
No one to share laughs with.
No one to share happiness with.
No one to share drinks with.
No one to share moments with.
No on to share to share problems with.
No one to spend time with.

Are you imagining it yet? No? Try thinking about:

What it would be like to spend your birthday alone; no presents, no cards, no Happy Birthday.
What it would be like to spend Christmas alone; no presents, no cards, no Happy Christmas.
What it would be like to spend New Years alone; no drinks, no laughter, no midnight kisses.

Any closer?

Never any hugs.
Never any giggles.
Never any lunches.
Never any anything.

Just you
Yourself
Always
Alone

Living your life with no-one to share anything with. You get up for work alone and come home alone. You are excited and happy but have no-one to share it with. You receive bad news and have no one to talk to, no one to give you comforting hugs or words of advice or wisdom. You are by yourself, isolated and alone 100% of the time. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine what that might do to your mind? To spend day after week after month after year in complete isolated solitude? Well, let me tell you. It fucks you up.

Isolation. Loneliness. Solitude. Three of the most painful words in the human language. And to someone suffering from depression or another mental illness, they are potentially words which could be written on someone’s death certificate as cause of death.

Over the years I have tried everything I can think of to combat, control and overcome depression:

Alternative therapy
Chinese Remedies
Herbal remedies, such as St John’s Wort
Counseling and psychologists
Self Help books
Russian Therapy
‘Overcoming Depression’ workbooks and audio books
Relaxation therapy
Yoga and Alexander Technique
Massage
Meditation
Anti-Depressant medication
TV and movie therapy

None of them worked!

I have spent the majority of my life alone, in fact I can count on one hand the number of true friends I’ve had in my life.

When I was but a teenager I didn’t really have anyone to talk to. I knew people but I wouldn’t say I had many friends. Not friends I could talk to, not friends I could share my self-harm, depression and social anxiety with. Teenagers are some of the cruelest people in the world anyway, so the likelihood any would have understood any of these things was slim. Thus I was forced to fight all of these things alone, and through determination and at times painful agony, I was able to get the self harm under control. Nothing was working with the social anxiety and depression and I was falling ever further into the abyss.

Once I felt I had the self-harm under control I tried to find ways in which to combat the depression and social anxiety – and my option was to go backpacking. I had discovered hostels during my period as a runaway and wanted to travel Scotland, a country I could afford and loved passionately. The months I spent traveling the country is one of my fondest memories, but I would the evening sitting in the hostel lounge reading books or scribbling in my journal, too anxious to meet and talk to the people I was writing about, giving them obvious nicknames because I was too scared to even find out their names. The SSLWCB or the SFLWCB were, like most people in my life, untouchable and untalktoable – is that a word? When I arrived into Inverness I looked into getting a flat in the Castle Heather part of town where I could settle, find work, and live life alone. My self harm was kinda under control, despite some lapses in focus and frustration along the way, but I wasn’t really making any headway with the rest. So instead of moving into my own flat, I opted to stay at the hostel where I could try building my ability to talk to people alongside the SCLWCB. It kinda worked. Sure, things got heavy in the old mind from time to time, and it was here I began smoking full time as means to keep the self harm under control but the people I met during that period became the first “friends” I’d ever had, more than that, they became my family.

It felt good, but depression and social anxiety continued to infect my actions and I was unable to be – a continuing frustration in my life – the person I know deep down that I am. Episodes of deep depression struck, especially just before Christmas and in early February. A depression which lasted and threatened to debilitate back into self-harm but I kept on with the whole backpacking-to-combat-everything assault and traveled back and forth across Canada for three months. I caught up with a few people, the SCLWCB being one of them, and even met other people I for a while called a friend; Rachel being one of them, as well as another whom we shall but call the SALWCB.

Everyone I met during this time, especially three outstanding, could, given other circumstances, have become true friends. The SALWCB and I had an instant connection which has only been rivaled on two other occasions since, and the other faces of that era still burn bright in my memory.

This period helped me get my self harm under control to a point I wasn’t even committing it any more. Friendship.

Then along came Lucy, who without doubt was the first person who I can call whole heartedly a true friend. Not because others in my past weren’t true friends, but because she was the first person I ever told about my depression, suicide attempt and in a way, my social anxiety. Lucy would have such an impact on my life unrivalled by anyone else I’ve met. Our friendship grew as well as our relationship; I lost my virginity to her, she was my first proper kiss, she was my first everything really.

For the first time in my life I had someone in my life who I could talk to, share thoughts and feelings with, experience my life with. In the first twelve months of our relationship I learned more about life and who I was than I had through the six/seven years of pain, loneliness and frustration which had been my teenage years. Sure, talking to her was difficult, this was the social anxiety and I would often weave in and out of being able to communicate well and not knowing what to say but in a way Lucy understood and would support where needed or give a metaphorical slap on the ass if I needed a wee push.

Because of our friendship, our love was strong. My emigration to Australia was due to this relationship and I worked hard to continue battling my illnesses whilst setting myself up in a new country. Something not easy, let me tell you! As our relationship grew so did our trust, and as our trust grew, so did my confidence. I never told Lucy of my self harm though, still hesitant to the power of the stigma of mental illness. My last moment of self harm had come a month or so before I met Lucy, so after meeting her and through her friendship I had got it under control. The longer I went without self harm, the less I thought about it, and over time it never felt right to bring it up. If I had, it would have just got me thinking about it again, and that could have proved devastating to the progress I was making.

Throughout the six years I spent in Australia I never stopped trying to make new friends. I had dreamed of having close friends since I was a teenager, all of the stories I wrote were about friendship, and I craved it more than anything else on the planet. I never believed having friends would cure me completely, only I could do that, but having lived so long by myself, I was enjoying sharing my life with others.

With Lucy’s help, sometimes even unknown to her, I made huge leaps with both depression and social anxiety to the point that at times it wasn’t even an issue. I met new people and my new life was underway. Sure there were periods of depression and social anxiety, as mentioned here, but I was working my bloody arse off to overcome it all.

Four years after being in Australia I was actually starting to make new friends, and as time slid on I made three of the best friends I’d ever had (Lucy aside); Grace, Tara and Kathy. With them came a potential new social network which I was slowly starting to matriculate myself into. Unfortunately, at the time, things between Lucy and I were strained which – if you’ve all been keeping up – was around the time when everything fell apart and of my second suicide attempt in March 2006.

(It was friendship that saved me. As I explained here, a singular text message reminded me of people who may miss me.)

The collapse of Lucy and I’s relationship and friendship was painful, but after months working hard to rebuild what we’d once had we knew that it was over. There was nothing we hadn’t tried. I blame myself for the breakup of our connection and knew in my heart that it was my depression, which had been severe throughout this year, which had made it so difficult to reconnect. I’ve never blamed Lucy for anything. I’m not afraid of admitting to my mistakes; my depression, self harm and social anxiety cost me the greatest friend I ever had. I think of her often and hope she is happy now, something I was never able to bring to her.

(The last time I thought of Lucy in depth was in fact last night. Whilst taking a stroll along the River Ness, through the islands where we shared so many walks, moments and memories I witnessed something I knew she had always wanted to see. Otters ran through our relationship and I’d always hoped to see one in the wild with her, however it was never to be. As I stared out over the fast flowing river thinking off those days I glimpsed something which I first thought was a duck – but on closer viewed was an otter; in the very river we spent so much time walking along. It made me wish she was still in my life, as I desperately wanted to tell her of this moment. Something I know would have brought a smile to her wonderful face.)

As a result of losing this friendship I was determined, once and for all, to beat all that I’d been fighting. Things were tough though, with the relapse into self harm and my social anxiety taking a thrashing because of the collapse of this friendship.

Moving in with my new housemates I made every effort to be more social; attending parties, heading to pubs and clubs, chatting in the lounge – all things I would never normally have been able to do, and this helped so much in keeping myself under control and though I was still self harming out of addiction was finding it much easier coping with everything else. I was rarely out of contact with people, which was a whole new experience for me. I even organized my own party, for the first time ever! I was slowly but surely overcoming something I’d been fighting since my teens!

My friendship with Grace and Kathy, so often mentioned on this blog, were also strengthening and I was becoming much better at talking to them. Actually sharing information without an interrogation taking place, and this was such a lift for me. Just being able to spend time with people, having other souls to talk to and have fun with, was key.

Grace and Kathy, the slow building acquaintanceship with Sally, and my continuing connection with my housemates and Tara – in addition to the whole new network which was opening up through college and the people I was getting to know through all of the above is what helped me kick depression and social anxiety squarely in the ass! This is how I was able to overcome depression; this is how I was able to beat something I had spent years fighting.

All those smiles, hugs, laughter, tears, times, moments, quizzes, conversations and so so much more is what finally helped me overcome everything. I wasn’t alone, I had people in my life, the solitude and loneliness I knew so intimately was no longer an issue. When I needed to talk there were people there, when they needed to talk, I was there, we hung out, laughed, smiled, had fun; and my confidence was increasing every single day.

Then came the earthquake of February 2007 and my life was never the same.

It was losing all those friendships which hit me the hardest, which made it so very difficult fighting the glandular fever, breakdown, depression and CLL. It was losing my new networks which fucked up the work I’d done with my social anxiety. It was the solitude, isolation and loneliness which I found myself drowning in once more that made everything so much harder to fight.

All those quizzes which I had to avoid, all those sing-a-longs I couldn’t partake in, all those conversations I now couldn’t have…the solitude consumed my mind, bringing back the hallucinations and self harm on a vicious level. It’s what solitude does, you need someone; so Meadhbh made her comeback and everything was lost. I couldn’t hold on or pretend I was sane any longer. Solitude, then loneliness then isolation. All that work for nothing. The abuse was the nail in the coffin.

All those smiles and laughs, drinks and lunches, parties and drunken nights – all of the times I shared – all of those friends and acquaintances. They inspired me. The strength they gave me from just touching and sharing their lives with me. They are what helped me to finally overcome my depression.

So many people take friendship for granted.

You have all your Facebook friends, your MySpace friends, your Bebo friends…you have all your uni, school and pub mates…if you lose one or two along the way it’s chalked up to just being life. Even if that person is someone with whom you have a huge connection with, few people work hard on friendships in today’s society. It’s kinda the same with relationships, if there’s a problem, chuck ‘em, plenty more fish in the sea. Maybe because I’ve experienced true isolation I have come to appreciate friendship, the joy of having someone in your life to share all those good times and bad times with, how important it is to have people there. I appreciate friendship with as much passion as I appreciate all that I have.

But as I’ve written in the past, depression also destroys friendships because of the burden – so I blame only myself for losing my friendships with those five true friends. If only depression wasn’t such a destructive force, if only it were understood as the illness that it is. If only people could have seen past the symptoms at who I am. If only, two of the most powerful words in the English language.

So, for the love of all things sacred, never forget what it means to have a friend. Just pick up the phone RIGHT NOW and call one of them for a chat, don’t take them for granted, don’t think they’ll always be there, because trust me – when they’re gone, you will miss them more than anything in the world!

Forget all your therapies; if you want to beat depression, you need to beat the isolation.

Friendship; the best cure for depression I know, and from personal experience, it works. If only a GP could prescribe it.

For Lucy, Grace, Kathy, Anna and Tara;
Thank you for all the good times,
I think of you all often and hope you’ve all found happiness.

As the end draws near, the finale of the rather short and randomly intermittent Starter for Ten series. Where the questions which have been perplexing you are answered. So with my fingers getting all itchy on the buzzer, here we go: 

1) How much money have you made in this blogging venture of yours? Surely all this moaning about your life was only for the money?

I have made - taking into account competitions, online costs and internet cafes - minus £143. Yep, this blog has actually cost me money! Woohoo!

I never set out to make any money from this blog, that was never the intention, and even as the blog progressed I never for a moment thought about trying to make any money from this it.

The recent appearance of adverts was a natural addition and any money raised through these adverts were to be donated to charity.

There is way too much self-thinking going on in the world at the moment – way too many people clammering to make as much money as they can for their next great adventure or the latest upgrade in technological advancement. It really annoys me, everywhere I look there’s money making schemes and “how to win it big so you can afford that big house on the beach and mock those less fortunate than you” ventures. And don’t even get me started on The Apprentice. I’m all for making money, we all need it to live, but there should be a point when we stop thinking about ourselves and start thinking about what other people are going through. My main issue with the world as it is today is the selfishness of it, it’s contaminating society, and everyone is becoming more apathetic to other people in their monumental me-me-me-me-me quest.

So to anyone who thinks this blog has made me money, you’re wrong. I never wanted to make money from this blog. I wanted to share my life, the problems I’ve had to face, raise awareness of mental illness and related issues which no-one talks about. Expose myself to the world so that others in similar situations don’t feel so lonely. That was always why I did it and not for a second did making money ever cross my mind.

Whilst I’m on the subject:

Through this blog, £15 has been raised for the Mental Health Foundation. Not much, but something.
And the current total through Stray Visions: The Stray Thoughts Art Shop is £238.

Which I’m quite proud of.

2) What is it you are feeling when you self harm?

Fear. Pain. Relief. Anger. Relief. Fear. Joy. All manner of things really. I’m very proud of (Some) True Confessions of a Self Harmer as well as A Self Interview with a Self Harmer both of which were me trying to explain how I feel when and why I self harm.

3) What do you miss about Australia?

So
Many
Things

Edinburgh Gardens – Walking down Chapel Street – Chilling on the Beach – Cycling the bike paths, especially the Yarra track and along the bay – rainforests – the wonderful food at the VegieBar and cafes of Brunswick Street – sitting by the Torrens – the people – my old friends – the plethora of second hand bookshops – Port Fairy – the ice cream – Adam Hill – the great festivals in Melbourne – Wombats – bikinis – Sean Micallef – the music scene – Carlton Gardens – the Dandenongs – Trivia Nights – the future I nearly had – and so – much – much – more - …

I could go on and on and on about what I miss about Australia, I could write a whole separate blog on the subject of this country, detailing in great length all the things I love, miss and (vice versa) the problems and annoyances with the country. I tried hard to make my life and future in Australia, unfortunately, Australia decided it didn’t want someone like me.

4) What was the last thing that made you giggle? What was the last thing that made you smile? What was the last thing which made your heart skip a beat? What was the last thing that made you glad to be alive?

Giggle? Easy – that Adipose sliding down the bonnet of the taxi.

We need more ridiculously cute aliens. How many people the world over said “I want one!” after seeing this!

Smile? An email I received a few days ago. Yep. That made me smile big time :)

Skip a beat? It’s a bit sad (like my life these days), but an episode of a television series I watched last night had a line that not only caused my heart to skip a beat but momentarily stop as well. The line was “Because you’re breaking my heart,” and it was delivered so perfectly that anyone who says television is an empty void with no redeeming features watches way too much reality television.

Glad to be alive? We have to be going back over a year for that one, so far back in time in fact that I can’t actually remember what it was. Ach, well!

5) Do you think your post talking about your manic phase will alter people’s opinions of you?

Yes, I do. Stigma dictates a lot of people’s perceptions of mental illness, so going into such a topic was a hard choice to make.

I have wanted to talk about it in the past, but was aware that it may cloud people’s views of me. They might focus on the selfish misogynistic aspects of the phase rather than the confusion and danger inherent in the phase. However, setting out to detail my life, I think it’s important to be there as it opens up further knowledge of the difficulties in living with manic depression.

6) If you had unlimited funds and unlimited time constraints (i.e.: past, present, future) and no obligations to fulfill….. Where would you like to go on holiday?

Good question…a bloody hard question as well. I mean there’s the simple answer of the holiday’s I nearly had; the Whitsunday week and South American trip I had planned for last year, they would have been fantastic to do and I’m frustrated things didn’t pan out as I’d hoped. There’s also just the odd countries I’d love to have the opportunity to explore; Italy, Iceland, Norway, Spain, France and New Zealand. Or the cities I’d love to visit; Los Angeles, St Petersburg, Perth, Sienna, Barcelona for various reasons or people.

But with unlimited time constraints?

A Round the World Trip.

Fairly standard answer I think, but if I had no time or money constraints (and we’ll forget energy and health constraints as well) I would travel the entire world in as much detail and depth as I could. Most likely I would go west, as not only is it a kick-arse song which I could adopt as an anthem but I would battle to achieve something I always wanted to do, which was travel the world without stepping on a plane!

First port of call would be to learn how to drive and then obtain a Harley Trike, ever since Billy Connolly took a world tour of Australia on one, I’ve dreamed of circumnavigating the globe on one of these beasts.

Europe would be first; France, Spain, Portugal, Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Netherlands, Belgium, Norway, Sweden, Finland etc etc etc etc before zipping across and through all those wonderful Eastern European countries and then upwards to Russia to join the Trans Siberian Express (a trip I have ALWAYS wanted to do, and pretty much everyone who’s met me knows not only my love of trains but also my desire to traverse this particular route). Then down through China, bumming around all those wonderful exotic Asian countries before dropping down to Australia.

I’d go counter clockwise, most likely kicking off in Darwin round the coast to Perth, all around those Western States and then zipping across to Adelaide, up to Uluru and the red hot centre, then diagonally down to Melbourne (ahhh, Melbourne) where I’d hang out for as long as the sore-bum from the trike took to heal. Catching up with forgotten friends, old haunts and favourite spots, before heading to Tassie by Ferry, exploring this vast much dreamed of island, and then back up to Melbourne before continuing around the coast. If I did a complete circuit I may have to double back somewhere as I’d head New Zealand way next before crossing the Pacific and hitting the States.

There’s people there I’d try to meet if they’d like to, and if I were able to get the trike across, perhaps a road trip USA style around that vast country. Canada of course, of bloody course, would be revisited and then straight down to Latin America; Mexico, Cuba, dancing and music, before continuing further and further southwards into all the South American countries and then heading even further south to Antarctica.

I’d hang with the penguins for a while before tripping up to South Africa, defrosting the bike, and then heading northwards once again through this continent. I’d skip the UK for now, zipping up to Greenland and Iceland. And whilst sitting on a glacier thinking of all where I’d been I would realize I’d missed some places and have to hire a private jet to take my trike to Alaska, India, and wherever else I hadn’t been before heading back to the UK.

Starting in the Shetlands I’d journey the length of the country and then when it was all over wonder what the hell I would do next.

Of course, as I traveled around, I may even pick up a few people who would be welcome to come along for the ride, either on my same trike or perhaps they could get their own (courtesy of my unlimited funds) and we could go for a world “how many harley trikes can we get going around the world” record.

Or something like that.

But to be honest, I’d be quite happy just heading somewhere simple and cheap if I would be able to spend some time with people from my past again or those I’ve never met but would love to spend time with.

7) How hard is it to write about emotional abuse? Doesn’t it just bring it all back?

It’s always been hard for me to write about emotional abuse. Not because it just brings it all back, as I’ve never been able to get over it to begin with, so it’s already there all the time. But because of the reason I wrote first in the initial post on emotional abuse. I always had the utmost respect for the person who subjected me to this treatment, and I still do. I care about her greatly and always will. I’ll never understand why she treated me this way or what she was thinking whilst she was doing it. I talk about it because of how it has affected and destroyed my life and wish this form of abuse was talked about in the same way that physical and sexual abuse are talked about. 

As I’ve said throughout the blog, I have made mistakes through my life, but no-one ever deserves to be treated in this way regardless of their mistakes.

I was taught to forgive and forget as it is the only way people can seek the closure they need and move on. I don’t hold grudges. If someone is frequently being reminded of all their mistakes, how are they ever supposed to change? 

8) Do you think you’ll ever overcome all of the demons you’re fighting?

Short answer – no.

Long answer – noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

Seriously, I was fighting the demons for so long that when I finally overcame them in early 2006 I was exhausted, especially with the glandular fever. So to be diagnosed with CLL almost as soon as I’d done so was just a slap in the face, and the resulting collapse of my life has basically taken all the energy and drive from me. To lose what I lost I would not even wish on my most reviled of worst enemies.

It’s not that I’ve given up, as I’ve continued to fight even when my back’s been against the wall and my soul’s been staring into the flaming fires of hell, I’ve dragged myself back from the brink on dozens of occasions in the last twelve months. A point however has been reached when I no longer believe I have the energy to fight as hard as I did for those 14 long years. The demons will always be there, I’ve no doubt about that, I had my chance to be the person I always dreamed of being. I lost that chance.

And we only ever get one chance with everything and one in life.

And that’s it. Only one post to go now and I’ll be honest in saying I’m trying to make it a ‘classic’, it will also be a lot happier and perkier than the posts which have gone up over the last few days.

Of all the treatments I have tried to combat depression with over the last fifteen years this is the only one I have had success with, as such, I believe it to be the greatest treatment for depression…so tomorrow, this will be discussed, in the final stage of Addy’s Journey with Depression.

“You’re useless,”
“You never do anything right,”

If I were to sit down with a friend, black eye on display, and tell them that my partner had been physically abusing me it would be hard for them to disagree. The evidence in all its black, red and purple glory would be staring them in the face.

If I were to sit down with a friend, looking just the way I normally do, and tell them that my partner had been emotionally abusing me it would be hard for them to agree. The evidence would be locked away inside my mind, hidden from their view.

Or would it?

When I was in the city a couple of week’s ago I was strolling around one of the bigger book shops checking out all the books I had missed and/or wanted to read if only I could summon the focus to get through more than a page and I stopped – dumb founded – in a section which I just couldn’t believe.

Tragic Life Stories!

“Your photos are so boring, so uninspiring, why do you even bother?”
“You’re just contaminating me with your negativity,”
“You never do anything to help anyone - ever,”

There was crime, science fiction and fantasy, teenage fiction, literature, classics, history, biography, art, politics, adult, photography and then right in front of me in prominent display – tragic life stories. What the hell? Since when did this become its own genre? There were literally dozens upon dozens upon dozens of books all about exactly the same topic. Which is important, don’t get me wrong, but when I hopped over to the psychology section (if you can call it that) I could not see one title which examined abuse of any kind; it was just all comic-esque books about how eating an apple on the 14th July can stop depression for life, or that coloured day book; a collection of cute animal pictures with semi-topical lines derived from self help books (another genre I can’t stand – they’re written for people who are going through a relationship breakdown, of course they’re going to say you can learn a lot from pain. Which you can. But they never say you can learn more from happiness do they? Of course not, as this is the last thing the hurt person reading it is going to want to hear. I can categorically say that I learnt more about life from my happy moments than from all of my painful moments combined - but we’ll get to that in my last post on Friday) Give me The Black Day Book or the wonderful novel Happiness any day; exactly the same thing but streaked through with brilliant irony which teaches far more than a jaunty little sentence of self-help bullshit.

But I digress.

Tragic Life Stories and the complete absence of psychology books about abuse. That’s where I was.

“You never take my feelings into account ever,”
“Your sex is so boring, it never excites me,”
“Get your back waxed, it’s horrible,”

There is absolutely nothing wrong with telling stories about abused childhoods, relationships or lives – especially if it’s about bringing this topic to the fore. Abuse destroys lives. Simple fact. As I browsed the titles, and every single cover looked exactly the same I should point out – virtually identical cover art, font, title, everything – they were all about sexual or physical abuse. It was as if emotional abuse doesn’t exist, as if we can all whole heartedly believe in every form of abuse under the sun except this, or perhaps because we can’t believe in something that doesn’t have any evidence to back up the claims. Both physical and sexual abuse can leave physical evidence that the abuse has taken place; emotional abuse, not a jot.

“It’s not that I find you physically repulsive, it’s more that you’re just not at all interesting,”
“If you were beaten as a child you wouldn’t think like that,”
“You’re such a pathetic retard,”

Hence why if you sit down to tell someone you’ve been emotionally abused chances are they’re not going to believe you. Surely they’re just words taken out of context and if you had a “thicker skin” it would be doing no damage at all? Nope, can’t agree with this at all. Emotional abuse is just as if not more damaging than all other forms of abuse and I’m sick of it continuing to be the Loch Ness Monster of the abuse debate. It causes life long potentially irreparable damage; just as physical and sexual abuse. In fact emotional abuse often (not always) leads directly into physical and sexual abuse.

“You never do anything to care about anyone - ever,”
“You’re always so selfish, it’s always about you!”
“No-one gives a shit about what you’re going through, why should they, it’s not important?”

So what evidence, what damage, does emotional abuse cause? Let’s use me as a case study (I mean, who else am I going to use, this is my insipid ramble here!) What are the consequences of emotional abuse?

(The quotes you are reading by the way, weren’t just said once, they were said on multiple occasions throughout and after my relationship. The reason it is so hard to get people to believe in emotional abuse is that it just looks like you’re not taking criticism well, but they just don’t seem to realize how frequent and repetitive this criticism is that’s being thrown at you.

No matter what you are doing. No matter how much of yourself you’re putting in. No matter how honest and open you’re being. No matter how deeply and positively you believe in something. No matter how you are saying something. No matter how it’s being done.
It
Will
Be
Attacked.
There is a list on this blog which I wrote in mid 2006; everything on that list was attacked and criticized by my abuser with the knowledge of everything that was on the list as I had told her about it and shared its content with her.

The other problem with simply retyping comments that were said to me throughout this post is that their context is lost, and with emotional abuse it is often the context in which something is said that elevates it from mere criticism into overtly abusive territory. Take for example the following:

“Yep, I made the right decision in breaking up with you,”

Fair enough. We’ve all thought this at some point in time and whether or not we actually decide to say it is up to the individual. But when taken in context, this sentence takes on a slightly different and – for me – more potently damaging aspect.

I was phoned on a Sunday afternoon by my ex-girlfriend asking if I wanted to come round for a cup of tea. We were trying at this stage to be friends, possibly the worst mistake of my life, but having nothing better to do, and valuing the friendship we once had (as I still do), I agreed.

We met in a park and being Easter I took along a couple of cream eggs, as really, cream eggs are just delicious. We chatted for a bit before ending up strolling down Smith Street and then journeying back to her house. She was peckish, I was peckish, and we were both bored so decided to cook up something to eat before going to the cinema. She was also tired, so went to have a nap whilst I wandered to the cinema for a schedule before coming back to her place and cooking a fairly simple pasta and sauce meal. Due to the timing of the cinema the dishes were left, and we went to watch the always enjoyable Audrey Tatou. Walking her home she invited me back in and we began a lengthy conversation touching on various subjects which at times became quite deep and meaningful and as the evening drew on she said how it would be easy for her to flirt with me in order to get me to spend the night.

I’d never hidden the fact from anyone that I was still in love with her, never did, never have, never will – as I even stated in my first post on emotional abuse how I still loved her. We talked about what she was saying and it resulted in the fact that because she was lonely and at times needed company it would be nice to spend the night with someone, to which she also added that she also understood how it would appear that she would be using me, knowing how I still felt about her. Fuelled by mild narcotics and love I agreed, and we spent the night.

It was actually rather miraculous I was able to get it up that night given the fact my body was pumped full of anti-depressants and diazepam, but I did, albeit a little awkwardly (not surprising when you take into account that impotency and reduction in sex drive are two of the most common side effects of this form of medication).
Anyhow, the following morning whilst we were both still dozing, she rolled herself on top of me with her head resting on my bare chest. Aside from underwear we were both wearing not much else. So as she rested her head on my chest and the rest of her body lying on top of mine, she played with my chest hair with one hand, opened her mouth and with a smile said: “Yep, I made the right decision in breaking up with you,”

And I suppose it’s probably just me thinking that maybe that wasn’t quite the nicest thing to say. Not quite able to believe those words had just been spoken I just lay there in shock, and it wasn’t for quite a while that she moved herself from on top of me and we both set about getting up, dressed and ready for the day. I gathered my bits together, threw them in a bag and wandered into the kitchen to bid farewell. To say I was hurt by her sentence was an understatement. I gave her a hug and left. A few minutes later I received a text message saying I had left a few bits at her place which she didn’t want, which I had, and so returned to get them and was met with a tirade of anger about how I hadn’t stuck around to do the dishes or help her with the laundry. Which, to be honest, just pissed me off!

I had made her dinner whilst she slept, had long emotional conversations with her, spent the night with someone who had ripped the heart from my chest only a couple of months before because she was lonely and needed company, and who had upon lying half naked on top me that morning told me she was happy she had broken up with me. And yet I was at fault because after being so obviously used I hadn’t stuck around to do the boyfriend thing of helping her with her laundry and her dishes.

Similarly with the context of:

“You and Grace aren’t friends, you never were, you never will be, she doesn’t care about you and she’s tired of being there to listen to all of your pathetic little problems. You’re on your own,”

After having had a nervous breakdown, a painful relationship breakup, being diagnosed with leukemia, falling back into self harm, depression, suicidal thoughts and still suffering from glandular fever (all of which – besides the leukemia - she knew) – the last thing I needed was to be told I was on my own. Whether what she said was true or not I always thought of Grace and myself as friends, and to be told this was not how she felt hurt like buggery, especially given the state my mind and physical health were in at the time.

“I have so much more respect now for a manager I never met than I have for you, she was a much better manager,”
 “You treated her so badly when she was at the hostel, she hated you,”
“Your hugs were suffocating; I never really liked them,”

Words alone though aren’t all the emotional abuser will use.

There were the with-holding and refusal to do anything which she knew I would like or wanted, such as:

• The information that she had a boyfriend was something she didn’t share with her mother and despite knowing how much I wanted to meet her family it was never to be – despite several opportunities when it could have happened.
• Or the utter refusal to do something sexual to me she knew I wanted, without ever explaining why. It was in a sense with-holding something from me she knew would bring me pleasure as a means to retain control over the relationship.

Then there were the dramatics:

• The “climbing of a construction site” and storming into my room at 10pm to make sure I was okay after she had broken up with me because she hadn’t been able to get in touch since breaking up with me. (i.e. because I had been in Port Fairy without a phone battery or charger)
• Or the storming out of the room at random intervals because I wasn’t doing what she wanted me to do and testing whether I’d chase after her or not, despite the fact she never really actually told me what she wanted to be doing. I was supposed to guess that.

Then there were the actions:

• Such as the throwing of a glass of water over my head in a relatively crowded restaurant on New Years Day because my preference of Bond actor differed from hers and she needed me to realize how stupid it was to prefer that actor over her own opinion.

Then there was the fact that my feelings never mattered:

• The apparent refusal to accept I was suffering from glandular fever; so was expected to wander around a town, go for a half hour horse riding session and then hike 6km to a bus stop whilst initiating in-depth emotional conversations without actually feeling any pain. Despite the fact that whilst she had glandular fever I was on the receiving end of an hour long tirade for suggesting we walk less than a kilometer from a train station to our destination in the city. (I wasn’t taking her health or how she was feeling into consideration)
• My mental illness was not under any circumstances to be discussed in detail ever. Whenever I tried to raise the topic of depression, self harm or social anxiety it was instantly rejected out of hand as depressing and not worth talking about in any way. So I learned to never even attempt to bring it up first.
• Or the fact that all of the above examples can be listed under this also. My feelings about what I wanted or desired were not a good enough reason to do something, the fact that her not introducing me to or telling her mother/family about me made me feel she was completely ashamed of me but that never mattered or that maybe throwing a glass of water over my head for no real reason made me feel completely humiliated and the fact that my physical illnesses were merely me being pathetic and weak for suffering from conditions such as glandular fever.

Then there was the always present never allowing me to forget the mistakes I had made in the past, with the constant use of lines beginning with:

“You know 12 months ago you did this…”
“Two weeks ago, you did this…”
“Why, 11 months and 2 weeks ago, when you did this…”

Before going into lengthy detail about incidents I had myself forgotten and/or overcome the regret in my mind, only to have the whole situation constantly resurrected in my head to feel the pain of them all over again.

Plus the fact that no matter what I was going through she had always been through something of equal nastiness or in most cases something far worse:

• You’ve had a breakdown? Well I was having a breakdown as well.
• You’re suffering from depression? When I was a teenager I also suffered from depression and I wanted to kill myself but I got through it so you should just get over it and that’s that.
• You’ve not got any money? Well neither have I, despite the fact that I’ve just bought a $300 pair of boots, have three jobs and am receiving a few hundred in benefits every couple of weeks, I have no money either.
• Or the all time classic! When I sat down with her one afternoon to tell her I’d been diagnosed with leukemia. Before I could even get out fully what my situation was: “I’ve been in exactly the same situation as you have so you’re not going to get any sympathy from me, so don’t even bother going into it, I don’t want to hear,”

And that’s just the tip of the ice-berg. Yet through everything, through all of the occasions that I tried to find out why she was saying these things, or why she was criticizing and hurting me so much, the answer was always the same. It was either: ‘I don’t know,’ or, something familiar with cases of emotional abuse, ‘I was just trying to change you,’

As a result of emotional abuse I have changed! As a result, I:

• have lost all sense of self belief, self esteem and confidence. I have been reduced to a scared, frightened wreck, unable to believe I am capable of doing or achieving anything. I think that’s fairly obvious from a lot of the posts on this blog.
• cannot trust anyone, anywhere, and doubt I will be able to again.
• do not believe a single word of praise which is given to me.
• have inflicted self-injury on several occasions as a direct consequence of the emotional abuse I suffered.
• am literally afraid to talk to anyone in fear of a repeat of what happened to me. My ability to communicate has been destroyed, and any chance of emotional, open and intimate conversation has been lost.
• suffer from flashbacks and daily replays of moments and quotes from that time.
• have ended up in hospital as a result of some instances of the self injury inflicted as a result of the abuse.
• lost my college course due to my problems, issues and circumstances being unimportant compared to hers.
• have found my depression and related mental illnesses relapse to the worst point in my life to the point I don’t believe I’ll be able to get over it.
• spent several hundred dollars that I couldn’t afford on psychologists and counselors in an effort to overcome the PTSD, anxiety, panic and related disorders which the abuse created.

That’s a fair whack of damage; internal, external, physical and financial – all with long reaching and devastating consequences on the rest of my life. So for my abuser, rejoice, because you definitely succeeded in changing me. And for those who think emotional abuse is merely friendly criticism that’s being taken in the wrong way.

WAKE UP!

There is so much more that needs to be done to make people realize that this is not acceptable behavior. It is almost impossible for both the abuser and abused to realize and understand what is happening during the relationship, even if this is the case the abused will often be unable to break up the relationship because their love of the person is far too strong to be able to do this. The abuser has control, which is what everything is about, which is why there is the criticism, the games, the tests and manipulation. They must at all times ascertain their control over their relationship and the people in their life, and most often, do not even realize this is what they are doing.

If you are being emotionally abused find a friend, find someone you trust and talk to them about what is going on. If they don’t believe you then find someone else. Emotional abuse exists, it is destroying lives, and more needs to be done. Those Tragic Life Stories littering the shops are not just books – they are lives – real human people who are never going to be the same and who will not be able to live the life they want. This is the damage of abuse. Physical, Sexual, Emotional, whatever – abuse should not be tolerated.

Every quote, every incident, every moment detailed on this page and thousands more replay in my head virtually all day every day. Nothing I do makes it go away, nothing I do seems to be able to make it stop. That’s what emotional abuse does. Is it any wonder I hate myself? Why I cut myself? Hit myself? Believe my hallucination so much? Abuse sucks, and until you’ve experienced it, I don’t think you’ll ever fully understand it’s long reaching soul destroying consequences.

“You should tape record your voice, it’ll make you realize how boring and monotonous it is, and so you should just kill yourself,”
“Your kisses were terrible, I never enjoyed them, my ex was the most perfect kisser in the world,”
“You never say anything interesting – ever,”

Related posts:

• Emotional Abuse
• Emotional Abuse: Resources and Information
• My Nervous Breakdown

It is Mental Health Action Week, to which the theme is anger. The Mental Health Foundation are holding various RANTfests in workplaces and organisations around the country - this is my own RANTfest, one rant a day for the duration of the week.

Every (non spamming) comment received on this blog between 23-29 March will see 50p (or even more, depending on it’s quality) donated to the Action Week Appeal. 

Rant #1: Passion!

As a very wise and quoted-way-to-often-on-this-blog man once said, “Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love, the clarity of hatred and the ecstasy of grief,” which is completely and utterly true. Period.

But what on earth does it mean to be passionate? What the hell is passion? Is there such a bloody thing? Because these days most people are far too obsessed with work, money, me, me, me to actually have time to have “passions” - because, ya know, there is far more to passion than merely having a quick randy shag behind the night club!

The 10th Edition of the Chambers Dictionary lists passion as: “/pash’n/ n strong feeling or agitation of mind, esp rage, often sorrow; a fit of such feeling, esp rage; an expression or outburst of such feeling; ardent love; sexual desire; an enthusiastic interest or direction of the mind; the object of such feeling; (usu with cap) the sufferings (esp on the Cross) and death of Chrst.“

And to be passion-ate about something you are: “moved by passion; showing strong and warm feeling; easily moved to passion; intense, fervid” and so forth and so forth.

Or in the words of Addy, to be passionate about something is to love something so much you want to whip off it’s undies, slap it on the butt and shag it for as long as you possibly can without passing out.

And - let’s be honest - how many of us are so passionate about our jobs that, if our jobs were personified in human form, we would rip off their undies, slap ‘em on the butt and shag them for as long as possible without passing out? Unless, of course, your job just happened to resemble Carey Mulligan when in human form, that is.

Exactly!

So, as we’re all working longer hours - slaving away every hour of every minute of every day - where does passion fit into our lives? How many of us actually make time for the things in life we are passionate about? Or is the ‘having a hobby’ becoming a dying art? Forced out of humanity by the quest for the almighty dollar? This is what I’m passionate about, but…

…someone once told me I was unpassionate, that there was nothing in life I was passionate about. Bull! And in an effort to prove it, this was my room at the time (early 2007):

View One:  View Two:  (Click images to enlarge)

Now, let’s have a wee test. I can spot 17 passions which are clearly on display in this room, for all who visit to see and digest. Now, when you look closer, it’s not just one small tiny thing - they’re either big things or repeated throughout the photos, it’s not just one tiny biscuit showing that I’m passionate about biscuits.

So before scrolling on to the answers, how many of my “passions” can you see on display?

All done? Got all seventen? Well done you, gold star!

Here are the answers:

View One:  View Two:  (Click image to enlarge)

And yes, I know it is a truly terrible photo of me, but them’s the breaks! And in all honesty that’s not even all of my passions, they’re just the one’s you can see in the photos!

My point is even though I was working at the time, hanging out with friends, trying to do everything I could to make money and make ends meet I always found time to throw myself into my passions because they were all around. Wherever I looked I could see the things in life that made me feel alive, made me marvel at this wonder called life.

These days, looking at those photos brings a tear to my eye, they were taken the summer where I had finally beaten my illnesses, when I had them all under control before the great triple whammy that struck in February which has been much written about. Within a few months all which you can see had gone and I was living in a room with a bare floorboard, white walls and whopping great cracks in the ceiling. My passions had been sucked out of me and were reflected in the dwellings where I was existing.

That’s the problem with mental illness, it sucks you dry and leaves you a shaking husk on a bare wooden floorboard. Depression, mood swings, panic, anxiety - they all make it virtually impossible to indulge in our passions. In fact, one of the most common symptoms of clinical depression is the inability to enjoy the things we were once passionate about. 

• My books are gone so, 
• I can’t read any more
• I can no longer write,
• Or produce art and photographs as effectively as I once did.
• I can’t watch movies & television either, and
• Going outside for walks is very hard with the anxiety and panic, which makes
• Friendship impossible; hence, no friends, no conversation, no occasional kinkyness and
• I can’t enjoy Christmas after last years self harm debacle,
• Or indulge in nostalgia as I once did, because of it’s triggering effect. 
• Travelling is out of the question, and Scotland is hard, as are new things with the anxiety involved
• And my creativity is at an all time low!

So out of those 17 passions I have but two left; faerie and computers.

The latter has been something I have focused on since my suicide attempt in October of last year, the writing of this blog which has been the only constant in my life since then, and the only thing which I can do which holds my focus.

Other blog projects (Eliminate the Stigma, Stray Thoughts Photography, All those Stray Thoughts) have come and gone, whilst others have appeared and ticking along nicely under pseudonyms, but this blog, this Journey with Depression has remained simply because of the passion I have for it.

So many blogs out there in cyberspace seem to be in it only for the money, which is fine, if that’s what they’re interested in. I traverse blogs who receive hundreds of comments and thousands of visitors a day. I’m kinda happy if I scrape 50 people dropping by a day. I don’t do this for the kudos or the statistics or how much money I’m making from it.

I write this blog because I am passionate about it.
I am passionate about spreading the word about the damage mental illness can cause and the lives it can destroy.
I have suffered greatly from mental illness; I do not want other people’s lives to be destroyed as mine has been.

I’ve ripped myself open and laid myself bare on this blog not because of prestige or the mighty dollar, but because I want people to know who I am, and for them to know they are not - and should never be - alone. No matter what they are going through.

The hopes, dreams and passions I once had have crumbled to dust and I know it’s unlikely they will ever be back. But I’ve battled on, losing more, because it’s passion which has kept me alive over the last few months.

Passion for this blog - and a passionate belief that one day I will get to put ‘ticks’ next to the two things I want most in life right now.

As we all rush to horde as much money as we can, achieve as much as we’re able in order to earn the reputation and respect from our peers, as we wear out the shoe leather and car tyres we should all find time in our lives to enjoy those things we are passionate about, whatever they may be.

So have a think. What are your passions? How do you enjoy them? Could you find time to enjoy them more?

We only live once remember.

Tomorrow…Rant #3: Slow Walkers

Donate to the Mental Health Action Week campaign here

MENTAL HEALTH ACTION WEEK
23 - 29 MARCH 2008
Don’t let anger get the better of you

Next week is the Mental Health Foundation’s Action Week. The foundation uses this week to raise awareness of mental health issues across the UK. The theme of this years action week is anger.

What is anger?

“Anger is one of the most basic human emotions. it is a physical and mental response to a threat or to harm done in the past. Anger takes many different forms from irritation to blinding rage or resentment that festers over many years.

At any point in time, a combination of physical, mental and social factors interact to make us feel a certain way. It’s different for each of us. Our feelings are influenced by our emotional make-up, how we view the world, what happens around us and our circumstances. Like other emotions, anger rarely acts alone.”

What kind of problems can be linked to anger?

Anger is the emotion most likely to cause problems in relationships in the family, at work and with friends. people with a long term anger problem tend to be poor at making decisions, take more risks than other people and are more likely to have a substance misuse problem.

Anger has been linked with mental health problems:

• Depression

• Anxiety

• Self Harm

And anger can be a major factor in abusive relationships which can also lead to mental health problems for both abusee and abuser. Anger is also a major contributor to physical health conditions such as: blood pressure, colds, flu, coronary heart disease, stroke, cancer and gastro-intestinal problems.

What is being done?

Across the UK there will be thousands of people undertaking different activities to raise awareness and money for this campaign, here on My Journey with Depression it is no different.

The foundation is encouraging people to have a ‘RANT-a-thon’ where people come together to ‘let off’ steam and have a RANT. Well, that is what I will be doing. Everyday next week I will be posting a special RANT post where I let rip some steam and see what happens.

————————————–

Mental Health Action Week RANTs Quick Links

Sunday 23 March - Sexism
Monday 24 March -
Tuesday 25 March -
Wednesday 26 March -
Thursday 27 March -
Friday 28 March -
Saturday 29 March -

What would you like Addy to RANT about?  

————————————–

All that’s just for fun really, where the money raising comes in will be:

For every comment I receive on this blog between 23 - 29 March 2008 I will donate 50p towards the Mental Health Foundation’s Action week appeal.

For every interesting comment (my discretion) I will donate £1.

This will be for every post and page on the blog, not just the RANT posts.

(and will not include spam comments - sorry, don’t have a spare £million)

————————————–

TOTAL SO FAR - £1.00
(as of 23 March 2008)

————————————–

If you would like to donate merely from the bottom of your beautiful wee heart I have set up a secure donation page through the JustGiving.co.uk where all money donated will be paid directly to the Mental Health Foundation.

Let’s all help raise awareness of mental health issues.

For more information on Mental Health Action Week you can visit
THE MENTAL HEALTH FOUNDATION

Well?

Nothing wrong with asking a question now is there :)

Take a moment to vote in this poll and then wait for the winning post to wing it’s way onto the site in no time at all.

View this quiz on Quibblo More quizzes on Quibblo