Overcoming Mental Illness

It’s been nearly a year since I was sitting on a beach in Port Fairy burning myself with a flaming stick. A flame which ignited the breakdown and the destruction of everything I had been building for 28 and a 1/2 years.

When I think back on that night, the cool autumnal air breathing softly around me, I remember the tears which streaked my face as I held that stick with trembling hands. The dead mobile phone lying on the beach beside me, a name burned on the LCD panel in my mind. I wonder what would have happened if the battery had still been breathing? I wonder if the person I had wanted to call would have answered?

Would they have listened?

A year before I had been on the exact same beach. A whole 365 days since I’d roamed there, with the intent of dying there. It had been a different phone at the time, but as I sat with the knife held against my wrist it had sparked alive with an echoing ‘beep’ in the still night. A ‘beep’ which sparked alive a long forgotten piece of my soul; enough to drag myself from the beach and spend a fitful night shivering and weeping in a lumpy hostel bed.

In the 365 days which had passed I had managed to rebuild my life. I had fought myself back from hell and only a few weeks earlier had been standing on the metaphorical Butt of Lewis screaming “Ha!” into the wind…(yay for obscure literary references)…having battled myself from the brink of death into a position where I had the world at my feet. Everything was in place; depression had been beaten, self harm overcome, social anxiety had had it’s butt spanked (well, nearly, a few more slaps and it would have been in submission). I had just started working toward my dream of a diploma, a novel was a few edits away from being completed and another started, I had friends for the first time in six years. Aside from glandular fever, which was hardly my fault, I was ecstatic about how much I’d been able to achieve, how much success I had reached.

Then came the double whammy I’ve mentioned before: leukemia diagnosis and being dumped, in the same week. Two shuddering tremors which rocked my foundations - two tremors which caused the earthquake that collapsed all the work. The act of nature which sent 365 days of work crumbling to dust and drove me back to that beach, back to where I had nearly killed myself.

I can’t go back to that beach this year.

I can’t go back to that beach ever again.

The aftershocks of that earthquake kept rumbling all year, cost me everything; home, friends, possessions, dreams, hopes, desires, cravings…my future. They’re still rumbling now. The odd few things which have stood strong trying to defy the inevitable are slowly but surely crumbling away to nothing. I don’t know how to make the earthquake stop.

I wish I did.

I can’t think about how close I came to happiness without bursting into tears. Is this the curse of bipolar? That no matter how much work we do, how close we come to achieving our hopes, something in the brain just trips and causes everything to fall apart. Or is it just dumb fracking luck? I was a different person before the earthquake struck; I was happy, excited, passionate. I dreamt and hoped and believed. Sure, it was difficult to show this through the crippling pain of glandular fever, but I tried, oh I tried. It feels like I’ve never stopped trying, ever.

Maybe I was never meant to be happy.

Now, 365 days since those vicious flames licked at my flesh, 730 days since I sat with the knife wanting to end it, I’m left with nothing. The dust is settling to reveal only a collapsed heap of someone who nearly became. All those friendships I worked so hard to forge have become mere pixels on a Facebook screen who don’t even remember my name. All those hopes and dreams and passions I fought to hug and dance with are nothing but embers of dying light in a musky corner of my soul.

When I think back on that night, the dead mobile phone lying on the beach beside me, I wonder what would have happened if the battery had still been breathing. Would my words have been listened to? Would that have stopped the breakdown? Or was a complete mental collapse merely inevitable for someone who - should fate and others be believed - deserved nothing?

The phone I use now is alive, I keep it breathing, daren’t not to. I glance at it from time-to-time, occasionally hearing the haunting ‘beeps’ of times past or names shimmering on the LCD screen only in my minds eye.

I wish people could understand how devastating a breakdown is.

I wish people could understand how hard I was fighting.

I wish people could understand how hard I still am.

When I get the time and frame of mind I love surfing around the wonderful blog community to see what other souls are writing about. Once I steer away from the “how to blog” blogs - exactly how many of these are there these days, aren’t we experiencing a little overkill? - I come across some wonderful wee communities, thoughts and lives which are delightful to dip into.

Seaneen, on the excellent Pole to Polar, wrote The Internet Told Me I Had Cancer. There are so many of these ’diagnose’ yourself tests on the internet these days, and going from this post, far more than I actually realised there were. Never having done any of them myself - I have enough wrong with me right now - I can’t vouch for their results.

Meanwhile, on the equally brilliant A Never Quiet Mind, Zathyn writes about Antidepressants and the Placebo Debate. With all the news lately about medication, prozac and it’s merits for those with depression the terms ‘mild’ and ’severe’ seem to have been lost in the mix. Having had virtually no sucess with any of the medication I have yet taken - especially it’s bipolar triggering effects within me - I am firmly under the belief that a placebo, for those with severe depression and mental illness is useless. But that’s just me, what do you think? He also mentions on his blog about the recent heat wave in Adelaide, which, given my love for that city and also Australia was plesantly nostalgic reading; though I’m glad I wasn’t actually there at the time! 

I also loved Pandora’s Boxes, a poem on Jane’s Writing, which is a blog I have only recently discovered and am relishing reading through all of her posts.

Then there’s the question how do I link to dozens of fantastic blog posts with only one link? Easy, by alerting you to the wonderful Carnival of MS Bloggers run through Brass and Ivory which this issue has some truly excellant articles for you to devour.

On a more lighthearted note, there is Simon’s Cat, which I came across on Youtube. So technically it’s not strictly a blog - but hey - it is definately worth checking out!

p>

And finally for this time, Scott Davis on Finding Your Marbles explores the benefits and practicalities of writing in How to Start a Healing Journal. Wonderful, practical advice for all.

Well, I hope you’ve found something new and interesting to peruse in your journey’s through life and cyberspace, no doubt I’ll be back at some point with more wonderful blog posts for you all.

There really is nothing funny about social phobia/social anxiety disorder, it’s a bloody debilitating condition that makes it immensely difficult to forge relationships, have meaningful friendships or even buy a pint of milk…

…but that doesn’t mean we’re not allowed to laugh about it from time to time :)

Every passing day sees my mood dip further and further into this pit of depression.

It enrages me that people can believe depression is merely a state of mind when so many people in the world are suffering intense pain on a daily basis. There’s no specific reason for my falling into the pit at the moment; my life’s as shit now as it was several months ago, but at least several months ago I was surfing along the wave of mania, and however scary that may be, at least it was a little more “fun” than this disparing bleakness.

There’s nothing good or exciting about my life at the moment. I wake up from a restless night, potter around with the blog (trying desperately to find the creativity and drive I had when I first started writing it), eat only ’cause I should (as I can barely remember the last time I felt hungry or enjoyed a meal), exercise, potter around, feel shit and then at some indiscriminate point in the early hours try to sleep only (as now) for it to be unsuccessful so I end up lying awake at five in the morning trying (as always) being attacked by small mozzie flies trying to escape the storm outside.

The weather always seems to reflect the mood.

I miss excitement, fun, passion and smiling. There is so much in life that I love and cherish, so much which does excite me but what people just don’t seem to understand is that this illness works against that excitement; it makes it virtually impossible to enjoy anything.

[Oh Yay! now Melbourne's on the news - that's gonna help the mood isn't it - remind me of somewhere I was blissfully happy once!]

Anyhoos, today is my “day out”! I get one a fortnight (due to money) so will be heading into the big bad city; got some personal business to attend to, musty bookshops to explore and perchance a cinema outing - and I can’t even remember the last time I went to the cinema!

I have a confession to make.
I do.
I have been lying to you all.
Yep.
Absolutely!
I’ve been lying to everyone for the last 28 years, 11 months, 3 weeks and lord knows how many seconds! Now, a week or so before my 29th birthday I have decided to come clean, stand up and confess. Has to be done, no question about it, can’t keep up these lies any more.
Ok…?
Here goes…

[deep breath]

I
am
NOT
a
MAN!

[blimey that feels good!]

It’s like this fifty eight thousand tonne weight has been lifted off my somewhat hairy back. It’s true though – I’m not.

It’s perfectly understandable why you’d all think that I am, what with; the presence of a beard, chest hair, rippling muscles, an Adam’s apple, a penchant to get a hard on at the mere passing thought of a naked woman, and the ability to turn into a raving ape at the actual sight of a naked woman…and oh yeah, I’ve got a penis.

But alas, I am not a man.

Why?

Well, I don’t feel the desire to – when ratarsed – piss in shop doorways; I don’t wolf whistle at woman as they walk down the street; I don’t chug pints of beer as a hobby; nor do I watch sports [breath] I don’t shag other women when I’m in a relationship; I remember birthdays and anniversaries and all sorts of grossly inappropriate important events; I never leave the toilet seat up nor do I feel the need to play the “I can get less urine in the bowel than you” game [breath] I think beer tastes like luke-warm yak’s vomit; I don’t feel the need to lie to a woman constantly in order to (a) impress her (b) cheat on her or (c) bang her; I don’t play football nor receive ridiculously pseudo-erotic pleasure from watching guys running around a field in tight shorts but I do however receive ridiculously pseudo-erotic pleasure from watching a man in a waistcoat screw a ball the length of the table [breathe] I see woman as more than just t-a-c; don’t keep a tally of how many lays I’ve had; I drink alcopops…in public…have never vomited into a pint glass; stolen a witch’s hat; got into a fight; screwed my girlfriend’s best friend nor would I no matter how tempted I may be [breathe] I’d never slap a woman in the face; nor on the ass as a means of coming on to her [smaller breath] I would never give a woman a job based solely on the quality of her posterior; nor get into a discussion about rating my friends’ tits on a 1-10 scale; I wouldn’t scribble 100 words for a woman’s sacred garden above the urinals in the pub…sacred garden? You need more proof? Fine…my mood changes frequently; I talk about my emotions; am not afraid to cry if I want to; nor even when I don’t [breath] I want babies; I want commitment; I like living somewhere where I can see the carpet; I’ve never measured my cock when I’m alone; when I’m talking to a woman I’m looking at her eyes – not her tits; I really don’t see the appeal of a g-string; think cricket is bloody stupid; and would much rather be sitting on a beach talking to a woman about the advantages/disadvantages of John Howard than sitting on a beach staring at her arse [breath] I really don’t see why women need to shave their legs; or their armpits; or their moustache and to be blunt would much rather sleep with someone with a bush hairier than a badger’s back than a bald bush smoother than that of a prepubescent schoolgirl; oh, and I care more about woman orgasming than I do my own, colour me selfish that way [breath] I have no problem ballroom dancing with another man; I have no problem hugging another man; I have no problem talking emotionally with another man; I have no problem crying in front of another man; I have no problem going to see a Doctor if I’m sick; nor do I have a problem with eating an egg and broccoli quiche whilst asking for directions from a man chowing down on a steak sandwich; and oh yes, I admit to making mistakes.

[breathe]

[before I pass out]

Bloody hell I could go on all day, but hey, the easiest way to prove my massive (almost) 29 year long deception – I have no problem with standing up before the whole of the world and announcing: I am suffering from depression!

[oh]

[hang on]

[ummmmmm]

I…ummm…made…a…mistake.

Sorry. Sorry everyone. Dammit, I got it wrong.

I am actually a man after all.

A hell of a man!

Far more so than anyone who fits into the categories I described above; and any man who dares say otherwise may very well be the second person to get a bitch slap from me. And any woman who dares say otherwise – well – if I don’t know them they may get a scolding glare, if I know them, maybe a slap on the butt (‘cause remember I don’t bitch slap women nor do I slap their asses as a means of coming on to them, keep up!)

To be a man, is to be one thing: courageous.

In today’s world, where men are vilified by woman on an almost global scale and forced to become the Neolithic apes they despise so much in order for them to be interested in you (I know, go figure!) being a man is to have the courage to: cry whilst watching Bambi; actually ask for help from the female shop assistant when buying lingerie for your girlfriend; talk about tampons and hormones with your girlfriend; order quiche in the restaurant; actually buy lingerie your girlfriend would like and feel sexy in rather than something you want to see the female shop assistant wear for you; tell your girlfriend if you’ve had a fight with your best mate; cry whilst eating the best piece of tofu you’ve ever tasted; nervously shake when you kiss a woman for the first time; say no to your girlfriend’s best friend when she’s seducing you in the nuddy; realize sport is a complete waste of your life; that pissing in doorways just makes you look like a twat; take your girlfriend’s tampon out of her bag and give it to her without treating it like a live hand grenade; nervously shake when you kiss a woman for the first time badly; ask where her clit is & if there’s anything you’re doing wrong; cry if you’re feeling upset; not hit the first thing you see if you’re drunk, angry or stupid; say I love you in circumstances that don’t involve blow jobs; nervously shake when you kiss a woman for the first time badly and then joke about it afterwards; not always follow your penis’ every request; admitting to how you’re feeling; follow your beliefs no matter what they may be or how derisive your friends are being; not always cum first and then falling asleep; put the toilet seat down; go to the Doctor; tell your girlfriend you have a problem; hell, tell any of your friends that you have a problem.

Being a man is having the courage to stand up and admit that you have a mental illness and not care what anyone thinks.

[And I’m not just saying that because I’m a man who is doing this same exact thing]

That one simple word is all what being a man is. Believing in yourself so much that you don’t care what other men or women think of you. If other men can’t handle it, then, they don’t deserve that beer they pretend to like so much. If women can’t handle it, then, remember that the most important thing is the emotional connection you have, not how many or how often you’ve shagged.

Quality, not quantity.

This insipid culture we now live in where a man is considered to be weak, worthless and spineless because he admits to having a mental illness is what is costing lives. More men die from suicide every year than women. More men go through life in pain than women. Why? Because they’re too afraid to admit they have a problem. Why? Because they don’t have the courage to stand up to the fear, derision and masculine stripping vilification they will receive from all corners if they do. Why? Well, that’s just because everyone’s decided what a man should be instead of realizing they are – like women – human. Men don’t come from Mars any more than women don’t come from Venus (and just for the record, you don’t have to like visiting Uranus to be man).

One of the purest forms of the stigma against mental health is also one of the vilest forms of stigma out there; sexism. And however controversial this may sound, it’s being propagated by women just as much, if not more so, than by men.

Women desire men to be men and this means not having flaws or problems or weaknesses.
In order for a man to be accepted they must act in this way regardless of how they’re feeling.
For we wouldn’t want to be weak now would we!

In a discussion on mental illness I was once told by someone that they could believe and accept in the existence of a woman suffering from post natal depression, but could not believe that depression was something a man could suffer from. In other words, in women it is perfectly acceptable but in men, it is seen as a weakness, a trait to be avoided, ignored, derided and laughed at.

Is it any wonder why so many men are blowing their heads off or chucking themselves off bridges?

Tell me, what’s more courageous?

1. Bottling up all of your emotions so that a woman can respect you, only for your brains to redecorate your office?
2. Admitting to a woman that you have a problem, even if it means never visiting her sacred garden again?

Yep, you’re right.
If it is indeed true that a woman can’t be attracted to a man that cries, then there is something seriously wrong with the world in which we live. Men have feelings, men feel pain, men hurt – and they should be allowing to show it without recrimination.
Women need to realize this.
Men need to realize this.
We all need to realize this.

This was originally posted on All that I am, all that I ever was… (November 2007)

The first thing I ever wrote regarding my history of mental illness was an article entitled My War against Mental Illness way back in October 2007 (I know it wasn’t all that long ago, but it feels like it sometimes).

It was a rather cathartic moment for me, having kept a lot of what I had been through to myself for so long to write it down felt wonderful - even if no one actually read it at the time.

Whilst compiling the short videos I took of my trip to Scotland I decided to make a few videos inspired from my favourite posts of the past, just for a bit of fun mainly, and the most natural choice to begin with was my first piece of writing on the subject.

The following is the result:

- READ THE POST THIS VIDEO WAS INSPIRED FROM -

(If for some reason you would like to post this video on your own blog/website to help raise awareness of mental illness just drop me a line and I’ll shoot some code over to you, the more publicity mental illness awareness received the more chance we have of instigating some change in attitudes and viewpoints.)

So this is my new home.

As I don’t actually have any place I can call home in the “real world” it’s nice to have a place to call a home in cyberspace, especially with an address that I can call my “own”.

My decision to move to my own domain has been a long time coming, it’s something I’ve wanted to do since I started writing this blog back on blogspot so many moons, mood swings and lifetimes ago I can barely recall who I was back then. My move to wordpress was, in essence, a way to try out their software whilst I pondered and tweaked with the whole “is it possible/feasible/worth it” debate.

Eventually I decided, as it was something I desired, it was worth it. So often in life we never get what we want, no matter how much work we put in to realise our dreams.

Hopefully the move will prove undramatic, but as I have become accustomed to dramatics in life I’m sure there will be some hiccups along the way.

For those who have followed me over from my wordpress.com blog, all the posts found on that site are here and complete so you can re-read and study to your hearts content. new posts will, mood dependant as always, fly either thick and fast powered by uncontrollable mania - or trickle along slower than a snail trying to escape his arch rival the slug (who is intent on stealing his home) - hopefully the former :)

For those of you who are finding me for the very first time. Don’t be too scared! :) Granted I have my obscure moments, but peak beneath the surface and the labels and you’ll find a surprisingly interesting guy. The best thing to do is have a wander and see what you find.

I recommend a trip to the INDEX where you’ll find answers to the most commonly asked questions. Perhaps then a visit to the UNDERSTANDING MENTAL ILLNESS page where you can read more about the various forms of mental illness which exist in the world, as well as lengthy passages about my own experience of dealing with these illnesses which I have had thrust upon me.

To keep you up to date you can subscribe to my RSS FEED or by EMAIL; and for those of you who decide to subscribe by email you will be in the running to win a wonderful prize every two weeks, just for subscribing! So hop to it.

If you’d like to know more about me you can have a wee gander here, and please let me know a little about yourselves, it’s always good to meet new people.

I look forward to settling into my new home and getting to know you all better :)

Inverness, the site of so many memories and moments of my life was both a happy inducing tour-de-force and also a nostalgic kick in the groin. There are two videos of my time in Inverness, both rather reflective pieces, which draw this particular journey in Scotland to a close.

Part 1: Return

Part 2: Reflect

And this concludes this journey. It’s not been handled very well, but that’s kinda the thing with bipolar isn’t it! You get all these wonderful ideas of world domination and then - BAM - a vicious depressive episode hits for no reason and nothing ever gets done.

Ah well.

There’s always next time!

Anyhow, hope you’ve enjoyed them at least a little - I had fun making them, so at least that’s something!

A recent comment on my post regarding Emotional Abuse had me delving into my old blog to pluck this list of resources and information from the internet ether.

This list was originally posted on my Blogspot blog on 13 December 2007 but as all information regarding emotional abuse is needed and warranted it is worth reposting here.

There are a lot of people out there who are either in, or think they are in an abusive relationship. It took me months and several hours spent in the Adelaide public library to work out that I had been the victim of emotional abuse.

Collected here are some resources and articles which you could use to better understand your situation and ways you can deal with it.

Emotional Abuse: Further Reading and Support I

(A lot of these articles have been written from the POV of abusive man/victimised woman which I find a little frustrating, as more needs to be done to bring the “abused man” into the spotlight - but if you are an emotionally abused man just swap the s/he’s around and you’ll be fine)

Articles of Interest…

Verbal Abuse Survivors Speak Out: On Relationship and Recovery
By Patricia Evans
An article which summarises a book on emotional abuse, very informative with insight from victims of abuse.

Emotional Abusers
By Natalie P.
An excellent “rant” on emotional abuse that made me laugh, made me angry and made me cry. It was like reading about my previous relationship (if you swap the he’s and the she’s!)

The Guilt of the Abused
By Sam Vaknin
An article about the how the abused often feel guilty or blame themselves for what is being done to them.

Emotional Abuse
By Steve Hein
An excellent resource of emotional abuse information, written predominantly from the perspective of abused teenagers/children from their parents but the information is equally relevant for the abuse in adult sexual/friend/work relationships.

Verbal Abuse
By Kerby Anderson
An article which includes a religious/biblical reflection on emotional abuse.

Responding to Emotional Abuse: How you can help someone you know
Includes some excellent information on how to help and support someone who is in an emotionally abusive relationship.

Facebook Groups…
These two Facebook groups offer information and support to victims of emotional abuse.
You will need a Facebook ID to access these groups.

STOP Emotional Abuse
Stop Psychological Abuse!!!

Recommended Reading…
Some books which deal with emotional abuse.

- Healing the Scars of Emotional Abuse [Gregory L. Jantz, Ann McMurray]
- Trauma and Recovery [J L Herman]
- Emotional Abuse: The Trauma and the Treatment [Marti Tamm Loring]
- Stalking the Soul: Emotional Abuse the Erosion of Identity [Marie-France Hirigoyen]

Then on 17 December 2007 a second follow up post appeared:

Emotional Abuse: Further Reading and Support II

It’s not that I’m obsessed or anything, but I’m really struggling to overcome the emotional abuse I suffered so have been spending as much time as I can afford trying to find new information and coping strategies to recover.So here are some excellent sites/blogs I have discovered regarding emotional and/or other abuse:Sanctuary for the Abused
A blog containing articles, links and support for survivors of verbal, emotional, online and psychological abuse. LOTS of information here I’ve only touched the surface of what they have to offer, but so far it is excellent, and come highly recommended.Abused No More
Emotional abuse recovery Coach Annie Kaszina enables women to understand and heal swiftly from the trauma of an abusive relationship.

And a couple more articles:

From the Abuser’s Point of View
An interesting insight of abuse as told from what the abuser may be feeling. Once again, the abuser is painted as a man; although in a lot of cases the abuser is male, it would be nice to occasionally find a sight which discusses the man as “victim” rather than “perpetrator”.

Eight Ways to Spot an Emotional Manipulator
Another great article on eight ways in which someone will act if they are emotionally abusive or have the potential to be emotionally abusive.

Effects of Emotional Abuse
A nice article on what the longer term effects of emotional abuse could be if not dealt with in any way.

And with that I think I’ll leave my emotional abuse series for a while. It’s opened up a lot of scars I had forgotten about and I need to work on finding ways to overcome these issues, but with everything will keep you posted on my progress/lack of progress.

To all who are trying to overcome and understand emotional abuse, either as a victim or abuser, I shall give you a hug and wish you the best of luck.

Read
Emotional Abuse: Words are Just as Powerful as the Fist

Well, it doesn’t get much press, but last night social phobia hit the radio airwaves with a half hour programme discussing social anxiety disorder. The Radio 4 website described it as:

“Are those who are merely shy and retiring being made to believe they have a mental health condition or are we failing those whose acute anxiety in social situations blights their lives?

‘Social phobia’ was first identified as mental health condition in 1980. Now according to some estimates, up to 1 in 8 people in the US and the UK has this chronic and enduring mental health problem.

Some believe it’s the most under-recognised and under-treated mental health problem of the modern age - the cause of many people’s depression and alcohol addiction. If you cure the underlying social phobia, they say, the associated depression is much less likely to recur.

Others, however, feel that psychiatry itself has gone just a little bit mad – re-branding ordinary shyness as a mental illness.”

Now, for a start social anxiety disorder IS NOT shyness and I’m personally sick of the two being lumped together as one! When are people going to realise this? There is a huuugggeeeee difference betwen being shy and being a socially phobic person; most shy people will be able to go to a social situation albeit feeling anxious - but most socially anxious people will be cowering in the corner of their room at the mere thought of walking out the door let alone attending the social situation! Also, I strongly believe that medication is of no true help in overcoming social anxiety disorder. You can get drugs which can help control the feelings of anxiety, and you can get drugs which help control the depression which is often precipitated by the social anxiety but to my knowledge there is no drug which will fix social phobia.

So although it’s wonderful that a programme aired bringing social phobia into the mainstream audience I was a little disappointed with it’s overall content and conclusions.

You can visit the BBC Radio 4 website on the programme here
You can listen to the programme here