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.

Contrary to popular belief I haven’t yet dropped off the face of the earth :)

Where and/or when I decided it had become popular belief that this is what had happened to me I’m not sure, most likely a few moments ago as I struggled to come up with a sentence to begin this blog post. I’m not even sure what I want to write about at the moment, but as my online presence has been somewhat lax over the last several days I thought it might be a good idea to post something in case people started thinking I’d taken another overdose or something - and no, there are going to be no random butt photos in this post, so if that’s what you’re here for I suggest you stave off your hunger for sexy butts and hang on in there because I’m sure there’ll be another one popping up someday ;)

I have been in Sydney now for the last six days and I can tell you I have so far seen only TWO of the main tourist attractions of this fair city. A term I have decided to use to not insult any Sydneysiders out there, for when I write my main “Addy in Sydney” post tomorrow (once I’ve seen more than just TWO of the main tourist attractions of this fair city, it will most likely become a little clearer that I haven’t been all that smitten with this city of late.

In fact I’ve been more smitten with pretty much every city I’ve ever been to; even Montreal which I was almost ashamed to explore following a random moment of kinky embarrassment which I suffered after only a few hours off the train.

Just to actually make this post about something, the TWO attractions I have seen are - painfully obviously - the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House. Doesn’t everyone who comes to this city for the first time make these world famous icons their first port of call? Well, use that term lightly with me, because my first port of call was in fact a small ludicrously over-priced supermarket as I was bloody hungry and needed some shampoo. Not that I was hungry for shampoo, I was hungry for a vegemite sandwich, which I ate before washing my hair.

So yeah, in the last six days in this city I have seen the Harbour Bridge - my fourth most favourite bridge in the world - and the Opera House, my seventeenth most favourite opera house in the world (I’m keeping the first sixteen spots open incase I ever come across other opera houses, so I guess, for now, it’s my favourite opera house in the world!)

Tomorrow a lot more is planned, so you will no doubt enjoy recounting of my skirmishes in the Botanical Gardens, the joys and wonderment of the Art Gallery and Modern Art Gallery. Plus, if I can actually find any, my review of a second hand book shop; usually I can smell them out within minutes of arriving in a city, with Sydney, no such luck as yet but I’m sure it will happen.

So kinda treat this post as a prelude to a more wacky one which will appear tomorrow. I’m still alive, still doing okay (kindof a good word to describe me at the moment, nothing more, nothing less right now) and hoping tomorrows post will have a little more point!

PS…just to keep you up-to-date, in the great “What Superhero do you wanna…?” poll, the current contenders for most shaggable are Catwoman in the female category (No surprise really…leather! Whip! Purring! Go figure!) and in the male category we have Batman and Spidermanbattling it out for supremecy. If you have yet to cast your vote in this slightly inane and incredibly pointless poll you can do so here.

PPS…33 hours and counting before I goes outback on you all.

So yesterday in a fit of hypermanic energy I wrote one of the most random posts I’ve ever written. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, a lovely little post full of spot on observations and theories about why it is so hard to ask for help. A topic close to my heart, considering I’d rather gouge out my own fingernails with a screwdriver than pick up a phone and dial someone who cares about me to say those four little letters.

I should point out that I have never actually gouged out my fingernails with a screwdriver, nor have I even attempted to do so.

What sparked that post was a conversation I’d had on the Wednesday, part featured in the post, and itself sparked from my utterly crazy weekend which had begun on Friday (as talked about in this post) and continued through Saturday night and all Sunday - which is what I’m about to talk about.

To back up my theory about why it’s stupid not to ask for help - especially if someone is there who would help - is that everything I’m about to talk about wouldn’t have happened if I’d just picked up the phone and said those four little letters.

Saturday

I’m having a rough day on Saturday. I’m hungover from my binge drinking session and resulting manic episode of the Friday night. My cheek hurts from a woman with a cracking slap, the second hardest I’ve ever received, but I deserved it! I’m a mite hungry but can’t think about food so spend the day sitting under the trees of the Staff’s Flag trying to recouperate and keep my moods in check. It kinda works, and eventually retire to the internet cafe for blog posting, email checking, Facebooking and MySpacing. Which is probably where I went wrong - the last thing you need when battling hangovers, the spiralling down from a manic episode and a potential serious depressive episode is something which could only trigger me. You see, I’ve written about triggers before, and I know what my primary trigger is - for both manic and depressive episodes - so I have to steer away from this if I’m not feeling 100% in control of myself. It gets difficult, but it is definitely doable.

You see I should have gone to see Prince Caspian instead - that would have helped. Alas, hindsight is such a powerful thing.

Instead I’m sitting at the internet cafe getting progressively worse and then BAM the trigger hits. Like a finger on a revolver unleashing the fatal bullet I spring up, sidle out and I’m away to do something stupid.

This is where I should have picked up the phone, hit a couple of buttons, and had a five minute conversation. I needed help. I didn’t want to bother someone. So I tried to deal with it all myself. If I hadn’t, then the following wouldn’t have happened:

• I wouldn’t have taken more than I should have done of anti-depressants and mood stabilisers in an attempt to numb the emotional pain. I REALLY want to point out that this occasion was NOT a suicide attempt, I would have taken far more than I did if it had been! It was merely me being unable to control my depressive episode, unable to control the pain and just wanting it all to stop. Living with emotional pain every day can be rough, can be very painful. It was stupid, VERY stupid, but for a moment there I thought it would work.
• It didn’t!
• Well…maybe a little.
• I became very weak and docile. I started loosing my grip on reality a little and hallucinating. Somewhat bizarrely that little worms with fedoras were burrowing around under my skin so I had to try and cut them out. That’s really the only hallucination I recall aside from a general slippage from reality into some etheral dark place.
• So as things got a little worse I decided - ummm, hospital - and managed to get my reasonably cute butt there.
• The woman who checked me in at the admissions desk of ER was a gem, a wonderful girl whom I would love to buy flowers, take out for a slap up meal, run her a bath, wash her hair and then give her the greatest all over body massage of her life. Not just because she was darned hot, and had scrubs on (a random kinky thing of mine), but because she didn’t - not once - look down on me, treat me like crap, or speak to me as if I was a naughty little schoolboy for what I’d done. Quite possibly the most wonderful hospital worker I have yet encountered.
• Once in, the ER guys did their stuff. I won’t go into the gory details. There were tubes and blood tests and wrenching and all that stuff…and then after a couple of hours I was lying in one of the beds dozily watching the pulse and blood pressure machine thinking ‘These gowns are wonderfully comfy, and your butt is truly a delight, maybe that admissions girl will come back, see it, and be rather taken by it, you might get something here!’ (I should point out the admissions girl didn’t come back, as far as I’m aware, didn’t say my naked butt in the gown, nor did I get any. Which was somewhat unfortunate.)

Sunday

• Early in the morning I’m moved to another bed and then the MH guys take over. We have a chat, a conversation, nothing I’ve not done before. I’m still pretty out of it so am very zen-like. They generally want to keep me in, I think, just to be on the safe side. I however don’t want to stay in because I start work on Monday and I need time to get myself sorted out. So I manage to convince the MH guys to let me leave (I am very good at pretending I’m far better than I am; years, over a decade of practice in fact!)
• So I saunter away from the hospital mid morning glad the worms are gone and that I’m in fresh air again. There’s nothing quite as nice as fresh air after being in hospital. I’m walking very slowly, feeling very tired, seriously want some company and a smiley face.
• Afraid to pick up the phone still I do the next best thing - track down David Tennant travelling across Midnight on the ‘net - and then promptly fall asleep and spend the rest of the day drifting in and out of conciousness.
• Sleep is good, especially for an insomniac.

See, all that happened to me on Saturday and Sunday just wouldn’t have happened if I’d simply asked someone for help. I know I did by going to the hospital, but if I didn’t have such a problem asking for help then this wouldn’t have happened, I would have been able to stop myself with the assistance of others.

I have hang-ups about asking for help, as I mentioned yesterday. It was doing this which began the long, dark descent into the seven layers of hell. Plus, I have this bizarre belief that I’m not deserving of help because of who I am, a grotesque individual who doesn’t deserve happiness in the way others are deserving of it, which in itself is a result of emotional abuse and the severe PTSD I’ve suffered from the events of last year.

It’s just no matter how grotesque, reviled, repulsive, hated or despised you are - YOU ARE deserving of help just as every other beautiful individual on this planet is. Don’t be afraid to ask for help, if someone cares about you, they will listen and assist in whatever way they can. Trust me, whatever blow it deals your self-esteem and/or pride - it’s much better than a night spent in the ER department, no matter how cute your butt looks in one of those gowns.

Poached eggs on toast with the most ludicrously small portion of spinach I have ever seen. This portion of spinach was so minuscule you were seriously left wondering how eating it would ignite the muscles in your arms Popeye-style and give you the strength to get through the day. The poached eggs were wonderful, as was the bread, just a darn shame about the spinach. Sitting across from me was - shock - not an empty chair, but one of the most beautiful souls I have ever known.

“Why didn’t you phone me?” She asked.

“I wanted to,” I said back.

She just gave me one of her looks, a look I know well.

“I guess I just didn’t want to bother you,” I added.

Another look.

One of the most common and recurring problems in today’s world seems to be asking for help. Everyday people are having problems with work, relationships, finance, legal issues, health, family, their pet wombats…the list is interminably endless. Yet, asking for help with a problem from anyoneis increasingly becoming one of the hardest things in the world. Perhaps fear of appearing weak, needy or incompetent is the primary cause - three things which none of us wish to appear to be, as is no doubt evident from the wealth of posts on my blog dealing with similar issues and frustrations.

For some reason we all like to believe we have red, blue and yellow Lycra suits on underneath our daily clothes so that whenever we feel like it we can loosen our ties (or brassieres) and reveal that we are actually from the planet Krypton - or just someone with a fetish for wearing our underwear on the outside. Now don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t mind so much if I girl I was seeing dressed up as Supergirl for a night of kinky fun as I’ve always had a self confessed superhero fetish, but reality alas always gets in the way.

“C’mon, when do you ever ask for help?” I questioned.

A pause.

“Do what I say not what I do,”

Such wonderful words. Do what I say and not what I do…oh how many times have I heard those in my life? It’s funny how they always seem to come about when the giving of advice is involved; surely leading by example is a far better way to be. Although if I were to leap off a cliff, break 326 bones, spend several months in traction I would probably then tell someone to not jump off a cliff - which would I suppose be a good example of do what I say and not what I stupidly did which caused me months of emotional and physical pain. Anyway, I digress, for this post is surely about Superhero fetishes isn’t it…

…well, actually not, but then surely I’m allowed to dream ;)

ASKING FOR HELP!

WHY IS IT SO HARD!

We don’t ask Superheros for help do we? They just swoop on in and save the day, that’s why they’re super and heroic and look sexy in their skin tight costumes. What is it about those four simple letters which makes it so hard for the majority of us to say?

I can’t speak for everyone, but what I can do is tell you my story of why I find it so hard to ask for help - and then you can all click on the “submit comment” button and tell me your stories and then maybe we can get to the bottom of this perplexing issue and create a new world order where help is not a reviled word to be feared, but is actually something which proves how strong we are.

Okay, so my issues with asking for help stem primarily from my social anxiety disorder but when I was back in my prime and had overcome depression, self harm and all that in the few months pre-breakdown I was feeling much better about myself in everyway. I actually felt that if I had put on a Spiderman costume (my own personal superhero outfit of choice) I would actually have looked like Spiderman instead of some chubby guy in a suit which caused people to vomit because it was just way too tight for public viewing. So I did actually, on occasion, ask for help. Or rather there was one specific occasion where I tried asking for help before anyone offered it, before I went days or weeks without trying to indicate there was a problem, for the first time in my life it was “frack, I have a problem, I need help, okay, I’m gonna ask for it!”

So I sat down and tried asking for help…

…then came the criticism, the heartfelt words of ‘bugger off your problems aren’t important” then came the dumping and the breakdown and the months of turmoil and loss of social network and friends and everything I’ve had. Me attempting to ask for help with a CLL diagnosis was a major catalyst for everything that happened. 

So is it any wonder I have a pathological fear of asking for help? When one of the only times I’ve ever done it in my life the reaction it received cost me virtually everything in my life bar one thing. My own misplaced belief in myself, which even itself wavers from time to time.

I would LOVE to be able to ask for help more often. I get messed up sometimes, very very very much so, and sometimes all I need in those moments is to speak to someone about anything - crickets, jam, koalas, Tibet, the state of the political situation, Lego Indiana Jones, yaks - and it just takes my mind off things to ease me back into control. Yet, because I don’t ask for help I end up cutting myself, or taking overdoses, or hiking 50odd kms to the Dandenongs with a scarf in hand. 

What’s weaker - asking for help or ending up in hospital staring at blank ceilings when you want to be looking at a friend?

[This post makes no sense. Maybe it's the hyper-manic state I'm in coupled with shock and confusion from the events of the weekend which I still haven't really come to terms with. Maybe I shouldn't even post it.]

I just want to know what others think. Why is asking for help so hard? Why does it make us feel like a shit person? I’ve just explained my reasons, so what do others think? Or am I completely wrong and is not asking for help selfish.

My friend (and it feels good to write that) said to me as I finished off my poached eggs:

“I would much rather you bother me before you did something like that than tell me afterwards,”

Which is true. Because I’m the same. If Supergirl, Superman, Spiderman or any of the whole pantheon of Superheros we drool over each night were to land in front of us a couple of days after the city had been destroyed you’d be PISSED! You’d have a go at them for not helping sooner.

If you don’t ask for help then you won’t get any. If you try and deal with everything by yourself, you’ll end up like me.

Don’t end up like me.

One word. Four letters. H E L P. Use it whenever you need to. Your friends - your true friends - will always listen.

[PS...hands up if anyone thinks I can write a more confusing and badly written post than that. Blimey. I need a drink]

So there I am on a Friday afternoon in Melbourne.

Completely knackered.

It’s been a long day already and it’s only about 2pm!

I’ve been bothered by a nasty cold all week so my physical health is drained, and what with the myriad of other physical problems I deal with each day, colds are not at all just minor niggles for me. It hurts - and I mean hurts! An after effect of the fact I struggled to overcome glandular fever but that’s a whole other story!

I’m also going through this vicious mixed episode and the ridiculous roller coaster of manic-ups and treacherous lows every second, minute and hour of the day. Will I ever be able to just be on an even keel? But again, that’s a whole other story!

Thus my mood isn’t great when I haul my reasonably cute butt out of bed in the morning and go through the whole process of getting up and trying to battle on with the day ahead. Not easy at the moment. It would be easier should something be there to look forward to, but an early morning escapade to the outer eastern suburbs of Melbourne is not something to really look forward to when you’re battling mixed episodes, physical pain and physical illnesses. Anyhows, I have to do it all in 2 hours, due to momentarily forgetting that if you scan your 2hr metcard through the machines just after the hour it takes the 2 hours to be from the next hour (so if you swipe it at 10:01am it takes the two hours from 11am, thus you get three hours for the price of two - bargain! - whereas if you swipe it at 9:56am it takes it from 10am, which is what I did yesterday. Dope!)

I get out there, do my business of checking out places to live and have forced conversations to try and make myself out to be someone who at least has some reasonable grasp on his sanity. Not easy right now. And then have to rush back to the chaotic wonder of the city before the metcard runs out and I get slapped with either buying a new ticket or forced to pay a fine upwards of $150 because I didn’t think to wait five minutes!

By the time I drag my reasonably cute butt back to the hostel I’m completely knackered, legs wobbling from all the exertion and pain firing away from all corners of my body. It’s been like that for a fortnight really, so much to do, so little fun. So I end up leaning against the wall of the shower having a bit of a knackered cry before deciding to go down the self-harm route to at least give me the release I need to get through the rest of the day.

I don’t like doing it. Sometimes though when you’re working so hard and making so much effort and those mood swings keep oscillating I just end up doing it. Nothing too serious, a few slices here, a few cuts there. I have antiseptic wipes, plasters and bandages on hand to clean and wrap so it’s not as if I don’t know what I’m doing.

So when I get back to the room I am in a bit more pain than I had been before, but this is manageable pain, this was the pain I needed to help calm me down and refocus before my afternoon onslaught in the rebuilding of Addy’s life. I just hadn’t countered on an impromptu 45 minute phone interview which came with no warning.

Now remember all those old-adages about when you’re nervous imagine people naked. Well I was nervous, and keeping a close eye on the cuts and blood, but I wasn’t imagining the person at the end of the phone naked - I was naked. As I was through the whole interview, whilst trying not to let the blood drip too much onto the bed and whilst attempting to apply a bandage unsuccessfully with one hand. Not easy. In fact proved impossible. So I gave up at the 20minute mark and I’d deal with the pain and blood stain later, as long as I came off on the interview as reasonably sane.

Interview done I throw myself back down and check the cut, the blood has pretty much stopped but it hurts and it needs a wee bit of attention. So I grab the antiseptic wipes and being somewhat delirious from fatigue and emotional/mental exhaustion go to sort it out. BRING BRING. BRING BRING. Another phone call. Which I have to answer ’cause it’s the job agency I’m with so again have to sound all professional and with it, which I attempt, and sure the phone call becomes the most random I think I’ve ever been on the phone. All confused blabbering and incoherent speech. I can’t even really recall what I’d been saying. Annoyed with that I apply the treatment to my cuts, grab my jacket and swing out the room. (Or rather, when I say ’swing’ I mean hobble, as the majority of the cuts were on my leg so walking was a little difficult.)

I

Need

Alcohol

!

Which really isn’t a good idea given the mixed episode, cold, physical health issues, recent self harm, stressed mood and cavalcade of frustration: but after three whiskys and three Coopers I’m rather bouncy. Who wouldn’t be. After a fourth Coopers I’m positively, well, hyper, and well, manic. Hypermanic in fact.

I end up in my usual internet place randomly inviting anyone I fancy to be my Facebook and Myspace friends, typing obscure wall messages which I can’t remember and then cracking onto a few people in various different forms, forums and groups. I really don’t remember much after that aside from prancing around the city occasionally breaking into song and tap dance routines perfected in the Adelaide casino last year whilst cracking onto people in the flesh this time and getting the odd slap (good and bad) in return.

You see that’s why alcohol, medication, self harm, bipolar, physical & mental health problems do not a good combination make.

Alcohol is a depressant, but it’s one of those lovely and weird depressants which makes you high first - and with the on-sweep of emotion, fatigue, pain and ever-changing-moods I’d been experiencing all day - it was only ever gonna do two things. Make me too sick to move or induce a manic period. Fortunately the manic period has faded a little and as I type this am feeling what can only be described as a bitch of a hangover and ever so somewhat fading back into my shell of depressed loneliness.

At least though I know how to induce small periods of mania if I want to, maybe I should experiment and see if I can make them last longer, people seem to like me when I’m manic. I don’t like myself much, but other people take to me far more than when I’m just being “me”. Is there a lesson there I should learn? Maybe if I didn’t have a hangover I’d be able to see it a bit more clearly.

On the upside I have ended up with a few more Facebook friends, I have no idea who they are or anything about them but they’re there, and I’ve got a few more MySpace friends as well which is kinda cool. No fall out yet from the other stuff I did; haven’t quite had the nerve to check my messages yet.

Maybe later.

Maybe I’ll need some more Coopers afterwards :)

How many of you knew it was International Men’s Health week?

Be honest now, don’t go…ahhh, yes, I knew that, of course I did. Honesty rules ok, so start using it - else I’ll start scolding, and you won’t like it when I start scolding!

I’ll start, I didn’t actually realise what the week was until today. I should have done and I have duly scolded myself for not being aware of this sooner. So now I’m allowed out of the corner I thought I’d jump on this wee blog o’mine and tell all of you people what I found out.

I bet half of you don’t even care, I mean there are SOOOOoooooooo many “international weeks of this” or “international days of that” these days that quite often a single week has several different things attached to it. Then there’s each specific country having his/her own specific “week of this” or “week of that” that most of us just give up and go eat a Belgium waffle. And why not, Belguim waffle’s are good (damn good) far more orgasmically exciting than thinking about the fact that male suicide often out-numbers female suicide by four to one.

That’s not important is it, not in the scheme of waffle related orgasms.

Now being a man I know from personal experience that I never used to want to admit to being sick, or ill, or anything really that showed my weaknesses. If I had a cold then I just struggled through. Back in the days when I used to work full time I would crawl into work feeling like utter shit rather than admit that I actually needed to go and see a Doctor, even when I had glandular fever last year I struggled on through work, college, trips, hikes, horserides and the like rather than just rest and allow myself time to recover from an illness which could in fact kill me! I wasn’t worried about that because the waffle as substitute for sex society in which we live doesn’t allow men to admit they sick; they’re ostracised if they do, from relationships, social circles and society in general. Even when I was diagnosed with cancer last year I didn’t tell anyone (although granted I tried to) because of the whole - a weak man is not a man argument which was thrown at me - but then we’ve covered that ground before. Men just aren’t allowed to be weak these days, a la, they’re not allowed to be sick, a la, men’s health is not important.

But it is!

I learned earlier on this week that someone I know in the UK - a man - suffered a stroke (a mini-stroke to be exact as it turned out) but a stroke is a stroke in anyone’s book and that’s bloody serious! The first thought on this man’s was not how he needed to be in hospital, but that he needed to drive to Bristol the following day to deliver an item which had been sold on Ebay…ummm, priorities :) The thing is he is actually also pretty young and in the long term this may possibly have been avoided.

I guess my point is one I’ve covered before, which is that men should not be made to feel weak for having an illness. It’s bloody ridiculous in this day in age, that men are still being made to feel they cannot admit or talk about both physical and mental illnesses which are bothering them in order to make themselves ‘more desireable’ for the opposite sex.

To put it another way; would the women out there prefer to receive their sexual gratification from the delicious delights of a Belgium waffle (and I’m sure many are thinking “Orgasm merely from eating a Belgium waffle, if it were only that easy!”) or would you prefer to be snuggled up in bed with your honey having wild nights of romping fun with something which actually breathes and feels and emotes and thinks about your pleasure (and yes, that sort of man does exist before you say otherwise)?

If you answer Yep, I would much prefer the waffle!
Well then, prepare for a scolding!

If you answer I would actually much much prefer my man.
Well then, how long has it been since he went to the GP for a check up? Maybe it’s time to go.

And for the men out there - physical or mental health concerns? - it really doesn’t take much to go see a Doctor. 

So have a wee think this week about your health. Any nagging pains, aches, frustrations or worries. Maybe now’s the time to get it checked out - before that stroke (or other long term, possibly terminal, condition) bites you on the ass instead of your partner.

Related Posts:

• Men and Mental Health
• Rant #1: Sexism

Do you know how long it’s been since I last thought of Garfield?

Well, actually it’s been about 3 and a half minutes…

…but before that, well we’re talking at least 8 years, 3 months, 2 weeks and 4 3/4 days (approximate guess).

How I used to like Garfield, he made me smile. Back in those long distant days where happiness was something I felt daily instead of for a few fleeting bi-annual moments. Pookie made me smile too, but then how could Pookie not make you smile?

Then I am informed about a website which takes Garfield to a whole new level. Basically you remove Garfield from the comic strip. With that one element removed everything changes. It’s like when you take happiness from your life, everything changes, everything looks different, and people see it and you differently. It becomes something else, something much closer to the daily struggles of bipolar, schizophrenia and chronic loneliness. It does something new, imparts a message which people may not be able to understand in other ways. No matter how many words are written, sometimes it takes a visual slap on the butt to get something across, for example:

May hit home on loneliness as a daily way of life for some people in ways words in badly written blog posts may not. My life has moments like this on most days, as do many the world over.

Or take these examples:

All of which take you to far more disturbing, unsettling and uncomfortable emotional places than if that familiar cat was also in the frame. I guess that’s what happens when you remove happiness from the picture; your life becomes empty.

But not pointless.

Have some more Garfield-Less fun at: http://garfieldminusgarfield.net/

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?

My second interview has recently been published on the blog Our Evolution by Alexander M Zoltai, so head on over and give it a read.

Read the interview Depression and Living on Our Evolution

A third interview I have given, in my own inimitably frank style, is going to be published on the web this coming weekend (I am informed) so I will keep you all updated on this. Have a safe few days, I’m a little ‘out of it’ at the moment so the words are a little blurry before me.

I think I hear the sounds of Narnia a-calling me :)

See that neat little play on the title there, blimey I’m a clever wee lad aren’t I :p

Anyhow.

I wanted to try and allow this blog to grow a little, expand it’s horizens and impacts and as well as offering the power of ‘commenting’ I’ve decided to introduce a wee community space where people can gather, chat and debate issues which relate to mental health and the related conditions we deal with and fight against every day.

This can be found here: www.myjourneywithdepression.com/community

And anyone is welcome to join, whether you are a reader of this blog or not - even if you’ve never read a single word of the blog you’re welcome to join :)

As I say, it’s very new at the moment (ie - only 1 member, moi) but you never know it may grow as. For as the song says, ‘from little things, big things grow,’ so feel free to sign up and get involved. You don’t have to use your name (and this is strongly advised) so whatever is posted or commented will remain as confidential as you choose.

So check out the new community space now available through the blog.

: Discuss Interests : Chat about your Conditions : Find and Make New Friends : Have a spot of fun :

- Visit the Community Forum Here -