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.

—1—
Strip naked (yep, get it ALL off!)
Go stand in front of a full length mirror.
Now, instead of focusing on all those moles, hair patches and love handles…
…concentrate on all the drop dead gorgeous things about yourself.
Yep, it’s bloody hard, but you can do it!
Try three things to start with.
Say them out loud to yourself - and mean it! Things like:
“Addy - my god - you have the cutest smile you’ve ever seen!”
“Look at those nipples, they’re damned awesome, how could anyone not like those?”
“And good god, look at that adorably spankable ass? Absolutely mind blowing,”
See, you’re starting to see yourself differently already…
…now do this everyday, every-single-day!
Adding one more thing each time.
Within a few weeks there’ll be nothing left you don’t love.
—————

REMEMBER YOURSELF WHEN YOU WERE IN HIGH SCHOOL SERIOUSLY
AREN’T YOU JUST SO MUCH MORE FANTABULOUS NOW?

—3—
Single?
Lonely?
Sick of all those couples pashing, snogging and fondling in the street?
Beat them at their own game.
Go on a date with the person you love - YOU!
Cook your favourite meal (or order take-away), light some candles, throw on your favourite movie.
It sounds silly…
…but enjoy it…this is you time…anyway…
…the fun parts still to come!
What do all those sickening couples do at the end of their dates?
Yep!
So get nekkid!
And get that butt to the bedroom for some naughty fun and games!
It’s purrfectly natural.
So don’t go feeling all guilty about it.
Remember his is ‘you’ time - so love yourself in every way that you want to.
Your mind and body will adore you for it!
—————

—4—
It’s dead easy to beat yourself up about being wrong.
We’ve all been there.
Sitting there alone, bemoaning to ourselves about all our mistakes…
…whilst spanking our inner moppet for all those silly things we’ve cocked up.
Stop.
It’ll take time, but start catching yourself doing things right.
Instead of smacking yourself for messing up…
…hug yourself for doing something awesome.
You didn’t burn the cheese sandwich this time? HHHUUUUGGGGGG :)
Yay! You’ve remembered to take the garbage out! HHUUUGGGG:)
Bugger…forgot to sign the report…but hey, it was a damn well written report. HUUGGG :)
Get the idea?
—————

LAUGH YOUR ASS OFF AT LEAST ONCE A DAY

—5—
If S.A.D is making you feel crappy what can you do?
(those not in the know - S.A.D is this case being Social Anxiety Disorder)
Talking is so hard isn’t it?
I know.
Been there.
Done that.
Always coming up with that awesome story or wit-tastic one liner about three days too late. Well, there are things you can do…
Start small!
Don’t aim for that big conversation first time out. Build up to it and you’ll be feeling so much more positive about yourself in no time. So to prepare yourself for that potential panic attack at the big night out with your mates on Friday, start earlier in the week.
a) On Monday, ask a stranger for the time.
b) On Tuesday, ask a shop-keeper about the weather. It’s a cheesy way to start but a small conversation will follow.
c) On Wednesday, do both Monday & Tuesday’s things for practice
d) On Thursday we need to up the anti - try start a conversation with a complete stranger. Make it about something you like so as not to throw yourself into the deep end.
e) On Friday, have your absolute favourite food for lunch. You want to feel really positive for that big night out - no chickening out now with excuses about being sck just ’cause you don’t want a panic attack in front of everyone.
And then by the time you hit the pub with your mates you’ve got several spontanious conversations with complete strangers under your belt.
YOU’RE AWESOME!
So starting a conversation with people who actually know you should be much easier,
Take your time until you’re comfortable,
Then start a conversation with the person you are most comfortable with.
This will ripple on to bring someone else in.
And another.
Soon, everyone there will be chatting because of you.
How awesome is that!
No panic attack.
So then all you need to do is try and have a fantabulous evening…because next week, you’re gonna do it all over agian - upping the anti each time. By the end of the year you’ll be feeling so much better about yourself.
:)

More ideas will be posted soon…so keep loving yourself until then…you are awesome :-)

It’s been a bloody weird week!

Most of it has been spent darting round the house keeping an eye on eBay auctions - and then camped out on my butt in my store/bedroom packing up over 150 items of my past into small bubble-wrapped packages. I should be used to losing things by now, especially after the mass exodus of my possessions last year, but it still hurts when I see my past being shipped off to locations all over the UK, Europe and the world. I can see how many would see this as a cathartic experience, but it’s also painful to let go of so much when I have so little left. Sure, it’s only “stuff” but it was my “stuff”, and now it feels like more pieces of myself drifting off around the world. A little tough to deal with when there’s so little of me left.

Then there are the banks…and good god don’t get me fracking started on those! I’ve barely used the account over the last few months (i.e. because there’s been no money or income going into it!) but they’ve still thrown on a few hundred pounds worth of charges for the most random and bizarre reasons, even on several examples, for things that they decided to do without any knowledge from me. So I have even less money now, despite the massive Addy eBay sell off!

In addition to this, I’m still not receiving any benefits, and one source of benefit (incapacity/unable to work) has already been denies - which just leaves income support to be either refused/granted when they make their decision. We shall see.

It’s been a bloody annoying week!

Gosh, I should have written this yesterday but then I was a little out of it…and gosh, I should write more posts starting with that mighty fine word - gosh - what has been going on in my head today? Racing ecstatic thoughts, mind numbing tedium, utter frustration at banks and the bloody job centre! And - oh my - have I been fixated on sex today!

Ummm?

Ah yes, the hospital, what fun and shenanigans that was…

Anyways, the hospital. Was it a hospital? Not really, I suppose clinic would be the more apt term for the appointment I had. In fact I guess the term ‘the most boring building I have ever laid eyes on’ would be the most apt term, I didn’t realise until yesterday morning that a building could be so grey in both appearance, feel and colour. I smoked myself into a lung cancer ward, fought of mounting panic and anxiety and stepped through the doors with my long billowing Highlander/flasher jacket and was hit by a wall of sheer ice. Not literally of course, their heating had failed, which left everyone in the waiting room looking like icicles and caused the woman conducting my “assessment” to lose the power of hand writing due to the extreme dunes of frost which had built up on her fingers.

I am exaggerating of course.

The appointment kicked off at 9:30am, damned prompt as medical appointments go, and I swathed into the room and onto the chair where my leg proceeded to dance it’s merry jiggly samba (it has a predisposition to vibrate like something which, well, vibrates, when I am in such a state of anxiety) and she attempted to calm my nerves with small chit-chatty talk about the weather and the glory of being back in the UK. Glory? Glory to me is a fine-assed Big Bad from Buffy. There is nothing glorificus about being back in the UK! And then:

Her: So, tell me a little about your expectations and what you’re hoping to get in terms of treatment.

[Of course, with my brain the way it is at the moment (i.e. even though I am writing words onto the screen I am not thinking about them, instead, right now, I'm thinking about Glory because I just mentioned her - and well - she's a woman) the questions I'll be writing down as having been asked to me are not spot on word-for-word quotes, merely a rough indication of what was asked.]

Me: Ummmm, nothing.
Her: Nothing?
Me: Well, aside from the fact that I’ve been fighting mental illness alone for so long it would be nice to get a little bit of professional help - I mean that is what you do isn’t it? And, having been engaged in an all out war with the Australian mental health service for the last 12 months (12 months!) in which I lost ground faster than the Water Voles in their great struggle with the Mole kingdom of ‘75 and achieved absolutely nothing in terms of treatment other than various forms of anti-depressants which just screwed me up even more. No, I don’t really have any expectations really.
Her: I’ll just write ‘hoping for proper and effective treatment then’ shall I?

[Of course, I wouldn't take the words I'm writing here to be direct translations of my actual answers either - trust me - if I'd started talking about the great war between the Water Voles and Mole Kingdom in a mental health assessment I'm fairly confident I would be writing this post on the back of a stale cracker in a mental asylum.]

[Of course, I don't actually even believe their was a great war between the Water Voles and the Mole Kingdom, this was something I only just thought of to get my mind off Glory's posterior - and it worked - if only for those brief few moments.]

If I were to work through the entire assessment I’d be here all day. I had expected the appointment to last for about an hour, maybe less, but it was a whopping 93minutes I was vibrating in that tiny room looking out the window at the spectacular view of…a grey brick wall! Absolutely true! Yet more grey! There were three pipe ends which kindof looked like a face with it’s mouth open :o which reminded me of something which I’m now thinking about in respect to Glory.

It was basically what I have done so many times now that I have most of the answers on automatic response. The history of Addy and his insanity…basically what I’ve been talking about on the blog for the last several months. Which, yep, got a mention (go publicity!): all started at school…bullying…shyness…social anxiety…self harm…depression…hallucinations…kindof managed to get it all under control for a bit…emigration…Australia…BAM…nervous breakdown…massive relapse…the manic adventures of Addy in Adelaide…bipolar diagnosis…etc…etc…etc…and then all of a sudden, completely out of the blue, a question not a single person had ever asked me before. Not any of the GPs I’ve seen, none of the mental health gurus in Oz, no-one. Not a single person.

Her: So, tell me a little about your sexual history. Indiscretions? What age did it all begin happening? Any issues or problems in this area? Are you able to achieve an erection or do you require drugs or manual assistance? And tell me a little about what is psychologically going on in this respect.
Me: Ummm?
Her: …
Me: Errrrr?
Her: …I know it’s embarrassing, it is for me, but it’s something they will need to know.

[Of course, I had no idea who "they" were - the Moles perhaps?]

Me: Okay…I…well…I was a bit of a ‘late starter’…well…physically I was…well…what I mean by that was…ummm…physically with other people. I was actually quite young when I had my first sexual experience. I’m actually quite a sexual guy, I think about it a LOT and I’m a bit adventurous and when I’m manic - wow - tie me down!

[Of course, you can if you want to ;) And of course, I'm stopping the 'answer' there as I'm sure none of you desire to know about the inner workings of my sexual life...]

It just completely and utterly threw me! There was me expecting the same crap I’ve been through dozens of times now and I was suddenly talking about erections, losing my virginity and all that sexy slurpy stuff which is generally only talked about everywhere other than a mental health assessment!

Moving on! (See, told you I was in a weird one today!) The upshot of the whole assessment was that we covered each and every aspect of the ‘basic’ mental health (and sexual) history of Addy. All of it got written down on several pieces of paper and then as the clock kept ticking away as it tends to do, she pulled out three quizzes which had to be filled out. They were risk assessment quizzes and I had never done one of these before so I got a bit excited, not sure why, as it just entailed answering yes or no to a variety of questions - a tad disappointing as I was hoping for some general knowledge, literature or entertainment questions. Those quiz writers really should take a quiz in pub quiz writing styles to mix up their brain teasers a bit.

The three quizzes were:

• Do you pose a threat either physically or psychologically to another person?
• Do you pose a threat either physically or psychologically to yourself?
• Neglected?

And how did I fare?

• Zero. Zilch. Nada. Zip. Nothing. Nought. I am more likely to time travel than harm someone else.
• ABSO-FRIGGING-LUTELY! COMPLETE AND UTTER “SEVERE” GRADE ON THIS ONE!
• Kindof. The sort of boring result where I’m not in a state of utter neglect to warrant any concern, but you would avoid me in the street sometimes due to my apparent confusing odour and current bad taste of clothes.

I was at least hoping to win a gift voucher for scoring highly on the danger to myself quiz, but alas, all I got was a wee smile and a slightly increased vibration in the thigh area. Better than nothing I suppose.

And this concluded the appointment. She gathered her variety of paperwork together and told me what happened next…which is that they all gather together on Wednesday to have a laugh over my answers (I’m sure that’s why the sex questions were asked) and then they will get back to me in regards to further treatment (if any is applicable) which will either be an appointment with a medic, a series of counselling sessions or the swift sectioning of this utterly and ludicrously insane gentleman. Me? Gentleman? Sometimes I s’pose.

I billowed my way out of the clinic (love that quote, even if it does make me look like I’m gonna leap out and reveal myself from time to time) and instantly lit up a cigarette and all I could think about was why they’d ask that sex question…and why hadn’t I answered it better?

All in all though I can honestly say that it was a lotmore thorough, detailed and ominously could-actually-go-somewhere than any of the appointments I’d had in Australia. She actually seemed like she wantedto help rather than me being a disposition in her otherwise ravenously exciting day, which was how I felt at the culmination of several of my appointments in Australia (especially when they discharged me from hospital after suicide attempts - ahhh, let him go, he’ll only get in the way of our arvo pub meal if he stays) so this is a good thing!

I will of course keep you all updated on this ongoing saga as soon as the next development takes place.

— — 

And what of today I hear you ask?

Well, I’m not allowed to open a new account with a new bank as I don’t have an income, which IMHO is utterly bizarre, so right now am not not sure where the money from the great Addy-eBay-sellout is going to be paid into.

Plus, the ongoing saga with the Jobcentre/benefits agency is beginning to scale even greater epic heights of frustrating absurdity (and I haven’t even really started talking about that on the blog yet so why start now?).

Oh, and I went to Newport today (the nearest city) which is quite possibly the most uninspiring city outside of Cardiff. I went there to get a book from the library, one of the ones from my list I wrote the other day.

I’d looked it up on the web last night so knew they had it, knew which section it was in -  and when I got there - nothing. Nothing in the other sections, nothing on the online catalogue, nothing anywhere, even the staff knew nothing about it! What the hell? So when I arrived back home I immediately got on the internet to try and solve this puzzle and it turns out I had been looking at the Newport, Oregon library website. Thus, at least I know if I ever find myself several thousand miles away in a library somewhere in America they will have the book I want to read!

Moral of the story? Make sure you’re on the right website!

If you want Newport, Wales libray - go to this!
If you want obscure mental health blog posts from a guy who thinks he’s a lot like the guy in the picture - stay where you are!
If you want porn - follow me… :p

Okay, so what the hell has been going on over the last several weeks? Eh?

Why the hell I’m asking you guys I don’t know, because by heck if I don’t know, how can I expect any of your guys to be able to work it out. All I know is that a few weeks ago I was sitting in 40+ degree temperature watching the scantily clad women wander by wondering why I’d been ejected from hospital after a suicide attempt, whereas now, I’m sitting in the UK watching the rugged up pseudo-Eskimos walk by in barely 5 degree temperatures wondering what the hell is going on (and where all the t’n'a have gone)?

Oh, and I’ve become obsessed with a CD track called All the strange, strange creatures which is one of the most inspiring pieces of instrumental music I’ve heard for years - and would be an absolutely kick ass piece of music to score my major manic phase of last year in Adelaide - but all that’s beside the point!

Because why on earth did I call this post ‘getting back on the space hopper’? I haven’t been on a space hopper for years, maybe I should, maybe that’s what I need, I mean how can bouncing around on an orange ball of rubber with a smiley face not cheer you up?

So in regards to being back in the UK, I am, to be honest, hating it! Yep, you’ve got all the excitement of seeing my family again, and the added excitement/nerves of finally meeting my brothers fiancee (which hasn’t happened yet, but I’m sure will at some point), but really, this is the UK. Aside from skips, fruit gums and proper chips (only to be eaten when planning on saving the world of course) what exactly is there in the UK?

It’s funny, whilst in Australia I would often get homesick. I’ve spoken about that before. Generally it would be every few months, with a major ’bout of homesickness occurring annually, usually just after Christmas. Now I’m homesick for Australia, because it’s been my home for the last five and half years and…well the UK, isn’t!

Now bare in mind that I have yet to revisit Scotland, of which you should all know I’m rather a fan of, and as this is the place I got homesick for I guess in a way I still am, but it’s like, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in the UK just because they have skips, fruit gums and proper chips here. It’s not that I have anything against the UK, it’s just not my home any more.

So who the hell knows.

Basically I have no money, and I’m here for a reason, so it’s not as if I can go anywhere else at the moment even if I wanted to, which right now I do.

Stay tuned for Scotland though because…I am in the process of selling everything I own on ebay in order to afford it. So yep, genuine articles from Addy’s turbulent childhood and life are currently being offered for sale on ebay should anyone so desire to build their Dr Who collection, invest in random bizarre books and/or obscure artifacts which may one day be worth thousands as genuine Addy collectibles head over to eBay and check it out! You see it’s to raise money for my Scotland excursion which has and I mean has to happen at some point in the near future - otherwise this already crazy and insane mind will no doubt implode and I will just become a skip eating air-conducting lunatic for the rest of my days.

So very soon I will actually have absolutely nothing - I will have lost everything from Australia, plus everything from the UK - which is kinda cathartic, kinda symbolic and really rather upsetting. Especially as someone wished it on me last year and this means they’re wish is coming true which I’ve been fighting to not happen.

Pretty much the saving grace of being in the UK is that I should get the medical help I wasn’t able to get in Australia, because they just wouldn’t give it to me. I am currently not on any medication, my mood is oscillating like something which oscillates at an extreme pace and I am doing my best to keep everything under control.

I have an appointment with the mental health team on Monday morning, which should be fun. There won’t be any physical prodding (I don’t think) but there will be lots of mental prodding which I’m kinda used to now, but I’m hoping all that poking will actually lead somewhere this time. It’s getting somewhat frustrating how little professional help I’ve actually had over the last year, not without trying for it, so something would be good.

The benefits have also been applied for so we’ll see what happens there. They told me on the phone that I should expect something in about 6-8 weeks, which is interesting, considering I have no money and not sure how I can survive for another two months without anything to live off, but as with everything I guess we’ll just have to see what happens.

I mean without benefits how can I afford skips? I’ve been five plus years without them, how am I expected to go another two months?

So in the interim between now, Scotland and the future I am trying to get this blog back on track. I’ve neglected it and all of my wonderful readers over the last several weeks, basically because I didn’t, and in a way, still don’t want to be alive, but I am slowly working on that. I started the blog to assist the effort of fighting the stigma of mental illness so I will continue to do so in whatever way I feel like when I sit down to write.

If I promise to write more posts - and more interesting posts at that - then I’ll have to do it. Otherwise I won’t be true to my word and that would just be, well, naughty! And we all know what happens then.

To strip everything away (not literally of course) I have absolutely no idea what’s going on at the moment!

Don’t know where I am, where I’m going, what’s gonna happen, what’s happening at the moment, where I can get my next skips…in fact all I know at the moment is that I’m still here.

Which is really all that matters in the long run!

What to say?

It’s been rather a painful week (what’s new?) and a bit of an emotional roller-coaster. I’m not in hospital anymore, I’m in a small hotel with no windows (unless you count the one that looks into a dishevelled store-room) and trying to work my way through the next few days as best I can, we’ll see how it goes.

Attempting suicide is always a bit of an emotional roller-coaster, then you get all that wonderful guilt to deal with, and when you’re already chock full of guilt and regret, it doesn’t help much, but hey, I’m still here (kinda).

I don’t really have the mind power to write very much today, there are lots of things I want to write about and I tried to get them down last night but I managed a grand total of seven words out of a sentance before giving up - so I’m kinda doing well writing as much as I have already in this post.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to comment and send me your thoughts, especially RaysinGyrl, Sarahc and Auchel. Your words were greatly appreciated and I will write more as soon as I am able to. Thank you :-)

Yeah.

That’s kinda all I have today, not too exciting, but will try to write more soon when I’m more with it.

Take care everyone :-)

PaNiC aTtAcK…

…an ominous phrase if ever I heard one.

If you’ve never had a PaNiC aTtAcK be very thankful! They are one of the most painful, frightening and grueling experiences you can ever have. It is not overstating the fact that you honest to god think you are dying. Seriously. Your mind and body become overcome by a crippling pain which convinces you that death is about to touch his boney little finger against your shoulder and zap you off this mortal coil.

I’ve had so many PaNiC aTtAcKs in my life that I couldn’t even give you a rough estimated figure of how many there’s been. I can tell you the first I ever had, which was when I was 16 and walking down the street near my old high school. I spied out the corner of my eye a small group of people, including a girl I had a wee crush on, and the very thought of them seeing me was enough to send my mind into a downward spiral of eventual defeat.

The most memorable panic attack I ever had was also the most embarrassing. It was the one I talked about in this post and I have never forgotten either the pain I was in or the look of utter disgust and degradation on my “friend’s” face as she formulated in her mind her opinion of me as a weak and useless individual. That panic attack changed our relationship forever, and is what finally made me realize that people just do not understand panic or anxiety.

Anxiety is something that is often confused with stress. We all feel stressed from time to time, we’ve all sat exams or had job interviews that have freaked us out and set the butterflies a flitting in our stomachs. This isn’t technically anxiety. On many levels it could be conceived as being so, but really it is just stress, for as soon as the exam/interview is underway/over those butterflies quickly fly away.

Feeling anxious or suffering from an anxiety disorder is different. It is not merely the event which makes people anxious; it is everything to do with the event. It’s build-up, occurrence, aftermath, aftermath of the aftermath - anything to do with that event creates an unstable feeling in the brain which can, if left unattended, result in the most dreaded of things - a PaNiC aTtAcK!

Take for example this somewhat innocuous event from my life:

Last year I was invited to a trivia night at the Sherlock Holmes pub in Melbourne. Now I love trivia nights, always have, even though I’m not the smartest card in the deck (or is that what I want people to think *wink*?) I try to attend them whenever I can.

Unfortunately the night was cancelled due to the sudden business of everyone involved which left two people still able to attend, however as our combined knowledge would have meant the utter thrashing of everyone else in the pub we decided to spare them the humiliation of defeat and instead I was invited to go for a few drinks with her friends.

This is when the anxiety really kicked in!

I had been a little anxious about trivia, it’s all part and parcel of the social anxiety, but as I knew the majority of people who would be attending that gathering I was able to control the anxiety somewhat. Now that the plans had changed, and I was going out with people I had never really met before let alone had any conversations with, the anxiety threw itself up a few notches and eventually the panic began taking over me.

The smartest thing to have done would have been to phone and cancel, for the closer I got to the event, the more anxious I became - the whole vicious circle state of affairs - but as I was working hard to overcome the social anxiety and expand my social circle, knew it was something that I needed to do.

The mere thought of being in a social situation with people I didn’t know was enough to trigger intense anxiety. It really makes no logical sense, which is why it’s so hard for people to understand it. The anxiety was beyond stress it was beyond mere shyness it was a crippling state of fear about being “judged” by these people and in someway humiliated, be it by something they would say to me, or something they merely left unsaid and I caught in a look or backward glance.

[What made it harder was that one of these people I didn't know was Sally, who, if you've read back on the history of my life through this blog, you may recognize as being the lost friend of my life; i.e. the person I desperately wanted to call my friend but due to various conflicting circumstances (some anxiety related, others not) this never came to pass.]

The mere thought of being in a social situation with people I didn’t know, yet wanted to get to know, was enough to nearly trigger a PaNiC aTtAcK.

On this occasion it didn’t, I was able to suppress it long enough for it not to occur, but in suppressing it ended up doing what I always do; managed to convince people I was a snob (a common misjudgment for people who are shy or who suffer from social anxiety, merely because we do not say as much as other people, and are therefore assumed to think ourselves above them, that they are not worthy enough for us to talk to…either that or gay, both of which I had frequently in my life! And c’mon people, anyone who’s had even a cursory glance at this blog will realize how much I adore, cherish and worship the enigmatically curious gender that is woman.

Anyway, like with all forms of mental illness, those people suffering from anxiety disorder are often treated unfairly and unjustly by society merely because people just do not understand - nor it seems want to understand - exactly what it is we are feeling.

People are too quick to throw judgment and pass sentence before digesting all of the facts.

It’s the same as some of the high profile trials we see on TV: we as society have a quick read of the papers and automatically pass judgment of guilty beyond shadow of a doubt or completely fracking innocent! We seem to forget these “facts” we are hearing or seeing are being fed to us by the often sided-media as the reporter is weighing the story with her/his own beliefs. We don’t take into account any of the smaller details which we don’t get told, nor do we seem interested in finding these out. Just take a look at the public and community reaction to the West Memphis Three or Madeleine McCann cases for examples of this quick judgment call by the not willing to understand majority.

Mental illness, depression, panic, anxiety all works on the same level. People assume a weakness of character is to blame - whereas more often than not the person is one of the strongest on earth - but as soon as that label (or snob or gay or shy or whatever) is slapped on, it is done so with superglue and will never be torn off.

Living with a panic/anxiety disorder is a confusing, demeaning and painful thing. There are so many things I can’t do without being overcome with anxiety, things other people take for granted; getting on planes, having conversations with potential new friends, walking down the street, talking to the shopkeeper, drinks with friends…it takes a great deal of strength for me to do any of theses things, even knowing that when I do, all that’s going to happen is people will make a snap judgment as to who I am and that is all I will ever be to them.

In all honesty, it’s bollox! And by gum that word should be used in far more countries than the UK! There is nothing quite like saying that word, nor giving someone a good bollocking! So to all of you prejudiced against those with panic and anxiety disorders, consider yourself bollocked, because you are quite honestly, talking utter bollocks.

Now you can head to ‘Self Help tips to help control Panic and Anxiety

Or skip along to learn all about Anxiety Disorders (if you didn’t at the start of this ramble)

**Trigger Warning**
This post deals with self-harm. If you are close to self harm and/or need to distract yourself from inflicting please head to the game zone to have some fun for a while.

I started self-harming when I was in High School as a way to deal with bullying, low self-esteem, social anxiety and an onsetting depression. I was able to get it under control in mid 1999, and after a brief relapse in 2001, had it under control until 2007. I have self harmed on/off since my breakdown in March 2007 and am not yet in the space to get it under control again at this time.

It has always been hard for me to talk about my past, and more specifically the reasons why I do self-harm. In this post I will answer some questions regarding self harm, it’s an interview with myself basically.

If you have any questions of your own, please feel free to ask them.

Why do I feel I need to hurt myself?

It’s a whole cavalcade of things really. It’s the voices in my head mainly, ghosts of times past and the future that was never to be. Meadhbh, my hallucination chips in, and in no time they’re singing a hearty chorus of anti-Addy anthems which I just need to stop. It’s not that they tell me to do it, Meadhbh does sometimes, but it’s because what they’re saying hurts so much I need to do something to cope with the pain they are dealing me. Externalising this emotional pain into something physical and visible tends to help.

What has brought me to this point?

I worked so hard for so long, threw so much energy and dedication into becoming the person I wanted to be. I didn’t want to be perpetually dealing with self-harm, social anxiety, depression; I knew what I wanted in my life and I worked my ass off to get there. I came within weeks of seeing the light, and then everything fell apart in the space of ten days; I lost everything. All that work was for nothing…and I know I will never be the person I wanted to be again; he is gone. When I remember how close I came, and to have touched my dreams on this furtive plane…it just fills me with desperation, anger and pain.

Have I been here before?

Oh, many times, over many months, over many years. I couldn’t tell you exactly how many times I’ve self-harmed or wanted to self-harm; but I know the feelings which overwhelm me when I want to.

What did I do to deal with it?

When I feel them coming I do anything I can to push them aside. Listen to music, sing, dance, phone people, go for a walk or a ride. I’ll try anything to make the feelings go away.

How did I feel then?

It varies, sometimes what I do will distract me enough to get through that moment, others, no matter what I do I always feel the urge to self-injue.

What else can I do that won’t hurt me?

There are lots of things I can do which won’t hurt me. I’ve written a few blog posts in the past of things and distractions that I have tried. I quite often surf the net, stumble some pages or play online games. Take a shower, read a book, go for a walk (depending on the agoraphobia), phone friends, smoke, cry…the list is endless really, but sometimes nothing I do is ever enough. Sometimes no matter what I try it never takes those ghosts away.

How do I feel right now?

I’ve been having a rough day; so writing a post on self-injury is probably not the smartest idea I’ve ever had! It’s kinda triggering a little but I’m listening to music at the same time and stopping if I need to. The urge is quite high at this particular moment.

How will I feel when I am hurting myself?

Depending on what I’m doing it will hurt - which is good - and then I will be overwhelmed with a tremendous feeling of bliss. The best way I can describe how I feel when I self-injure is “orgasmic”; it is the closest feeling to an orgasm I know, and is sometimes stronger and more potently enjoyable than the real thing.

How will I feel after hurting myself?

Guilty, sad, angry, frustrated but calmer and quieter than I had before. The simple act of self-harming will be enough to chase the ghosts away enough for me to focus, clear my head, and regroup before their next assault.

How will I feel tomorrow morning?

Again, depending on how I self injure, I may be in a great deal of pain - but as the “relief” of the initial infliction will have gone I will just be feeling it as pain, rather than orgasmic. I’ll no doubt get angrier with myself for relapsing again, and then start mulling things over, which will only make everything worse - and no doubt bring back the voice - and then the desire to self harm. It’s a vicious circle which is frequently hard to beat.

Can I avoid this stressor, or deal with it better in the future?

My stressor right now is my head; my memories, my pain of something I lost. Some things trigger these memories, and I avoid them with a passion, other times my mind just brings it all up and I have no way to avoid it as it’s just THERE - and there’s nothing I can do about it. if I could avoid them I would, or if I knew how to deal with them (like I used to do before I lost everything), I would.

I could talk to people, try and make them understand what it is, what’s going on, why I do these things. Thing is, I’ve no-one to talk to besides the voices and the hallucination, and this reminder of the isolation only serves to fuel the initial stressors in the first place.

Do I need to hurt myself?
I shouldn’t need to, but sometimes I have to as it is the only thing I can do to make the pain go away. I wish it wasn’t like this, but sometimes I must hurt myself; I just don’t have a choice. It’s either that or death.

I really have no idea what’s going on any more. Seriously. My brain is a frazzled up piece of cheese, you know what I mean? It kinda feels - and I’m sure if we were to give me a lobotomy (maybe that’s what I need!) it would also look like - a globule of cheese that’s oozed out of your toasted sandwich and fried itself on the bottom of the frying pan.

Maybe that’s what I should do; fry myself on the bottom of a frying pan, but then I don’t think they make them that big so I guess that’s options not gonna take.

It’s the hardest thing for me at the moment, writing this blog. I’ve been battling through an utterly insane mixed episode for nearly two months now. Fighting off the crushing lows whilst dancing with the pixies on a daily basis as thousands of ideas and questions fluctuate through my mind. My day is a continually oscillating cavalcade of emotion, one second so high I feel I’m an immortal God, the next so low I’m nothing more than that once appetising but now rather manky piece of fried cheese. It’s kinda like this:

[CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VIEW]

every day! Except for the dinosaur, that was just humorous happenstance :-)

And everyone keeps wishing me “happy new year”, hell even I just wished everyone a Happy New Year - but seriously, what’s happy about it? Yep, it’s a new start. A whole fresh year, a brand spanking new set of twelve months to live through: but what’s the point? Everyone tells me to optimistic, to think that the worst has passed and things can only get better…

…can they actually get worse than 2007?

When I was sitting here on Monday night I didn’t even realise what the time was until I heard the fireworks. Whilst three quarters of the world were out getting pissed and partying their butts away, I didn’t even know what the time was until that first blasting clash of fireworks sent shivers down my spine and oozed an ominous odour of doom around the room. It was a bloody scary feeling: total and utter fear. Complete dread of having to endure another year of shite, another calender of atrocities and painful days of unending battling. There is actually so long someone can keep fighting for, it’s called energy, and no-one has an unending supply, but somehow (somewhy) I keep on trying.

So how does this happy (!) New Year start for me:

• I am homeless (again) as of tomorrow.
• I have no money.

and

• I am in the grip of a frightening, gruelling mixed episode.
• I have not a clue as to when I will be on a flight away from Oz.

that’s how I’m starting 2008. Other people started it by getting drunk with friends. I’m sure there’s a fair few million who started it pashing a stranger whilst out their heads on tequila (and no doubt a fair few people kicked off the new year by igniting their soul with orgasmic pleasure). I start it with an ominous sense of dread, homelessness, destitution and a complete inability to know what I’m going to be feeling in three minutes, let alone three days.

I don’t mean to be depressing, I really don’t. I wish I was being fun and humorous and recanting erudite tales of all sorts of wit filled excitement…but right now I can’t, and I’m sorry about that…maybe someday… :-)

And so 2007 is slowly drawing to a close…as my clock goes (AEST) there is a mere 25 and a 1/2 hours left as I begin this post…and as with most people at this time I am thinking of three things:

1. So, what are my chances of a New Year’s pash…
2. Blimey, better get cracking on making some resolutions…
3. The internal-analysis of the last twelve months…

Well I can categorically tell you that my chance of a New Year’s pash are zilch (zero, nada, nought) unless I somehow manage to enter a manic phase in the next 25 hours 27 minutes - the chances of which are pretty slim! And what exactly is the point of making resolutions anyway?

My mind however has been mulling over the last object on this list with a kind of exasperated urgency. Voices, songs, screams and agonised yelps are haunting my every waking moment. The thing I find hard with my bipolar is getting all the ghosts to shut up, they’re just there, constantly, bickering away at my soul until I am nothing but a cowering wreck on the floor.

So let’s for a moment, just a moment (allow me that) forget that the events of the last eleven months happened. Let’s rewind the clock and take a peek at the year that wasn’t, a year that this time twelve months ago was going to be one of the best of my life, instead of the bitch year from hell it became!

[NOTE: From this point on everything not in italics is what could have happened if 2007 had gone the way I had hoped/whereas everything in italics is what actually happened]

…click here if you’d like to read more about my year that WASN’T/WAS…