Overcoming Mental Illness

If you’re keeping up to date with the blog then you’ll be aware that I once ran away. There has been fleeting mentions of this particular period in my life in several of the posts. The most recent mention was in The Video Adventures of Addy in Scotland: Inverness where I describe this particular period as simply “(a long story)”.

Well, slip on your most comfortable undies and whisk up that hot chocolate as I’m about to tell that story.

On Train: Guildford>>London Waterloo.
11th September 1997 - 7:12pm.

This is insane.
Still - I am 2hrs 20mins away from alienating family, friends and close acquaintances.
For the last five years or so - possibly stretching onto six or seven - I have never felt like me in my entirety. Sure I have got on with things: I’ve loved but I haven’t, I’ve lived but I haven’t.

The ‘event’ which most people (I’m sure) will recall happening during September 1997 was the death of Princess Diana. This actually happened the first day I was there. Waking up in the morning I flicked on the TV, found my show wasn’t on because of some annoying news flash, so pilfered my bro’s VHS collection (those were the days) and ended up watching Balto. When this movie ended I flicked back onto the TV to find the shows I was expecting still not on and this infernal newsfla…oh…Princess Diana has been killed. Ok. Right. Fair enough.

It really changed the whole feel of the week, instead of a lightning fast rush around of Guildford with occasional trips to London to party on in the West End and Soho, it was a much more contemplative period. At the time, despite suffering from social anxiety, I was still able to go to plays and concerts and would always try to catch at least one show whenever I was in London. On this occasion I seem to recall watching Shopping and F*****gwhich was rather interesting but - oooooohhhh, naked breasts! Shock!

As the days rolled on I watched some movies, wandered the streets, wrote to my hearts content, and generally carried onwards with my break from home. Princess Diana’s funeral came and went, Candle in the Windplayed in all the shops and I meandered the ghost-city Guildford had become. Then, walking back from the supermarket one night, I just said to myself, “I’m going to Scotland,”

If I were to try and explain my reasons this the only answer I could give would be ummmmmmm? Because I have absolutely no idea. It came out of nowhere and I just did it. Massively out of character for me, really. There I was watching movies, checking out live-theatre-breasts and watching the public reaction to Diana’s death - then suddenly, I was writing dozens of letters to all sorts of people because I just had to write them right then and there before I went and then I packed, threw everything I had into a backpack, wandered to the train station, journeyed to London Euston and boarded the sleeper train to Inverness.

No phone calls.

Didn’t tell anyone.

Just left a letter in my brother’s flat.

Loch Ness Backpackers: Lewiston (nr Drumnadrochit):
“What I did stumble onto was a split in what I thought was the Ness, an island in the middle. Various people passed by in both directions so I guessed it went somewhere. I just kept going. After an extremely fast hour or so I began milling on thoughts in self-conversation. “This is the Caledonian canal. It must be…it must!” I worked out in a somewhat over excited fit of glee and still ongoing disbelief of the situation I had placed myself into. Only after I found that the island I was on didn’t go anywhere, causing me to turn back some ½ a mile to cross a lock and experience my first meeting with a Scot (a really cool woman in a grocer store near the Donagharry Lock) to venture out to my forethought route - the A82. Cars, lorries, coaches, bikes all deafening me as I continued on.”

[Oh, all the "italicised" bits are actual extracts from the journal I kept during that period.]

Anyway, I arrived in Inverness and just carried on with the plan I had formulated over those hectic two days before leaving Guildford. It was a simple plan that can be summed up in 9 words:

I was going to walk from Inverness to Drumnadrochit.

 

Now, anyone who has ever been to this particular part of Scotland will know of the A82. It is the main road (Highway if you like) which runs between Inverness, Fort William and Glasgow. It is a bitch of a road; there’s no sidewalks or space for walkers, so to find a bizarre guy with a 15kg backpack wandering down this stretch of road is not all that common. However for one particular bus driver it became common that day as we waved at each other every time he drove past.

Loch Ness Backpackers: Lewiston (nr Drumnadrochit):
“My mind. Even being blasted with joy and hate as it was, still forged on, despising the thought of the HUGE blisters and stiff to rigid muscles I would have when I finally decided to stop.
Drumnadrochit is nothing to what I imagined (as I couldn’t remember from my one visit as a child). For some obscure reason I pictured a quaint little fisher town on the very shores of the loch with bustling streets full of eccentric Scots and pleasing “O’Hara” beauties. It is in fact fairly small, a good ¾ of a mile from the loch’s shore, has only a few touristy shops and a post office. It is pretty quiet and comprises of mainly B&Bs. After buying an ice lolly (funky lemon calypso) and water I choose (for some unidentifiable reason) to push on further; to see the castle up close for surely it isn’t far. It can’t be. About a mile at a slowing pace: it is a splendid beauty, utterly gorgeous from the distance I viewed it at. A photo was taken, the water guzzled - I was asked by a tourist about B&Bs - why? Like I know! I decide to find somewhere at Drumnadrochit instead of killing my feet even further.”

Again, if I were to try and explain my reasons for doing all this the only answer I could give would be ummmmmmm?

Following my hike from Inverness to Drumnadrochit I journeyed to Fort William by bus, exploring for the first time a town which has become so intertwined with my life, and it was days before thoughts began creeping into my mind about what it was that I had actually done. Which was, to all intent and purpose, the fact I had vanished off the face of the planet.

I had written in the letter to my family (the one left in my brother’s flat) that I was going away and that I’d phone them. I didn’t mention that I was going to Scotland, nor of my plan to walk to Drum, despite the fact that I knew all this before writing the letter. Again, I have no idea why I didn’t write this.

It’s because of this lack of cohesion, or memory of the specific events, that I’ve connected this to bipolar. By the time I ran away I had been self-harming for several years, social anxiety was rife and my ability to communicate with people virtually non-existent. Depression was prevalent and controlling, and from the remaining journal entries of the time, suicide was being bandied about as an option. I wouldn’t say this was a true manic phase, but the immediacy of the decision, the utter conviction of my plans and feeling rather confident that it was without a shadow of a doubt the right thing to do, all in some way, throw positives on the bipolar connection.

I’ve never been proud of this period of my life. Not once. Ever.

Running away from home was a terrible thing to do, and the pain and worry I caused my family was completely unacceptable (and I paid for this upon my return). So writing now that I believe it to be connected with the then undiagnosed or even unthought of bipolar seems like making light of my actions, even excusing them, but this isn’t the case. I did the wrong thing - but for me, at the time, it was the only thing that felt right to do.

Despite the pain I was causing my family back home things were quietly simmering away for me in Scotland.

The Mission Backpacker Hostel: Fort William:
Take for example my return at F. Willy train station, I usually walk with my head facing downwards yes? Well today I didn’t, when I exited the train for the first time in memory I was walking with my head upright, it may not sound much but to me that was everything. I passed a pretty girl and in the past eye contact would not have been made, but as it was I automatically flashed a smile. Knowing myself, and my shy soul, this was a major advancement and something must be going right.

This was “huge” for me at the time. I never ever ever made eye contact with strangers - the mere thought of doing so was enough to cause a panic attack so to actually, without hesitation or thought make eye contact and smile at a complete (yet utterly beautiful) stranger was amazing!

Though, since the diagnosis of bipolar I’ve been looking back over my life at these moments of madness and confused reality and things have become skewed as to whether it was truly me or perhaps the manic-me.

At the time I ran away I hadn’t even heard of bipolar, didn’t know what manic depression was. I knew about depression and self harm, obviously, even though I never spoke of it. At this time I was just a crazy teen who’d runaway from home; despite no-one I was meeting actually being told this. I mean, c’mon, you don’t tell someone you’ve run away do you? Kinda defeats the purpose. That’s hard enough for a normal runaway, let alone someone who suffers from a mental illness.

What a lot of people don’t seem to realise is that some sufferers of mental illness have great difficulty talking about how they’re feeling. Sometimes because they don’t even know themselves. I was - am- one of these people. The social anxiety makes everything a hundred times worse but talking about my feelings has always been something I’ve been terrible at, which is something that has infuriated so many people in my life. I dread to think of the number of homeless, runaways and missing persons out there who are mentally ill, unable to comprehend what’s happening or even how they got to where they are. All those lost, aimlesss, confused souls filling all the gaps in the world which most people don’t even notice exist.

I guess I notice them ’cause I’ve been there. I’ve slept under trees, on benches and in minus temperatures. I’ve been homeless and penniless and on the brink of disaster.

Anyhow.
My travels continued.
I spent the weekend in Fort William, visited Glenfinnan - a place which has become so closely intertwined with my life and fate - and then travelled back up the A82 to Inverness where the social anxiety continued to decrease slightly.

Bazpackers Hostel - Inverness:
It’s the time we spent seemingly unaware of each others names that is surreally amusing. We were together for the most part from about 6 thru 11 last night, chatting for a couple of hours at the hostel before venturing to the streets of Inverness for a pint or two. After being drowned out of an Irish bar by the football on big screen TV w4e lost ourselves looking for a hostel-recommended place known as the ‘old market inn’ after half an hour traipsing, directions asked, we found it: down an alley, up a thin flight of stairs to a room no larger than my bedroom back home. It was quaint. Quiet. But somehow inviting: as a live singer milled up to the stage to perform some easy going well played tunes. He wasn’t bad. However, we were after something a little more lively so pushed on, popping into a bar where the pink haired hostel girl worked - then just wandering uneventfully round the town, across the river, simply chatting.

From there I travelled to Aberdeen, through Portlethen and then down to Stirling. Memories of my childhood firing back at me on all cylinders. I would think of home, of my parents and friends, all the letters I’d written, wondering why or how and what I was going to say. But as I couldn’t answer this I never picked up the phone. Stirling led to Edinburgh, Edinburgh led to…home.

And the inevitable showdown.

From my own experience the fear and dread of re-emerging after disappearing off the face of the Earth was enough to make me not want to return. Is this the same for all runaways? Is this why so many people just disappear? Because the fear surrounding the reality of what they’ve done is too consuming for them to deal with? It was incredibly hard to do, to see the relief on their faces, hear of being reported missing (for the first, but not last time of my life) and the pain and confusion I had put them through. As I said before, I have always felt ashamed of running away, but in another way exhilarated also.

That may sound callous, but it’s true. That week opened up my life. Until then it had been social anxiety, self harm, depression and confused blackness. Now - there was a whole world out there. There were places called backpacker hostels out there! This alone would have huge repercussions later in my life!

The final journal passage of this trip read as follows:

Carlisle Train Station -
So we reach Carlisle and I am now, once again, officially out of the country I will always call ‘home’. To be totally honest I feel such a great connection with the country that I honestly believe I spent a former life amongst it’s gorgeous glens. Either that or I’ve taken way too much solace in it over the years! Still, it has been a grand week. From the rolling fields and sloping hills of the lowlands to the treacherous mountains and mysterious lochs of the highlands. I have had a wondrous time. Maybe it’s down to the people I’ve met; the Islamic Enigma, Danny, Paul, The pink haired girl, the kind drunken couple, and lest not forget the funky Canadian. Or maybe it was the sights I have seen; the view over Loch Shiel from the viaduct, seeing the dark mountains and mist covered water of Loch Ness, passing through old haunts or the darkened built up beauty of the capitol. It’s all been a wonder.
Then again.
Maybe it’s down to the fact I lived a dream. Or for the first time in years know me. At some point I would have feared what may be awaiting back home, now, after the last week, I don’t care. Things have to happen and payments made for the decisions we make.

I feel good, about me. For the first time in years I feel truthfully happy.
Happy.

From this, you could say that I’m praising running away as a valid decent choice. It’s not!The pain I caused was far worse than any of the positives which came out of that event. In the long term also, the positives faded and I descended into a far worse period of depression than I had been in before I ran. This is the problem with running away. Everyone has problems and everyone wants them to go away, but running is never the answer.

With so many lost souls out there unsure of what was, is and will happen in their lives I wonder how many are suffering from mental illness and not getting the treatment they need, I wonder why they ran away in the first place, and what made them feel so alone in the world to make them want to. Having been there, I understand the confusion and torment which can go on in someone’s mind when they decide to vanish, and the hardship in making contact to let people know where they are.

Talking, opening up and sharing your problems is hard; but no-one in life needs - or should ever be - alone.

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.)

Welcome one and all to the Carnival of Mental Illness, so let’s wait not a minute longer…

—–ISSUE V—–

Articles and Discussion

Deb Serani presents
Chemical Signature of Bipolar Disorder posted at Dr.Deb
This post looks at the chemical signature of Bipolar disorder, and how mental illness is often neurobiological in origin. 

Isabella Mori presents
An Interview with writer Laurie R. King posted at change therapy
An interview with the mystery/thriller writer whose characters are often dealing with mental health problems.

Doc presents
Depression: A disordered mind, body and soul posted at Mind, Soul and Body

Romeo Vitelli presents
Saving Ezra Pound posted at Providentia

Jose DeJesus MD presents
Physician Rating System Supported by Governer Cuomo posted at Physician Entrepreneur

Shaheen Lakhan presents
The Top Ten Secrets of the Mental Health Field: Part I
and
The Top Ten Secrets of the Mental Health Field: Part II
posted at GNIF Brain Blogger 

Personal Stories

Doc presents
Depression: My Story posted at Mind, Soul and Body

Society Stigma

Peter Jones presents
Alcoholism and Bipolar Disorder: New Book posted at Great New Books

Shaheen Lakhan presents
Brain Damage: In the Clinical Dark Ages posted at GNIF Brain Blogger

The Suicide Taboo

Carole Gold presents
A Message for the Children posted at McKay Today

and my own personal favorite this month

Therapy Doc presents
Choosing a Therapy Doc, or is that a Dodo bird? posted at Everyone Needs Therapy

—–

The sixth edition will be released on:
26th March 2008.

Submission Deadline:
25th March 2008.

SUBMIT ARTICLE ¤ BLOG CARNIVAL HOME ¤ CONTACT ME

Well that was a bit of a gap wasn’t it. Blimey. Almost a week without any interesting post whatsoever! Och well, these things happen, and when you’re shacked up in the Highlands of Scotland with little or no internet connection (and when there is some it keeps dropping out!) these things have to be expected!

Yep, Addy has returned to Scotland. Two weeks of hill walking, mountain climbing, hairy coo spotting and general let’s-visit-some-old-haunts excitement are in full swing! So let’s wait not a minute longer!

Day #1: Bristol - Fort William

My trip began at 1:45pm on Thursday 14th February 2008 (Valentines Day, schmalentines day) at Bristol airport. Yep, despite the fact I have a tremendous fear of it I opted to FLY to Scotland. You have to combat your fears somehow, don’t you? So there I was sitting in the smallest plane in the world listening to the cranks and crashes and oh so obscure noises these wee planes tend to make thinking “is this thing actually going to make it off the ground?” or “frack, that was a lesser spotted sparrow dive bombing into the engine! We’re all gonna die in a fiery inferno!”…

…but we didn’t, we took off, they tried to sell us all sorts of bizarre things at discounted prices, and then we landed in Glasgow about an hour later. Not too bad. Then came the trip to Glasgow Queen Street; a cavalcade of three buses, two walks and a train trip (if the internet was to be believed) but was in actual fact just a matter of getting on a bus and then - BAM - twenty minutes later I was sitting at the train station thinking “what the hell do I do for two and a half hours?” So I whipped out the DS to continue my epic game of Germ Buster(which had, by the way, begun on the plane and thus far had been rocking on for approximately 2 and a 1/2 hours) and when I boarded the train bound for Fort William it was still raging!

It has to be said the trip from Glasgow to Fort William by train is one of many utterly gorgeous train journeys in Scotland. The train winds north, leaving Glasgow and then heading into the lower Highlands before crossing the bleak and unforgiving Rannoch moor. Quite simply the scenery is devine - it’s just a shame I was taking the trip in the evening so the only thing I could see through the window was my own reflection, which, in a good light, is equally as devine (and equally as bleak and unforgiving)

My arrival in Fort William occurred at 10:06pm and my heart jumped a thousand beats as I alighted the train to be slapped in the face by the beautiful Highland air (i.e. sheet of ice which passes as Highland air) and I immediately skipped away from the train station with a barmy grin on my face.

Where I’m staying, I’ve stayed at before, so I knew exactly where I was going. Under the underpass (much better than going over it, it’s called an underpass for a reason), along the High Street, past the rather new looking memorial, and then a left up the stairs into the building which is a rather cheap and cheerful hotel. I threw my pack onto the floor - and like anyone who has just returned to his home after 6 years immediately resumed my game of Germ Busterwhich I played until I unceremoniously lost and then collapsed into bed.

Day #2 - Fort William

I missed breakfast. Or rather, when I descended the multiple staircases I couldn’t find breakfast. I had trained my nose to seek out the wistful odour of corn flakes, but alas, it picked up nothing. There was not a corn or a flake or a person to be found - so I went to Morrisons and had eggs on toast instead.

My first view of Fort William/the Highlands in the day light was something I had been eagerly anticipating (so much so I had, very nearly, performed a 10point worthy triple forward tuck roll down the staircase. So obviously, by definition, it was going to be something special - it was FOG! Yep, Loch Linnhe and the mountains I know so well were enshrouded in a blanket of mist which meant I couldn’t really make anything out - which sounds disappointing - but it isn’t. Scottish mist is all part and parcel of Highland life and in it’s own right is a beautiful sight to behold. I stood for a while, watching the mist roll over the crystalline waters of the loch past a wee red fishing boat which has been in the same spot (barring tidal changes of course) for the last six years.

My day was spent milling, meandering and moseying around this quaint wee town (the second biggest in the Highlands) and checking out what I have decided is the Op-Shop capitol of Scotland. So far, six of them! Which is really rather wonderful. I collected numerous brochures and sat by the Fort planning the things I wanted to do over the next couple of weeks.

Day #3 - Glenfinnan (on the shores of Loch Shiel)

Glennfinnan. A place so ingrained in my psyche that there’s not a single person who’s ever known me won’t be familiar with the name. A tiny wee town consisting of half a dozen houses, a Church, visitor centre, monument and viaduct…ahh yes, the viaduct, a monumental moment in Addy history in it’s own right. It’s been mentioned a few times in this blog, primarily here, and my return to this special place (my second favourite place in Scotland) was an emotional bumper car ride of conflicting ecstatica mixed with teary memories of times and moments from days of lore.

I know the place well and nothing had changed in the seven years since my last visit, well, a bench had disappeared (presumably eaten by wood-mites) which featured in a particular stirring memory of this place, but that’s besides the point. My track from the train station to the loch is well worn and I circumnavigated it with barely a second thought.

The monument itself isn’t anything special really. A cylindrical tower atop which stands the figure of a Highland soldier - many people presume it to be of Bonnie Prince Charlie himself (the monument’s existence being to commemorate the beginning of the 1745 uprising which he started) but it is not Charlie, rather it could be Geoff or Bob or Angus McHaggis. What makes the monument something special is it’s location, at the end of the Loch with the murky waters spanning off into the distance between the mountains. It is considered to be one of the great views in Scotland; and anyone who has travelled by train on the Road to the Isles will remember always the view as the train passes over the Viaduct.

I never really do much in Glenfinnan. I sit, I think, I ponder, I traverse hillsides and occasionally (as has been documented in the past, consider suicide). Today however I did all of the above (bar the last) I trekked up two different hills and half way up a mountain. I had a staring contest with a stag (I interrupted his meal of heather and grass gravy, to which he offered me none) and by the close of the day as I returned to the station looked a little windswept and brow beaten.

There is nothing in the world more delightful than trekking the Scottish hills and glens with only a friendly stag for company.

Day #4 - Fort William

So being a Sunday, there is little open in this wee town today. Scotland has a habit of closing it’s doors on a Sunday, which is fine by me, as I’m feeling a little queasy today. A visit to the medic on Tuesday saw me prescribed prozac which is not faring well with me and the side effects (I should be used to side effects by now) are taking their toll. So a quiet day today methinks in the hope the side effects will not become a feature of this trip, nor affect my adventure in the way they have the potential of doing.

On a slightly more annoying note I was not prescribed any mood stabilisers, not because I don’t need them, but because they wish to keep me off them for the next 6 months to monitor my changes. In a warped sense this makes sense, but having lived with my oscillating mood for so long now I had hoped for something to help control it - they are getting rather difficult to control on my lonesome.

I will return wit the further manic adventures of Addy in Scotland in due time, and if we’re lucky, perchance the prozac will kick in a manic phase - as it has the possibility of doing!

PS…The first in the Manic Adventures of Addy in Scotland Video Blog will be posted as soon as I’ve had time to upload it!

Did you know that approximately 70% of people who commit suicide actually tell someone about their plans before hand?

The problem is they do so in such a way that you may not realise what they are planning to do.

So how do they do it? Do they invite you out for tea and lamingtons and casually drop a “oh, by the way, I’m going to be jumping from the West Gate Bridge on Sunday. Just wanted to let you know you’ve been awesome, but, yeah. See ya,”

Nope, they do it in far more devious ways than that.

What I’ve missed out of the posts I’ve written about suicide so far are the signals - some subconscious, some conscious - that people who are planning to kill themselves use to tell people they are going to commit suicide. Now, this list isn’t hardened proof, because sometimes people just suddenly do it. However, for those with a plan I would pretty much say that they would give off at least one of them.

Signs and signals someone may be about to commit suicide.

1. Talking about dying
This one’s a pretty big one. Now we’ve all probably talked about wanting to die at some point, often out of exasperation, but if someone is suffering from depression and they start talking about dying - death, disappearing, wanting to die, not wanting to go on any longer - those alarm bells should start tingling a little. On every single occasion I attempted suicide I did this.
2. Recent Loss
Another biggie which can push someone to suicide, especially if they are depressed. A sudden loss of something important - death of family member/friend, relationship breakup, loss of job, money, divorce etc. If someone has just suffered a loss, and is talking about wanting to die, those alarm bells should go up a notch. Even the loss of something along the lines of confidence, self-esteem or a loss of religious faith can be indicative of what may happen.
3. Extravagant spending/Giving away important personal possessions
So you’re friend is depressed, they’ve just suffered a loss of some kind and they’ve talked about death…now they’ve started spending it up and giving things away. WHOAH! This is a huge signal! They are giving things away which are of important sentimental value because they will not have any further use for them! They’re spending because they will not have any further use for their money! This person is REALLY trying to tell you something.
4. No Hope for the Future
Do I need to explain this one? If someone has just suffered a loss, is depressed, talking about dying, giving away all their lovely hard earned things and in addition express without question that there is no hope for a future - or that they cannot see anything good happening in their future - this is them pretty much taking you out for tea and lamingtons and telling you they’re about to jump off the Golden Gate bridge. Alarm bells should now have become a plank of wood giving you are short sharp WHACK on the arse to wake you up!

In my opinion, if someone is doing the above 4 they are asking you to help them in the ONLY way they know how to ask. If they’re also doing some of the following, they definitely are!

5. Previous suicide attempts
6. Making Wills
7. Loss of interest in life: activities, events, things they previously enjoyed.
8. Excessive abuse of alcohol, drugs, cigarettes.
9. Visiting/Contacting old friends or family member. Also, resolving of any unfinished business which they want to resolve.

and

10. They - after being depressed - suddenly, without warning, become “happy”
This is because they are at peace with their decision. They know what they’re going to do, and finally, after however long suffering, they are going to get the peace they deserve. This one is dangerous because it may make you think they are “better” and no longer at risk. Whereas the truth is, it’s probably the biggest signal of them all - especially for someone who has been going through a lengthy period of depression.

[NOTE on the above list: this is NOT conclusive! Please do not read as gospel, someone planning suicide may do all of them, or none of them. If they have a history of previous suicide attempts, any appearance of these signals should arose deeper concern.]

Now the thing is what do you do?

Some suggestions…from my own experiences, the only thing I can suggest is this: ask them!

“Do you sometimes feel so bad you think about suicide?”
or
“Have you ever thought about taking your own life?”

Don’t be afraid to use the word suicide. And most importantly LISTEN to them. The simple fact that you are asking them, means you are concerned about them, which indicates to them you care about them. You are taking them seriously, and that’s important because if anyone ever mentions suicide you have to TAKE IT SERIOUSLY! Always, without fail, take it seriously.

Speak to them about how they’re feeling, try not to judge or mock them. I think also, which would be hard, but try not to show disapproval of what they are planning.

Once the conversation is under way it is important to ascertain how urgent the situation is. Ask them questions along the lines of:

• “Do you have a plan?”
• “Have you thought about how you’d do it?”
• “Have you attempted suicide before?”

This way you will have some idea of how dangerous the situation is, so don’t underestimate the problem. And please, ask HOW and WHEN long before you ask WHY. It is vital to determine how close they are to committing suicide before you help deal with the reasons for it. These can be dealt with after the situation has passed it’s ‘critical’ point.

What you could do depending on the urgency of the situation, is to form a verbal contract with them. If you think they are going to be committing suicide in the near-future, ask them to call you before they go through with their suicidal feelings.

Finally, really the only thing to do once you have talked about it, is to seek help.

Contact a suicide crisis helpline.

Suicide is one of the touchiest subjects there is. No-one is comfortable talking about it, it’s a highly charged emotional minefield. It is however important to talk about it, because it’s only by talking that understanding, help and support can be offered.

If you are worried that someone you know may be planning on committing suicide, remember:

• Don’t be afraid to talk about it.
• Don’t be afraid of seeking help.

It is better to act on your suspicions, because by not trying to help, frankly, you may lose them forever.

Following on from Part I (which you can read here), I’m continuing my look at great books dealing with mental health related conditions. In this second part, we take a look at books written by people who have had first hand experience of mental illness. These are their stories of the battles, trials and tribulations they have had to face.

—

1. Alone by Myself by Melanie Voss

“Just a few months short of her 18th birthday, Melanie, a talented student & aspiring writer, commits suicide. Through her writing, she captures the thoughts & feelings of a teenager dealing with all the joy & stress of being on the brink of adulthood.”

Without doubt one of the finest accounts of suffering from a mental illness that I’ve ever read. I stumbled across this book in my favourite second hand bookshop in Melbourne (Book Affair, Carlton) and never having heard of it before and having a few spare dollars in my pocket and an empty space where a book should be in my life I picked it up. This book filled that space for only a few hours - the time it took for me to devour this absolutely captivating account of a teenagers battle with depression.

The book is made up of a series of diary entries written by Melanie throughout her teenage years, up until her untimely suicide days before her eighteenth birthday. Her death has robbed the world of a marvellous literary talent, her writing is honest, heartfelt and for the majority of the time downright beautiful in it’s portrayal of a young woman unsure of her place in the world and her attempts to understand and overcome her depression.

This is such a hard book to get hold of, which is a shame, as it should be required reading for all teenagers and adults alike. It is fantastic in bringing to light the problem of depression amongst young adults and in showing the world that sometimes teenagers are not suffering from “teen angst” but problems far more serious and life affecting.

You can find this book on Amazon here if you are interested in tracking down a copy.

2. You Don’t have to be Famous to have Manic Depression by Jeremy Thomas & Tony Hughes

This is a book in three parts, and it’s layout is such that I could include it not only in this part of my book features but also the next part (dealing with non-fiction). The first part of the book is a series of interviews between manic depressive Jeremy Thomas and his doctor of many years, Tony Hughes. It is a revelatory account of someone suffering from manic depression and debunks several of the myths and preconceptions surrounding the illness. It is a gloriously entertaining read packed with humour and insightful comments. The second part of the book is a series of “articles” written by other sufferers of manic depression talking about how the illness has affected their lives and how they’ve coped. The third part of the book is in appearance a brief encyclopedia of mental illness which at first view would appear pretty darned boring. However, infused with the wit of the authors is a compelling read from A-Z (or just as a way to look something up should the need arise)

I found this book by accident at my local library last week when I was looking  for I Never Promised You a Rose Garden (which I talked about last week) and am currently plowing through it during the odd moments I have the attention required to read.

This comes highly recommended (and if you fancy winning yourself a copy, check out the exclusive subscriber only competition on this blog!)

3. Bloodletting by Victoria Leatham

So few books have been written on the subject of self-harm, let alone books dealing with the personal account of a self-harmer so it’s fantastic to see a book available that is just this. Throughout her teens and twenties Victoria Leatham was a self-harmer, and this is an account of her life and how self-harm affected it. She discusses this taboo subject matter in an honest and at times ‘in your face’ style that in some sense is what this topic requires in order to smash down the misconceptions surrounding the issue. It takes a great deal of courage to write about yourself in such an honest style, and for this I have great admiration for the author.

—

So after those three books above I thought I would look at a few books which I haven’t actually read. As I mentioned above when I get into a depressed episode I find it hard to read, which frustrates me so, as I adore reading. Thus, as a means to get me reading again, I’m going to try one of the following (whichever I find first) and give it a go…and when I’ve finished I’ll let you know.

—

4. Depression and How to Survive It by Spike Milligan & Anthony W. Clare

“Spike Milligan reveals the dark side of his life in this book which is co-written with his psychiatrist Anthony Clare. He recalls the traumas of his childhood, his highly-strung mother, his largely absent father, the cruelties of a colonial upbringing and of sadism towards animals, the break-up of his first marriage, the mortar bomb which blew him up in Italy and the overwork which gave him a mental breakdown during the “Goon Show”. This book charts the development of this depression and his strategies for dealing with it were improvised, as both when he would get drunk with Peter Sellers, and clinically in his discussions with Clare.”
Find out more about this book on Amazon.

5. The Naked Bird Watcher by Suzy Johnston

“The Naked Birdwatcher takes you on the journey of a highly gifted young Woman from her schooldays to approaching her thirtieth birthday. A journey travelled though often on her own, never alone. It is a journey of a young woman’s awakening to the realisation of how her own mind which along with her athletic ability had worked with her to achieve the fabulous goals of her youth, begins to fight against her as she approaches adulthood and betrays her in her University years. A fight, we are unsure whether she will win or ultimately lose. We journey with her through her ordinary life (its ordinariness making the book ever more poignant) the battles, the triumphs and the defeats. The battles with her mind along with the battles she has to fight with some of those closest to her too blinkered to realise that nobody would make manic depression a life choice. The Naked Bird Watcher gives hope to those travelling with Manic Depression and those they take along with them. It also highlights the importance of having a support network to help you on your journey. Suzy it would seem has an exceptional support network, this will hopefully inspire those who could help a friend or family member with manic depression to try that bit harder to be there when needed. I have taken from this book that manic depression is a companion anyone could discover they have on their life’s journey; sometimes asleep, sometimes dozing, sometimes with them in their every waking minute. The aim and hope it would seem, is to find a way to get it to sleep and keep it sleeping. Everyone should read this book, it is an inspiration to all to see what can be achieved and how battles can be won if you believe in yourself enough and others believe in you.”
You can find out more about this book at Amazon.

6. The Rock Pillow: A Personal Account of Schizophrenia by Mark Lynne Folkard

“Staggering along through the night with my overnight bag, I made my way back to the trucking station. I was hallucinating badly again; I could see bodies and blood spread over the footpath and road in front of me. I felt as though I was walking through a horrific accident. The smell of blood and human flesh was on my own skin and made me flinch.”
Read more about this book at Bookworm.

—

So there we have it, six personal accounts out of thousands dealing with mental illness. If any of you have any personal favourites be sure to drop a comment so others can check them out, and stay tuned for a look at six great non-fiction books in the third and final part of this trilogy.

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 you’re interested in mental illness and you have a love of books, so why not combine these two interests and read about mental illness. In this first part of a trilogy I take a look at some excellent books which have dealt with mental health.

Firstly, the world of fiction. Now, I could of course throw in some of the obvious one’s here (ya know, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest or Girl Interrupted) but I thought it would be a little more interesting to look at some books you may not have heard of.

So, as I’m always full on contradiction (what human isn’t?) I’ll start with perhaps the most famous…

—

1. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

It has been rather a long time since I read this book, it was somewhere in the hiatus between leaving school and beginning work at the Video Store when I read this book. It’s highly possible it was purchased in a wonderful yet now no longer existing book-store in Guildford, but that’s debatable. It deals with depression primarily but also covers hospitalisation, electro-shock therapy, breakdown and suicide attempts.

As I say due to the length of time since I read this book it isn’t very fresh in my mind, I may have to re-read it. It was one of the first novels which I read which dealt with depression, and really, it’s considered to be a classic for a reason.

2. A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby

A contemporary novel dealing with suicide. I read this a couple of years ago after picking it up on a cheap second hand book stall in Melbourne, it languished on my shelf for several months before I finally got around to checking it out. It’s plot concerns four strangers who meet up on the top of a tower block all planning to kill themselves and given the seriousness of the subject you’d be surprised at how funny this book is. Sure, you’ll feel a little guilty from time to time laughing along at this darkest of dark topics - but Hornby writes with such a deft skill and wit that you can’t help being carried along with it.It contains the perfect mix of melancholy, humour and depression and is a great book to get stuck into - even if it isn’t the greatest book ever written.

3. Veronika Decides to Die by Paulo Coelho

A friend gave me this to read after I told them I was feeling depressed and suicidal a couple of years ago. It was quite hard to get through at the time, quite often when I am in my depressed moods I find it very difficult to read even a couple of pages let alone a whole book, so this episode didn’t help. I did however persevere and did rather enjoy this book.Not all of it, parts had me quite infuriated and angry, other bits had me wondering what the author was thinking. There were however some utterly beautiful sequences, sections and writing to wonder and behold at. I think Paulo Coelho is a bit of an acquired taste, and even though I haven’t read all of his work, this book did give me a taste to check out some of his other offerings.

 —

So after those three books above I thought I would look at a few books which I haven’t actually read. As I mentioned above when I get into a depressed episode I find it hard to read, which frustrates me so, as I adore reading. Thus, as a means to get me reading again, I’m going to try one of the following (whichever I find first) and give it a go…and when I’ve finished I’ll let you know.

—

4. I Never Promised You a Rose Garden by Joanne Greenberg

“I Never Promised You a Rose Garden is a semi-autobiographical account of Joanne Greenberg’s experience with mental illness. This book was originally published in 1964 under the pseudonym Hannah Green in order to protect her family from the stigma that often accompanies a psychiatric diagnosis. When Greenberg’s family learned more about her history with mental illness, she allowed the book to be reprinted using her real name. In addition to the book making people aware of the stigma that comes with mental illness Greenberg wrote the book to give a realistic portrayal of the experience of mental illness. Deborah Blau is an adolescent who has been sent to a mental hospital, by her parents to be treated for schizophrenia after attempting to commit suicide. The book follows Deborah through the course of her stay at the hospital, flashing back to Deborah’s childhood while taking the reader to the world of Yr. Yr is a world of Deborah’s own creation that previously provided her with comfort and sanctuary, but at the time of her hospitalization it had begun turning into a frightening and condemning place for Deborah. Throughout the course of the story Deborah bounces between the “human world” and Yr unable to incorporate or choose between the two worlds.”
Read the rest of this review at Biblioreview

5. Red Tears by Joanna Kenrick

“Red Tears is a new novel for teenagers. On the surface it’s about a teenage girl who turns to self-harm when she finds things are getting on top of her. She is in her GCSE year at school (age 15 for non-UKers) and is being treated badly by her so-called ‘friends’. Overwhelmed by pressures from all sides (particularly from her mother, who wants her to ‘do the best you can’ all the time) she resorts to self-harm. But once you start, it’s not that easy to stop…”
You can find out more about this book at the authors website

6. The Province of Hope by Mark Lee Kirchmeier

“Johnny Verliebt is a young man with many lives. One is that of a college student from an affluent suburban family; the other is one of sleepless nights and racing thoughts that can only be quieted by alcohol and drugs. Soon after Johnny falls in love with a young medical student named Robert, he suffers a psychotic breakdown and begins life with bipolar affective disorder.”
Read more about this book on Amazon

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So there we have it, six fictional books out of thousands dipping into mental illness for their inspiration and material. If any of you have any personal favourites of novels dealing with mental illness be sure to drop a comment so others can check them out, and stay tuned for a look at six great ‘personal account’ books…one of which being my all time favourite book dealing with mental illness!

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!