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I’m OK, You’re OK Two.

Posted in alcohol, Awesome Psychiatrist, bipolar, diagnosis, DSM, Fab Psychologist, Fantastic CPN, friends, health, labels, mental illness, money, NHS, psychiatrist, therapy, Wonderful GP, work, tagged , , , , , , on November 24, 2011 | 26 Comments »

You’ll remember that last time I blogged about my mental health I referred to the “constantly emerging jigsaw that is my mind and my life”? Well, good news! We solved the jigsaw, it turned out to be complete after all, most of the pieces were there in the box all along, the edges were completed, those tricky bits of sky inserted into the right places and the picture on the box emerged.

The picture on the box turned out to be so abhorrent, so distasteful that the Awesome Psychiatrist decided that not only could he not see it, he refused to believe the picture on the box existed at all. The Awesome Psychiatrist is not alone in his denial of the existence of the picture on the box, indeed he appears to be in good company. I’m still waiting for a title for my picture; I think we’ve ascertained it’s not “bipolar” but my picture for all its vibrancy, colour and impact remains unnamed. Incidentally there is a very similar picture to mine contained within the DSM-IV but that is clearly not enough for the MH profession. I have gone from “concerning, troubling, confusing and complex, someone who needs help” to “Woah! Fuck, retreat, retreat!” you’ve never really tasted stigma until you’ve been stigmatised by the psychiatric profession, I have gone from “heart-sink patient” to “toxic patient” and nobody it seems knows quite what to do with me. If it were not for the Fantastic, Ninja, refuses to be beaten by psychiatric arrogance CPN and the Fab Psychologist I would have no input from MH services at all and it’s not because finding my picture has in some way cured me.

Zoetrope

I feel like I am being punished for drawing the wrong picture; I didn’t draw it, if I had it would be of stars, rainbows and unicorns, my picture was drawn for me and there isn’t a rainbow in sight. My picture, for all its ugliness is a fair representation of my past, present and future- it doesn’t look good. If I could erase the picture and redraw it I would in a heartbeat, my crayons are poised, I have attempted to redraw my picture many times so that others would like it more but my picture, as with everything else I do is honest, it is true and I cannot help it if others do not like it.

A cursory glance over my exterior would suggest all is well (perhaps except today, it is Thursday, I have worn and slept in the same clothes since Tuesday), I’ve stopped saying “I’m fine” have substituted “I’m OK” it means the same thing- breathing, not dead, no active bleeding so most of the time I am “OK”.

My quality of life is non-existent so I’m currently thinking of a way to reassess that as well, I’m thinking of awarding QOL points to every cup of tea to see if that helps. I make it through most days in one piece mainly thanks to online friends, luck and a weekly wine coma (the administration of enough alcohol to ensure no movement, thoughts, dreams, ideas or voices for up to 7 hours) so far so good- still here, still OK.

The 30th of November marks the 2 year anniversary of my coming to the attention of mental health services (this time around) on the 30th on November 2009 I went to see the Wonderful GP and confessed I was rather unwell. This was mainly as I could no longer hide the rapid and severe weight loss I had experienced from friends and colleagues. In those 2 years I have played the game, answered the questions, tried the drugs, sampled the hospitality and all around me life has fallen apart. The woman who went to see the Wonderful GP that day had a job, a life, a future. I have nothing and it’s not my fault.

But I’m OK. HMRC Tax Credits finally got back to me yesterday, having done the sums I can now reveal that I will have £9.21 a month left over once fixed expenses are paid- fixed expenses does not include food, the Stupid Car, clothing, indeed anything else you can think of so it looks like I may lose my home too.

But I’m OK.

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To-Do List

Posted in 6 year old, autism, Awesome Psychiatrist, bipolar, blogging, children, communication, crying, depression, emotions, Fab Psychologist, Fantastic CPN, hospital, illness, insight, lithium, Lovely Dietitian, mania, manic, medication, mental illness, money, mother, parenting, recovery, social worker, stress, suicide, support, Wonderful GP, work, tagged , , , , , , , , on September 16, 2011 | 14 Comments »

I think this may be one of those posts on depression I talked about, I’m not sure, I’ll just write and see what happens.

It’s been a funny day- as in not at all amusing in any way shape or form and in fact nothing funny has happened so I’m not sure I can qualify that summing-up. It just feels funny. I’m sure there are many pathological explanations for this- a shift in mood state, the inevitable come-down after a period of elevation, the fact I stopped taking the dreaded lithium on Sunday night? It’s not my area of expertise so I’ll stop speculating.

I’ve had a hard week, again, nothing particularly difficult has happened (especially when you contrast this week with the past 3) and I haven’t actually done anything or been anywhere.

Monday- a social worker from the local children and families team came to carry out an assessment in light of the 3 “child at risk concerns” from the police following my behaviour over recent weeks and contact from the ninja CPN. The assessment was a gruelling affair and ultimately felt like a lynching. I had it all under control for around 45 minutes until the ninja CPN arrived (45 minutes late) and in my words “painted me as a total loony” in her words “told the truth”. Either way the assessment went on too long and I lost it towards the end, partly due to nicotine withdrawal, partly due to being talked about as though I wasn’t in the room and partly due to the social workers insistence on informing me that there may have to be a child protection investigation.

The social worker herself was patronising and clearly had little understanding of mental health. I know I’m not the best mother in the world and I know I don’t always try my hardest but to have to sit and listen to a complete stranger tell me just how badly I was failing was very difficult indeed.

Of course maybe she never implied that at all? I have noticed this week that every interaction I have had with the ninja CPN where I mention something someone else has said, she insists on me recounting it verbatim so that she can point out where I am misinterpreting things, employing magical thinking or just fabricating things. I can’t even trust my own thoughts and impressions any more. I feel stupid, childish and powerless.

I am not surprised or ashamed that my family has come to the attention of social services; I’d be more surprised if we hadn’t. My argument against their involvement is simply that they have nothing appropriate to offer. I was also more than a little annoyed that suddenly they were intruding on our lives when in all the time the 17 year old lived here and his autism wreaked heartbreak and havoc on us all they never offered a service, in spite of being asked. What my family needs in order to function properly is for me to be well- thinly veiled threats about child protection measures aren’t going to help me achieve this. The social worker wants to come back- well at least I think she does, I received a letter addressed to me and the 6 year old, making an appointment to visit the 6 year old and someone else who doesn’t even exist. Clearly just an admin error and my rage over it is no doubt my own fault for being difficult and misinterpreting things but it pissed me off anyway.

I assume the appointment is to see the 6 year old and the 14 year old again. The 14 year old is largely unimpressed with the social worker, her opening gambit of “I know it’s not easy being different, well some people like to be different- like Lady Gaga” sealed her fate with the 14 year old. The 14 year old is a wonderful creature, intelligent, engaging and probably the funniest person I know. She may be a little “old for her years” at times but she can spot a patronising bastard a mile away. I don’t disagree that the 14 year old would benefit from some emotional support, after all if I had cancer others would be falling over themselves to ensure she was ok, I’m just not sure that social services are equipped to offer her the kind of support she needs.

So the intervention of social services has me hell-bent on proving that their services are no longer required, maybe that’s the way it works?

Tuesday- the Fab Therapist visited me at home, she was impressed by my apparent fineness given the horror stories she had been told by other “team members” since our last interaction some 6 weeks ago. I don’t think we talked about much, I’m not really sure but we can’t have done as I don’t recall having a meltdown after she left. It was kind of her to circumnavigate my avoidance by visiting me at home and I expect our next appointment in 4 weeks will only have me moderately filled with dread and fear as opposed to having dread and fear seep out of every pore like usual.

This brings me to the realisation I’ve been generating this week- mental health professionals cannot make me better. I have a great “team” (that makes me want to vomit) an Awesome Psychiatrist, Fab Therapist, Wonderful GP, Lovely Dietitian, Fantastic ninja CPN and even an ok-ish community based psychiatrist (promoted from “dickhead” after he didn’t put up a fight against my discharge from the local bin last Thursday). They are all very knowledgeable, compassionate people that work very hard but there are no magic wands.

At the end of every appointment, at the end of every day, I am alone with the mental.

Part of my problem is I don’t know where I am or what I should be doing. Am I ill? Am I recovering? Am I all better now? Should I be taking it easy? Should I be trying harder? I simply don’t know. The last few weeks have been a kind of perpetual crisis and I knew what I had to do then, I had to fight, fight against the horror that is admission to the psych ward, fight against the intrinsic death that is psychotropic medication. I won both of those fights- my prize?

I’m still mental.

This evening I find myself back to struggling to find the will to live. I am aware I have very few coping strategies for times of “distress” (that also makes me want to vomit) so I’ve had a quick look on some websites to find out how other people do it. I’m still none the wiser. Yes sure I can sit here, in my corner and name all the colours I can see but that won’t help sort out the mess that is tax credits, it won’t help me be able to put up with the simultaneous noise from the TV, the DS and the 6 year old when he is here, it won’t help me be able to sit and enjoy a film and some mother-daughter bonding time with the 14 year old, it won’t get the school uniforms washed, dried and ironed in time for school on Monday, it won’t help me get back to work, it won’t pay the mortgage, it won’t cut the grass or fix the bathroom…..I could go on. When your life is a catastrophe, it’s very easy to catastrophise.

Wednesday- I have no idea what, if anything happened on Wednesday- oh yes, I wrote my last blog post and sure enough as I said in reply to one comment I am still as lost and clueless as I was when I wrote it.

Thursday- again, nothing happened that I can recall but in truth it’s therefore not impossible that there was a zombie apocalypse or a plague of sharks or something, my recall of events is sketchy at best.

Friday- AKA today. Well I think I’ve outlined above where I am today, I’m not sure even if I read it back I will have any idea. I think I’m back at the “must get a grip” stage, I have a to-do list for tomorrow- it has one item on it-

Get washed and dressed

 

In all honesty that will be a major achievement, wish me luck.

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DSM VI Mentalism Criteria

Posted in alcohol, anhedonia, Anxiety, blogging, crying, depression, DSM, DSM VI, Eating Disorder, emotions, health, insight, insomnia, medication, mental illness, recovery, sleep, suicide, tea, Twitter, work, tagged , , , , , , , on July 29, 2011 | 14 Comments »

Told you I’d chucked the blogging rule book! Here is today’s product of my mind, the inspiration for this comes mainly from the person who suggested after my last “extreme” episode that next time I “just didn’t do it” and I realised I was clearly investing far too much time and energy in this whole being mental business. The other bit of inspiration comes from those conversations with you all and the repeated question within our community- mental or normal? I thought I’d clear things up a bit.

Please do not use this extract of DSM VI as a stand-alone tool for self-diagnosis, for best results you should also consult the RMRS©.

DSM-VI Mentalism Criteria

Mentalism (termed Mentalism by the Zoë Psychiatric Association) is defined as a maladaptive pattern of living leading to clinically significant impairment or distress, as manifested by three (or more) of the following, occurring any time in the same lifetime:

1. Tolerance, as defined by either of the following:

(a) A need for markedly increased amounts of paranoia, obsessive behaviours, fear, insomnia, inappropriate laughter, social anxiety, generalised anxiety, deliberate self-harm, drinking white wine and lemonade from the same glass, emotional lability, restricting food intake, sterilising food before consumption, foregoing basic self-care, avoiding contact with real people, amnesia, becoming melty when faced with basic tasks, lack of control over household administration, self-induced vomiting, mysophobia, purchasing of large amounts of stationery, having “head music”, hearing voices, wearing protective eye-wear when conditions do not necessitate it,  responding to aforementioned voices,  fear of abandonment, fear of attachment, anhedonia, continuous wearing of pyjamas, bingeing, over-dependence on caffeine, use of “Wineclone”© or “Winesthetic”©, only having contact with others whose name begins with @, fear of telephones, fear of the postman, crying, suicidal ideation, hypnophobia, ironing sheets, filling rooms with balloons, blogging, losing all track of time and frequent contact with health professionals to achieve mentalism or the desired effect

or

(b) Markedly diminished effect with continued use of the same amount of the behaviours.

2. Withdrawal, as manifested by any of the following:

(a) Sorting paperwork, getting affairs in order, washing and dressing daily, only visiting GP with a physical ailment, ability to have “one glass of wine with dinner”, meeting friends for lunch, having visitors, using a telephone, going out, only hearing music when you’re listening to music, only hearing voices when actual people speak to you, sleeping all night, having or thinking about getting a job.

or

(b) The same (or closely related) behaviours are repeated to relieve or avoid withdrawal symptoms.

3. The behaviours are often demonstrated in larger amounts or over a longer period than intended.

4. There is a persistent desire or unsuccessful efforts to cut down or control the behaviours.

5. A great deal of time is spent in activities necessary to ingrain the behaviours, use the behaviours, or recover from their effects.

6. Important social, occupational, or recreational activities are given up or reduced because of behaviours.

7. The mentalism is continued despite knowledge of having a persistent physical or psychological problem that is likely to have been caused or exacerbated by the mentalism (for example, current repeated hand-washing despite recognition of sore, dry skin or continued isolation in spite of loneliness).  DSM-VI criteria for mentalism include several specifiers, one of which outlines whether mentalism is with physiologic dependence (evidence of tolerance or withdrawal) or without physiologic dependence (no evidence of tolerance or withdrawal). In addition, remission categories are classified into four subtypes: (1) full, (2) early partial, (3) sustained, and (4) sustained partial; on the basis of whether any of the criteria for mentalism have been met and over what time frame. The remission category can also be used for patients receiving drug therapy (such as every mood-stabiliser, anti-psychotic and anti-depressant on the market with the odd dose of benzodiazepines thrown in) or for those living in a controlled, mentalist free environment.

Wineclone© copyright owned and controlled by @mnicsleepteachr

Winesthetic© copyright owned and controlled by @Zoe_Smith

 


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A Verbal Purge

Posted in Anxiety, autism, autistic, bipolar, children, crying, depression, Eating Disorder, emotions, health, illness, insight, Magic Invisibility Sunglasses, medication, mental illness, mother, parenting, stress, suicide, work, tagged , on July 10, 2011 | 32 Comments »

You know that acceptance thing that I talked about here somewhere ? Well forget it, I’m over it.

I’m guessing at the actual physiology involved but I can only assume that now that my body has had a reasonable level of nourishment for around a week it is no longer allowing my brain to remain in that blissed-out semi-starved state where everything is peachy.

I am no longer numb.

I can cope with being numb, not feeling anything comes easily to me, feeling the way I do at the moment does not.

I’m told writing is clearly a coping strategy for me and I hope it is as all my other coping strategies, which would be so much easier to employ right now, are extremely unhealthy. I have also considered just “going mental and smashing shit up” but as I would invariably have to replace said shit at some point and that would cost money I don’t have, I’m trying to avoid it.

Emotions aren’t my strong point; I have the emotional intelligence of a 3 year old. I struggle to identify what it is I’m actually feeling (ugh, I even cringe at the word) and then if I do identify it I have absolutely no idea what to do with it.

Today I have identified  ANGER

 

Oxford Dictionary

anger

Pronunciation:/ˈaŋgə/ (does anybody find dictionary pronunciation guides useful?)

noun
a strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility

I have checked to make sure it wasn’t just a rather extreme case of my default “emotion”- fine or perhaps fine mixed with a touch of indigestion or maybe fine and “a bit tired” or maybe fine but “a bit anxious”. I was meticulous in my checking as I don’t really do anger. It is with some surprise that I have concluded that it is indeed- nasty, painful, acidic, black, pungent, sticky, loud, dirty, dripping, searing, putrid, ugly, festering, foreboding, furious anger. “A strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure or hostility” doesn’t even come close.

The obvious question would have to be why am I so angry? Well I could point to a number of things but these things would count as no more than mere irritations- the cobbles on the road to Angrytown. I’ve had the same run-of-the-mill niggles as everyone else today, tardy children, difficult to remove screws, a bumped elbow, rubbish weather, other drivers and so on. The real reason I’m angry is that-

I DON’T WANT TO BE MENTAL ANYMORE

 

I’m done, I’m over it, it’s too bloody difficult.

I know I’m not special and I know I’m not different or unique. I know we’re all mental in our own way. I know there are many, many people far more mental and far worse off than me. I know that some poor buggers have had to take “weeks off work with depression” and I know that everyone gets anxious sometimes but unless you have experienced what I have experienced over the past few days then you can fuck off- you have no idea what its like to be mental.

This all reminds me of the time the 16 year old was diagnosed with autism- aged 3. So many people gave me the “we’re all somewhere on the spectrum” speech and as I was only young and very unsure- I took it, nodded glibly and moved on. It took me some years to pluck up the courage to reply to someone (who had told me they could only eat yoghurt with one special spoon- that’s how autistic they were) “OK, come back to me when you can’t speak, can’t communicate with body language, rub shit on the walls, pick holes in your own skin and wander onto railway tracks, then tell me where you are on the spectrum”. I still get that speech to this day and though my reply now would have different components I would be equally vehement. Unless you have been there or are there then you have no idea.

I think I may be finally writing the post that can never be published.

I am in so much pain and so chewed up inside I am struggling to actually write, I wanted to present an eloquent account of my last few days in an attempt to justify my anger and my rampant desire to be normal. Anyone who is now planning on saying or is even thinking “yes but what is “normal”, who is “normal” anyway? (complete with air quotes)” can also fuck off.

We all know what normal is, normal is being able to go out of your house alone, normal is being able to go into a shop- even though it’s been rearranged, normal is eating pasta and bread at the same meal and not frantically Googling to see if that’s what normal people do, normal is not being so “good” at self-induced vomiting that you don’t even have to touch yourself to throw up, normal is not delaying every bite of food even when you’re delirious with hunger, normal is not debating after every mouthful whether to throw-up again or not, normal is not waking up every morning lamenting the fact you didn’t die in your sleep, normal is being able to answer a ringing telephone or better still make a call, normal is being able to remember what you’ve done, who you’ve spoken to and where you’ve been- without having to refer to written hints, normal is wanting to get out of bed in the morning and get on with your day instead of spending all day wanting to climb back in, normal is not abusing prescription medication so you can sleep and escape for a while, normal is not waking up four hours after you go to bed, normal is not having to work hard to resist the desire to take a razor blade to your own skin- because you know you’re in the kind of mood where you could happily sever a limb, normal is wearing sunglasses because it’s sunny or they look good- not to stop people seeing your eyes just in case they can see inside your head, normal is being able to sit in a room with your own children in the evening without wanting to climb out of your own skin, normal is not watching TV because there’s nothing on- not because every sound from it sounds like fireworks in your head and you’re already overloaded with all the other noises the world makes, normal is keeping your house tidy because you like a tidy house- not because you can’t bear to see anything out of place, out of your control, normal is having a glass or two of wine- over an evening- not in an hour in an attempt to anaesthetise yourself from your own misery, normal is meeting new people online who you genuinely like and not being too terrified to meet them in real life, normal is going to work, normal is not being too afraid to eat a biscuit in case you end up eating the whole packet, normal is reading a newspaper, normal is being with people and enjoying it, normal is not waking up every day and not dreading the inevitable abnormality you know your day will bring.

I could go on but this has rapidly become verbal self-harm and a whinge about not being who I used to claim to be.

Several people reading this will identify with one or more of the things I have raised- but imagine having them all and more every second of every day and you get a tiny bit of insight into my “life”.

So there it is- the truth. This post does nothing to challenge stigma, nothing to educate people about mental health issues and paints a very bad picture of me indeed. I have chosen 4 special people to read this post to help me decide whether to publish it or not, if you’re not one of the 4 and you’re reading it then I hope it has helped you in some way, if so then please leave a comment to that effect.

So how have I dealt with my anger? Well I’ve written this post, I’m not sure it’s helped as I don’t feel any less mental or angry now than I did when I started it. I feel there is so much more I could say but I can’t put it into words.

On a positive note, I suppose I’ve only started feeling this way because I’ve stopped starving myself and that has to be a good thing right? Maybe I will get there one day, I hope so.

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A Second Opinion, Day 4 and a Week

Posted in bipolar, blogging, children, diagnosis, driving, Fife, health, labels, Lovely GP, mental illness, mother, parenting, psychiatrist, St Andrews, therapy, Twitter, work, tagged , on June 6, 2011 | 4 Comments »

It’s been just over a week since I blogged so I feel the need to blog again. I have nothing of interest to blog about so I will just try to mesmerise you with words in the hope that I leave you feeling you’ve just read the best blog post ever. (feel free to leave comments to that effect)

My week, as ever has been largely uneventful.

Last Wednesday I was given my “second opinion”- from the same psychiatrist that’s been treating me for 19 months- surely some mistake? It was a standardised assessment, took two hours and was heavily clouded by her own pre-judgements, so eventually, when I realised what was going on I did what all good mentalists do and told her what she wanted to hear- “I’m fine, I’m going back to work”. The <insert adjective here, all suggestions welcome> psychiatrist finished up the assessment by saying (half) jokingly “I think I’ve cured you Zoë” and that was that.

I discovered on that day, that I had waited some months for, that I do not have ADHD, alcoholism (more on that later) or a drug habit. As for the rest of it, well I’ll find out at my next appointment with the psychiatrist- in August. So no hurry then.

I’m still not entirely sure what it was I was hoping to get out of this second opinion business. Someone to support my denial that I am bipolar (no am/have debate please), some insight into what the hell actually happened this time last year, some assurance that it will never happen again? I’m still not sure. What I do know is that I didn’t get anything out of it and as is common with a lot of interactions with mental health professionals I came away confused and dissatisfied. Ultimately I went down the “meh” route, or so I thought.

On reflection I actually spent the evening and two days following the assessment beating myself up in a variety of ways that only us mentalists can. I’ll spare you the gory details but suffice to say it wasn’t pleasant.

My two days of metaphorical self-flagellation were largely alcohol fuelled at times. Those of you who follow me on Twitter will know that I have an intense love of red wine. This intense love is usually confined to weekends and other “non-school nights” and tends to go no further than sharing a bottle of whatever’s on offer that wouldn’t be good on chips with the social worker.

On Wednesday night the social worker left for a 3 day work spree darn sarf…..

And so it began. Now I am an all or nothing type of person, this applies right across the spectrum, think of anything that one does and you can be guaranteed that I will either not do it at all or take it to an extreme. Over those two nights I took alcohol consumption to new levels, so much so that when I woke up on Friday morning- I was still pissed. Given that I had an appointment with the lovely GP at 9.30am on the Friday morning, to convince her to sign the “fit for work” certificate, this was not my smartest move. Fortunately as I am plagued by the most horrendous insomnia, my days tend to begin at 5am at the latest so I was sober in time to see the lovely GP.

Lovely GP was as lovely as ever, agreed I was “fit for work” and will issue the certificate in due course. So I’m really officially not mental anymore- I even have a (pending) certificate to prove it! I feel there’s a lot more blogging to be done here about sleep and not being mental anymore but this is going to be long enough so I’ll save those topics for later.

Where was I? Oh yes….

So being the all or nothing kind of girl I am, I have quit drinking, day 4 alcohol free so far. How has it been? Meh, fine. I’m quite underwhelmed by the whole experience and reminded just how fab I am at stopping things when I choose to. It’s like “yes, stopped drinking- next!” I’m not saying I haven’t been tempted- I was tempted today after an appointment with another health professional and I will be tempted tomorrow to seek solace in alcoholic indifference after my therapy session but I can say with some confidence that I won’t. I have good reason to fall/jump from the wagon on Wednesday but again I don’t think I will.

I’ve been here before, I was a non-drinker for a large part of my adult life, as the child of an alcoholic I have an innate fear of genetic statistics and thought the best way to protect myself was just to steer well clear of alcohol. I’ve proved to myself with my 4 days abstinence and no hallucinations or trembling that I have escaped this particular inheritance but I am aware that my relationship with alcohol was becoming unhealthy.

Many people have asked me how long I think this period of smug abstinence will last and I honestly don’t know. I don’t think I’ll drink alcohol again until I feel it is safe to do so. I won’t drink alcohol again until I know I can keep to sensible limits and not use it as a tool in disordered self-destruction.

Giving up alcohol quickly becomes an exercise in “If you can keep your head when all around you are losing theirs……” (If Rudyard Kipling) as the papers say- we are a nation of drinkers. A moderate dependence on alcohol is acceptable in modern society. I am surrounded, in reality and virtually by people who “use alcohol” I’m not talking about all of you who enjoy a glass of wine with dinner on the occasional evening, I’m talking about those of you, who, like me sought solace in the warm fuzzy arms of half a bottle of good-enough Merlot. People like me that couldn’t wait to get the kids to bed so they could open the wine- never thinking for a moment if any of the kids should awaken, fall out of bed and break a leg that they would be unable to drive them to A&E. People like me who “liked a drink” but not just any drink and not before 8pm. I’m arrogant enough to be largely unaffected by what those around me are doing- which is handy as I believe the social worker is in the other room quaffing gin as we speak. I don’t think for a minute I’ll never drink or get drunk again but it won’t be for a while and it won’t be until I can trust myself again.

Christ that all got a bit heavy! Follow me on Twitter for the lighter side of abstinence!

This week will also go down in history as-

The week I nearly bought an iPad

The week the stupid car stopped going into 2nd gear when requested

The week we had summer in St  Andrews for 2 whole days

The week I had to wear a dress two days in a row because I can’t/won’t iron and the social worker was away

The week I reminded myself why an addiction to sugar free Polos was a really bad idea (again)

The week I wanted to buy a budgie

The week I fell out with the teenagers over laundry

The week the 6 year old got told about E-coli at school and proved he was his mothers son by becoming completely obsessed with washing food

The week I switched to Google Chrome and managed not to have a total meltdown over its overt newness and differentness

The week I found this website and read all 53 reviews of Jammie Dodgers

The week I decided I wanted to marry chickpeas

The week my Dad came home from Afghanistan for the first time in ages

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The Scottish election- a mentalists view

Posted in activist, bipolar, blogging, election, emotions, Fife, health, illness, Labour, mental illness, Nicola Sturgeon, politics, PPC, Scottish Parliament, stability, stress, students, Twitter, work, tagged , on May 8, 2011 | 3 Comments »

Following the disastrous results for Scottish Labour after Thursdays elections, a number of Labour bloggers have been giving their thoughts on what went wrong and what we should do next. Being not only mental but also political, I couldn’t let the events of the 5th of May pass by without comment albeit a uniquely mental, parental type of comment.

Fellow Scottish Labourite and blogger J T Smyth raises a point that resonates particularly with me “ Personally I know I did not do enough that I could have done to help the party”. Other than donating some of my (massive) collection of corex boards to my CLP, erecting a “Vote Labour” garden stake and sending a brief but heartfelt text to a friend standing in the election- I did nothing during the campaign.

Why? I don’t feel any less affiliation with the core values of the Scottish Labour Party than I did, I still think that the Scottish Labour Party are best placed to govern Scotland but I spent the campaign in a kind of election-less bubble, avoiding Scottish newspapers, skipping over tweets about the campaign, ignoring blog posts and generally just making myself unavailable. I did this for several reasons but it’s taken me a while to figure out what those reasons were.

Lack of confidence is probably the main reason I hid from this campaign, sure I blog and I tweet- without the cover of anonymity but it’s one thing being “seen” on screen, it’s a totally different facing people- people who know what happened, people who witnessed my “fall from grace” as mental ill health tightened it’s grip. At times I wish I hadn’t been so “brave” (as people are wont to call it) about my mental illness, it would be so much easier to return to my previous activities if nobody knew just how mental I’d been. I haven’t seen many party colleagues since I got ill and now that my daily interactions are mainly with health professionals and children, I don’t think I’d have that much to say to them. Even I can see that I’m no longer that rather loud, outspoken, energetic, informed activist I once was- and it feels raw, I have no desire to accentuate my failings by exposing myself to situations that amplify those feelings of being different.

Lack of stability is another reason I avoided the campaign- stress is my poison- good stress or bad stress, it doesn’t matter. I know myself well enough to know that the exhausting excitement of the campaign trail would’ve sent me reeling. Whilst this may have turned out to be “interesting” on the doorstep, I couldn’t risk the potential humiliation- for me or others. Don’t misunderstand, I’m actually really stable at the moment, manage day-to-day without the massive mood swings of the past, but only because I lead a quiet life and the most stress I encounter is a long queue at Morrisons or a six year-old demanding to use the garden sprinkler every time the temperature struggles over 10 degrees.

My other emotional Achilles heel- shame has kept my profile low for this election. During the last election campaign (May 2010 for those that have blocked it out) I went from PPC (prospective parliamentary candidate for the non-politicos) to psychiatric inpatient- the details are all on this blog somewhere. I don’t think I am ashamed that I spent time in hospital when I look at it in isolation but when I look at in relation to the circles I mixed in before I became ill- then I am ashamed. I have campaigned with and worked with party members and other politicians from all backgrounds, but I don’t remember any of them “confessing” to ever having suffered from a mental illness. Some backgrounds are favoured in politics- working class, parents, community activism, union involvement, university education but I can’t see any political party clamouring to attract those of us who have experienced mental-healthcare provision first hand. Do I think this should be different? Well of course I do. I still feel as though I have the same things to offer as I did before mental ill health got the better of me but now I have a whole new area of “expertise” to help shape policy. The question is will I ever have the confidence again to offer my views?

The good news is that I kind of got my mojo back in time for the election. In the morning, whilst driving my car to the garage again (see Twitter for the MOT saga) I wept silent tears as I tried hard not to think about the election, my past and my future in politics, I was struggling for breath at the mere thought of walking into the polling station as a simple voter as opposed to collecting turnout figures or greeting people at the door, I was mourning the previous camaraderie of election time. Fortunately I got a grip.

On Thursday, I voted (both votes Labour, yes to AV) and I smiled at the activists on the door and suppressed an overwhelming sense of grief that I did not recognise the Labour activists manning the polling station (I later rationalised that they were probably drafted in from the university so I probably wouldn’t have liked them anyway- see here). I went home, did the domestic stuff, parented for a bit and sat myself down in front of  Tweetdeck. I was still there 23 hours and several lost politicians later and I enjoyed every minute. I didn’t enjoy the absolute drubbing we got from the SNP but I had forgotten how much I like an election. Via Twitter I was able to vicariously attend counts, sample ballot papers, speak to candidates and generally just have a good taste of what was going on outside my own four walls and more importantly outside of my head.

So here comes the political bit! The results of Thursdays election were shocking but perhaps not surprising. From my perch on the periphery I could see that the Scottish Labour Party were offering nothing to the electorate, our campaign was negative and mainly centered around the ever present threat of being a victim of knife crime, as James Mackenzie put it (in an article I now can’t find and therefore can’t link to) “you are going to get stabbed”, hardly the stuff of promise. We eventually decided to adopt the SNPs promise to put a freeze on council tax but beyond that we offered very little. The Labour Party has a proud history of standing up for and representing  the Scottish people but we have failed this time. As I previously mentioned I had a garden stake……

Yes- That's the stupid car that spectacularly failed its MOT

 
…..and I lived in constant fear that someone going by would ask me why they should obey the stake and vote Labour. The only answer I had was “because we need all the help we can get”.
 
I have agonised over whether to contribute my thoughts to the “where did we go wrong” debate as after all I did nothing to help but I really feel that I must say something.
 
I was disheartened on election night as we lost more and more MSPs to hear the party spokesmen (and women) say repeatedly “the Lib-Dem vote has collapsed” as far as I saw it, this was nothing to do with our poor showing. Even I could see (and I am mental) that as a result of the coalition in Westminster the Lib-Dems were in for a beating, instead of using this as an excuse we should have mounted a campaign to scoop up those votes- and we could have done. I know that our share of the vote actually increased in several constituencies but not as much as the SNP share increased. In North East Fife alone the swing to the SNP (from the Lib-Dems) was 15%- we still came 4th.
 
So where did we go wrong? Well this post from the Yousuf has some good points but I would like to add that we failed to credit the Scottish electorate with the intelligence to separate Westminster from Holyrood. This (in spite of what Ed Milliband said today) ignorance on our part left us fighting a faux fight against the Tories in London.
 
Our election paraphernalia failed to recognise the existence and achievements of existing MSPs instead favouring those who may or may not have a future profile within the party.
 
Some of our candidates (not all) were drawn from the traditional background of career politician, there were very few “real” people for the voters to choose.
 
I honestly don’t know where we as  a party go from here and again my lack of confidence is leading to a certain amount of self-censoring. I hope that the promised “root and branch review” provides a period of time for honest reflection, I hope that grass-roots members (even those who are latent) are given an opportunity to air their views. I think Iain Gray has done the right thing in resigning as leader of the Labour Party in the Scottish Parliament- but even his title speaks volumes. The Scottish Labour Party need to forge an identity, separate from the London based labour party. I am disturbed by Ed Millibands proclamation that he will be involved with our review- given that the national Labour Party remained largely silent as the results poured in on Thursday night/Friday morning.
 
We face a very tough time but it is also an opportunity, I simply hope that the opportunity will be taken.
 
 

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It’s Back, It’s Moved and It Has A Shiny New Name

Posted in blogging, driving, mental illness, parenting, politics, work, tagged , on May 5, 2011 | 17 Comments »

I’ve decided today is the day I will return to blogging, you, dear reader, must be delighted. I know I am, I’ve just read my blog for the first time since my blogging hiatus began and by George it’s good! If you’re new to my blog I strongly suggest you go back and read all the old posts, they’re fab. Terrifyingly for me, reading some of them tonight was like reading them for the first time- but that’s mentalism for you.

As you can see I’ve moved from Blogger to WordPress- peer pressure is mainly to blame for this- all the cool kids are doing it. I do hope I’ll be forgiven for all the upcoming formatting errors whilst I suss things out. I will eventually get round to organising things properly but for now I’m concentrating on the basics.

Why did I stop blogging?

I have no idea, I haven’t been very well and although I’ve blogged during my “unwell” periods before, I just didn’t feel like it I suppose.

So what’s happened since my last post?

Loads and nothing all at the same time. I was going to do a potted history of the last 4 or 5 months but I can’t be bothered. I daresay anything I want or need you to know will come up in future posts.

Where am I now?

Hmmm. Difficult to say, possibly best to do a list of facts

- No longer on 14000 different medications- only on 1 after ditching the cocktail of mood-stabilisers and anti-psychotics in a drunken strop one evening in early January (another story for another time)

- No longer employed- fixed term contract ended in April (all offers seriously considered)

- Haven’t been back to the local acute psych ward since October 2010

- Got my driving license back

- Still mental but it’s a different kind of mental I think

- Still a parent

- Still political

And that’s about it. I’m delighted to be back and I’m really looking forward to blogging regularly again, I have loads to tell you about my exciting life as a career mentalist.

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>Hi-Ho-Oh-No

Posted in bipolar, lithium, work, tagged on September 8, 2010 | Leave a Comment »

>So I’m still depressed, I had 3 wonderful days of hypomanic respite last week but I’m back down to earth now. I’ve adopted a new positive mental attitude which basically means forcing myself to do things everyday that I don’t want to do- get up, get dressed, go out etc.

Tomorrow I’m having a much needed haircut then…….*drum roll*…….I’m going into the office for a coffee with a colleague. My heart rate increases just thinking about it- which I suppose should demonstrate it’s nothing special as my local Morrisons has the same effect, anyway, I’m going to do it.

Now that the children are back at school and I have a lot of time on my (shaky) hands my thoughts have turned to work.

I loved my job, for all the ups and downs it brought I was always happy to be there and to be part of the small select team working towards a shared goal. My job gave me purpose and identity, not to mention lots of good fun and a fairly reasonable remuneration. My job was a huge chunk of who I am or was.

I haven’t worked now for well over six months and in that time my job has been someone else’s job. I think I’ve come to terms with not being indispensable but I am plagued with worry that my time off has proved me entirely dispensable.

I often put myself in the shoes of my employer and ask would I want myself back? Would I employ someone who has been off for so long sick? I guess I wouldn’t make a very good employer as my answers are always “no”. I’m lucky, I have a good employer and I know my job will be there when I’m ready but that doesn’t make it any easier to go back.

I don’t know where I’m going to fit back in at work, from the silly things like someone else is using my desk to the serious things- I’ve no idea what’s happened over the last 6 months or so, I don’t feel I have the skills to do my job anymore now that the lithium has somewhat stunted my previously ample creativity and productivity.

I’ve been tempted to take the path of least resistance and resign, not because I want to but because it would be easier than going back. Nobody can tell me when to go back to work, my team of healthcare professionals have been quite good at telling me when not to attempt it but the decision must be mine to make when I am ready. The problem is I don’t think I will ever be ready, I think I’m just going to have to suck it and see and hope, for the sake of my shattered confidence, that I get it right.

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>Decision made

Posted in autistic, by-election, Labour, students, work on October 16, 2009 | Leave a Comment »

>I’m going to go for it and attempt to maintain a fairly informative and hopefully entertaining blog.

I also hope at some point to be able to make it look…well….a bit less shit.

Today was a fairly uneventful day, had work which to be honest was a little bit pointless and soul destroying so I’ll need to fix that.

The one good thing about work was escaping from the kids for a while- it’s the October holidays and I was all parented out- especially as the non-political parent has been away darn sarf this week with work.

Glasgow North-East by-election is now official and I’m going back tomorrow to help with the campaign. I’m a bit excited as I’ll be taking some local Labour Students with me. It’s been a long hard slog convincing the local University Labour Club that they needed to do any actual work for the party and I got as far as threatening to tear up all the requests for work experience and jobs they submitted before I had a firm commitment to help in the by-election- I bet they love it.

Having horrible sad moments this week as I realise the eldest child is 15 and old enough to be Young Labour, sadly he’s just a bit too autistic for all that. :-(

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