A medication-free recovery

It’s time to start coming off my anti-depressants.

For the past seven years I’ve been on some form of medication for my mental illness. For the past six, I’ve been on the same dosage.

But coming off my medication hasn’t been an easy decision to make. In fact, up until recently I was adamant to stay on them eternally – if it’s not broke, don’t fix it. I’ve battled with guilt about giving them up when I’ve always been vocally pro-medication. I’ve battled with a fear that I could end up suicidal again. The last time I tried to come off them I went cold turkey - I just stopped taking them and I suffered from self-harm and suicidal thoughts returned.

But this year is also a year of change for me. I’m moving in with my partner in a month’s time. I’m moving to a different part of the city – and will need to find a new GP as a result. I’m leaving a job and home I’ve loved for the past five years. I want to start working towards my driver's license (a huge mental battle for me over the years).

So why now?

I’ve been happy and coping with my mental health for a long time now. I haven't had a breakdown in years, literally YEARS. Yes, I still feel sad, I have good days and bad days. But I have more good days now, they grow in number every year.

I've also heard some negative about long-term anti-depressant use and the effects this may have on my liver. I haven't researched this one, so it may or may not be true. But it did make me rethink why I'm staying on my medication. Is it a need? Or is it just the fear of what might happen without them?

I also want to take the next step in my recovery. I've always seen recovery as a journey, not a simple solution or a quick-fix. But my recovery has been stuck at one point on the journey for years now without progressing. It's time to keep going.

So I met with my GP, and we discussed my current medication and why I wanted to quit. We also talked about my fears and she made a very valid point.

*side note* Can we take a minute here to acknowledge those amazing doctors who are supportive of mental health issues? Who get it? Those who don’t force anything on you? Those who ask how you're getting on with your medication and what do you want to do ? 

She pointed out that this will not be the same as when I tried to quit six years ago. That I've built up coping skills, knowledge and tools to help me. That I have a support system. That we can manage it slowly and gradually.

And so we put together a plan. We decided that coming off all my medication must be done gradually, and will most likely take a year.

We set a short-term three month and a six-month plan. We'd reduce one medication slowly, and then stop it. And then we'll work on reducing medication number two.

Having a professional support and encourage me on this journey has been a huge help. I don't think I could do it without her. But now I also have to work on building my supports around me.

Today is day five on my lower dosage of medication. It's the start of the next part of my mental health journey.

Until next time,

My February mental health victories

February has come to an end. It was a month of highs and lows, and my mental health took a few hits along the way. There were days I didn't want to get out of bed, days where I canceled plans, and days where I had to push through a mental block and felt the better for doing it. But today I want to look back on my month and celebrate the little things that went right - my mental health victories.

I went to a Step class
In my February mental health plan I said I wanted to try new classes at my gym. So I was brave, and on the very first day of the month I went to my first ever Step class. It was so much fun, and a super tough workout. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to make it back for a second one, but I can't wait to go back and step in March!

Gratitude Jar
I also set myself the challenge of filling a gratitude jar of things to be grateful for every single day of the month. And I did it! I have 28 reasons to be thankful this month, and each gratitude is a memory to look back on as well.

Got outside
Popular advice for helping your mental health. I'm really bad at taking this advice, but I did manage to grab some fresh air. I had the most amazing snow day at home with my pets. This was all the more special as it had been six weeks since I'd been home to see my family. I had another beautiful snow day in Dublin (there was a lot of snow in February)

I kept up my writing
After neglecting my blog last year and almost giving up, I was a bit worried January's blog enthusiasm would be short lived. But I kept writing and, even better, I keep coming up with ideas for future blog posts. Blogging regularly has been a real source of pride for me this month, so thank you all for caring enough about what I say to make this hobby worthwhile.

Collaging
This month I have enjoyed channeling my creative side by making the time to collage. I've always loved scrapbooking and making collages, so I love that I've rediscovered this hobby. One of my creations from this month was an autumnal themed page below.

Until next time and next month,

Positive thinking won't cure your depression

"Also, I was in possession of a positive outlook, which is just a trick whereby you convince yourself that the desolution of your world is a phase in your personal growth. The weird thing is it works." - Sam Lipsyte 'The Fun Parts'

I've just finished another self-help book that promises to hold the keys to findings happiness. And it got me thinking.

One of the most annoying and frequent things you hear when you have depression and anxiety is “Don’t be so negative.” Or maybe you hear “look on the Brightside.”

I get it; I’m not the most optimistic person on the planet. I don’t gush about making the most of all opportunities or finding the one good thing in a shitty situation. And I never will. I consider myself more of a realist if I’m honest.

Now I don’t know about you, but despite being told to be more positive on countless occasions and trying not to think that the worst may happen, I’m still depressed and anxious.

You see, I think positive thinking is overrated. It’s lauded as the saviour to mental health problems, when in reality it’s more like slapping a mentally ill person across the face with the false promise of the happiness they could have had if their brain was wired differently.

Positive thinking will not cure your mental illness. But that’s not to say it doesn’t have its benefits.

I did fall victim to the self-help cult of positivity. I thought that if I read enough books on the subject I would absorb at least a little bit of optimism and happiness. I can’t say I didn’t learn anything, but I certainly didn’t learn how to stop being depressed.

Over three years ago, when my depression first started to ease and I could smile and laugh and feel happiness again, I decided to start reading every self-help book I could get my hands on. I wanted this feeling to last, I wanted my mental illness to stay in ‘recovery’, not to be a daily struggle. So I read and tried to put what I read into practice.

I focused on building resilience. How to make myself stronger in the face of depression and anxiety. I was forging armour for the next time I had to go into battle with my mind.

I learned that I have negative thinking patterns, and spiralling thoughts. And I learned how to challenge negative intrusive thoughts. This is important and a huge skill. But self-help books are all too rarely written from the perspective of someone who has a mental illness. 

And often these skills fail you when you need them most.

When my depression returned to smother me, when I curled up in bed with a self-inflicted migraine and dreaded the next day - telling myself to 'think positively’ didn’t help. When I felt anxious and scratched myself enough to break the skin on my arms, I couldn’t challenge those negative thoughts. When I felt the weight of my mental illness on my shoulders, I felt guilty for not being the positive, happy person those self-help books were supposed to make me.

But yesterday when I was sitting in the canteen in work and thought, “Everyone here must hate me” I could challenge that thought and rationalise how illogical that EVERYONE hates me. Maybe one or two don’t like me, but they probably don’t care enough to hate me.

Positive thinking is something we should be doing every day - not only as a last resort. It’s one of the many coping skills you learn on the path to recovery. But we also should think twice about shoving positivity down the throats of people with mental illness. It’s not always helpful, and can cause more harm than good.

Until next time,

Hey, guess what? I’m still depressed!

I know that I'm always smiling in my Instagram photos. And that all my recent blog posts have been focused on mental health improvements and victories.

But hey, guess what? I’m still depressed!

Depression isn't the mask you show the world. The reality of living with a mental illness isn't even always evident on a mental health blog.

Being depressed doesn’t mean I’m sad all the time.

It doesn’t mean I cry myself to sleep, or that I can’t sleep. I take medication that makes me hungry and makes me sleep.

This is what depression looks like

Being depressed means that for no logical reason, I still wake up sad, lacking hope and motivation and feeling like a failure.
It means that my natural level of happiness is lower than the average person. 

That I still doubt and hate myself.
That one small comment or act can send me in a thought spiral until I'm convinced the world hates me.
That I can't pick myself back up when life knocks me down.
That I need a lot of alone time to be able to function.
That my thoughts and feelings can make me physically ill.
That I can go through entire days and weeks in a trance without registering what's going on around me.
That sometimes I live on autopilot with thinking, feeling or experiencing.
That I smile with my mouth but not with my eyes; while inside I feel self-conscious, judged, stupid, inferior.
That I feel worthless.
That I feel like I don't deserve happiness.
That I can be in a crowded room, filled with people I know, and still feel utterly alone.
That some days I can't feel anything.

It means that I live in fear of the depression winning.

I'm not doing better than you. I'm not a pinnacle of mental health recovery. Don't let my smiles and positivity fool you. I try to keep my content positive by sharing what helps my mental health in the hope that it will help others who are struggling.

I'm still struggling too. I still have bad days, hard days, horrible days. I'm still depressed. I'm still battling, living with and surviving my depression.

Until next time,

Reading for your mental health | Book prescriptions

Reading has always been a source of education, entertainment, enjoyment and escapism.

And it's something health services are catching on to. Book prescriptions are starting to play a huge role in mental health care, with services recommending mental health-related novels, psychology books and memoirs for patients. See some lists below for reading suggestions.

But reading to help improve your mental health doesn't mean you should only read books about mental health issues.

In fact, often I find books about mental health issues more difficult to read. The content is too relatable. It can end up putting you back in that place of despair, or anxiety rather than helping you break out of it. While psychology and psychiatry books are helpful, it's difficult to learn from them and put their tips into practice while in a depressive state.

For me, reading has always been a form of escapism. I read to escape my mental illness, and I will only read mental health-related books when my own mental health is good.

Last year I found myself turning to books for solace more than I have ever done before. I read every morning on my way to work, on my way home, on every bus, train or plane. I read on days off, on quiet days childminding. I read every spare second I had.

It all started when I joined Goodreads and set a reading challenge of 45 books for the year. I had no idea how many books I read a year before this, but it seemed like something to aspire to; close to, but less than, one a week. By July I had surpassed by goal, reading 72 books by the end of 2017.

And the mental health benefits were extraordinary.

• Cut down on screen time. I spent less time on my phone, in front of my laptop, and generally being aware of my online presence. I forgot to Snapchat what I was doing because my focus was on reading. 

• Sleep better. Because I was reading before I went to sleep, I fell asleep faster and had a better sleep. Limiting your screen time before you go to bed has been proven to lead to better sleep, and the nights where I did this, I definitely felt more rested in the morning. 

• Relieve stress. One of the best things about books, is escaping from the real world and your problems for a little while. After a stressful day at work I used to go home, make a cup of tea and go straight to bed watching Netflix, going over and over my problems in my head until I eventually fall asleep. But reading lets you leave the stress behind. If it's a good story, you get drawn in and forget about your troubles. And after a break from analysing my problems, I usually realise their not that bad after all. Thank goodness I'm not in the Hunger Games. 

• Always had something to talk about. One thing I find really hard about social anxiety, is trying to come up with possible conversation topics in preparation for a conversation occurring. But when you read, you have a endless supply of topics. Whether it's authors, new books, or book recommendations for other people, I have conversation on the tip of my tongue.

• Remind you that you're not alone. When I did read mental health related books, I learned more about myself than therapy could ever teach me. You discover that there are others who feel the exact same way as you do, the way that you thought only you had ever felt in the whole world, and they can describe it so perfectly that you finally realise you are not alone. 

Any book can be your prescription to better mental health, but if you want some suggestions, see the lists below.

Do you find reading helps improve your mental health? Let me know in the comments below.

Until next time,

Discover some mental health book prescriptions:

Children’s Books Ireland and First Fortnight Children’s Reading List

Bibliotherapy- created by the HSE, Dublin City Council Libraries

Read Your Mind- created by Jigsaw Tallaght and South Dublin County Council

Reading Well- Created by Reading Well

If we don't call out stigma, how can we challenge it?

Most of you probably noticed that there's been a lot of outcry over Youtubers and 'mental health awareness' lately.

From Logan Paul to Jack Jones, US and UK Youtube stars were among the latest batch of Youtubers to make offensive mental health comments over the last week.

Logan Paul hit international headlines after showing a suicide victim in one of his videos watched by millions of kids.  Thankfully, because we're a society that is trying to increase awareness of mental health issues and defeat the stigma around them, there was outcry. Paul was immediately criticised on Twitter and forced to issue an apology. He did not however take the video down, instead amassing millions more hits than he was likely to gain without any outcry.

A man who died by suicide was belittled to nothing more than a form of entertainment and gossip.

https://twitter.com/ZoeAlicia101/status/949337266341675008 

Similarly Jack Jones' advice to people with depression is to 'be happy'. Tell your depression 'to jog on'. Thanks mate, I'll try that next.

Imagine those teenagers who haven't yet told their friends about their depression. Imagine those young people being told that they can easily get over it. That it's not a real battle. Imagine their friends sharing this. Trusted figures have a responsibility to their followers, and this oversimplification of an illness showed the lack of respect he has towards educating or starting a real discussion on mental health.

This is not just a Youtube phenomenon. Celebrities and politicians put their foot in it every day. This is nothing new. But the backlash is. Social media allows us to instantly hit back at those in trusted positions and vent our disgust or anger. And who is in a more trusted position than the Youtuber parents allow their children to watch every day?

Following the Logan Paul controversy, Chrissy Teigen hit back at the outcry and tweeted "should we really be trying (to) ruin their lives and end their careers or accept the apology, personally make a choice to stop watching, and move on."

But doesn't that miss the point entirely?
If we don't call out stigma, how can we challenge it?

Paul posted the video and didn't think he did anything wrong until it was pointed out. Until his followers, and thousands that never would have heard of him until this issue, told him that he was insensitive and potentially dangerous, he didn't care. His non-apology about 'raising awareness' shows his lack of knowledge or basic research into a very sensitive subject. You cannot raise awareness by showing a lifeless body. Paul was called out to show not only him, but all his followers that what he did was wrong, and to explain why, highlighting the need for sensitivity around a very delicate and dangerous subject.

There is a line of course. And in that respect Chrissy Teigen has a point. Threats and hate messages cross that line. There is a difference between calling something out and resorting to bullying.

But Logan Paul and Jack Jones needed to be called out. And that's not a bad thing. Despite their complaints, you should never feel guilty for having stood up against the stigma, because in doing so you're standing up for all people with a mental illness.

Sending them hate messages though? Yeah, you should feel very bad for that.

Until next time,

Lonely | Why I find friendships hard

You may have noticed that one of my New Year's resolutions is to make more of an effort with friends.

I also have a daily tracker to keep a record of how many days I am doing this and accomplishing my goal. It's basically my way of forcing myself to message, talk to or visit a friend. If I learned anything from 2017 it's that I need to make more of an effort with the people in, and who I want to be in, my life.

There were too many times last year where I felt truly, deeply lonely. I felt left out, like I had no social life, like I was failing at this one huge aspect of my life.

During one particularly hard and lonely point of the year, I felt that there was a gap inside of me preventing me from being anyone's friend. I felt like it had always been there, and that I was socially inadequate.

Why I find friendships hard

I'm the person who doesn't reply to your WhatsApp message. I'm the person who doesn't have Facebook Messenger because I found group chats and messages there overwhelming. I uninstalled it and I have zero regrets. I'm the person who stops replying to Twitter DMs when you ask 'how are you?'. I'm the person who only sees their best friend once a month. I'm the person who drops off the face of the planet for four months, only to pop up in your notifications again.

My ability to make and keep friends, or rather how I feel about my ability to make and keep friends, is dictated by my mental health. If I'm enjoying good mental health, I am replying to friends, arranging coffee dates, getting the bus out to see you. However, when I feel overwhelmed, down and depressed (THE VERY TIMES I NEED SOCIAL CONTACT) I cut people out.

When my depression hits, I isolate myself. I push people away. I don't want to talk or make an effort.

I tell myself that people don't like me. I tell myself that there's no point messaging someone; I find a multitude of reasons not to. I tell myself that they'll only reply out of pity.

Sometimes the habit sticks, and even when my mental health is good I lose contact. Sometimes I find it hard to make and keep friends. Other times, it's the keeping in touch that I neglect, letting amazing friends drift away. And with working two jobs, I can always turn to 'time' as an excuse to not make an effort with friends. And I do. A lot.

The reasons I feel lonely are me

Yes, the reasons I feel lonely are because I find friendships and contact and communicating hard. But all these reasons are something I am responsible for. I can't blame anyone else. And I also can't expect it to ever change or improve if I don't take action.

So it's time to tackle it.

My daily tracker has already been encouraging me to reach out to friends I haven't spoken to in a while and to keep in regular contact with others. I'm even replying to Snapchats and Instragram stories like I never have before. I know that this is only one tool to help me be a better friend. And I expect that when my mental health takes a knock, I'll still struggle. But that's okay. Because change starts with the small steps. And change starts here.

Until next time,

I'm only surviving

I feel broken.

Last week I realised I was in pain; that I'd been in pain for a while now. I hadn't noticed this pain, it has been hidden, kept under wraps, out of sight. But I took a day off work. And without having a structure to my day, without a reason to get up in the morning, I felt that pain come to the forefront in full force. I was hit by the weight of it and it crushed me. I couldn't move, I couldn't do anything but lie in bed and cry.

Every day for the past six weeks I have woken up sad. There's no other way to describe it but than an overwhelming sense of sadness. I feel it in every part of my body - from my mind to by bones. My entire physical body feels this sadness and carries it within.

While I don't want to, I get up when my alarm goes off.  I don't want to go outside today. I don't want to leave my bed. But I do. I keep getting up.

At some point over the past six years of this battle, suicide stopped being an option. Self harm stopped being an option.
Now I survive. I keep going.
I just try to get from one end of the day to the next.

I follow my routine. Get up. Shower. Get dressed. Eat breakfast. Go to work. Go home. Eat dinner. Go to bed. All with a fake smile plastered on my face.
I keep going, but only out of a sense of obligation. I have no other choice but to keep going. But I don't live. I don't experience. I don't enjoy, or savour, or any other possible positive feeling. I just do.
My senses are muted. I'm on auto pilot.
I'm not in my body, I'm watching from the outside. I'm surviving and doing without really seeing or feeling.

My auto pilot setting doesn't allow me to care about anything other than getting from my bed, back to my bed.

I feel incomplete. I know I'm not living. That I'm barely getting by.
I'm tired and quick to anger.
I'm not me. Or if I am, I don't like the person I am.

I don't want to think about the sadness, or the pain, or why I feel this way. I don't want to stop to reflect, I can't think of anything worse. So I just keep going, because I feel like I have to keep going. I feel out of options.
There is nothing in my life I should feel this miserable about. I've a good job, a home, family. I feel guilty for having all this, and yet still in pain.

I just want it be next month or next year or next time I don't wake up like this.

When being a mental health activist gets hard

The first year after my diagnosis with depression was hard. I had expected a quick-fix, but it was six months and five different drugs later and I still didn’t want to live. I struggled to get by day-to-day. I continued to withdraw and lost friends. I acted out self-destructively. I felt lost, and what I needed was to find a purpose for my depression.

I found meaning in mental health campaigns and activism. I got involved in local college groups that promoted the message “Talking is a sign of strength.” It was an easy thing to throw my weight behind – talking had literally saved my life. And I never wanted anyone to feel as alone and without help as I had.

We ran awareness campaigns of the supports available to students, hosted talks on eating disorders and CBT and tried to reach those who needed help. We held regular tea and coffee mornings to promote talking. And people would talk. I’d be taken aside to chat to someone vulnerable. To tell them that it’s okay not to feel okay, but sometimes we need help. They’d tell me about their battles, their hardships, their attempts.

And I was ever so grateful, don’t get me wrong. How much I would have loved to have someone listen to me and chat to me about my illness after my diagnosis. I had needed like-minded people with their experiences of mental illness to talk to. And that’s what I’d found through activism.
 But I went home feeling these people’s pain. Often their stories were triggering to me. It brought me back to exactly how I’d felt and how I'd hurt. And when we lost a life, I took that personally. “If only my activism had reached them”, I’d think. “If I’d done more, could I have saved them?”

My activism found a national stage through the Green Ribbon campaign. I was interviewed in national newspapers and on TV. People I didn’t know, people I used to know reached out to me to say they could relate. They’d been through something similar. They had lost a friend to a similar battle.

But then the questions started:

What medication are you on? What brand works for you?
When are you going to stop taking medication? Aren’t you worried you’ll get addicted?
But how serious actually was your depression?
Don't you think you should go back to counselling?  

When I left university and entered the workplace, I lost contact with like-minded people. I have always been the youngest person on my team in any place I’ve worked over the past three years. I quickly became aware of how much stigma still exists. I didn’t know how to react to office lunchtime conversations, or even if I should react?

 “There’s definitely something mentally wrong with him.” 

"Terrorists are all mentally ill. There's no other excuse." 

"I always thought depression wasn't real; it's just something in your head."

If I speak up I’ll probably get upset. How will people treat me if I do admit that I have depression?

I started my blog. I started sharing more indepth the daily struggles of depression and anxiety. I joined mental health chats on Twitter and met more like-minded activists through the Internet. But when life got in the way and I started to miss those chats, when I couldn't keep up or commit my time, I lost a lot of support.

You start to become the 'mental health' person in your social groups. Someone uses the word 'mental' or 'depressing' in a conversation and all eyes turn to you to see how you're going to react.

I remember when my boyfriend and I first started dating. We had mutual friends in common and I was fearful that someone may have already told him about my mental illness before I was ready to myself (they did). I was scared he’d find my blog; an open chronicle of seven years of mental illness. I had made myself open and vulnerable by being so public.

It came up on our second date. He told me a friend had already mentioned the blog to him. I looked down at the table and tugged at my sleeves as I explained my mental illness to him. I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. But thanks to my activism, I was forced to.

You make yourself vulnerable when you speak up about your mental health. Some days you get support and feel empowered.

Other times it feels like you’re constantly being attacked. Sometimes even media articles feel like a personal attack. They tell you not to take it personally, but it is personal. After years of relentlessly defending yourself, your own choices, your approach to activism and raising awareness, heck of even defending the fact that mental illness exists, you get exhausted. And I am tired. I am not always strong enough to be 'active'. Some days I have to put my own mental health first.
Some days are turning into most days.

Just like how I had hoped for a quick fix to my own mental illness, I thought there might be a quick fix to the stigma. I thought my activism would change things. But after fighting for so long, most of the time it feels like I haven't changed a thing.

As hard as it gets, as tired as it gets, you try to keep going. You don't want to give up, because there's a fight still ongoing. But boy is it draining. And one day there will a come a day when my own mental health will have to come first.

Until next time,

Last week I forgot to take my medication and this is what it felt like

Last Sunday I was staying over at my boyfriend’s house. It’s a regular enough occurrence, regular enough that I instinctively pack my bag without much thought before I go. Except on Sunday my instincts let me down. Coming off a 20-hour shift, I forgot to add my anti-depressants to my bag.

I knew the outcome wouldn’t be good. But I put on a brave face and said “I’ll be fine” every time my boyfriend asked. I went to sleep around 10:30pm, well aware that the next day wasn’t going to be pleasant.

My alarm went off at 7am, and I could barely open my eyes. Four snooze buttons and 20 minutes later, I knew I HAD to get up or I’d be late for work. But when I tried to get up, when I tried to tell myself I had to go and shower, I didn’t want to.

I’m not talking about the ‘I don’t want to get up this morning’ feeling that me and everyone else has every morning as we struggle with our wake-up call. This was a total shutdown of my systems. My legs didn’t want to stretch out of bed and stand up, my eyes didn’t want to open, my body didn’t want to stand under a shower and get wet, my head did not want me to get up.

I had no motivation to move.

I slowly got my bearings. I didn't have a choice. Like following instructions from a manual, I went step by step, following the same routine I do every day.

Get up.

Shower.

Dress.

But when I came back to the room after my shower, I just sat on the bed in my towel. 3 minutes passed. I knew I better start moving. 7 minutes passed, and I had one item of clothing on.  I can’t tell you what I was thinking of in that time. I couldn’t have told you just 2 minutes afterwards. But I sat there, spaced out for 10 minutes until I finally started to move. Moving was much opposed by my whole body. It required significant effort.

Hair.

Make up.

Breakfast.

Almost ready to leave, I turned to my boyfriend and said “I don’t feel right today.”

It’s difficult to explain what not feeling ‘right’ means. But I knew this feeling, I was familiar with it. It put me right back into the shoes I wore seven years ago. I didn’t feel like me.

The world looked different when I left the house that morning. Not metaphorically different, literally. It was like I couldn’t see clearly. It was hazy, blurry. My sight wasn't focused.

I had an overarching, ingrained feeling that something bad was going to happen. A feeling of impending doom. I was anxious and scared.

And my head. Oh good God, my head. I could feel the pressure pushing between my brain and my skull. Or was it the noise? At some point the pressure turned into noise. I couldn’t think clearly.

The rest of my day continued in the same vein. I watched the clock move ever so slowly to 5pm, just waiting til I could go home, take my tablets and get into bed.

Missing my medication shook me for the whole week. I found myself chasing that sleep I missed every night afterwards. It's been even harder to shake the anxiety and the not feeling like me.

Something similar happened on my family holiday back in July. Rather than packing my two types of medication, I brought only the one kind (and double of it). The whole week I took twice my usual dose of this medication, completely missing the other medication. I didn't even realise what I'd done until the day I arrived back home.
I hadn't been able to explain my low moods, mood swings and general feeling of unease all holiday until then - it finally all made sense.

Despite what these two recent occasions might suggest, I don't make a habit of forgetting to take my medication. It's usually very rare - missing one type of medication on two nights out of 365 say. But it has huge effects. It shows me how much I need my meds to sleep, concentrate and just function in my everyday life.

On these rare occasions, I'm only a mere shadow of myself. Without my medication, I'm not me.

I can’t take criticism

I’ve always wanted to be one of those people who can take criticism in their stride. You know the type, it seems to roll right off of them. They can take it on board, move on and get over it.

I am not one of those people. Critiques, comments and criticisms can play on my mind for not only days or weeks, but sometimes months after.

One personal failing of mine has haunted me for about 20 years. Me and my sister were at a fun fair, but our parents would only allow us to go on one ride. My sister wanted the bumper cars, but I wanted the ghost train. As the youngest sibling, my choice won out. But alas, the ghost train was the LEAST scary horror show ever put on and we ended the ride very disappointed. I’m guessing my sister voiced her dissatisfaction with my choice. Or maybe I just blamed myself. Either way, I’ve been replaying this incident for the past two decades as proof that I make bad choices every time I’m faced with a decision.

I guess what I’m saying is, I’m sensitive. And your critical opinion plays on my own insecurities.

Source

Spotted a typo in my blog post and pointed it out publicly? That’s a paddlin.

Asked me to repeat myself for a third time? That’s a paddlin.

It’s like I have to think of myself as perfect. And if you point out anything less than perfect, it’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.

I write by profession. Having a typo called out feels like a real personal failure. The fear hits me. Is my whole job jeopardized because I make typographical errors? What if I'm fired? If I'm not good at this, then  (because not perfect = total failure to me.)

As a kid (and still sometimes now as an adult-in-denial) I would get my r's and w's mixed up. I can specifically remember doing spellings in like my third year of primary school and two of the words to learn for that week were Jar and Jaw. And I could not say them for the life of me.

Anytime someone asks me to repeat myself, I get flashbacks of my angry school teacher asking me to repeat Jaw again and again. (I still can't say it today, and refer to it as 'the chin area').

I guess it's just a part of my sensitive personality. Yano? The reason I cry at films, TV shows, books, personal stories etc. The reason I was probably predisposed to depression to begin with. The way I feel about things.

I'm not over my past. I'm not over my insecurities. And I'm still wrapped up in feeling like a failure and being self-conscious.

But I do want to work on it. I want to not presume everything you say to me is actually an insult. I want to believe that when you point out an error, a mistake, or some make-up I forgot to blend in it's not a commentary on how I'm failing in my every day life. But it's not that simple.

I'm trying to remind myself that no one's perfect. That perfect is a myth. That I've been buying into this myth my whole life. That skinny celebs are also not perfect, because being skinny isn't all that great.
And I'm trying to learn to handle criticism more constructively. Like, I will carefully check I have blended my make-up correctly in better lighting.
And just to take criticism. Take it and not over think or over analyse it. Just take it and carry on with my life without having it weigh me down.

(Seriously, throw your criticism at me – I want to learn to take it.)

Until next time,

I’m over ‘get over it’

There are many terms that reinforce the stigma around mental health. And I’m sick of them. Every time you use an out-dated, offensive and utterly unhelpful remark it tells me that my mental illness isn't legitimate. 

Here are some of the worst offenders that I'm totally over.

“Get over it.”

If only it were that simple to abandon all worries, fears and insecurities... 

“Look on the bright side.”

Oh thanks hun, I’ll be sure to keep my anxiety-ridden negativity to myself in future.

“It’ll get better.”

Now that YOU say it, I suddenly believe it! Yes, it will get better, but when? How much longer do I have to feel like this? When will the pain finally end?

“It’s so depressing.”

No hun, depression isn’t an adjective. It’s an illness. And what you’re feeling right now, what you think is comparable to my illness, is not depression. Also said as "Everyone gets depressed/depression at some point."

“It’s all in your head.”

I know it’s in my head, which is why its so all-consuming and I can’t escape it.

“Maybe you should go back to therapy if it's that bad.”

Do you think it's that easy to walk into an appointment? Ever hear of waiting lists? Understaffing? Lack of resources? In an ideal world we'd all be in therapy, not just those of us who are struggling. 

“You’re getting worked up over nothing.”

This. Does. Not. Feel. Like. Nothing.

“You should try meditation.”

I've tried most things to help with mental health at this stage, including meditation. It doesn't work for me but sure, keep making helpful suggestions. Also filed under "You should try exercise/God/journaling and other countless tips."

“You shouldn't take medication for your depression.”

Seriously? What makes you think that you have a right to tell me how to manage my mental illness? Why are you trying to shame me for managing my mental illness?

“But you don't have that anymore, do you?”
Is there a time limit on mental illness I didn't know about? Am I meant to be recovered by now? Am I less of a person if I do still have it? Why do I now suddenly feel like a failure?

What unhelpful and insensitive phrases are you over when it comes to mental health? Have you got any to add to my list?

The Recovery Letters

Last year I was privileged to be asked to contribute to The Recovery Letters book. The Recovery Letters started as an online website - with a series of letters written by people recovering from depression, addressed to those currently affected by or experiencing a mental health condition.

Now a book edited by James Withey, the letters can be bought, cherished and read wherever you are.

Addressed to 'Dear You', the letters provide hope and support as a testament that recovery is possible.


'This book will save lives, which can't be said of many. Writing or reading a letter strikes at the sense of isolation which is at the root of despair. Read this book, buy it for others, it's rare and powerful medication.' - Gwyneth Lewis, author of Sunbathing in the Rain: A Cheerful Book about Depression

Writing my letter, I struggled with the notion of recovery. I've never defined myself as having 'recovered' from depression. It's something I've always struggled with, and written about these struggles on this blog. But writing my letter helped me find peace with the notion of 'recovery'.  I realised that I wasn't the person I used to be. I wasn't lost, alone or hopeless. I have made progress. I was in recovery. And here I was, sharing my story for others so that they too know there is hope.

My recovery letter

You can buy the book online here.

Everyone hates me.

I’m crying. I’m crying really hard and really loud because I think everyone hates me.

In fact, I know they must hate me. My family, my housemates, my work colleagues. Everyone.

And why do they hate me? Because there’s something wrong with. I’m wrong. I don’t fit in. I don’t have many friends because people don’t like me. I’m too argumentative, too passionate about my world views. And when I show that side, people want to leave. When I’m not arguing, I’m too quiet. I’m shy and reserved. People don’t like that. I force awkward silences on them. I don’t have anything to say so I keep my mouth shut. I don’t like sharing.

Want to know how my holiday was?

‘Good. Fine. Only a few showers. Mostly dry. Went swimming’.

You’re not getting anything else out of me.

That’s not normal. I’m not normal. What’s wrong with me?

On Saturday night I sat up for hours crying. A never-ending stream of thoughts filled my head. Examples of social rejection, fights with siblings, throwaway comments made years ago all came back to me as evidence that I am hated. After everything I've done, I hate to be. I jumped from conclusion to conclusion. I was trapped. I couldn’t get out of my mind, I couldn’t make it stop. Everything that I was ever self-conscious of, any past event that ever could make me feel self-conscious flooded my brain.

But then it occurred to me.

Hurt yourself to make the thoughts stop. You know it works. You’ve done it before.

Pathetic, I thought. Seriously mental illness? You think you can trick me that easily? I am not going to do that.

I cried until I was numb. I cried until half of me felt already dead, and the other half wanted to die.

"You're getting yourself worked up over nothing".

 But it doesn't feel like nothing. It feels real.

I don’t know what Saturday night was. A breakdown? An episode of depression? A relapse?

All I know is that it will take a while to shake off and fully get over. I still feel emotionally and physically drained. I still feel like a lesser, emptier me. And I still feel like people don’t like me. However, I’m being more realistic about it. Everyone doesn’t hate me, because not everyone in the world has met me. But, everyone may possible hate me if they ever do meet me. I’m challenging these destructive thoughts one step at a time. 

I still feel an overwhelming sense of sadness. I still feel too preoccupied with the stream of negative thoughts only I can hear to really pay heed to anything going on around me. 

I stepped out in front of a car this morning. Not intentionally. I was just so withdrawn and so consumed by my mind that I didn't think to look. I was lucky I didn't get hurt. 

This was the worst low I can remember in the past two years. But it differs from how I used to feel in a time before medication and support. It differs because despite what my mind told me, I didn't want to die. I didn't want to hurt myself to make the feelings stop. Hell, it was hard ignoring those thoughts, convincing myself not to act on them. But I did it. 

Despite Saturday night, I'm still winning the battle against my mental illness. 

Is talking about mental health really ending the stigma?

We've been talking about mental health for years now.

It's in the media every day. Another personal story, another awareness campaign. It rarely ceases.
It's mainstream now. We’re all familiar with the term.
So what if many people still think it synonymous with mental illness? At least they know about mental health.

It's a cause that has ambassadors.

A-listers are revealing their eating disorders, medication, anxiety and depression in ever increasing numbers.
Amanda Seyfried. Katy Perry. Prince Harry.
They bring a sense of glamour to the usual discussions of mental health.

Even in Ireland it’s been on everyone’s tongues for the past number of years.
We have male sports stars and musicians speaking out specifically to encourage men to get talking about their mental health.
Conor Cusack. Philly McMahon. Bressie.

I've been blogging about mental health for just over three years. And I’ve lost count of the number of Irish mental health bloggers out there.

But is it enough? What has all this talk about mental health got us?
News reports continue to show that we aren't lowering suicide rates. People continue to feel alone, to not ask for help, to self-harm, to die by suicide.

People may be talking about mental health, but that doesn’t mean they care enough to provide it with adequate funding. Mental health services are under resourced. There are not enough of them, not enough staff, and certainly not enough beds. Waiting lists are growing because, while we are encouraging people to seek help for their mental health, we’re not ensuring that ‘the help’ is available to listen.

recent headlines

So are our conversations ending stigma? Are we saying the right things?

When a white man commits an act of terror, we’re told it’s motivated by mental health.  

When Ant McPartlin, one half of the UK’s most famous and award winning TV presenting duo, entered rehab for ‘depression and substance abuse’ he’s told to go get ‘real problems’. 

Britney Spears infamous breakdown in 2007 is still used a slur today. ‘I haven’t shaved my head yet’, said Katy Perry earlier this year. Because she may be mad, but at least she’s not that mad. 

Sinead O’Connor. Amanda Bynes. Kanye West. Their mental health battles are not taken seriously by the media because they don’t fit with our image of a celeb. They should be happy, rich and have it all. 

Sympathy isn’t our first response when we see mental illness. We question motives. Wonder if it’s attention seeking. Tell them their problems aren’t real issues like a physical illness is. There’s no arguing with the severity of a physical illness that you can see after all. 

Shops continue to use mental illness as a joke to sell products. From slogans on Urban Outfitters t-shirts to straitjacket Halloween costumes in Tesco, it takes public outrage rather than common sense to pull these products from stores.

Have we succeeded in anything? 

Personally?
Sure, I feel less alone seeing mental health in the media and social media. I think, “Great! Now people will understand that it’s real, I didn’t choose this.” 

But that’s not always the reality. I still hear comments reinforcing stigma, mainly regurgitating what the media spews out. I overhear lunchtime conversations saying 'people with mental illness are dangerous' and 'I wanted to hang myself'. 

If I ask myself that same question as a service user? Well, I still feel alone. I still don’t have access to the care that I need. I still don’t have professional support. If I have a relapse in the morning and find myself in a major depressive episode, I wouldn't know where to turn for help, or even if I ever would get help.

I also ask myself this question as another service user. Perhaps one with schizophrenia. Because unlike me with my diagnoses of anxiety and depression, people with schizophrenia don't see their mental illness openly addressed in the media. While there is greater understanding now of what depression actually is, the same level of coverage isn't given to other mental health problems. There is still a major misunderstanding that schizophrenia involves multiple personalities. The media aren't so quick to clear up these misunderstandings. 

So then, what next for mental health?

Sometimes it's hard not to feel like you're speaking into a vacuum. Especially when the media still play on stigma when it comes to celebrities and crime. Especially when politicians have yet to answer our cries for help.

But that should never mean we stop trying. Conversations around mental health have changed substantially in the past 10 years alone. Who's to say we won't break down more stigma in the next 10 months, yet alone years?
So never stop.
Even when you look around and see how far we have yet to go. Let that be your strength to carry on the war. 

No one expects depression

No one expects depression.

No one expects it in the teen striving for attention.

No one expects it to be high-achieving.

No one expects it to be sitting in a lecture theatre with 200 other people, diligently taking down notes.

No one expects it to be status after status on social media.

No one expects it to be the fast-talking, enthusiastic volunteer.

No one expects it to be at a concert, singing their heart out.

No one expects it to be the one with their whole life ahead of them to look forward to.

No one expects it to be the girl dancing with her friends, taking pictures with drinks in hand.

Or the one with the confidence to hook up with a guy she met on a night out.

No one expects depression to be all consuming but yet still invisible.

No one expects depression to be high-functioning; to be able to leave the bed yet alone the house.

No one expects depression to go unnoticed.

No one expects to be oblivious to their own depression.

No one expects asking for help with depression to get them nowhere.

I didn’t know what I expected depression to be. But it wasn’t this.
It wasn’t the carrying on as normal. The hiding it from friends and family.
I thought depression was noticeable. That there'd be a big warning sign at least internally, if not externally. That I would know what was going on inside my head, and what was wrong with me.
But when I was diagnosed, I was expected to carry on as normal. To stay in the city away from my family. To go to class. To sit my exams.

Where were the straitjackets I was promised on TV? Why wasn’t I lying down, looking serene while at therapy? Why was my madness not visible?

No one expects depression to look normal. But the reality is that it does. There are people with depression waiting in line with you at the coffee shop, getting the same bus to work with you everyday, living in the apartment next door.
You can't tell.
And when it hits you, you weren't expecting the sheer force of the hit. But you're expected to cope, to carry on, to recover.

Mental illness doesn't live up to expectations.
So don't be so quick to leap to conclusions. 

Mental health in the workplace

I'm a 24 year old professional who works 9-5 in an office-based job. Sounds pretty boring, right?

I actually love my job, and I know I'm one of the few lucky enough to say that. I enjoy the challenges, the mundane everyday tasks, and often not knowing a new day will bring.

As someone who usually has extreme anxiety when facing the unknown, I'm surprisingly okay with the fast pace and level of uncertainty that comes with my job. Yes, you see I am also mentally ill.

Mental illness can present challenges in any environment, but it's something that it commonly tricky in the workplace. I have both friends and acquaintances who have personally faced stigma and discrimination at work due to their mental health. Some have been bullied and harassed due to their illness.

A study published today found that almost half of all people in Ireland's capital city would not want to work with someone who has a mental illness.Half of people surveyed would not want to work with ME. And let me tell you, they're missing out because I am darn good at my job.

Today I want to talk about me experiences with mental health in the workplace, and why I'm now succumbing to stigma and keeping my mental illness under wraps.

Over the past four years, I've been in a number of unpaid or low-paid internships, and part-time jobs. Mental health was a topic that would come up naturally. My CV and past experience is littered with mental health awareness campaigns and events, and I am proud to have been Chairperson of a mental health committee in my university. As a result, I've had job interviews where I told prospective line managers about my mental health mid-interview.

"What inspired you to gt involved in mental health campaigns?" "Well, I ended up getting involved in mental health awareness after my own mental breakdown..."

The topic was on the table. And if I felt that I needed to, I knew the way for paved for me to talk to my line manager about my mental health.

That's not to say I haven't faced stigma. I've sat around the lunch table with colleagues where I've had to listen to:
"Terrorists are all mentally ill. There's no other excuse."
"I always thought depression wasn't real; it's just something in your head."
"Donald Trump has to have a mental illness. All the signs are there."

There have been times where I felt confident enough to rebuff a throwaway comment about mental illness with fact and logic. But there have been other times where I've kept my head down and my mouth shut. Or where my personal experience of mental illness has been dismissed with some pseudo-science someone has read online.

But now that I'm in a 9-5 full-time job? I've kept my mental health relatively under wraps.
As an online advocate and offline mental health ambassador, I know I'm being a hypocrite. I know that I should wear my badge with pride and start the conversations required to end stigma. But life's not that simple. And stigma is real, and sometimes fear of this barrier is too high for me to breakdown. Sometimes remembering what people I know have faced and been put through for revealing their mental health in work causes me to fear the same stigma that I may have to deal with.

Like when filling out forms on my medical history before I could start my job. I sat staring at that form for at least ten minutes trying to decide whether I would admit my own diagnoses or current medication.
Where would this files live? Would my colleagues have access to this data? Could someone in HR look up my medical history and discuss it over lunch with another colleague? Would it be passed on to my managers?

Or when faced with another form for declaring your disability. Was my illness currently debilitating enough to be classified as a disability? What if it's not today but is tomorrow?

Here I am staring at paper and inflicting stigma on myself.
I have no reason to presume my workplace would be unsupportive. But I choose to hide. I feel safer this way. This is how I protect myself any possible future hurt.

This way, I don't have to have a comeback when someone makes a stupid, inaccurate comment about mental illness.
This way, I don't have to be the one explaining why not all terrorists are mentally ill.
This way, I don't have to defend my very diagnosis.

But here's what I will do. I will put some Green Ribbon posters up in my office and stick some green ribbons in the canteen. Because maybe someday I will feel ready to tell a co-worker why I got into this line of work. And I want them to be ready.

This May is Green Ribbon month. Wear a green ribbon and show that you are willing to talk about mental health and end the stigma.
Visit www.greenribbon.ie to find out more.

I hate national holidays and big occasions.

It's St Patrick's Day and I'm really depressed. I hate days like today. I hate national holidays and big occasions. I don't like New Years; I've never had a good New Years Eve. Christmas always feels anti-climatic. They never live up to the build-up or hype.

I hate these days where people are expected to act a certain way. Right now, as an Irish person, I should be in the streets watching a green parade pass me by; in a pub listening to trad music or Ed Sheeran's new album; with green, white and gold painted on my face.

Instead I'm wrapped in my favourite blanket, fighting back the tears. I'm not sure what to do. Maybe watch some Netflix, read a book - but my heart's not in it. My heart's hollow.

I hate the pressure that comes with occasions like today. I hate the knowledge that everyone else, or at least what feels like everyone else, is out having fun. That the people I know are probably in the pub. I hate the fact that I'm not doing what's considered normal.

I'm feeling emotional and down. I'm feeling unwanted and unloved. My head is filled with thoughts of why I'm a terrible person. Replaying all the embarrassing things I did or said over the past week; the occasions where I said the wrong thing or overreacted. I wish I was more likable. I wish that I could like myself.

And in back of all these thoughts and fear is that I'm inadequate. How I'm not doing what's expected of me this St Patrick's Day. I can't even be a normal person, or do what normal people do. I feel like a failure.
On days like today my depression usually wins. I don't know how to fight back; how to pause my thoughts for long enough to have a chance of fighting back. So I sit in my favourite blanket as it takes over me, submitting to the strength of mental illness and allowing it this one victory.

No Tears Before Breakfast

I used to have a rule for my depression.

No tears before breakfast

Those four little words got me through some really tough mornings. One of the hardest parts of being in a depressive episode is trying to get out of bed in the morning. You have no motivation to get up. You are still groggy and tired from your meds and the nightmares. The day can only get worse from here.

No tears before breakfast

It sounds silly, but I would repeat this rule as a mantra on my worse days. If I woke up anxious about the day ahead, feeling physically sick and emotionally drained, on the verge of tears, I would say those four little words over and over.

No tears before breakfast

I would repeat the rule.
Even though depression doesn’t live by any rules. It doesn’t go away when you tell it to, and it sure as hell doesn’t let your day get any better when you try to tell yourself that it can.

But having this rule helped. If if managed to get through my breakfast without tears, my logic was that it didn't matter when or how often you cry after that. If I managed to get through breakfast before shedding any tears, the day didn't feel that bad after all.

You see, sometimes you just need to convince yourself, even if only for a moment, that there is hope. That things can get better.
And hey, if you managed to get through breakfast this morning without any tears, then this day is not as bad as the days when you were at your worst.

No tears before breakfast

For months, I woke up with my alarm and began getting ready for work. I seemed normal, doing what normal people did. Those non-depressed people. But I was grinding my teeth as I repeated this mantra. Fighting back the tears, fighting to appear normal and make it out the door to face the day. Some days, those four little words got me through the day.

I’m not saying this was a healthy way to manage my mental health. I didn't acknowledge my emotions, and I didn't accept the fact that things are not okay. That I was not okay.

But sometimes a mantra helps. Sometimes the act of repetition helps. And sometimes we need to find a way of carrying on. And no tears before breakfast was my way.

The Thing About Nightmares and Depression

"Have you ever had really bad nightmares?"

I was asked this on a night out with friends. We discuss everything and anything on our nights out; from the new Lego Batman movie to rugby, work, books and overseas trips. Not unusually, the conversation ended up at sleep paralysis, and in turn, nightmares.

There are many ways to answer this question - a simple yes/no, a joke about how my excessive watching of true crime documentaries means I have no fear anymore, or heck, even the truth.

But I clammed up. I thought about answering. I thought about lying. I thought about answering honestly and frankly. I thought about telling them of how real my nightmares have felt. I thought about telling them about the nights I lay sleepless, too afraid to sleep. Or of the worst nightmare of them all. Of feeling trapped and suffocating and unable to wake up. Of recalling your nightmare in the middle of the day and freezing with the reminder of that real pain you felt. Or the days when it felt like I was still asleep and living through those nightmares. Of how my depressive nightmares are very different to my medicated nightmares.
About how I don't have night terrors of that severity anymore unless I forget to take my medication.

But that would involve bringing up my medication, and in the process my mental illness. Reminding everyone that I'm not quite okay. That I'm still not 'normal'.

In the end I choked on my answer. I swallowed it back down and said nothing.

I've discussed depression-induced nightmares on the blog before. It's not a new topic for me. But sometimes, when it comes to opening up in person, I clam up. I can't say the thing that stigmatizes me. That makes you look differently at me. That reminds you I am the same person who writes about their mental health online.

But then the next night I did forget my medication. I fell asleep without swallowing my two tablets which keep me sedated, pupils dilated, and sane. My routine is to take my tablets an hour before bed, fall asleep on cue and sleep throughout the night. I wake up groggy, always, but rested enough to get through the day.

But not on Saturday night. There's something about my dreams when I forget my medication. They're vivid, more real. I can recall them as soon as I wake up, like they've just happened. And they trap me. There is always a moment when I try to wake up. I can't open my eyes. It becomes a fight. I struggle to wake up but I'm trapped. I become fearful as I try to wake up. I panic.
And when I do wake up, I feel physically sick. I'm disorientated. And I can't tell the difference between reality and what just happened in my head. It's scary. I have no words to describe how scary these nightmares are because there is nothing quite as scary for me to compare them to. They keep me up at night and prevent me from waking.

Yes, I have had really bad nightmares. But I take medication to keep them away.