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.
Monday, 26 June 2017
Friday, 23 June 2017
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.
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.
Tuesday, 13 June 2017
Old habits
It’s easy to fall back into old habits.
For me, it’s patterns of thinking. Thinking negative
thoughts to be precise.
“Everyone hates me”. “She’s been giving me dirty looks all
night”. “Why can’t I be more social like everyone else?” "I don't want to do that in front of everyone."
And these thoughts have gripped me with anxiety. Over the
past few weeks I’ve lost any small trace of a care-free, easy going attitude I
ever had.
I’m paranoid. I’m scared of meeting new people. I’m too shy
and awkward to get involved in group conversations. I’m worrying over little
thing I’ve said. I’m comparing myself to others. I’ve been going to bed in
tears, unable to explain my sudden loss of confidence.
I’ve thought about quitting my blog entirely, deleting it,
in fear that someone will use it against me.
And it’s made me feel ill.
What’s happened to me?
I can’t remember when I last felt this hopeless and
helpless. It used to everyday, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been
trapped by these old habits. And now they’re back with a vengeance.
It’s debilitating not being able to escape your own mind. You
can’t switch it off. You can’t even get a good night’s sleep, with your fears
and anxieties often plaguing your dreams as well.
I’m sick of feeling insecure, paranoid and like I’m 15
again. I’m sick of caring so much what everyone thinks of me. I’m
sick of thinking they all hate me.
But I don’t know how to make it stop.
Wednesday, 7 June 2017
Time Out
I’ve been taking some time out from the Blogosphere lately. I’ve needed it.
Life offline has taken some pretty difficult turns over the past two months and brought with it a lot of changes. I’ve needed to focus my attention in the real world, with my family and friends by my side.
I felt guilty about it. Leaving my space on the Internet to gather dust was never my intention. What did I work so hard building it up for if I was to abandon it so suddenly, without excuse?
But it’s what I’ve needed to do to clear my head, get my thoughts in order, and find a way of coping with the obstacles thrown at me.
And why should I feel guilty about that?
Tuesday, 6 June 2017
Do you have issues?
Ever been asked something so direct that you’re not sure whether to ignore it, answer it honestly, or just downright lie?
Sometimes direct questions need a sure-fire automatic response.
How are you?
Not too bad I say, often feeling the opposite and wishing I didn’t always automatically respond with the same standard answer. Where's my honesty? Why am I saying the same thing over and over without stopping to think about it first and then answering?
Direct questions are often hard to answer. Especially when you have a mental illness.
They are asked every day, multiple times a day, all the time.
How are you?
And often we develop a standard response as a defense mechanism. We don't want to reveal too much, give ourselves away. So we lie.
But this weekend took on a whole new dimension. I was asked a question I haven’t been asked in years. Not since I was at my worst, and clearly I wasn’t doing very well at hiding my worst.
Do you have issues?
Let’s also note that huge emphasis was placed on the ‘you’ here. Just in case I hadn’t realised the personal, insulting meaning of ‘issues’, it was elongated and thrown at me with rage.
But how do we answer a question so direct, so personalised, and so angry?
Do we answer honestly? Yes actually. Many issues. Donald Trump. Theresa May. Oh, and a mental illness or two.
Do we lie? No, I (unlike every other human being in existence) have no issues, thank you very much.
Or do we ignore it? Pretend we didn’t hear. Continue on your conversation in a room full of people, knowing full well that all eyes are currently on you wondering if you will respond.
I did the latter. And I’m angry that I ignored it. I’m annoyed at myself for not sticking up for myself, for not wearing my heart (or in this case, my depression and anxiety) on my sleeve and admitting that yes, I damn well do have issues.
It's hard to answer a personal question you haven't prepared for. It's why I like my stock answer to 'How are you?' so much. I don't need to think, take it in and formulate an answer. I just spit it out and overthink my overuse of those three words afterwards.
Maybe I need to start thinking of standard responses to all kinds of questions now.
Best to be prepared so I don't give too much of myself away. Don't want to be caught shouting Depressed and Anxious from any rooftops by accident.
Do you have issues?
Yes, but it's none of your business and I'm not sure how you expect me to answer such a stupid, rude question.
Sometimes direct questions need a sure-fire automatic response.
How are you?
Not too bad I say, often feeling the opposite and wishing I didn’t always automatically respond with the same standard answer. Where's my honesty? Why am I saying the same thing over and over without stopping to think about it first and then answering?
Direct questions are often hard to answer. Especially when you have a mental illness.
They are asked every day, multiple times a day, all the time.
How are you?
And often we develop a standard response as a defense mechanism. We don't want to reveal too much, give ourselves away. So we lie.
But this weekend took on a whole new dimension. I was asked a question I haven’t been asked in years. Not since I was at my worst, and clearly I wasn’t doing very well at hiding my worst.
Do you have issues?
Let’s also note that huge emphasis was placed on the ‘you’ here. Just in case I hadn’t realised the personal, insulting meaning of ‘issues’, it was elongated and thrown at me with rage.
But how do we answer a question so direct, so personalised, and so angry?
Do we answer honestly? Yes actually. Many issues. Donald Trump. Theresa May. Oh, and a mental illness or two.
Do we lie? No, I (unlike every other human being in existence) have no issues, thank you very much.
Or do we ignore it? Pretend we didn’t hear. Continue on your conversation in a room full of people, knowing full well that all eyes are currently on you wondering if you will respond.
I did the latter. And I’m angry that I ignored it. I’m annoyed at myself for not sticking up for myself, for not wearing my heart (or in this case, my depression and anxiety) on my sleeve and admitting that yes, I damn well do have issues.
It's hard to answer a personal question you haven't prepared for. It's why I like my stock answer to 'How are you?' so much. I don't need to think, take it in and formulate an answer. I just spit it out and overthink my overuse of those three words afterwards.
Maybe I need to start thinking of standard responses to all kinds of questions now.
Best to be prepared so I don't give too much of myself away. Don't want to be caught shouting Depressed and Anxious from any rooftops by accident.
Do you have issues?
Yes, but it's none of your business and I'm not sure how you expect me to answer such a stupid, rude question.
Saturday, 27 May 2017
Guest Post: How to Survive a Mental Illness
Today I have a guest post for you from James R Robinson. James is a writer and blogger and wanted to share the below with all my lovely readers. I hope you enjoy.
How to Survive a Mental Illness
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Even if you are battling a dragon right now, there is still no greater battle than battling with one’s head. Yes, I am talking about depression and other mental illness.
There are lots of people who take mental illness lightly, thinking that mental illness is just a matter of self-motivation. Some people think that mental illness is just a matter of having enough will power. But it is really not.
A mental illness is a real illness. As a matter of fact it is the worst illness of them all. It is really hard. At one point you’ll be happy and then the next thing you know you are feeling below yourself. All of a sudden, it is like you don’t know your worth anymore.
Just think about going through all that trouble every single day. There will be definitely be a time when you’ll feel like you want to give up. But you just can’t. So, here are some tips to help you survive if you have mental illness:
Go for a psychologist that give you value and respect
You already have mental illness. You already doubt your own self-existence. The last thing you need is someone giving you more reasons to doubt yourself.
You need someone who can show and remind you every time you are feeling down that you are valuable. Your psychologist should be someone who can remind you that you are respected despite what you think.
Commit to your treatment plan
Planning in healing mental illness is the same with all other plans. You have to stick to it. Otherwise, nothing is going to happen.
It doesn’t matter even if you hire the greatest psychologist in the entire world, if you are not going to commit to it.
Once your psychologist gives you medication, you should do your best to commit to it.
Spend time with your family
People are used to spending time with the wrong people. Oftentimes, we spend our time with the people who always see our flaws.
We should not focus on our flaws. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be better, but we should still focus on spending time with people who can remind us of our good sides.
Author Bio
James R. Robinson is an essayist for hqassignments.net. Needless to say, he has a passion for words. Most of his relatives are quite obsessed with science. His family is a streak line of businessmen, architects, doctors, and lawyers. He, on the other hand, chose art. He chose to write. Even so, he doesn’t think he’s that far off. Being a writer isn’t all art. It’s a part science and half art. So, he’s sort of in between them.
Monday, 15 May 2017
Mental health in the workplace
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.
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