My Christmas survival tips for good mental health

Today I’m writing about Christmas and how the festive season affects my mental health.

As much as I love Christmas, I also struggle with the holidays. A couple of years ago I had a breakdown at Christmas (read all about that here), and every year as it approaches again I get nervous about what might happen if it doesn't live up to expectations. Because let's face it, we all have high expectations for Christmas. It's idealised and built up in our head (and the media) as a magical, fun-filled, fantastic occasion. Sadly, it isn't always that way. And it knocks me sideways when it fails to be perfect.

I’m susceptible to bad mental health during Christmas. The period combines a number of my triggers (lack of alone time, lack of stimulation, pressure to be happy, extreme stress, family arguments) in close proximity and, like it has previously, it can result in the return of feelings of extreme darkness.
On top of this, I have been miserable lately. Nothing has excited me in the run up to Christmas in the way it usually would. I usually love finding the perfect gift for someone, making a handmade gift, the start of party season.
But not this year. Everything feels stressful and overwhelming. I need to manage it, I need to find a way to get through the season and, if possible, enjoy it.

I want to share with you what I’ll be doing over the festive period to help my own mental health and try to prevent a breakdown. Here are my Christmas survival tips:

“It's hard to be sad when you're being useful.” ― Noah Hawley, Before the Fall

• Making Christmas cards - in the lead up to Christmas I'll be making Christmas cards. Keeping busy always helps me keep me mind clear and calm. I have something else to concentrate on, something to keep my mind busy. 

• Colouring Books - Likewise, I swear by colouring books. When we're sitting around the telly as a family, I also love to have my colouring book out to work away on. There is just something so satisfying about finishing a pretty page! Plus, it keeps me busy and acts as a distraction from any wandering thoughts I would usually have if I didn't have some colouring to hand!

• Reading - I also escape from the world through books. So far this year I had devoured over 60 books. And I mean devoured. It's an addiction, but at least it's a healthy one! I have stocked up on books to take home and see me through the Christmas holidays. Nothing is more relaxing for me than curling up by the fire with a good book and my favourite dog by my side. 

• Journaling - Another creative break to seek solace in is journaling. Honestly, anything to keep busy and keep my mind from wandering! I've bought a new blank notebook and am in the process of decorating and filling it out for the year ahead. This project should keep me busy throughout my week off work. 

• Talking to loved ones - Okay, so I know I'm not very good at this one and will find it tough to keep, but that's why it's on the list. I want to make more of an effort to actually appreciate the best thing about Christmas - and that's being with the people I love. And shouldn't I also talk to these people about how I'm feeling, my moods and my mental health? One half of me knows that they will give me the love and support I need to get through tough days, the other half of me says I shouldn't burden or bother them. I want to try and listen more to the first half.

• Getting out of the house - Cabin fever is a thing, and because I often find socialising difficult, it can really set in around Christmas time. I know that people love to get together at this time of the year and often share these nights out and dinners on social media. And usually that's when my guilt sets in for missing out and being socially anxious. So why not get out of the house? Even if it's just talking my dogs (and cat) for walks, or meeting up for coffee with a friend, I will be making memories, doing things, and have my own get togethers to cherish. I've already arranged to see some friends over the break as well as extended family, and that gives me something to look forward to and cherish.  

• Exercise - With all the big dinners and endless supplies of chocolates and other goodies, I always end up feeling crap about my appearance, and particularly my weight at Christmas. I know that people go on, and on, and on about the benefits of exercise on your mental health, but quite frankly it's not for me. I'm a duvet day every day kind of girl. But I also know deep down that I have to do a little bit of a workout to prevent my mind from thinking I'm a lazy slob. (Seriously, I did like 20 squats last night before bed and it's convinced my brain that I'm doing great on the exercise front.) Taking the dogs out for a walk is going to be my motivation for getting in at least a little exercise over the holidays. 

• Netflix downloads - And for the times when I want some alone time to shut out the world? Well Netflix's download function is my new best friend. There are so many shows and films you can download and watch back later, even when you don't have Internet. I'm hoping to catch up on the new Star Trek series as well as The Crown over Christmas. 

Having a plan in place eases some of my worries about Christmas. I'm hoping that planning in advance, being prepared, and having productive things to do will prevent me from feeling like I'm spiraling into doom and despair.

It's not a guaranteed success.

But little steps are better than taking no action when it comes to mental health.


Help Info:
For those of you who are struggling this Christmas, there is help out there. Visit my help and support section for details of how you can contact them.

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,

Money can't buy you happiness, but it can buy you things which might make you happy

I was feeling pretty sad yesterday so I spent €90 on clothes and to be honest, it did help my mood a bit.
See, I was feeling frumpy and full of self-loathing and body hate. I’ve been struggling to come to terms with how easy it is for me to put on weight lately. Yesterday that resulted in spending money on clothes online to make myself feel better.

Capitalism rocks.

And you know what? It worked.

My ‘go to’ when I'm sad is to spend money on THINGS. I don't want experiences; experiences usually involve socialising and when I’m sad that’s the last thing I want to do (yes, I know it’s often the best thing for you but shush.) Instead, I want something to hold in my hand. Heck, if it’s delayed for a few days awaiting delivery I’ll take it. That’s me gaining a few more days where I know something good is going to happen.
It’s best if I can buy these things in person because the instant gratification is sweet. I pay for it, it becomes mine, I feel happy.

Usually, it's a toy like a Pop Funko to add to my collection. Or a book, because God knows you can never have too many books. Or maybe some clothes so I feel better about myself and can at least dress like someone who has confidence.

Last year I had a strong and steady addiction to subscription boxes. It didn't matter what was in the box - make-up courtesy or Glossybox, books from Owlcrate or Fairyloot, nerdy collectibles from Loot Crate - I'd buy myself one as a treat after a tough month. Because I deserved it. But boy are they expensive.

While buying things isn't always sure sign my mood will improve, I swear it does help.

If all else fails, I look up free printables on Pinterest and print THINGS. Paper things are also good things. They make me smile. I add them to my wall and can get enjoyment from them for months.

Also good is when my boyfriend buys me things. He knows this and he uses it well. Like when he collects me from work he always has chocolate in his pocket to make me smile. THIS SHIT WORKS. I forget about my complaints, about why work sucked and why I’m feeling down for a moment and it feels good. Or if I’m down for longer period of time he’ll take me to a bookstore and let me pick out a book.

PS, I swear I’m not trying to use this depression thing to my advantage. I am ACTUALLY down. And yes, I know this is how toddler tantrums work.

But I also know that we are going to be so broke in a few years’ time if this keeps up.
I suppose I’ve been lucky lately that my depression hasn’t persisted. I’ll get one, two, maybe three down days in a row and usually it passes. I become hyper, happy Zoe again. A free printable suffices on these occasions.

Sometimes it persists a bit longer. I have ‘bad’ weeks. These weeks feel like I’m teetering on the brink. One more thing and I fear I’ll be sent over the edge and into a breakdown. Like my past experiences of mental illness and severe depression are hanging over me.

I take any relief I can get. Anything to veer me away for the edge. I spend money so that I can feel good for at least a moment.

And therein lies the problem. Because while it feels good in the moment, it doesn't last and after a while I'm sad and dejected again, with the addition of also feeling crap for having spent money on something I don't technically need.

There are better, more healthy ways to help manage my sadness, I know this. But knowing something isn't right doesn't mean I can stop doing it. I'd rather do something immediate to help improve my mood. And when you have a mental illness, you crave an immediate fix.

I know money can't buy you happiness. But it does buy me things which make me happy, at least for a little while.

Mental illness is not a scapegoat for murder

Yesterday's headlines were written to cause fear.

• Trump publicly blames mental illness for mass shootings.
• 'This is a mental health problem': Trump on the Texas shooting
• Trump’s right, this is a mental health issue
• Pat Robertson Blames Texas Shooting on Antidepressants

As if it wasn't enough to be petrified of immigrants and Muslims when people of colour commit mass murder, we are also reminded that mental illness is also a cause for fear. 

What we've learned from US shootings and attacks over the past few years is that the colour of the attacker's skin is important in deciding the causative factor and motivation. As soon as perpetrator of the Texas church shooting was named, mental illness was identified as the sole cause and reason for the mass shooting.

“I think that mental health is your problem here. We have a lot of mental health problems in our country, but this isn’t a gun situation.” - Donald Trump

The man has a history of domestic abuse, but as of yet there's been no proven history of mental health problems.

But once again, mental illness has been used as a scapegoat for murder. White men are not responsible for their crimes, an illness they may or not even have is. And as such, they cannot be held responsible for their actions in the same way people of colour are.

1 in 4 of us are currently experiencing a mental illness. 4 in 4 of us have mental health.
Are we all to be feared? Might we all be potential murderers? I am mentally ill, is my illness to blame for everything I do?

Studies have proven that people with mental health illnesses are no more likely to be violent than the general population. We are far more likely to harm ourselves than others.
People in every country have mental health problems, but yet no other country experiences mass shootings to the extent that America does.

Trump and his supporters are demonizing those suffering with mental health problems. We have becomes just another vulnerable group for them to attack and fear.

Trump's comments yesterday prove we are nowhere close to ending the stigma around mental illness. We have a long, long way to go.

Book review: The Flawed Ones

The Flawed Ones - A Story of Mental Illness, Addiction and Love by Jay Chirino

Jay Chirino has experienced depression and anxiety since childhood. His mental illness lead to self-medicating with alcohol and drugs. All of this is openly and honestly admitted in the opening lines of the introduction to his new book The Flawed Ones. The introduction is strong, and relays Chirino's struggles, his motivation behind the book, and the admission that he is still on meds for his mental health. (Thank God someone is admitting it!)

"...a few months back, someone asked me what I wanted most when I was going through my depression, and after thinking about it for a while, I figured it out. What I am trying to accomplish with this story is to help you see that you are not alone."

However, the book isn't a memoir. Instead it draws on Chirino's real life experiences with mental illness, addiction and the psych ward, blending fiction with his lived reality.

Following admission for a 72-hour psychiatric hold, Jay experiences life on the psych ward and the many characters that call it home.

The book deals with not only the expected themes of mental illness, stigma, and addiction, but also with religion, perception, love and failures of the healthcare system.

Its strongest points are when Jay is in conversation with his psychiatrist. He relates what it's like being in a depressive episode, telling the story of his mental illness and where it came from. Clearly, these are pieces that come from Jay's real experience, rather than a semi-fictional account. This is not a memoir, but I often wished it was. Chirino's real-life story is the most intriguing part of the book. There's an honesty to the words in these parts that is lacking elsewhere; even if his memories to his psychiatrist are full of more flowery embellishments than most people would ever share verbally.

The blend of fiction and reality wasn't always seamless. Characters were overly described, rather than revealed. The constant commenting on women's appearance comes across as seedy rather than what-I-hope-was-the-intended subtle. But its strengths lie in the honesty of mental illness and addiction and the hope of recovery.

The book is due to be published on 1 November 2017.

Find out more:

Website: http://www.theflawedones.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/theflawedones
Twitter: https://twitter.com/theflawedones
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35893903-the-flawed-ones---a-story-of-mental-illness-addiction-and-love

*Disclaimer* This book was given to me in return for a review, however the review is entirely my own opinion. 

What’s left to say?

I’ve beaten my mental illness to death. Or at least, I’ve beaten talking about my mental illness to death.

Today is World Mental Health Day, and I’ve found myself with nothing left to say.

I have depression and anxiety. I've had them ever since I can remember, but was formally diagnosed six years ago. Ever since, I've tried to use my diagnoses for good through campaigning, blogging, and raising awareness and money.

But how many times can I repeat my mental health story? How many times must I say that it’s okay to not be okay? That it does get better? That recovery isn’t always possible? That medication doesn’t have to be bad?

I’ve been saying it offline and online for the past six years and it feels like it’s all been for nothing, because what’s changed?

I’m frustrated at the lack of progress in mental illness in this country.

Services are badly under-funded and under-staffed. People on waiting lists can’t wait any longer.
I still hide my mental illness in work.
Celebrities are still mocked for their breakdowns.
TV continues to perpetuate the stigma around mental illness with unfair and untrue representation.
Halloween events still run ‘insane asylums’.
We justify acts of terror on mental illness.

It feels like we take a step forward only to take another one back.
So what’s left for me, or anyone, to say?

I know that there’s no immediate fix to the stigma, the lack of resources and support, or to my own mental health battles. But keeping up this fight is exhausting. I want the battle to be over. I want to be able to tell people when I'm having a bad day without fearing they'll think less of me or treat me differently. I want to be able to socialise and have conversations without having to discourage someone from describing their mood as ‘depressing’ or having to explain why a mental illness doesn't make someone 'dangerous' after every mass murder.

I want there to be nothing left to say when it comes to mental health because we all accept, acknowledge and support it.