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,

New Year, New You?

I try not to buy into the New Year and sense of imminent change and endless possibility that comes with it, but like a lot of you, I succumb to resolutions and goal setting.

I love a good goal, task, resolution, basically anything I can tick off a list. It gives me a sense of achievement and accomplishment. And to be honest I've been very excited to start using my new 2018 journal which I've tailor made to help me make small, everyday improvements to my mental health. So Happy New Year, here's to my new planner.

But on New Year's Eve as I sat down to write my 2018 resolutions, I realised they were the same as the goals I had set last year.

• Improve body confidence i.e. for the love of God exercise and stop biting your nails.
• Make more of an effort with friends i.e. please stop dropping off the face of the planet and start messaging people back.
• Save money i.e. stop buying yourself gifts when you're sad, stop spending all your money on books, and no ordering subscription boxes (not a single one!).
• Question negative thoughts i.e. it's not possible for everyone to hate me, because I don't know everyone in the world now, do I? 

I hadn't achieved what I'd set out to in 2017. Change didn't last, it came in spurts before petering out. I quit the gym, I bit all of my nails down to the skin, I did not reach my savings goal. I felt like a failure. What's the point of making the same resolutions every year if I don't get anywhere?

New Year, New Me

I always harp on about how there's no quick-fix to mental health problems. There's no magic cure, no pill, no meditation that will resolve everything forever. It doesn't work like that. And as all of my resolutions relate to and impact on my mental health, they should be the same.  

Similarly life, like resolutions to improve my life, is constant, it's ongoing. So why shouldn't my resolutions continue? 

Sure, I wish I did more last year to work on my goals, but everyday, not just every year, is a fresh chance to do this. As disheartening as it was to reflect on how I hadn't reached my goals or kept my promises, making improvements and changes to your life shouldn't be a once-off event. You have to keep a change going forever, otherwise it never changed. 

So I'm adding a new resolution to the list this year. The new and improved 2018 model Zoe will try to be less hard on herself. Yes, it's healthy to set goals and inspire yourself to make positive changes, but so what if they take time? 

Real change doesn't happen overnight. 

This, like all my resolutions, is a process. 

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.