Posts Tagged mental health
This post comes post a large unjustified identity crisis and a great deal of panic at the Bad Robbers who were not at the door (eventually proven by Brave Boy who unlocked the door) so if it is a bit discombobulated and confused please write to my cpn at
CPN name of choice
Mental illness aid land
and ask for an increase in my don’t-bo-so-paranoid pills and the don’t-panic-about-non-existent-Bad-Robbers medication.
Thank you. (whenever I write ‘thank you’ i think back to my prior self who thought thank you was one word and feel smug due to my improved literacy skills, I aim that one day the same will happen with my use of commas..and possible my ability to deviate from the topic of socks.)
Today, I purchased a pair of Easter themed socks…
They are grey and pink and have easter eggs on them (which could also be ovals with spots and stripes in, but who am I to nit pick drawings?)
Anyway – the bottom line is that these were seasonal Easter socks, not just your run of the mill, every day socks.
I promise that this post have a point and I shall get there, but (in the style of ‘Miranda’) bear with, bear with!
This Christmas I purchased for myself and others, and in turn received, a large amount of Festive Christmas Socks…
Mine had slightly psychotic looking Penguins with Santa hats and a candy cane on them. (and trust me, they really did look Psychotic, I should know).
I also have a pair of Birthday socks…
And I so WISH they were copies of that image, but I am not so lucky…mine have purple presents and cakes on. Be it not for the cakes, they could have been mistaken for Christmas socks, especially as my birthday is in December.
Lastly, I have Valentines socks…
I am proud of my sock collection. I mostly spend my days in dresses, as the Eating Disorder complain less loudly when I am buried in fabrics than held tightly by jeans..and thus my feet are often covered by tights. I do not let that small fact stop my sock enthusiams, no! I wear socks over my tights and if I do venture Outside Into The Scary I hide them with my big clomping DM’s.
Today as I was placing my Easter Egg socks into my shopping trolley and eyeing up the pjamas I do not need and could not afford I realised how much had changed….
I actually used to hate seasonal socks. With a passion.
I know, I was so wrong!
I thought it was a waste. I thought that people would only wear those socks once a year and it also made them appear overly happy people who would happily suck up to a materialistic, consumerist world view.
Yes, I was a teenager at the time. These days, now I am OLD and approaching the mid-twenties I realize I LIKE being sock-happy and I happily admit I am somewhat materialistic-in as much that I buy seasonal socks, creame eggs when they are at till points and any biscuits or food advertised in the breaks between the tense bits of CSI-and consumerist because I like all the above and spend money.
But, before, I was a bit scared of breaking my own sock rules…and so many other rules. Rules like…’I can not eat until 4pm’ ‘I can not stop washing my hands for 35 minuites on my phone timer’ ‘I must get 100%, A’s, Firsts or U’s, 0%, fails and nothing in between’ ‘I can not open a door’ ‘I can not eat chocolate without the mother of all binge purge sessions’ ‘I cannot think any nice things about myself’.
I do not know what came first, relaxing my sock type rules or the bigger scary ones – but what I do know is that I have made really progress, and I was able to identify that fact while sock shopping in Tesco. It may sound odd but I used to fear any positive progress, I wanted to be the most depressed, the most eating disordered, the most scarred, the most borderline, the most ill…and when I realized that would equate to the most dead I tried for that too.
I do not think like that any longer, or not often.
I will happily wear Christmas scary penguin socks in the summer…and while things to do with my illness are still very prominent in my life I do not want to be the ‘most’ or ‘worst’..or, perhaps the ‘best most worst’. My mental health is not a competition.
I dare whom ever reads this to buy some Easter socks and wear them in October, when there are no real exciting events..only the terrifying run up to fireworks night, which shall never be saluted with sock desgins as bangs and fire are very terrifying things.
Now, in homage to the humble sock I intend to inundate any readers with countless socky images..
WORD FACT: I also recall the time when I accepted the fact a ‘drawer’ was drawer not jsut plain draw…such a confusing word day, but I learnt it.
I am now googling sock cakes further to see if these are things you can buy, or a deft example of how useful origami really is in modern life. (and proving to my younger self that materialistic tendencies and consumerism is okay if it ends in owning such an item…)
It seems to be mostly folding…and aimed as presents for young babies..bit I prefer the wedding cake idea..I think the boy would like something edible though, so maybe a mix of the two.
I am constantly surprised at the amount of words I am happily devoting to the subject of socks..
and, of course..I can not finish this post with out adding an image of sock animals, can I?
I need an I love socks badge or something. Some people conquer elements of mental illness and find a higer power to believe in…I find socks.
Well, Valentines day has been and gone, but I failed to make the obligatory ‘He loves me’ Blog post…so I thought I’d givee you a break down of the day in photos…
The Wonderful Fiance did his shopping with Interflora. I was putting war-paint on my face when the door bell went (by door bell I of course mean BigDog barking…) and I looked out the upstairs window to see an unknown yellow car in our driveway.
The following things went through my head –
The Bad Robbers have a yellow car?!
A man with a yellow car has come to kill us with a knife?!
Bananas in Pajamas are making a guest appearance?!!!
Bad Robbers, Bad Robbers, Bad Robbers, Bad Robbers?!!!
So due to my mental ineffectiveness which causes me to constantly jump to the totally wrong conclusion is every situation it took me a while to answer the door.
When I did get to it the interfloara man was shivering slighly and I can only sepculate that this is what caused him to look at my lumps-of-foundation-not-yet-smooshed-in on my face and contort his feautures into an expression that could only have meant:
‘Someone is giving YOU flowers?!!..and a Balloon..and Chocolates??!!!’
But he passed them over nonetheless and I proceed to dance around the front froom in joy. Not only was I not being attacked by Bad Robbers I also had a balloon!!! (oh, and really lovely flowers and chocolates..)
I gave The Finace a new coat a few weeks before Valentines…his old one was akin to him wearing a tiny square of my knitting to try and keep warm..so he was happy & surprised when I gave him some stupidly cheap Army toys to keep him entertined while I chased a balloon around the room…
That was a good day..and I am happy to report the flowers are still alive and in a vase. The balloon is hidden behind a curtian where it will not terrifying BigDog every time he comes into the room (Wuss) and the army men toys are blancing on the top of the TV Boy uses for his Xbox so they can join in when he kills stuff with pretend guns…My mum did tell me she walked in on him talking to them t’other day though, double bless.
Yesterday was a good day too, whivh is why I have cohsen to replicate it here.
Some uninformed and discriminatory people think that those who are on long term sick and unemployed just spend all day doing exactly as they please….
and i’d like to say we do…
although here is the point where I feel obliged to point out that both Helen and Boy have jobs, they just also have days off..and anyone who gets me to sew and also puts up with my exhausting mood-swings, upsets, moaning, isolating, clinging, fighting, and manicness deserves some kid of award. A picture tells 1,000 words..but the situation calls for 10,000..or something..
But lovely days, lovely photos.
It makes me laugh that when I was an angst ridden 14yr old teenager I’d have hated the idea of sewing and knitting..and being proud of engaging in such activities would have made me seethe. The teapot, however, has always been a source of my affections..
That’s it for this post, unless I can think of a witty and entertaining ending…
No, I can’t.
When I started this I promised myself (crossed my fingers, toes, arms, ankles and eyes) that I would not just neglect this Blog when my mood took a dip and I became obsessive about something that was not Blogging..
For days I have been like,
‘What Blog? I have no Blog!’
and then I saw my friends new amusing post with amazing illsutration and was overcome with Bloggers Jealously.
It may now just happen that I rely on above friend for any inspiration to Blog but I promise I shall try harder. (Story of my life, my school reports always said ‘Alexishereidrawlikenick has potential but Must Try Harder)
So, here I am admitting to being an Inspiration Thieving Copy Cat..
(Part of me did write the above as I previously viewed the copycat image and needed an excuse to post it. Thanks Char -toothy smile-)
M’kay – onto the actual content of this post.
I have an interview on Wednesday *insert dooms-day muzic*
It is for my much-talked about Masters, it is for Creative Writing. I write stories, I write poems, I write a terrible Blog with coupious grammatical mistakes. I do not do interviews. The boyfriend kindly tells me that my ‘creative personality’ means that I am not good in those one-on-one situations. But he means people. And that I am a loonely.
It is a tad like the clip below, only I may well get out a guitar and use offensive language…
A List Of Things I do During Interviews
1) I twitch. Endlessly. A bit like a Durcell Bunny that is on it’s last three seconds of life. I can’t control the twitch, it is a nervous disorder but it looks a lot as if I am just very cold. It maes people twiddle with the heating until we re all sweating profussely and I am still damn twitching and shivering…uncomfortable for all and I may as well wear a sign proclaiming my lack of mental health.
2) I am the sort of person who cannot get my fringe straight. I worry about it making me look stupid, so I fiddle…and fiddle and fiddle. I do not even know I am doing with it but it does not convey an air of confidence…it also makes me look like I am apperance obsessed, when really I’d happily leave the house in a big ban if only my hair would be straight.
I have many iteams with the Edward Monkton design on as testament to my fringe-woes..
3) When I get nervous I speak really fast. Reallyfastsononoecanunderstand. For someone who is enthused by language this is not a Masters-winning skill…
4) The more important the person is, the higher the authority the less I am able to listen and the more easily distracte……LOOK A RABBIT!
The Boyfriend grabs my hand when we cross roads – and not because he loves me so much he always wants to ber romantic and hold on to me…
5) I am likely to forget my name, age and any interests and, if pushed on this topics I may cry and/or burst into flames…
In summary – I am very glad they wanted a portfolio of words what I wroted as well as seeing me in actual person. I am hoping the will have already decided my writing skill is oh so amazing that it does not matter than I am totoally unable to sit still and reply to any interview questions..
I deleted this because I wanted to first ask my lovely friend if it was okay to post. It feels like a dramatic step over into the overly personal..bits of my life that I tape iup, box up and only look at in safety. But, Nicoles comment (see first attempt) made me re-think. Honesty is important.
I set up this Blog because I wanted to draw stupid shit, make people smile and because I wanted to show that sufferers of significant mental health issues belonged and we not circus freaks.
Everyone has Lovely Friends but I have been thinking recently a lot about mine. Aside from my sister I have a small but sturdy handful of utterly amazing friends.
Considering my return to the world in the form of an MA has caused a dramatic spike in memories of my Undergrad degree, as well as a lot of good, old fashioned nail biting contemplation.
Contemplation used to lead to a locked bathroom door and shameful, sad acts of violence towards myself. These days it leads to a overwhelming feeling of gratitude. I am more than enamored at this change in mindset and wanted to write a post a one of the reasons, or people, behind it.
I met Emma on my first day of University and I think I did a pretty epic job of freaking her the fuck out and considering hightailing the fuck out of our slightly odd smelling student housing.
I have not always had the stellar social skills I now own as a full time recluse and expert nutjob. Considering my return to the world in the form of an MA has caused a dramatic spike in memories of my Undergrad degree. I spoke too much and was anxious when I shouldn’t be. I was scared of the non-existant bearded men at my windows. I was reculse then in your face. I was strange. I was sad.
It was not easy, the degree was not easy. There were books, word counts, exams and portfolios. But I think the things around my degree were harder. There was the battle of my eating disorder, self harm, scary medical shit and psychosis.
Emma, the Boyfriend/make that fiancé and other-amazing-friend-who-shall-not-yet be named pulled me through the worst of everything, and the best.
Emma was there to dress up in stupid costumes for parties with, to drink tea with, to dance (badly, on my part) with. She was there to hand me whatever current cocktails or psych meds I was on. She was once the not-so-proud owner of my razor blades when I decided I was ‘quitting for real, this time’, she was there when I needed ambulances, when there was police, she sat up to stupid ‘o’clock in the morning in the waiting room of A&E god knows how many times.
Em drew me rabbits (and naked ladies) and together we decorated rooms for parties. She fed me Jamie Oliver food, and muffins I can never re-create (not for the want of nagging Boyfriend anyway!)
Em helped me cover up my illicit Bunny Rabbit purchase (RIP Geoffrey) and she pretended not to smoke outside with me and Boyfriend.
And somewhere in between picking me off the floor, finding herself, making her own friends, drinking tea, loving Jamie Oliver and pulling me up from some of the worst times in my life, ever, she managed to get a BA in Fine Art…
She drew, and drew, and painted and painted and threw ink and knitted and knitted and knitted and drew and knitted and spray painted and crocheted and painted and inked and sew and sew and sew and embroidered and knitted and knitted and drew…and she did fantastically.
I love and hate the space between my Undergrad and now. I hate it because it means Uni was just memories. I hate it because I miss it, I miss my friends. I miss mornings balancing tea on a kitchen table piled so high with books, art projects, half empty wine glasses and dead plants we never threw away – and being unable to balance the tea because the night before we had spent all night chatting or watching yet another film…or opening yet another bottle of wine, or playing more cards or colouring in kids books and covering the wall.
I love that space because I have watched my friends grow. I Em, as I always guessed she would, is amazing and doing the art thing while also doing a billion and one things I can’t keep up with. I love it because yet another series of Casualty has passed and Charlie Fairhead is still going strong. I love it because if time had not passed I would not be engaged to the most amazing BoyMan.
I am excited/terrified/hopeful about my MA and I am looking forward to new words, new skills and new friends – but no-one has friends like the ones I already have – and no-one has an arty, lovely, funny, sarcastic, strange Emma T like mine.
I write this mostly because I want the world/blog-o-sphere to know about my experiences. Mad people have friends. Mad people go to Uni. But also living with all this stuff, it is not easy on other people either. I do not think many people would take me on as a friend if they knew where it had taken Emma, Boyfriend and co. To be truthful I am positive that there have been times Emma and co have doubted their own decisions to remain in my life.
I do not do spoonfuls of sentiment often without the aid of Vodka.
I just wanted to air what was on my mind –and how I know how lucky I am to have someone who was willing to learn how to push a wheelchair for me!! (in Wales –upward slopes abound)
This is my Emma T, with her fabulous and fantastic art (which she sells, like a clever bunny)
and a sample of her art that she showed in an exhibition
I wrote a very long post and have deleted it becuase I do not feel it is fair to share that infomation with the world, It may re-appear, it may not.
I got a pillow in the post today. Yeah.
I ordered this last week: water based pain pillow
I hate waking up in the morning. Me and the morning have never had a solid relationship, but this pain thing has put us on really, really bad terms.
I read the reviews and thought i’d try it out…but I think i’d avertsie it just for the simple fact that it made me laugh.
It comes with a special funnel that you use to fill it up with water and it seems you can adjust it between ‘soft’, ‘firm’ and ‘hard’. I am starting with firm because a) that is reccomended for the neck pain and b) I am trying to think ahead…this isn’t the most water I could use which means it is less to clear up if/when I wake up in a puddle.
I am a bit nervous about the whole concept to be honest, but if sleeping in a posh puddle leaves me able to move my head before taking a ridculous amount of perscription pain killers I am willing to cope with the nerves.
I am also winnig on the pillow fight front.
The boyfriend has a very annoying of habit of sleeping ON me. He claims it is loving but it is less on a hug and more squashing…wondering if the fact my head will now be dramatically higher than his may mean he has less bruises in the mornings.
I will keep you updated on my puddle pillow adventures! (it is already pleasing just to sit with it on my lap..the weight of the water combined with pillow softness is somehow reassuring..although I feel a bit like a freak).
In Heat today (i know, I know) It reported Sarah Harding’s addiction to the exact same sleeping pill I have been on for about six or seven years; zopiclone, Sarah Harding.
As always, when this ‘celebrity news’ breaks I feel as if I am missing out…the damn pill still does not make me sleep and I do not get the ‘euphoria’ reported by all major headlines. True, I am not mixing it with a gazillion bottles of wine a day but back when I was I still did not get those lovely sounding ‘blackouts’ touted by the press. Why are addictions so glorified by the press? It is kind of sexy sounding when a celeb goes into rehab..or goes to hang out with sober mates to try and ‘clean up’. It isn’t like that for us mere mortals.
The problems I had with addictions cost me my friends, yes..but alos my dignity, my self worth and my identity….let alone all the money..oh, and trust, respect and very nearly my life. Unlike SH and the like I do not have the option of checking into a ‘sexy’ rehab clinic. As it stands I have been fighting the NHS in my area for over a year for the oppertunity to go to a specialised inpatient unit for my eating disorder..and of late i have been fighting for even basic talk therapy.
Mental health is not sexy..it will never be accurately pictured by the media, not even the ‘sensational, real life’ stories (that are edited, truncated and mis-qoutes are used as headlines.)
I guess it frustrates me that a celebrity fights with alcohol/pills.drugs and all the ‘celeb friends’are quoted saying..’they should just go to rehab’..as if it is a quick fix or a walk in the part. Firstly, for us normally screwed up addicts, it is just that easy and secondly..rehab/hospitalization can only ever start you on the road to self healing/health.
Bleck. Rant over…I am going to go prod my water pillow some more and cross my fingers for more than a few minuites sleep before waking up in pain.
( I am currently reading self-help books on the topic of Fibro, reviews to come shortly).