No More Stigma - A Mental Health Post, Part 3

See, i kind of, sort of, might have thought i was in love with someone ( In retrospect, now that i have Mick and we have Flynn, i know that it wasn’t ... ). I let myself feel all those happy feelings i hadn’t had, convinced myself that maybe i had found something great, finally. When i told the object of my affection how i felt, he told me he didn’t feel the same way. He thought i was a great girl, and a great friend, but nothing more.


It sent me into a tailspin – and started my second major bout with depression. Within only a few months i was back to the self loathing, the wondering why i wasn’t good enough and thinking i never would be.. Recognising what it was this time i went back to a GP, did the whole mental health questionnaire again, and got a referral to a local psychologist.

Opening up was easier this time – i’d been there, done that. It wasn’t so scary, or so taboo. What was scary was the prospect of what he was asking me to do... to get out in the world, alone. As much as i was used to being alone, being alone at home and hitting the pub on my own were two totally different things. We both agreed that my major problem this time was not so much self confidence, but loneliness – and the only way to alleviate loneliness was to find new friends. Easier said than done, right?

Making friends in Cambodia ( i'm 3rd from right, bottom row )

I decided that there was nothing to be done but give it a shot. With the help of anti-depressants ( again ) i started small – i spoke to people at the gym instead of just a nod and a smile; i went out to the movies or to lunch with my sister, just to get out of the house; i went on a trip to SE Asia and made friends amongst strangers; and strangest, and maybe bravest of all, i started internet dating.

My friends and family thought it was a bit weird, or maybe a crazy/desperate move, but little by little i got my confidence back. I had a few good dates, a few ok dates, and one particular date with the most condescending, materialistic, arrogant man i may have ever met ( blergh! ) I went on an ok date with an ok guy that i just didn’t click with, and then found out he thought i was the bees knees when he sent a friend to my place of work to talk to me a few months later ( kind of creepy.. ).

And then – i met Mick. Online. On a dating website. Our first date, a casual lunch at the pub, went for 5 hrs. We saw each other next day, and a few days after that. And the rest is history! Or, for the short version: dating, pregnant, engaged, baby, family, and getting married in 17 days! I’m blissfully happy, and despite a brief blip when Flynn was 6-8 months old ( which could have seen the onset of another episode but, thanks to intervention, didn’t ) i’ve been “well “ for over 3 years now.

And i hope to stay “ well “ for a long time to come. But i know that that isn’t a given – i have to consciously be aware of my negative emotions when i feel them, and work to keep them in check. And i feel that part of that work is also to tell my story – maybe not to just blurt it out to everyone i meet, but be open and honest when the occasion calls for it. Mental Health Month is one of those occasions. And on this occasion i’m asking you to share to – whether you can share a story, or show support for those who need it...

No More Stigma - A Mental Health Month Post, Part 2

This is part 2 of my journey through mental illness. If you missed part 1, please go here and then come back!
I went to my dad first. I was terrified that he would think i was being melodramatic or that i was a complete nutcase but he sat, and he listened, and he said maybe i should go and ask a GP. I made an appointment and i did the little checklist survey that the GP's make you do and then i was referred to a free counselling service within the medical centre.


As i was working on the one day that the free counselling service ran i decided to chuck a sickie the day of my first counselling session. At this stage, even though the GP said it was most probably depression, i still didnt really know what was going on, so i was cacking my pants at the thought of telling my employer ( or anyone for that matter ) that i was mentally ill. So i fudged the day off work and went off to see the counsellor. Even though i was nervous i felt immediately comfortable with her - she had this crazy, kicky, curly hair and she asked me questions without making me feel like i was going mad. Basic stuff like why i had been referred on, and how had i been feeling, and what happened when i felt that way. She set me some homework ( cognitive behaviour therapy she called it ) and our appointments became a weekly thing. I still majorly struggled but being able to offload in a secure environment once a week helped.

I was referred to see a visiting pyschiatrist when he came from Sydney every 2 or 3 months. He was a little intimidating and i think i clammed up a little more with him than i did with my counsellor. Regardless, he prescribed anti-depressants ( Levlen, from memory, an SSRI ) to be taken once daily, and continued weekly counselling sessions.

Little by little things became less heavy - my way of thinking started to change, and the fog started to lift. After about a year i discontinued the counselling sessions and started tapering off the meds. I started going out a little more when my friends were home from uni... and found that i actually enjoyed it. My motivation for actually " doing " something with my life started to return and, eventually, i had enough confidence to apply to be an au pair.

Me, in the orange, and some au pair friends at Six Flags theme park in Jackson NJ

I was accepted by a wonderful family in the USA. I spent a year living with them in New Jersey, making friends amongst the other international au pairs, hanging out in New York City on the weekends. I did a weekend trip to Florida to Disneyworld by myself. I took my two week paid holiday in Peru and did something i'd always dreamed of ( trekked four days through the Andes to Machu Picchu ). I even became the " go to girl " for new au pairs, the one the co-ordinator called to take new girls out for coffee, introduce her to the area and the other au pairs. Me, the previously socially anxious outcast!

I returned home in November 2005. For a while i was on a super high - i was back with my friends and family, i found a job and bought my own car. I took road trips to visit my (ex)best friend and went out every weekend with one of my other friends when she moved back to town. I joined the gym and went 5 days a week, relishing the natural high - and natural anti-depressive measure - that it gave me. I looked into becoming a yoga instructor ( but couldnt afford the training at the time ). I became a fan of a few of the early social networking sites like Bolt and Bebo ( ha! ). I made a few online friends, one of whom encouraged me to start blogging. I found it a great way to get my thoughts and feelings - good and bad - out of my system, making sure nothing got bottled up and stuck on the inside. My confidence was at an all time high.

And then - emotions that i'd never previously let myself feel betrayed me....
*Part 3 to be posted tomorrow...

No More Stigma - A Mental Health Month Post, Part 1

So as you may be aware, October is Mental Health Awareness Month here in Australia. There has been alot of talk about it here on the blogosphere, lots of bloggers taking up the challenge and getting posts out there in regards to mental illness, health services and programmes or just telling there own stories.


And it seems like a lot of people out there have stories to tell. I happen to be one of them.

If you're only fairly new to these parts you wouldnt know it - what with my general sunshiney-ness and lack of doom and gloom - but not so long ago i was in the grip of depression and social anxiety disorder. I like to call myself a " former depressive " but, as some of you know all too well, there is no such thing as a 100% , fool proof, "cure " for depression. The threat of another depressive episode is always there, lingering, that bastard black dog always hanging around, waiting to strike.

It started when i was around 14, that age where you've outgrown your childhood but your not quite sure where you fit as a teenager. Most kids have a period there where they sulk and moan and hate everything. For me, that fog didnt lift. And it wasnt that i hated everything or everyone - what i hated was me. I didnt like anything about me, and constantly worried that no-one else did either. I had a fear of being around new people my age - i was fine in the classroom with the peers that i knew, and the anxiety didnt extend so much to adults. It was just this constant nagging worry of other teens thinking i wasnt cool enough, smart enough, pretty enough, whatever. Take your pick. Whatever it was, it prevented me from being so much as able to open my mouth at parties around kids i didnt know and so, eventually, i just stopped going.

I just stayed home with my family, or sat alone in my room, thinking, pondering, worrying, crying, hating. I listened to lots of music, and wrote heaps of emo poetry. Stuff like this:

XMAS PRESENT
There is never time more lonely
Then time spent alone.
But there is never time more comfortable
Than time spent on my own.
Can't spend time with others
'Cause i spend too much by myself
They think i'm just a drag now
So they leave me on the shelf.

I wasnt officially diagnosed until i was 18, when i'd finished high school and most of my friends had gone off to uni ( which i didnt do. Depression stole all the motivation i had once had to do " something " with my life ). By that time the panic attacks had set in, that horrible creep of anxiety and fear that culminates in heart pounding, sweating, shaking breathlessness that convinces you that you're about to die. It was at this point that i was able to admit something wasnt right, that these physical manifestations of everything that lie beneath the surface well... they just werent normal. Up until then i just had everyone convinced i was the typical sulky teenager - but not even the most emo of the Emo sulky teenagers had panic attacks. ( Not that i knew what they were called at the time ).

So what did i do? Where did i turn?

* Part 2 to be posted tomorrow....

Like ChickenMan.... We're Everywhere!

Who's we ( If you have to ask who ChickenMan is, clearly you didnt listen to the radio as a kid... )? We is us, the mentally ill. The one's who have depression, anxiety disorder, PND, schizophrenia, multiple personalities. We're everywhere and everyone, and i wanted to take this chance during National Mental Health Week to let the rest of you in on a secret - we're not crazy. Or dangerous. As Matchbox Twenty once put it " I'm not crazy, i'm just a little unwell ". Kudos to you Rob Thomas and band - that sums it up pretty damn well.

I've posted about it on here before a bazillion times but i'm not ashamed to say it again - i have previously suffered from clincial depression and social anxiety disorder. I say previously because i'm not in that dark place anymore, but i know and appreciate that there is always a chance i could succumb again at some stage. If i do it will be okay, because i know i'll have the strength to come through it again. I suffered for a long time, but with a lot of hardwork, great support, and an eventual break in those pyschological barriers, i've gotten better. I've achieved a few personal milestones that in my darkest times i though could only be found under a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Or, in other words, in a fantasy land that i just wasnt every going to get to. But here i am, living the dream, or at least parts of it.

So i'm living proof that mentally ill people are:
a) everyday people. The people you know, the people you meet on the street, the people who work at the mall.
b) not always going to be mentally ill. Just because they're living in the darkness or in a muddled foggy cloud, doesnt mean they wont ever find the sunshine again. Be patient. Be supportive. Be there.
c) not a scourge on society. I couldnt be a scourge if i tried!

I know some of you out there have current mental health issues that your fighting and to you i say - be strong. You CAN do it. In the spirit of Mental Health Week i'm sending you positive vibes and all my cyber love. To those of you are mentally fit and competent i say - congratulations! Oh, and could you please spare some good vibes and cyber love and send it out to everyone under a black cloud this week?

Uh, How Do I Put This?

The first day of Project Sleepy-time ? Big. Fat. Fail.

I thought we were going to be ok, at first. He showed tired signs at around 8:20 am. I wrapped him up, gave me a quick snuggle and put him into his bed, as described in my last post. It took 45 minutes of crying ( and 2 minutes of me stroking his cheek, which i dont think was allowed ) to get him to sleep. 45 minutes i spent lying bag in a bean bag, with my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. Not too bad for our first effort. I could put up with that.

Flynn woke after an hour and he was all smiley and cheery and generally adorable. I was going to try putting him to bed again around noon but my sister-in-law asked if i could look after my 18 month old neice while she went to the dentist ( yep, no problem ). Consequently, we didnt try to another nap until 1pm. This was when the fail came in. Long story short - my previously adorable son lie in his bed, wrapped up and tucked in, crying and screaming for two hours. This was only because, after an hour and half, i couldnt take anymore of being in the same room and i cracked, curled up on the floor in the fetal position and bawled my eyes out, before my mum rang and out of the blue and i begged her to come and help me.

Yes, you read that i right - i full on cracked. Crumbled. Came unstuck. But my mum took Flynn outside, and my dad helped me off the floor, and we had a chat and worked out a way to help me ( my dad, who walks every afternoon, is going to come and take Flynn with him so i can have an hour to myself to clean, or cook, or read, or nap... or whatever )..... and i am ok. And i will be ok tomorrow.

Maybe we are not ready for the Parental Presence method. Maybe it will be better tomorrow. Maybe it wont work at all and i'll just have to try something else. But i'm gonna keep trying cos that the kind of mumma i am - vunerable and perhaps slightly mental, but willing to do whatever i can for my bubba....