Over my head

Grrr. Angry right now.

Discovered that my father in law called my mother (who lives in another country) to tell her that he is concerned about my weight. Oh Jesus. I have lost a little weight but nothing that most people would notice. I work in a healthcare profession so I understand what is safe and what isn’t safe better than most people. I am not in an unsafe state with my weight.

I am also an adult- a real life grown-up. I also have a very anxious mother.

So you can imagine my anger to discover that this concerned conversation was going on behind my back. Em, could you just have spoken to me about it?

So my mother had “the talk” with me when I went home this weekend. She agreed, after seeing me with her own eyes that although slim I did not look “dangerously thin”. She told me that she had a dream that she was at my funeral. Oh God. This is the kind of anxiety-overdrive thing that I like to protect my mother from by not making concerned phonecalls to her. I do this because I am an adult and I can take other people’s feelings into consideration.

BTW I am 30 years old. Come on. So will have to have some kind of uncomfortable conversation with my father in law about this. Cringe.

What is it about weight that people feel is public property to discuss. Weight loss signifies an emotional problem, a disorder, a crises. Weight gain signifies laziness, letting yourself go. 

Starting to understand what pregnant women feel like- privacy is gone.

I am sure that this can all be explained by parents need to “be parents”. Even when their children are grown ups, who have jobs, own their own houses, are married, have children of their own, they see them as their little one.

A Guide to Getting into Psychiatric Outpatients without Being Seen (based on real life experiences)

1. Feeling good today? Brazen it out. Walk purposefully, head held high, in the manner of a supermodel. Own that NHS lino corridor. So what, you have a mental health problem. Get over it! (this almost never happens)

2. There must be a back-entrance, right? Pick a random way round. Wander in some back gate and walk around in the rain looking for a way in. Pass through atmospherically deserted courtyards. Find yourself in some kind of linen room area. Look desperately for a door. Realise this ain’t going to work and go round the front.

3. Wear a hat and a big hood. Keep eyes down. Ski jackets good for this. Don’t attempt in summer months.

4. Wear really smart office clothes. People will assume you work there. A folder or clipboard may help. If you bump into someone from work have a ready excuse- checking something out, doing some research for my friend who wants to work here, visiting my friend who works here. Note- this approach won’t work so well on your way out of the appointment as you my have been crying and smudged your mascara.

5. Skulk. 

 

 

6. Rejoice when they move the ED clinic to a new building on the other side of the hospital, down a street outside.

“We’re not there yet, but we’re getting there”

Since my diagnosis of “depression etc” as I like to call it, 7 months ago, I have gone through a mixture of responses to the D word. It’s like a really unwelcome relative that moves in, uninvited and elbows her way in beside you on the couch. “Are you gonna eat that?” she might say, ask she filches the food off your plate.

I have gone through some kind of grief cycle with this-

Denial- “I can’t be depressed, depression is for losers who can’t cope, I’m too busy for this shit”. Why would I be depressed? Nobody died! I just got married, which was awesome, I just bought a great place, I am healthy, I have great friends, my job is fine. What have I got to be depressed about??

Then fear. It all went a bit stark and very lonely. Arctic landscape.

Anger (still here I’m afraid): this depression is a bastard. How dare it come along and eat up my confidence and personality. How dare it force me to take time off work and want to cut my hair off like Anne Hathaway’s. These stupid pills I have to take make me dizzy and crappy. 

Shame: shame, I’m afraid has been a constant. I am ashamed to be depressed. I am ashamed to have an eating disorder. But the ED is almost less of a deal for me. Maybe because EDs are everywhere, and probably most women I know have food issues, and (sorry to be honest here, you won’t like this) there is a little bit of pride attached to being anorexic- restricting your food intake is hard. Getting through that and still carrying on with your day is a challenge. There is a sense of being a toughie. Lots of anorexics will talk about the feeling of clean-ness, lightness, almost a rush (yes could be the low blood sugar).

But the depression-shame is different. Understand this: I strive on striving, I like to be good, the best at things. I am a good girl. Parents love me. My house is tidy. My work diary is covered with ticks. I get stuff done. I am on a mission. Depression doesn’t fit in there. Well, duh, it obviously does but you know what I mean.

I made an interesting choice about my treatment. There is a world class mental health facility basically right beside where I work. If I went there I would have access to the best professionals and a shorter waiting list, but I would have to run the risk of people see me go in, bump into me in the corridor. What if I needed to run out crying and ran into someone from work!

But I went for it. I didn’t want to wait. I took the chance. Now, I haven’t ever bumped into someone from work but seriously, the stress of trying to walk in there every week for my appointment borders on the ridiculous. Actually I may dedicate a separate blog to it.

Anyhoo- I have only told TWO people that I have depression- my husband, and eventually my sister. No one else. Not a word.

Acceptance: this is where I want to get to. Accepting that this depression, or break down or whatever, is here to help me- to adjust my approach to life and soften my perspective, to allow myself to not be “super” at all times. To give in. For that to be ok.

As the Irish government transport tagline says:

“We’re not there yet, but we’re getting there” choo choo

 

the beginning

Let’s get one thing straight. I am not writing this blog because I am totally cool and down with the technology-online-social media kids. I am writing this blog because I, am an adult-aged, successful, confident and yes, reasonably hip young woman but I cannot say out loud that I HAVE DEPRESSION AND AN EATING DISORDER.

Something about the injustice of this rankles me. Why is it that people with mental illness feel the need to be so hush- hush about what is going on. Bit unfair. Nobody wants to have any illness (quiet you Münchhausen folk at the back), but some are easier to be open about than others. Sufferers of piles, and IBS out there- you know what I’m talking about.

But although piles and IBS may be embarrassing, and something you would probably not put on your MySingleFriend profile, at least they don’t have the potential to change someone’s whole perspective on you. Nobody is going to have second thoughts about a long term relationship with you because you get constipated.

Depression, Eating Disorders, self harm, bipolar, schizophrenia etc. These are heavy hitters. These shout all kinds of things in  the “prejudice” part of your brain. I do it and I fricking have a mental illness. And consider myself to be a very considerate, open and accepting person.

So some of this blog is about that (and would love to get your perspectives, especially those enlightened beings among you who have managed to step over the “stigma- blockade” and be open with people about your condition).

And some of it is about me and my journey through depression etc. I write about this to reflect, to have somewhere to be honest, to share the sad stuff that I don’t want to burden the nearest and dearests with. And also, because let’s face it, sometimes things get so shitey that it’s actually funny, and it’s therapeutic to laugh.

Spirals

Thursday- Sunday were awesome days- bouncy, smiley, excited, future facing. Loved it. When I feel like that I want to grasp onto it, hold it in my hands, put it in a back pocket, keep it. Don’t go away feeling, stay with me. Please. This is how good it can be. It’s like a tease.

It dissipated on Monday. Made mistake of checking my work emails. Bump back down to earth. I guess work has a bigger impact on my mood than I would like to let on. And oh how quickly it can go. Spiralling down down. Crying in London Bridge station On the escalator. Thank God for the anonyminity of London. You can get away with any kind of oddball behaviour and people will politely study their Metro and re-edit play lists. 

The spiral brought me, as it always does, to “I don’t want to be here any more, everything is too hard, the future is just more of the same hard stuff, how do I get out of this”. Grim stuff. Grim and exhausting- those thoughts bullying their way around my mind like dust clouds. Showering a caking of dust over everything like a horrible burst hoover bag.  

I work my way out. I always do. I’m too bloody nice to do anything stupid. I could, and I know how. I have researched it. The internet is dazzling in it’s capacity for information and vast amounts of people being as weird as you. 

I’m too nice as I can see the consequences. The hurt, the ruined lives it would cause. I can feel the consequences and that makes me sadder. Why can’t I value my life as much as my loved ones do. How hurt and upset they would be if they even knew.

My therapist says it’s common for people who are depressed to have thought like this. What a bastard depression is. 

 

A note on eating and not-eating

Feeling quite good today, and have done for the last three days. 🙂  This is good. Progress? Notably am thinking a lot about the future and feeling positive about it. This is a big change and a welcome one.

Of course now that  am feeling a bit better the guilt about being off work on sick leave intensifies. I shouldn’t really be sitting here on a Monday morning while my colleagues are busting their asses. My therapist says I should stop trying to take responsibility for my work team and take some responsibility for my health and my recovery.

She’s on to me. Obviously she is a trained professional in the ways of the mind and therefore has figured out that I will respond well to this challenge. So, instead of sick leave being something nice and kind that I should do to my frazzled brain it is something that I SHOULD do, in fact, have responsibility to do. This speaks to the girl guide inside. She’s got me.

Have started on 150mg of Effexor. Apparently the 75mg, although a bastard for the dizziness, was quite a piddly dose so I am now on the 150. The tablets look a bit like something you would worm a dog with but it’s what’s inside that counts.

Now here’s the funny thing, I haven’t been dizzy at all since I doubled the dose. Result. I think it’s because it is a slow release tablet. I’m impressed.

I also feel a little bit high. Chitty chatty bouncy high. However this is not something I am going to complain about, given the circumstances.

So much better is my dizziness that on Saturday I succeeded in that challenge to the dizzy and off- balance- bikram yoga. 38 degree room. Changing postures frequently. Mirrors and scantily clad bodies all around. It’s probably not the best environment for an anorexic depressed woman with hypotension. But I stuck it out and didn’t feel dizzy once!

Ok we need to tackle that word anorexia. I’m not going to go into too much because it’s a bit exhausting. Here are some truths about my eating disorder:

1. I have a long term relationship with bulimia, it’s an on-off thing. It’s a bit like this bad-guy boyfriend who you know is bad for you but every now and then you run back and then beat yourself up about the next day.

2. I ruminate a lot about what I am eating, my size, how fit I am, comparing myself etc. See above.

3. I have been feeling depressed for about 7 months now and part of that is a loss of appetite…a loss of will to look after myself, and at its worst points, a desire to diminish. I can’t describe it a better way other than to say I wanted to decrease. To take up less space. To fade a little away from things. A response to not wanting to cope anymore.

4. Now if you jumble all three points together you get where I am now. My mood is a bit better in that I am now trying to get better, move towards something. But the eating disorder still serves a purpose. Remember that I am still the person who has had a disordered approach to food, but now I have discovered within myself a capacity to deny. To restrict. To be skinny. To be fair, I was never overweight- always slim. But now I am skinny. The smallest size in the shop. There is a dark obsession with that. Something that makes my eyes gleam. A coveted thing. I am fiercely protective over this and will not give it up.

On a knife edge again then. Between safe and dodgy. Healthy and sliding downhill. What if life gets tough again. What if depression and anxiety come back with a vengeance.

Not out of the woods yet.

It will grow back

I really want to go for the chop. Look at Anne Hathaway- she can pull it off. But what is the storey with short hair. Depending on your view it’s something women do when a) they can’t be arsed dealing with long hair anymore b) they have cheekbones you could slice ham on or c) it is an emotional response to something 

OK ok there could also be a whole other load of reasons but it’s 3am so I can be brief.

Not sure if I can pull it off. Also my poor husband. It might just be the straw that broke the camels back. But it would grow back.

TBC

Chop it off

Chop it all off Les Mis style

The blaas

Sometimes the crying, wailing sitting on the floor times are not even the worst part of being depressed. This “acute” upsetness, while sucky and not very life affirming at the time, are at least short lived. You cry, you wail, you maybe even bang your forehead against the nearest hard surface a little. But it ends. I guess it has to, your body couldn’t sustain such a gale force of emotion long term.

No, the worst part, in my opinion, are the “blaa” times. Let’s call them the troughs in between the emotional break downs and the happy bits (yes they come too). The blaas are rough. In a long drawn out, energy sapping way. Like having a sort-of lingering cold that won’t go away for weeks no matter how many Beroccas you marinate yourself in. Anything with with word long-term or chronic is bad news. Short bursts of nastiness (broken leg)- terrible but deal-able with. Long terms nastiness (arthritis)- well, you get the picture.

So today is a blaa day.

There is not much to say about a blaa day really, such is the nature of the blaa. Desire to drink hard liquor can be high- something to “jiggle” your self out of it. This never happens of course because as you may have earlier noticed, I have an eating disorder. And those empty alcohol calories would tip today quickly from blaa to anxiety.

So, what should one do to get out of blaa. Experts condone sunlight, walks, gentle exercise, spending time with friends. Hmm. I’m on sick leave from work which is where everyone else is right now (possibly suffering their very own existential blaa). I don’t really fancy a walk on my own as I still have to think and the thought-washing machine is going. Plus it’s blinking cold.

Maybe I will look at the latest news about the horse meat in beef burger scandal. Something which I find really really funny. I’m not sure why. I love both horses and cows, and think the whole thing is terrible. But it’s just so funny at the same time- in the way that is it so ridiculous it has to be funny. They’ll never Findus in here. Love it.

The sick-note

GP: So what should I write on your sick cert?

Me: Er…(depressed, not eating enough to be on my feet all day, can’t really be at work at the moment as sitting on the bathroom floor sobbing is really starting to eat into my time)….can you just say “mental health issues”

GP: sure, whatever you want

Me: (thinking….Jeez it’s no wonder people find it so easy to get signed off work)

So. Here we are. Signed off work. On sick leave. “Mental Health Issues”.

Feel a bit devastated. Also relieved. Also tiny bit of excitement that this could be the beginning of a recovery…a change…something better. A real whirlwind really. 

By the way- if you want a direct insight into what your life will be like when you are old and retired, sit in your local GP waiting room on a week day morning. The stuff of sit-coms.