Blessings

Ive struggled lately with my faith in something greater then us. God, Gaia, the universe, a giant ball of connected strings, whatever it might or might not be, i've struggled to see a greater purpose to the stupidity, selfishness, confusion of humanity.

The awful hate, discrimination, destruction, and pain we all cause each other seems to indicate a lack of connection between us, humanity, and a greater purpose, a driving force or direction that is divine in nature.

With my faith shaken its hard to believe that it's possible to have pre-determined connections between people, places, things, ideas, and yet, in the midst of six months of gut wrenching anxiety, pain, depression, a day of clarity makes me see my faith more clearly than I have in a long time.

I don't know that I believe that the universe, Gaia, great creator, destined Americo and I to be together from the beginning of time, but I think whoever guides the strings through the loom to form the fabric of the universe set my feet on a path that put me in this place, in this time, and it is supremely right that the things I've been through in my life, all the pain, sadness, hurt, lead me to this day of rightness.

I don't believe in soul mates, I don't believe in only one great love per lifetime, but I do believe that I haven't, and couldn't, love anyone as strongly and with such passion as I love Americo, and I am grateful to the great string puller for giving me this chance to share a bed with this wonderful man again.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Control, I haz it

I feel good today. It's a kind of weird feeling to feel good, I've been feeling off for so long.

It's been almost exactly a month, so I guess it's just possible that the magic red pills are working. Or it could be that I've taken various steps to take control of my life.

I'm down to one job. I loved my second job, it was passion, and idealism, and all the things I want government service to be, so unlike my day job, but when you feel like you're under a blanket of anxiety and you can't breathe, something had to give.  I guess it made a lot of sense to have more time in the afternoons to learn to be the confident, self assured me again.

The extra time has allowed me to focus on my family. There are issues. Ones I can't even begin to write down because I don't even want to take my brain to that place right now. It's tough being a good sister, aunt, daughter, in a family plagued by mental illness. Two highly unstable personalities in one family, rough. Two highly unstable personalities disagreeing with each other...rough isn't enough of a world. Atomic? Explosive? Not enough. But, the family thing comes with this...

Being auntie to my sweet little monkey makes the bags under my eyes worth it. 

She's part of the reason I'm taking care of me. I want to be around for her, do things for her, be the awesome cool auntie for a long time. I want to spoil her with the best birthday presents, and that means learning to manage my time, my stress and my money. 

So, I got a loan and paid out my visa. And closed the account. I'm performing without a net. Like a lot of folks my age I have a minor debt problem. Not a huge one, it's one card, no loans, no store cards, no mortgage, just the one visa, but it stresses me out and I know I can't manage to pay it off if I keep using it. So it's gone. Which also stresses me out, because I have to learn to use a budget, not native to my personality, but let's see how we go. 

I've never allowed myself to be in a position where I don't have enough to eat, or can't pay my bills, and when I've needed to I've managed to be very good with money. This is one of those times. Planning meals, doing proper grocery shopping, eating healthy and smart, all these things are things that people learn to do at some point in their life, and I guess now is when I learn. 

I have a goal to pay off the loan in a year. I think I can do it. It's a 3 year loan, I pay it off in 18 months I save $1200. I pay it off in a year I save over $1600. If I manage to pay it off in a year, while still saving money, I'm rewarding myself with 8 weeks holiday to San Francisco for Christmas 2013. And a new visa, but with a way lower limit. And hopefully by that point I'll have learned to manage money well enough to not end up in this place again. And all things going to plan I'll pay for the tickets and everything with real cashy money and not credit. 

oh and I kicked ass at the gym today. I hit 5.5 speed on the treadmill, I got it up to level 8, I did 30 minutes, then 15 on the cycle, then another 15 on the treadmill just because I felt like I could. 

I'm proud of me. If feels good to push my body. To let go of my mind and just push myself up that incline. I like feeling like I can do things. Like I'm achieving things. Control and stuff. Things adults do. 

oh and I've finished 97% of Lego Batman 2 and squeeeeed like a small child when I got presents in the mail, so you know, not totally an adult. 

Progress, I likes it. 

Am I alright?

It seems that some of you know me too well and have asked if I'm ok.

More disturbingly at least one person that doesn't really know me very well at all, but follows me on twitter, has asked if I'm ok. This was a disturbing "Houston we have a problem" moment for my belief that I was hiding my lack of ok-ness moderately well.

No, it seems, I am not ok.

Why am I not ok? Honestly, I don't know. I feel a sense of being incomplete, but I don't know why. I don't know what's missing. I don't know how to put it back. This is perhaps the thing that disturbs me the most. If I could pinpoint what was wrong I might have some hope of getting myself back to being me.

Let's try and break down my mental health:

1: My ideology is becoming a problem. 

No really, a huge problem. I'm a feminist. I'm pro-smart government, I really truly believe that government can do good. I'm for healthy bodies, regardless of size, and don't believe in conforming to a dangerous body image dictated to us by media conglomerates.

Imagine how joyful living with that ideology is day-to-day. Truly believing the world can be better at treating equally, while watching the Republican war on women. Truly believing the government can do better, then watching Julia Gillard firmly state that she believes marriage should be between a man and a woman, and gay civil unions are enough because they give the same rights. Like being separate is being equal. Thinking that it's possible for the media to change when it comes to portraying a healthy body image, as demonstrated by Vogue's commitment to stop using models under 16 and stop using bodies that are incredibly unrealistic, is overshadowed by the incessant and disgusting media focus on how much weight Jessica Simpson gained while she was pregnant.

It is so constant, and depressing, and dangerous, and how did we end up in this awful mess? How do we continue to tolerate this hatefulness and hopelessness? Why do we allow the media to dictate to us what is attractive and what isn't, which they're doing for the sole purpose of convincing us to spend billions on their beauty products, weight loss products, and clothes.

How are there people that support discrimination and hated in 2012 and vote for idiots like Romney who want to legislate based on the 10 commandments, despite the fact his country is supposed to be for religious freedom.

It's wearing me down a lot.

I'm starting to do things to feel less helpless. I joined the YWCA, I'm going to some of their events. I've signed up for the gender institute newsletter from the ANU. I'm hoping that doing things will reduce my dejection caused by the world being completely totally fucknuts crazy.

2: What the fuck April?

April, April, April. You really were a cunt, weren't you?

Jeremy's death hit me surprisingly hard, considering I didn't know the kid that well. I spent a lot of time after the funeral thinking about what it would have been like if it were Owen. It was a horrible thing that I couldn't get out of my head. The thought of my amazing baby brother not being part of my life was rough. I still struggle to get the idea out of my head that something could happen to him. He does crazy shit, climbs mountains, does obstacle courses designed by the SAS, runs in those stupid shoes that look like feet, things could happen to him. It scares the fuck out of me.

And then there's my mother. Crazy, stupid, wench. She went and fell while walking out the back of beyond. She was mourning Jeremy, probably like me, scared about the idea of it happening to Owen, and she tripped on something and went down. She put her arm out to break her fall, and shattered her arm. Badly. It broke from wrist to nearly elbow, pushing her wrist joint an inch down her arm. Seriously. And then the crazy bitch walked out, because what other choice did she have? No phone signal, no GPS, not even the dumbass dog, so she walked out. And I get a call at 10pm that she's in hospital. I've never been so scared. To see my mother, for the next 3 days, tiny, weak, dehydrated, starving, in pain, waiting for surgery. Dealing with my sister, my family, being the grown-up, talking to the nurses, the doctor, helping her manage her pain meds, then having her live with me for two weeks not even able to open jars? It was confronting.

One day my mother is going to die. Not for awhile, because she's tough, but it's going to happen. And it's a reality I really am not prepared to confront.

3: Wagon, what wagon?

I fell off it hard. I promised myself I'd be healthier this year. Not to try and lose weight or change my body, or anything, but because I won the best of the genetics from both my parents and have had a variety of health issues in my life including:

• High cholesterol
• High blood sugar
• High blood pressure
• Anxiety
• Depression
• Arthritis
• Tension Headaches

And, as an added bonus, my dad's family seems to have some level of addictive personality and I have family that have gone through codeine and valium addiction, which I don't want to go through, so the last two of those things are a real problem for me to manage. Oh, and, yeah, I'm allergic to anti-inflammatories, which is a bigger problem. Managing pain while being incredibly cautious about taking opiates is a blast for reals. I live with a fairly constant level of pain which blows. 

Part of managing the pain, and the rest of it, is exercise. If your joints and muscles are working properly you get less arthritic pain. And exercise releases endorphins, so that helps with the depression and anxiety. It's time out of mind for me, where I focus on a physical burn, instead of a mental pain. It's amazing at helping me cope. So not going since February is kind of a thing for me. I've got excuses, I took on a second job which has been reletively good for my mental health, but bad for my physical health. I've had tonsillitis twice, followed by a bad chest and sinus infection. I've been tired, and depressed, plus my mum was here, and then I was out of town. Good excuses all, but it's a cumulative effect. Don't exercise, feel more tired, feel more depressed, feel too tired to exercise, feel too depressed to go to the gym, and so on. 

In order to be a more complete me I need to commit to moving. Focussing my energy into building a better body to sustain me for longer. I need to manage my emotional wellbeing in more ways than the little christmas coloured happy pills. Not going has contributed, massively I think, to the current state of my emotional wellbeing. Or, you know, major lack of well being. 

The sugar ain't helping either. I know sugar gives me highs and lows. In a massive way. I get low, I have sugar, I get high, 2 hours later we play the same game over again. Depression leaves me with no self-control to speak of, so I don't say no to myself when it comes to sugar. Stupid stupid stupid. That goes for a ridiculous volume of carbs, as well, of course. 

4: May. Birthday blues. 

I love my birthday. I hate my birthday. Yea, I do dearly love being the centre of attention. I'm an attention whore, I admit it. But also, I hate it. Hate it. Hate it. I don't know why, I always have. I dread it and suffer the most painful depression in the most of May. It starts early and nothing helps. Yeah, I know, fucked. AND stupid. 

Last, but not least, there is time, distance, and the incredible stupidity of time zones. My darling friend Amanda is in Scotland, which perhaps could be the worst time zone for Australia to stay in touch with. My wonderful fiancé is in San Francisco and stays up to ridiculous hours of the night to stay in touch with me. It is difficult to have those you love so much in other countries. It is lonely, and awful, and empty. And it's not their fault, and it's not my fault, it's nobodies fault, but it sure is fucked. 

So the reality of life is, that no, I'm not ok, but fixing it is a whole world of hard. 

There are things that will help, the Christmas pills are great. I went back to the gym today, that'll help if I can stick to it. Managing my good intake a bit better, with a focus on less sugar will mean less highs and lows. Managing my money and not emotionally shopping will give me a peace of mind in the long term. And Americo will be here for two and half months in August, and that will be a huge help. It'll be the first time we'll have a house to ourselves in our combined total of a year living together. And as a first, he'll spend his birthday with me. And I'll get to wake up and kiss him as he turns 36, something we're both incredibly grateful for. 

It's just getting my brain to realise that there are things that help me, and things that hinder me, and I need to force myself to know what's the right thing, and what's the wrong thing, and help myself to get better. 

and that's that. 

For those of you that are concerned, I value you so much. Your concern touches me more than you know. Your love, your friendship, they are my salvation on the bad days. That sounds overdramatic, it really does, but it's true. 

That goes for the total strangers that have expressed concern too. Twitter is such an amazing tool for good, when it's not being an amazing tool for stupid. I've seen people who are down and depressed lifted up on the 140 character well wishes of strangers, which is enough to make my own mind lift of the bad place. The simple "I'm thinking about you" to someone on the edge is such a great thing to do for someone, and there are people that have done that for me, and it is such a blessing. 

So, thank you, my friends, y'all are wonderful bitches, all of you. And I promise you that I'll be fine, once I figure out where my head is at.

That was the really long answer, obviously. The short answer? Not right now, but I will be, because it does get better. And I will get better. 

The enemy within

Depression and anxiety are a terrible disease. Mental illness in whatever form is a terrible thing to experience. You can't see it, you can't pinpoint symptoms to a concrete disease, and diagnosis and treatments are, at best, good guess work by you and your doctor.

Medication for mental illness is dicey. Sometimes it will turn you into an emotionless robot, incapable of feeling, tasting, thinking, living. Sometimes it will make you so physically sick that the mental pain becomes secondary to the physical problems. Sometimes it will result in increased depression, anxiety, thoughts of suicide. It's a mixed bag that almost always comes with bad more than good.

I take a drug called dothep for my anxiety. It's a Tricyclic antidepressant, which basically means it blocks the reuptake of serotonin in the brain, resulting in an increase in its levels. Serotonin being one of the things in your brain that results in happy, it helps you cope with stress by helping you relax. Serotonin is the stuff that makes you feel good after a block of chocolate, or post orgasm, so more is better.

I'm on a really low dose. Like really low. It's basically enough to help me sleep at night, because I'm one f those people that doesn't do that much. I stress a lot. I spend all night tossing and turning and everything is a thousand times worse the next day because I didn't sleep.

The dothep works. Its great, I guess, in that I sleep most nights. I don't hear my phone chime that I have email ever, so I'm clearly totally dead to the world, but I wake up every morning exhausted, regardless of the apparent good nights rest.

I also struggle to function a lot of days. I'm angry at work, I'm sad at home, I feel like everywhere I go out of the house I'm wearing the angry face, because I am angry. All the time. And I hate it. This irrational anger is what drove me to cave on taking something for my anxiety in the first place. And then drove me to a slightly increased dose. And here we are, 9 months later, and wondering if it's time again to increase the dose.

Is this just a period of stress? Or do I need more help? Should that help involve therapy? Am I feeling so off kilter that I need more help than I get from my family? I really don't know lately.

The questions in my head make it hard for me to settle to sleep lately. Even with the pills the ability to actually drift off to sleep is harder than it was.

And I write blog posts in my head to try and stop the swirling questions. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes I have to type them out to find a quiet place in my brain.

Mental illness is still so misunderstood. Confessing you have it is hard. Finding the right medication is hard. Finding the right therapist is hard. And sleeping, apparently is pretty hard too.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

World Mental Health Day

Monday the 10th of October was world mental health day. In the spirit of the day it's time that I confess I have a mental illness.

Most of my life I've suffered from anxiety and depression and I have a mild case of OCD that mostly presents itself in an obsessions with routine. None of the three are particularly debilitating in that I can function with the normals even mid depression or anxiety episode, and my OCD doesn't really present in a way that would impact my work.

Nonetheless, all three conditions do effect me greatly. Mostly in ways that hurt me, and the people I love the most.

When mid episode, particularly depression, I take my lack of...sense of self...out on the people closest to me. I react in ways that could only be described as ridiculous to the simplest of discussions. A mildly different tone in a reply and I'll scream for awhile and then end up sobbing til I vomit on the bathroom floor. The bathroom floor being the hard cold refuge that I seek during episodes, as I've done my whole life. I don't understand the comfort of cold bathroom tiles, but that's the only place that makes sense when I'm really losing my shit.

It's something that, right now, I understand and can see objectively. I understand when outside the moment, and even sometimes when I'm in the moment, that I'm unstable. I know that I need to pull myself back and be reasonable, but I can't find the coherent part of my mind and bring it to the forefront. It is a heartbreakingly painful place to hear the concern, hurt, and uncertainty in the voice of the love of your life as he tries to find the right words to make you come back from the bad place and start making sense again.

And I don't have any advice for him when I'm in a good mental place to help him find his way through the minefield of my mental illness.

I don't even understand my mental illness, for all that I've had it my whole life.

I recently found the strength to admit I need help, thanks to a podcast I listen to called Sex and Other Human Activities (many thanks to Sara Benincasa and Marcus Parks) where they talk quite regularly about their struggles with mental health and medication and such topics. It was, after listening for a couple of episodes, that I realised that many of my day to day experiences were making me so anxious I couldn't sleep at night. Simple things like reading my email would make me cry, and sometimes I'd sit in my car at lunch afraid to go back to work. I finally did the smart thing, after a month of total exhaustion and go medicated for anxiety.

It was a tough decision for me because I have a family history, not only of mental illness, but of serious addiction. My sister is addicted to both valium and codeine, and it's done irreparable damage to her kidneys, not to mention her relationships with her family and friends. My father also had an addictive personality, which made the idea of taking anything very confronting for me. Despite all that, I talked to my doctor about it, and she found me a very mild anxiety pill that's primary purpose was a sleeping pill.

And it's helped me. I sleep at night. And that alone helps me get through a lot of the things I couldn't do before. But I still struggle. I'm still having days where nothing makes sense. I'm still overly emotional to the point that I sobbed like a child in my managers office last week because I couldn't cope with my work.

And I hate it. I hate the lack of clarity in my mind. I hate the emotions I'm feeling around my own confidence and self worth, which are both far lower than they've been in years. I can't look at myself in the mirror because I'm struggling so hard with my anxiety that I can't see my own value.

It's been very confronting for me to be this off kilter.

But I'm coping. I've become a gym junkie, after a fashion, simply because it's the only time I can get out of my head. Sweating, for whatever reason, allows me to stop thinking and let my day go. I suppose the added bonus to that is that I'm far fitter now as well. Two thumbs up for endorphins.

And I've come to the realisation that I probably need to get myself to some sort of therapy, because I know I'm not coping. And that's not a failure. That was the hardest bit, realising that asking for help is not a failure. I am not a failure simply because I can't do this on my own.

The other thing I've realised is that just because I'm unhappy with where I am mentally, doesn't mean I need to take that out on other people. Sometimes I can't help it, but I can't learn to try and control it, because I don't need to drag other people down here with me. That doesn't, however, mean I push away everyone I love simply because I've been ashamed of feeling this bad.

Mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of, and it's about time I really started to learn that.