Shatterboxx Self-publishes

Well, I finally finished my lil zine/booklet type thing. It’s called The Junkbox Diaries. I made it from a load of old diary pages coupled with my comments on what was going on for me last year. It’s very short and poorly photocopied (and on one copy, the pages are stapled in the wrong order) but what the hell, it’s my first try at making something that’s entirely mine! I’m going to see if some local indie bookshops in my area will take it, but if anyone who writes or comments here would like one, I’ll send you one for free. Just email your name and address to 126080@bathspa.ac.uk and I’ll send one out to ya.

 

Question Time!

I am thinking about writing a report or possibly a book in my next year of uni, regarding how personal friendships affect people who live with mental illness. I also want to focus on the role of the internet in outreaching to others in search of help, whether this is good or not, websites specifically for people who live with depression etc

I’d be really grateful if you could all fill in this questionnaire. Obviously, if not enough questions apply to you, don’t worry, but have a look through anyway. Please reply to this post with your answers. Also, if anyone has any ideas for questions I’ve missed, do let me know!

 

How do you classify your mental illness?

 

How long have you lived with it?

 

Are you receiving treatment for it? (therapy, medication etc)

 

Do you feel that your friends and family understand your illness?

 

Have you ever been a member of a real life non-medical group or organization specifically for people who live with mental illness?

 

What was your experience of this?

 

If not, why not?

 

Have you ever been a member of an online non-medical group or organization specifically for people who live with mental illness?

 

What was your experience of this?

 

If not, why not?

 

Do you feel that it is good for people who suffer from mental illness to seek out people with similar problems to help them get better? Why?

 

What do you think the effect of the internet has had in the role of reaching out to others?

 

 Do you think that the internet is a good way of gaining support with your illness?

 

 

 

 

University Challenge: Part Six

Suggestion To My University/Universities In General/The Government: Money, please?

 

I have a part-time job, which I was extremely lucky to get. I work in a lovely shop, with good people. It has a fairly relaxed atmosphere and I don’t feel under pressure. In fact, I actually look forward to being there most of the time. I was worried about getting a job while being at uni because I knew that there would be time, and most definitely energy, conflicts. With all my uni work to do, I wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to handle it. I can’t say it’s easy, but generally having this job is a really positive thing and helps with my mood. The thing is, like most students with part-time jobs I’m on minimum wage and am actually told by my uni not to work more than 15 hours a week. I earn roughly £56 a week… and I pay £37 of that to my therapist.

           

As most people who have tried to obtain therapy through the NHS know, it’s basically impossible. All through my teenage years I was kept on waiting lists, offered counselling instead (which I didn’t find helpful at all) and given anti depressants which generally made my mood drop even further. I started seeing private therapists a few years ago, and eventually I found someone I felt could really help me. And she has. In the year I’ve been seeing my current therapist, I’ve seen such significant changes to my mood that I actually feel like I won’t always be depressed. I’ve felt positive about my life. This is a huge thing.

           

When I look back over my bank statements for the past year I cannot believe I’ve survived up until now without getting (even more) massively into debt. I pay for rent, bills, a monthly bus ticket (which I need to get to my therapist’s office), food, books and my weekly appointment out of my student loan and my savings (which are rapidly diminishing). I’ve bought basically nothing for myself in the way of treats (clothes, CDs etc) because I just can’t afford it.

 

 

I applied for Access to Learning (a grant you can apply for if you are struggling financially). This took forever. I had to obtain bank statements from the last three months, my housing contract and a letter from my therapist’s office, photocopy the whole lot, fill in a ten page form and return the whole lot to the welfare office. This is great when you’ve got little to no time/energy/willpower to do anything… */sarcasm* They took weeks to process it and then sent me a letter telling me I hadn’t included a copy of my Disability Assessment Report which they had right there in the welfare office. I finally had to go to the Welfare office to talk to someone who informed me that I needed to provide them with another piece of evidence before they could begin to assess the application. I was exhausted and feeling terrible. At this point, I hadn’t been eating properly because I basically couldn’t afford food. I broke down in tears in front of the man I was talking to. He didn’t really know what to say. I finally obtained the last bit of evidence and after more time had passed received a letter stating I would receive a lump sum of £691.

 

This sounds like a good result (and don’t get me wrong I’m grateful!) but all it meant was that I didn’t go overdrawn. Within two months I was right back where I started. The money had disappeared: rent, bills and weekly therapy took it all.

           

About a month ago I made the decision that I would try and cut my therapist’s appointments from once a week to once a fortnight. I was not happy about this decision at all, but my situation being what it was, I didn’t feel I had a choice. I had survived a couple of breaks like this when my therapist took time off last summer so I thought that maybe it would be all right…

           

In short, it hasn’t been. Turns out there’s a big difference between weekly and fortnightly therapy sessions. In no time at all I’ve felt hopeless, suicidal and like I’m sliding back into my old ways, how I felt before I started therapy… It has made me realise that I need to keep seeing my therapist every week. There’s no other option.

           

But can I afford it? I’m currently trying to apply for my loans for next year, screaming with frustration because it looks like my parents earn just over the amount required for me to get extra financial help… My financial situation doesn’t seem to count for much. Even though I’ll be 21 this year and I have moved out of their house, I am still apparently dependent on my parents. They help out as much as they can, but to be honest I feel awkward asking them. My father is currently in therapy himself and is having to halve his working hours because of his own depression and my mother is retired. I don’t honestly feel like I can just ask for money as and when I need it.

           

My Disability Allowance doesn’t seem to cover things like therapy. It covered my laptop (definite plus) and my fortnightly (or thereabouts) sessions with my mentor but not much else of use. I guess it’s assumed that if you turn your nose up at the NHS, then you have to fork out for private therapy out of your own pocket. Never mind that the NHS have either ignored me or treated me with disbelief regarding my depression for years… My point is, if my Disability Allowance is willing to provide me with things like ‘textbooks specifically to help with my disability’ (which is what? Self-help books?) and ‘taxi journeys’ (presumably when I don’t feel I can get the bus, but to be honest phoning for a taxi is even more difficult, let alone having to ask for a receipt to photocopy and send off for reimbursement), then why isn’t it possible to gain help with my therapy costs?

           

The reason for the title of this entry is that I’m sure this is a government issue rather than one personal to my uni, but it is infuriating nonetheless. Why should I have to put a price on my own sanity? I’m not saying it is my university’s responsibility to pay for my therapy, but if they’re willing to give money towards other issues regarding disabilities, they’d do better not to make it so complicated for me to gain financial help when I need it.

 

Safety First! Pt 2

WHEN OUT ALONE:

 

-         Where possible don’t walk alone after dark.

 

Well, this is the one we’ve all been told for years, isn’t it. Up until I became a feminist I’d be nodding fervently and planning my TV schedule for the dark, dark night ahead. But think about winter in England. Basically, if you have a vagina, you can’t go out alone after five pm. I don’t live alone but I’d feel uncomfortable about dragging my housemates with me every time I need to go up to the shop… Not out of politeness but just… personal freedom, maybe? Remember that? No? Oh, we haven’t quite got it yet, have we. I just don’t understand why it’s universally accepted that if you’re female, you shouldn’t go out alone at night because you can and will get attacked. I have walked home alone late at night hundreds of times before. I have never once been attacked. I’ve been intimidated, yes, I’ve had nasty comments made, yes, but not once have I been attacked. I’m not saying it could never happen, but if I think about all the stories I’ve heard from friends, acquaintances, websites and the news, the majority of people being attacked out after dark are male.

 

-         Always be alert

 

Well, yes… But I’m sort of like that anyway because I don’t like walking into lampposts.

 

-         Avoid shortcuts and dark deserted areas

 

Yep. Makes sense. I will walk home after dark, but I’m not going to go dancing through Dodgytown.

 

-         Walk near the kerb away from bushes and buildings.

 

Ah. For all those tiny little men lurking inside bushes ready to attack… Seriously, I’m not making fun of this, but if I walk away from the buildings, I’m closer to the road which is also dangerous because presumably if I’m going to get abducted someone could just pull their car over and shove me inside. What to do, what to do.

 

-         Do not hitch-hike

 

Well, no, not generally a good idea, but I don’t come across situations where I would need to do that often. I have a travel-card.

 

-         Carry a torch after dark

 

Yeah… as covered before, who is actually going to do this? I suppose you could use it to bash someone on the head if you need to.

 

-         To avoid delay, keep your keys in your hand when approaching car or home

 

This one’s pretty good, not just to avoid delay but a) if you really need the loo, it’s better to be able to get into your house as soon as possible and b) if someone does attack you, you can punch them with your keys in your hand. They’re a pretty good weapon.

 

-         If you are attacked scream and shout as loud as you can

 

Yep. Your voice is your best weapon. Even though as British people we just love to bury our heads in our newspapers at the thought of being involved in a scene, a lot of the time people love a bit of drama. Scream your lungs out and, hey presto, Bloke Next Door To The Rescue. Seriously, though, it’s a good trick. It’ll distract your attacker enough for you to get away.

 

SHOPPING: (because, y’know, it’s just a given that women will need a special section just for this. We are such silly, frivolous creatures. How about a ‘Football’ section in the men’s pamphlet? ‘If someone starts a fight with you, the headbutt is a much underused attack etc etc.’)

 

-         Carry your handbag close to your body and beware of persons approaching you from front or rear

 

I don’t have a handbag, but thanks for the assumption.

 

-         Don’t put your handbag down where it can be easily stolen

 

I don’t have a… oh, never mind. Well, a place where it can easily be stolen… Gee, like anywhere?

 

-         If someone snatches your bag don’t fight, you may be injured

 

Damn right. I’m not getting my head kicked in for a wallet full of old bus tickets and a half-price phone.

 

-         Get as good a description as possible and tell the police immediately

 

Again, fine in theory…

 

-         Don’t leave your purse on top of your shopping bag or pram

 

Because as a woman it’s a guarantee I will have either one or both of these items. Sigh.

 

-         Avoid unlit or deserted car parks or areas

 

Yees… but where exactly would you be? I’m assuming we’re talking about the daytime because not many shops are open in the dead of night.

 

-         Don’t carry excessive amounts of money in your handbag

 

Hah! Chance would be a fine thing. This does make sense, though, but again it’s not really specific to women and I don’t have a handbag.

 

-         Do not carry your credit cards and cheque book in the same bag

 

Personally, I don’t think you should carry a cheque book at all. Most shops don’t accept cheques any more and you’ll just hold up the queue at the ones that do. But besides that… that means you have to take two bags with you? Or just leave one or the other thing at home? Hmm. Perhaps construct a weird krypton factor bag with so many pockets that your attacker will get confused and just hand the thing back to you and run away…

 

-         Remember protect yourself first and then your belongings

 

Because us women are so stupid we will actually throw ourselves in front of a bus for a pair of shoes. Again, this seems like common sense. Is anyone actually going to pick up this leaflet and think ‘Ah, I shouldn’t die for my shopping. Great advice!’

 

Thus ends the great advice of the safety leaflet. Is anyone else confused and slightly scared? With my mind being as it is I find it hard enough to walk outside most days as it is without having to fear being attacked because I’m not carrying a torch or walking on the right side of the pavement…

 

What it really boils down to is this: 99.9% of the population can and should be held accountable for their actions. Why, then, are the people who are attacked being told what to do to avoid being attacked by these people? If someone is going to attack you, they will do it no matter where you are, what you’re wearing, whether you’re carrying your handbag two degrees to the wrong side of your body and whether or not you’re carrying a sodding torch.

 

Safety First! Pt 1

Women: Change your names, stay indoors, and for God’s sake always carry a torch!

 

As you can probably tell from my previous entries, I’ve been spending a lot of time in the welfare office at my uni. But I’m sick of talking about that for the moment, so I’ve decided to talk about this leaflet I found on the wall in the Student Union. It basically sums up everything about how annoyed I am that women are made to feel guilty for being attacked if they’re not doing enough to keep themselves ‘safe’. It’s called ‘Women Aware: Useful  tips to keep safe’ (published by Avon and Somerset Police Community Trust). It’s basically a big long list, divided into several sections. Now, I’m not one just to be angry for the sake of it, so the tips that I actually agree with are in bold.

 

ON PUBLIC TRANSPORT:

 

-         Avoid isolated bus stops

 

Right. So it’s late at night, you need to get home, yet if the bus stop happens to be empty or in a secluded area, then you should try and drag someone else along with you? Slightly impractical. I thank God every day that there are well-lit and properly posted bus stops in most areas in the city I live in, but if there isn’t one available, I’m certainly not going to fork out for a taxi because some dodgy guy may approach me…

 

-         Sit near the driver or another woman/If pestered by someone, complain to the driver, conductor or guard.

 

I agree with female solidarity on the streets at night. I always try to walk along with other women if I have to walk home at night. (Unfortunately, with my height, posture and big stomping boots, most women think I’m a potential attacker walking up behind them… Hmm).  But if you’ve ever tried to use a First bus driver as personal protection, I think you’ll know what I mean when I say it’s a waste of time. They’re not employed as bodyguards, most of them just want to get their shift over and done with, and they’re certainly not looking for trouble from some creepy guy even if he is harrassing their female customers. There isn’t proper security on the busses where I live, even late at night. I really don’t see how sitting near the driver will make a difference.

 

-         Avoid empty compartments or compartments containing only one male person

 

Because he’s a male on his own, he’s more likely to attack you? I don’t get this. I definitely feel safer sitting with one male passenger than a whole gang of them… Besides, if it’s the last bus of the night, what are you meant to do? Drag strangers off the street onto the bus with you to be ‘safer’?

 

IN YOUR CAR:

 

-         Where possible always travel on main or well used roads.

 

Yeah, this is a good one. I don’t drive, but when I’m walking at night I always stick to the main roads.

 

-         If you feel unsafe always lock your car doors before driving off/Always lock your car when you leave it, for however short a time.

 

Don’t these two just seem like common sense…? Or are us women too hysterical and stupid to realise these things?

 

-         Check the interior of your car before entering, especially the back seat – at night carry and use a torch.

 

… and don’t forget your hard hat, grapping irons and rope… Come on, who’s honestly going to remember to bring a torch with them when they go out at night? And why do you need one in your car? Checking the interior sounds like common sense… if you happen to be in a horror movie. How likely is it someone is going to be hiding inside your car?

 

-         Park in well-lit areas

 

Yep.

 

-         If followed home don’t get out of the car, make sure the doors are locked, sound the horn or flash your lights to attract attention.

 

Attention from who? Where are you? Is this in the middle of the day or at night? Bit confusing. Personally, I’d call someone on my mobile for help.

 

-         If you have car trouble, stay in your car and wait for help.

 

Right, except sometimes you’ll be advised to get out of the car for your own safety by the mechanics, especially if you break down on the motorway.

 

-         Don’t stop to help others – drive on and report it by phone/Never pick up hitch-hikers

 

After watching that episode of Six Feet Under, I have to fervently agree with these two… Except they’re not really specific to women.

 

WHEN IN ALONE:

 

-         Secure all windows and doors

 

Yep.

 

-         Fit and use a door chain and viewer

 

Door chains are a godsend. In the few extra minutes it takes for someone to kick your door in, you can be on the phone to the police.

 

-         Women who live alone should use only their initials and surnames in name plates and telephone directories.

 

What?! Does this sound insane to anyone else? Do you know anyone who actually does this?? Have we suddenly returned to Victorian times? Why don’t we just issue a man free with the house for all those weird women who actually enjoy living alone? Rhetorical questions aside, I’m pretty amazed at this one. How dare anyone make a woman feel like she’s not doing the maximum to keep herself safe in her own home if she has the audacity not to hide her gender.

 

-         Don’t let strangers into your home

 

Duh.

 

-         When answering the phone don’t let strangers know you are alone

 

I’m a bit confused as to what strangers would be ringing up for a chat… Sometimes when the phone rings, you pick it up and no-one’s there, you can be fairly sure someone’s just ringing to check someone (anyone) is in so they know not to burgle you. But how are you supposed to show someone you’re not alone? Pretend to be talking to someone else? Have a party CD on in the background?

 

-         Ensure you report all suspicious incidents to the police immediately

 

Ah. Well. The big one. The fact is this is great advice. In theory. But from the amount of stories I’ve heard from male and female friends about times when someone has either attempted to break in or made threatening phonecalls, the police just aren’t there to help. They either assume it’ll blow over or just plain tell you they’re not bothering to come round. In the case of some friends, someone was on their roof one night trying to break into an upstairs window. They rang the police and were told, ‘What do you expect, you live in ***** (dodgy area of town)’. It’s pretty unbelievable, but it’s true. Nine times out of ten, if you ring the police with a ‘suspicious incident’ they aren’t likely to take any notice.

 

University Challenge: Part Five B

Suggestion To My Uni: Better organisation in the welfare building Pt 2

 

Update from last entry: I received an answer to the questions I wanted to ask Finance Guy and the answer was basically… ‘I don’t know’. Great… He gave me a bunch of other numbers to call and I was finally told by another Support Lady that I’m not entitled to any money to pay my therapy costs. I’m pretty worried about this because I know I have to keep seeing my therapist every week. My mother has suggested I bypass the welfare office and go direct to the people who assessed me for Disability Support in the first place… Watch this space…

 

I have a learning mentor who I see occasionally and because of poor planning, we rarely have a private room to meet up in. Obviously, the welfare building would be the best place to meet in but the few times she was able to book a room for us to use for an hour at a specific time, the following things happened:

 

-    We arrived to find the room already in use and no alternative available.

-         We began using a room, only to be interrupted by the university chaplain who apparently used it at that exact time each week!

-         We had to resort to using someone’s office because of a double-booking, which meant that another person was in the room working while I was talking about my problems.

 

(There’s really nothing worse than trying to talk about personal problems with someone shuffling papers in the background and whispering, ‘Don’t mind me!’ at various intervals…)

 

One morning we had a room booked for 12 o’clock, only to arrive and be told that the entire building was shut until 2 o’clock due to the Easter holidays! I admit this is a problem that at the moment may not have an answer just because Bath Spa’s campus is not very big, but there’s a definite communication problem here. I was asked recently why I haven’t complained yet but my answer was just that I don’t know who to complain to. The admin is so confusing, I have no idea who sorts anything out. Most of the staff have no idea who each other are…  

 

 

University Challenge: Part Five A

Suggestion To My Uni: Better organisation in the welfare building Pt 1

Oh yes. This is a two-parter

 

The welfare office at my uni is a converted building that I think was originally going to be used for halls. As a result, it is cramped, dark and the idea that anyone in a wheelchair could comfortably get around it is pretty hard to believe. I have usually been able to make appointments to talk to someone about my problems which has occasionally been helpful. However, I have also been left in the lurch by staff members who don’t seem to understand how appointment-making works…

 

Last week, I had an appointment to talk to the finance officer regarding the amount of money I am entitled to next year. I’m pretty worried about how I’m going to survive next year with rising rent costs and having to see my £37-a-session therapist every week. I had a panic attack one day, then decided to email the woman I usually talked to at the welfare office. She didn’t suggest meeting, but passed on my desperate, I-don’t-know-what-to-DO-please-help-me email to the finance officer, who apparently was out of the office for another three days. O-K… I replied to her, cc-ing the finance officer, deciding I had to make some sort of link between the woman who listens to my depressed ravings and the Very Serious Money Man or else I wouldn’t be taken seriously. Needless to say, I was feeling a little out of my depth. On the day Finance Guy returned to his office he sent me a short email telling me to phone his office to arrange an appointment. I was a bit confused… Had he even read my very long, snot-dribbling, tear-stained email? Had Welfare Woman told him I hate using the phone? I had to go to work the next day, so I used my coffee break to phone him from my mobile outside the shop. Not ideal, I hate talking to official people, I hate using the phone and I hate using the phone in public but sometimes (as the Official People annoyingly point out) needs must… I gritted my teeth.

 

‘What can I do for you?’ he asked as soon as I got through to him. Again, confusion. He had my email presumably sitting in his inbox right in front of him, detailing exactly what my problem was. I awkwardly explained my worries again, glaring at any passers-by who could hear. We arranged an appointment for two days time (which was then Thursday at 11am). ‘I’ll just pencil you in,’ he said. So, silly me, I assumed he wrote things like this down…

 

Thanks to the massively helpful once-an-hour-in-the-holidays uni busses, I arrived at campus 50 minutes early on the Thursday and passed the time sitting in the library, feeling horribly nervous. The last time I had spoken to this guy, I had burst into tears because I felt so uncomfortable talking about my problems. I have no idea how student finance works, really, and I thought that he, the financial officer, might be able to help a tad. That time, he hadn’t suggested much and had looked suitably ‘Oh-dear-a-crying-girl’ awkward… I looked at the clock and felt sick. Five to eleven. Then I decided I was tired of feeling sick and downtrodden by uni, and did a Wonder Woman turnaround. I decided I was going to pick up all the courage I had, get in that office and demand the help I needed. I wasn’t going to take any shrugged shoulders, any ‘I don’t know what I can do’s. He was paid to do a job, I was paying to be at uni. I had the upper hand! I could do this!

 

I marched into the welfare building and went to his office. The sign on the door said ‘Closed’. ‘He must have forgotten to change it,’ I thought, foolishly. I knocked. No answer. I tried the handle. Locked. A woman walked out of the office next door. 

 

‘Can I help you?’

 

‘I’m looking for Finance Guy,’ I mumbled, Wonder Woman disappearing.

 

She gave me a look like I’d actually said ‘Finance Guy’ and not Finance Guy’s name. ‘He’s at the Open Day all day today.’

 

There was a silence, like she expected me to slap my head and go ‘Of course. The Open Day!’ I didn’t, I just stared at her.

 

‘We had an appointment scheduled for today at 11,’ I said.

 

More silence. Then finally, as she realised I wasn’t going to turn tail and leave, she suggested I go and look for him (!!) and that ‘he might come back here for you, but I don’t know.’ I was incredulous. Do the words ‘scheduled appointment’ not mean anything at all?

 

Feeling like an idiot, I went and looked, but the building she suggested I look for him in was swarming with prospective students and parents and I didn’t feel anywhere near brave enough to set foot inside. (My friend later said I should’ve stormed right in and made a big fuss in front of everyone about how rubbish the university is and made them all go elsewhere!) Eventually, I decided to go back and wait in the welfare building in the small hope that he might come back. At 11:15, my friend walked in and I finally decided he wasn’t coming. We went off to have a Diet Coke and a rant in the canteen.

 

The next day I sent a very restrained email to him expressing confusion. His reply? ‘Sorry, we must have just missed each other’… I honestly didn’t know what to say.

 

 

 

 

University Challenge: Part Four

 Suggestion To My Uni: Have a better student information system.

 

Talking to official people about personal problems is always nerve-wracking, obviously. But what really doesn’t help is if every time I have to go and see a new person at uni about something relating to my mental illness, they have no idea who I am.

           

 A few memorable times:

 

- Having to go and meet with my lecturer in the first year after I was experiencing severe panic attacks and having to run from his class each week. I tried to explain my problems the best I could. He was silent for a while and then nervously explained that he didn’t know very much about depression but when he was at university something similar happened to him. Cue awkward silence.

 

- Discovering I had to give a presentation to the whole class for one of my modules. I panicked and told my teacher I would almost definitely have a panic attack if I was made to do it. She sympathised but told me it wasn’t up to her and I’d have to make an appointment to see another woman. This took a while and in the meantime I worried about failing the class. Eventually we met and I tried to explain to her what my problem was. She gave me the option to do an essay instead but didn’t seem to understand why I couldn’t do the presentation.

 

- Sorting out the deadline extensions for three pieces of work I couldn’t complete on time. I completed the work shortly after the deadline but I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to submit it because no one had told me. I made an appointment to speak to a member of the admin staff who sat in silence as I explained why the work was late and then coldly told me I should have submitted the work to the registry office weeks ago (despite my revised deadline being several months away) and that ‘no one will take it now’. I was told to post the work to a man I’d never heard of in a different department and the woman then went on to insinuate that if I couldn’t get the work done on time then maybe I shouldn’t be on the course at all. Horrible experience.

 

- Having to talk to one of my lecturers this year about why I had a) joined his class late (Answer: Because the university had thoughtfully programmed my timetable so that I was in from nine til five on a Wednesday with no breaks and I was forced to swap classes) and b) why I had been in his class for two weeks without handing in any work yet (Answer: Because I was going through a particularly rough patch and finding it very difficult to keep up with work). I explained my problems again to him but, just like the others, he didn’t seem receptive. He told me that if I couldn’t get the work done, then I shouldn’t be on the course. Fighting back tears, I tried to explain to him how much I wanted this degree and how I knew I could get the work done for the class but I just needed a little more time. Eventually, he seemed to grudgingly accept this and told me I had another week. I went home feeling shaken up and upset. I later thought that it seemed absurd I was having to prove my worth yet again in the second year of my degree. Surely completing a year of university was enough to show that I was entirely capable of doing the work? I gained two distinctions in my first year! Why wasn’t this information available to my lecturer as proof that I wasn’t simply being lazy?

 

These are the main ones that stick out in my mind but there are dozens of examples I could mention. It has not been easy to get people to understand, but the main point is that there is plenty of information about me within the university (my Disability Assessment report, for example) that makes it obvious I am living with a mental health condition. I shouldn’t have to feel like I’m dragging round a filing cabinet about myself every time I talk to someone new! It is important that I mention the few lovely lecturers who were completely understanding when I went to them for help. But there’s a definite emphasis on ‘few’. For the most part, I have had to fight my own battles. I suppose that in order for the information about me personally to be made more available, attitudes towards mental health in general would have to change also.

 

University Challenge: Part Three

Suggestion To My Uni: Make sure all lecturers know the correct way to talk about mental illness. 

Since being at university I have been shocked by the amount of times I have heard uninformed and sometimes even offensive attitudes towards mental illness from members of staff. Although it is discouraging when I hear a group of students my age speaking this way, I can usually forgive them for it and put forward my own opinions so that theirs might be changed. After all, we’re all still young. But professional academics put in place by a university so that their job is to teach? In the last year and a half I have heard dismissive and frivolous comments about bipolarity (quite often manic depression is talked about as if it is funny), blasé attitudes towards depression in young people (‘they’re making it all up for attention’ being a typical standpoint) and, worst of all, a complete misunderstanding of what it is to be a creative person who lives with a mental illness.

           

I am on a creative writing course. I am completely aware that a lot of the great writers and poets that we read today suffered and sometimes died because of their misery and how a lot of depression has inspired some beautiful pieces of writing. Do I respect this? Completely. I can absolutely see how living with an illness of the mind can make you introspective and thus have a better capacity for writing deep and meaningful pieces. I know the merit of being able to create something out of your depression: a lot of my writing is very personal, and often the most personal writing can turn out to be the best. Occupational Therapy works in this way. I completely support it as an idea. However, do I think that the best or even only way to write something meaningful is to be depressed? No. Do I believe that my depression is nothing more than a tool for my writing? Definitely not. Am I happy to live with an illness that robs me of my livelihood and energy just so that I can apparently write better? ABSOLUTELY NOT.

 

I honestly couldn’t believe the attitude of some lecturers who suggested time and time again that being depressed is a blessing, a great gift for introspection. I almost groan out loud now in classes when I know we have to talk about a writer who committed suicide because I know inevitably the discussion will turn to mental illness and most of the time not even one person in the class will know what they’re talking about. And that includes the lecturer. On the days when I feel brave enough to speak up for myself, I am quick to correct any lecturer who begins the usual spiel about depression being the key to great writing but having to do this all the time raises the question about why they don’t know about mental illness in the first place. Surely there are some sort of Equal Opportunities rules that they need to know about before beginning the job? Imagine hearing a lecturer say that people in wheelchairs are lucky for not having to walk around everywhere! There needs to be better information for lecturers about the best way to discuss these things in a classroom situation. Perpetuating the myth that mental illness = creativity makes it very difficult for people like me to get their voices heard. You can imagine the frustration: on a bad day I sit in class and listen to everyone else talk rubbish about the subject I know the most about.

 

University Challenge: Part Two

 Suggestion To My Uni: More help with housing. 

I was uncomfortable with the idea of living in halls. Living with seven other people in cramped and often noisy conditions, having to go to a separate building to do my washing, and quite probably feeling out of sorts for not wanting to be part of the party culture didn’t feel like the right atmosphere to combine with my depression. After I took a tour around the halls on the open day, I panicked and confessed this to my mother.

 

When we went to the housing office, they seemed slightly put-out by my suggesting that their halls were not appropriate for me. It was suggested instead that I go into what they called a ‘scheme house’, a house owned by the university, closer to the centre of Bath with fewer housemates. I thought this sounded ideal, so decided to go for it.

 

I waited months for them to sort this out. Eventually they got back to me in late August (barely a few weeks before I was supposed to start) in the form of an email. The email consisted of the address of the house I was supposed to be moving into and the names and phone numbers of the girls I was going to be living with. That was it. Shortly after this, I received a phone call from one of the girls saying that as I lived the closest to Bath (Bristol) I should be responsible for sorting out a viewing of the house, getting the keys etc.

 

I was already panicking enough about the situation, but being told I was responsible for sorting out the entire house by myself was the last straw. I went into a panic attack that lasted about half a day and my mother angrily rang the housing office at the university to tell them it was not OK for them to assume I would be up to doing this. They hadn’t assigned anyone from the university to be in contact with me during this and the other girls hadn’t been told that I had a problem. In the end, through a lot of negotiating, a viewing of the house was arranged and I went to Bath to see it.

 

In short: it was awful. The house was set out over four floors as it shared the building with a shop. The bedrooms were a good size but for the most part I found the layout of the house uncomfortable. The kitchen was two floors up from the ground floor, the bathroom, three. The room on the bottom floor by the front door was definitely the worst of the lot, hardly any light, with bars on the tiny window, presumably to stop people breaking in. The three other girls were friendly enough but I wasn’t sure how they’d feel about me explaining my condition to them and with no one from the university there to help I felt awkward talking about it. We couldn’t decide how to allocate the rooms so we asked the estate agent to do it for us. I ended up with the room on the bottom floor. I was forced to sign the contract then and there as the other girls wouldn’t have been able to get their keys if I hadn’t and two of them had come from hundreds of miles away. Afterwards, I cried, knowing that this had all been a huge mistake.

 

For the first couple of days I couldn’t sleep through fear of someone breaking in. Every time I saw a shape of someone in the garden at night I panicked, even though it was only a friend of one of the other girls. Every time they had friends over I could hear them all walking past my room and up the stairs clear as anything. The girls gradually grew less friendly towards me as I refused to go out with them, preferring to stay in and read. I tried my best to fit in with them but after some time I realised we were just different people. My depression grew in this time: I felt inadequate and lonely and the position of my bedroom in the house didn’t help. One night I was woken at three am by one of my housemates forgetting her keys. Most mornings I was woken at six am by banging and crashing from the stockroom of the shop we shared the building with which was right above my room. I phoned my parents a lot in this time, which I felt horrible about doing as I had tried so hard to make this a fresh start. My mother was angry that the university had basically abandoned me straight after allocating me the house and hadn’t bothered to check with me that it was suitable. We started negotiations with the housing office and the estate agent to get me out of the contract. It was a long process and we received nothing but hostility from the university who I think believed it was my fault for signing the contract despite the fact I had no choice.

 

Eventually I was released from the contract under mitigating circumstances. I pushed a piece of paper under the door of the house getting the girls to sign a declaration so I could get the deposit back. By this time, the girls were outright hostile to me, having decided that I was cold and unfriendly rather than depressed and didn’t answer the door. To be honest, I don’t blame them too much. It was true that I hadn’t made much of an effort to make friends with them, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just lousy circumstance and for that I blame the university’s poor planning and non-understanding of my condition.

 

I ended up living with my parents for the whole of my first year. Some new start. To top it all, during my second year I saw the inside of three different halls on campus specially designed for people who live with mental conditions (agoraphobia, bipolar disorder and autism). Clean, bright, airy, spacious. A lot more expensive, obviously, but quite clearly perfect for me! I can understand that universities (especially small universities like Bath Spa) have limited rooms to offer to people with health problems but I find it aggravating that I wasn’t told about these options and insulting that I wasn’t even considered. It could have saved me a lot of problems.

 

Kind of a long one, guys, but thanks for reading. More to come.