I think I should be perfect…

One of the things I’ve struggled with over the last few years is how my mental health has affected my career and vice versa. A large part of my identity has always been entwined with what I do and how well I do it, and it all started to unravel when I found myself deeply unhappy at work.

Obviously, the first thing I thought about was changing my job, but I wanted to stay in academic librarianship and there were very few positions available at the pay rate I was receiving. I did get interviews for all suitable vacancies in the vicinity, but didn’t get any of the jobs. This happened over the course of several months and I was gradually having more time off due to stress related illnesses such as IBS and asthma. Things spiralled downwards until I was routinely bursting into tears at home (though I did my best to hid tears and distress at work…), and feeling out of control. Ending in being off sick for several months.

Since I was a teenager I’ve always wanted to live by some “feminist ideals”- I wanted to go to Uni, get a well paid job, support myself financially, get my own place etc. I didn’t want to get married or be dependant on a man (though I always envisioned having a male partner). I managed all that, so it came as a shock when I realised I had depression. I shouldn’t be depressed! I was living by my ideals and hadn’t had any major upsets in my life.

However, through counselling and therapy I’ve realised I wasn’t just living my ideals, I was trying to be ideal… I put a lot of energy and care into trying to be very good at everything, and didn’t like to ask for help.

It all came back to that common cause of distorted thinking: Perfectionism.

Having to re-evaluate my life due to my ill health (mental & physical) has made me come to the somewhat painful realisation that I am not what I do. Therefore, my job can be just a job and I can be good at it without it being the major focus of my life. It doesn’t matter if the house is a mess, or what wage I’m earning (as long as we have enough to live on) or whether I’m the perfect friend. I can be me, with all my imperfections and the people who matter will still love me.

Now I just have to figure out how to be just me!

 

 

Breaking the Silence

I have been registered as a writer here for some time, but have been reading everyone else’s contributions and thinking “there’s no way I can write as well as that!” Regardless of my feelings of inadequacy, I feel the need to at least introduce myself and do what I promised the group and myself I was going to do, by beginning to contribute properly to the blog.

I have been affected by depression for many years. My mother (a nurse in psychiatry, with depression herself) can pinpoint times when I was only five or six years old where I showed signs of depressive illness. It really started manifesting when I was 15-16 and I went through several years of bouncing from one doctor to another, trying drug after drug after drug, and all the time spinning downwards with self-destructive behaviour; self-harm, drug and alcohol abuse and four separate suicide attempts, all to try to quiet the voices in my head and end the feelings of despair. When I became pregnant with my son I stopped the alcohol and drugs, was put on paroxetine and adopted a healthier, more ’stable’ lifestyle. It was around this time I started to be taken seriously by doctors. I am almost certain that had I not become pregnant, I would not be here today. My son indirectly saved my life. It felt like because I was pregnant, the medical professionals saw me as an adult all of a sudden, and they needed to ‘make me better’ so that I would be an adequate parent. I was put on the paroxetine because my (male) doctor didn’t know what else to try. There was nothing else to try. The benefits to my mental heath outweighed the risks to the foetus who later became my son, so my pregnancy was also my first experience of the dullness of a drugged mind.

Paroxetine is numbing and addictive. It prevents me from reaching the very lowest of my lows, but in kind it also prevents me from reaching the highest of my highs. As a teenager I was a creative soul; an artist, a painter, a poet. Paroxetine strips away my creativity, it leaves me standing cold with a paintbrush in my hand and a furrowed brow as I stare at a blank canvas, wondering what it is I am supposed to do. My anxiety makes me very forgetful, and sometimes I forget to take my tablet. It has a very short ‘half-life’ so the effects of withdrawal are felt rapidly in comparison to other antidepressants - within 24-48 hours. I begin to feel dizzy and unbalanced, like the fluid in my ears has frozen over and I have no idea if I am upside-down or back to front. When that dizziness begins I have to take the tablet within a few hours, because otherwise I will begin shaking and vomiting. When I pop that pill after forgetting, I know I have a two to three hour ‘window’ of creativity. There is just little enough of the drug in my system that colours look right again, and everything is bright and glowing and loud and my brain buzzes with ideas. Then it kicks in again and I go back to normal, struggling to squeeze out even a sentence or brush stroke.

I moved to the house I live in now two years ago, and met Dr R. Dr R is a wonderful woman, a feminist, the kind of doctor who never hurries you and takes her time and doesn’t fob you off with antibiotics or painkillers or long words. Dr R has admitted I am likely to be on paroxetine for life. It took me a while to become comfortable with this, but I accept it now. The withdrawal is physically painful, and the slight dampening of experiences and medical dependency is a small price to pay for the sake of staying stable around my small child. I don’t advocate antidepressant drugs - in fact I advise strongly against them - but I recognise through my own experience and from the experiences of others that for some of us, they allow us to lead fairly normal lives.

Alongside my depression I suffer from anxiety disorder, and this is more detrimental than the depression, which surprises many people. The general public seems to perceive anxiety disorder as ‘worrying’ or occasional panic attacks but it is so much more than that. My own experience of it includes not only anxiety and panic but also obsessive-compulsive disorder, extreme paranoia, delusions and aural hallucinations. I was recently referred to an organisation which deals with psychosis, as the gateway psychiatrist feared that my previous drug abuse had triggered it (a theory that not all psychiatric professionals agree on). I had a session with the psychologists there, who concluded that it was not psychosis but anxiety that caused my symptoms. I was loathe to become dependent on more drugs, and am now in the beginning stages of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy with a wonderful woman who treats me respectfully, with dignity, like a normal person.

Living as a woman with mental health problems is difficult; living as a mother with mental health problems is more difficult still. I remember a few weeks before my son was born, out with his father (now my ex) and his mother (my son’s grandma). She, not being well-endowed in the tact area, expressed her concern about my mental illness, and wondered whether I was worried my son would be taken away once social services caught wind of my inadequacies. I had not even thought of it until then. I laughed it off and assured her that I would be a fit parent, but in the back of my mind I wondered. Did she think I was going to ‘go loopy’ and harm my child? Did she think I would be a bad parent because of my illnesses? After my son was born I was scared to go to my doctor, scared to talk to anyone about my mental problems because I was afraid they would perceive it as a sign of weakness and decide I was unfit to look after my baby.

This of course compounded on top of the anxiety I already suffered, plus the inevitable anxiety of the new mother. My ex, though a sufferer of depression himself, had no sympathy for my feelings and my dependency, anxiety and feelings of inadequacy were the cause of many, many arguments. Then my son had a near-fatal accident at three months; my ex tripped on the stairs and dropped him. He suffered a broken skull and collarbone and massive brain haemorrhaging. We were told he would die, and then after two bouts of brain surgery when it emerged he would live, we were told he would remain blind forever, he would probably never walk or talk, he was lost to us. By some miracle he made a full recovery; the only signs now are the large scar which arcs over his head from the surgery, and hemiparesis in his right arm - stiffness and slight inability of movement. A few months later my ex and I were irreparably damaged and we went our separate ways. Living alone has helped my healing considerably; our relationship was a destructive one and he could not give me the support I so desperately needed.

This has gone in a totally different direction to that which I intended when I first sat down and began typing! It turns out I have a lot to say; about the ways men and women are treated differently by the mental health system, about the ways mentally ill men and women are treated differently by society, about being a mother with mental illness, about the inadequacies of the system (I ‘live’ on Incapacity Benefit, though it’s barely enough to live on), about the history of mental illness and women’s ‘hysteria’, about theories on genetic predisposition towards mental illness. I can’t fit it all in today, but I have at least broken the ice and told you part of ‘my story’, how I came to be in the place I am now, how I came to this blog, what I am all about. I have never written about my mental health issues in detail before. It is cathartic, and it is important that our voices are heard. Now you know me, and I have my topic ideas here to jog my memory, I have a feeling you’ll be hearing a lot more from me. Thank you for giving me your time, and thank you to the creators and other writers of this blog for allowing me to have a voice.

 

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.

 

3rd jog

Just got back from my third jog, and it all went well. I think at the moment a combination of my enthusiasm starting a new thing combined with it being a fairly short distance has meant that I’m confident and committed. Watch all that change on Sunday for the 25 minuter!

I remembered a fact earlier, by the way, that I thought I’d share with you all. Do you ever get fed up of hearing about men being ‘better’ at sport - faster, stronger, etc.? It annoys me, anyway. One debate has been raging, however, which women may well win:

Are women better than men at long distance running?

Now this hasn’t been proved completely, yet, but more and more evidence is coming forward to show that women’s endurance is higher than that of their male competitors. Women have also had a very late start - we were only allowed to compete in marathons in the 1980s, due to the belief that women didn’t have the endurance capability. By the 90s, people were already raising eyebrows at just how good women were. So we’ve gone from ‘not having the capability’ to ‘possibly having a better capability’ in less than twenty years? I’m intrigued.

For anyone who’s interested in this, here are a few articles on the topic.

Are Women Catching Up With Men?

Ask the running doc: Will women someday beat men in the marathon?

 

First jog, showering and body issues

I went to the gym about 7pm and did my first 15 minute jog, which went pretty well. Despite not really doing any exercise for a few weeks, my residual fitness level carried me through ok, and I enjoyed the run.

A few thoughts: Since I have some back problems and can’t usually run in the mornings (my back needs some time to unlock itself during the day in order to not hurt when running) I’ll be taking two showers a day - one just to freshen up before work, and one after the run. This is going to be quite a test for me, and will hopefully lead to greater body acceptance. One thing I didn’t mention in yesterday’s post, as I didn’t want to make it as long as your arm, is that I have an eating disorder, as well as the other mental health difficulties - compulsive overeating. I have also, in the past, suffered from bulimia and anorexia, and have quite warped views towards my body and food. At the moment, I regularly eat too much at mealtimes, and binge when I am bored or stressed. My weight is therefore more than it should be and I have trouble enjoying my body and often even looking at it is very difficult, provoking feelings of guilt, anger and disgust.

Showering is almost always difficult too - moving my hands over my body and bending to wash forces me to actually feel my body. Normally, I try and shower as fast as I can, and touch certain areas, such as my stomach, as little as I can. Showering twice daily means I’m going to have to confront these fears and try to accept myself a little more. I’ll report back on how this goes.

 

Mum’s the word

If I thought that just because I was now an adult, working my way into the wider world, my depression would be treated with more severity, I was bitterly disappointed.

Reading what shatterboxx wrote yesterday, I figured out what it’s taken for my depression to be taken seriously: I had kids.

I’ve been a depressed schoolkid. I’ve been a depressed student. I’ve been a depressed young employed, and unemployed, woman. But a depressed pregnant woman, a depressed mother? Whole different kettle of fish.

It’s not that I’m not profoundly glad that midwives, GPs, psychiatrists, CPNs, health visitors, psychotherapists, art therapists and whatever else have taken my problems seriously. And it’s true that, as the mother of two children under four, my usual “coping strategies” of staying in the house, stopping doing anything much and pretending nothing bad was happening haven’t been available to me. If I hadn’t got support, I would not have survived the last four years.

For all that people say postnatal depression is hard to talk about, hard to diagnose, invisible, it’s respectable in a way my earlier miseries haven’t been. Perhaps because it sounds so clean and curable (after all, you’re not postnatal for ever. Well, except you are, of course). Perhaps because it’s connected to something that’s okay for a woman to do; positively applauded, in theory at least (though, whoa, try being a mother who wants respect or a flexible job). There are professionals, pathways and dedicated services for me now. To the extent that, when my PND specialist psychiatrist booted me when my firstborn reached a year, I seriously considered bumping up the schedule for a second kid. (I didn’t do it, okay? That would have been crazy!)

Anyway, as my secondborn approaches a year, what of the fact that I’m still taking Prozac? What of the fact that I’m not yet cured? Who will want me now? I had an illuminating conversation with my GP when I was pregnant with #2. She’d assured me that most women who experience depression during one pregnancy don’t with another. However, it was now a couple of months later, and I was a howling loon again. “You might want to consider not getting pregnant again,” she said. I’d done the socially acceptable thing; I’d chosen two kids. I even have a girl and a boy! But it was made clear to me by various people then that a third pregnancy wasn’t thought appropriate for the likes of me.

There are a number of things that aren’t appropriate for the likes of me, as a nutso mother. I’ll write about more of them another time. But basically: this is the best mental health care I’ve ever had. It’s contingent, I feel, on playing the game; on having the right number of babies and no more; on not presuming that I know what I’m doing more than the professionals do; on getting better on the right schedule and then pissing off and not bothering people any more. But hey, at least it’s there.

(Disclaimer: I’m seeing a therapist at the moment who is a feminist treasure. I don’t mean you, if you should, by some odd circumstance, read this!)