A Very Telling Dream

Last night I had a dream where I was cutting my own hair, with bathroom scissors. I cut off one side, then grabbed a handful of the other and cut below my closed fist, but the scissors cut my wrist too. I was worried in my dream, panicked about what I had accidentally done. But I couldn’t feel any pain. The wound knit up almost immediately, but it niggled in the back of my dream-mind until I woke up.

It took me until after midday to work out what the dream meant. It was obvious really – whenever I’m desperate, anxious and possibly despairing in a quiet sort of way, I think about cutting my hair. On impulse, cutting it short, fist length from my scalp, just to see what it would look like (though I don’t actually have more than a short bob now anyway).
I don’t know why this should be my reaction to feeling my anxious brain is spinning out of control. But I have always suspected – and this dream confirmed my suspicions – that it’s sort of an impulse to self harm. To do something damaging to myself.
I’ve never done it. But I do pick at any raised bumps or follicles on my arms, and I do pull out my hair (fancy name: trichotillomania).

I was kind of impressed that my subconscious could make that connection so clear for me.

Coming Out Into The Sun…

If you’ve been following this blog, you probably know very little about me. I have been keeping a low profile, which is strange for me since I’m usually an “over shearer”. I think hiding in the intertube’s shadows has been a reflection of my emotional state. Unable to accept my life; or to accept that I am alive. Afraid of being rejected if anyone found out who I am. (It’s not that I’m particularly “bad” or anything, it’s just that I’ve been rejected many times in the past). It’s been rather important for me to not be rejected in the intertubes, since the people in it are practically the only ones I interact with. It’s also the case that in the intertubes I’ve found the closest thing to a place I feel I belong to.

I have recently made a commitment to stay on this planet. In short: to live. This means accepting my life and moving to change it; being open and honest. And learning to accept rejection. In order to do this, I am going to reveal who I am. I hope it helps me.

[Don’t worry if you don’t understand any of this. Read if you are interested in my humble story.]

My real name is Maria. I was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina, on the 25th of May, 1983. This means that, much to my dislike, I’m currently 25 years old. I’ve had depression for as long as I can remember. It seems like I am slightly better now, but it could be a false alarm; there have been some in the past.
When I was 20 I moved with my family to Barcelona, Spain. After 6 months I moved to St Albans, England, UK to study Astrophysics at the University of Hertfordshire. Four years later, I (somehow) graduated. Because I had run out of money, I had to come back to my parents’ in Barcelona. I descended (further) into a depressive black hole out of which I am barely coming out today.
My nationality is both Argentinean and Spanish. I am a “Latina” for the USatians and a “Spaniard” for the UKazians. So I would define myself as “white”, but not “white enough”. (In case anyone wonders, I was conceived after the Malvinas/Focklands war ended).
I want to be a writer/(f)artist one day. (Oh noes, not yet another young feminist who wants to be a writer!). I know it will be particularly difficult for me since I write in English, which is not my first language. But I don’t care.
Part of the reason why I fell into depression for so long was because I had spent 4 years studying a course that will not lead me nicely to a stable job. I cannot work as an “astrophysicist” unless I spend another 10 years studying and get a PhD and two post docs all before retiring. I feel like I’m back to square one; only with considerably less money and more years on my back.
I don’t have much idea of what I’m going to do with my life, whether I’ll be able to survive as a writer or even as a feminist. But I’ve made a commitment to stay on this planet, and I’m planning to stick to it.
Some months ago I (somehow) found a job. It turned out to be Hell on a stick but it has allowed me to save money to return to the UK. And that’s going to be my next move.

(more to come)

I Choose To Live

Someone once told me Frida Kahlo’s story. Of how, after she suffered a terrible accident and was lying in hospital, she had two choices: to live or to die. And she chose to live.

For too long I’ve been running away from my life, walking on that edge of living but not really living. Simply not knowing if I should live or die. Well, I’ve made my decision today. I don’t know if I “should” live, I don’t know if I “want” to live. I don’t know what life is. But I’m living, and I’m going to continue living. Which is not to say that I won’t feel like dying anymore. Or that my depression is going to disappear overnight. I’m sure I’ll still feel like shite a good portion of the time. But that’s OK. I’m used to it, I can deal with it. And so far, I’ve survived. And I’ll continue to live. For life’s sake.

I’m posting it here to strengthen my feeling of “commitment”.

Adventures in Procrastinating

As you are undoubtedly perceptive enough to realise from the title, I’ve been wasting time. Not doing what I should be doing. Both here on the group blog (sorry, group blog) and in real life, where I live in my carbon/ water body.

Fellow students will know that it’s been deadline and exam time at universities. Actually, my university fulfills its manifesto of ineptness by having deadlines at unpredictable times from november to late jan, and has 3 full weeks of exam time this month. As a devoted procrastinator I’m not complaining about the lack of teaching, but it’s still somewhat lacklustre.

So, I’ve had some deadlines to meet, and an exam. Two of the deadlines out of 3 I met, leaving them perilously close to the last minute (yesterday I managed to write slightly over 3000 words from 2-10pm). This is a dreadful habit, and I wish dearly that I could find some way of motivating myself so that I would faithfully and steadily work on assignments, little bits at a time, until I reach the deadlines without feeling like my heads about to explode.

Here’s my pattern:
I leave reading and research work during the semester ever so slightly late, though I have the best of intentions to catch up with it soon, honest!
I don’t, preferring to read feminist blogs online, watch Dexter and reassure myself that whatever catching up I need to do is still achievable.
I make a comprehensive timetable detailing deadlines and assigning subjects to days.
I fail to follow said timetable.
Time rolls round to about a month before the deadline (often less), and by this time I am too anxious to even *look* at my task description. Every time I sign into the student portal online, I feel physically sick. I rarely have enough nerve to press the link that will show me my task specifications.
I tell my psychologist that I can’t cope. He tells me to use TIC/TOC methods as we discussed (task interfering cognitions versus task oriented cognitions).
I further reassure myself that I have time, really I do, and perhaps I can just start really early tomorrow and work rilly rilly hard every day till the deadline and I’ll be fine.
I avoid going anywhere near anything that reminds me of my work for the next week.
Finally, FINALLY, a day or two, maybe even a week, before the deadline, I manage to sit through the itchy, nervous, sick-with-fear, mind freeze task of looking at my coursework documentation. Sometimes I can’t read it all in one go. Sometimes I have to print it out without looking at it because I’m so afraid to look at the actual words.
I lose myself in spiralling panic – there’s so much to do! I’ll never get it done in time, why WHY do I keep doing this to myself? Occasionally, this is as far as I’ll get – my fear gets the better of me and I hate the thought of all the mental effort and anguish it’s going to take to produce a piece of work that’s not completely awful this close to the deadline. I take the cowards way out and decide to resubmit when the time comes.
When I’m feeling braver, though, I push through the anxiety and start to try to get anything done that will somewhat meet the brief and get me a passing grade. Pushing through the anxiety is incredibly hard; every minute or so at first, I’ll get the powerful, nagging urge to get up and do *anything* other than what I’m doing. I’ll feel too sick to continue, or wander around aimlessly, or lie with the dog. If it gets really bad, I’ll start to feel as if I’m going to faint imminently; my neck feels tight and horrible, like blood isn’t getting to my brain, my skin feels tingly and every time I sit down and assume the position for keyboard work it gets lots worse.

So, in retrospect I’m proud of myself for getting 2 assignments out of 3 in. The third, I admit, overwhelmed me. My psychologist is helping me get mitigating circumstances for it.

Anyone got any tips for studying well for the new term?

Madness Radio

I wanted to let you all know about the radio show “Madness Radio: Voices and Visions From Outside Mental Health“, especially their last programme Depression and Oppression with Alisha Ali which focuses on women of colour. You can listen online or download the programme by right clicking where it says “Rt/Ctrl-Clck download” (sneaky!).

Enjoy!

PS: Guys, get on with the posting!!! This place could use some attention! (This goes specially to those of you with comment-approving powers)

Go On, Laugh it Up

Working in retail allows you more social observation than most people think. You meet all kinds of people from all walks of life. And occasionally you meet people who life has screwed over drastically, people in need of help. I’ve seen people stay in the shops I’ve worked at for hours, pretending to look, just because they’ve got nowhere else to go. I’ve had conversations with people who have nothing to say but just want to have someone else talking to them. And I’ve seen people who seem to have hit bottom and I have no idea how to help them.

I work in a shop that sells jewellery and ornaments from Asia. When I went into work today, my boss immediately told me a story. A man had come in a few hours earlier, in a state. He was crying and babbling and apparently trying to pray to our wooden statues of Buddha. When approached, he flinched away from the staff and kept trying to pray. He then proceeded to remove all of his clothes and then started hitting his head against the floor hard enough to draw blood. At this, my colleagues called an ambulance and then the police who came and took him away. I was shocked, to say the least. In five years of working in shops, I had never heard of or been witness to any behaviour as extreme as this before. But then I heard about the public’s reaction to this man and it was enough to make my blood run cold.

Apparently, people stopped to stare, laughed, pointed. One man even tried to take a picture (!!!). For the rest of the day, we had people coming in, asking after the guy, often sniggering. A few people tried to make jokes which were met with glares from all of us. Eventually it stopped but it got me thinking: We’re in serious trouble.

“This is the way, I suppose, that the world will be destroyed – amid the universal hilarity of wits and wags who think it is all a joke.” – Soren Kierkegaard.

That is one of my favourite quotes because of how true it is. And when it comes to mental illness, it’s so true it’s painful. I remember the night I broke my hand. I was lower than I’d ever been before in my life. I smacked my fist straight into a wall and then fell to the floor crying in the middle of a city centre on a Friday night. I remember laughter, jeers, taunts. I was totally lost, panicking and alone. If it hadn’t been for a great guy who came along and helped me up, I’d have probably stayed there all night, watching people walk past, laughing. “Cheer up, love, it might never happen!” And then subsequently, all the doctor’s appointments… “So how did you do it? A wall? Well, that wasn’t very clever was it! Ha ha.”

At that time I was in the middle of a depressive episode. The man in my shop earlier today was obviously not well. I don’t know what happened to him. I hope he eventually gets the help he needs, but something tells me his future isn’t good while things are the way they are. Back in Jacobean times, it used to be common practice to go to the local asylum of a weekend and pay to laugh at the freaks. As far as I’m concerned, we might as well do the same today. As far as dealing with mental illness goes, there is no greater test of public opinion than the sort of event which puts someone in the spotlight and today, while people hid their grins behind their hands, I felt like crying. We’re so far behind where we need to be.

7 days

I’ve taken a full weeks worth of pills now.

I’m finding it hard to know what are side effects and what would have been happening anyway. Which is positive, because it means I’m not getting that many side effects, and those I am getting aren’t that bad.

But for anyone interested, I’ve been having some trouble getting to sleep at night which seems to be accompanied by a feeling of tension and pressure behind the eyes and forehead. I also don’t stay asleep for that long; I’ve been waking up at 1.30, 3.30, 5.30 etc.. and each time it feels like I’ve been asleep for aaages, and surely it must be almost morning by now, but then it turns out to be just a couple of hours after I fell asleep in the first place.
I’ve been getting anxious *as* I fall asleep, but hey, that happens to me anyway. Mostly I solve that by leaving the TV on a sleep timer so I’m not just staring in to the darkness getting more and more freaked out, and hallucinating geometric spirals (not a side effect, that frequently happens).

Luckily, I haven’t *had* to take any clonazepam yet, though I feel that doing so would probably make sleeping easier.

Apart from that, I’ve been planning my final year project for uni and my course of action is becoming clearer and feels more together, which is very exciting. I’m making software to help anxiety sufferers – can’t say any more than that at the moment. This is kind of what I want to do in life…

First Day

Well, I took the plunge and took my first tablet of sertraline (50mg) today.
Of course, I’m nervous about the side effects, especially as I’m going to be alone for 6 days from Saturday. But I knew I had to start today rather than waiting 10 days for people to get back – I would have definitely talked myself out of taking them at all in those 10 days; I have in the past.

Anyway, I have clonazepam to take care of any paradoxical anxiety (anxiety as a temporary side effect of drugs that are meant to lessen anxiety).
I’ll try to post here every day to say how I’m getting on.

To SSRI or not to SSRI?

I’m thinking of going on SSRIs again.

Actually, scratch that. I’ve decided to take SSRIs again. I have a doctor’s appointment on Monday.
The last month or so I’ve come to realise that my life is limited a lot because of my body’s anxious reactions. Well, I already knew that, obviously. But lately I’ve been feeling it more; where previously I might not have wanted to socialise and get involved in stuff I now find myself trying and failing miserably because I’m shaking with anxiety.

My hyperventilation has got worse, or if not worse more pervasive. I’m making a game with a friend and I can’t sit through our meetings (informally, at a pub) without silently starting to freak out and hyperventilate without realising or being able to stop it, which makes me really dizzy. So, I try to correct the dizziness with food except, wait! My OCD gives me a fear of choking so I eat incredibly s..l…o..w…l..y… and try to fight off the urge to cough wildly every time food gets to near to the back of my throat and I feel like this time I wont be able to get it down ( this gets way worse in company and it’s flared up recently from an old panic from school. Thanks, OCD!). So, finally I get so dizzy that I feel like I’m going to faint, and after excusing myself a few times to go to the toilet and calm myself down enough to last another 10 minutes, I can’t take the feeling that I could collapse at any second anymore and I make my excuses and leave. Really attractive, right?

The night that happened, I had horrible panic attacks in waves on the train home, one every few minutes or so, the worst anxiety I’ve felt for quite some time.

Last night, I saw a group of very old and very dear friends. We watched Edward Scissorhands. The perfect time, my body cheerfully informed me, for a health freak out combined with derealisation and panic attack. I started to feel that my right hand wasn’t quite right – it seemed numb and foreign. Then I flipped out thinking I was having a stroke, and left the movie to do a series of obsessive tests involving matching arm heights and reciting the date/ prime minister/ president in the hallway. I made it through the rest of the movie, but everything was strange and frightening, I realised I was having a panic attack with some unreality likely to be derealisation which I get sometimes and which goes hand in hand with anxiety. When the lights went on, my friends’ faces seemed somehow sinister, which I have to admit was very scary, especially as my major fear for years has been going mad. Okay, so I knew enough to be fairly sure that I was still having a panic attack, but it was really unsettling.

What makes me sad is that, even surrounded by friends I’ve known for ages and one of whom has OCD herself, even in a very familiar place to me, A) I had this pretty bad anxiety at all, and B) I didn’t feel able at any point to tell my BEST FRIENDS about my panic attack.
I’ve always been that way – I used to envy people who hyperventilated publicly at school and got the brown bag/ lots of fuss treatment. I used to suffer in my own mind, convinced that I was going to die at any second, yet never considering that I could speak up and ask for help.
To segue momentarily into a different rant: This is why we need better mental health education at school, people!

So, that’s been my anxiety experience over the last couple of weeks. And with university work becoming more pressured, I know it’s going to get worse.
But I don’t want to be so held back by my wild nervous system. I don’t want to avoid situations because I know I’ll hyperventilate and it’s not worth the discomfort and fear. I want to socialise more normally, and hopefully eradicate some of the fear I’ve been accustomed to towing around with me, and all the conditions and limits that go with that much fear.
Should I be considering starting SSRIs so close to academic crunch time?  Am I being short sighted considering the many possible side effects I could experience?
Should I be taking SSRIs at all, given that when I tried prozac 4 years ago I had a really bad reaction and had to stop taking it after the worst night of anxiety of my entire life?

Self Harm as a Punchline

I know I’ve been a bit quiet on here for a while. You can’t rely on depressives to get anything done, it seems. I’m still struggling away with my damn degree, my job has taken away half my hours so I’m broke and I’m currently not getting any sleep…

Party on, Wayne…

The reason I’m writing (ranting…) is because the only thing that can get me out of depressive funks sometimes is watching DVDs which make me laugh, so I thought I couldn’t possibly go wrong with the latest Bill Bailey. Quite frankly, I think the man’s a genius and would suggest him for Prime Minister if it were possible. Which is why I now feel so disappointed that he’s chosen to make fun of people who self-harm.

In his latest show (Tinselworm) he sings a song which he prefaces as being about ‘emos’, so I thought ‘This’ll be good.’ I’m all for making fun of converse-shoe-wearing, Starbucks-slurping, smug, arrogant, teenage idiots with stupid haircuts and more belts than sense. Especially as the majority of them seem to think that living with an actual mental illness is nothing more than ‘cool’ or ‘edgy’.

However, the song turned out to be more about someone who actually self-harms than the stupid fashion trend. He sang about a boy who cuts himself, sticks pins in his hand and burns himself and the audience dutifully laughed along while I stared at the TV with increasing horror.

I know what the basic mistake is here. I hate the fact that ‘emo’ culture has become muddled up with actual mental illness, and of course with the lack of general public awareness I suppose I can’t blame Bill Bailey for being confused. However, I don’t think it’s fair to make fun of the concept of self-harm even in this context.

I know knowledge of mental illness is not exactly widespread but I would’ve thought it was obvious even to the dimmest of people that if a young person cuts into their flesh with a knife, even if it is just for ‘fashion’, then they cannot be well! I might make fun, but I don’t honestly care if someone dresses in a stupid outfit… They could be the biggest idiot on the planet but I’d never, ever make fun of the fact that they self-harmed.

This seems to be something that is not discussed much and I know that plenty of people reading this will say that I’m being too sensitive and ‘it was only a joke’. But as someone who has self-harmed for the majority of her life and witnessed the awfulness of the effect of self-harm on some of her closest friends, I cannot sit and be silent about this one. Not even Bailey’s rendition of Creep by Radiohead could cheer me up after that… Now I’m just sat here feeling vaguely depressed and despondent. Not bad for £14.95, eh?

Forget it. I’m going to stick ‘Friends’ on, pop a Diazepam and numb out.