The Little Things

There has been a lot going on in my life lately. So much, in fact, that last Friday at work I more or less had a breakdown in the staff room. It was ugly and horrific and awkward. But it also made me realise that I was carrying around a lot of things that I need to deal with – and I promise to you now that I am dealing with those things. One problem at a time and all that good stuff.

But today I don’t want to write a sad post. Instead I want to bring up one of the things that due to everything else going on, slipped silently under the radar until I shone a light on it. It is a good thing and something that has me feeling proud of myself, happy and hopeful for the future.

And thus, as the title of the post suggests, I am going to talk about some little things. In this case, I am talking about little things that I have somehow overcome in the last few months without even realising. A while back, Jess wrote this post about celebrating small achievements and today I am doing just that.

If you’ve been following me from the start of this blog, you’ll know that one of the biggest issues I had with my mental health was food. You can read that post here. So here is a list of the things I have done in the past few months;

• Eaten finger food without washing my hands or using hand sanitizer beforehand
• Eaten food from a buffet
• Eaten food at a buffet after other people
• Eaten food that has been touched by other people (i.e. mum hands me a biscuit)
• Experimented with new dishes in restaurants
• Tried new places to eat
• Tried new foods
• Cooked (and eaten) food in the microwave
• Cooked food in the grill
• Cooked a cottage pie dish with my mum!!

All of the above seems pretty normal things to do, right? But for me it is surpassing a milestone. All of those things have happened and been survived without an anxiety or panic attack. They were tasks that I avoided due to anxiety and OCD and I cannot explain to you how over the moon I feel at having achieved these things.

There have been other achievements over the past few months, such as allowing animals to lick me without having a panic attack, but the food things have really made me very happy.

I know that I’m not cured and I know that things may go downhill again, but for right now I feel proud and strong.

I still have routines, I still have anxious and obsessive thoughts but I now have the skills to battle them headfirst. I will have bad days but I am positive that I can come out the other side because I already have. And thus, I say the same to you. It might be tough now, but I promise that you can beat this and see it through to the other side.

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Fantastic Besties (and Where to Find Them)

I am a massive Potterhead. I am part of the generation who grew up with Harry Potter, who eagerly awaited each new books release. I cried when I watched the last film, was one of the first people in the world to see The Cursed Child and I have Harry Potter merchandise scattered around my bedroom. To say that I am a fan is an understatement, Harry Potter is part of who I am, and it makes up my very essence as a person.

Naturally, like many Potter fans, I was very excited when Fantastic Beasts was announced so much so that months in advance I made plans with my three best friends Chelle, Ray and Faye to go and see the film, however this wouldn’t be a normal outing.

Those who have followed my journey here on Safe Space will know that I’ve been making massive progress with my agoraphobia, PTSD and anxiety this past year and I decided that I wanted to tackle my biggest challenge yet: going to the area where my abusive ex lives to go to the cinema and watch Fantastic Beasts. I haven't set foot in this part of town for years and I finally felt like I was ready to tackle my biggest demon.

And then, the Johnny Depp casting news was announced.

For some Potter fans, this was nothing more than a distasteful choice (if problematic to them at all) but when I read the news I actually broke down in tears. You see, Harry Potter has always been a safe space for me. It was also a massive source of comfort to me when I came out of the abusive relationship. When I was bruised and broken it gave me the strength to get up and fight and restored my faith in humanity. So Johnny Depp, a known abuser, being cast felt like a massive betrayal to me, I felt so let down and for a time I felt lost. I made the personal choice to not support this part of the Wizarding World and cancelled my plans to see this film telling my friends to go and see it without me. That was when something unexpected happened.

I woke up to a message saying that they’d been talking and they would rather not see the film and see me instead, a decision that I found incredibly moving. So on the 20th November, the day that we were supposed to go and see Fantastic Beasts, we got together and went for a meal at a pub right next to the cinema so that I could still face my biggest trigger with them by my side.

Looking back I still can’t quite believe that I did it, especially because I was so incredibly anxious that morning but my girls got me through. Over the past year I have faced so many of my demons and they have been by my side every step of the way. They are my Harry, Ron and Hermione not letting me face the darkness alone. They are the tribe that I dreamed of someday finding ever since I was a little girl who learnt what true friendship is from these books.

Magic aside, at the core of Harry Potter is the message of standing up for what you believe to be right, which is something that I feel like I did that day for the women and men in the world who live in fear of their abusers, but also for myself. I took a stand that said this is not okay, I am not supporting that and did something for myself instead and my friends cared about me enough to support me in my decision. Forget Fantastic Beasts, I have fantastic friends and they can be found by my side, always.

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Phantom Phobias

Living in the UK, Halloween has never really been a big deal to me. I was quite a sheltered child, and I didn’t have a lot of friends when I was little. So trick or treating was never really something that excited me, or something I ever considered doing? I never liked to play dress up as a kid either. I didn’t have a huge imagination; the most I ever got to pretending was picking out a life from the Argos catalogue or playing schools with my siblings. 

And then Halloween just got annoying for me; kids ringing the doorbell all night, my dog barking, eggs being thrown about…. I never associated it with fun.

via GIPHY

At some point in my life, I developed a phobia of people in costumes. It got to the point where once I was leaving the supermarket and someone was standing by the door (collecting for charity i think?) in a bear costume, and I physically could not walk out the door.

It’s become less of a problem in recently years. Maybe because I acknowledge it more and just avoid those situations? Generally those people are in the street, and if I don’t look and just keep walking, I’m mostly fine. It reared its head at YALC this year though. For those of you who don’t know, YALC is the YA Literature Convention and it takes place at London Film and Comic Con. Where, of course, people love to dress up as their favourite film or comic characters. In costume. In the whole building. 

And I was already tense at the thought, but I told myself it would be fine. I was just walking along the corridor with a friend and some people in costume were standing nearby having a conversation, and i just turned away and kept walking, and then one of them came up behind me and BREATHED IN MY HAIR. 

Before we even approach how creepy this is anyway (just because he’s wearing a mask he is suddenly allowed to invade my personal space?) but there was no reason for him to do so. I hadn’t made eye contact, it wasn’t someone I knew, or anything. Cue massive panic attack in the floor of the arena.

via GIPHY

So for me, Halloween is a time of stress. Yay, people in costume everywhere. Yay for living in London where there are literally people, everywhere. I guess kids bother me to a lesser degree, but its still an issue. 

My ideal Halloween involves locking myself indoors and not having to deal with any surprises. Luckily I live in a flat, where the chance of getting trick or treaters are pretty slim, so I don’t even have to deal with the guilt of that. But if you do encounter me at Halloween, don’t be surprised if I run away. And, for the love of god, do not sneak up on me with your mask.

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10 Things I Wish I Knew When I Was Diagnosed With Anxiety

I’ve been living with anxiety for over ten years now and I’ve learnt a lot about it and myself along the way. When I was first diagnosed, I remember being very scared and was given very little information about what having this mental illness meant for me from health care professionals. Looking back there is so much that I wish somebody had told me when I was first diagnosed, so today I wanted to share with you the ten things I wish I knew when I was first diagnosed with anxiety.

Panic Attacks Can’t Kill You 
Even though it really feels like you’re dying sometimes, panic attacks can’t actually kill you. My first therapist told me that most panic attacks usually don’t last longer than 20 minutes. Knowing this made having a panic attack a slightly less terrifying prospect and made them lose some of the power they had over me.

Avoidance Makes Things Worse
When I first developed anxiety, I quickly learnt that a great way to not feel anxious was to completely avoid the things that made me scared which later developed into agoraphobia. Although it’s really tempting to hide away from the things that scare you so that you don’t have to deal with them, it usually just makes the anxiety surrounding the situation worse. Every time you avoid a situation that makes you anxious you are feeding that belief. In my treatment for anxiety, I have learnt that the only way to get over a fear is to become familiar with it and create positive associations and memories around it. It takes a lot of courage to take that first step, but every time you face a fear it loses some of its power and gets easier the next time around.

Medication/Therapy Won’t Change Who You Are 
I used to be so afraid of the idea of taking medication for my anxiety or telling a therapist my deepest darkest thoughts and feelings. I was worried that by treating the mental illness it would mean changing a part of me. I wish I knew how much taking medication and going to therapy would help me so that I would have done it sooner. Medication and therapy has not changed who I am, it hasn’t messed with my brain and made me into an unfeeling zombie. It’s simply made me a less anxious person who can better manage their mental illness.

Not Everyone Will Understand 
The biggest frustration for me when I was first diagnosed with anxiety was how little the people around me seemed to understand about it. For many years my family were at a loss for what to do to help me, they just couldn’t understand why I was terrified of such normal mundane things. Something that really helped things click into place for my family was when I explained mental health in metaphors and related it to the way we treat physical health. Give the people around you time, be as open and honest as you feel comfortable with, pull information from the internet and learn as much about your illness as you can so that you can better explain it. The people you love might not always understand, but them asking questions and wanting to know more shows good intentions and is a starting point so don’t lose heart.

Take Baby Steps
The best method in confronting anxiety for me has been to break things down into baby steps. Scared to walk down the street? Start by just opening your front door. Increase how long you can keep that door open for. When you start to feel more comfortable, take a step outside. Work up to taking three steps away from your house. When you’re ready, walk to the nearest lamppost. See what I’m getting at here?

When it comes to facing your fears you don’t have to dive in at the deep end. Start with the step that feels the most doable to you and work your way up to the bigger stuff at your own pace. It doesn’t matter if it takes a week or a month or even longer to achieve your goal, you’re still kicking anxiety’s butt. Make sure that you celebrate your successes no matter how small they may seem, they’re each a step in the right direction.

Bad Days Are Allowed 
I used to worry so much if I was having a bad day/week/month with my anxiety that it meant that I was going backward. Now I’ve learned that it is completely normal and okay to have a bad day. Even people who don’t have a mental illness have bad days. Life isn’t perfect and there will be ups and downs along the way. These days, if I’m hit with a bad bout of anxiety I try to ride it out like a wave and if I have to take things back a step because everything suddenly seems too hard that is okay. Go back to your easiest step and start building yourself back up again.

Put Yourself First 
Like any illness, when you are unwell it is important that you prioritise and put yourself first. I used to feel really terrible if I had to cancel plans or let somebody down because my mental health was bad but now I realise that on the grand scale of things your health is more important. Never push yourself to do something you don’t feel ready to do for somebody else. Respect yourself, your boundaries and your health and don’t be afraid to take time out to rest and look after yourself.

Mental Illness Does Not = Crazy/Dangerous 
Oh boy, when I was first diagnosed with a mental illness I was so afraid to tell anyone in case they thought that I was crazy and/or dangerous. There is a really negative belief out there about people with mental illnesses and that they might pose a threat or be a danger to society. I used to be really frightened of myself and what I might be capable of. Having a mental illness does not make you dangerous or crazy. You are not about to go on a murderous rampage just because you are ill. So many people are living and functioning in this world with a mental illness. If having a mental illness turned us all by default into the crazy killer stereotype that horror writers are so fond of portraying then the world would be apocalyptic right about now.

Living Life Trumps Fear
Something that I have learnt only recently is that fear is not a good enough reason for me to not live the life I want to, not anymore. Every time that I have felt like I was going to pass out from panic but carried on anyway it has been worth it.

Every. Single. Time.

When it comes to doing the things I want to and living my life, fear is not a good enough reason to hold me back. I would rather be terrified and get to do what I want to, than let anxiety dictate what I can and can’t do. My life is of more value to me than fear.

You Will Get Better 
You know, people used to say this to me and I never believed them. I couldn’t imagine ever getting rid of this albatross that I carry around with me everywhere. Here’s the secret, when people say you will get better they don’t mean that your anxiety will get better, they mean that YOU will get better at managing it.

Ten years on from my diagnosis and I am still living with anxiety, it hasn’t gone away completely and to be honest, I don’t think it ever will. But *I* have gotten better. I have gotten better at dealing with it, I have gotten better at putting myself first, I have gotten better at riding out a panic attack, and I have gotten better at facing my fears. It takes time, but you come to learn your illness and how it affects you and at first you begin to cope and then you begin to thrive. Anxiety doesn’t get better, but you do my friend, you do.

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My Journey with Anxiety

About 20 months ago, I dropped out of University. There were a multitude of reasons this, but the biggest was probably my rapidly deteriorating mental health and anxiety.

I had my first panic attack on the evening of the 8th of January 2015. I won’t go into details but due to also being a hypochondriac I came to the conclusion that I was dying, went to a hospital less than 8 hours before my English exam for them to tell me that no, I was not dying, and that my body had just panicked a bit. It was probably due to my exam and other things going on in my life at the time, and that it would probably be a one off experience.

For the next 6 months, I had a panic attack almost every single day.

There were days when I would have up to five or six in a day, days when all I would do is go from my bed to the sofa downstairs and back up again in the evening. I was terrified to leave my house, terrified to be separated from my safe place and my safe people. I was exhausted all the time due to my body being constantly on edge and my appetite decreased dramatically. I was miserable and scared, and what was worse was that nobody was taking me seriously. Doctors fobbed me off with anxiety meds but no diagnosis, my dad would tell me to ‘just calm down and stop worrying’. If you have any experience with anxiety, you know this is the worst thing to say.

Over those six months, through a combination of therapy and learning to recognise my thought processes, the panic somewhat lessened. I went from 5 panic attacks a day to one. I got a job in a fast food restaurant in my local town which gave me a purpose and something to keep my mind occupied, although there were many nights I ended up calling my dad on my breaks sobbing that I couldn’t make it through my shift.

With time and therapy though, I began to understand what was happening to me. I learned that when the panic kicked in, my brain was thinking illogically and that by doing sums or counting I could force my brain to think logically to help me calm down. I figured out what my triggers were, things including large crowds of people in a small space, heights, illness and feeling generally out of control. By understanding my triggers and what to do when my anxiety was running high, my panic attacks became somewhat less frequent and more manageable.

In June 2015, I went to the USA for three months. I spent two months working at a summer camp and one month travelling. In my time there, I had one, very minor panic attack in a Walmart that I managed to get a hold of within 2 minutes. With the stress of camp dynamics and having a job where I was ‘On’ for 22 hours a day, I didn’t really have the time to panic, and so my anxiety took a back seat.

When I returned home in September of last year, everything was great. I managed to get a job within a month and I was much calmer and more relaxed than I had been before I went. Around December however, the panic attacks started returning.

They were small at first, things I could handle with two minutes and a sit down in the stock room. But then at the end of a shift in about April a major one hit. Luckily it came on about 5 minutes before I had to clock out so I rode it out and immediately went into the changing rooms to do my counting and breathing exercises that always brought me back eventually. It took me half an hour to calm down, and I spent the rest of the evening in bed because I was so exhausted.

Thankfully, I haven’t had a big one since then. I still sometimes can feel my heart racing or feel a bit dizzy, but I can usually intervene with the exercises I’ve learned help me before it escalates. However in about a month I will be returning to University, thrown into a city I don’t know with people I don’t know and I’m scared it’s going to flare up again. I’m well aware that these past few months have been a good patch and that I will probably be dealing with anxiety for the rest of my life. But that’s ok; hopefully through understanding my triggers, therapy and knowing what works to calm me down, I can take on University and life and not let my anxiety hold me back in the process.

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Listen to Your Body

I was umming and aahing about writing about this topic for today, because I have no real answers, no real conclusion. But then I read Faye's post, When Your World Turns Upside Down (which is incredible, do read if you haven't already), and realised that sometimes talking about things even when you don't have the answers can be helpful - for yourself and for others - and maybe I need to admit some things to myself.

Ever since I was a teenager, I have known that my body reacts negatively towards stress, though it only ever affected my periods. If I had a presentation at school, or exams coming up, or, as I got older, had interviews for jobs, I would get nervous. Those nerves would guarantee I would miss a period - or rather, it would be a few weeks late. If, for example, my period was due in the second half of the month, and any of the above was happening, I wouldn't have my period until the first half of the next month. It would be late by two or three weeks. And, really, even silly things like working up the courage to talk to that guy would make my period late. It just became normal for me; my body didn't like being even a tiny bit nervous, and so my periods were irregular as a result. But over the past two years I've noticed my body is even more affected by stress.

As I've talked about before, my Nan died of cancer last year. In 2014, when we found out her cancer was terminal, I was distraught - completely devastated. For a while - until I decided I just couldn't think about it. It was inevitable, there was nothing I could do, so why spend the whole time worrying, fearing, and being upset by it. Of course, I was still upset, but I just decided to concentrate on other things, and enjoy the time I had left with Nan. But, despite not to dwelling on it - and actually genuinely not worrying - subconciously, it was affecting me, and my body paid for it.

For about three or four months, I would have several migraines a month. I was having such a hard time sleeping - not because things were playing on my mind, but simply because I couldn't go off, and even once I did, I would wake up numerous times in the night. More than once I'd go to bed at a reasonable time, and still find myself awake at 5am. I started experiencing numbness in my arms, which was a result, my doctor told me, of me taking quicker, shallower breaths I didn't even notice. And I started having panic attacks.

I got on the bus one morning to go to work, and two stops in, something just wasn't right. I started having difficulty breathing, and I was overly hot. The bus wasn't very busy, but I felt there were too many people on the bus, it was too crowded, I need to get off; something wasn't right with me, and I couldn't breathe! I got off at the second stop, sat at the bus stop for a bit, thinking maybe I was hot and needed to cool down. But no change. I had no idea what was wrong, but something wasn't right, something was happening, and I was so, so scared. Partly because I didn't know what was happening, but also because it was another symptom. I managed to make my way home, sobbing, running to my Mum, freaking out, and her telling me I was having a panic attack. Slowly, she managed to calm me down. Over the next few days, she had to travel in to work with me, because I couldn't stay calm - even though there were no problems at work that were worrying me, as soon as I started to get ready to leave, I could feel the panic rising.

I went to my doctor with all these various problems, and she told me it was very likely down to my Nan's terminal diagnosis. She referred me to a counsellor, but because of clerical issues (i.e. people not picking up the phone) nothing ever came of it. And I didn't really worry about, because by this time, all my symptoms of stress had gone. Migraines were under control, no more panic attacks or numbness or sleeplessness. I was fine.

The migraines crept up again, though, at the end of last year, the beginning of this. Last year was such a terrible year, and all the death and illness had really taken it's toll. And so migraines. Again I saw my doctor, and my medication was increased, and instead of having it when needed, I was to take it every day. And I'm pretty glad to say that on the whole, those pills are miracle workers.

More recently, there have been issues at home. Financial difficulties due to my Dad being ill. My brother and I were covering most of the bills, but I was worrying we wouldn't be able to pay for everything. Would we actually be able to eat? Can you imagine asking yourself that question? That being a genuine worry? The stress caused patches of eczema to form all over my legs for the first time in my life, and - surprise, surprise - another migraine. But that question would fly through my head while walking down the street, and I would feel a panic attack brewing. I'd have to try and slow my breathing and talk myself down; "Joanne, you're ok. You're fine. Of course you'll eat, even if it's not what you're used to, you'll eat. Everyone will eat. You'll all be ok. You're fine, Joanne, breathe." This happened maybe two or three times. Not full blown panic attacks, but still.

I've been talking about these recent events in much more detail with my friend and penpal Caoimhe in our letters. About these almost-panic attacks, about my problems at social events, and even some issues I have talking on the telephone. She has some experience of mental illness, and talking with her, I think I might have some form Anxiety. Possibly. And I think I might need to see my doctor to discuss it. But I don't know; when I'm not stressed, I'm fine? (Except when faced with social situations. Or certain phone calls.)

I don't know if they all tie in together - are migraines a symptom of Anxiety? Or are they both just caused by stress? - but what I do know is that my body is hugely affected by stress, and I really need to pay attention to it. I don't know what the answer is; there are a lot of things that are out of my control - I can't do anything about other people's health, and the stress that can cause. But I do know I can listen to my body, and know when things have to change. I can't stop the symptoms of stress when I can't control what's stressing me out, but I can look after myself a little more when my body is telling me things are just not ok.

Kathy Brown is a writer I really admire who writes such incredibly beautiful, insightful posts. In one of her recent posts, A Little List of Life Savers, she says:

"...I've learnt that there are things you can do: simple, tangible things that you can do to stop yourself from drowning: to take a small level of control over your life when the dark cloud creeps in: to distance yourself from that inherent, daily hum of fear, or the desire to run away screaming, nude and wreckless, because 'OMG, LIFE.' To do something, anything, with the day, because sometimes, that's all it takes."

Kathy reiterates this in her latest post, How to Love Yourself:

"On the days you feel like you're drowning, because there will be many of those, do at least one thing, one small, tangible thing that gives you a sense of control, a sense of something. Brush the knots out of your hair, do the crossword, wander to your favourite cafe and order yourself a slice of that cake you love: the one with the berries the same colour as your favourite lipstick and the fresh cream that lingers, like an unexpected kiss, on the corners of your mouth. It's there, somewhere, that little beacon of light, even when darkness blinds you."

I need to listen to my body, and go to the park by my house and sit by the lake, and watch the water droplets from the fountain dance in the breeze. I need to have a soak in the bath. I need to read a book and get lost in someone else's story. And I need to allow myself to feel, to cry, and to ask for the cuddle. Because maybe being scared and upset is just what my body needs me to feel, even if I think I'm wasting time. Maybe I need to voice my concerns about our finances, and get that reassurance, that actually, we will eat, we will get by, things aren't quite that dire just yet (which I did, eventually).

I don't know where this will lead for me. Maybe I'll discover I have a mild form of Anxiety. Maybe I'll need to learn techniques to cope with stress so I don't end up getting ill. Maybe this is just how my body works, and I'll just have to live with it. But I know when my head isn't in a great place, my body pays the price, so I need to start being gentle with myself, allow myself to feel, and get elbow-deep into self-care.



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I LOVE MY ANTIDEPRESSANTS.

I love my antidepressants.

*cue the medication haters*

You’re addicted.

You need to learn to cope without medication.

You’re doing long term harm.

WHATEVS.

I need my antidepressants to live. I need them to help me get from day to day without crawling into a ball, crying continuously for no reason and wondering if I should kill myself.

Woo yeah! Depression is soooooo fun.

I first started taking antidepressants in my first year of university because I was struggling with anxiety and depression. My university GP put me on 10mg of Citalopram and from that moment on I’ve taken a Citalopram tablet every day. (Ok, that’s a bit of a lie but I’ll come back to that.)

So I’ve basically been on antidepressants for five years. Which, in anyone’s book is a long time. When I think about it I suddenly go “me? No way…it can’t have been five years.”

But it has and I honestly don’t think I would still be here, five years later, if I didn’t take them.

They’re not fun to take. They make me lethargic, sometimes I find my memory can be a little slow, I am very sensitive to loud noises and bright lights and I guess they numb me a little; they stop me feeling such intense emotions.

And I’m cool with that. I still feel happiness, sadness, fear, anger, love, hate etc. but just re-calibrated to my new state of being.

In 2014 my life was fucking awesome. I had a job working in a bookshop (the dream), I had a boyfriend, I was earning money, I was independent, I could go out and do things and well, life was ace. So I went to my GP and said “mate, I’m well happy. Can I come off of the antidepressants because I don’t need them anymore?” He agreed and so I slowly, carefully and with advice and monitoring reduced my dose over a period of a few months until I was down to nothing. And then the shit hit the fan. Big time.

“HAHAHAHAHAHA LOL YOU TWAT.” Is basically what my brain said to me. “You honestly think you can get through life without feeding me antidepressants? I need them.”

My depression and anxiety reappeared at the speed of light. I quit my job, became frightened of leaving the house and became completely dependent on my family and boyfriend. Not really the sort of life you envisage for yourself at 22.

I rushed back to the doctor and begged him to put me back on the medication because it was clear I needed it. I’d foolishly thought that my happiness and independence was all down to me being bad ass but it turns out it was also aided by the medication keeping all them chemicals in ma brain working as they should.

The doctor agreed that the best thing to do was to dose me up again and stay on them for as long as I needed. I think I’ll need them for life. And I don’t mind. They help me to live, to feel emotion that I otherwise would be too numb to feel. They allow me to wake up every day and live a life (ok, maybe not the life that I should be living, but a life nonetheless) and they give me the chance to feel like myself.

I still have a long way to go until I’ve built up my independence again and am less fearful of leaving the house but a lot of that is down to psychological factors now rather than physiological factors.

I wish people weren’t so quick to judge those who find medication a huge help. I know that antidepressants aren’t for everyone and I don’t judge those who choose not to take them. It’s their personal choice, just like it’s my choice to take them. And, as far as I’m currently aware, there are no trials or studies that have proven there is anything wrong with taking antidepressants over a long period of time. Plus even if they did, I don’t think I’d stop taking them.

They allow me to live my best life and whilst it might not be a life of daring adventures and fearless pursuits, it’s a life that I don’t think I would still be living had I not been able to take them.

Is it weird that I save all my boxes after they've been finished? 

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Hi, I’m Jess and I’m a Hypochondriac

Admitting to you that I’m a hypochondriac is a hard thing for me to do.

When I talk about my anxiety, I’m fine.

OCD? Not a problem. 

Depression? Sure thing.

But it’s hard for me to sit here and fess up to being a hypochondriac and that’s because being a hypochondriac carries a bad rep.

Over the years I’ve been called a “drama queen” and an “attention seeker” by my nearest and dearest. I’ve been told to “get a grip” and that I need to “stop worrying about nothing.” I think it’s hard for me to write this post because hypochondria is an anxiety disorder that’s hardly ever spoken about and therefore has a long way to go in fighting the stigma surrounding mental illness that we’re just starting to break.

In contrast to what has been said to me, my hypochondria is something that I live very quietly with, much more so than I live with my other mental health problems. Unlike common perceptions regarding hypochondria I rarely go to the doctor with my worries and I hardly ever discuss my fears with anyone for fear of being called silly.

For me, living with hypochondria is losing a whole night to googling symptoms and reading about various illnesses online spending hours trying to self-diagnose. It’s lying awake terrified that I’m ill or dying. It’s having intrusive thoughts about all of the big scary illnesses out there and the chances of me one day having them. It’s about worrying that even getting help for these illnesses, like having surgery, carry a risk of death. Truthfully, having hypochondria is terrifying and something that I often sit with alone.

In my experience, when people think of death they see it as a far off thing that won’t happen to them, or at the very least is something that they won’t have to face for a long time. I’m the complete opposite. I’m very aware that death is a part of life and that one day I will die and so will everybody that I’ve ever cared about. I know that death can sweep in and happen unexpectedly when you’re not looking and so I’ve made death my personal enemy.

I try as hard as I can to fortify myself and those I love from death by being a hypochondriac, by worrying and thinking of the worst possibility so that I can act quickly. I’m on constant high alert for the grim reaper knocking at my door.

There are so many health warnings these days, everywhere you look from posters to TV adverts. Now I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m sure these advertisements save lives. But when you’re a hypochondriac being reminded that 1 of 2 people in the UK will be diagnosed with some form of cancer during their lifetime is not helpful. I look at those odds and I look around at the people I love and a wave of paralysing fear washes over me.

Every. Single. Freaking. Time.

And what’s worse is that I know that dying is inevitable and that for all of my worry and trying to protect myself and those I love against it ultimately there’s nothing I can do to stop it when it does finally decide to arrive.

Because as well as worrying about my own health I also am a hypochondriac when it comes to the people I love. My family get so annoyed with me when they’re ill. If they have an illness for longer than two weeks I’m certain that they’re going to die. I will nag at them to see a doctor and spend countless nights until the illness has passed crying myself to sleep and having panic attacks because I’m certain that something is seriously wrong with them.

In society hypochondria is a mental health condition that is still very much seen as a joke. It’s perceived as self-indulgent, dramatic and pathetic but in reality it is a terrifying condition to live with. On a regular basis I convince myself that I am ill and that I am going to die. I may not be physically ill but mentally I am there living it and experiencing it. I believe it deeply and wholly. To me, in my mind, I am sick and I am dying. Fact. And it’s not until my symptoms subside or I get a doctor's diagnosis that I believe otherwise. It’s petrifying and mentally exhausting.

Hypochondria is not a silly, frivolous or indulgent condition to have. It’s no fun to live with and is certainly no joke to be laughed off. I hope that one day it will be seen as the crippling anxiety disorder that it is and treated with the respect it deserves. But until that day I refuse to be ridiculed for a condition that I have as little control over as my OCD, PTSD and Depression. I refuse to be made fun of and refuse to believe that my very real fear is trivial, petty and insignificant.

My name is Jess. I am a hypochondriac and I will not be ashamed.

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Just Pull Yourself Together!

“At least it’s not cancer.”

“So many people have it worse than you.”

“Just pull yourself together; we all have to deal with stuff like this.”

“Have you ever just, you know, tried thinking positively?”

“Mind over matter.”

“What have you got to be depressed about?”

These are just a handful of things that have been said to me and, I imagine, many other people throughout their struggle with mental illness. But why? Why do people regard mental health as a completely separate entity to physical health? Why do people think that it’s just a case of thinking happy thoughts? You wouldn’t say to someone with cancer… “oh, it’s nothing, just think happy thoughts!” Just like you shouldn’t say to someone in the midst of depression, “hey, all you need to do is think happy things!” OMG WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT BEFORE?!?!?!? THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR CURING ME -.-

Mental health is EXACTLY the same as physical health in the sense we ALL have it. Just like physical health, some people have better mental health than others. There are those that are physically healthy and then those that are briefly ill or who have long term physical problems; there are those that are mentally healthy, those that are briefly mentally ill or who have long term mental health problems. It’s the same concept. It should be treated in society in the SAME WAY.

I like to think that throughout our lives we live on a sliding scale for both our mental and physical health. Sometimes we’ll be feeling amazing and we’ll have great health and other times we may not feel so great and be lower down the scale. We are never at one fixed point and that’s OK. Just like it’s OK to have a cold, or break your leg or need some antibiotics for an ear infection. Just like it’s OK to go through depression, or have a psychotic episode or have an intense period of anxiety. It’s OK to slide up and down that scale. (I tried to visually explain this but I fail at art. Soz.)

But, sadly, this is where the similarities end.

Physical health is treated far differently from mental health. If you fall over and break your leg and need some time off work, your boss is likely to pat you on the shoulder and hope you feel better soon. Yet if you were to suffer from a bout of depression and need some time off of work, the same boss may tap you on the shoulder and suggest you’re not committed to the job and are letting the team down.

If you can’t attend someone’s birthday party because you’ve got a nasty chest infection, you’ll be wished well and told you’ll be missed. Yet if you miss the same birthday party because you’re just feeling too anxious, you’ll be told you’re a flake and you let people down.

If you’re having a really tough day and you just really can’t face doing more than staying in bed people may tell you to “get a grip” and to stop being so dramatic because “at least it’s not cancer”.

No, it’s not cancer and I’m glad that it’s not but that doesn’t make my suffering or what I’m going through any less valid or difficult than someone with cancer.

There are many, many times I’ve wished that I could be physically ill instead. Because if I was then people would treat me SO much differently to how they do now. I wouldn’t be criticised at work for not being “smiley enough” during a busy period. I wouldn’t be told to just put “mind over matter” or to “grow some balls”. And I probably wouldn’t be told that I’m letting people down because “I’m not living my life to the full” or doing what a “normal twenty-two year old does”. If I were lying in a bed with cancer that would be the last thought on anyone’s mind. Yet when I lie in bed with depression and have suicidal thoughts, people just think I’m being over-dramatic and selfish?

Go figure.

Some people argue that mental health is easier to go through because you have the power to change it and make yourself better unlike those who may be physically ill and don’t have that ability. And, yes, in some cases that is true. But in the vast majority of cases of physical illness you could say the same too. Got a cold? Take some tablets and wrap up warm. Diabetes? Implement a diet plan and take medication. Broken leg? Put it in a cast and wait until it heals.

So why can’t people with mental illness wait until it heals?

Why are we forced into taking immediate action and made to feel guilty if it looks like we’re not improving? You wouldn’t say to someone recovering from a heart attack, “wow, you had that heart attack like three weeks ago, you still look so rough. You should be better by now.”

WHY WHY WHY DO WE MAKE PEOPLE WHO GO THROUGH MENTAL ILLNESS FEEL REALLY FUCKING GUILTY FOR NOT BEING ILLER?

I am sick of trying to explain what anxiety and depression is like. It’s more than just feeling sad or being a bit scared. It’s completely engulfing and crushing and at times you feel like you’re drowning with no way out. It’s like being in a never ending, dark room and not knowing where the door is to find your way out. You just have to slowly and methodically inch along, searching every single patch of wall until you find that handle to open the door. It’s not about being happy or putting mind over matter. It’s not about comparing my plight with someone else’s.

Just because mental illness can’t be physically seen, it doesn’t mean it’s not excruciatingly painful and real. Yes, you can see a broken leg; yes, you can tell if someone has a bad cough, yes, someone undergoing chemotherapy may lose their hair but just because there are visual symptoms they seem to be cared about more.

Thankfully more and more people are becoming understanding about mental health and are less prejudice about it but there is still a LONG way to go. Sadly one of the reasons for this is that mental illnesses are used as adjectives;

People used the word depressed or depressing to explain something a bit sad which then belittles the experience that people with real depression go through. The same with OCD; it’s not about liking things looking neat and being tidy but how often do you hear people say “I’m so OCD about that.” NO YOU’RE FUCKING NOT. Just like when something scary happens and you have a normal bodily reaction to it you did not just have “OMG A PANIC ATTACK.”

Sigh. Can you tell it makes me a bit annoyed?!

I just wish I could live in a world where it wasn’t a constant competition to see who was worse off or who was suffering more. In comparison to some third world countries we all obviously have a better life. But it doesn’t mean that at the very moment when we’re suffering most that it’s not as bad as or less valid than any other suffering anyone has ever been through.

Treat everyone with care and compassion. One day you may be the one who needs the care and compassion most. 

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What Makes Me, Me - Laura

When Jess asked me to write a piece about ‘What Makes Me, Me’ I hit a bit of a wall. What does make me, me? For so long I’ve labelled myself and presented myself as Laura: the one with anxiety and depression. Instead of letting my mental health problems be a small part of me, I chose to let them define me. Whenever I met someone new I’d try and slip in a “oh by the way I might have a panic attack so don’t panic if I panic” kinda thing. Instead of saying, “Hi, I’m Laura and I have lots of other identifying features aside from my scrambled brain.”

There are so many other things that make me the person that I am. So I sat down and took my anxiety right out of the equation to see what I had left; what else I was made up of. I thought I’d make a list instead of things that make me Laura. 

Here’s what makes me, me:

•         My insatiable appetite for books
•         My insatiable appetite for pizza
•          My addiction to cats, cat videos and the idea that one day I can have LOTS of cats
•         My love for writing about and reading books, in fact anything to do with books.
•          My aspirations to be a published author. (I once met with a publisher who liked my writing…WHATTTTT)
•          My insistence that pyjama bottoms are acceptable every day clothing. (only indoors)
•           My perpetual need to sleep
•           My hatred of driving (much to my boyfriend’s annoyance)
•           My love of Devon (I’ve only been there twice but want to be there foreverrrr)
•           My lack of travel (I’ve never left the UK or been on a plane. Booo)
•           My lasagne making skillz
•           My love/hate relationship with the word ‘bae’. Boyfriend and I started using it in jest and now it has become the third wheel in our relationship
•           My love for the word pulchritudinous because it sounds like the complete opposite of what it is
•           My love of crisps (salt and vinegar Tyrell’s if you’re offering, please)
•           My overuse of exclamation marks, the word ‘just’ and commas
•           My love for baby things. i.e kittens, puppies and fluffy ducklings
•           My addiction to stationery and notebooks
•           My complete disregard for fashion
•           My complete disregard for makeup that isn’t eyeliner, eyeshadow or mascara.
•           My lack of interest in TV unless it’s funny or dark and murdery
•           My love of musicals

And now I’ve got bored thinking about me. (I think I have some sort of brain filter that says NOPE too much self-analysis.) But, there we go; a short-ish list of things that make me, me. Excluding my anxiety and depression and agoraphobia, I’m pretty normal…right? Everyone loves cats and pizza…? (They do, even if they don’t admit it.)

N.B. My anxiety and depression also make me the person that I am today. If I hadn’t spent nearly ten years in the grip of perpetual anxiety and waves of depression then I wouldn’t be as strong and determined as I am today. It’s so easy for people looking in from the outside to say ‘hah, you haven’t left the house in months, you’re not living your life to the full’ but I know that sometimes just getting out of bed in the morning is an achievement. Managing to engage in conversation with my family without spiraling into a panic is an achievement. Heck, even going into the back garden to put some bird seed out is an achievement. Yet I feel bad about this. I feel like I shouldn’t see these things as achievements because no one else does…no one else pats me on the back and says ‘well done for making it through another day.’

But I’m still here, I’m still standing, I’m still trying to find a way to get better and without these years of suffering, of tears, of panic attacks…I wouldn’t have the determination and strength to carry on. Everything listed above makes me happy – they’re the things that compel me to get up every morning; they’re the things that make me feel like a normal person. They give me hope I can one day be the person who walks down the street without crying and running back home.

My anxiety, depression and agoraphobia do contribute to the person that I am, they influence the way I behave and the way I see the world but they’re not the only things I want to use to define myself anymore. I want to feel unashamed to say to people ‘nope, sorry, not today, I don’t feel up to it’ without feeling horrendous guilt and wondering if anyone will ever like me again. I want people to understand that depression isn’t just ‘feeling sad’ and anxiety isn’t just ‘being a bit nervous.’ I want people to acknowledge that something they find a doddle is actually really, really hard for me. I want society as a whole to be more understanding of mental health and how we can all support each other. I want people to ask me how I feel instead of just pretending that my mental health is fine. And, most of all I want people to stop passing judgement on my life and telling me how I should feel and what I should do.

I think I completely went off point there. (Oh, that’s another thing – I like tangents.)

So, that’s me. That’s what makes me the person that I am today: anxiety, depression, cats and pizza.

And I’m cool with that. 

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