Showing posts with label recovery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label recovery. Show all posts

Monday, 5 December 2016

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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Wednesday, 16 November 2016

Old versus the Present



Let me set a scene for you:

It’s raining. Drizzling. My favourite. I’m walking home from town. It’s getting dark. I’ve got my hood up, headphones in my ears, music pumping around my head. I start to hum the tune of the songs, moving into singing whilst walking. I’ve got a definite spring in my step, walking tall and proud. I can’t feel the spotlight of the headlights of cars stuck in traffic on the road beside me, the people inside.



Old me would have been embarrassed that I had let some words slip out of my mouth whilst walking around in public. I would have been acting very British about it all; not enjoying rain at all, hating the miserable drizzle with a passion, pissed off my hair was getting damp and that people were staring at me, because it was unusual to see someone out in the dark, walking of all things.

Current me, this version of me; was enjoying the dampness of the air, the rain on my glasses, how good the music sounded in my ears, how much I had missed enjoying music. I was revelling in the fact that I was actually outside and feeling good about myself. I had even forgotten about my ostomy bag because it wasn’t tugging uncomfortably against my skin. I was enjoying myself, my life, in that moment.



Because, really, that’s all we get. Moments.



I have decided that I am going to enjoy the moments I get given because without warning they can be taken away from you. Either by yourself or something outside of your control. And all you can do is go along with them and roll with the punches. Find some laughs and enjoy those things you hold dear to you.

I am aware that this sounds very much like something you would say once you’d had a near death experience and I was by no means near dying when I was last in hospital in the summer but it is a reminder that bad things can happen and sadly you have to just survive them. It is instinct to fight for your life. I will fight for my life right now. I am happy and healthy. I am enjoying that, for the first time in forever! It has the potential, the possibility, to not last too long.

I say that not because I am expecting things to go wrong or to turn bad, but the past has left me a certain amount of scepticism around having had my fair share of crappy setbacks. 2016 has been one long battle with setbacks – one after a-bloody-nother – and finally we are seeing some clearing through the shitty trees. So, I continue forward, out of the forest of despair and pain, into the fields of hope and enjoyment.

New Louise, who is she huh?

Well, why don’t we find out? Let’s see if that diseased colon was really just holding her back. Let’s see what I can now do.

I’m ready.


Monday, 14 November 2016

Recovery is Hard

Since we last spoke, I have finished counselling. I am officially in recovery for my mental illnesses and it’s nothing like I thought it would be.

For the first couple of weeks after finishing therapy I was unstoppable, I was going out almost every day doing things that I haven’t done in years, I was on top of the world and having the time of my life. My social life was busier, I looked better, I felt better and I was making everyone around me so proud with my progress which gave me such a buzz and made me determined to push myself further.

For the past two weeks I’ve been going through a really hard time with some family stuff that I won’t go into here out of respect for my family’s privacy. Day by day I’ve been struggling and have felt myself deflate slowly like a balloon.

So right here, I’m going to admit something I haven’t told anyone.

I am in recovery and I am not okay.

I always imagined that when I reached that massive, far off, recovery milestone that things would be easier, that bad days would be a thing of the past and that I’d be able to function just like everyone else. But for me, that isn’t the case. I’m still ill.

Recovery is so much harder than I ever could have imagined. I still have days where it’s a struggle to get out of bed and I still have triggers that I’m not yet ready to face. The only difference is that before it felt okay to have these problems, whereas now there is so much expectation on me to be okay and instead of having my counsellor to guide me out of the darkness I have to try and find the way myself.

Now that I am in recovery I am feeling a lot of pressure to stay in recovery. I’m finding it harder than before to admit to the people around me when I’m struggling, but harder still is admitting it to myself because I am so scared of relapsing.

Recovery is not what I expected and right now I am going through the process of figuring out what it means to me. Here’s what I have so far:

• Being in recovery does NOT mean that I am cured
• It’s okay to have bad days
• Recovery is at my own pace, not anyone else’s
• Being in recovery means that I’m doing better than I was before
• Recovery is the process of returning back to a normal life. It doesn’t happen all at once

I’m learning that recovery is personal to each individual and that everyone’s journey is different. I’m still making great progress and when life throws bricks at me, I keep on getting right back up. That is what being in recovery means to me.


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Wednesday, 15 June 2016

Not Counting the Calories

A few weeks ago, Laura wrote about how she had begun counting calories as a means of losing weight. I was really interested in this piece as calorie counting has often been employed by me so that I can try and lose weight or at least maintain a healthy weight. However, since the beginning of May, I have neither weighed myself nor actively counted calories.

“I am an eater of numbers. I prefer packaged foods, foods with a bar code, because they make the math simpler in counting calories and that gives me a sense of peace. It’s just an illusion of control, really, but that illusion is everything.” – Melissa Broder


As someone who has very polarised views, as well as being wholehearted and putting my all into everything I commit to, I could probably rightly claim to have an addictive personality. This clearly has its downsides. If I’m trying not to worry about what I’m eating, I might eat too much and put on weight in a short period of time. The biggest problems for me come If I’m intent on losing weight, however. 

I will weigh myself daily and count every calorie that enters my mouth. I become obsessive. I have been in tears if the final meal of the day puts me seven calories over my recommended daily allowance. I will avoid any packaging that shows food that contains a large portion of a particular food group. I will spend ages in front of a supermarket chiller, trying to find the lowest calorie sandwich. If, after all this deliberating, I have still put on weight, I will reduce my intake the next day. My meals, in those moments, have become about numbers instead of nourishment.

I’ve been overweight and in that period of time, I really didn’t like the way I looked. I was desperate to look like I thought I was supposed to, forgetting that at 5 foot 10, I’m unlikely to ever be a size 6. I was appalled at myself and yet, even then, I knew that losing weight wouldn’t change the way I saw myself. Alas, now within the healthy range again, I still dislike what I look like. I’m learning that weight doesn’t equate with happiness.

So what does this mean for me?

 I want to be healthy. This is so that, as Laura said, I reduce the risk of disease later in life and my body works well. I want to be eating a balanced meal, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t have the occasional cake or a tub of pick ‘n’ mix if I feel like it. I want to treat myself respectfully and this means both not overeating, but also not under-eating as well. Food is meant to nourish us and give us the energy to live our lives. I want to know that I have the capability to do what I want to do, without being hindered by myself. I want to be happy because who I am is enough, whether that person fits into a smaller pair of jeans or has a little bit of flesh overhanging.

The more I practise eating in a way that allows me to keep fit and still enjoy food, the easier I hope it will become. I think I will gradually continue to adjust to what works for me in terms of portion sizes and the food I eat, but I don’t want weighing or numerical values to be a part of that. Having my happiness decided on by something as changeable as a digit means my mood and my self-worth are likely to be all over the place and we all know that’s not helpful.


I'm excited to try and find a place where food isn't another addiction for me. I’ll let you know how I get on in the months ahead!

Wednesday, 1 June 2016

My Year Without Self-Harm

Yesterday marked me reaching one year without self-harm. This is an anniversary that seemed distant for eleven months, overwhelmingly difficult for the entire twelve months, and yet I was determined to reach it. It’s not that a year is the longest I’ve ever managed. Nor can know for sure that I will never self-harm again. But it was important for me, as a personal kind of challenge, to be a year without incident by this summer. I set my mind to it and, no matter what occurred, and a lot has happened over that time, I didn’t want to use my usual methods to cope with it.

You may or may not struggle with self-harm. There may be other coping strategies you use that you find equally unhelpful, but familiar; whether that be overeating when stressed, retreating from the world when afraid or drinking to numb your emotions. I would like to share five things that have helped me stick to my promise of reaching my year’s milestone. I hope that, wherever you’re at, they can help you in some way too.

Count the moments, not the days.

I made the mistake, early on, of noting what date would signify my year without self-harming. Whilst this was helpful so that I knew where I was heading, it made it more difficult day-to-day. To know that I still had months to go was disheartening when I was struggling. To look to a date in the future also took away from the achievement of not self-harming on single, difficult days. If you’ve used a means of coping for a number of years, it becomes addictive and automatic. Therefore, it’s such an achievement when you manage a moment without it. This moment should be counted.

Do the opposite of what you want to do.

When everything in my mind was telling me that I needed to hurt myself, either as a means of coping with stress or as a way of “punishing” myself, the biggest way I could choose not to act on those thoughts was to do the very opposite of what they were telling me to do.

If I felt like I couldn’t cope with stress, I would continue to pursue what was making me anxious. Of course, that isn’t to say that if you genuinely don’t have the resources to manage, you should put yourself in impossible situations. But I know that stress often occurs for me in situations that are manageable, albeit difficult.

Secondly, if I want to punish myself or attack myself physically, the very best way of counteracting that is to do something nice for myself. If I have a tough therapy session, I’ll take myself to a coffee shop for coffee and cake. If I want to use my hands to damage my body, I will use them to paint my nails or rub in moisturiser. If I want to withdraw from positive opportunities, I will leave the house and intentionally find something I will enjoy.

Stepping back from the intensity of my emotions by acting opposite to them gives the space needed to find a helpful resolution and to consider alternative options. It tells my body that there are numerous ways of responding which don’t have to involve self-harm.
Ask if there is another way of seeing the situation.

I am prone to very black and white thinking. If I struggle to speak, I’m a “failure.” If life isn’t how I want it to be, I “need to die.” I think in extremes of good and bad, right and wrong. But the world is many shades of grey and filled with “fairly goods” and “not quite rights.” If you aim for a situation to go a certain way and it doesn’t, it’s easy to feel desperately disappointed. Rather than feel bogged down by that, I ask myself what could have made it better, what may have got in the way, and also consider what was positive about a situation.

I have had therapy sessions where I have been silent for thirty out of the sixty minutes. I get frustrated that I am losing time I could be utilising. I get angry at myself for not doing something so seemingly easy as speak. But if I have only been silent for thirty minutes, that’s still half an hour I used well and, if I manage to turn a session around at the end, that’s taken strength. Even if I’ve needed to write my therapist a letter explaining my prolonged silence, I’ve done something proactive and helpful. There is something positive to take from every situation. Therefore, just as there may be reasons, in my mind, to harm myself, there are reasons to treat myself kindly.

Remember that thoughts aren’t necessarily facts.

“I am a failure.” “I am better off dead.” “I always screw things up.” “Everyone hates me.” These are thoughts that enter my head on, probably, a daily basis and that make the temptation of self-harming all the more appealing. However, it doesn’t take many moments of talking to someone else about these thoughts before they begin challenging them. “What about the degree you gained?” “What about the goals you want to achieve?” “What about the success of your writing or artwork?” “What about your family?”
I treat every thought as if it is factual and accurate, and then respond accordingly. This isn’t helpful. I could have the thought that I’m a millionaire, but if I act as if that is true, I would have bailiffs on to me in a matter of days. Acting on our thoughts has consequences, so it is really important that we check the facts. Is what I am thinking based on evidence and fact? Or is it personal opinion and wishful thinking?

If I challenge my negative thoughts with alternatives, which are factual, there is lesser likelihood that I will want to self-harm. This isn’t to say that I don’t screw things up, but that there are times when I do things well, which deserve just as much attention in my thought-life.

Don’t use the past as a reflection of what your future will become.

There are numerous, substantial events from my years growing up that have a huge effect on how I feel about myself. I blame myself for situations in which I was the victim and I remember cruel words bullies and abusers said to me. I often think that is how my life will continue to look into the future, thus leaving me desperate and wanting to take it out on myself.

However, just because I have a past that is painful and people have hurt me, it doesn’t mean that my future will look the same. I get to decide what I’m worth and my actions demonstrate that to others. There is no way of knowing what difficulties any of us will face in the future, but that is independent of where we have come from. We can choose what we make of the years to come, the amount of value we place on ourselves and what we are willing to put up with from others.

I’m hopeful of another year without self-harm. Using the above methods has helped me immensely, as well as considering what the pros and cons of hurting myself would be. This is a day-to-day process for me, but it is possible to succeed. Every moment is worth counting.


Wednesday, 18 May 2016

A Little Mentally Ill

It takes a lot for me to ask for help. Exactly three years ago, when I had completed my fifth week of working for a mental health charity, having hidden how much I was struggling with my own health, I was admitted to hospital for what would become a ten-week stay. I was 25, with no work history and no relationships to speak of, but I had a recently acquired degree, so I was so determined to do what I felt was expected of me as an adult. To do so, I suppressed my own needs, masking desperation with eagerness. I wanted other people to see that I was a productive human being. I did so at the cost of my mental health.


In the three years that have followed my hospital stay, I have had other, shorter admissions, crisis interventions, two years of therapy and at least fortnightly appointments with my community mental health team. I’m 28. Definitely an adult, but still feeling like a failure.

When I heard my care coordinator was leaving, the me who still has such a desire to appear well and capable decided that I could try to manage without support. After all this time, surely I should be able to manage living? With our last appointment being tomorrow, I was ready to try and support myself. Within days of making this decision, it became evident that it wouldn’t be a good idea. In fact, it would be dangerous. On a daily basis, I still struggle with keeping myself alive. I struggle not to harm myself. I struggle not to curl up into a ball and give up on life. “But you should be able to do this by now.”

In trying to look like what I think an adult should be, I push aside my mental health diagnoses. If I’m not able to work, if I can count my friends on no hands and if I’m reliant on regular support to keep myself alive, I can’t see myself as a worthwhile individual. I tell myself that my poor mental health needs must be hidden if I’m to do anything with my life. But this is where it went wrong before.


This week, I asked for help. I phoned my care coordinator ahead of our final appointment and told her that I need to have regular support in place for the foreseeable future. She told me that my psychiatrist had said he was “concerned” about me being without support. I can’t manage my day-to-day life without the guidance of mental health professionals. I’m not working. I have no salary. It feels like failure.

For the last eleven years, my life has been filled with the ups and downs of mental illness. It has seen suicide attempts, repeated self-harm, disordered eating and desperate sadness. At times, it has been unbearable. I feel so indescribably sad that I’m not able to do what I would like to do. But my decision over these last few days has been to accept who I am right now. I am a person with mental health issues. I don’t want to be defined by them. but they contribute to who I am and what I can do. To accept myself is to accept the state of my mental health.


It isn’t a sign of weakness to ask for help. Though my voice shook as I said I needed support, I felt empowered. It is strength to say that I can’t do this on my own. It’s strength to take who I am right now and still make it through a day. It’s strength to craft a story for my life that includes the challenges that mental illness brings. We are strong.


Wednesday, 23 March 2016

Why I Choose to Live

Over much of the last ten years, suicide has been a very real option for me. When my mood has been at its lowest and I haven’t been able to see ahead because of the fog of depression, life, as clichéd as it sounds, hasn’t felt as if it is worth living. After attempts at taking my life, when medical professionals tried to keep me safe from myself, I was angry. I was angry that they were taking the choice away from me. I asked myself what right they had to make me live when they weren’t the ones living my life.

But today it is different. There remain times when I see ending my life as a means of ending my distress. I still get overwhelmed at the prospect of living for decades to come. Perhaps that will always be the case for someone who has seen suicide as an available option. What I have seen recently, however, are also the reasons to be hopeful. They are the little glimmers of life, the moments I laugh without thought, the fulfilment that comes with doing something I enjoy. Instead of having a list a mile-long of why I want to die, there are greater reasons for me to live.


I choose to live because:

There is the possibility of change and of progress.

I can be with the people I love.

I can see the world and explore new places.

I can read books and listen to music, old and new.

I can help to make the world a better place through my unique perspective.

I can have new experiences – meet new people, go to gigs and events, and do what scares me.

I can use my experiences, rather than wasting them, in order to support other people.

I can make my life what I want it to be.


We all have different experiences and reasons for the choices that we make. I don’t know what your life is like. You may be content, you may be muddling through, unsure what you’re doing, or you may be like me, wondering why you should live. What I do know, though, is that what I saw as permanent has so often been fleeting. Things change. We can utilise the very worst of life and make it count for something. That reality is my reason for living.