Mental Health Awareness Week

I have deliberated long and hard about writing about my own personal and extended relationship with mental health, and to be honest, I have never done so before. It is not because I am fearful of sharing, or get anxious about talking about it, far from it. I actually really enjoy talking about mental health, yes enjoy. By talking about it we actually share, learn and empathise with the general suffering of humanity. For many of us do and are in suffering.

The Mental Health Awareness campaign has a theme this year: Body Image. I know for certain this has played a large role in my own story, and still does, and it is, as with many mental health issues, entwined with many others. The experiences I will write about will touch upon body image, but also other issues and I hope that by sharing and talking I will contribute to a wider and hugely serious discussion about mental health. I plan not to tell the whole story, but only parts, and I do hope that my writing does not draw in sympathy, hugs or a general state of feeling sorry for ones self. It is not why I write and it is not needed at this time. Honesty, dialogue and discussion is what we need. Empathy yes, always empathy, but that is hugely different from sympathy.

I suppose my first experiences of what we label as 'depression,' 'anxiety,' 'bipolar' and a huge number of other convenient boxes that govern mental health was when I was a teenager. It was through some extremely tough times in my close family that led to my first bouts of prolonged suffering. I had few friends and felt I had no one to openly talk to, which is not fault on anyone, it was a product of my own suffering that meant I felt alone. Communication, I have since learnt, is vital. But the lack of honest communication when I was younger meant that, even to this day, I find some discussion exceptionally difficult. The onsets of depression went through various 'specialists' and 'treatments' with no sustained effects. I began to question myself whether what I was experiencing was something that I actually NEEDED to experience. I truly hated medication. It reacted to me, caused convulsions and my body totally rejected it. When I was pregnant with our first child, over 5 years ago, I was on a course of anti-depressants. The tiny, innocent newborn had to be monitored throughout the day for withdrawal symptoms from the medication that I was taking when pregnant. That was it. I stopped them. If this medication is so strong that it effects the newborn baby, innocent of suffering and yet taking on mine without choice, then the medication stops. In all honesty, I was not convinced that the medication was helping. I was still having panic attacks, still finding myself unable to breath, caught in a turmoil of tears, short breaths and anger in corners of rooms, trying to grip onto the walls for strength and security. The suffering was still there, despite medication. So it was not working. In hindsight, perhaps coming off them post-nately was a silly move, but also perhaps it was a move that began to build my strength.

I had a bit of baby shock and it took time to recover physically and mentally, but I told myself I seemed to be on the up. I was doing OK. I was feeling 'better.' It is so easy for these terms to slip into mental health. The notion of feeling better. Better from what? What is the what? I find it is the risk of medication, counselling, CBT, all these and similar 'treatments' run their course and then stop. That's it, your better, we've treated you. I often find it is not as simple as this. These treatments, particularly those involving talking, offer a great support and a great crutch for when it is needed. And everyone needs support at some point in their life. But it takes the person suffering to actually stop the suffering. No one else can do that. That is why I feel these options were just incredible support for me, not actually a cure. There is no cure really, and a more recent episode made me realise this dramatically.

After the birth of our first, I was still suffering with huge anxiety. For the first time of teaching in a new setting, I would have to have A there to reassure me and to just be present. I would feel sick with nerves and loose nights worth of sleep, anxious about popping up somewhere and teaching a group of strangers. I lost in total about 3 years of working practice due to anxiety, depression and general suffering in life. It was through the continued presence of A that made sure I kept talking, even through burning tears, I had to talk.

When I fell pregnant with our second, initial joy was overshadowed by a fear of change. A routine established with our first was to be up heaved. I remember after giving birth feeling completely and utterly disconnected to the baby. Which makes me cry as I write. I felt so lonely and scared and tired and angry and everything as once, but not love. No, love was not there. I saw the joy in the baby, the moments of smiles or giggles. But overshadowing all of this was an inability to be able to talk honestly. I was so tired I could not think, I was so lonely, so scared and felt sick all the time. I had panic attacks, burst into tears in supermarkets and generally was suffering so much that It came to a head and I wanted to take my own life. In fact, it was the perfectly logical thing to do. I was useless to everyone, I felt no love and I was sacred and lonely and I wanted to end it all. So I tried. Try being the word that I can type now and think thank goodness. Seriously.

Post-natel depression is hard, and in fact I believe all parents experience it in one form or another. I am fortunate that the support from one person has been so above and beyond anything that 10 million could offer, I am still here. He has guided me to see I was suffering and to just see that, no more. No questions, cures, treatments. I suffer. I am flexible in myself and patient with myself. To see others do love me and I need to love myself.

We have two wonderful daughters, one who as seen me and been with me throughout all the suffering. She came and gave me hugs when chastising myself through tears. I do not hide it from them any more and I talk. Talking and communication and how one feels can lighten any situation. I still get anxious teaching. Sometimes I even have physical symptoms because of it. I still have days where I feel sad. But I am learning and I do talk now. This is the biggest and the best thing I believe you can do. And yes sometimes, those in suffering may not have someone to talk to. I appreciate I have been supported in that manner. As a society we need to be more tribal. We need to form communities to offer support and to be there to talk, to whoever may need it and when. To not judge, to not stereotype and certainly to not project an image onto people of how we feel they should be acting, doing, behaving, expressing. Love all and judge no one.