Wednesday 21 December 2016

GUEST BLOG - David Neuer - Identity

Hi guys -

This week's guest blog is from David Neuer, screenwriter based in Minnesota. Here he writes about identity in reference to mental health.

A very merry Christmas to all my readers!!
I hope 2017 is filled with joy and happiness for you all!

Again, please feel free to get in touch via Facebook or Twitter if you want to share your story
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/letstalkaboutmentalhealth 
Twitter - https://twitter.com/letstalkmhealth  

Suzy  x


David Samuel Neuer is a military brat who has lived in all corners of the United States save Alaska and Hawaii. He currently resides in Minneapolis, Minnesota. After being diagnosed with bipolar type-II disorder in 2006, he experienced an identity crisis that he just now beginning to share. After dropping out in 2006 from University, he went on graduate with a bachelor's degree in screenwriting in 2014, and registered his first screenplay with the WGAW (Writer's Guild of America-West). He currently writes screenplays for the film festival circuit and has plans to attend graduate studies in the spring of 2017.



On Identity

Breathless beauty, I have found you. She sat across from me at a setting of dinner tables dressed in white like a wedding. The joke I had started with her was about a hypothetical memoir she will write, me making fun of her conflicting statements, her being witty. The title of her book was thus called The Paradox Within, a memoir to be written by her, accounting for the inner conflict within herself. I had labeled it a juxtaposition, or some sort of dichotomy. Either way, she thought my humor was enjoyable. I was somewhat curious as to why she kept telling me she could not figure me out. I told her the old Winston Churchill statement, you know the one, about the mystery wrapped in an enigma inside a paradox.

After dinner, some heavy melancholy made me tender. I could not describe this sad sorrow. Two different people approached me to ask if I was okay, to describe the problem. All I could do is equate it with not enough time to myself. That is partially true. The displacement I felt was more being somewhere that is so beautiful, I felt at peace, and yet, it is constructed, all just an illusion. Alas, the question plagues my thoughts once again, what is real?

There are so many directions one can go with that, and the two or three best possibilities are somewhat depressing. The night ended with not enough time to cover all the emotions boiling to the surface.

All the signs I have heretofore come across all point in one direction. If by some heavenly orchestration, it has been strewn before my eyes, forever impressed upon my heart. Being, after seeing what I have witnessed, shall no longer be the same. I have found a glorious emotion that springs forth from within, and it drives me, propels me, to not be lax, to avoid the fetters which the average townsfolk lives dismayed throughout the rest of their days. No, my mind and body say, 'Not I.'

There is a battle to control this two sided impulse: one, who shall go forward, and the other, which has given up. The clear decision lies not only in the fact that there is no decision, but to what this drive shall accomplish, where it shall take me, and how I will turn out, or to what extent of being or essence I will have evolved if/when I come out the other side, if indeed, there is another side, to what aim is it, and if there is not (an other side), then for how long must I battle?

Is there a point one must transpose that begets an instinct to do, to never quit, to not look back in fear, to wrestle with betterment, to refuse discontent, to reject complacency, to throw off doubt, to cast aside regret, to displace paranoia, to remove anxiety once and for all, to experience life as a human being without these, and if they shall be forever present, to what ends must one suffer to cope with such violent distrust at which the mind now wars with the body.

What am I to feel when there is no sense to compare it to, when I have emotions from nothing logical, what then is my worth? What if I contain a shelter with five different rooms for the senses, and no one ever visits the main room? What good does a self do if there is no head on ones shoulders, if there is truly no unified character to develop into a core identity?

The character beyond identity is ambivalent. This character has been plunged through the depths of insanity, received diagnosis, and is beyond the local scare tactics of words like insane, schizophrenic, manic, bipolar, psychotic, creep, mentally ill, madman, lunatic, maniac, etc. What I seek is a recovery from having survived hell on earth.

The imbalance is to know who you are and understand that 'you' is not the person you know to be yourself, that in a world of zero identity doubled with the loss of context, there comes a complete sickness.

After living with this sickness for a while, one comes to understand that one has always had this sickness, its symptoms simply becoming apparent at the moment in an overwhelming clarity.

A search to find the ultimate source of being, that of one's identity, if it so exists, is now the evident, clear path I must follow. Even if it does not, the process of writing is in itself the most therapeutic tool I have ever used in all my life.

If this writing accomplishes nothing else, it is to inspire the inept to pick up a writing utensil, start scribbling a journal, notes, pictures, a doodle, anything, but in doing so hopeful that the process may turn into some success or grasping for a more complete identity, to where down the road one may look back and say, when I wrote, the writing process, I had some sense of belonging, of being and feeling, and that in that, one may find hope to continue on through the drabness. That is my only desire.  




Monday 5 December 2016

GUEST BLOG - Naomi Cunningham Dexter - Dystonia & Mental Health

Hi guys -

This week's guest blog is from Naomi Cunningham-Dexter about how the process of being diagnosed with Dystonia, took a severe toll on her mental health. A very interesting and motivating read!

Also - always on the lookout for guest bloggers - whatever your experience. Get in touch
Twitter - https://twitter.com/letstalkmhealth  
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/letstalkaboutmentalhealth 

Suzy x


Naomi Cunningham-Dexter is 38 years old and is a Health and Social Care Partner for a national charity developing mental health, learning disability, older people and health and wellbeing services.  Naomi lives with the neurological condition called Dystonia, the third most common neurological disorder.  This has an impact upon Naomi’s voice and neck with the brain not instructing the muscles to contract but to spasm.  This results in severe pain and difficult at times in communicating.  This has had a significant impact upon Naomi’s mental health and in this blog she explains the battle she has faced to get the support to enable her to accept and cope with this life changing incurable condition.



My Dystonia journey 

Words and phrases people use to describe me; bubbly, beautiful, tenacious, passionate, intelligent, one in a million, quality and inspirational.

Words and phrases I would use to describe myself; misunderstood, conflicted, unpredictable and passionate.

There are two sides to every story and quite often two sides to every person.  Mine started seven years ago when my world and ‘me’ changed, or ‘evolved’ as I would like to now call it.


The start of my journey

I enjoyed my job, workaholic was probably an understatement. I worked as a manager for a Housing Association in their ‘Care & Repair’ department, we made a real difference to lives.  Bringing homes up to a decent standard, enabling patients to return from hospital and be reunited with families, and facilitating adaptations to enable people to stay in their homes; quite often with terminal conditions.  I took incredible pride in my work and also had a significant determination to progress my career to Chief Executive level.

During my time with this organisation I experienced severe persistent sore throats, my doctor put me on antibiotics for nine months, my voice sounded permanently hoarse, I sounded nervous and I felt as if I was being strangled.  I thought it was nothing more than a severe virus.  As this progressed, my voice got quieter and continued to deteriorate.  I was starting to get asked ‘do you have a sore throat?’, I could see people straining to hear me and when I was on the phone, I could hear the volume being turned up so people could hear me.  One day I will never forget, I went to see a client and they kept repeating a comment ‘your voice sounds awful’.  I was trying to help resolve an issue and all they focused on was my voice.  My family told me how awful I sounded on a daily basis, my work colleagues would make daily comments about my ‘sore throat’ and gradually everyone’s attention stopped being on what fantastic work I was doing but on how I sounded.  

This continued for nine months whilst my doctor tried various medication but eventually referred me to a specialist.  


Phase two of the journey.

The first consultant I saw decided that it was poor ‘vocal hygiene’ and referred me to speech therapist who worked on my breathing and techniques to help my volume.  Whilst this therapy was happening the situation was now starting to take its toll on my mental health.  Losing your voice is losing your ability to communicate, although mine was not gone completely, when I spoke people found it hard to hear me.  The word ‘pardon’ became my nemesis and filled me with panic that someone hadn’t heard me.  How can I do the job that I was doing with a voice like mine?  How can I instil confidence in others when I don’t have it in myself? I sounded quite frankly awful and I was starting to lose the one thing which defines us all, my voice, my way of communicating and my identity.  I recorded myself once and listened to what I sounded like, this resorted me to tears as the reality of what was happening and how I sounded hit me, it hit me hard.  There was nothing I could do to stop it and no answers as to why.

Looking back now, this is when I started to change.  I became quiet, withdrawn, lost my confidence, stopped socialising, avoided conversations, I questioned my ability to do my job and I felt alone.  No one could really understand how I felt and the only comments I got (or at least remembered) were all negative about my voice.

Every time I went for speech therapy, they asked me to rate my mood on a scale of 1 – 10, 10 being the worst, I was always an 11+.  I cried every time I went to see them, even they did not understand the emotional and psychological impact.  I kept going though and carried on at work with the façade that I just had a ‘sore throat’ and just nodded at the negative comments saying ‘it’ll get better soon’, knowing full well that my life had now changed forever.

After nine months of speech therapy and deterioration of my voice, with the additional element of what I referred to as a ‘stutter’ which I now know as ‘voice breaks’, I decided to pay privately and see an ENT specialist.  He thought it might be a significant reflux problem so referred me as an emergency case into his NHS clinic.  Within two weeks I had an endoscopy which confirmed reflux and a rolling hiatus hernia.  I finally thought I had the answer…….things will start to get better!  I started on a course of new medication and was referred to a new speech therapist.  Two months into the medication there was no change at all and in fact, things were still deteriorating.  I saw the new speech therapist and after having half an hour with her, she said to me ‘you have spasmodic dystonia (SD)’.  Now, I had heard of this condition and had asked whether I could have this to be told that I was too young at only 32 and my voice wasn’t typical of an ‘SD’ voice.  

This was an absolute ‘Eureka’ moment for me.  Finally someone agreed that I had this condition.  I was referred to a voice consultant, this was now two years after initial symptoms.  My mental health at rock bottom, my confidence and self-esteem at rock bottom, starting to question my ability as a parent and as a person.  I cried a lot, daily, I would cry myself to sleep.  I would question why do I have to have this condition.  Everything was so positive and was good two years ago.  What’s the point in going on if I am going to have this condition forever?  I would wish for someone to take my arm away over my voice.  Work was tough, meetings difficult, holding team meetings a challenge, talking to commissioners even harder.  The worst being ANY situation with background noise, with SD you can’t physically raise your voice to be heard over others.  You can never underestimate the impact of losing the way you communicate; you probably can’t appreciate it unless it has happened to you.  The other massive impact were the comments from others………all negative.  Every conversation I seemed to have were negative and all revolved around my voice; how bad I sound, have you got a sore throat again, you feeling ill again, what’s wrong with you, you sound awful, pardon (that dreaded word).  Maybe it was just my state of mind but there was nothing positive, or nothing which I could see that was positive.

I saw a voice specialist three years after initial symptoms who did not agree it was SD but offered me a treatment option of Botox into my vocal cords which might help.  Even better, this could be done the next day.  I absolutely jumped at the chance to try anything.  Within 24 hours my voice was back to ‘normal’.  It worked!!  Cue happy Naomi again, I was fixed, cured, everything would be back to how it was.


Here comes phase three

Probably the most difficult, most challenging part of the journey.  Botox worked and it worked well but gradually my voice deteriorated back to how it was.  I also had a neck ‘shake’ and it started pull
to the left.  I had had this neck thing for a while but always just thought it was a muscle issue and it caused me no real issues.  I’m quite lucky that I have long hair so could hold on tight to keep it under control!!  

The voice got worse and the head started to shake, but during this time I actually managed to get myself a new job.  So I couldn’t be that bad surely?  It felt like things were on the up even though the voice was on the down!  I took great positivity from my new role.  After a couple of months in my new role my voice deteriorated significantly.  My employers were less than supportive and restructured the management team and made my role redundant.  I maintain, and always will that this was partly due to my condition.  My consultant was experimenting with levels of Botox and whether to put it in the front or side of my neck, they were still not convinced it was SD.  I now found myself jobless and being experimented on.  I went for jobs and can’t even remember the number of interviews I had.  Every time I was questioned about my voice and my ability to do the job……even though I HAD done the job and was more than capable.  Not having a job, no purpose again drove down my mental health to all new depths.  I really didn’t want to be here; I didn’t see a point in being here.  No one understood, no one tried to understand.  No one else I knew had this health condition.  I was completely alone and saw no way out.  I threw myself into trying to get work but with every rejection I travelled a bit further down the depression spiral.

I kept seeing my consultant who kept experimenting, they decided to go back to the original method of injecting when it had worked but to inject more Botox, it worked!  Miracle number two!  And the day after I had Botox my voice was PERFECT and I had a job interview.  I performed exceptionally well in the interview and was offered the job on the same day.  

I really enjoyed my new challenge and being employed again but treatment was still hit and miss.  It felt like a vicious cycle, I would have Botox which might or might not work, my voice would start to deteriorate and my mental health would go with it.  My consultant was reluctant to inject me with Botox as they felt that I didn’t have SD so they wanted to go as long as possible between injections.  This made my job virtually impossible.  Again I had comments about my voice, work was stressful and things quickly began to spiral out of my absolute control.  On top of this, my best friend and who can only be described as my rock committed suicide.  This triggered a guilt inside me which will live with me forever.  Someone who had tried so hard to help, understand and reassure me yet I couldn’t do the same for them.


This was the start of the final chapter of this journey.  

I absolutely hit rock bottom, this could have been a combination of things but I felt I had finally lost control of everything.  My consultant was making decisions on my behalf and not understanding the impact, I lost my best friend, I was struggling at work, I felt worthless, useless……..what was the point?  I was an awful parent, a bad friend, no good at my job and I felt like complete loser.  At this point I sat with a cocktail of drugs in front of me thinking about my next move.  I had managed to stockpile a lot of medication which I know would be my way out of this.  It would all be over and I would be free from all of the pain, suffering and lets face it, the world wouldn’t lose much.  I had been asked previously to rate my mood on a scale, which I always answered truthfully and it was quite obvious that I was struggling, yet no one had ever asked me how ‘I’ was, the condition rather than the person always being the focus.  So this was it, a choice of live or die.

At this point I called my GP practice and said I need to see a doctor urgently.  I got an immediate appointment which quite simply saved my life.  The GP I saw took the time to listen.  I cried, she listened.  She had never heard of my condition and researched it whilst I was with her so she could
understand.  We discussed how my dystonia had impacted me emotionally and recognised the scary dark hole I was in.  This was a massive turning point, MASSIVE!  This doctor I owe my eternal gratitude to.  We discussed my treatment plan with the specialist and why decisions were being taken not to inject me when I needed it, we discussed a referral for cognitive behaviour therapy (CBT) and we discussed medication to help me with pain (which would also help me emotionally).  I spent about 40 minutes with the doctor, time was not an issue, I was given time to talk and between us we agreed a plan.  I finally felt like someone had listened to ME.  This doctor now became my voice and my advocate.

After this appointment, this started to give me the gradual confidence to question the treatment I was receiving.  I actually had a discussion with my consultant about my Botox treatment plan, me telling them what I wanted.  I ensured that I pointed out how this had had a significant emotional impact.  I went for CBT which helped me rationalise my thoughts, I questioned my medication which lead to a referral to a neurologist, something I had always asked for and been refused.  I was finally able to start to take back control of my life.

My neurologist conducted a number of tests which included looking at other causes of my condition including MS, Parkinson’s and Wilsons disease.  I was subsequently referred to the dystonia specialist regarding my neck, the specialist questioned why I had not been referred sooner as my neck dystonia was ‘severe’. My dystonia is now classed as generalised.

Now, seven years down the line I can look back with hindsight and be grateful for my journey. There are several learning experiences I share with those living with dystonia.  I am an active peer supporter and would like to think of myself as a peer educator.  It genuinely worries me that I see so many living with long term and life changing health conditions which are having a significant impact on their mental health which is not being recognised.  Once a patient is passed on to a consultant, it is unusual for the GP to then be involved.  If this is the case, the consultant should surely be considering the psychological wellbeing of ANYONE diagnosed with a long term or life changing health condition as a standard part of their treatment plan?

I will always be living with a physical and mental illness but I am determined that parity of esteem is realised.

Today my priorities have changed.  I no longer want to get as high as I can in my career.  Through my job as Health and Social Care Partner and my ‘living’ experience, I simply wish to educate, advocate and change lives.  I want to make a difference and I want people to learn from my experience.  I am passionate, I am tenacious, I am determined but more than anything I am a survivor.  I will always be someone with ‘living’ experience but it will not beat me.  I live on to help others on their journey as proof that against all the odds, even when you have been diagnosed with a life changing condition, you can use it to evolved.  It has taken me six years to come to terms with my condition and to almost grieve the loss of the person that I once was, but I believe with a passion that through the changing of pathways for dystonia, raising the profile of peer support and offering the psychological support to those living with life changing conditions, others will be given hope, lives will be enhanced and lives will be saved.

I have now set up my own Community Interest Company and intend to use my experience and networks to help others who are struggling with dystonia, this will include online counselling support for those I see on a daily basis who are in crisis and not offered any psychological support.  Hopefully this will enable them to talk online to a professional in the interim period during their wait for CBT.   

Wednesday 16 November 2016

GUEST BLOG - Stuart MacGregor - how illnesses can affect mental health

Hi guys -

New week, new blog.
This week's post is from Stuart MacGregor who is living with a close family member with Alzheimers disease, and here he discusses how that affects his mental health.

If you want to do a guest blog please get in touch (and like my page on facebook, follow me on twitter) . Please get in touch whatever experience you have, it would be great to hear your story.
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/letstalkaboutmentalhealth 
Twitter - https://twitter.com/letstalkmhealth 

Xxxx


Stuart MacGregor, is 25 and living in Rugby with his family. His father is badly affected by Alzheimer's Disease and here he describes the issues and difficulties experienced by the people caring for him while they too live with their health issues.



Family living with Alzheimer's Disease
I have decided to write about my experience living with my dad who has suffered from Alzheimers for the last 6 years, most sites online talk about the sufferer, how they feel and what happens to them but not many pages describe the situation it puts the family in or how it damages the health of those caring for them. Hopefully I can give some back story to my dad’s health and continue every now and again with updates as the disease progresses. I will try to keep it brief in the future so not to bore people but I have to explain 6 years in the first blog.


The Early Signs
About 6 years ago, my family were doing OK, my dad, mum and brother all lived in the same house and although money issues were always an issue, we were coping. My mum and brother suffer from depression and were getting treatment for it, I had the same issue but because of the usual “you don’t understand” speech from my mother when my brother did something stupid I have never got myself sorted as I’ve never been able to have a proper conversation about it. My dad was well although he used to do strange things every now and again, we would find the bread in the fridge sometimes and a shoe in a cupboard, we saw this as just him having a moment but looking back now the signs started then. It got more serious when one night he got confused and drove the wrong way round a roundabout, luckily no one else was on the road at the time. It was then where we got him checked at the GP and after having an MRI scan we found that part of his brain was dead and that he has Alzheimers.


Effect on the Family
As soon as we found out we had to plan for the worst, even with current medication we knew it was a terminal illness and that his condition would get steadily worse until that point. My mum went on a few carer courses, but most of it wasn’t useful at that moment. We regularly went to see the doctor who put my dad on a trial drug and showed us how to keep him well and try to slow down the decline and keep his mind fit.


Within the year you could tell he was changing, he couldn’t keep up with conversations, being around large groups of people would confuse him meaning Christmas/Boxing Day parties were a no for him, the first year I stayed behind with him while my mother and brother went out. Within the second year he was forgetting things, where he put his glasses, where his clothes were, he would put on my shoes and shirts assuming they were his. His attitude started to go downhill too, he became more snappy and at times a horrid person. He would have tantrums just like a child, he refused to take his pills and at times wouldn’t want to eat or drink.

In the third year my brother left leaving my mother and myself to look after him. At this point, he didn’t know who I was, to him I was just a family friend and so too was my mum. My mum had to quit work to take care of him which reduced our money income, carers allowance and disability allowance were difficult to achieve because at the time we didn’t qualify, now that guidelines have changed we have a steady income in which we can care for him.



In the last few years he has physically got worse, he gets tired and will sleep the majority of the day, going to the shops can be difficult and when you make plans and he just refuses to get up the day can be ruined. In the last year he has started having incontinence issues, he will need the toilet throughout the day but because of his poor memory he will forget where the toilet is, he has frequently got lost and had to go against a wall or in the shower, and will just go while sitting down and not say anything out of shame or just not knowing what he’s done. The constant cleaning and having to follow him everywhere means my mum has to get up with him every time he needs the toilet at night to ensure he’s safe and everything stays clean.

Adaptations around the house


Since learning about the illness, we have adapted the house to make it safer for him and to make it easier to look after him. Firstly we got the bathroom re done and removed the bath and installed a shower, the kitchen has had new appliances such as a special oven which only heats the metal pans and prevents him touching it when hot. Along with many more additions to the house such as new locks on the front and back door that he can’t open, we have spent over £10,000 on it which we wouldn’t have had to spend if he were healthy.



How it has affected my life
I’ve never been the most social person but since the illness has been worse, I’ve used drink to get away from it, I find it calming but don’t let it damage my health. It allows me to get away for a few hours and see some friends and just talk and not have to think about my day. I’ve not been able to start a relationship, I can’t bring someone home to see my parents as my dad might get frightened and I have to commit my time to look after him and be available if needed day or night, I’m also scared of talking about it to someone, having to explain that I still live with my parents and won’t be able to spend as much time as I want with someone, I think it’s better to just not be happy than turn someone away and feel worse. This need to be with someone makes my physically sick especially when I know I like someone and can’t do anything about it.


So where are we now?
At the time of writing this, my mum and dad are on holiday with his sister and brother in law, they too have a family member with the same situation so my mum can talk freely to them. I’ve got the week to do as much painting around the house as possible, we couldn’t do this before as my dad would just keep touching things. My current situation is that I want to move out and gain some independence and hopefully have a better life, maybe even start a family but I can’t leave my mum to look after him, I save for a house but sometime in the future he will die and my mum; unemployed and old won’t have an income and my savings may have to go towards keeping her well in her old age.


So that’s the start of my blog, I will add to it with updates or when things change in the house, hopefully things don’t get too bad but the disease is still not totally understood. 

Wednesday 9 November 2016

Discrimination against mental health

Hi guys! 

I want to say a massive hello to my new readers and twitter followers - I now have over 1K following this blog on twitter so hello to you all and I hope you can be helped and encouraged by the stories shared on my blog.

If you haven't already, please like my page on facebook or follow me on twitter:
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/letstalkaboutmentalhealth 
Twitter - https://twitter.com/letstalkmhealth 

Please get in contact if you would be interested in sharing your story - always open to guest bloggers and would love to hear from people of all experiences and all walks of life!



It feels like it's been a very long time since I've posted a blog written by myself...


I'm in a really good place right now, which is perhaps why I haven't been able to find anything to write a blog about.
Of course things can still be tough, but I feel pretty in control at the moment.
I know it won't last forever but focussing on the here and now, all is well!


One thing has recently struck me though that I would like to start a discussion on. I've realised just how much we have to fight for our rights, which seems a bit crazy in this day and age.
I realise we have a long way to go in educating everyone about the realness of mental health and that we have come a very long way, but the fact that we are having to put up a fight in certain areas seems a bit ridiculous in 2016.

I found myself in a position recently where I personally felt I was discriminated against for having mental health problems. Without going into context, I basically felt my illness wasn't treated the same way a physical illness would have been treated.
This massively crushed my confidence, and put me in a bad place, questioning myself and my abilities as well as triggering my anxiety to become worse and worse.
I ended up fighting for my rights and after putting my case forward, ended up with the outcome I had wanted.
But the fact it got to that point in the first place is ridiculous. I know many people, like me, would stand up for themselves and fight for what's right, but I know there's also a few people who wouldn't have the confidence to do that, so would allow themselves to be treated unfairly and made to feel small, and this isn't fair.

To be honest, it's just furthered my passion to get everyone to understand mental health.
To understand that everyone is different when it comes to mental health problems and that it's not all black and white.

Anyone with any form of a disability is protected by the Equality Act.
You might not consider yourself to have a disability, but the Equality Act defines the word disability as:
‘a physical or mental impairment which has a substantial and long-term adverse effect on your ability to carry out normal day-to-day activities’.

So mental health problems are considered as disabilities.

I want to hear your stories about discrimination against mental health. Please get in contact if you can share an insight into this, or would like to write a short piece for a blog.

Please do stand up for yourselves, and let's work together to talk about mental health!!

Suzy xxx

Saturday 22 October 2016

GUEST BLOG - Rebecca Lombardo Part 2 - Recovery from Self Injury

Hi guys.
This week's blog is a second blog from author, Rebecca Lombardo about her recovery from self injury.
Might contain some details some readers may find upsetting.

Again - get in touch if you'd like to share your story - doesn't matter what experience or lack of experience you have with mental illness, we'd love to hear from you. You can also post your story anonymously. Get in touch with me -

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/letstalkaboutmentalhealth
Twitter - https://twitter.com/letstalkmhealth


Rebecca Lombardo is 43 years old and has been happily married for 15 years. She lives in Michigan with her husband and cats. She is a published author, a Huffington Post blogger, and a podcast host. She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of 19. She has battled that as well as several other conditions for over 20 years. In 2013, she attempted suicide. Grateful that she survived, she decided to tell her story in the hopes that she could help others choose a different path. 




My Recovery from Self-injury 

Recovery means many different things to many different people.  It’s a very difficult and personal journey. Not everyone is strong enough to realize they need help, let alone know what to do once they get it.  You often hear people speaking about a place called “Rock Bottom.” The consensus is that to help yourself, you have to realize when you’ve hit the bottom.  Some people take years to get to that point.  Some people never get there.  I’m grateful to say that I am one of those that beat the odds.  I hit that bottom, and I hit it hard.  The most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do was make my way back up. 

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of 19. I started taking medication at that time and still do at 43.  I’ve always been realistic about my condition.  Having attempted to exist without medications, I know that they are a necessary evil.  If I stop taking them, it doesn’t take long for me to fall into a deep, dark depression.  If the physical symptoms of withdrawal don’t kill me first.  

I’m logical enough to understand that I will never fully recover from bipolar disorder, and I’m OK with that.  Some people have to take medication for the rest of their lives for diabetes or heart disease.  So, I don’t burden myself with the thought of getting better.  Don’t get me wrong, I am always trying to improve myself and the way that I feel, but I know that there is no cure for bipolar disorder.  

In my late 20’s I made the mistake of thinking that I might not want to be around anymore.  My depression was beginning to take over my life.  Even relatively normal heartaches seem to affect me much greater than the average person.  I was experiencing migraines that started at the age of 12.  The older I got, the worse they got.  I felt like I had lost complete control over my life, so I was going to try to kill myself.  I was using an old razor, and when I didn’t receive the desired effect, I kept going.  Eventually, I stopped thinking about dying and starting to experience what could only be described as calm.  I had no idea that this was “a thing”.  My mind just kept taking me back to the thought that I was such a failure at life, I couldn’t even commit suicide correctly. 

Eventually, self-injury became a huge part of my life.  I had rituals, songs I played, an entire box of instruments, and a safe place to hide them.  One night, I made a mistake and went too far.  I couldn’t possibly confess to my parents what I was doing, so I did the only thing I thought I could. I called my then (abusive) boyfriend, and asked him for help.  He drove me to his sister’s house because she had once studied to be a medical assistant.  Sitting at her dining room table, she stitched up my arm, with no sanitation and no numbing solution for the pain.  

As I got a little older, self-injury wasn’t necessarily as important to me, but it was always in the back of my mind.  I was humiliated when I would date, and the guy would see my scars.  I was covered with them.  In May of 2001, I officially started dating the man that would become my husband.  He was extremely supportive, but just as confused as anyone else was.  He didn’t understand that I was already beating myself up enough; I didn’t need him to get mad at me for the behavior.  Eventually, we started working through it, and my urges were much less frequent.  

 In fact, I went five years without an incident until 2013.  

Despite the fact that self-injury was no longer a big piece of my life, I still kept some instruments hidden in our house.  When my life went into a full-on tailspin that June, it was the only thing I could think about. Truthfully, once I started again, I was so depressed that I didn’t care if I died.  I just wanted the pain to stop.  With each pass over my skin, I felt a myriad of emotions.  Failure, fear, guilt, and even a small amount of relief.  I couldn’t stop sobbing, and eventually I must have cried myself to sleep because I woke up some time later to my doorbell ringing. My husband had called my family from work and sent my dad and my sister over.  At that point, I was the only one that knew I had also swallowed a full bottle of medication.  

I was admitted to the hospital, and later I was committed by the state.  It was the worst experience I have ever had in my entire life.  It was a horrible, horrible facility.  I played the game and was a model patient.  After four days, they let me out. Driving home from that hellhole with my husband, I swore I would never take another sharp instrument to my skin again.  I pushed all of my past failures to the side. I started a clean slate.  I developed my own coping skills, and I started writing.  I wrote a lot.  It began as a blog but has become a book.  I am proud to say that I’m now a published author.  My book is available on Amazon! I still can’t seem to wrap my head around that! 

Don’t get me wrong, I still have urges.  They may never go away.  However, I know now how to put a voice to my feelings and communicate with my loved ones.  I’m now three years and 2 months clean.  I’m proud of the changes I’ve made in my life.  Of course I wish I had found an easier way to get in this direction.  I wish I could take back all of the pain I caused, but I don’t focus on that anymore.  I’m trying my hardest to focus on the here and now.  I’m getting stronger every day. I’m sharing my story with anyone that will listen in hopes that I can help erase the stigma surrounding mental illness. I consider myself an advocate for mental health, and I truly feel like people can learn from my experiences. Whether you’re struggling with bipolar disorder, self-harm, a suicide attempt, or severe depression, know that I’ve been there. Take my story as a cautionary tale. Don’t follow my path. Be realistic and use your voice. Tell someone…tell everyone how you feel! You don’t have to suffer in silence. My goal is to help more people see that hurting yourself is never the answer. If you learn anything from me, please know that you are capable of so much more.  

 Blog: www.judgmentfreezone2013.blogspot.com
Website: www.rebeccalombardo.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/notyourjourney
Twitter: www.twitter.com/bekalombardo 
Amazon link for the book: http://www.amzn.com/0692509739

Wednesday 12 October 2016

GUEST BLOG - Rebecca Lombardo Pt1 - Challenges of being a Bipolar Author

Hi guys,
This week's guest blog is from US Huffington Post blogger and author, Rebecca Lombardo.
This is the first of two blogs from Rebecca - part two will be posted next week.

Here's the usual spiel...anyone interested in guest blogging please get in contact. Please note you can be kept anonymous!
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/letstalkaboutmentalhealth
Twitter - https://twitter.com/letstalkmhealth

Also 'like' us on Facebook to keep up to date and follow us on twitter. Links above!
X

Rebecca Lombardo is 43 years old and has been happily married for 15 years. She lives in Michigan with her husband and cats. She is a published author, a Huffington Post blogger, and a podcast host. She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of 19. She has battled that as well as several other conditions for over 20 years. In 2013, she attempted suicide. Grateful that she survived, she decided to tell her story in the hopes that she could help others choose a different path. 



The Challenges of Being a Bipolar Author

I’ve spent many, many years dealing with bipolar disorder.  However, I’ve only spent a year as a bipolar author.  All authors face challenges.  Struggling to be published, meeting deadlines, promoting. I am now of the opinion that those of us dealing with bipolar disorder have a different battle to fight.  On the heels of receiving my very first rude and threatening email about my book, I am facing an even greater challenge.  I have to fight to even continue to put myself out there for this type of scrutiny.  I’m constantly trying to tell myself that if I were to give up, the bullies would win.  I can’t do that.  

Take a book signing for example.  I had one last year and going into it, I was terrified.  I’ve never been good at public speaking to begin with.  When you factor in my anxiety issues, I wasn’t sure I would even get through it.  Thankfully, my husband was next to me the entire time.  I think I pulled it off, but I’m not sure how I would have done had there been more people in attendance.  

We all face issues with confidence.  I’m not so naïve that I don’t understand that.  I feel like authors or writers that are not dealing with mental illness may have a leg up in some areas.  In my situation, I am at a stage where I am rarely leaving my house or even my bedroom. I don’t think someone like James Patterson has to contend with such obstacles.  

In my book, I documented my enormous issues with body image and self-esteem. I’ve always been negative about my appearance. Over the years dealing with my depression, I’ve gained more weight than I ever would have imagined. Dealing with bipolar disorder, weight gain, and the possibility of appearing in photos or on television is incredibly daunting. I did one television interview early on, and I can’t even look at the video at this point. It sends me into a deep depression for days.  Even now that I’m on the right path with my health, and I’m down 27 pounds, I still beat myself up for appearing in front of the camera the way I look.

For those of us that happen to feel things much deeper than most people, negative reviews are like a sharp knife to your heart. It’s been an arduous task trying to convince myself that just because not everyone likes it, doesn’t mean I’m a failure…or as one person called me, a selfish narcissist. I never in my wildest dreams thought that putting my story out there in an effort to raise awareness about suicide would be met with such comments. I’m simply trying to help people! 

Granted, I’m no Mother Teresa, but I didn’t join this fight to make myself look good. Quite the contrary.  I wanted to use this platform to tell a cautionary tale, so to speak. To let others know that I made many mistakes along the way, but I am certainly much stronger for learning from those mistakes.  Most of all, people need to understand that having a bad day doesn’t mean you have a bad life.  

So, I’ll take comfort in the fact that there are those that support me.  The mental health community is amazing. I love feeling a sense of camaraderie. As if we’re all here, fighting the same battle and hopefully making a difference.  I’ve met some of the most amazing people in the last year.  As much as I struggle with social anxiety and agoraphobia, it’s such a comfort to know that despite those issues, I may still be able to affect change in the world around me.  

Of course, there are days when it’s extremely difficult to keep focused on the positive.  It’s hard to keep focus at all.  That is one of the main reasons I’ve been rather terrified to sign on to any particular website to write a monthly column.  When I’m depressed, all concentration goes out the window.  It feels as if there’s a movie playing inside my brain on fast forward and I have no idea where the remote is.  When writer’s block sets in, I can’t slow my brain down to come up with a sentence, let alone an entire article.  I’m constantly afraid of letting people down or even letting myself down. The idea of being a failure still rests comfortably on my shoulder.  Ever present and always reminding me of the mistakes I’ve made.  I often make an effort to reach out and help others with whatever they’re working on.  At times, it helps to put my situation into perspective.  The next thing I know, I’m writing again.  

I never know when an idea will hit me.  Last night, it was around 1:30 in the morning.  It’s both a curse and a blessing.  While I’m grateful for the opportunity to put pen to paper, I’m sometimes a slave to my expanded consciousness.  

I realize that I have traditionally been way too hard on myself.  I need to give myself credit once in a while.  If I see someone on TV that is an extremely talented artist, musician, or even a writer, that little voice inside my head is very vocal. I’m forever thinking, “I wish I was
that good at anything!” I’ve beat myself up for so many years, I’m not sure I would know how to be kind.  

I lack confidence on so many levels.  Poor self-esteem is a symptom of depression, but when will I learn to cut myself some slack? I wrote a book and I got it published, and it’s helping people! I have an extremely successful blog and I feel as if I’ve earned the respect of many others in the mental health community, at least on social media!  So, when do I stop and give myself a little pat on the back? I carry burdens that many people wouldn’t be able to shoulder for very long.  I fight a battle inside my head (and my heart) from the minute I get up in the morning.  

Perhaps now is the time to remember that despite the challenges of being an author and having bipolar disorder, it can be managed.  I just have to be willing to use a little common sense.  I’ve gotten this far.  I think I’ve probably thrown in the towel once a week for nearly a year, and I’m still going.  I didn’t die when it was all I could think about 3 years ago.  I’m a fighter.  I may not always be able to keep that in mind for myself, but I hope I can impart that wisdom onto others that are lacking in the confidence department.  Sometimes it’s OK to just exist.  If you’re facing a challenge due to your mental illness, let it be your moment to shine!  No matter how scary it is, you have to face it head on.  If you can’t be realistic about your situation on Tuesday, give yourself some time.  Maybe on Friday you can knock it out of the park.  

Wednesday 28 September 2016

GUEST BLOG - Hannah Bradford - BPD, eating disorders & depression

Hi guys!

So sorry that it's been a few weeks since I posted - have been very busy.
Also have been running low on guest bloggers - so would really appreciate anybody passing this on to anyone who they think might be interested in writing. All experiences or lack of very welcome!
Just get in touch -
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/letstalkaboutmentalhealth
Twitter - https://twitter.com/letstalkmhealth

This week's blog is from Hannah Bradford and covers a few topics that I don't think this blog has touched on yet.
Thank you Hannah for sharing your experiences!

Suzy x


Hannah Bradford is a 22 year old PhD student based in London, UK, experiencing an eating disorder, depression and borderline personality disorder.

I’m so thankful to be able to share my thoughts here on this blog - I really hope my experiences can come in useful to others out there with similar struggles. I was initially reluctant to write this blog post - however communication and speaking out is critical in the fight against mental health stigma, and this was something I had to do if I wanted to make a difference.

My experiences with mental health have been frankly confusing. From the age of 13 I was aware of my low mood, anxiety and disordered eating, when I began purging meals in a feeble attempt to lose weight, self-harming and withdrawing from social interaction. To me, these behaviours became normalcy and continued through secondary school and into university, and I told no-one. 

My second year of university was when things started to go really wrong - my purging was no longer controllable, my self-harming escalated and my weight dropped - and then I vomited blood. At A&E I’ll never forget how shameful and embarrassed I felt when the doctor assigned to me noticed my self harm marks and learned of my disordered eating. Her initial reaction was somewhat negative and accusatory - I felt like I’d forgotten my homework or something. She eventually softened but that initial interaction was incredibly frightening and made me feel guilty for something that was essentially out of my control. 

I was started on antidepressants, which continued through the next year and a half to little success. By this time I was experiencing rapid mood fluctuations - I could go from somewhat cheerful to suicidal within the space of a couple of hours. Every day I was wary and fearful, knowing my mood could suddenly drop with no forewarning. A sudden switch in medication caused a week of strange ‘zapping’ sensations in my head, my vision and consciousness flickering with a kind of static. It was thoroughly unpleasant and made me really doubt my doctor and my own mental health - what was I trying to achieve and why was I not getting anywhere? 

In February of 2016 I took an overdose. It seemed like the most logical thing to do, I didn’t need to think twice - it had to happen. I still can’t explain why I did it - I felt blank and emotionless. With the help of my flatmate I went to A&E and everything came out in the open - my compulsive vomiting up to 6 times a day, my self-harm, rapid mood fluctuations and generally self-destructive tendencies. The medication I overdosed on was cardio toxic so I spent 12 hours hooked up to an ECG monitor in case my heart failed. I was eventually discharged at midnight with my details passed on to mental health services for further investigation. The next day I carried on as normal doing labs and university work. I felt nothing at all - with no reaction to the previous days events.

A month later I had my first appointment with an eating disorder treatment unit. I had official diagnoses thrown at me - Bulimia nervosa and major depressive disorder. In addition, borderline personality disorder was suggested. While initially surprised by the mention of BPD, reading about this disorder further has made some pieces of the puzzle fit together - finally I felt as though things were making sense, particularly regarding the intense mood fluctuations and self-destructive behaviours.

The investigation into BPD is currently ongoing - waiting lists are long and the process is incredibly slow - but I am hopeful that whatever the result, I will have a greater degree of understanding towards my mental health and the tools to keep myself on an even keel. 
I take medication daily and have lasting scars on my arms and legs which will never go away - but I am sure that I can overcome this. I have an adorable dog, am a healthy weight and am starting a PhD which I am so excited for - I’ve reached a place where I enjoy being.

The stigma, shame, guilt and misunderstanding surrounding mental illnesses is toxic. If I had the knowledge and confidence to pursue help when I was younger then I may have avoided these miserable experiences.

Poor attitudes and complacency towards mental illness I have learned can be incredibly harmful - when I was in secondary school I explained my low mood, suicidal thoughts and disordered eating to a mental health professional who was entirely unconcerned about my worries. I’m going to reiterate - I was a minor, trying to get help from a professional - and my concerns were rebuffed. To my immature self - they were evidently not problems and I should just live with it. This is not ok - and I know others are experiencing similar damaging attitudes. 

I really hope that putting my experiences out there can help someone realise that the things they are living with are not trivial, despite what others may say, and that their concerns are valid.
Mental health is so poorly understood and from my own experiences I really believe improvements can be made - for both the general public and healthcare professionals.
Communication is essential to getting help, and by removing the stigma I hope more and more people will have the chance to reach out. 

Thursday 18 August 2016

GUEST BLOG - Emily Woodcock - Comfort Eating, Anxiety & Depression as a teenager

Hi guys!
This weeks blog is from Emily Woodcock.

Still looking for guest bloggers - please get in touch with me either via twitter or facebook if you're interested in writing.

Suzy x

22 Year old Emily Woodcock is living in Warwickshire. She suffered for most of her teen years with anxiety, depression and obesity but today feels recovered from her mental health issues.

Having discovered Suzy's blog on mental health I went through and read some truly inspirational and compelling stories from the highs and lows of mental health sufferers. I read them all. Laughed, cried and empathised with them and afterwards felt proud of every single person who wrote a piece.
It didn't cross my mind to write something for the blog until I saw an article a girl I knew had written. This girl and I used to be so close but had drifted apart. I read all about her struggles past and present and something touched me. To hear someone you used to know going through trying times and to get out the other end really made me think. I decided that day to message Suzy and ask if I could write a piece for her. To some of you, be it friends or family, you may know of a troublesome past I have, but for strangers, I guess you can read my article with a totally open mind.
I have sat down many times to write this, however I was scared.
Scared for people I know to read it.
Scared for them to judge me.
And scared that people would view me in a different light.
It then dawned on me that this is what this blog is all about - eliminating the stigma attached to mental health. I shouldn't be scared of people knowing, in fact I should be proud of what I've been through as it has made me the person I am today and there's nothing shameful for having a mental health issue; be it diagnosed, life long or temporary. It was then I knew I had to write this. Not for myself, but for everyone who takes the time to read it. Mental health is nothing to be ashamed of. The only thing I am ashamed of is that I felt like it was. So, here it goes. My past which makes me who I am at the present, and will sculpt my future.

I cannot say when it started because it is a part of my life I wish to black out. Not because it hurts too much or because it still effects me, but because it no longer will affect me and isn't who I am anymore. Everyone says, 'people don't change' but they're wrong. I suffered from anxiety and depression from early teens so I didn't really know who I was. For many years I thought this sad, lonely and depressive side of me was who I was. But looking back, I couldn't have been more wrong. I am not that person anymore or really ever was. It was a side to me that was ill and therefore doesn't define me or is part of who I am.

I won't bore you with all the details about how my illness came about because what does it matter? I'm not here to list past events but to help those who are going through mental health issues.

For years I knew something wasn't right. I was too scared to go and get help because of the stigma attached to mental health and thought my life would be worse off. So I sat and cried, felt lonely and hurt myself in the quiet of knowing as far as doctors believed, I was ok.

I struggled to get over some horrific events that happened to me and started comfort eating. I ate and ate anything and everything. I became a secret eater, hiding food from my friends and family. I ate until I felt physically sick and cried of how ashamed I was. I got bigger and bigger until I was a size 18 at the age of 13/14. I had grown out of all my clothes and got bullied for being fat. I knew I was fat but I couldn't stop eating. It was the only thing that made me feel better. It stopped me from self harming and for the time I was eating, it made me feel happy.

At this point I hit an all-time low. Depressed, anxious and now fat with an eating disorder. I still chose to not do anything about it. I developed anger problems and pushed a lot of friends away from me. I never forget being at Rugby High School (aged 16-18) and crying most days. I barely attended and got lower grades than I should have but I didn't know what I could do. At this point I lost weight and was a size 14. Still very conscious of how I looked and struggled to eat in front of people from fear of being judged. I knew my friends saw me as a sad, lonely and depressed person. I could see it in myself, but I didn't know how to stop it. I wanted so much for it to end after years but I didn't know how.

I can't say when it stopped. There certainly wasn't a defining moment when it all came to an end but there was a moment of realisation. A friend told me how happy, inspirational and smiley I was. She wrote me a note the day I left a job I had on how much she would miss me and the impact I'd had on her. She didn't know my past or anything I had been through. To hear someone say that to me I knew I was cured. For years I had known my struggle was over but to hear someone describe you as all you'd ever wanted to be made me realise just how far I had come.

I feel that having been through all I have actually made me a better person. I no longer cry or feel alone but love my life and strive to make every day happy. I feel everything with the entirety of my soul and never do anything half heartedly. I wake up in the morning happy to be alive and love seeing others happy. Before all of this I was a quiet, sad and lonely girl. Now I am a loud, happy and full of life woman.

I still have insecurities but who doesn't! I will always be body conscious and worry about things more than I should but that is a small price to pay for being who I am today.

When I look back it all seems so long ago, like another life ago. I truly don't even feel like it was a part of my life because it is so so different to who I am today. That part of my life is gone and will never come back. I am stronger because of it but I don't even recognise it as being me.

For those of you who have known me past my mental health, I truly hope that you never guessed this to have been my past. For those who knew me before my illness, you know just how far I've come.

With every ounce of me I urge you to read this blog be it in comfort or just out of interest. This stigma has to end. There is nothing to be ashamed of and I am living proof that you can come out of the other side with no doctors or medicine and be whoever you want to be.

I hope this piece made you feel something, whatever the feeling, hold onto it. Go and read another piece or write your own or even just take a moment to reflect on how far you have come. Everyone has struggles, but you are still here today, reading this article, so you've over come every single one of them.

So go, inspire others, throw yourself into everything and sparkle where ever you go. Put your stamp on the world and everyone you meet. Be who ever you want to be and smile because you, are you. Dream every single night of all you want to achieve, and tomorrow, go and get it! Never apologise for living your life. Laugh until you tummy aches and smile at strangers. Live the life you want to. No one is stopping you. Only you.

I wake up every morning happy to be here, I sincerely hope one day, you will too.

Emily Jay






Tuesday 2 August 2016

A Safe Haven

Hello guys!
Apologies for no blog post last week - I was doing a show and had very little time for much else.
However, that links me very nicely into the topic of my next blog post...


Let's be honest, having a mental illness is not easy.
Unfortunately however, 1 in 4 people in the UK will experience a mental health problem each year.
Mental illness is invisible.
There is no miracle "cure" .
In fact, most of us won't ever be completely "cured" - it is more often than not, an ongoing, life-long problem, so we need to unite together and share our coping strategies.

Coping strategies are different for everyone - however, every single person I have discussed mental health with has shared one strategy; having, what I call, a 'safe haven'. A specific place or activity to go to that keeps us going, that reminds us why we're still going, to let us escape from our illness and remember what we're here to do.


My Safe Haven

I'm an actor. I want to be a professional actor. In fact, I don't want to be an actor, I need to be an actor.  It's all I can imagine myself doing and in my head there's no option to fail at that. I will work and work and battle my mental illness until I get where I want to be.

Why do I want to be an actor? Because it's the one, sole thing that has dragged me through my darkest days. Through my almost 10 year long battle with anxiety and depression, knowing that I am able to go out and act, be it in front of hundreds of people or just alone in my bedroom to the camera on my phone (sad I know but it all helps!!) , is the one and only thing that reminds me what I'm fighting for. I'm fighting to reach my goal and I refuse to let the beast that calls itself "mental illness" get in my way.

ATS

A few weeks ago, I became very poorly, and only now do I feel in the right state of mind to discuss it on this blog. My mental health problems, usually of which are very under control, bubbled to the surface with a vengeance.
I have one very specific bunch of people that pulled me through that...

...Back in September, I joined the 'Artists Theatre School', Amanda Redman's theatre school, and I have just finished almost a year there, having just finished a run of my favorite show I have ever had the pleasure of being involved with, directed by Amanda.



Having mental health problems, for me personally, makes it very difficult to be myself.
I hold back a lot of the time and question my own personality. I worry that letting my eccentric, bubbly self out will make people judge me, or dislike me.
From the moment I became a part of ATS, I felt like I could be myself and not be afraid of being judged...a sure sign that this place was incredibly special.
I've always been very open about my anxiety difficulties, and it wasn't long before I was discussing this openly with my ATS friends, all of which have been incredibly supportive right from the beginning to the present, but never once treated me any differently because of my mental health.

So back to a few weeks ago, after rehearsals one evening, I had a big panic attack. One like I had never experienced before, I thought there was something seriously wrong with me. The next morning, I ended up in A&E and was given sedatives which wiped me practically unconscious for three days.
In the days that followed, I became terrified of getting out of bed. Not only was I virtually housebound, I thought if I got out of bed and did anything remotely normal that something awful would happen. I'm ashamed to say I also had a brief spell of reverting back to minor self harm...something I haven't done since about 4 years ago and didn't think I would ever go back to (and just want to reiterate this is NOT a coping mechanism in the slightest...it's something I am ashamed to say I have reverted to when I get into a dark place... PLEASE don't even consider trying this as its a stupid habit doesn't help in the slightest. PLEASE seek help if this is a problem for you).
I managed to get myself to the doctor who upped my medication, and was signed off work for 3 weeks.

I can honestly say, being a part of ATS and having a show to work on is what pulled me through this sticky patch.
We were in play rehearsals and I always had notes to work on, scenes that were weaker than others, characters to strengthen, things that took me massively out my comfort zone that I constantly had to work on...and this is what got me through. Not having a chance to sit at home and wallow in self pity, but having something to get myself out of bed for; to work, work, work.

If I didn't have the support from everyone at ATS and the show to focus on, I honestly think I might still be in that dark, depressed place.
Every single person at ATS cared, didn't judge me for what I was going through and at the same time, didn't make a fuss, which is exactly what I needed. Nobody treated me any differently and actually, THAT is who you need to surround yourself with. People who don't treat you differently, and people who don't LET you sit around and wallow in self pity because they know what's best for you. And it's amazing to have found that having only known these people for less than a year.
Of course all my other friends were also very supportive, but obviously everyone at ATS was who I was working with very intimately at the time.

So my advice to any of you struggling with mental health is this. Find your safe haven. Don't stop until you've found it. And when you do, cling to it. Use it in your road to recovery - it's potentially the most important step. Have something to work towards.
Your safe haven could be anything; drawing, writing, walking, swimming, just hanging out with friends.
It may be a group of people or it may be an activity you enjoy - I count my lucky stars that I have been able to combine the two.


Thank you for having a read of my blog!
Anyone interested in writing there own piece and share there experience with mental health please get in touch. I'm ALWAYS looking for guest bloggers. No matter what your experience, I'd love to hear from anyone.
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/letstalkaboutmentalhealth
Twitter @letstalkmhealth

Wednesday 20 July 2016

GUEST BLOG - Susan Pola - Growing up surrounded by Mental Illness

Happy Wednesday everyone!! :-)
There will be no blog next week as I'll be busy on stage!!
Shameless plug - 'Table' by Tanya Ronder, be there, or be square... - https://twitter.com/ATS_Presents_

This week's blog is from Susan Pola sharing her incredible story.
*Please note that Susan's story may contain sensitive content that some people may find upsetting*

Always on the lookout for guest bloggers, whatever your experience of mental health! Get in touch with me on facebook or twitter:
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/letstalkaboutmentalhealth
Twitter - @letstalkmhealth

Xxxxx


Susan Pola is 51, living in Brisbane, Australia  with over 30 years experience in the Administrative field,  based mainly in the Education sector. Susan's mother was diagnosed with a mental illness before she was born and Susan herself now suffers with anxiety and depression.


*Please note that Susan's story may contain sensitive content that some people may find upsetting*


"Thank you to Suzy for the opportunity to share my story on her blog and many thanks to two people who have already talked about their experiences with mental illness, and given me the courage to write this blog: Wendy Waters and Patsy Pease.  Patsy first shared her story back in the 90’s – and promptly gave me someone to relate to where there was none before. Thank you Patsy. 

My story is twofold and begins even before I was born – my mother was diagnosed in the 60’s with schizophrenia (wrongly I believe she had what was then called manic depression and now renamed bipolar)  and given electroconvulsive therapy (more commonly called electric shock treatment or ECT) when she was pregnant with me.  The process horrifies me and it is still being utilized in Queensland hospitals today – but that’s another story.

My mother became increasingly unwell throughout my life, and though I had a wonderful father who was very present – his job demanded shift work, so I was left alone with this very ill woman for much of my formative years.  I point out that my father always made sure I knew this wasn’t my mother Audrey’s fault, she was ill, she was doing the best she could.  I grew up parenting my mother through her illness and it was my father’s mother and  books/television that supported me as well as my Dad. 
 
My mother suicided when I was 16 years old, she chose the most painful and difficult death she could, as the mentally ill often do.  She used turpentine to set herself on fire and those screams will always live with me.  The system couldn’t make her well, and this was her only way out.  As one of our sympathy cards said “Audrey had her purgatory on earth”.  My one hope is that she has found peace away from this plane. 

Flashforward to my adult life – and 3 nervous breakdowns over 30 years later - my life has been peppered with workplace bullying. I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression most of my life but it’s been the nasty, bitchy, and downright horrible bullies that have been my undoing. I would work all week with exclusion and screaming then come home on Friday evenings to swallow 9 Valium to try and escape the pain for just a little while. All I wished for was death, escape from my life.  If this blog has a message past telling my story, it is for zero tolerance for bullying to be achievable in my lifetime.  If you are a bystander, or you are in charge of staff, please - please stand up to bullies and make your workplace or school an inclusive and compassionate place for ALL.  

I’m in a really good place at the moment, my depression has lifted and anxiety is managed thanks to several fabulous counsellors.  I’m working part time and though I want full time work, I’m still not at that place yet physically or emotionally where I can achieve it.  

What I’ve learned in my life:  dark times don’t last, ask for help when you need it and keep asking until you  obtain it, do the things that give you pleasure (for me that’s watching figure skating and attempting to skate  myself – and I DO mean attempt).  “Love Torvill and Dean” was the 80’s catchcry and they are still the only skaters most Australians recognise – LOL – their goal setting techniques were and are my inspiration. 

Most importantly don’t focus on those who abandon you when you need them the most, focus on those who stay, who know your story and say it doesn’t scare them.  I have plenty of those – my best friend Susan who I’ve known since I was 5,  Josie, Jenni, Sherryl, Helga - the list goes on.   I also have a wonderful cousin Kathy, without who I wouldn’t be here, and whose family enveloped me when I was sick and alone with love and support.   

And you know what – I’m now in the cool group – finally!!!  I’ve found my home on social media, so much love and fun and care, Twitter’s my spirit animal!  Thank you to my special friends online Sarah, Andrea, Amanda and Danielle  – you rock my Twitterverse girls!!! 

We tell our stories not for pity, or sympathy but in order to break the stigma and I proudly stand with those who have gone before and have been risk takers to stand in their truth .  Thank you Suzy for starting this blog and giving us a place to share our stories – you’re one brave girl!"  

Wednesday 13 July 2016

GUEST BLOG - Jessica Lee - OCD & Anxiety

Hey guys -
This week's blog is a guest blog from Jessica Lee.

I know I haven't done a personal blog for a few weeks now - things are incredibly busy at the moment - I have an upcoming show I'm performing in at the end of July so am struggling for time to write!
Thank God for you guest bloggers who are all fabulous!
Anyone interested in guest blogging please get in touch! -
Twitter - @letstalkmhealth
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/letstalkaboutmentalhealth

Xxxxx


Jessica Lee is a 21 year old business management student experiencing anxiety and OCD.

Hello everyone, 

First of all I’d like to say how grateful I am to be able to share my experiences of anxiety and OCD on this fantastic blog, and hopefully I can provide some comfort to anyone struggling with similar issues to me.
As a person I am an open book and totally wear my heart on my sleeve, however when it comes to discussing my mental health I find that other people are scared of the subject, causing me to hold back. This frustrates me because talking about it helps endless amounts, and none of us should feel ashamed, which is why we need to get rid of the stigma! 

Mental health problems run in my family and my dad, who passed away when I was quite young, suffered from severe depression. I feel that my dad was a victim of the judgement that society holds over people with mental illness, particularly being a man and having to conform to the strong male stereotype. I think that for this reason he did not get the help he needed, and I am so passionate about raising awareness in order to change this. 

 It’s difficult to pinpoint when I first experienced anxiety or OCD as it only became a major problem around a year and a half ago.
However looking back, I know that it has always been there, lurking in my brain. For instance when I was younger I remember that if I had a negative thought, i.e. that something bad was going to happen, I’d have to say a little phrase in my head to stop it from happening. I’m not sure if I ever wholeheartedly believed that the bad thing would happen, but I simply couldn’t take the risk. I grew out of this particular compulsion, but sure enough other ones have come into play.  

The anxiety side of things began about a year and a half ago, when I changed university course. I went to university as an incredibly confident and sociable individual, and spent a year making wonderful friends so starting again really freaked me out. I would be sitting in lectures and all of a sudden I felt like I wasn’t really there, as if I was in a dream. This is a common sensation amongst those who have anxiety known as depersonalisation, but at the time I didn’t understand it at all. I then started having strange episodes in nightclubs where I felt very claustrophobic and uneasy, and I had to go outside to be calmed down by my friends. Obviously I now know that these were panic attacks, but at the time I was just confused about what was happening to me.

Around Christmas time the same year I was diagnosed with a heart condition, and this really knocked me for six because I had never had any sort of physical health problem before, nor expected I ever would. This led to extreme worries about my physical health, and I was constantly googling my “symptoms” hoping for reassurance, but of course this made things worse. The overwhelming feeling of anxiety soon became constant and relentless. Anxiety feels different for everyone but for me it was like when you trip over and get that horrible flip in your stomach, only the feeling never went away. At this point I honestly thought I was going mad, I felt that I couldn’t control my own thoughts and that I was completely losing who I was as a person. It felt like my brain had been removed and rewired, and then put back in. Everything escalated over the course of 6 months, which doesn’t seem very long at all considering the contrast between how happy I was before, and how low I was in my darkest times. 

In order to get myself out of the relentless downwards spiral, I tried various types of treatment from counselling to hypnotherapy. However I felt that what I was experiencing was an emotion that I couldn’t control no matter how hard I tried to change my thinking. I therefore decided to go on anti-depressants, something that I was very apprehensive about because of the huge stigma attached, but I am so happy that I did because they put me in a position where I was able to fight my illness rather than be swallowed by it. I became proactive in getting better and took up meditation (the Headspace app is incredible!), which calms me down no end, and also adult colouring books are so therapeutic and pose as a great distraction when I’m having racing thoughts. Finally, I am very lucky to have a wonderful support system made up of my family, friends and boyfriend with whom I have always been very honest. Even though sometimes they have been taken aback by what I have said, and may not have known what to say themselves, I am always guaranteed a listening ear and a cuddle which is simply invaluable. 

I still experience obsessive thoughts and feelings of anxiety, and I probably always will because that’s just how I am wired, but I am no longer debilitated by it and I have come to accept it. In a strange way I also feel closer to my dad because I at least partially understand what he went through, and I take great comfort from that.