Scary facts and the importance of support

Everyone knows that cancer is a killer. A big one. We're told, relentlessly by cancer charities that it's our duty to help 'fight' and 'beat' cancer, because we, or someone we know, will get it at some point. Now my purpose is not to undermine the importance of this message - cancer is a serious disease and is well worth the funding to treat and prevent it - but I do want to highlight the difference between the awareness of death from cancer and that of death from mental health disorders.

Some frightening stats

Are you aware, for example, that there are around 4400 suicides each year in the UK and that 90% of the victims are suffering from a psychiatric disorder at the time of death? (1) And that's just the successful ones. Around 10 times that number attempt and fail. Furthermore, a report carried out in 2009 suggested that 17%  of us experiences suicidal thoughts each year. These are by no means small numbers.

In 2013, there were over 49,000 deaths from Alzheimer's. That's more than the total number of deaths from breast cancer and lung cancer combined. (3)

That's a lot of fatalities and just part of the picture. 1 in 4 people suffer from a mental health condition every year. My point being, in case you hadn't guessed, this is serious.

The stigma

Image copyright: Rebecca Harris Quigg

Something you also may have noticed by now is that part of the purpose of this blog is to smash the stigma surrounding mental health issues into tiny, tiny pieces. Many people don't understand mental health disorders, and for that they cannot be blamed. It's very difficult to comprehend what depression or anxiety, PTSD or panic disorder let alone schizophrenia or psycopathy does to someone unless you have dealt with it first hand or had to support someone with such a condition.

What is unforgivable is the insensitivity that people sometimes display. I remember a time last year when I tried to open up to a colleague about the way I was feeling, before I'd identified it as depression. His response was, "So what are you going to do about it?", casually delivered as if I'd complained of a headache or a trivial work problem. This struck me as particularly cruel, and demonstrated a complete ignorance of the state I was in. He was someone that should have known better.

Depression - or any other m
ental health disorder - is not something you just fix by changing your job, or entering a relationship or thinking positively. It is a complex web that encompasses emotion, history, experience, genetics and many other things. It strikes at different times and in different ways. For me, it's something that happened so gradually I barely realised I was sinking until I was at the very bottom. For others, it comes out of nowhere.

Support

What all this is leading up to is the importance of support. I have mentioned it before, but I want to go into more detail. Support is available in the form of medication and therapy, and they are important routes to explore. But it also comes from our peers, and there are different kinds that can be offered.

When the Labrador of Doom strikes, a trusted
friend is essential. 

Being a friend to someone with a mental health issue is an extremely difficult and important thing. It's a very noble thing. And it doesn't always have to be in the form of talking about feelings. Some of us just aren't good at that kind of thing, but it doesn't mean there's nothing you can do.

One of the most solid forms of support I received was from my parents - practical support. Knowing that I could call my parents if I got myself into a mess, and that they would come round and help out was immensely beneficial. Of course they listened if I wanted to talk, but crucially, they did things. They washed up, they cooked dinner (even making baked beans on toast is too exhausting sometimes), they did the odd bit of cleaning. This simple stuff makes a hell of a difference when you're feeling like you can't cope.

I also had a lot of support from my friends. One in particular, Michael, was amazing. He kept in touch almost every day, he wished me luck each week before my therapy session, and then texted to find out how it went afterwards. Little things, but important. Not for one second did I doubt his support, and I genuinely feel that although I felt utterly worthless a lot of the time it stopped me from doubting my worth completely, just knowing that he was someone outside my family who was looking out for me.

Being close to someone with depression is hard. It's tempting to think that what they're feeling is partly your fault. For most, it isn't. Their mental condition doesn't mean that your marriage is failing, that they resent being a mother to your child, that you're a rubbish friend or parent or sibling. It just means that they are in the middle of a constant, exhausting, internal battle - one that doesn't necessarily let up when they go to sleep - and they simply can't find the energy to cope with daily life. It means their brain is just wired a little differently from everyone else's, either temporarily or permanently. Trust me, the fact that you are there at all means a lot more than you think, even if they're unable to express it.

1. http://www.mentalhealth.org.uk/help-information/mental-health-a-z/S/suicide/
2. http://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/statistics-and-facts-about-mental-health/how-common-are-mental-health-problems/
3. http://www.alzheimers.org.uk/site/scripts/news_article.php?newsID=2277
Cancer stats for 2012 http://www.cancerresearchuk.org/health-professional/cancer-statistics

Image courtesy of Rebecca Harris Quigg, terrible photoshopping by Sam Thorp.

The little white pill on the counter top

There is a small white pill on the kitchen counter. So far I have managed to cut it in half, and I am looking at the two pieces. Two tiny 25 milligram pieces of SSRI. Taking it should be easy; it is going to help me get better.

We are, after all, a generation of self-medicators. We pop painkillers, contraceptives, allergy tablets as casually as we have a conversation. When we get sick, we Google our symptoms and can prescribe ourselves something before we've even seen the GP. Easy.

I cannot take this tablet. I'm so scared. As I stand staring at it, my head floods with everything that swallowing this tablet means, and could mean. It means I really am ill; it means a long uphill climb just to become normal; it means that I am about to become dependent on a drug. What if I can't come off it? What if, after 6 months, 50mg isn't enough? What if it doesn't work? What if I get awful side effects?

If there is one night I need someone to hold my hand, it's tonight. There is no-one. I sink to the kitchen floor and cry.

Half an hour later and I get to my feet, pick up the tablet. I think of my friend Jen. I think of what she would say. She'd tell me I'm brave, so that is what I tell myself, slightly shaky, tablet in palm. You are so brave, you are so brave, you are so brave... Seven times I repeat this before I can tip the tablet into my mouth and chase it with water. It's done. I collapse on the couch and begin crying all over again.

***

It is almost ten months later, and it turns out taking that first pill was a good idea after all. SSRIs don't work for everyone - they're not even necessarily recommended by GPs - but they gave me the stability to make that uphill climb and to get my head around a healthier way of looking at things.

Last week I began to come off my meds. It's a long process - I basically have to trick my body into not noticing I'm withdrawing so that I can minimise the symptoms - but I can live with that. I'm coming off the meds. It's another of my little victories.

My final twenty-something

I am officially 3 months out! Aaaand I still feel completely untrained. That said, I did run (which I haven't done since this time last year) for the best part of 12 mins last week. No laughing, this is a Good Thing for me.

I like to think I could rock the suit.
Also, girl guns are hot.

My latest cake sale raised £78 - yay!! - and I have been doing further baking this week, but not for fundraising purposes. It's my birthday tomorrow! I have been frantically baking cake for colleagues at TWO businesses. Kind of feel like Superwoman right now, which I think is pretty good going given the situation a year ago.

Growing up?

I'm looking forward to turning 29. This year has been bumpy, but it's also given me some valuable lessons, the kind of lessons I don't think I would otherwise have learned. I'm looking forward to this new chapter as someone I'm comfortable being, someone who isn't consumed by feelings of inadequacy.

For a long time I've battled with an inner emptiness that seemed impossible to fill. This aching sense of being the supporting actress in my own life as I watched it slip away. I wanted to feel 'normal', to have that magic life ingredient that everyone else seemed to have. My solution was to work, to achieve. I have always needed more - more qualifications, more skills, more studies. I have compulsively been good at everything, because in my mind there was no other option.

Yet still that wide open space remained inside me. Because it took a trip to the bottom to realise that the answer was not to better, but simply to accept myself. To be able to look at my life and understand that yes, there are things about me that are different from other people and I've ended up somewhere different from where I'd hoped. But I am not a failure. I am not a disappointment, and I am not running out of time.

So I'm raising a glass to my final year in my twenties. I'm celebrating with the people I care about, and I'm determined to appreciate my own peculiar version of normal. My life holds promise, where a year ago it only held frustration and claustrophobia. To everyone who has been a part of my journey over the past year, thank you, and I hope you will continue to play a part this year.

Also, if anyone could spare a moment to kick my ass over training to make sure I do it (instead of keep eating all this cake) that would be much appreciated!

Here's to 29!

Superwoman pic: comicbookmovie.com
Champagne pic: polyvore.com

Cake Bonanza Round III

Today I took cake and other baked goodness to work for the Mind cause. Behold the feast of deliciousness:

Incorporating double choc chip cupcakes and shortbread...

...Charmain's blueberry and oat muffins...

...Lemon & poppyseed cupcakes and Charmain's banana, bran and pecan muffins...

...and cheese scones (foreground) and coconut biscuits.

East Grinstead was a very happy place today!