What goes up, must come down...

* This picture is posed by a model....

I washed my face today. OK, so I didn't actually wash it in any real sense but I got a wipe from the cupboard, put it on my face and even smeared a bit of moisturiser on. Not a big deal you may think but if you take into account that this was the first attempt at getting clean in 5 days and then compare this small act to the fact that I ran an average of 21 miles per week in January and spent a day doing numerous local, national and even international radio interviews only a couple of weeks ago you may question why a face wipe has such importance?

I spend my working days trying to dispel myths around mental illness and yet I realised that people around me don't really know what my own condition is like to live with. Stephen Fry really should be given a medal towards services to bipolar disorder (or manic depression as he called it) as he really bought the condition out in the open and made it 'normal' or 'acceptable' in ways it hadn't been seen before. As for subsequent role models, I love Carrie Mattheson and actually find her portrayal in Homeland very accurate at times, even poor Kerry Katona or whatever her name is, slurring her way through THAT interview rang true to me, medication can make you feel and act in that way (of course if you add a few shots of vodka to the mix then that definitely doesn't help with elocution...) However I still think if people were asked they would say that someone with bipolar is someone who swings wildly, running around talking to themselves before they are sectioned and sedated and then spend days staring at a wall.

Of course that is the reality for many, that is the thing about mental illness. There is a total spectrum for most. However the surprise may be that for most people, those around them may have no idea that they are ill, I don't run around howling at the moon most of the time.

For me I generally experience what is called hypomania. When I explain it to you I am guessing that most of you will want a piece of the action and someone I spoke to on a forum this week said that if they could make it in pill form and know that there would be no negative side effects then they would take it everyday (and be a billionaire very quickly). The world is just a rosier place. For me it is mainly my ideas and supposed creativity. I have a million brilliant ideas, some of which I may try and act on. It is like having really achievable daydreams constantly on loop. I can take on the world, both in my private life and at work. Physically I need much less sleep and can exercise more. This is the time when I organise holidays, nights out, races really anything that requires energy. This is also time when I can write freely, sketching out ideas for freelance articles, starting new books and even thinking up new websites and blogs. I even spend a lot of my time singing out loud and going social media mad. It really is fun.

However now I know myself and my illness, this amazing little world always ends up tinged with sadness as I know as soon as I realise I am in this stage it means that the end is nigh... Insight is a bitch. Not that I will do anything about it at that stage, oh no. In fact the opposite. Another night out, 2 more gym classes squeezed into my day. If you have seen Elf I would liken it very much to the magic flying powder that is used in the lollies. The people 'in the know' soon realise that this powder is dangerous but surely the lovely floaty experience for these children (oh and money/ world domination that it brings) is worth the fall. And there will ALWAYS BE A FALL.

The fall this time has been very brutal and yet I knew it was coming, just like hurtling forwards in a car crash. I crashed spectacularly and spent 3 days in  bed solidly, unable to do anything apart from cry, attempt to sleep and stare at the shit that passes for daytime TV these days. Some people may think that a few days in bed when there is nothing physically 'wrong' must be quite nice and indeed a lot of people around me thought that it was good I was having a 'good rest'. I can assure you thought that there is nothing restful in this state. Firstly it is not just feeling sad. Throw in feelings of helplessness, paranoia, guilt, self-loathing and anxiety. Even my good old friend the panic attack decided to visit for a couple of days. And physically, just climbing the stairs to visit the bathroom could take up up my strength for the entire morning, coupled with actual pain all over my body. Sleep was a blessing and yet a curse as it was bound to be very broken and filled with lurid nightmares and yet it did provide a break from the everyday horror.

I think for me this time round the guilt has actually been the worst feeling. Being mentally ill can feel very self-indulgent, even though there really is nothing you can do to stop it. I hope that everyone knows by now that the worst thing you can ever do to someone with a mental illness is to tell them to 'buck up' or 'pull themselves together' as though this is something that is chosen. It's not, it is an illness like any other and you therefore have about as much control over it as you have saying; 'I am not going to get flu this year.' Of course there are ways of trying to keep yourself well, just as there are ways of trying to prevent other illnesses but these attempts at resilience don't always work.

I have guilt that I am a shit mother when I am unwell, the amazing 'fun' mum one day and then the wreck that can't even smile at my child the next, let alone look after any of her needs. Guilt that other people have so much crap to deal with and don't end up like me. I have friends and family who are grappling with cancer and immense grief at the moment, so what have I got to feel so upset about with my lovely house, incredible job and amazing family? I also have the added guilt of failure this time round as I have been taking part in a challenge to run everyday in January to raise money for Mind. I did manage it and was actually thriving until I got ill and had raised over £500. So of course I feel now that I have failed both the brilliant people who sponsored me and the lovely, supportive online community of runners. In fact sitting here looking out of my window at the joggers going past actually makes me want to throw my computer at them in my current mood!

Still there is a chink at the end of this tunnel. I woke up today feeling as though I may even leave the house today. The fact that I am writing this and even beginning to chat to people via my various methods mean that the worst is definitely over. I know that I am one of the lucky ones. My friends and family are incredibly supportive. I work in a job where kindness and understanding towards mental illness is just part of the culture, I have professional care from the local community mental health team which meant I was able to see a psychiatrist yesterday without having to wait months, which is the norm for many not in the system. I have also started to take part in forums to find out 'Is it just me?' and of course the answer most of the time is a resounding NO. I will hopefully be able to return to work next week and may even venture out for a jog. My life generally is just very ordinary and my mental illness is just a very small part of it. I just want to maybe explain to people why I may seem a bit 'odd' at times and of course to try and show the realities of a condition like bipolar disorder where in my case it is rarely big or scary. Just a little bit nicer and then a lot more horrible than 'normal' life.

I am the poster girl!

Ruby Wax has almost made a career out of mental health. She has done tours and even television shows all about her own experiences of depression, the treatment she has had and her subsequent studies into mindfulness. She also calls herself the original 'poster girl' for mental health. She likes to regale the time she stepped onto the underground and was surrounded by posters telling the world that she has a mental health problem.

    Now I am no-where near as funny as Ruby but today I do find myself in a similar situation albeit in the digital world. Today is the second annual brilliant Time to Talk day where the campaign I work for, Time to Change, is urging everyone around the country to have a conversation about mental health. The idea is the more we talk about something the less it is stigmatised and the happier those of us with mental health problems can be about sharing our experiences.
    I had taken part in a photo a couple of weeks ago telling the world three things about me. Namely that I am a mum, I like to meditate and that I live with bi-polar. I knew the picture would be used for this big day but had no idea it would be used predominantly on Facebook. It was quite a shock to see my face staring back at me this morning!
    I needn't have worried though I have had such lovely reactions from friends and acquaintances. Lots of emails, texts and Facebook messages of support. I hope that my openness will also encourage others to 'out' themselves. I'm sure there are still people who may not want to employ me or who quietly defriend me as a result of my revelation, after all that is why there is still such a need for Time to Change but on the whole times are a changing!

The great creation debate

I have just been listening to a phone in show about the commons vote later to decide whether to allow the creation of babies using DNA from three people. A lot of the people calling in or emailing seemed to have bypassed the issue at hand and were calling on a ban for IVF altogether. Arguments for this seemed to be centred on 'natural selection' or that there are too many unwanted children in this world, people who can't have babies should adopt rather than trying to create their own.
  I have to admit that this was partly my opinion before I became unable to have children myself. I am not in the least bit religious but thought that infertility happened 'for a reason' and that you shouldn't mess around with what nature intended. Even when my own infertility started to become an issue, I still thought I would adopt rather that go through such an unnatural process.
  Of course this opinion changed and when I look at my beautiful daughter who was conceived not on a romantic break but in a lab, it is hard to see anything but an amazing child, with how she was created being completely irrelevant. Of course we will tell her one day when she is old enough to understand and I hope that it makes her feel very special that she was wanted to much rather than strange in any way. 
  Which brings me to my conclusion that really it is all about personal choice and that if things are possible such as ensuring that children are not born with incurable diseases then surely this should be made available and it should be up to individuals to make that choice. I for one am over the moon that the issue has moved on so far that IVF is almost without stigma.  

To medicate or not...

I am a huge fan of modern medicine. Sure I have dipped my toes into the world of alternative medicine, acupuncture to help me get pregnant, homoeopathic medicine for my baby's cough and reiki and reflexology just to keep me (almost!) sane. But when I go to the doctor I generally comply with whatever they tell me to do. But what if the medicine is worse than the cure?
 
   So why do we take drugs at all? A colleague put it brilliantly recently at an event we were running for a long running medical drama in Birmingham. He was asked if he took medication for his bipolar (there was a lot of bipolar in that room as far as I know 3 out of 4 of us running the workshop). He replied that he took his pills but in the same way that he kept fit and healthy or undertook talking therapies. In other words he took a very holistic approach to his self care.

    This is the same for me. I know that regular running, a healthy diet and someone listening to me are all factors in keeping well but I also know that medication plays a huge part. This is something I learned to my cost last year. I was feeling really well and had been stable for a couple of years. The things that were bothering me were actually the side effects of the mood stabilisers I take. A foggy brain in the morning, a lack of creativity, ridiculous weight gain. I began to question if these downsides were worth it so I did what every doctor will warn you not to do. I came off them...

     The result was a period of a few weeks where I was ill, unable to leave the house and suicidal. Luckily I got support in the form of home visits, I was moved to a higher dose of my meds and with the help of friends and family things began to slowly get better. But with my 'well' self the issues with the medication still stood.

      So I am now on the cusp of starting a new medication. I was told by my psychiatrist to go away and read about it before I make any decisions. The list of side affects is of course many lines long but it may address the issues I have. How do I feel about replacing one set of very powerful drugs with another? Not great, I read with horror about the likelihood of developing terrible physical illnesses, indeed some people with severe mental illnesses can expect to live a full ten years less than everyone else. But the alternative is just too hard to even contemplate. Unfortunately I need pharmaceutical help with my illness, just like my colleague although I guess I need to work on the rest of that wellbeing a little more and one day you never know I will be able to say goodbye to that prescription pad for good.

Returning to the outside world...

For the last nine months I have been wrapped up in the cocoon of maternity leave where my days have revolved around playgroups and cake. Lunches have consisted of hurriedly eating leftovers with one fork while spoon feeding a baby and my only conversations have been around boobs, crawling, weaning and poo. This is a world that I have enjoyed greatly and would happily continue to inhabit if it wasn't for the empty wallet and candyfloss brain.
It is therefore time to think about a return to normality. Thankfully I am no corporate wage slave so my journey back is a little easier than most. Firstly I have applied to return to my job with a national charity for two days a week. Secondly I have signed up to become a Digital Mum in the hopes that I will be able to work flexibly from home around the needs of my daughter. The idea of Digital Mums is to harness the talent and potential of mums and train them to be social media managers. As I seem to spend a huge amount of my life using social media (when I'm not on Ebay that is!) it seems to make perfect sense to try and turn it into a career.
I was at one stage considering becoming a full time stay at home mum. As mentioned before I have loved every part of my maternity leave and think that looking after Stella is the best job in the world. However there have been a few things that have made me change my mind in the last month or so. The first is finances, I have always been very independent and although I am lucky enough to have a husband that earns a decent wage, the idea of having to ask him for money each month sent a shiver down my spine. After childcare I won't be earning a lot with my part time job but its enough to make me feel less like a kept woman.
The fact that I haven't met anyone else in my mum's network who is planning on becoming a full time mum also put me off, already my social circle is diminishing as mum friends return to work. I could just picture myself as the one mum in the corner with a child of Stella's age, possibly becoming the maternal figure with lots of new mums but not having anyone to share milestones with. Lastly it was the sheer monotony of housework that has driven me to retrain/ return to work. The reality of being a stay at home mum means that I am actually a traditional housewife, spending most of my day cooking and cleaning. At least if I am out of the house or earning money then this can be shared, possibly even with a paid cleaner.
I am hoping that I will be able to retain a really healthy work/ life balance and that my working will mean that I enjoy parenting even more. Working part time or from home will also hopefully enable me to witness all the firsts. Stella is already crawling but I hope to be around for her first steps and words. I realise I am a lot luckier than most being in a situation where I have the choices that I do and hope to carry on being a mum first and foremost.

Keeping quiet is the real killer

The World Health Organisation has today published its first report on suicide worldwide and its a pretty grim picture with a person taking their own life every 40 seconds. India tops the leader board and generally it is poorer countries that have higher rates of suicide.
The report suggests that there are ways to cut numbers for example by reducing access to things like guns and pesticides, by the media of each country being careful how they report suicide and for each government to have a suicide prevention plan (currently only 28 do). The biggest killer here though is possibly the stigma and shame that surrounds suicide, meaning that people are too scared to talk about it.
Probably pretty commonly my family has the shadow of suicide hanging over it, only in our family it is out in the open, for many suicide has been covered up and history rewritten. My grandfather took his own life, this was blamed on money problems and a son with a heroin addiction but suicide is generally a very complex thing and it could have been a combination of many different factors. The impact it had on my family was immense with years of guilt, regret and anger colouring any fond memories.
Years later, as a teenager my sister took a large overdose of paracetamol, thankfully she lived although ironically this may have had something to do with her eventual death from liver damage 20 years later. However although she was clearly very ill both mentally and physically she was treated with such distain and lack of sympathy from everyone around her, particularly the medical staff and my parents. She was blamed for being so 'silly' and for causing so much trouble. As a family we then had to go to counselling and I remember the resentment oozing out of every pore as we sat there every week trying to paint a picture of the Brady Bunch when in reality we were much more like Shameless. Needless to say as soon as we were discharged it was never mentioned again, nor did anyone think to ask why she had done it.
These experiences as well as hearing of other families situations and of course reading about high profile cases in the media meant that I had a view of suicide as something that only very selfish people did, after all why would you leave others behind you unless you were a really horrible person. Then I had my own experience and everything changed.
My suicidal thought came at a time in my life when I was very ill with (as yet undiagnosed) bi-polar. I had really shocked myself when one day I was crossing a bridge over the Thames when I suddenly had the thought of jumping. This idea became all encompassing, at first just when I was near the river but eventually the thoughts would pop up wherever and whenever. It came to a head one night when I found myself on a bridge seriously thinking about climbing over. Thankfully I had the Samaritan's number in my phone and spent the next hour on the phone to someone who just listened. By the time I finished the call I had decided to seek help and went to A&E where luckily my experience was very positive.  
At first I did speak about my experience, with my husband who wondered why I arrived back in the house by taxi early the next day, with my work who needed to know why I wasn't coming in and also with the support workers, social workers and doctors who were all sent to see me. However that was as far as it went, I found myself feeling embarrassed and ashamed about what 'I had done'. I even hid further suicidal thoughts from those around me, not wanting to upset anyone. But it is this very silence that will go on to encourage more to take their own life. Unless we can all start sharing our experiences, getting the subject out in the open and encouraging the media to report suicide in a sensitive and responsible way then the shame and stigma of suicide will drive more to take that decision, no matter where in the world they are.

Booze blues

Watching the horrific pictures of Gazza this last week has made me so sad as it always does when there a high profile illness or death from alcohol. Watching as faces become gaunt or bloated, skin develops a yellow hue and all the light goes out from their eyes. I think this time it has been particularly hard as it clashes with the anniversary of my sister's death from alcohol.

Lizzy died five years ago in her early 30's from liver failure. She left behind in her wake a shocked family including a 13 year old son who we eventually inherited. There were so many questions, namely how could a mum so young drink herself to death and how on earth we didn't notice it was happening.

Of course we all knew she had a drinking problem but being a true alcoholic is very secretive and private, well it is for most heavy drinkers. My dad was the exception to the norm. He wore his alcoholism on his sleeve like a badge of honour, earned initially in the 'good old days of Fleet Street'. He was unapologetic and open about his level of abuse and always seemed to have exciting adventures and encounters wherever he went, so little wonder my big sister thought that the world through the eyes of a drunk was an exciting place.

Of course the reality is very different. Being an addict is actually very boring as all that really matters in your life is getting your next fix. Alcohol at least is linked to having a good social life but it is not really the pub you are enjoying, more the booze which of course is cheaper at home. My dad was also a very functioning alcoholic, he wrote books, ran a magazine and was also a freelance journalist while under the influence. Lizzy never achieved a vocation, becoming a mum young she soon settled into the routine of staying up drinking all night and sleeping for most of the day, as soon as her son was old enough to take care of himself.

It is still the shame of having an addict in the family that allows them to continue unchecked. Even when there were family interventions they were met with such denial that it was hard to believe that everything wasn't as good as she said. At least with Gazza he seems to admit that he has a problem and wants to get help for it, after all that is the first step. Too late for my sister but hopefully not too late for others in the same boat.