WELL, WELL NOW!
Life is a rollercoaster. It chugs up to the top, and it whizzes down to the ground. Sometimes it crashes out, and sometimes it fills with the breeze rushing through your hair and a cheeky grin plastered from ear to ear. I have been in all those places – the big crashes and the heady highs. But these days, mostly I just potter along on the straight and narrow in my little rollercoaster car. Thank you, drugs.
I have been seriously unwell
It was a terribly dark place to be. A world I can barely remember now that I have so much lightness in my life. But at the time of living it, the journey seemed interminable. An enormous, heavy shroud over my life, my heart, and my soul. The world was grey. The question I was asked this morning was how I would recognise if ever I found myself heading towards that dark place again.
Honestly, I hope to fucking God that never happens. It’s truly awful – for everyone involved. But life is rarely predictable and it is good to check for signs that things are going well. Or not well, as the case may be.
I still have periods of feeling very low. They don’t drop in very often, but they do visit from time to time. But being low is not the same as being unwell. I have not been unwell for nearly six years, and the difference is quite profound. Feeling low is having a heavy heart and a weariness in my bones, but I still have functionality. I still live my life and practice all the tools I learned in my alphabet of therapies. Crashing into being unwell is a very different experience.
What does it look like when I’m crashing?
It is probably easier to articulate the signs of good mental health than it is to explain the dark underbelly of mental illness.
The most common sign of good health for me is daily self-care. Showering, brushing teeth, getting dressed, eating regularly, sleeping regularly, getting out in the fresh air, socialising with people, getting to and from work in a timely manner, doing housework, and paying my bills on time.
I wrote about spoon theory in the past. It is a good indicator of the basic tasks that can become overwhelming when life has only dished out 12 spoons for you to play with. I now lead a life with 50 spoons. There is a lot more energy to go around.
If my life were to start plummetting into the netherworld there would be signs
I would stop making my bed. That would be the first and most obvious sign of poor mental health. I know there are people who are happy and well in this life who have messy little beds. But I like having a neatly made bed and it is a quick simple habit that I do every morning. As I leave my room it feels like my life is in order. All the things have a place and all the things are in their place. It gives me a sense of control over a life that is not always predictable. I cannot know how big picture things will go, but I can control the little things in my life – like making my bed. (Yes – I am a control freak. . .)
I would stop doing housework. During this well stage of my life, I dedicate Saturday mornings to cleaning house. I’m not as fastidious as my mother was, but I am very tidy, and the floors and bathrooms get cleaned every week. Like clockwork. The cat litter is regularly changed, the plants are lovingly watered, and the rubbish bins are routinely emptied. When my mental health is poor, none of these things will happen. And that will be a spiral within itself because I would be surrounded by a visual reminder of my mental decline. A mirror of chaos to the darkness within.
I would isolate
After years of mental illness, my social battery has whittled away and become a teency little thing. If I’m unwell, there will be no words left in me. There will be plenty for me to write – journalling is my most powerful tool. But there will be no words left for me to speak. I am not always a great talker at the best of times, but if I’m unwell, the words will dry up altogether. The energy required to process things verbally will be nonexistent. I can write, but I can’t talk when I’m unwell.
And ironically, I would blog more. If you’re reading this, that is not secret code to say I am unwell. I am, in fact, extremely bonnie of heart and have been for some time. But words flow through me more easily when I’m unwell. I often have little to say when I am well – hence my blog posts have become few and far between. At the heart of my illness, I wrote on a daily basis. It wasn’t earth-shattering stuff, but it was cathartic. A very important recovery tool for me. If ever I were to start writing daily posts again, a little alarm bell will probably be tolling at the back of my head.
These things are true for me
I cannot speak for other people – none of us can. Everyone’s checklist of good mental health will look very different. But one of the exercises I had to do before I was let out of the psychiatric hospital in 2020 was writing a list of signs that my mental health was declining. Followed by a very important list of things to do about it. Number one on my list is writing. It is at the very heart of my personal recovery journey.
I have reached an age and a stage where I am extremely protective of my mental health. Having seen it shatter into a million irretrievable pieces, with shards of glass permanently scarring my heart and soul, I never want to risk illness again. I am proactive with my mental well-being. I am compliant with my medication. My self-care is a priority, and I have a strong network of connections. And of course, I write. With this little arsenal of tools, I hope to stay very, very well for many years to come. Because it feels really fucking good.
