My mother swore by the old adage that absence makes the heart grow fonder, I’ve found for many things, absence makes the heart grow fearful. When I’m away from loved ones for any length of time I miss them and feel an even stronger sense of love and longing when we’re reunited (usually). But when I let go of the daily routines of my life, it’s much harder to reestablish habits. I develop a crisis of confidence.
A story for those who are long-recovered or want to understand more about the origins of eating disorders. For family members of those suffering. For women who have ever been worried about their appearance and how they fit into society. The unpleasant sexual experiences almost universally experienced by women. And the ongoing impact of childhood emotional neglect by parents who hoped to do their best but severely lacked the skills to raise happy children.
Living with mental illness is a shit. Whether that illness comes from nature or nurture is neither here nor there. Through the course of the illness, you learn ways to manage distress and those ways are frequently unproductive. Often numbing.
Diet culture espouses thinness as a ticket to beauty and happiness. As someone who has lived in almost every sized body, I can assure you that my happiness was not impacted by a number on a scale. Something I need to remind myself of when I’m fighting the urge to skip breakfast.
I have to say, 2021 was kind to me. While 01 January is just an arbitrary date nevertheless, we wrap boundaries around dates and look for patterns. It is the way it is.
These past few months I have felt so exceptionally well. I am not sure if this is just a natural progression of psychological recovery combined with pharmacological support. Or if I’m just living in this deluded bubble of happiness because all my cards seem to be turning up trumps right now. But either way, I feel really well. Really, really well.
I wrote a book. You’ve probably heard me banging on about it over the past few months. Years even. But now we’re at the pointy end of the process.
My mood has become extremely stable in recent months, which is apparently an aim of recovery in bipolar II disorder. No big highs. No big lows. But the other thing that happens without highs and lows is mood becomes very flat. And that, I do not like.
You know how bad news comes in runs of three? That’s my superstition at any rate… Well apparently good news can do the same thing.
Today I bought new clothes. It might sound like a frivolous way to spend a Thursday afternoon, but for me, it was a big deal. It marks a line in the sand.
People, let me assure you, I am an A Grade catastrophiser. I have it down to a fine art. Not only can I turn molehills into mountains, I can turn little green caterpillars into fire breathing dragons.
I’m taking one foot forward – literally and metaphorically. At the end of September, I saw an advertisement by the Black Dog Institute (good job marketing team) about an October challenge to raise awareness for mental health research. Given my five years of mental illness, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to dip my toes in the challenge waters.
If you’ve known me for more than about five minutes, then you probably know I’ve written a book. It’s been an intense labour of love and like most labours, there have been some painful moments.
I am going to go out on a limb and suggest that most people fit into one of the two categories – having an internal or external means of processing emotions.
It’s World Suicide Prevention Day. A very good day to talk about suicide. On 02 March 2020, I took an overdose. It […]
