Tomorrow is day one

I have been on and off anti-depressants for three years. Recently I decided to come off them, for good.

There are practical ways of managing mental health: GPs and other smug advice articles recommend exercise, eating well and being kind to yourself. They all make it sound easy.

The UK Government struggles to acknowledge that some people wake up everyday, full of anxiety, doom and the overwhelming thought "I am going to die, something bad is going to happen". 1-4 British adults experience one diagnosable problem in any one year: Clegg, Cameron, Milliband and Farage...we could play guess who.

When these thoughts become too overbearing, the first port of call, naturally, is the nearest GP. I have a two minute conversation with a blank faced Doctor in a yellow stained office. I am told to scribble on a Generalised Anxiety Disorder Questionnaire (GAD-7) and a Patient Health Questionnaire (PHQ-9). After a quick check over my medical history, the survey results are summarised (anything over ten out of 30, and GPs have to be concerned) I am prescribed with Selective Serotonin Re-uptake Inhibitors (SSRIs) and a two month waiting list for Cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT). In the short term these drugs have stopped me from doing something stupid to myself, I'm in a safe box I used to call it, and they have made time for me to heal. Whilst chemically supported I am nagging at myself that it feels like there is no 'normal' for those that suffer with ill mental health (not saying we are exclusively different to everyone else in the world) though in this case it does feel like you question 'being normal' a little bit more. Are we ever 'cured'? GPs cannot simply prescribe for ill mental health; what works for one person doesn't necessarily help another individual. What is normal mental health these days? Normal feels like such a dirty word, yet we are living in a society where the waiting list is forever growing for practical treatment, talking therapies. 1 in 5 people have been waiting over a year to receive treatment. I have been waiting since July this year for CBT. It looks like we're all popping pills until the waiting list shrinks down (check out page 7 for the economic costs of ill mental health).

For years my GP has convinced me that there are no long term side affects from taking SSRIs. However having been on and off them for three years I do not feel comfortable taking a pill to make me 'happy' (it doesn't), I guess it just makes me feel safe and less scared of myself. In conversation with Kings College Hospital professionals, they revealed that SSRIs are also prescribed to males that suffer from premature ejaculation, naming sertraline (or ironically, its brand name Lustral) to aid this. Though there may not be any 'long term' side affects, it makes me feel vulnerable that other parts of the body could take a hit from popping brain pills (perhaps to some, that might seem completely obvious).

GPs also prescribe some SSRIs to aid the symptoms of Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS). It's not officially approved to use for treating IBS, though it has been found to have a positive effect. A large number of individuals suffering from depression also experience symptoms of IBS. The gut has been nicknamed the 'second' brain, as such; nerve cells communicate to each other through neurotransmitters, so if your brain isn't feeling particularly fun, these facts make it easier to understand the link between your mood and your stomach's behaviour. Sertaline has enabled me to eat like a 'normal' person (there's that dirty word again). IBS still holds a stigma and some assume that those who suffer are running back and forth to the toilet shitting their brains out after every meal. That just isn't true and there isn't a one way path to explain it. At least the plus side of taking an SSRI is that I have been able to eat without being in pain. Everyday hasn't been about food, I am less tired and my thoughts aren't encompassed around getting the right five a day and whether I can eat bread. I feel lucky that at least sertraline has helped one problem. Since I am not in pain, bloated and without a 'food baby' (even after eating a mouthful) my personal body image has improved, for example I am able to wear fitted clothes again. There's always more to it and one should not have to feel nervous before eating, just in case those stomach pains kick in again. It feels like your body is giving up way too soon, you feel out of control. Food has become less about guilt in the last year. At least that's one way of relieving myself of stress.

I guess when it comes to popping pills for mental health, it is a matter of life or death. After all we have two months or more to wait until we can see a therapist. GPs may tell you it's a 6 week wait. Who are we to trust, the Doctor? I visited the GP before Christmas 2013, talking through gritted tears I asked for a quick fix. In respect to the GP I saw, she was reluctant to give me Diazepam (or more widely known as Valium) since it is addictive and patients can experience withdrawal symptoms. The GP remained reluctant to give it to me, I felt clever and emotionally broken talking about how I felt, the desire for things to just seem 'quiet' in my head. The GP clocked my handbag and the M&S bag sitting next to it. I wonder whether she was looking for booze. Her words, you seem like a responsible person, I'll give you a low dose of Diazepam it's two weeks worth, it's quite a beautiful feeling actually when taking it, it's addictive, don't take it with alcohol...

I smiled to myself. I went in there and got what I wanted. It was too easy. I continued to explain that I had tried the low dose of 2mg before and it didn't do much, at least the GP didn't budge on that and handed me a prescription for Diazepam and the usual case of Sertraline since I had taken it before and it had been affective. Off I trot, scared, curious and angry. She also handed over a few websites on paper: Patient UK, Living Life To The Full. When the door closed I imagine she ticked a mental checkbox and continued her day. There was no mention of a talking therapy, a waiting list. Nothing.

This has happened too many times before, I said to myself. So I took my life into my own hands.

10 months later I decided to come off Setraline for good. When I started writing this article I hadn't gone cold turkey, you can't. Doctors recommend that the daily dose is cut down by half over a long period of time. For me I have always been wary of taking a high dose so I have kept myself to a satisfactory 50mg since my first major breakdown three years ago. Thinking about it, I can still taste the dry mouth, spacey days in the sun and a blissful indifference to just keep going. Cutting down over two months has allowed me to adjust, time without the crutch, time to accept who I am exactly and how my body works on less medication.
 

There are a few friends who know the true extent of my ill mental health experiences. Many might be surprised to hear that there were times when I just wanted to switch off, to 'end it', though not to die but to sleep for a really long time until things got better again. Life doesn't work that way and so I am getting practical. Running, yoga, putting positive energy into my career, going for things in the moment and being present; I have trained myself and I feel so good for it. Doing this for myself is so much better than taking any kind of pill. It is about taking simple steps on a ladder, an infinite ladder. Of course, there are still pangs of self doubt and not knowing whether my mood one day is just simply because I'm pissed off, or whether it's because I need my 'brain pills'. I may take a few steps down the ladder and be where I was a year ago. But I will get back up again.

There are some people out there that might even use my mental health against me, 'are you feeling like this because you are changing your dose', 'make sure you take your pill today, don't be emotional'. I'd put that in the same context when someone comes back at you, being female, and they question whether your mood is because you're on your period. It's such a kick in the teeth and is unfortunately the taboo of mental health, we all give it the stigma. For the first time in my life I trust myself and it's the lightest I have ever felt.

I am so ready. Bring it on!

Birthday cake

I miss my mum and getting angry over silly things like an added couple of pounds, a sweaty tube, a dirty kitchen or the fact that my trainers rub isn't going to solve anything. None of these frustrations will ever bring her back, why commit so much energy into them?

Cake is the trigger and I imagine my brother to wake next week on his birthday with no promise of a birthday cake that my mum would always organise. This is a subject far too painful I even avoid myself, since to buy the cake for him would be acceptance of her death. Though who is loosing out in the long run?

Me. 

I will have to accept. I will have to acknowledge that to be my brother's mum isn't a role for me either. We are all grown up now. You'd think that makes it easier, moving onto new adventures in social circuits and job advances. It only makes it harder as that person isn't there to explain it all to and for you to say at least you're proud of your achievements. An unconditional listen. 

So what can I do? Either sit in squalor and eat/drink into my feelings or come on top and open my eyes to see what's on my doorstop instead. I'd never forgive myself to linger in this current lull and for something worse to happen in the near future. That previous lull you were dying to escape from would suddenly turn into the ideal. Not I. I can't do it anymore. 

No more wishing back. 

Fight or Flight

I'm one of those women who shops like an overdose gone wrong. During manic moods people reach for booze, drugs and material things. Me, I shop for produce. I buy food, seeking flavour for survival. I get wound up in a colourful bubble of this and that, lets put these things together, shall we go here - I want to do that NOW!

Today I went for a scan on my right boob. Mum died of breast cancer so I was not taking any chances. After two checks and a scan referral I was able to see with my own eyes that I have nothing to worry about.

Some may say that even after two Doctors had given me the all clear, I was being a little paranoid. Of course I was - but who is to say that cancer is about life and death. It isn't. Cancer is about maintenance much like mental health. I've been on the 'C word' journey with someone close, I can honestly say cancer stumps your life for a good couple of years introducing more issues than ever expected. For me I'm in no position at 23 years to put my life on hold for a small group of multiplying cells. As a sufferer of anxiety and depression, hand on heart my life is finally simmering away. TWENTY THREE YEARS and only now my life is simmering! Only now am I able to say I'm happy and things are good without those words coming out of my mouth as a lie. 2013, 6 months in and everyone has been great - I'm just not used to that.

The thoughts creep in, is this the start or is this the beginning? It's a familiar trap much like depression, a circle and all the options are black that surround it. Cancer, what if I've got...Cancer? Even the word deserves a big 'C'. It's fight or flight. Crack on or panic. Thankfully I was able to panic and relax. I am so so lucky to feel appreciation, assurance, and most of all see the clear landscape I have in front of me now that the black fog has cleared in several areas of my life. I fought and I won.

p.s I celebrated with a gin and tonic with a strawberry in it ;)
pps I also ate a whole bag of revels :P
ppps Apologies to any family/friends who read this, no panic! :)

Mental health awareness week

This week has shown me how much I’ve been frazzled in panic for the past few weeks- frozen, because I didn’t really know what was going on with me until now. I became a jarred juxtaposition of thoughts. I scared myself. Last week was an explosion of self time, I didn’t realise how worked up I got over running 15k, setting my own goals amongst too much added pressure. Too much saturated ‘fat’ if you like!

 

I hit my goal. That was nice and so this week the tension has reeled away. Now there’s time for rest and today I begin my holiday. Family time, tea and cake. I can’t wait to wake up when there's no rush, no deadlines and just easy ‘retired’ life.

 

My crutch- food. Energy. Fuel to stay awake. Weird because I’d say most of the time I eat for pleasure. Perhaps when certain parts of your personality start to fade it’s time to recognise when you need a break. When you find yourself trying to take time out just by hiding in the loo for reflection, it’s time to change.

 

This week has been mental awareness week and I am so proud and chuffed to see so many people and organisations coming on board. Once the general public start to recognise depression and anxiety as a chemical imbalance, compared to something you have to ‘pull yourself together’ to fix, the ‘taboo’ will start to fade.

 

I feel this taboo not only comes from the media but within us. Experiencing such confusion over our emotions is half the battle with mental illness. A large part of us always trying to convince ourselves we are ‘ok’ and are ‘just being silly’. It’s too easy to say these words over and over in our heads. You might find yourself in a weeks’ time, with a box of painkillers by your side, trying to conjure a stress headache away whilst your hands are covering your eyes. Sit down!

 

I sometimes refer to myself as a whirlwind because I’ve been called this in the past due to my hyper personality and visceral desire to say out loud even the simplest of thoughts I endure. At present I find the whirlwind can be a bit of a worry since I associate it as an anxiety spell, alongside pure excitement and happiness. I say ‘sit down’, in a quiet room because it’s ‘tricks’ like these which allow you to recognise moments of stress, panic and that heavy feeling when you don’t want to get out of bed, because you might just be starting to lose yourself too.

 

For me change triggers everything. It ranges from the simplest of emotions, even feeling happy triggers it. Lately I’ve had to adapt to allowing myself to enjoy the positive emotions I’m now experiencing. I even have to reassure myself they aren’t suddenly going to disappear. It’s a shame traumatic experiences have encouraged this, though the main thing is now I’m able to embrace the good stuff, whereas old habits would have focussed on the lesser positives and continued to trap myself in an all too familiar grey world. During this ‘trap’ I’d even push those who care about me, away – I didn’t want to talk to anyone and would lock myself up in my safety room. The huge irony was, once I’d left the house and had met eyes with the public and my friends, facing the world didn’t seem so scary after all and I was able to cope with myself and the company of others better than before. It was a strange feeling, like slowly taking the plaster off, dragging out the pain, but once it was off everything looked a little clearer and a bit more manageable. Depression and anxiety is not about cure but at least management and recognition of early warning signs.

More to come soon on my experience of treatment...

A project to make you feel good

I'm lucky enough to be a restless slot filler, the cogs are turning and I click, click from one thing to another online. My mind bursts with information and images - I'm tired, I get headaches and my shoulders are hunched up and sore.

Today I came across a video I once saw tweeted by one of my favourite blogs, I discovered when becoming part of the blogging community myself. Fit Foodie Finds. For over two years, Lee has inspired me to eat healthy, exercise and maintain a positive mind. Not only does she photograph food beautifully (some of you in Britain may snigger at this), she highlights nutritious aspects since it's not all about food porn, food fuels your mind as well.

Since my blog is about mental health, diet and an active lifestyle are far more important than the odd sneer or eye roll over who writes what and the pictures you post. I too am, now I was going to say guilty, yet I feel proud to take pictures of my food or any other adventure - why on earth would I want to take this moment of happy away? I'm the dick that carries around two iphones (work and personal) but at least I'm the dick that can laugh about it too amongst all the snaps I take; ranging from breakfast shots, photos after a sweaty run or mirror shots of my favourite outfit. I'd like to highlight I'm finally capturing moments of happy compared to the lack of photos that weren't taken whilst I was a teenager; an image too bleak and scribbled out I would rather not remember.

For a few weeks now I've been walking around as if a blurry cloud has been following me. I've realised that something has felt wrong, I'm not used to feeling good and things working out. I've been filling in slots of time with whatever I could get my hands on when in fact I should have been spending time filling those slots with empty. I think I've forgotten myself a bit and have even snapped a few times at certain things which in a larger picture are really quite small.

I took some time out for myself tonight, I cleaned, I cooked, I ran a bath and after tv bedtime slobbery I dug out a link from Lee herself. Please watch this video and it will help you look in the mirror. The quote which gets me the most is the part when a girl says 'we spend a lot of time as women analysing and trying to fix the things which aren't quite right, and we should spend more time appreciating the parts we do like'.

When I get into my ruts I build a sand storm in my head of 'why won't this work' or 'it's just not quite perfect'. It applies to all aspects of my life when In fact I just need to sit back, breath and take note of what I do have in front of me. I still find it hard to believe that someone wants me. I find it more surprising that someone I want wants me back. I have a friend who feels the same way about our friendship and it's heartbreaking to see her pain and struggle to accept herself, it's like a light is in the room but she can't see it.

Still, I'm trying to use my feelings and experiences for positive impact, as much as they might not make sense to others, they may shock some people and push them further away than I'd like. Either way, whether male or female, watch the video and give yourself a break.

Is this mania?

I don't know what this feeling is. It's not bad. It's not middle ground. It's a hyper-manic contentment.

My fears have changed. I'm no longer scared to talk about it, though it doesn't mean I'm going to look you in the eye. It doesn't mean later I won't feel like I need to sit down and put my head between my legs, and breathe. I'll always be scared you'll run away.

I'm not sure what this spectrum scale is, the ticking and whizzing almost blinding and exhilarating. I've just got to get better at switching it off without being obsessive. Management instead of control. Feel instead of distract. Lets comfortably sit in silence and it be silent instead of nee nawww sounds.

I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life and I think that's part of the problem. I'm just not used to it and I don't know whether to smile or cry. I'm tired of all the 'nutjob' labels and the newbies who judge can dooo one. I feel more courage from being open and myself about it, than hiding and seeming like the weird confusing girl that still always keeps it together.

The beauty is that I have kept it together, thumbs up to me! It feels like a big fuck you to the world and I love you too. I've achieved a lot. I have a very rough plan to keep it together now and live within the present year rather than years ahead. I thrive from being completely dependent on myself, it's all me (financially and even to the point of keeping it together). Over the last few months I've developed an extended family, friendships have developed and I've never felt less lonely in all my life.

I must make that 'together' list.

The one thing that still scares me the most is myself. This brain I occupy that makes me, me and people seem to like it. I get cake mix up my nose and I'm easily distracted. I am a Catherine wheel and only stop when sleeping. I now sleep the best I have in all my life. Insomnia is a distant memory. I choose to organise, I'm happy to say I make things happen. I do. I made it happen for myself. An opportunity lost is a moment where I kick myself, unless it was time to let go. I just can't give up on things, on people, it's so hard to go back on your word unless your stomach dips and faith disappears...you realise.

A friend once said to me 'you're always making excuses for people'. Finally now I understand I can't keep making excuses for people anymore. I believe this or I'll end up loosing myself.

I'm going to go for a run now, sometimes I don't want to stop because if I do I have to look at what's in front of me and sometimes it gets too much. It's a good thing because I see all of the amazing things I have and times I have in the future to look forward to. Before, it was a bleak dark impossible future where life seemed to exist only in an exaggerated black box in my head. I've got my things to keep me going, to keep me, me.

If that's the case then I can be there for you too.

Happy Easter x

Batty

I'm going to sound batty... though isn't that the point of raising awareness of mental health - less of the fear and being truthful with words? Fuck the failure and cease the consequence.

Here's something I wrote a few nights ago.

It's one of those nights when I can't sleep, but because I feel lucky. I lie in the dark and there's dancing in my eyes. I see arms swirling and movements peaceful, pounding to favourite sounds on my list. A feeling good, whilst trying to embrace without pushing it away.  Experimental and willing to give life a chance, It feels clear, It looks like colour which means I'm about to change.

I smile with truth instead of failure behind dark eyes. I can't deny anymore. An unblocked feeling that no longer seems so forever and ending.  Less of the panic and more appreciation.  I think of you, wherever you are - clouded.

Messy page

I've got a stiff neck from lying awkwardly and scanning through pictures on facebook of good memories, pretty people and a hell of a lot of faces I don't recognise anymore.

One of those faces includes me. I flicker over pictures from last year, two years ago, my childhood and teenage years - ugly times where my face seemed a scribble; yet there are images now which have less pen marks on my portrait. It's taken years to overcome a hurdle, one which I couldn't even see the top of, this hurdle was in fact placed across from a huge ditch in the middle of the ground, a ditch filled with evil eyes and influences ready to capture my innocence and weakness.

You can never say that bad experiences ever go away. I don't know if you can ever say you are over something, at least there might be a part of you which can look back through squinted eyes and recognise the self development and lessons learned from a past experience. They will always come back to haunt you, however at least I can now say I've understood a behaviour to manage my pain and impulsive responses. Brain training you could say, life lessons and patience.

I have to get up now

2014 is national anxiety year.

I remember a time when I would wake up and think 'oh my god I have to get up now'. It felt like a pile of bricks had fallen on my head. I was too afraid to move. Whilst In the shower I could see peaks of south east London popping through the window. There was a world out there about to eat me up. Anytime with myself was a nightmare. A voice, this voice- a constant 'something bad is going to happen', stomach in knots and fear that all I loved around me was going to disappear. This feeling continued everyday for months and months and months.

Do you know that feeling, a jolt you get when you're about to fall over? A game we played when 'hanging out' in our home town road was when we would stand on the edge of the kerb, eyes closed and our friend would tell a story. Eventually the man in the story would fall- at this point our friend would push us so when we stepped off the curb. It was as if we were falling down a 'cliff'. Anxiety feels like this for every minute of the day. Paranoid.

It's taken so long to manage. Even leaving the house for work became a chore, a dread. A 'I have to face the world today' sign that I had to do something about it or die. No-one can go on feeling like that forever, otherwise it might manifest into complicated side effects: alcoholism, OCD, eating disorders- anything to gain control.

We all have our ways, methods we use to cope with things. Perhaps anxiety is the bodies natural and strange way to keep us going- if we didn't have that would we shut down entirely to protect ourselves?

Anxiety and depression is a tricky thing, though whilst its happening please don't judge the person and think they need to pull it together. It's an illness hard to see, but once you understand it life can get clearer for all.

It's easier to judge. Harder to understand. I know which one I'd pick.

A face of hope

I'm trying not to feel silly as I write this. I suppose every post I write about mental health I have to make sure I don't feel silly. I'm going to write through the heartbreak and the voice which convinces me that no-one is going to listen.

One voice I'd like to have more of is that little voice inside my head encouraging me to make a mess on the page. It's the one which, out of no-where, urges me to write thousands of words down amongst the millions of thoughts which pitter patter in my mind. I need to be a face.

Most of the time I'm frozen to the spot by my thoughts, lately they've been of excitement and happiness. I'm also frozen by fear, hopelessness and overwhelment. However, my intentions and what I intend to achieve are never going to be real If I continue to trap myself in a mind circle. I quite easily convince myself that this box is right- it's only when I step out of it I realise I was so so wrong. I repeat this same mistake over and over again.

I must put more ideas down, I must speak up. I think deep down I'd like to become a face, a sign of hope, a voice, a representative. I want to do more in the name of mental health and If I don't stand up for this 'taboo', who will?!

There are several tips and methods I try to follow when there are good days and when there are bad. The ways I try to follow to put less pressure on myself. Instincts. Lesser the mind battles. Something I've been doing for quite some time is capturing, what some could accuse as looking for attention... Though, for me taking pictures of myself on the good days really help. I'm not looking for comments and most of the time I store them away for no-one else to see. Sometimes I take pictures on the bad days-these happen less often because if you are dealing with depression or other mental health conditions, it's rare you want to see yourself looking sad. Most of the time you feel too ugly anyway. I've got a picture I found today which I took of me on my 23rd birthday. I've also got a picture I took on the year anniversary my mum died. I glance back at the physical changes, whether weight has fluctuated (comfort eater number 1!) and if I can see signs of stress in other physical areas too.

On my birthday I said to myself 'I am capturing this!'. There was no-way I could leave this happy day behind. It was odd as it was the first birthday without my mum alive, but the love and amazing messages I received from the people I know really made a difference. It was an unforgettable day, a day when I thought 'finally this is what life is when it's good and when it seems less scary'.

I avoided pictures so much when I was a teen. I hated myself. I hated my face. You just want to scribble yourself out, never feeling good enough for anyone, anything. It's like an endless feeling you're too scared to end, but at the same time you don't want to accept either. It sounds vain, but capturing a picture when I am happy at least gives me something to look back on so I can say, 'oh I was happy there, that's me, I can do it, it's achievable, I'm allowed to feel good'.

So, here's a pic I took of myself this year on my 23rd birthday. I had a chilled morning eating posh raspberry jam on toast (a lovely present from my housemate), I tried on dresses which I don't go anywhere to wear, and never used to feel good in (I put on two stone and now have lost it), and taking snaps of my beaming face. Here I am naturally happy.

OK so it's a slightly bashful pic (but I'm well chuffed with my hair in this one!) and that day led to a lovely welcome in work, my life long friend (pretty much a sister) coming to London just for me (and she bought me breakfast!) and dinner in the evening with a new group of friends...

Things have changed a lot since then, but I'm still here. I'm still trying. I might not want to take a picture of myself today, but at least I know that there are days in the future I will want to take a picture of myself. I know this because there's been days like the above in the past, I've made myself happy, I can do it and I will.

Stuck in a box

Over the weekend a friend of mine came to visit London for the day. I hadn't seen him in three years.

Us two were the ones standing in the 'yard' at school, ages 14 and 15 looking miserable as sin and wondering why am I not like 'that'. Our friends would walk and run about the grounds with no weight on their shoulders. I'd be constantly questioning whether there was something wrong with me, with the world, with people...

Teenage hormones aside, my history covered episodes of panic attacks, hours of crying and howling until I ran out of breath. Sometimes I'd hear from my friend in his moments of sheer depression, desires for suicide and endless days where there seemed no way out for either of us.

Meeting up last Sunday felt like there had been no time apart. Our sense of humour matched and we caught up on stories on what you could say, felt a bit like self discovery. I am so proud of my friend. He has had outcome. He's taking charge on his life: it's pill free, natural state of mind with the right attitude and knowing how to look after himself.

We both know that to help yourself there only is you. Regardless how down you're feeling, if you want to get better it has to be a choice. You have to choose to be less self destructive and remind yourself what you have to live for. I'm not saying that mental illness is a choice, and we all need momentary escapes, but we have to choose to remain on the right path and to put it bluntly, whether to choose to live or die.

Right now I'm in a mental box. A place where I'm kept safe and free from my mental lows. My friend, at least, has given me huge amounts of hope that what we feel doesn't have to be forever. In the moment it feels like there's no escape and that this is what life is, a trap. I've got more work to do, but I just wanted to write an update as I haven't for a while. It's always on my mind to put something on here. When I don't, sometimes I'm hiding, sometimes I feel so indifferent I can't get the words out of my head. Then there are other times when I'm high on life and get distracted to post.

I just wanted to write a piece where people can see there is hope, because there has to be, otherwise there's no life at all.

Breakfast time 27.10.12

I feel happy and it's weird and I don't know what to do with it and now I'm stuck to the sofa.

I don't think it's an indifference. I mean I feel excited, I feel ready, I feel energised. I feel like I can make a choice. My brain feels like a circular train track going round and around and around. Perhaps throwing a dart in the centre will balance it all out. I could sit here all day, in a box, a mental box. I can twiddle with my thumbs and lie still because I feel safe and nice and I'm being held in place. The mania will kick in soon. The manic nice moods where I can jump up and down like a pogo. Last night was wonderful. I ate, I managed to eat! I ate more than I could usually and had no consequence. Mentally it was fine. Mentally I allowed it. I jumped like a pogo and we danced on the fluffy rug, we didn't care about neighbors.

Outside it looks beautiful. Blue skies, orange leaves and fresh air waiting to be exhaled. I have to capture the moment. I have to write it down, I'm already scared it's going to go away. Time will disappear. I might not feel this good anymore. I might not have this time to myself. I feel quite lucky.

I woke up feeling like it was Christmas. Tucked up in bed, radiator ticking, expanding with the heat. With my eyes closed I imagined what I would discover, kitchen sounds rattling, dressing gowns and warm lighting. I wake up looking like Mowgli, birds nest on my head and panda eyes. If I had it my way, I'd walk downstairs to find her in the kitchen. Sky blue dressing gown and a curly mess, hair sticking out on top in snakes and wires, glasses on and BBC radio 2 settling in the corner. She liked putting the cupboard up-lighters on to make an atmosphere, even though it was light outside we wasted the electricity, it reflected nicely on the counter. I hear slippers scuff on tiles and the toaster pops. Smells of white toast crunching under the butter knife, golden blankets spread. My big square lounge and over sized red sofas, I curl up in the corner. I always liked to look out at the trees. I really love trees. Mum would join me, sitting in her usual spot. We drank tea from Denby mugs and ravished in our moment of peace. The morning. Breakfast. Our time together.

Calm before the storm-ish

Something from this morning.

I've had my breakfast and a great cup of Origin coffee, I've read some of my favourite blogs and have noticed it's stopped raining outside. To most this would feel like an amazing start to the day.

I'd say the morning is my moment of bliss. It's usually my calm before the storm. At times, once my alarm has set off, my stomach drops, not because I'm going to work but because I'm still alive. The morning is the time of the day where I have 'space' to myself, where I am me, on my own. It's where I usually... feel my best. If the shift pattern permits I dance around the flat, prep my lunch, prep myself and put some music on to motivate me. Soon my hands are turning into fists. I keep biting my bottom lip. My legs are shaking, restless. Whilst looking out of the window I imagine walking to the tube, I realise I've been holding my breath the whole time.

It seems madness I know, I mean how can something so simple trigger a mountain of overwhelment. In a situation like this I have to focus on the facts- nothing is wrong. So why all the anxiety?

Truth is, once I'm out and I get to work I suppose I'm a little relieved once I've reached my destination. Anxiety thrives from routine. It thrives from keeping to what you know. There's a place I need to get to, boom and I'll head that way. However this routine for me is more time spent on my own. It's more time alone by myself and my thoughts - yet in public. Things that help are listening to music and a new one I've discovered, reading a book. Practicality. The side effects of anxiety: torn thumbs, headaches, breathlessness, shaky legs, restlessness, sickness, mood swings, hunched shoulders and however many more I could list.

I suppose this is why mental health is so hard to understand. It's like having a constant cold but no-one else can really see it. Sure the side effects are physical, sometimes they can be quite easy to hide.