Tuesday, 29 November 2016

Well that was an effective hour.

I had a free hour and I want to chip away on a paper I have been working on for two years. I've just started writing an introduction. If I keep chipping away at it I might finish it.

I spent an hour and all I did was edit two sentences and add five references after the second.

For the first sentence I couldn't find a paper I wanted to check something about. This was particularly frustrating because I was looking at it on this exact same computer two days ago. It's like not being able to find your keys even though you know they are on your bed.

Anyway the point of this is that maybe this was an effective hour working on a paper. Or maybe it wasn't. I really don't know.

Since I had my nervous breakdown two years ago I really have felt that I am very ineffective at work, not being as productive as I feel I should be. But I really have no idea if that is imposter syndrome or if I really have been less effective than I used to be.


Tuesday, 15 November 2016

It's always the small things…

I always meltdown over the small things. Really small things. I can crash out emotionally over misunderstanding how waitlists work at a really busy Alphabet City bar. Or over a facial expression, a tone of voice, of forgetting an appointment, packing or planning to move…

And when I crash out, I crash hard. Curl up into a ball. Cannot stand physical contact -- and simultaneously crave it, and crave comfort, like I do air itself. Cry inconsolably.

But it is always the small things.



The big things don't do this to me. A relative dies, and I'll barely react. At funerals I am more puzzled over my own lack of reaction than I am feeling anything similar to how people describe sorrow. News of relatives being ill are concerning, but seldom bring me out of balance.

The Trump election horrifies me, and I have many many friends whose freedoms, lives, existences are in immediate and concrete danger.
And my emotions are (I think, I have some medication titration going on that confounds ,my results) … non-responsive.



It is always the small things.
The big things seldom faze me, but the small things can annihilate me completely.

Saturday, 12 November 2016

Hi Ian, I'm Anxiety, Remember Me?

A few weeks ago I had an appointment with my cognitive behavioural therapist.  I had been feeling very good although even then he made me look inside myself in an uncomfortable way - asking me not if my world view that I am a bad person was wrong (which I am used to) but asking me if it was "helpful". Which of course it is not even if I am, and so that was not a conversation I wanted.

Anyway the point of this is that for the first time after maybe a year of visiting him, I have not made a followup appointment because we agreed I was doing well.

And indeed for the first time in many years I had found that whole days will go by without me thinking "I am the worst person in the world" or "I want to kill myself", two internal mantras that have been my constant friends.  I mean the kind of friends where they are people I hang around with all the time even if they are constantly hassling me and making me unhappy.

Things were going well.

Yayy.

Then a few weeks ago my related but different old friend came back. The one called Anxiety, who caused me to have months off work a couple of years ago.

I don't like to ascribe causes but I think this was related to a work project which I was working very hard on and which was not going as well as I had hoped. And I have been worrying a lot about recent political events (which you will not need to to be told about if you are reading this here and now, and if you are reading from the future I don't want to remind you except to say, goodness, well done for reading this, I am glad that the world hasn't ended which is my main worry to be completely honest with you.)

This whole long rambly post is to bring one ray of light into the situation. Despite having much more anxiety than I have had for months, I have been able to do a couple of things. And this has come about despite them being the kind of things that my anxiety doesn't like. And it has partly from the conscious experience of recognising that just because I am anxious about something doesn't mean it will come out badly.

The two things I mean are that I have made some arrangements for the family involving lots of small decisions about what to do, where to stay etc. This is exactly the kind of thing that I find difficult so it is good I was able to do it.  And the second - which sounds almost laughably trivial - is to arrange a car service. That was tricky because I had got fed up with my main dealer so wanted to find somewhere else, then used somebody's web form to book it which didn't work so (wait for it) I had to ring them up and talk to a person.  Yeeeucch.  But again, from experience (and I assume to most people this sounds ridiculously obvious) people who are wanting your money are usually pretty good on the phone so obviously it was indeed no problem and I booked it. But actually making that phone call despite the fact it was anxiety inducing is something I am fairly proud of doing.

You might note that neither of these two things relate to the two things I have been worrying about, but at least I think it's a healthy sign that I could do things which in the past I would not have done when I was feeling anxious.

So it's not all gloom and doom.


Friday, 9 September 2016

Maybe it was ok to be not so very good at everything as I wanted to be

Today has been a hard day. And it's not even a hard day really.

It just reminded me of what many many days were like until recently.

It's not that I can't do anything. I drove my kids around to various appointments. I went shopping. I wrote a couple of things I needed to write for work.

But when I wasn't doing anything particular I was down all day today (still am but pleased to be writing this as a distraction from that and because I wanted to capture the mood I am in.)

Suddenly distractions are too tempting to avoid.

It's been very hard to make decisions (which soft drink to buy?)

I've felt anxious for no reason several times (have I bought the wrong kind of cheese?)

I've been reminded of tiny things from my life which make me feel bad.

I've got round most of these things and coped, but it's not fun. In fact I've done ok in realising that it's just a bad day and been able to cope at the meta-level ok, realising that ok it's just a bad day and things are not as bad as they seem.

But I've been doing very well for a couple of months I think, really significantly less anxious and not perpetually in a low mood. And starting to feel like I know how to get things done again. Those are all things I didn't feel for more than 2 years before that.

This is a reminder of where I was and why life was hard and maybe it was ok to be not so very good at everything as I wanted to be. Which is not what I was telling myself at the time.

Friday, 26 August 2016

Friends aren't like "Friends"

Yesterday one of the twitter people I follow made me cry.

I'd seen in previous days that somebody I didn't know, Graeme Mathieson, had died.  This had deeply affected people, and in particular Philip Roberts, @philip_roberts. Philip tweeted out a memorial post. I followed the link to http://latentflip.com/mathie. It has trigger warnings about suicide and depression.  But it's an excellent read and I recommend it (it made me cry, I mean that's praise). Feel free to read it now.  It's also fine to stay here and read how it affected me - so I won't do that thing of saying "read it now, it's ok, I'll wait" because it's cute the the first time you see it but it gets old fast.

The part that really hit me was this:
Not long after that I saw this tweet from Graeme in my timeline.
This morning’s art class turned into a mind map of “depression: a personal perspective”: pic.twitter.com/DUuFNUQEbs
— Graeme Mathieson (@mathie) February 6, 2014
One phrase stood out: "no friends".
This was a phrase I was saying to my therapist almost every week at that time.
This was a phrase that I would never have applied to Graeme.
And so, I guess, our true friendship began


There was something about "Can we be friends please?", something about the loneliness and pain on both sides, and of course with no happy ending since Graham is no longer with us. 

But I'm not here to share my tears, but to say something about friends. 

There's so much we don't get educated well about, or at least I wasn't. For example one of them is the joy of running. I love running and for several years it's been a serious hobby and one I love. But at my school it was basically a cross between a punishment and the PE teachers not having an idea what to do if it was raining and the playing fields were too wet. "Go for a run to the Ketch and back", which was a perhaps 5-6 km run, or in fact in this case a short jog followed by long slow walk (almost by definition in the rain) and being teased by the people who could actually run a 5km as they passed on their return trips - the good runners being those who by good luck were good at it instead of all of us taught to run well even if slowly by a PE staff who should have been instilling love of physical activity. Nowadays I love long runs (a 5km run is a short one for me, I prefer longer ones), so somehow this strikes me as one of the most glorious failures any teacher could achieve: making their students hate something that it turns out they can actually love when out of the clutches of the teacher.

Wow that came out a bit rantier than I expected. 


Anyway another thing I didn't get well educated about is friends. I mean, this one is much more understandable for a school to fail in, because nobody is educated about friends.

I don't think of myself as somebody who has no friends. As a teenager I might have written down "no friends", but not for some years. 


But that doesn't mean I understood friendship. Of course I don't now either but I understand it a bit better.  Without doubt being an open and out depressed academic has helped me understand friends a bit better. Maybe a lot better. 

The thing is that friends (in real life) aren't like "Friends" (in the tv show). And I don't just mean in the sense that in real life you don't inevitably have to end up sleeping with somebody you've been friends with for the last 10 years in an implausibly good apartment in New York. 

I mean that friends aren't all the same and you don't have to have the same friends for all things and interact with them all in the same way. Somehow I picture the simplistic world view that culture - like "Friends" - gives us as being that a friend can be somebody who helps you out of trouble, but the same person has to be a good drinking buddy, enjoy movies with you, the sports you like, and especially be a party animal just like you. It's just about OK to have a friend group of mixed gender, but then they have to split up into groups of men who like the same sports and women who like the same clothes shops. 

Life isn't like that.

And friends can be very very different. 

I have friends who I have never met. Because we are friends on facebook for example, perhaps because of a shared interest. And somehow you start to get a connection. If I was culling my facebook friend list some of these would be the last to go.

I have friends I have met but only after becoming friends. 

I've got friends I met only before coming friends, and hardly or not at all thereafter. 



I have lots of friends from depressed academics, or who just know about my mental health generally. And maybe who reach out to me, or come into my office and close the door and say "me too". 

And when I'm talking about these people, some of them are not just friends but some of my most inspirational friends whose example I try to live up to. 

I don't have a lot of drinking buddy friends because I don't go drinking a lot. I do have sports friends, where we have a shared interest (usually cricket). 

I have a lot of work friends where we share a love and interest in some intellectual pursuit. 

I have friends who have different roles in different parts of my life. Maybe we have one kind of friendship on facebook and another at work.

I have - tragically - lost good friends to (a felicitous phrase) "terminal mental illness". But they were still good friends. And I've made good friends because of our shared loss of somebody to mental illness.

And often the people who reach out to you when you need it you don't think of as your friends. But they reach out to you and you realise they are and they are very good friends. 

And the people who don't reach out to you when you need it? They can still be good friends. Maybe not the reaching-out kind of friend, but still a good friend for many other aspects of friendship. 


I thought this post was going somewhere but it's got lost - my point is that yes, I am desperately sad for Graeme and Philip in thinking they have no friends. And I want to pass on such huge kudos to Philip for reaching out to Graham in that way.

Because I still don't know how to make friends. But I realise more and more that it's easier than you think. Because I have
 never thought of myself as somebody with lots of friends. But I was wrong. 

I have lots of friends.


If you want to donate in Graham Mathieson's memory go to this fundraising page for 
Mind: The Mental Health Charity

Thursday, 21 July 2016

So very much better when I know why

I am moving. Cross an ocean, to a new city, a new life.
I am moving. To a tenure track job, finally getting out of the postdoctoral grind.

I am moving. This never goes well for me. Questioning why I keep the things I keep, handling complex logistics that consumes large amounts of money — these things hit me straight in my mental sore spots.
I am moving. My brain caught up with this when I cleared out my old office last week of May. Since then, I have been an emotional wreck, crashing out several times a week — often daily.

And yet… even if this is one of the worse periods I've had in a long time, even if I keep crashing out constantly, keep lashing out, keep breaking into pieces, crying over nothing, a labil emotional wreck, this is better than it has been.
Even if it is bad, I know where this is coming from: moving is stressing me out, more than most things do. Stressing me out aggravates everything else.

It's bad right now. But it is not arbitrarily bad. It is not unexplainably bad. I have a causal chain, and with that there is an end in sight.
Eventually the move is done, and I will have settled in, and the stress will calm down again.
Eventually it will be good again.
Eventually the medication combination I have now, the combination that gave me several quiet months during the spring, will win over the moving stress and I will be back to stability.

This too will pass.

Friday, 17 June 2016

It doesn't make it better if Jo Cox's killer was mentally ill

Yesterday one of our MPs was murdered, as everybody in Britain knows.
Jo Cox, MP, 1974-2016

There's been reports that the presumed murderer had mental health problems. For example, as I write, the Wikipedia page on her murder states "A 52-year-old former psychiatric patient was arrested in connection with Cox's death."

And the tone of a lot of the reaction to that is kind of "well that's ok then." I mean sadness about the loss but relief that it's not terrorism or racism or sectarianism or ...

No.

An oft quoted statistic is that about 25% of the population has a serious mental health problem sometime. So it's ok to paint a quarter of the population as potential murderers?

And just because somebody has had mental health problems, who says their actions yesterday were in any way related to their mental health? The police have - quite rightly - said nothing to indicate that, just as they have not indicated that it was related to the words the murderer supposedly shouted. We simply don't know the motive.

Let's say for a minute that the murder was in some way related to mental health. That is certainly a possibility.

Then what does that say about our society?

It says that we are completely failing to care for the mental health of our population, to the extent that they become murderers. Yes, there could always be an isolated incident where somebody snaps from nowhere, but then the rumour is that this person has had mental health problems. So where was the right drug treatment, the right talking therapy, the right care in the community, or if absolutely necessary the right hospitalisation? It wasn't there, was it?

So if it was mental health related, it doesn't make it better.

It makes it worse.