Drugs
It’s taking me a long time to recover from the nannying. The nannying went fine, but I’m certainly reminded of why I don’t work full-time.
Yesterday I took half a zoloft. Drugs are marvellous (except for two things: They cause weight gain, and they are incredibly difficult to stop taking).
I’ve noticed I always feel great the day AFTER taking a pill, so today should be good.
Every so often I feel guilty for not just taking drugs all the time – I guarantee they make me a better person (and by ‘better’ what I actually mean is ‘more like myself’ – it’s just SO easy to think straight when I take them, instead of having to FIGURE OUT that my husband doesn’t despise me, or whatever the issue of the day is). But my aim is to one day get better, and that means drug-free. So they’d cause me problems eventually (last time it took me twelve months to get off them, with plenty of annoying side effects along the way). Plus they give me a secret weapon when things are harder than usual.
Superstition
I hate praying for things, because I’m always startled (and hurt) when prayers aren’t answered. Also I cry a lot when I pray (and also swear a lot, but that’s another story).
Perhaps the difference between faith and superstition is that faith is calm. (I’m not calm.)
Church is often difficult to endure, because there’s a lot of people and a lot of emotions. Yesterday was an especially bad day. I sat in the car crying, hoping that if I sat very still no-one would notice I was there.
Every so often with my writing, I get to a point where I think I can’t endure another day. Unfortunately, my storytelling nature immediately concludes that I won’t have to – I’ve reached the critical moment of my autobiography, and everything’s about to get good.
Yesterday was one of those days. I know life doesn’t work that way – apart from anything else, I’ve endured many years beyond what I thought was my maximum – but I still felt sure Harper Collins was about to call me (on a Sunday afternoon) and say, “It’s brilliant! Sublime! I’ve made an executive decision to publish every snivelling line you’ve ever written!” Even though I knew better, and was mostly annoyed at the whole sensation.
Did I mention almost 50% of writers are mentally ill?
Fakts
I don’t think I’m especially good at writing. My improvements look huge to me, but I gather from my latest Allen & Unwin near-miss rejection that I’m actually a slow learner – Allen & Unwin has been giving me detailed semi-annual rejections for years (usually a different book each time, as I think, “NOW I’ve got it!”) and I think they’re sick of it.
Not sure if anyone would buy my books even if they were in shops right now. There’s so much luck to the whole process – the cover and placement (in shops) are more important than the book itself, at least for the first five hundred sales (after that there’s word of mouth, which is perhaps 60% influenced by skill).
This twitter thing really is a dumb idea. It’s a lot of work, and it’s highly unlikely I’ll get anywhere.
The story is weird. Not sure if people can handle it. Not sure if it’s a good story or just a well-written writing exercise (faugh!)
At some point, I’ll give up on this epic adventure (I’ll finish the story – it’s already written, anyway – but the wheels of my personal promotion engine will slow and stop). It’ll be embarrassing when I stop believing, given how much I’ve done on this project. (It is of course possible that when I give up the tipping point will happen and all my work will suddenly pay off.)
All I can really do is keeping working on this promotion thing, be grateful for all the support I’ve been given (from friends and the media), and hope something gives. And remind myself of the dozens of stories I’ve sold, and of the general flavour of comments I get from industry professionals.
Today I received two points of contact from children I’ve taught in the last fortnight – from two different schools. I don’t think either one is actually following me on twitter, but the fact that they’ve remembered who I was when they went home is probably the most encouraging sign I’ve had this week (plus about twenty more twitter followers – most of whom I didn’t recognise, but I don’t think they were from schools because of the time of day they joined).
Two girls at today’s school asked me if I was famous, which amused me very much. I said that no, I didn’t have a limo, but yes, I had stuff online.
Here’s the video of the flashmob (which has quite a few views on it):
Slice and Dice
Cut myself for the second time on the evil coathanger of death (the ‘slice’ of the title).
The ‘dice’ roll of my media progress seems to be going well. It’s all about reaching a tipping point of momentum where people tell their friends, who tell their friends. Definitely not there yet – but the story hasn’t started.
The primary mania period for my twitter tale obsession is long gone – I cried crazily at a family get-together on Friday, and slept about twenty hours on Saturday. Generally I’m doing really well.
I try not to think about how slender my chances at success are – I am literally attempting to make myself famous. It’s not a dignified process
Mawwiage
Today is exactly six months into my marriage. Time for a post I’ve been preparing a long time (and, before you all panic, there will be no sex data here).
I predicted:
Me getting annoyed at my partner’s casual messiness (we housesat together for two weeks about a year into our relationship, which turned out to be one of the best things we ever did – it was a hideous experience!)
Me getting slightly saner (thanks to stability of home, finances, and housemate), beginning at about six months (because getting married is stressful).
Fights and tears.
What actually happened:
Early on: I slept about eleven hours a night for two months. Marriage is a big life thingy, so it wasn’t all that surprising. What did surprise me was the sudden drop in my IQ. I’m just thinking about him all the time. That’s just how it works. (I hope I get my IQ back one day, but I doubt it’ll happen.)
I also freaked out (screaming, jumping, horror) a lot when I was naked and A MAN walked in. (I only jump a little nowadays. There’s a process. . .)
I’m still not used to sharing a bed, but I’m more used to sharing a bed with him than have a bed to myself (having a bed to myself just feels wrong).
It’s a lot harder to lose weight. I think that’s because I’m now living in (and enjoying) the present, rather than only preparing for some vague future time when I’ll start living.
Future plans: Two kids and a house – not for about three-five years respectively. We’re on a pretty similar wavelength (or so it seems at the moment).
Fights: We haven’t fought since we married. He annoys me plenty, but it’s obvious even to my addled mind that he’s doing a lot of great things for me, many of which don’t come naturally to him (like tidying his stuff up as he goes along, and making his lunch instead of buying it). Also I think I’ve become adept at not pushing him too far all at once. (I like fast thrilling change. He likes nothing to ever change.)
Money: Fundamentally, he earns the money and I manage it. He loves insurance and guarantees; I like savings. Neither of us has expensive habits. We’ve eaten out just twice since we married (excluding times we were invited to social occasions). I hate the fact that he is literally my carer – financially and psychologically – but he’s clearly not suffering, and I’m clearly improving, so I can more or less live with it (since I have no choice anyway).
Expectations: I tell him what I need – and he does it. I also tell him what I want (making the difference clear) and he does almost all of that too.
He asks almost nothing – but he doesn’t need to, because I figure it out – and I do it. I’ve seen a lot of relationships in this pattern, and the girl always feels bad for asking so much – but it’s evident by the way the guy is floating along that she’s giving as much as she gets (and often more). I have to keep reminding myself of that. Luckily for me, his happiness is clear.
Chores: Since Chris earns most of the money, I do about two-thirds of the housework, including rubbish, washing, shopping, and periodic jobs like dusting. He fixes stuff. One of us cooks (we’re similarly skilled) and one washes up each night, and on weekends I hoover and he does the bathroom. I also have a “microcosm” system so that he still has the habits of independent looking after his own household (which he’s never done) – there are certain food items that only he eats, so he has to notice when they’re running out and write them on the shopping list (or he goes without for a bit). Also the study is all his – I don’t vacuum there, take out the rubbish from there, take out plates from there, or do any kind of cleaning whatsoever. So my partner has to notice all by himself if the rubbish is overflowing or something’s growing in an old coffee mug. If I drop dead, he’ll already have the habits of looking after himself without being told. If he drops dead, I get life insurance 🙂 So we’re all set. (This is one of those things we’ve talked about.)
Best part: -Cuddling up at night. Cuddling in front of TV pretty much every day (my perfect date).
-Pride in our savings – I’ve never had savings before.
-Herbs. I’d never bought herbs (or spices) before – food was for survival, not experimentation. Now we have cinnamon, nutmeg, coriander, cumin, tumeric, fennel, basil, thyme, mint and chives. Rosemary and sage are on the shopping list. I am enjoying my attempts to figure out what flavours go best with what foods (so far I like baked real-potato chips with thyme – I’ve also never had a functioning oven of my own – and lamb chops are great fried with garlic, ginger and fennel)
Worst part: -The SO has a lot of around-the-house habits I find startling (and annoying).
-Finances are really stressful – I still can’t believe how much insurance (house, cars, health, etc) costs. The SO and I have very different money experiences and habits.
On Wednesday both he and I went to the dentist with toothache. It had occurred to me that it was terrifically bad luck for both of us to need a dentist trip at the same time. As it turned out, both of us were only suffering from referred flu pain. And I ended up with another excellent example of how different we are.
My dental trip cost $95
His dental trip cost $240
My philosophy is, “Great, now they’ve checked the painful area I know I’m fine – I can skip my five-yearly checkup.” His is, “Better get another x-ray, a full checkup and a clean – since I’m here.” (And then he feels vaguely guilty for not doing the same thing every six months.)
Since I’d expected nasty bills, this was okay – just. And I’m sure my partner consciously chose not to bug me about how I should have gotten a proper checkup.
Changes: The SO is tidier, better at remembering what he’s going to do, and doesn’t make impulse purchases any more – unless it’s books, which are always worth buying.
I am calmer. One day I endeavour to become messier as my OCD fades 🙂
I have started singing again around the house – I hadn’t realised I’d stopped, but I noticed when I started again. And I knew it was because of him.
Us - six months ago.
Two hours in the life
In the last two hours I have:
Had a nightmare about food.
Walked into a door (though not as badly as the night before last).
Injured myself on a coathanger (I’m now bleeding in three places).
Got annoyed at my weight and ate a caramello, pancakes, and soft drink for breakfast (a cunning strategy, if I say so myself).
Taken half our main bank account’s balance to pay a single bill (due today).
Lost a precious $20 of work this afternoon (grocery money) due to my brand new boss’s disorganisation (this is my first shift).
Got annoyed at my husband three times (but when I kicked him I swear it was affectionate).
Used about ten tissues (insert “lamborgreenie” joke here).
Gotten stomach cramps from the diet soft drink.
Failed to receive the fart book critique that the critiquer said she’d email me yesterday.
Observed that the cut on my finger (from opening a plastic pot of cream two weeks ago – how foolish of me to not wear gauntlets at the time) is still not healed.
All in all, not a bad day*
*Looks like sarcasm, but it actually isn’t. When a lot of things go wrong at once I generally get amused rather than annoyed. Now I’m gonna go finish the soft drink.
Angry!
According to my certificate (which makes me certified insane) I have anxiety and depression. I almost always disagree with the depression part – I think I have rational reasons to be unhappy a lot of the time (namely, my anxiety – and things not going swimmingly on the novel-writing front).
When things are worse than usual, my reaction is not to curl up and vanish into an emotionless existence. It’s anger. I MUCH prefer anger. It’s an active emotion, and therefore often a helpful one. Unfortunately this means I’m angry pretty much all the time – at my SO, at anyone driving on my road when I’m in my car, at my students (some of whom are as young as eight).
My basic strategy is to recognise I’m really angry at myself. (Of course, there are certain limitations to constant self-loathing. . .) I deal with THAT by expressing my anger – with chocolate. It’s a (relatively) benevolent form of self-harm, and it gets me through most days.
So right now, on limited chocolate intake, I’m a nasty person to be around.
Rarr
Fifty grams
I have a problem. I often eat chocolate and lollies until I’m on the verge of throwing up – and then I keep going, consciously maintaining a state of nausea for hours. I’ll often eat about 250 grams of chocolate plus another 200 grams of lollies in a single day.
In a shocking twist, I’m gaining weight.
On the up side, I exercise three or four times a week – most commonly swimming a kilometre – so that helps. And the SO and I just acquired an exercise bike, which means I can exercise without facing humanity at all (a very valuable thing).
On the down side, if I don’t eat chocolate, I tend to lose the will to live – unfortunately, I do mean that literally (although it has been getting better lately – now it takes me a few days to get to that point).
Since I married in January, I’ve tried several times to get myself back under control – I tend to lose two kilos, then gain three immediately afterwards.
So, new plan: fifty grams of chocolate a day (or 100 of lollies) for fifty days. Starting today.
The thing that’s good is that I can still binge (in fact I HAVE to) – I just need to “save up” my grams day by day before (or after) I spend them. I’m also allowed to eat anything at meals – pancakes, fish and chips, whatever. And I can eat healthy snacks – nuts, corn thins, diet soft drinks (mmm…colouring) as much as I like. And alcohol (including sugary stuff) doesn’t count as long as it’s AFTER all my driving for the day is done, and it’s under one drink an hour.
At present I weigh 74.8kilos, which is JUST within the healthy weight range for my towering heights. My personal weight range (without actually dieting or even cutting out chocolate from what I eat) is 65-70 kilos. So it should be quite easy to get back in the 60s within fifty days. Which hopefully would bolster my sense of fitness, and thus lessen the need to binge – plus fifty days is long enough to change lifestyle habits.
We’ll see.
When I grow up, I want to be a fish
Rationality, as it turns out, is not a given right – not by God, anyway.
Every so often, like a ray of light, I have a moment when I understand things.
The other day, I accidentally crawled into part of my husband’s head – the part that would grieve if I died. (He’s told me this often enough – it’s pathetic that I need to be told at all, and worse that I simply don’t believe it except with the three remaining rational synapses in my head – which are severely overworked.) I understood for the first time that the best part of his day is curling up next to me at night – and that if I died each night would be a dark island of mocking emptiness that he would be hardly able to endure. My death would damage him forever.
All of this is obvious, but I rarely see it. I often have to work out logically that I’m happy – which goes something like this: ‘I’m sitting in a comfy chair facing a very beautiful clock that gives me pleasure, and my cat is purring. Nothing major is wrong. Therefore, I must be happy. The fact that I feel like repeatedly bashing my head against this pretty wall means nothing; it’s just a mental-illness thing – not real. Really, I’m happy. Honest.’
I know a couple – let’s call them Bob and Mrs Bob – very very well. They’re family friends, and have known me since I was six years old (and they weren’t so old themselves). We see each other as if we’re family, and help each other with family-type things – babysitting, moving house, looking out for each other, etc. When they built a granny flat and tried to rent it out for a ludicrously inflated price, I decided to move in – partly because it was a nice place, partly because I knew I wouldn’t have landlord issues with them, and partly to protect them from their own stupidity.
Similar things happen all the time – usually them giving me money for flights to Jakarta, since for twelve years I planned to move to Indonesia as an (unpaid) aid worker (and I visited frequently as an unpaid volunteer – while still studying and also supporting my own independence).
I was still living in their flat when I became mental. (By this stage, the price was market-reasonable, but still a lot for me.) I realised (after already getting into plenty of rental debt to the Bobs – who charged no interest, and set no time period) that my mental illness wasn’t clearing up as quickly as I’d hoped (I originally thought it would last a year and then I’d get better). Naturally enough, since we are close and since I knew I was incapable of keeping the financial independence I’ve fought so hard for (I have often gone hungry, and sometimes walked – instead of bussing – up to four hours in a day, once until my feet bled) – I asked them to cancel the cost of rent, and let me continue living there for free.
I know it’s a big ask, but these are people I’m very close to (closer than family, really), and the fact remains that I needed help from SOMEONE.
Mrs Bob told me that they were perfectly willing to cancel rent – but she didn’t think it would help me “grow to become an adult.”
*pause for thought*
This was particularly startling since (a) Mrs Bob also suffers from anxiety (less than me I think, but of course I’d think that). (b) Mr Bob is financially supporting Mrs Bob (which to me has always seemed a little selfish on her part).
Later, they cancelled rent and let me continue living there. Which I believe was always the right thing to do. (These people, incidentally, are not poor – though like every Westerner, they think they are.)
Another year passed, and my attempts to erase my debt to them were literally making it worse (eg I took more work, got more stressed, and this caused a car accident which cost me $900 – pretty significant when my total income last year was $8000, including Centrelink money).
So, late last year I begged them to cancel my debt, pointing out that I wasn’t gonna pay it off anytime in the near future (and possibly would never pay it off), and that it was making me sicker. (I understand that young people are often in debt – I am not. I’d rather go hungry than borrow $5 – but being crazy has done hideous things to my usual self-control and made me spend more money, mostly because I “spend” all my self-control on not telling people how much I hate them all).
Mr Bob told me that he “saw no evidence that you are sick”. Mrs Bob told me that being mentally ill was like being hard of hearing – it was an inconvenience, and I could live with it.
I wear glasses, and I know how frustrating it is to be slightly separated from the real world – yesterday some people waved at me in the car, but I couldn’t see them clearly enough to know if they were friends of mine or not. I hate going to public places, because I don’t recognise people as easily as they recognise me (so I’m unintentionally rude – or unintentionally friendly, in some cases). I panic a little at fast food places, because even with glasses it’s hard to read the menus (for this reason, I’ve developed a lightning-fast decision-making process). I’ve been humiliated and devastated as I prayed to be healed (believing that was what God wanted) and wasn’t (many times).
But it really is just an inconvenience. Mental illness has stolen my hard-won independence, stolen several friends, and sucked away my ability to be happy even when things are going well. The fact of the matter is, I am now dependent and there’s just nothing I can do about it. So much for being the girl who wanted to move to Indonesia and make the world better – now I am a burden on the world’s back.
Mr and Mrs Bob then cancelled over $10,000 of debt.
But I’m still angry at the things they said. It was rude, selfish, and wrong of them. They called me a liar and a thief – two things that are the opposite of who I am (even now).
I know they’re wrong. . . but only with those three remaining rational cells in my brain. Everything else in me says they were right to say what they said (it’s worth noting that although they made my debt go away, they never apologised for what they said or told me they believed I really was sick enough to reasonably make that kind of request).
Which is why I’m blogging about it. Because when I blog I get a sense of what readers will think, and it bolsters those three rational brain synapses to almost four.
I still get these moments, every few days, where those Bobbish comments in my head change from a self-loathing background hiss to a sudden glorious epiphany: They’re right! I’m not really crazy at all!
Suddenly I can work! I can see my friends without “measuring” my self-control beforehand to make sure I don’t admit how I really feel! I can be a force for good in the world again! I can actually enjoy my husband! I don’t have to be unhappy or ashamed or afraid any more!
And then I realise the truth – or most of it. None of those things – independence, happiness, pride – belong to me any more. That’s just the way it is. Even my precious intelligence is noticably less (it’s hard to focus when I’m working so hard on my rationality all the time, and feeling so scared for no reason).
The only true thing I don’t realise – not really – is this: it’s not my fault. My three good synapses just don’t stretch that far.
Because I still believe what the Bobs said rather than what they did.
advice for the newly insane
This isn’t going to sound encouraging, but. . .
The first year is the hardest.
Nine pieces of advice:
1. If you’re able to keep working (in whatever work, to whatever extent), then do so. There’s nothing more conducive to mental illness than sitting at home doing nothing (so if you can’t do regular work, give yourself other things to do – as much as you’re able). But don’t push yourself too hard, either – you need to figure out what a realistic goal looks like in your new situation.
2. If you are really mentally ill, you WILL NOT wake up one day and realise you are better. You will probably improve a great deal over time, but don’t try to be extra-impressive to make up for lost time/money or you are likely to make yourself sicker than ever. The hardest thing to accept about mental illness is that change ONLY comes slowly – like year by year (not week by week). The problem is in your head, and no amount of major life change will help you (except with good sense and a great deal of time thrown in). This hurts, I know.
3. Whatever you do, keep up your basic personal hygiene – brush your teeth and hair, wash yourself and wash your hair and clothes. If you can pretty yourself up (neat clothes, makeup, shaving legs/face depending on gender and whether you think a beard is attractive), do it as much as you can.
4. Finances will probably suck – my debts peaked at double my yearly income (mostly because of rent). Keep in mind that you’ll probably be sick at least a year, so if you have savings you’ll need them. There are four things that you actually NEED in life:
a) Somewhere to live – if at all possible, move in with family or friends – make sure you are VERY respectful to all their boundaries, and that you set a specific date to sit down together and decide whether it’s better for you to stay or go – probably 3 or 6 months down the track. Otherwise, pick the cheapest place you can stand that doesn’t isolate you in terms of transport. If you own your house/apartment or have a spare room, consider renting it out.
b) Health – mainly groceries (and soap, toothpaste, and shampoo). You don’t need dairy products to live – you do need protein (cheapest is sausages), vegetables, fruit and starch (cheapest is rice – more edible if you fry it with sugar). Some health issues don’t need treatment (dermatitis, pimples) and some do. Learn the difference.
c) Transport – walking or cycling is brilliant, public transport good, and cars are expensive – but versatile.
d) Maintain human relationships – you’ll need a working phone (it’s unlikely that you need a landline), probably internet/internet cafe, and careful planning for social events (try to arrange parties at your house with people bringing things – you may end up with a free meal. For presents, try burning CDs, making biscuits, etc). Sometimes you may have to skip parties or simply admit, “I can’t come unless you pay for my share of the meal”.
5. Stay in contact with some of humanity – no matter how annoying they are. Be honest – but smart. In my opinion, you need at least three real-life, face-to-face friends who know most of what you’re going through (one is a lot, but three should help that one not to get overburdened).
It is vital that you are genuinely fun at least some of the time – whether it’s seeing a movie (if you’re too depressed to make conversation that’s a good way of hiding your true feelings) or simply lying that you’re having fun.
Be aware that the two most common reactions to mental illness are fear/embarrassment, and disbelief (sometimes from the most unexpected people – including those who are ill themselves). Whatever shreds of a sense of humour you still have – use. You can get away with a lot more honesty if you can turn your horrors into funny stories.
6. If possible, exercise. If you’re holding up particularly well, try to stay in the healthy weight range (but you’ll be very rare if you do).
7. Take prescription drugs. They’re AMAZING. (St John’s wort is a herb with some beneficial effects, so you can start there if you like – but don’t combine it with anything else.) So many mentally ill people don’t remember what it’s like to be sane – until they spend a week on drugs, and suddenly their thoughts get rational again. It’s like the sun coming out after months of blanket clouds.
8. Accept as much as you can (some friendships will fail, you won’t be buying that flatscreen TV, you’re probably not as good at your job, etc). Fight to keep the rest.
9. Give yourself a break. Be miserable, grumpy, lazy etc for at LEAST a day every week – more when things are especially difficult. I have a theory that our stressful, pressured culture causes mental illness. So you have to resist all the pressure telling you to work/clean etc. It’s not easy.
Felicity Banks 