Remembering

I think everyone has a trigger, some tiny little thing that can bring back a powerful memory and set everything off. It could be a song, or a film, or anything really. For me, on this occasion, it was a photo of a face. An Instagram photo of a completely unchanged face, which was so startlingly relaxed and healthy, that it seemed almost wrong that it could send me spiralling into deep depression. Unlike a memory - which is subject to interference and decay and all the mechanisms we use to give ourselves a fighting chance of survival - it was clear. Every colour and line was as it was. Then the panic set in: I don't do endings, or change, or goodbyes. I especially don't think too hard. I'd collapse under the weight of it all. Easier to just stop feeling, right? No it isn't. Not with a mood disorder - you don't get a choice.

At the time, long before my diagnosis, I could protect myself very effectively. I think it was shock, or maybe denial, that put me into a state of mind whereby I was outside of myself and therefore the situation - that's the only way I can think of to describe it. Like being asleep yet fully conscious at the same time. The interesting thing about this (at least I think it's interesting), is that sometimes it's nice to go back to that. To dig something out that triggers the memories and go back, crying and wailing in despair, to where I was. In retrospect it was clear I'd gone perfectly mad but it was a wholly different breed of madness to the one I'm battling now. It may have hurt more but it was a simpler time.

You can never win.

Depressive

Being depressive is like being separated from the world. Like everything in it is just a movie that I'm watching from the outside. Reaching into that movie and trying to interact with it can be very challenging; I seem to lose the power of speech. I can eat (just about), sleep and watch the world. That's more or less it. I'm often told that other people find it much harder to tell when I'm depressive than when I'm hypomanic or 'normal', and maybe that's partly my fault. It's the nature of depression - it hides itself away, it doesn't want to be seen. But it could be so easy to say one little sentence: "I'm having a bad day." If I could bring myself to say it. But I can't tell people how I feel, ever. It's just the way I am.

I think of all the symptoms I have to deal with, the hardest one to cope with is the loss of interest in daily activities and hobbies. I genuinely love the ukulele, and I find it painful when I have a day when I can barely pick it up, let alone play it to an acceptable standard. It doesn't help when people try to remind me how much I love it or how good I am; I still struggle to feel it. It's difficult to feel anything.

What people don't seem to understand is that when I'm like this I mostly just want to be left to wallow in it. I want to have a cup of tea and be quietly contemplative for a while. This is generally perceived as an unhealthy behaviour, but if withdrawing myself for a bit helps me to process my emotional instability and get through it, surely this makes it a healthy behaviour? It's my coping mechanism and I'm comfortable with it. The main problem is, when I'm hypomanic or 'normal', I'm generally fairly ok with people, but when I'm depressive it's difficult to maintain a conversation or say anything meaningful, which makes me appear antisocial and I hate it. I hope one day the meds will stop this happening, but for now I just have to wait for it to pass.

Cyclothymia, One Day At A Time

I recently asked my boyfriend "can you tell when I'm neither manic nor depressive?" He jokingly replied "yes, you're asleep." It was said affectionately with a smile and a kiss, and I liked it. Because this illness is me. It doesn't define me as such, but It's in every moment of my life, whether I'm up, down or neither. It's a weird thought, but a strangely agreeable one. I once read that Thich Nhat Hanh said we should go to our pain as a mother goes to her baby. I didn't understand at the time, but that was before my diagnosis. Learning to go to each mood or symptom as I experience it has changed everything. It involved learning not to berate myself for not being able to cope sometimes, managing my unstable behaviour as best I can and most importantly, listening to what my disorder is doing. Looking after myself. It may not be ideal but it's how it is. I can take my medication to try to manage the symptoms. I can sleep when I need to, eat healthily and try to face the world instead of hiding. Accepting me means accepting my disorder; for now, at least, that is how I live.

Crazy In Love

I believe it is not possible to overestimate the importance of support, friendship and love. This is particularly true when living with mental illness. I get some incredible support from a few really amazing people, including close friends and a lovely boyfriend. Meeting other people with similar conditions helps a lot; it's comforting to talk about the little nuances of my condition with others who have been there and know what I'm talking about. Although I try to be as supportive and encouraging as I can to those who are sharing this experience with me, I find reaching out to people and asking for help pretty difficult. I find it extremely difficult to make friends; I have two best friends whom I've known since school, but other than that I don't really know.This is why it's so important that I have someone I can trust, with whom I have a strong bond.

I'm lucky enough to be in a loving and supportive (if rather new) relationship, and that helps more than I can describe. If I ever can't face attending a medical appointment alone, I don't have to. If I need to talk, I have someone to listen. If I'm too exhausted to last the entire day without sleeping, I can have a nap. If all I need is a cup of tea and a hug, I get them. My problems can make me very difficult to be with, because I'm impatient, unpredictable, stubborn, selfish and needy. This is met with love, affection and tolerance; it's almost frustrating how incapable I am of expressing the amount of gratitude I feel. There are people who don't have the kind of love I have, and I know what it's like to try and cope like that because that used to be me, and it drove me even more insane than I already was. Being listened to and cared for is a very refreshing feeling. It makes me feel safe. Nothing is insurmountable any more, we can talk about anything, and I am so fortunate to have that in my life. Sometimes this is overlooked, and I focus more on the stress and worry and negativity that comes with my circumstances. I forget to say thank you for the positives. I thought today might be a good day to do that.  

Other People And Me

One of the biggest problems I face whilst trying to manage my illness is other people. Generally, they just don't get it at all. Telling me to exercise more is not helpful. Telling me I need to just get out and get on with things is not helpful. Insisting it's not an illness is infuriating. Would you say any of this to someone with a physical ailment such as a broken limb? No. So why is it ok to say it to me? Is it because you can't see my illness? Anxiety is real. Depression is real. I have a lot to deal with, and you are not helping.

I hate having to be in control all the time when I'm living with a condition that does whatever it wants. Mental illness does not care what plans you had. It makes me angry when I need to be composed, reckless when I need to be focused and exhausted when I've got things to do. Only I can evaluate what my head is doing and what my body needs, so please don't try to tell me. If I don't know how I'm feeling half the time then how can you? Sometimes all I want is a bit of space to figure my head out. If I can do that, I can try to manage my moods and function like a relatively normal human. I can't make any promises but I can try. Also, I understand that my problems will affect people around me, but making me feel guilty won't stop that happening. It will make me feel even worse about everything than I already do, and that won't help anyone. Please try to understand I don't want to be the way I am and I didn't get this diagnosis to spite anyone. And in future, keep your ignorance to yourself.

Living With Cyclothymia

I am living with cyclothymia. This is described by the NHS as “a mild form of bipolar disorder (manic depression)”. While it's true that the symptoms are not as severe as other types of bipolar, it's still an illness and it needs to be taken seriously. It's not a lifestyle choice and I will not just snap out of it; if I could do that, I would've done it by now because I really do not enjoy living like this. It causes me to lose interest in everything I care about, makes me anxious, paranoid and irritable, and I struggle to keep up with my own thoughts. I struggle to concentrate and can find basic tasks hugely overwhelming. I do stupid things. I can't cope with responsibility. I get very scared of the world sometimes. I take medication that makes me tired and weak, causes sleeping problems and gives me headaches. This makes most days really, really difficult.

I decided to put all this out there on the internet because this Time To Talk thing has got me thinking. I do very little proper talking about my illness. It just doesn't come up in conversation – I don't know how I've allowed that to happen, given that it affects me every minute of every day. And when it does, it worries me how little control I have over the discussion. I don't like being told how I feel. What right does anyone have to assume they know that better than me? Especially when they'd never even heard of my illness before I told them I had it. You do not know me better than I know me. I will tell you how I am feeling, not vice versa. And you will listen. That is how this is going to work from now on. I've spent too long struggling to get my point across, even to those closest to me. All I want is to be understood. For me, that's the next stage of learning to cope.