Category: Depression

Sabre toothed tigers and hypocrisy

The Mental Health Awareness Week blog

Feature image “Sabre Tooth Tigers eating Daffodils” by andrew_j_w  CC BY-SA 2.0

Whenever I write about my experiences with mental health people tell me how brave I am for doing it.

I’ll let you all in on a secret though, whenever I talk about a rough patch it is always after I have gotten through it and am out the other side. When I am in the middle of scrapping with my brain I won’t admit I am struggling to a soul.

I tell the world that there is no shame in having mental health issues, but when I’m having my own I clam right up and pretend everything is fine. In short, I’m a giant hypocrite.

I told this to my therapist once and she heartily agreed, in a kind way. She’s one of those people who tell you what you need to know, not what you want to hear. She once gleefully quoted passages of my own book back at me – yet somehow I don’t know what I’d do without her.

The unfriendly ghost

When I’m not well I go into misguided superhero mode. I don’t tell my friends things are hard because they have their own issues to deal with. I don’t answer their messages because I don’t know what to say. Instead of keeping them safe from worry about me though, what I’m really doing is ghosting them, which is actually a pretty shitty way to treat a friend. A message saying “hey, I’m struggling a bit and not feeling particularly social but I’m fine. It’s nothing to do with you” isn’t actually that hard and it helps so much.

So instead of not writing about Mental Health Awareness Week this year because I’m not feeling super mentally healthy, this is my public version of that email.

This is the year I am going to quit being a giant hypocrite. Hi, I’m Anna Kirtlan and this Mental Health Awareness Week I am struggling with my mental health.

We all have mental health

One of the things I really like about this year’s Mental Health Awareness Week material is that it opens with the phrase ‘we all have mental health’. It says that mental health is something everyone has, a taonga that we should look after.

It’s so refreshing in a world where people still talk about “mental health” and “mental health issues” in unspoken air quotes and low whispers. Instead it says mental health is a thing we all have. Sometimes it’s good and sometimes it’s not so good.

People don’t talk about “physical health issues” like they are something unpleasant you wouldn’t want granny overhearing, so why should we do the same with our hearts and minds? It’s health, pure and simple, and we need to look after our health – all of it.

My mental health comes around to bite me on the butt when I’m not looking after it sometimes. I also hold down a full time job, have a great friends and family and am growing my writing career. It’s not always easy for me or the people around me, and I don’t always get it right, but I’m doing it. It’s a learning curve the whole time and right now what I am learning is not to be ashamed when things are tough, especially when I make a point of telling others not to be!

Dealing with sabre toothed tigers

This time round for me, and for a lot of New Zealand to be fair, the particular head weasel (a term I picked up from some awesome writer friends) is anxiety.

It isn’t always easy to spot when someone is anxious or having an anxiety attack. It’s not necessarily hyperventilating and shaking and clammy hands and darting eyes – though sometimes it definitely is. Instead it can be more subtle.

I’m sure by now many of you will have heard of the fight or flight response. Where our brains throw back to the days when it actually wasn’t that unusual to find ourselves being chased by sabre toothed tigers.

The choices you had were pretty much turn around and beat the tiger up or get the hell out of Dodge. Unfortunately, for quite a few of us, our brains didn’t get the memo that there aren’t so many sharp-toothed beasties roaming the streets and eyeing us up for lunch anymore. And sometimes the DANGER DANGER synapses fire up for what appears to be no good reason.

When this happens to me I tend to default to ‘fight’. My heart rate goes through the ceiling, I start talking loudly and aggressively at a million miles a minute and my nerves are fire. If someone sits too close to me when I’m in that state it takes every ounce of my self-control not to physically shove them away from me. So far I haven’t swatted anyone, but it’s not easy to be around that, I know.

The third F

What I wasn’t aware of until this year was that there is a third F in our throwback brain wiring – fight, flight or freeze. Going back to our sabre toothed friend, the freeze reaction would be when we don’t move a muscle and hope Bitey McBiteface doesn’t notice us.

Without the actual tiger this feels more like numbness. When you are finally so overwhelmed you feel nothing at all. It was peak Rona stress, when it seemed like bad things were happening to good people everywhere, all the time, that I learned I was experiencing this one. I rushed off to my therapist convinced I was either sliding into depression or becoming a monster. Whenever something horrible or stressful happened, when people around me were clearly struggling, I felt nothing. Where there should have been sympathy or empathy and concern and the desire to help fix the problem, there was numbness, paralysis – zilch. Surprise! That turned out to be anxiety too.

Instead of the usual million miles a minute, punch the tiger in the nose trick my brain usually did, my prefrontal cortex just noped right out of the whole equation. I wasn’t depressed, I wasn’t a monster, I did care. I was just overwhelmed. I was standing behind a tree, frozen in fear and hoping the monster didn’t notice me. Learning that was a massive relief.

Do what works for you

I am most certainly not a mental health expert so please take everything I say with a grain of salt and don’t use it in the place of professional advice. Different things work for different people, so all I can share is what works and what doesn’t for me.

Medication and therapy work for me. Inspirational quotes and positive affirmations don’t. It may be the exact opposite for others. Exercise works for a lot of people. It does for me, but I have to get my brain space fixed first before I have the energy to do it.

So these top tips are based entirely on me. You do what works for you.

  • Don’t be ashamed if you need to take medication and don’t suddenly stop taking it because you are feeling better. I have done both of these things. Neither ended well. You wouldn’t be ashamed about taking medication because your blood pressure was up or down and you certainly wouldn’t stop taking it (I hope) without talking to your doctor because your blood pressure was back to normal. This doesn’t work any differently when you are dealing with serotonin.
  • Therapy isn’t for everyone, but if you think it might work for you, don’t give up if you get a bung one first time round. Trust me, I’ve had some howlers over the years. I had one tell me all I needed to do was look in the mirror daily and tell myself I was “a beautiful person” and another say I wasn’t going to get better if I didn’t stop using humour as a defense mechanism. Yet another told me Covering Things Up with Humour is Bad counsellor was full of it and that my humour defense had kept me going so far. It was a perfectly legitimate coping strategy – but perhaps I should work on some others. I now have an amazing therapist who challenges me and supports me and doesn’t take any crap from me. She keeps me on the level and I never would have come across her if I had given up after the first time someone waved a crystal at me. I do realise I am saying this from an enormous position of privilege in that I can afford to pay to see someone however. I know access isn’t easy for everyone and going into why this is so unbelievably wrong would take a whole new blog. For the avoidance of doubt though, I believe everyone in New Zealand should have affordable, accessible mental health support and we need to do more in this country to make this a reality, especially now.
  • Remember you are not alone in going through this. For some of us 2020 has been an ‘oh no, here we go again’. For others it has been the first time their mental health has kicked their butt and it is new and scary. Either way you’re not doing this alone. There are weeks like this to remind us that we all have mental health and there is help and resources available all year round (see below).

You can find Mental Health Awareness Week resources at www.mhaw.nz/

Need to talk?

  • Free call or text 1737 any time for support from a trained counsellor.
  • Lifeline 0800 543 354 (0800 LIFELINE).
  • Youthline 0800 376 633, free text 234 or email talk@youthline.co.nz or online chat.
  • Samaritans 0800 726 666.
  • Suicide Crisis Helpline – 0508 828 865 (0508 TAUTOKO)
  • Depression and Anxiety Helpline – 0800 111 757 or free text 4202

    

   

Changing the way we talk about OCD

Feature image by Volodymyr Hryshchenko on Unsplash

I’ve been thinking about writing this blog for a while but always end up agonising over whether it’s the right time. There are so many voices that need to be given the space to be heard right now – more and more every day it seems. So it feels selfish to try to add my own to that number.

But that is one of the insidious things about mental illness. It tells you that you aren’t worth it, that so many people have it so much worse that you, that you need to get over yourself. It’s one of the reasons so many people don’t seek help. They feel that help is for others, not them.

Which is why, when I was inspired by an awesome Re: news article shared by the Mental Health Foundation this morning, with amazingly brave people sharing their OCD stories, I decided to write the damned blog.

Re: People with obsessive compulsive disorder say lockdown allowed their condition to thrive (renews.co.nz) – image courtesy of the Mental Health Foundation of New Zealand.

My story in brief

I’ve shared this before, but for the benefit of new readers, I’ve lived with obsessive compulsive disorder pretty much all my life. I was diagnosed as a teenager in the 1990s when mental illness was something people Did Not Talk About and there was a very real fear, realistic or not, that if people found out something was wrong in your head you could end up in a nuthatch.

OCD often comes as part of a triad with anxiety and depression, which is not surprising really – taking on your own brain can be scary and exhausting.

Through a combination of therapy I was lucky enough to be able to access when I was younger, medication and a great brain-flosser I talk to on the regular, I only have mild symptoms now, but the anxiety is still there and rears its ugly head from time to time. Lockdown certainly gave it a chance to get nice and comfy for a while.

Words matter

While we were busy trying to fight the rona as a country our heath minister, while encouraging us all to wash our hands, casually said “now is the time for OCD.” It felt like a slap in the face.

There is never ‘a time for OCD’. It’s a horrific disorder that left unchecked can utterly destroy your life. Our health minister should have known better than that. OCD isn’t always germophobia or hand washing either. Nor is it always about being incredibly tidy or organised (anyone who has seen the state of my desk at work can attest to that.)

When you are older than Google

These are the manifestations of it that most people know about, and that is understandable. They are the easiest to explain, or portray on TV or in film. There are many other types of OCD that are just as debilitating that don’t get the air time.

I’ve always been torn about this, because it was amazing for me when people actually started saying those three letters out loud. Letters I had previously only heard from doctors or therapists or read in the textbooks I got out from the library (yes younger readers, I am one of those people who are older than Google!) The experiences being portrayed or talked about weren’t necessarily the ones I was having, but the fact they were being portrayed and talked about at all was amazing for me.

The problem is that when people only hear about those ones is that the others people live with go unrecognised, and potentially untreated.

@obsessivelyeverafter

A really great account to follow on Instagram for insight into the different types of OCD is @obsessivelyeverafter. Run by psychotherapist and OCD specialist Alegra Kastens, it has made my day on a number of occasions and above is one of my fave posts (which links through to some great information.)

Don’t go down there!

When something starts to become normalised – which is a great thing – it can become casualised in the lexicon. Then you start getting things like people saying “I’m so OCD” when they are talking about needing to have their cupboards organised ‘just so’. In reality that particular OCD can have you not able to leave the house for a week because something is a millimetre out of place and it you don’t get it just right someone you love will die horribly and it will be your fault.

The shitty thing is that you know these thoughts are utterly irrational, but it doesn’t stop you having them and it doesn’t stop you doing the thing to make them go away. It’s like watching yourself from the outside and being unable to do anything about it. Like screaming “Don’t go down there!” at the soon-to-be victim in a horror film as you helplessly watch them descend into the haunted basement. Casualising that experience hurts.

Ignorance rather than malice

As Paddy often says to me however, these things are usually said out of ignorance rather than malice. It’s hard to see that when you are in the middle of being upset and outraged, but most of the time it’s true.

One thing that illustrated this to me and gave me so much hope was actually an interaction in the comments section on, of all things, a car video on Youtube. Paddy’s an engineer and a bogan and often our evenings are spent with him watching people faffing about with car engines on the internet while I ignore him and read, write or kill zombies on my phone.

One particular evening during lockdown, when I was a little anxious and overwrought, I overheard a chap on one of Paddy’s videos talk about being “a little bit OCD” about something to do with the car he was working on. Often I let these things go but this time I roared “YOU ARE NOT OCD!”

Paddy stopped the video and said “do you want me to say something? I’m certain he wasn’t being malicious.” I told him not to worry about it and that Car Dude was lucky I was medicated and left it at that. Paddy went quiet for a minute then sent me an email and asked “is it okay if I post that in the comments?” I read it and nearly burst into tears.

* I really love your videos and it is fantastic that you are spotlighting the wonderful things that Kiwi innovation can do for us. You are an awesome guy and I really appreciated the service that you gave me in wellington. I have one small suggestion / request. I watch your videos in the evening when there is nothing much to watch on broadcast tv. Lets face it that is a lot of the time. My partner who is the most awesome person I have ever met and who managed to manage her mental illness to sail over 5000 miles around the the south pacific with me overhears what you say. She has struggled with OCD her whole adult life and when you say you are OCD about you FD it makes her feel belittled. I realize that is not your intention but please understand that this is an awful thing and people struggle with it in a way that we really can’t understand or thankfully never will. So please…… Be obsessive, passionate, focused …. or anything but please not OCD that is an awful disease that you would not inflict on your worst enemy.

Best regards

Paddy

*Identifiers have been removed

I said yes and the very next day Car Dude had replied saying that Paddy was absolutely right, he was definitely not trying to belittle anyone and that he would think about his terminology more clearly. He apologised to me and that apology is 100% accepted.

That was one small interaction between two blokes on the internet but it gave me a lot of hope that we can change the way we talk about things. Not just mental health, but all the things we need to change the way we talk about right now. It also showed me that speaking up when you feel uncomfortable actually helps. People don’t know what they don’t know and if you don’t tell them, then they never will – and if you do tell them, then it’s on them to think about what they say.

I know it’s not easy. I catch myself getting things wrong from time to time too. But the thing is, I catch myself, and I correct myself and if I hurt someone then I apologise. That is all we ask. If two Kiwi blokes with a mutual love of cars can do it, so can you.

And that is why what the people who spoke to Re: news did today was so important and why Re: News did such a great thing by running it in such a respectful and understanding manner. You guys, and every other Car Dude out there who speaks up or who listens, are all my heroes right now.

If you are looking for support here are a bunch of resources I blagged straight from the Re: article

National helplines

Gumboots and porridge

Porridge in the air

Comedian and mental health advocate Mike King describes depression as feeling like walking through mud. That was the inspiration behind the first Gumboot Up NZ day on April 5.

The idea was for people to walk a day in the shoes of someone with depression, while raising awareness and funds for youth mental health support.

For me, instead of mud, it’s always been porridge. For some strange reason, if anyone asks me to describe what depression feels like I have always said ‘walking through porridge.’

It’s as if the air has turned into a sort of lumpy sludge and for every movement you make through it, a pile more slurps back in to take its place – and that’s just getting out of bed.

Counter-intuitively, something I often can’t do when I’m depressed is cry. God I want to, I really do. But the more I want to, the more I can’t. Sometimes I see the porridge as a mix of all the tears and snot that I want to pour out of me pushing back down on me from the outside.

Now that I think about it, it’s actually a pretty gross analogy and mud is a lot better. The mud was actually what caught my attention about this particular mental health initiative. For the first time I was hearing something that described exactly how it felt for me, and knowing that someone else feels something so scary and internal and personal as depression the same way you do is hugely relieving and empowering.

Gumboots at work

Boots and suits

One of the things that was really cool about ‘walking through mud day’ was actually just walking around town. I paid a little more attention to people’s footwear than I normally would and I spotted quite a few people in gummies.

The cool part was that those people were obviously doing the same thing, because often we would catch each other’s eye, smile and walk on. It was a quiet acknowledgement ‘I know why you’re doing this, you know why I’m doing this. You get it.’

That small public acknowledgement – from the guy in the suit, from the woman in the amazing 50s style dress, from my workmates – was worth so much. I even appreciated the ‘helpful’ offer from a colleague to pinch me on the soft but under my arm to help with the not-being-able-to-cry thing (you know who you are!)

The teenager I used to be, utterly convinced that talking about mental illness would have landed her in the nuthatch, would have been completely blown away.

Radio gaga

I also have a bit of a soft spot for Mike King, who gave me a spot on his Late Night Nutters Club radio show when I was hawking Starboard when it first came out.

It was a scary and exciting adventure where I got to stay in a hotel in Auckland and blather on the radio about mental health and sailing. Mike and his cohost Malcolm Falconer were really great and made me super comfortable even though I was completely terrified.

I blogged about it at the time and you can listen to the broadcast on there. I have no idea what I said and probably completely blathered. I haven’t listened to it since because I hate the sound of my voice, so I can’t vouch for quality!

Nutters – Mike King and I

Radio Gaga  (seamunchkin.com)

I am hope – counselling for youth

I am also quite passionate about where the money goes for this particular fundraiser. 100% of the donations go to Mike King’s I Am Hope charity, which provides access to counselling support for young people.

When I was 15 and diagnosed with OCD, anxiety and depression in Christchurch in the 90s, I was lucky enough to have access to good counseling and support. Sadly, for a lot of young people now, that is just not the case. More people are aware of mental health issues, and this is amazing, but I think what it also means is that more people are seeking help and the resources just aren’t keeping up with it. Some young people in crisis are waiting up to 6 months for their first appointment and that’s just not acceptable or safe.

The way the I Am Hope donations work is that your money is deposited into their Kiwibank account and is then given directly to a registered health professional upon receipt of an invoice. This means 100% of the money goes to help kids get the support they need, when they need it.

Even though Gumboot Friday is over, you can still donate to I Am Hope through their website and Give A Little page:

Gumboot Friday (iamhope.org.nz)

​How to Donate (iamhope.org.nz)

When you can and can’t write

From one former Christchurch kid to the current ones, all I can send is hope and love right now. If any youth are going to need access to good counselling and support it’s them.

While I was able to write about the quakes that struck my home town, I just can’t find the words for the recent tragedy that happened there. I’ve tried and I just can’t do it. I honestly don’t know if I will ever be able to.

I was proud though, through my work at PPTA, to be able to share the words of others, and that is what I’ll share here:

Artwork by River Jayden of Street Wise

Against hatred we send love (ppta.org.nz)

One thing it has done though, is throw into sharp relief the little light-hearted ‘Gators, guns and keeping calm’ piece on our trip to the US that I was working on. I will still use the material in some way but it needs a different lens and a lot of different thinking, that I’m not quite ready for yet.

There is another project in the works however, and I promise I won’t rip it out from under your feet this time because it actually is finished. I’ve had some super helpful feedback from beta readers and it is now with a manuscript assessor to help me iron out the rest of the wrinkles before I decide what to do with it. It’s something a bit different in that its my first foray into fiction – and it’s a nice escape from reality for me right now. Its a young adult novella, and never fear sailors, it has boats, scuba diving and various other marine activities in it (it also has bitey mer-people who farm dolphins for snacks). I will fill you all in when there is more to tell, but whether I self or ‘trad’ publish it as young folk say, I promise it is something you will actually be able to have.

For those who aren’t into that sort of thing, don’t worry, I am going to keep up with the non fiction about sailing and being bonkers, it’s just always fun to try new things!

The case of the disappearing teeth

When I look back on it, my mental health blogs seem to jump from ‘bugger I’m bonkers again’ to ‘yay I’m better!’ with nothing much in-between.

That’s because in-between isn’t much fun, and writing when you are in-between is not an easy thing to do. But it’s probably the most important time to write, because in-between is the time that people need to hear that what they are going through happens to us all. That the ups will eventually stick around longer and the downs won’t last forever. I think we have a tendency to block out the in-between when we start feeling better because we don’t want to focus on the crap stuff. So we don’t write about it and we don’t talk about it.

So my blog for this year’s Mental Health Awareness Week (which kicks off tommorrow) is about what in-between being sick and being well looks like for me.

Why do I feel sad? I’m better dammit!

In-between is having an awesome, productive weekend where you do all the things that seemed so insurmountable for so long. You mow the lawns and remember how much you love spending time in the garden. You tidy your room and hang up those pictures that have been gathering dust. You feel successful and, for the first time in a long time, really happy.

In-between is coming home the next day and crying your face off because you have felt sick and sad and anxious all day and you shouldn’t be feeling that way because you are better now dammit.

Poor, long-suffering Paddy says getting better isn’t a straight path, it’s a continuum. And he’s right. When you start to see little glimpses of sunshine you take it so much harder when it starts to cloud over again.  But the sun is still there and eventually it will stick around longer and longer.

Okay, who stole my teeth?

In-between for me this time was also finding out how much damage my anxiety had done to my body. It was going to the dentist to have a filling replaced and finding I had anxiety-clenched my teeth so hard, for so long, I had ground down the enamel so far you could almost see the nerves.

It was also having to be a grownup and working out a payment plan so I didn’t have to sell a kidney to get it fixed.

Funnily enough, I had actually noticed in a couple of pictures friends had posted online that I seemed to have a weird gap in my teeth when I smiled. I remember thinking ‘that’s odd. I don’t have a gap there’ – not after all the money, time and trauma my parents went through getting me braces as a teen.

Then the dentist broke the news to me.

“You have the mouth of an 80 year old,” he said.

“What?!” I spat.

“Well, maybe a 70 year old…”

“Dude, that’s not much better!”

It turned out he was talking about wear. I had done about 80 years worth of wear and tear to 37 years worth of teeth.

Yeah alright, it was me. 

After the initial shock, I wasn’t actually surprised. I most likely grind my teeth in my sleep, and I have experimented with sleeping with a mouthguard before, but the real issue was during the day. When my anxiety was up I could judge how tense and jumpy I had been by how much pain my jaw was in by the end of the day. I wouldn’t even realise I was clenching my teeth until I unclenched them. My jaw would pop and my back teeth would be stuck together like glue.

It was actually one of the first signs for me that the new medication was starting to work. I would get to the end of the day and think – ‘hey! My jaw doesn’t hurt!’

So while I wasn’t exactly surprised, I was rather shocked that something that was going on in my brain could do that much damage to my body without me realising it. (I may have had a minor meltdown over that, but seriously, who wouldn’t?)

Goodnight, sleep tight – don’t let the tooth monster bite!

The next step was, what to do? Leaving it was an option – for six months or so anyway, much longer though and it would be the difference between $3000 for building up what was there and $50,000 for getting crowns on everything.

I decided to rip the bandaid off. I knew that if I put it off I would just keep putting it off. There was a psychological component to it too. What’s more symbolic of getting better than taking a ragged, crumbling, anxiety mouth and giving it a proper smile again?

So I booked in to get some scans and moulds made. When I saw the mould of my mouth I was horrified. It looked like something parents would use to scare their children. It turns out I had ground several millimeters from both the top and bottom of my front teeth. I needed nine teeth built up with the equivalent of 11 fillings worth of schmoo.

Ahhh! Run away!!

They probably aren’t lined up exactly right as I was balancing them on a chair in the dentist’s waiting room while taking the pic, but you get the idea.

New gnashers!

It all happened quite quickly. A week after seeing the funhouse horror moulds I was in the dentist’s chair having scaffolding put on my teeth. Two hours in the dentist’s chair later (no fun drugs, just lots of injections) and I pretty much had a new set of gnashers.

It was actually a fairly painless process, the crick I got in my neck was the worst of it really. Hearing comments to the dental assistant like ‘look at all the wear there’ and ‘have you seen many procedures like this before?’ and learning that one of my front teeth was actually loose from all the pressure I’d put on it was a little more traumatic.

The dentist looked pretty proud of his work and he had every right to be. I thought I looked like a whole different person. He said I looked younger but he would – I was paying three grand and he had that ‘mouth of an 80 year old’ line to make up for!

I’m pretty happy with it though and think it’s an awesome symbol that things are getting better.

New gnashers

It does feel rather strange though, like I have someone else’s teeth. I tried to bite my nails the other day and I actually physically couldn’t. Maybe after all these years I might be able to quit that habit!

Four weeks of schmoo

The only drawback now  is that for the next few weeks I am pretty much on a diet of mush until things settle down. So for me in-between is now soup and smoothies and sneaky KFC potato and gravy – but it will be worth it to have my smile back.

I have also developed a whole new respect for people on special diets. I got my teeth done just before a big work conference that involved catered meals. Everyone was fascinated when my dinner looked different to theirs and I got the third degree. By the end of three days my answers ranged from ‘I have new teeth and can’t eat solids’ to ‘I anxiety clenched my teeth to oblivion, please leave me alone to eat my schmoo’ – I seriously couldn’t do that all the time.

I love my new chompers though, and they are helping me in more ways than one. When I have a rough day and (as Paddy so eloquently puts it) ‘the black dog takes a dump on my brain’ I can look in the mirror and see that no matter how ratty things get, they can be fixed. It won’t be an easy fix, it could be the equivalent of four weeks of eating slush, but there is a fix there. In-between sucks, but it’s exactly that, in-between. You will come out the other side, potentially with a whole new smile (even if it’s one held together by plastic and dental goop).

Mental Health Foundation fundraiser

As always, and especially this week, 50% of paperback sales of Starboard the book go to the NZ Mental Health Foundation. Depending on how financial you are feeling you can either pay $20 and donate $10 here

Or take advantage of the sale price and pay $10 and donate $5 here

Free postage in NZ. If you are overseas just drop me a line at whichwayisstarboardagain@gmail.com and I’ll investigate postage costs.

Where to get help if you need it (in NZ): 

Need to talk? Free call or text 1737 any time for support from a trained counsellor

Lifeline – 0800 543 354 (0800 LIFELINE) or free text 4357 (HELP)

Suicide Crisis Helpline – 0508 828 865 (0508 TAUTOKO)

Healthline – 0800 611 116

Samaritans – 0800 726 666

The Mental Health Foundation of New Zealand also has a great list of specialist helplines which you can find here:

Mental Health Foundation of New Zealand helplines (mentalhealth.org.nz) 

Harry Potter and the Customs Official 

Note: This is one of those blogs that travels all over the shop, from New Zealand to Samoa and back – so I have broken it up into bite-sized chunks so you can easily stop reading when you get sick of the sound of my e-voice. You’re welcome.

Also content warning: This post deals with mental health issues including anxiety and depression. It is unbelievably okay to ask for help so if you or someone you know needs assistance there are New Zealand-based contacts below. I am sure there are similar resources available for overseas readers.  

When the crazy comes back

This  sort of feels like an admission of defeat, but my gleeful post about switching meds for the first time in 20 years appears to have been a bit premature.

In short, the crazy came back.

Basically things went really well, right up until they didn’t. I was functioning fine during the working day, but by the time I got home I was completely out of gas from holding it all together. I was pretty much on an anxiety tight-rope. When it got to the point where Paddy sneezed and I screamed, we knew something was seriously wrong.

I didn’t give up easily. In fact, in trying to find another answer, I probably took longer than I should have to realise it was the meds. I did all the right things, I talked to an awesome head doctor, I started seeing a physio because the tension had munted my back and I was trying to eat healthier. (Getting more exercise was the next on the list, but I hadn’t quite got there yet!) When none of that worked that pretty much left one thing, it was chemical.

I didn’t want to admit this at first because I was so convinced the last happy pill switch was going to be the answer, so when things got steadily worse I felt a bit gutted. It’s silly, I know people who have been through at least six different medication changes before they found the right mix. I just figured that wouldn’t be me.

In typical Anna fashion, crunch time came at the least convenient moment, just before we were due to go on a planned holiday to Samoa. (Before you ask, we totally cheated and flew rather than sailed. We’d need a bit longer than 10 days if we were going to try something like that!)

No time was going to be a good time to switch, so my choice in terms of going on holiday was –  wait until I got back, knowing there was 100% likelihood of feeling crappy while I was over there, or start beforehand with the small hope that I might actually feel a bit better. Not much of a choice I agree, but in the end I went with the latter.

This involved weaning myself the old happy pills, a couple of days of no happy pills and then gradually building up the new happy pills – which meant a fair bit of time with Anna’s brain not having enough happy juice. I was a bit scared, but I had done it before, and I knew it would be okay eventually.

Harry Potter and the Customs Official

‘Swish and flick!’

One of the joys of having an anxiety disorder is that you fixate over every possible way anything could go wrong. If you are under-medicated and have an anxiety disorder it’s like that on acid (not that I ever tried acid, my brain was already fizzy enough!).

We were flying to Samoa from Auckland and circumstances meant that Paddy would be there before me (in Auckland, not Samoa), so I was going to catch a red-eye from Wellington and meet him at the Auckland International Terminal.

So of course my brain got busy with all the things that could go horrifically wrong before we even got out of the country. I stayed on the boat the night before to be closer to the airport and, after very little sleep (except for enough to have a nightmare that Wellington Airport was fogged out and no flights could leave), I got there ridiculously early and everything went super smoothly leaving me with an hour to kill. So far so good…

Turbulence on the flight to Auckland made me a little bit jittery, but it was nothing compared to bouncing around in the middle of the Pacific Ocean (which is what I kept telling myself as I gripped the armrests.) I arrived safe and sound and made contact with Paddy to let him know I was about to head through customs. He told me there was plenty of time, but as far as I was concerned there wouldn’t be plenty of time until I was sitting at the gate waiting for them to call our seat numbers.

Customs went fine at first, I was waved through the people scanner, got most of my stuff, then noticed my handbag was heading away from me down the Naughty Conveyor Belt for Naughty People Carrying Naughty Things. I signaled to the customs officials that it was mine and they waved me over.

I stepped towards them and they were all “stay behind the yellow line please ma’am”. This was serious, I couldn’t even check to see if time was running out for my flight because my phone was in my handbag!

It was actually the second time this had happened recently, the first was when I was visiting my sister and new niece in Brisbane, but they found nothing then.

After confirming I had packed my own bags I joked (because that is what I do when I am stressed or nervous) that it might be my good luck troll. For those of you who don’t know me: My name is Anna and I never travel without a troll.

The customs official said “no, but I can see the troll, it looks quite funny!”

“Can I have a look?” I asked excitedly, forgetting I was still under suspicion.

I mustn’t have looked too dodgy because he let me lean over to see.

There she was, smiling benevolently up at me through the x ray. ‘Get me out of this Cal! (Short for Calorie, a story for another time),’ I thought frantically at her. ‘We’ve got a flight to catch!’

Cal the good luck troll (spoiler- as you can see we made it safely to the Pacific and she became TropiCAL)

After a bit of scruffling around and finding nothing, he finally said “What we are seeing is a pointed metal rod with sort of bumps all the way down it.”

I let out a massive sigh of relief. “I know exactly what it is. It’s the Harry Potter wand on my keyring!”

Instead of looking at me like I was a crazy person, he dug in deep, grabbed my keys and said ‘So it is! And it’s not just any wand. It’s the Elder Wand!”

(It’s totally a knock off of the Elder Wand, but I’ll take it).

It was a ‘graduation’ gift from a Wizarding Academy steam train trip I took recently with my Mum, two of my best friends and not a child among us – because #adulting. (Important note to anyone else who went on that trip. Take the wands off your keyrings if you want to fly internationally.)

Wizarding Academy graduates – adulting at its best!

It turned out Mr Customs Official was a massive Potter geek and had just returned from Harry Potter World (I didn’t catch whereabouts, I was still a little flustered).

He preceded to wave my tiny wand around *, showing his fellow customs officers the proper ‘swish and flick’ motion and trying to cast Alohamora.

I was massively relieved and glad to have provided some entertainment and found a kindred spirit, but I was also all ‘dude, flight to catch!’ I didn’t say that out loud though because I was still so relieved he hadn’t pulled out the rubber gloves.

In the end he gave me back my wand and my troll and I made it to the gate with time to spare and a story that I probably found much more entertaining that Paddy did.

* Yes I am aware of how that sounds. If your inner 14 year old boy is as vocal as mine, just google ‘Harry Potter wand replaced with wang’ and get it out of your system.

That’ll keep you going through the show
(with apologies to Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb)

Sometimes you don’t realise you haven’t been feeling anything until your emotions come back and you start Feeling All the Things.

It’s like when you stub your toe or otherwise bang yourself up. You feel nothing for a split second after you injure yourself (mostly because you are in a wee bit of shock) and then EVERYTHING IS FIRE AND PAIN.

As I mentioned in my book (which you should totally buy if you haven’t already because half of the proceeds go to the NZ Mental Health Foundation – see I can do product placement!) I have the cray-cray trifecta – obsessive compulsive disorder, anxiety and depression.

The anxiety is pretty easy to identify because you jump every time a spider farts, but the depression is a creeper and often you don’t realise you are going through it until it has its claws well hooked.

Paddy noticed I was sleeping a lot at home, but I just put that down to having a pretty full life. That was really the first sign. The second was that I had stopped feeling. I was making my way through life fine, but I didn’t really feel happy or sad, or anything really. I was numb.

It wasn’t until I was unwinding in a tropical paradise that I realised just how long I had been like that, and I realised it because I suddenly started to feel things again.

Something really silly made me cry. It might have been something in a book I was reading, or I might have lost something, or I might have stubbed my toe – I honestly don’t remember other than it was pretty minor – and I suddenly realised I hadn’t done that for a really long time.

That opened the floodgates.  I’d get really involved in a discussion, I’d read something that resonated in a book, I’d see a cute cat on the internet and I would start bawling. It seems perverse that feeling sad can actually be a good thing but when you have felt nothing for so long it really, really can.

The first couple of days were a bit rough. Different people deal with depression in different ways and different approaches can work at different times for the same person. There is no right or wrong way to do this, so please don’t take my coping strategies as gospel, I might have different ones next week.

You often hear people talk about ‘battling depression’ and often that can be exactly the right thing to do. Fight the bastard. Throw everything you have at it. Don’t listen to a lying word it has to say.

Sometimes though you just don’t have the energy to do that, and that’s okay too. Sometimes you need to know when to stop and regroup, to recharge and get your energy back to kick it to the curb. That’s when I find myself sinking into it, just curling up and letting the feelings wash over me, acknowledging them but not fighting them. Sometimes that can take their power away.

Of course from the outside that looks a whole lot like curling up in a ball and feeling sorry for yourself, and when you are in a tropical paradise that some people might never get to see, that seems rather ungrateful and something you should feel ashamed about.

Now that I am out of that ball and feeling recharged and ready to face what’s ahead of me I can tell you that’s absolutely not the case, but it can be a tricky argument to win with yourself at the time.

When you suck at being a VIP

Before anyone tells me what I missed out on, this is not the first time I have been to Samoa. Around 10 years ago I visited Upolu, Savaii and even American Samoa and saw some stunning places, had awesome experiences and met some lovely people. I particularly recommend Savaii if you are thinking of going there yourself, it is absolutely stunning.

This wasn’t meant to be an adventure holiday, it was more of a stop, drop and flop affair. Somewhere warm to go and do absolutely nothing to stave off burnout in our real world.

So for the first time I stayed in a proper resort. To be honest, and I really hope this doesn’t come across as privileged and ungrateful, I’m not really a huge fan. Don’t get me wrong, it was absolutely lovely. We had lovely air conditioned rooms in a gorgeous setting with BATH TEMPERATURE ocean water just outside, the food and people were lovely, but I’m just not that crazy about people running around after me like I’m some sort of VIP.

I know it’s their job and if they didn’t do it they wouldn’t have one, but I just find people serving me and cleaning up after me a little hard.

I think I might have been a bit hyper-sensitive to it because I wasn’t 100% and I kind of just wanted to be left alone. But every day staff were desperate to get into our room to tidy up and, even if we left the ‘do not disturb’ sign up, they just circled until they had the opportunity to. I understood why after a couple of days, when it turned out hours later a manager would come in to check that the first lot of staff had done their job properly.

That didn’t sit super well with me, and is also a little hard when you are already feeling a bit guilty and ashamed about being busted taking a two-hour depression nap in the middle of a beautiful sunny day. I know it’s silly and that people who are on holiday rest a lot but, trust me, depression isn’t big on making a whole lot of sense.

Sometimes superpowers aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.

Voices by the pool

One of the side-effects of going through the medication switch at a resort is that I now know far too much about the people staying there.

I know that three Australian men were there on a racing trip (though I’m unsure what type of racing) and that they were rather fond of the local beer. I know that the kid two tables down from us hadn’t slept for three nights in a row (and I felt terribly sorry for his parents), I know that the woman at the table behind us was headed to Tonga but something her son was supposed to do back home hadn’t been done – and I learned all this in about 10 minutes, while trying to have a conversation with Paddy.

I first experienced this when I was 15 and diagnosed with All the Things. At the time I thought I was hearing voices or had suddenly developed the ability to read minds.

I would be in the supermarket and suddenly be assailed by inane conversations.

“This brand is cheaper but Frank likes that brand better.”

“Susan is a total skank!”

“I told you we were running low on petrol two days ago.”

I would hear all these things simultaneously until I wanted to scream “just put the house on the market Janet – it’s not going to matter if you buy new curtains or not!” at the top of my lungs.

When I told my head doctor about it I was convinced I had developed some sort of unwanted psychic superpowers. “You know, like when Superman got overwhelmed by being able to read everybody’s thoughts until he got control of his powers?”“

No,” she said, disappointingly. “You are not turning into a superhero.”

So much for silver linings!

She explained the fight or flight wiring in our brains, which kept us alive when we lived in the jungle and every cracking twig could be a bear creeping up on you. This was useful when humans were more regularly potential bear snacks, but not so much when you are in the supermarket buying yogurt.

As humans became less likely to be lunch, this hyper-vigilance faded. But those of us with anxiety and out of whack brain chemicals didn’t seem to get the memo. So here I was, in a tropical paradise, drinking pina coladas while utterly convinced there was A BEAR RIGHT BEHIND ME all day, every day. We don’t even have bears in New Zealand, and I’m pretty sure they’re not native to Samoa.

Once I got this under control the first time (and I will again) it actually became a useful skill as a journalist. I had developed bat ears and often conversations inadvertently tuned into, grew into promising story leads.The moral of the story is, don’t whisper things around me, I will automatically tune in, whether I want to or not. Also, that colour really does look good on you, you should totally buy that dress!

Anna’s list of things that help when you are going bonkers in the tropics

There is most definitely a light at the end of this particular tunnel. I am not better yet, the drugs still need tweaking, but I am getting there.

The fact that I am writing again is a pretty good sign. In fact, I wrote most of this while we were away, which is an even better sign. I find writing down the things that have helped me through a wobbly patch is useful for the next time things go bumpy, so here’s my list this time round:

  • Sending silly messages to my family Whatsapp group chat, and seeing what they are up to (particularly looking at photos of my wee niece and grossing my sister out with photos of my Crocs)
  • Island cats (none of which were as beautiful and snuggly as my beloved at home of course!)

Island meows!

  • Swimming in bath temperature warm ocean water

32 degrees!!!

  • Having breathing space to write again and actually feeling like doing it (it took four days before I was in the right headspace but I got there!)
  • Umbrella drinks
  • Putting umbrellas from said drinks in my good luck troll’s hair

Tropical flowers that look like fuzzy Muppet caterpillars

Muppet flowers!

  • Reading three books in 10 days – a record, which is a shame because I love reading, I just never take the time to do it.
  • Wearing pretty summer clothes (that probably won’t come out again until the next holiday)

I got Paddy in orange!!

Paddy – for being right there with me while I slept, wrote, stalked island cats and put umbrellas on my troll. Love you babe!

Paddy in training for the 2019 International Competitive Hammocking Championships

 

Where to get help if you need it (in NZ): 

Need to talk? Free call or text 1737 any time for support from a trained counsellor

Lifeline – 0800 543 354 (0800 LIFELINE) or free text 4357 (HELP)

Suicide Crisis Helpline – 0508 828 865 (0508 TAUTOKO)

Healthline – 0800 611 116

Samaritans – 0800 726 666

The Mental Health Foundation of New Zealand also has a great list of specialist helplines which you can find here:

Mental Health Foundation of New Zealand helplines (mentalhealth.org.nz) 

Getting back to nature – whatever it throws at you

This year’s mental health awareness week’s theme is Nature is key – which would be great if nature wasn’t being so bastard cold at the moment *

(*When I started writing this blog Wellington was behaving awfully weather-wise. It has since bucked its ideas up but I can’t be naffed changing my intro or cover pic. Nice one Wellington – keep up the good work!)

In all seriousness though, they’ve put together some pretty cool material to remind people not to get buried in things and to look to nature to support mental health and wellbeing.

One of the things they have produced is a  little green N sticker to put over the N on your keyboard to remind you to take a break and go hang out with the grass and woodland critters. It’s a great idea in theory, but I’m a bit of a keyboard masher and N seems to be right in the firing line – so mine kind of looks like this now.

Sorry N key!

Hopefully it stops raining for long enough to go outside before I wipe it off the face of my keyboard. (See asterisk above).

It might seem a bit tree huggy, but there’s actually something in it all. When I’m having a hard time with anxiety, one of the best things I can do is just drop everything and go for a walk. Blowing out the cobwebs by moving is a great distraction when your brain is trying to eat itself. Going to the gym is great but sometimes you just can’t deal with other people – going for a walk around the harbour (even if it is head first into a gale force wind) can be much more healing.

I discovered the benefits of getting out and walking when my OCD was bad all those years ago. I would get to the point where I couldn’t stay still. I couldn’t stand still, I couldn’t sit down I just had to get out of where I was. Walking through botanical gardens, parks and along beaches saved me in a lot of ways and the friends and family who walked with me (when I was up to dealing with people) even more so.

Gardening is now one of my go-to’s (a genetic predisposition from my Mum). I can spend hours playing in the dirt, freeing plants from weeds and vines, talking with worms and helping things grow. It can be very zen in some ways but great when you are frustrated too. Sometimes the more violent the gardening the better. Hacking up blackberry and ripping out weeds by the roots can be exceptionally satisfying.

Blackberry slaying therapy

Getting away from the dirt – I guess, if you think about it, heading out to sea is about as close as you can get to nature. While it wasn’t always super relaxing – and at times rather traumatic -our trip around the South Pacific in Wildflower also provided me with some of the most peaceful moments oof my life. A night watch on a still night can be stunning. When there is nothing but sea, stars and fluorescent algae to keep you company, nothing but waves and the Milky Way, there is nothing more beautiful. It is one of my go-to images when I feel stressed out.

Speaking of images, the Mental Health Foundation also has a photo challenge going, which I am having a go at this year. You can check it out here:

Mental Health Awareness Week photo challenge

If you’d like to have a look at my pics you can find me on Instagram as Seamunchkin, @Seamunchkin on Twitter or check out the Which Way is Starboard Again? Facebook page. Let me know if you are taking part, I would love to see your photos too.

The best thing is you don’t have to be officially cray cray for this sort of thing to help. We all lead highly stressful lives in one way or another and sometimes we just need to be reminded that there is a world out there. That outside of that meeting you were in, that difficult class you  took  or that politician that annoyed you on the internet, there’s an ocean and stars and trees and flowers and dirt.

I’m not saying going outside will fix everything. If it did I would spend much more time out there than I do. Treating mental health is much more complex than that. It may involve  talking with people or in some cases, like mine, medication.

That’s why I get so mad when I see those stupid memes about how hugging a tree is better than medication. You know the ones – I’m not giving them the airtime of reposting. There is a great response by the wonderful mental health advocacy website The Mighty that I will share though:

To the Person Who Made a Meme Calling Depression Medication ‘Sh*t’

Like everything, it is all about balance.

So kudos to the NZ Mental Health Foundation for encouraging people to think about their brains as well as their bodies.

I know I bang on about it a lot but mental health support in this country needs so much more support than it gets. I am so glad it has finally become a political issue. It affects so many of us and we need to stand up for ourselves and each other and push it where we can.

In the meantime, if you have anything to spare, I highly suggest sending it the Mental Health Foundation’s way. They need all the support they can get.

As always, 50% of the profits from Starboard physical book sales are going to them so if you want something to read and a warm fuzzy feeling feel free to push the button below ($10 sale is still on)

Note: The super funky image at the top of this blog is called Rain and wind. It’s by jaci XIII, and was created for the Kreative People Challenge 59  CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

1000 subscribers! Let’s have a sale! (proceeds to NZ Mental Health Foundation)

I’m super excited to see that 1000 lovely people have subscribed to this blog (especially since I have been a bit rubbish at regularly updating it of late) and a big wave hello to the new followers on the Starboard Facebook page!

This is an awesome surprise and a good wake up for me to share more with you all.

To celebrate I’m selling signed paperbacks of Which Way is Starboard Again? for NZ $9.99 with free postage in New Zealand.

50% of the proceeds still go to the New Zealand Mental Health Foundation  . Mental health is severely underfunded in New Zealand and this is a fantastic organisation that deserves all the support it can get.  I have already made our first donation of $200 so thank you so much for everyone who has been a part of that.

For those of you who would like to donate more the $19.99 full promotion is still available and there is more information about it here

Mental Health Foundation fundraiser 

You can also purchase it, and other cool stuff, through the Mental Health Foundation website (where they have also done a really cool review!)

NZ Mental Health Foundation – buy useful stuff

If you live outside of New Zealand and are interested in buying a copy, drop me an email at whichwayisstarboardagain@gmail.com and we can sort postage. The book is also available on most ebook platforms, but I don’t have control over the pricing of those. Do shop around though, I have spotted it on sale at different sites. At the moment Amazon has it at $6.59 

In other news, book number two is definitely on the way and I will share a sample with you shortly. I am also investigating turning Starboard into an audio book, I just need to get my head around the technological side of that!

Will keep you posted.

Again, thank you so much for the support. It might just be a matter of pressing a subscribe button, but it means an awful lot to writers like us – so yay you!

Happy pills – the changing of the guard

Disclaimer: I know there will be people reading this who don’t think medication for mental health is a good idea. That is your prerogative. I have tried living both with and without it and have come to an informed decision that I would rather be a functioning human being on cray cray pills than the wretched creature I am without. Please don’t send me articles about side effects and studies saying they will turn me into an evil alien cyborg. Trust me, I have read them. This is not a blueprint for everybody. It’s what works for me. Please respect my decision.

Right, now that that’s out of the way;

I have been on my little blue (sometimes green, sometimes purple and blue) happy pills off and on for 20 years.  I found something that made me able to function and achieve in the world and eventually I stuck with it.

Last year my old faithfuls stopped working.

It didn’t happen suddenly. In fact it took me quite a while to actually work out what was going on.

I’d have little ‘episodes’ completely out of the blue. I would be happily going about my day, then have a screaming anxiety attack. My jaw would start aching, then I would realise I had been clenching my teeth for an entire day. I would feel really low and lethargic for no apparent reason or I would be overcome by unaccountable rage.

It wasn’t until I started experiencing OCD symptoms again that I realised something was really up. It was just the preliminary stuff – having to stop myself from repeatedly checking whether the door was locked or the iron was on, counting, having to repeat certain phrases a certain amount of times or something bad would happen – but i knew if I didn’t do something about it things were only going to get worse.

Even then, it wasn’t until I talked with a friend who had been through something similar, that I worked out what might be going on.

Like everything, there are differing opinions about this, but for some people – my friend included – once you reach a certain age (in my case *cough* mid-30s) the meds can stop working as well. The colloquial term is ‘Prozac poop out’

It certainly doesn’t happen to everyone, but I was pretty sure it was happening to me. I was put on fluoxetine when I was 15 years old and there are many different drugs out there now, so I figured it might be time to give something new a try.

My GP wasn’t keen to change my prescription without an expert opinion, so off I went to an incredibly good (and incredibly expensive) head doctor. It’s crazy (‘scuse pun) that you have to spend so much to access decent mental health care in this country and so wrong for people on lower incomes – but that’s another rant for another day.

Brain doc said fluox shouldn’t conk out but agreed that something wasn’t working in my case and thought something different might be better for me in a lot of ways.

Enter sertraline (more commonly known as Zoloft) my new kid on the block.

I won’t lie to you, I was pretty scared. Changing something that has kept you sane for decades is bloody frightening. I remembered what it was like in the black days when I was really bad and I was so afraid of going back there. But what I was doing wasn’t working anymore.

I did the switch over the holidays so it wouldn’t affect my work in any way and I’m glad I did because the first couple of weeks were pretty awful.

I stopped the fluox completely and started with small but increasing doses of sertraline until I got up to what we thought would be a therapeutic level. There was a period of time, when one drug was leaving my system and the other just entering it, that i was definitely undermedicated. I was twitchy as all hell and would start hyperventilating and crying while making dinner for no apparent reason.  I was determined to stick with it though, and eventually it passed.

After the first couple of weeks I did begin to notice a rather surprising side effect. I had energy again.  I guess because I had been on the fluox for so long I hadn’t really noticed that my normal was pretty much a permanent state of drowsiness. It had become worse over the past couple of years but it had always been there.

I was on quite a high dose of fluoxetine for my OCD and one of it’s known side effects is that it comes with extra added sleepy. Considering how permanently wired I was when I started taking it this was a welcome side-effect. It meant I could sleep and make it through life without bouncing off the walls. Some people don’t like taking it because it makes them vacant and foggy in their mind, but I never had that. I was still myself and I could function without screaming.

What it did mean though was that, in the later years of taking it, I didn’t realise that fantasising about going home and going to sleep at 3pm every day was not normal. That sneaking off for a nap at any possible moment at any time of the day wasn’t something that everybody did. If I got home from work before Paddy did I would crawl into bed and try to sneak  some z’s before he got home. He told me later there were a lot of times where he thought ‘where’s Anna? Oh, she’s asleep.’

Over the past few weeks I have felt more awake and alive than I have in a long time. I’ve achieved so many things over the past few weeks that I have been putting off all year and I’m getting back into writing again. It feels amazing.

One of my friends asked if I felt ripped off that I hadn’t done this earlier, but I don’t really. I needed to calm my mind and body down when I was really sick. After years of terrible insomnia it was a blessing. It’s only really been the past few years that it has been a problem, and even then I didn’t realise that it was. I achieved some pretty awesome things during that time. I sailed and scuba dived, I wrote a book. I don’t feel ripped off, but I do feel better than I have in a long time now.

The only other side-effect I have noticed is insomnia, but that is definitely easing up now. And the funny thing is, I didn’t get anxious about not sleeping. Previously not being able to sleep would wind me up like a corkscrew until I had to knock myself out with drugs. I don’t feel like that now. I just read a book  until I eventually conk out, and when I do I stay asleep, which is a new and exciting thing for me.

It’s still early days, but so far I have been having very few anxiety symptoms and I’m not getting the breakout OCD stuff anymore.

I feel awake and alive and happy – so roll on 2017!

PS – shameless product placement.

50% of proceeds for Which Way is Starboard Again? now go to the New Zealand Mental Health Foundation. Just click here or drop me a line at whichwayisstarboardagain@gmail.com  

Which Way is Starboard Again? the book

Basket case

Last mental health awareness week I recycled my coming out of the cray cray closet blog but a lot has happened between then and now so I think it’s time for a new one.

One of the drawbacks of writing a book about being a functioning nutbar is that it puts a whole lot of pressure on you to be exactly that.

You’ve just gone and revealed your biggest weakness to a bunch of strangers.You have told people they can get through it because you have gotten through it. You’ve told them you’re okay so you have to be okay. Otherwise you’re a big fat fraud.

The funny thing is I was okay. Everything was going great. I’d had a book published, I’d made my dream come true. I’d been getting all sorts of great feedback, I’d been in the paper and on the radio, I’d done a bit of public speaking. My life was full and busy, but it was full of good things. There was absolutely no excuse for my brain to break.

In hindsight the warning signs were there. Things had been going so well for so long that I had slipped back into bad habits, I was staying up too late, drinking far too much coffee and having energy drinks for breakfast. Then I was wondering why I wasn’t sleeping. I was permanently wired – jumpy, paranoid, clenching my teeth and counting on my fingertips (an old OCD habit). I was getting slack about remembering to take my meds.

It’s exhausting being on edge all the time. Eventually you are going to crack – and I did quite spectacularly.

It had been a great day. I’d caught up with some very dear friends who were visiting from overseas. It was lovely and sunny so we started the day with a boozy brunch and went from there. We ended up back on the boat that evening. We had a brilliant catch up and loads of fun. Then everyone went home – and I kept drinking (I’m not a big drinker so this is quite unusual for me). I had decided I wanted to turn my brain off and that was how I was going to do it. When Paddy tried to get me to stop I shut myself in the bathroom with a bottle of wine (again, this is not normal behavior for me).

The night ended with me lying on the floor of the boat screaming unintelligibly and refusing to move. It have been quite frightening for poor Paddy. Eventually I crawled into bed, freezing cold, and passed out.

No surprises that the next morning I felt awful. But it was a frighteningly familiar kind of awful – the thick, black hole in my stomach told me this was no ordinary hangover.

I spent the day alternating between feeling like my heart was going to pound out of my throat and just feeling leaden. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to move. I felt empty and numb.

I finally had to admit it to myself – I was not okay.

I talked with Paddy, who had noticed I hadn’t been ‘present’ for a while. Like I was going through the motions but I wasn’t really there. It was such a relief to finally admit it.

It is so important to let people know when you are not okay, but it can be a massively hard thing to do. When I was a teen living with mental illness I didn’t know how to. I have a letter a friend wrote me when I was about 15 that I keep to remind me how important it is to communicate. It says “it’s like you are lying on the floor crying out in pain but not telling anyone where it hurts.” I couldn’t. I didn’t know how. But for the first time my friend got me thinking about how what was going on with me was affecting other people. I thought by bottling it up and keeping it to myself I was protecting my friends from having to deal with the mess in my head, what I didn’t realise was that what I was doing was even more frustrating and confusing. It took a long time and a lot of trial and error before I felt safe and comfortable sharing with people I cared about, but it was definitely the best thing for all of us.

So here I was admitting defeat and calling in the professionals. I called in sick at work the next day (one of the few times I have ever let myself do that for because of my mental illness) and visited my GP. I would have had no qualms taking the day off if I had the flu or a tummy bug but, despite my preaching in print, this was so much different. I couldn’t possibly show that kind of weakness, what if people thought I wasn’t going to be able to do my job?

There was no choice really. I had to go private. I could have gone into the public system but would have ended up on a waiting list – and when you are a sweating, shaking, twitchy mess, a waiting list just isn’t going to cut it. I was lucky,I could afford it. So many people can’t and that’s so wrong. I won’t start ranting about the state of our mental health system or I won’t stop, but I will say everyone needs access to this type of lifeline. There are good public services out there – they just need money and support so they are available to everyone, everywhere in the country.

My nerves about talking with my work about things proved utterly unfounded. They were great, and totally fine with me leaving an hour early once a week to take my brain in for a tuneup.

So I sat down with the head doc to see what we could do. We decided not to mess with the meds because they seemed to be doing their job, it was just me being rubbish about taking them. Instead we tried to unpack some things. We talked about what was going on in my life and every time I went down a new tangent she would gesture towards the carpet and mime putting something down. ‘Okay we’ll put this one in that basket and come back to it later. By the time we were done I was convinced she was going to run out of space on the floor for all the imaginary baskets.

“So basically you’re saying I’m a basket case then,” I dad-joked. This was to set the tone for most of my visits. We would talk about stuff, I would get uncomfortable and start cracking jokes. By session three she worked out we weren’t getting anywhere. Every time we scratched a surface I would throw walls up by trying to make her laugh.

In the end she said to me “you seem to have a real problem with having a mental illness”. I was outraged. “Don’t be ridiculous! I’ve written a book about having a mental illness, I tell people there is nothing to be ashamed of because, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Of course I don’t have a problem with having a mental illness!”

But I had to be brutally honest with myself – I did. I had to be okay because I had told the world I was okay. I’d told everyone that battling with your own brain does not make you weak – but I wasn’t drinking my own Koolaid. Do as I say don’t do as I do. It’s okay not to be okay, but not for me.

Realising that was a turning point for me. I actually started working on things. We reached a natural conclusion where most of the baskets were empty or at least only part full. I was looking after myself, taking breathers, easing up on the coffee and booze and getting my medication levels up again.

I still get twitchy at times but I am on top of it now. I’m enjoying life and I’m healthy again.

I guess my messsage is- and it really is – it’s okay not to be okay. The busiest, toughest, most outspoken of us are all allowed not to be okay and realising you aren’t okay is the first step towards fixing it – no matter how many invisible baskets you have to use.

PS – this is not a recipe to follow for everyone by any means. Talk therapy works for some people and it doesn’t for others, medication works for some people and doesn’t for others, exercise, getting out in nature, eating and drinking healthy -it’s the same deal. I find a combination of all three – meds, talking and making time to get out and about works for me, but none work on their own. It’s a process of trial and error and whatever works for you is totally legitimate.

Teenage me was actually pretty awesome

I’m packing up my house at the moment. There’s an exciting and scary and stressful and wonderful reason why I am, which I will write about once I’m done (and no it’s not the next sailing trip yet. Unfortunately El No No won that particular battle).

I couldn’t have picked a worse time to pack up my house – the boat is out of the water and demanding attention, Paddy and I are both busy with work and all sorts of other things keep getting in the way, but that’s the way it is.

Packing up my house and my life has also thrown up an added complication. It’s making me want to write. I’ve had a block for ages but now I keep finding things and thinking things and seeing things that make me want to stop and scribble. Of course I can’t – the best I can do is make notes and hope it will all still be there when I get a chance to stop.

I did find something tonight though that I really have to share. I have to share it because I have been witnessing people struggling with stepping back and seeing themselves for who they really are lately – both in the real world and online. People who don’t have the perspective right now to see that they are great.

It’s a silly thing and I haven’t really known why I kept it until now.

Back in the 90s when I left high school I was given a “work skills and personal skills” statement. It was basically a summary of a bunch of comments from my teachers about what sort of person I was. It was pretty quirky and informal and I suspect they don’t do things this way any more, but it made me smile so I kept it.

In my last year of high school I was going through a lot of crap. Normal teenage angst compounded with learning to accept and deal with having a mental illness. It was something only my family and closest friends knew about. When I think back I picture a scared, stressed out drama queen trying to cover up everything by being loud and cracking jokes. What I didn’t see then, and what I am only just starting to see now, was the strong, tough young woman trying to find her place in the world and not giving up when things got hard.

That was what my teachers saw.

Here are a couple of passages that will give you an idea of what I mean (an also a bit of an insight into what a stroppy little shit I was). The emphasis is mine.

“Anna has a very independent, individualistic approach to life and asserts her personality through rather unorthodox but quite spectacular means such as her frequent and eye-catching changes of attire. Although she has an idiosyncratic approach to life in general and school in particular, her ideas and behaviour are always positive rather than negative and narrow-minded. She is not influenced by currently popular fashions or fads and presents herself to the world as she wants, not as she thinks she should. 

Anna’s unorthodox approach and her witty, ironic personality means that she gets on well with a wide range of students, some of whom tend to regard her as an iconic figure around the school. Although she always speaks her mind (often forcefully and at some length) she is sensitive to the opinions of others, in fact, she is very interested in other opinions, even if she disagrees with them entirely.”

Teenage Anna was strong and stroppy and entirely herself. She was actually pretty awesome – it’s just a shame she didn’t realise it at the time.

I never thought I’d say this, but I actually aspire to be my teenage self again.

This is a weird sort of a blog, but I guess it’s a message to other teenage (and adult) me’s out there. It’s too easy to get wrapped up in negative perceptions of yourself and not step back and see the person you actually are. Sometimes it takes an outsider’s perspective (even if it is nearly 20 years too late).

It’s too easy in the panic and the stress and the pain to overlook all the good that you are. You don’t see what your teachers see, what your friends and your family see.

So please, just bear with my self-help hippy crap for a minute. Just take a step back, breathe and actually see yourself. You are pretty awesome.

Now I just have to learn to take my own advice!

Right – back to packing!