Category: Mental health

Gators, guns and a new book

This is one of those blogs where I publicly announce I am going to do a thing so it forces me to do the thing.

The thing I’m referring to is another book, which I am in the process of writing (and now I have told all of you so I can’t back out).

I think it will just be an e-book this time. Though when I say ‘just’ an e-book, please don’t take that the wrong way.

Ebooks are great, I’ve read some brilliant ones. I’m talking more length really. I suspect I won’t have the material for a paperback as this story covers a shorter period of time. It’s more of a taster. I don’t think the process of writing and finishing it isn’t going to be any easier than it was for Starboard though!

Sorry sailors, but this time it’s not about boats – but it is about travelling.

I found that, next to the sailing and the crazy, quite a few Starboard readers picked it up because they were interested in travel writing. So this time I thought I’d give that a go.

This is going to be a story about travelling to the United States. A story about alligators, firearms, cowboys and an island that is home to more than 500 cats.

It is also a story about travelling there at a particularly unnerving point in time.

When we left the country’s president had just started lobbing bombs at Syria. While we were there North Korea’s leader was (mercifully unsuccessfully) launching missiles in our general direction and making all sorts of nuclear threats- it really was a fabulous time to be over there with an anxiety disorder!

Despite all the background excitement we had some fantastic, memorable, hilarious experiences, met some wonderful people and had many of our preconceptions challenged  (in both good and bad ways).

I’m going to tell you right now, I’m really nervous about writing about the US. There is so much history, culture and shared experience that I have not lived through and can’t possibly truly understand.

As a western tourist I am fully aware I am writing from a place of privilege. There are some heartbreaking things happening over there right now and I am writing about a holiday – but I hope I will be able to do some of the places and people we saw some justice.

Like Starboard, this can only scratch the surface. I wrote that book after living in the South Pacific for just a few months. In this case it was mere weeks. There is absolutely no way you can get your head around a country in that period of time.

It was a fantastic adventure though, and I am looking forward to sharing it with all of you.

My working title is Gators, guns and keeping calm – and, because I now know you need a tagline explaining what the book is about (thanks Starboard publishers!) – an anxious Kiwi’s guide to the United States of America

Though it’s early days yet and in a month’s time I might decide I hate it and go with something entirely different. Any better suggestions much appreciated – feel free to leave them in the comments 🙂

The trip was initially just going to be to Hawaii for Paddy’s 50th birthday (Hawaii Five-O styles) but then I discovered Tom Petty was going to be doing a tour in the states at the time we were going to be over there.

Since Petty to Paddy is like Bowie for me this absolutely had to happen. We worked out Texas was the best timed and placed concert, so I bought us tickets to his show in Dallas.

We thought Hawaii and Dallas would be an interesting enough combo, but then we got talking to travel agent friend and suddenly the trip grew.

So thanks to her the book now covers the following destinations: Hawaii – Waikiki, Maui and Lanaii (the island of 500 cats), San Francisco, Texas – Houston and Dallas and (the place I have wanted to visit forever) New Orleans.

Here’s some sample pictures to whet your appetite (and an entire album of cats for the cat people). I’m hoping if I go for e-book format I might be able to include a few more photos that I could with Starboard, but I’m not entirely sure how that sort of thing works. I’ll have to do my homework!

Lanaii cat sanctuary (an island with 500+ cats! Aka heaven)

Lanaii Cat Sanctuary

 

And a few others
 Leis and champaign Maui‘
Alcatraz
 Texas gun range
Texas drag racing
NASA
Space dinosaur
NASA spacesuit art project
Tom Petty playing Wildflowers in Dallas Texas
Tom Petty played Wildflowers! (The song Paddy named the boat after) You can listen to it here: Tom Petty – Wildflowers, Dallas Texas 2017
Bourbon Street New Orleans
New Orleans street boat
New Orleans Khris Royal
Swamp lady - gator tour
New Orleans gator
Anne Rice's house
Stalking Anne Rice’s house
New Orleans Lafayette cemetary
New Orleans - Lafayette cemetary
New Orleans, Which Way is Starboard Again? Karran Harper Royal
And finally some shameless product placement after lunch with the lovely Karran Harper Royal 

My brain is a basket of mismatched socks

Last weekend I lost it over a pile of socks.

It was a pile of socks I had been staring at for more than a year before finally trying, and failing, to do something with.

I used to have a system. When an odd sock came out of the wash I would put it in a basket in the corner of my room. Periodically I would upend the basket and paw through it, reuniting them with their mates.

I don’t know when the basket became a monster.

One day the multicoloured mess became insurmountable. I had so many socks I couldn’t close my sock draw and the unmatched pile had become a semi-dormant cotton volcano threatening to erupt.

Some of the culprits
Some of the culprits

The odd sock basket came with me when we moved to our new house – and sat there for a year.

It would glare at me malevolently, reminding me that we had been in our new home for 365 days and I still didn’t have my shit sorted.

The sock pile embarrassed me. I would shove it in a corner and forget about it for a while – then another odd sock would turn up.  I would promise myself I would take the basket upstairs, sit in front of the telly and sort the damned thing out – but then I’d be too tired from work, I’d have to cook dinner, there were cat videos on the internet that needed watching…

Yes I realise I was projecting onto the basket. My socky nemesis became a representation of all the things in my life I had been putting off doing. If I could conquer the pile of socks, then everything else would follow.

So that was what I was going to do last weekend. I was finally going to slay the sock monster.

I had a plan. I was going to watch Guardians of the Galaxy in preparation for seeing the second film before it finished in the theatres, dump Mount Socksuvius on the floor and sort it out while watching something that made me smile.

It all fell to pieces when I couldn’t make that happen. I missed the film being on television and was annoyed with myself for that, but that was okay because it was on Netflix -I’d checked the night before. Only it wasn’t,  it was only on Netflix US not NZ. I tried TV on demand, nope. Lightbox, nope. It was a 2014 film for chrissakes, it should’t be so hard!

This upset me much, much, more that it should have.

The problem with being a functioning nutbar is that you often have no idea what silly little thing will make that functioning stop.

OCD is like that for me. Most of the time I’m pretty flexible. If situations change on me I can go with the flow and find a way to make things work. Other times I plan things meticulously in my head and if things don’t conform 100% to that plan I get really upset – irrationally so. The worst part of it is, I know it’s irrational. That’s why it’s so frustrating. I know it doesn’t make sense to feel so upset, but that doesn’t stop me wanting to stomp my feet and pull my hair out.

There doesn’t always have to be a reason, but this time I think there was. I was a bit stressed, my circadian rhythms were only just starting to sort themselves out after returning from my first (non-sailing related) OE, I was trying to start a new writing project (more detail on that, and the OE, in the next blog) and it seemed my house and garden were falling down around my ears. I was trying to do all of things and achieving none of the things and now I couldn’t even watch my movie and organise my damned socks.

Chucking them out and starting again wasn’t an option. I have issues letting go. I like my socks – they’re interesting. They have cats and boats and skull and crossbones, stripes and spots and so many shades of orange.

Of course you can match cats and boats or spots and stripes, I do that all the time – and I have done that with as many as I can, but some are different sizes or different types. Some are gym socks, some are socks to wear with boots. It doesn’t always work.

Sock3

One of the upsides of having OCD is that, usually, this sort of thing is fun. I love organising books, sorting out nuts and bolts on the the boat, colour coding buttons – but for this one I have a massive block.

And what did I do with the ones that didn’t match? I didn’t want to put them in the landfill, I don’t think socks are recyclable and odd socks are a pretty stink thing to donate to an op shop.

Paddy, who had been stoically coping with my irrational anger and looming tears, came to the rescue with that one. Car enthusiasts use a lot of scrap material as cleaning rags when they are tinkering around with their automobiles. I could put the ones I wasn’t going to keep in a rag bag and chuck that in the clothing bin. No sock left behind!

As I sat there contemplating the pile in the middle of the floor and I had a sock-related epiphany.

The sockpocalypse (asockalypse?) I was staring at was a perfect metaphor for my own brain. It’s exactly what I imagine it looks like in there – an unruly pile of colours and textures that don’t always always do what they’re told.

A bright, beautiful pile of crazy that’s sometimes impossible to keep under control.

I love it and I hate it and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The best socks I have ever owned have all been bought for me by my Mum. They come in packs of three and either all of them match or none of them do. They’re interchangeable so it doesn’t matter if you lose one and I think they’re the answer for me.

The socks, like my brain, are a little bit different and help me do things in my own way.

Don't pair? Don't care!
Don’t pair? Don’t care!

I went out yesterday and bought  Guardians of the Galaxy on DVD so I can watch it any damned time I please.

The giant pile of socks is still there, it’s in the middle of the lounge so I can’t miss it.  I know it’s silly, but I feel like if I can get that under control I’ll be able to handle everything else.

I’ll get the house and garden sorted, I’ll start exercising again and I’ll write – a lot. Watch this space!

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

Rescuing my babies

Well it happened.

I got ‘the call’ from the publisher – Starboard has been out for a year and the copies they have left aren’t moving anymore.

With limited space in their warehouse it was time for the oldies to make way for the new kids, leaving me with the choice of buying up the stock they had left or letting them pulp the excess.

Because I couldn’t bear the thought of my first book becoming garden mulch, there really was no choice.

So I am now the proud owner of 22 boxes of my own book.

My book-babies
My book-babies

All up I sold just over 1000 copies, which isn’t too bad for a first book with a Kiwi publisher. Now it’s my job to move the rest.

I’m still fundraising for the Mental Health Foundation so if you or someone you know would like to contribute to that you can buy it here for $19.99, with 50% of the proceeds going to them  

If that’s not affordable for you though, just drop me a line at whichwayisstarboardagain@gmail.com and we can sort something out – I have plenty of them!

Seriously, I have plenty of them.
Seriously, I have plenty of them.

22-boxes-2

Other plans for this many books include; building a giant book fort and filling a pool with them so I can swim about in them ala Scrooge McDuck.

money-bin-gif

I was hoping to make one of those cool book Christmas trees you see on Pinterest but with copies of the same book but I ran out of time before Christmas (I suspect I will still have enough left to be able to do it next year though!)

Any other suggestions for what to do with a stupid amount of books would be much appreciated!

Please don’t think I’m having a cry here. As I said, I think Starboard went pretty well for a first book by a new kid. I just wasn’t going to let what was left be  turned into mush. Thank you so much to the thousand plus people who bought it, to those who bought the e-book, to those who got it out of the library and recommended it to their friends. The support has been amazing and overwhelming.

And yes, there will be more. I’m working on a couple of projects at the moment (fiction this time) and there will be a Starboard followup when life lets us do another big trip.

Will keep you posted!

Children, lift up your voice

I was feeling a little overwhelmed by the world last night and sat up writing a blog. I had literally just finished the draft of this when the earth started shaking and blue lights lit up the sky

I couldn’t work out whether it was a sign to publish or not. I could use a distraction though, so I’m going with publish. Warning though this is possibly one of the more emo things I have written

I know my readers come from all walks of life, from all over the globe and with many different points of view. I like that. I like that the readers I have met – be they sailors, mental health advocates, butchers, bakers or candlestick makers – all have their own experiences, their own stories to tell. I like that we can listen to each other and challenge each other, disagree with but still respect each other. That’s really important to me.

That’s one of the reasons why I very deliberately stay away from overtly political posts.

But just watching the fallout over the last few days, the hurt and the hate I am seeing on social media, I feel that silence is complicity.

What shocked me more than the result of the US elections was the immediate aftermath. Not the protests, but the hate.

People being assaulted, threatened with rape and told to go home at knife point because of their colour, their religion, their sexuality. College kids who think it’s okay to put on blackface and pose in front of a confederate flag. And these aren’t just isolated incidents. I’m hearing about it everywhere.

At first I saw this whole situation as a bit of a twisted joke – and yeah, I took part in the Trump memes. But this is real, this is ugly and it frightens me.

And yes, I know there are checks and balances. I know the system will protect itself and that the world really isn’t going to end.

That is not the point. The point is this is happening. All this hate. It’s like a lid has been lifted and people now have an excuse.

Looking at it dispassionately and can see how this happened. I can see why people voted the way they did. The disaffected, the distrustful, the people who are hurting financially, who haven’t had the support they needed from their government. People who have been suffering and whose voices haven’t been heard for too long. But you can’t tell me this is what all these people wanted. This hate, this fear? And the people who didn’t vote because they felt they had no real choice. I can’t believe this is what they want. I wont.

It struck me while listening to Nick Cave’s O’Children yesterday why this bothers me so much.

To me this is a song about the previous generation right royally screwing things up.

Forgive us now for what we’ve done
It started out as a bit of fun
Here, take these before we run away
The keys to the gulag…

…We have the answer to all your fears
It’s short, it’s simple, it’s crystal clear
It’s round about and it’s somewhere here
Lost amongst our winnings

The chorus feels a little hopeful though, which saves it for me (though knowing Nick Cave it’s probably not meant to be!)

O children
Lift up your voice, lift up your voice
Children
Rejoice, rejoice

When I was a kid I had an inherent belief that the generations before us had done just that – stuffed things up. The environment, genocide, wars where so many were sacrificed. I felt firmly that it would be okay because our generation understood. We wouldn’t let these things keep happening. It would be our job to fix it.

I did all the things you do when you’re young and idealistic – bullied my family into recycling, took part in and helped organise anti-war protests, wrote and shared truly terrible poetry. It would all be okay for the next generation. We were going to fix it.

Now I’m the previous generation and we didn’t fix it. If anything it has gotten worse. We didn’t save the world and I am so sorry.

It hit me like a tonne of bricks on election night when I watched a friend of mine’s young daugher say “Mum, is there a chance Donald Trump will get in?” and her Mum had to say “yes darling, there is.” The look of fear on her wee face broke my heart.

And yeah you can say I’m being melodramatic that, again, there are checks and balances. But you try looking at it through the eyes of a child. We’ve all been joking about building bunkers, about what could happen if Trump got the nuke codes. We know it’s not that simple, but children don’t pick up those nuances. They are seeing people on the news spitting hatred, talking about building walls, rounding up people and sending them away. You can’t blame them for being scared.

I remember another friend of mine, a bit older than me, who talked about living through the cold war saber rattling in his teens and thinking there was no point in studying or looking to the future because there was not going to be one.

We can’t let our kids feel like that.

I don’t care what your political beliefs are – they are allowed to be different to mine. But please, please don’t support hatred. Please call it out when you see it. Please love and support each other. People keep saying we are in for a rough few years. Prove them wrong.

Back to Nick Cave. Harry Potter geeks will know that O’Children was the song that Harry and Hermione danced to in Deathly Hallows Part 1. While they were facing the worst kind of violence, hatred and genocide – they listened to illicit radio and danced.

In the face of fear and hatred they fought back.

The same friend who is trying to keep her kids’ spirits up found this quote from Luna Lovegood

luna-quote

“We’re all still here, we’re still fighting”

And another friend this from Dumbledore

dumbledore-quote

“Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if only one remembers to turn on the light”

It put me in mind of another song by Jason Webley (which spookily enough started playing on my ipod on shuffle the second I started thinking about it) Dance While the Sky Crashes Down.

It’s also a bit dark but I love it. I love the idea of dancing while everything is going to shit.

But we need to do more than dance. We need to fight. We need to fight any hatred that comes out of this.

That’s all I can offer the next generation. The kids that are inheriting the mess that I inherited and didn’t manage to fix.

Don’t give up on love and hope and peace. Fight for it and we will fight with you.

Stand up for what is good and fair and right and we will be right there beside you.

“Lift up your voice”.

Starboard Mental Health Foundation fundraiser

Short version for busy folk – 50% from Which Way is Starboard Again? book sales will now go to the New Zealand Mental Health Foundation – you can get it here for $19.99

Reading the stories generated by Mental Health Awareness Week has been both inspiring and depressing.

It has been inspiring to see the strength of those living with mental illness and speaking out about it to remove the stigma, and depressing to hear about the state New Zealand’s mental health system is now in – particularly for young people.

I was lucky enough to receive excellent support when diagnosed with OCD, anxiety and depression as a teen (20 years ago) through the 198 Youth Health Centre in Christchurch (now 298 Youth Health) and the Youth Specialty Services there. I read a story in the Sunday Star Times about a Ministry of Health target that 95% of youth referred to mental health services have their first treatment within eight weeks. Thousands assessed as ‘non urgent’ are waiting longer than that. I honestly don’t think I would be here (or at least who I am) if I had to wait that long.

I know there isn’t a huge amount one person can do to help. If I wasn’t certain I would take it all home with me I would retrain and join the mental health profession.

What I do have though is a book.

Which Way is Starboard Again? the book

A book about living with mental health issues and going outside your comfort zone. A book about bumbling around the South Pacific on a boat and the amazing people we met there. A book that people living with anxiety issues have told me made them smile (which is by far the best review I could ever hope for) and a book I hope I can use to raise a little bit of money and awareness for mental health services in New Zealand.

So I’m now working with the awesome people at New Zealand’s Mental Health Foundation to see if I can make that happen.

mhf-logo-2

From now on, from every copy of Which Way is Starboard Again? bought through me for $19.99 50% will go to the Mental Health Foundation.

You can buy them here

or if you don’t use PayPal just drop me a line at whichwayisstarboardagain@gmail.com and we can sort something out.

The Mental Health Foundation will also be selling the book through their website and I’ll share the link when I get it.

So if you are interested or know anyone else who might be – point them our way. We would love your support.

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!

Oh no love, you’re not alone

I don’t want to write this. I don’t want to write this. I don’t want to write this.

If I write this it makes it real.

But if I don’t write it I feel like I will burst.

It’s ridiculous really, it’s not as though I knew the guy, but a huge part of my light and life has left this world.

David Bowie has been with me since he first mesmerised me in the Labyrinth when I was a kid (and caused me to force my parents to repeatedly hire it from the video store, though I knew it word for word.)

He was with me through my awkward teenage years – when I was at my most scared and isolated telling me I was ‘not alone’

Oh no love! you’re not alone
You’re watching yourself but you’re too unfair
You got your head all tangled up but if i could only
Make you care
Oh no love! you’re not alone
No matter what or who you’ve been
No matter when or where you’ve seen
All the knives seem to lacerate your brain
I’ve had my share, I’ll help you with the pain
You’re not alone

As a young adult navigating the murky waters of mental illness at a time when nobody talked about it All the Madmen from The Man Who Sold the World was a two-fingered salute to the rest of the world. It was okay, he got it. It was our secret.

‘Cause I’d rather stay here
With all the madmen
Than perish with the sad men
Roaming free
And I’d rather play here
With all the madmen
For I’m quite content
They’re all as sane as me.

David Bowie taught me that it was okay to be different. He taught me to embrace it, to run with it and see where it led me. That if I wanted to dress in orange paisley dye my hair blue and do ridiculous stuff on stage I bloody well could. If I wanted to blast Aladdin Sane when everyone else wanted to be the Spice Girls then I should, and at maximum volume.

I was fascinated by his influences, I discovered new (and old) writers, new music and art.

He was, he is, my best friend. He taught me to be me.

I have never met the man before but he has been with me for my entire life. Through gleeful celebration and abject misery. He graduated university with me and held my hand through journalism school. He’s sailed across the South Pacific with me and celebrated the publication of my first book.

In a way he also helped develop my writing style.

Back in the days of dial-up internet that sounded like R2D2 in a blender I discovered a world much bigger than my own. In trying to navigate this exciting new place where you could easily talk to people on the other side of the globe I joined a mailing list (do those even exist anymore?) called BowieList where, through group emails I was able to banter with a bunch of intelligent, funny and eloquent people from all walks of life, with the connection of our mutual admiration of Mr Stardust. I really looked forward to those emails, spending quite a bit more time on the university computers than I needed to ‘study’.

I enjoyed and appreciated the way these people wrote, the way they made me smile. I magpied the hell out of them and discovered a wittier more confident version of myself in the process. I made friends with some wonderful people who, while we are not in touch as often now, I still think about a lot.

I graduated to other Bowie groups, The Man’s own website Bowienet and even a proto virtual reality chatroom with avatars (Bowie did everything first) and I think this is where I developed my conversational writing style. I have so much to thank him for.

I also very much associate David Bowie with my Mum. It was her ‘best of’ album that I loved (and nicked) that led me to discover him.

We were lucky enough to see him in concert when he came to Wellington for the 2004 Reality tour. It was the most amazing night of my life. I don’t think I have ever felt that high. We’d gotten seats right up the front (of course) but as soon as I heard his voice I screamed like a banshee and ran for the stage – poor Mum managed to grab the back of my shirt and go with me, narrowly avoiding being left in the dust.

We were right up the front. There was a barrier, a security guy and then my Main Man. We couldn’t have gotten any closer if we tried. Typical inhospitable Wellington it was hosing down with rain but, while the band stayed where it was safe and dry, Bowie was out on the apron prancing about, getting soaked and having to have towels regularly thrown to him. He dedicated Heroes to us for sticking it out in the rain, but he was the hero.

Mum snuck a disposable camera in and managed to sneak a couple of pics before we were stopped. That’s how I will always remember him, looking right at us with that spectacular smile

Bowie reality Welly

 

Just last year Mum and I took a girls trip to Melbourne to see the David Bowie Is exhibition and I am so glad we did. It was incredible, everything I hoped it would be. We had a wonderful time.

Mum Ziggy and I

Bowie bar 2

Bowie beep beep

Just yesterday (before I heard the news) I was blasting out his new album Blackstar, marveling at how he was still making such challenging, haunting yet gleeful music.  That he was still experimenting, still twisting and changing, still messing with our heads.

When my sister told me last night I couldn’t breathe, it was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. If it wasn’t for Paddy letting me blubber all over him like a trooper I probably would have had an anxiety attack then and there.

I had to get out of the boat, I put my headphones on and walked round the waterfront playing Blackstar and finding new meaning in the lyrics. I oscillated between feeling completely numb and sobbing to myself like an idiot.

But even then I wasn’t alone. He was singing to me. It sounds silly but it felt like he was holding my hand.

I didn’t want to write this, but I feel a bit better now I have. I am also really touched by the messages I have been getting from family and friends who know how big the part he played in my life really was. I love that my facebook and twitter feeds are filled with Bowie, I love that everyone has a song that is special to them and they are all different ones. Everyone has a different place and a time where he really spoke to them and that makes me smile.

This isn’t goodbye Mr Bowie, Mr Stardust, Mr Jones. You will continue to be the soundtrack to me life and so many others. You have shaped who I am and that is never going to change.

You left the world on a spectacular note, you played us right to the end you clever boy. Keep on creating wherever you are, you’ll keep on inspiring down here.

‘This way or no way
You know I’ll be free
Just like that bluebird
Now, ain’t that just like me?’ 

 

Radio Gaga

(Sorry for taking so long to post these on here – life and lurghies kind of got in the way.)

Last month I ended up sharing more information about myself over the radio than anyone could possibly want to know.

The Nutters Club is a late night show that runs from 11pm to 1am on Newstalk ZB. Hosted by comedian Mike King, it describes itself as being a show about “Nutters helping other Nutters live at peace with themselves and others, so that we can all lead meaningful lives.”

The show’s producer had read Which Way is Starboard Again? picked up on the mental health angle and invited me on to talk about living with obsessive compulsive disorder and anxiety.

I was absolutely terrified, but the guys were great and made me feel as relaxed as I possibly could. Mike is a media personality who has been very open about his battle with mental health issues so he was a great to talk to and his co-host Malcolm Falconer, a really laid back and switched on psychologist, helped chill me out before and during the show.

Malcolm’s website psychd.co.nz has links to all sorts of useful and interesting stuff.

Nutters - Mike King and I
Nutters – Mike King and I

Once I got over the ums and the nervous giggling I think I did alright – although I did end up calling Paddy an old bastard on national radio. Mike kept talking about Starboard being the story of ‘a young woman meeting a young man with a boat’ – after about the 3rd reference I blurted out ‘actually, he’s not that young!’ explaining that there is a bit of an age gap between us.  Poor Paddy! He says he still loves me.

So here’s part 1 – I’ll forgive them for misspelling my name, it’s all good publicity!

Nutters Club Part 1

And if you are still awake after that, here’s part two. One of the best things of the second part of the interview was an amazing lady who rang in. She was 48 years old and had only been diagnosed with OCD and anxiety at age 44. I can only imagine how difficult things had been for her for many years. She rang to thank me for speaking about living with anxiety. She said she still had a way to go but that listening to me sounding so confident gave her hope. Now I’m not the poster child for getting through these sort of things. I still have my moments and no doubt I will have more in the future – but it was an amazing feeling to be able to help at least one person see that there is light at the end of the tunnel

Nutters Club Part 2

One of the things some people who were listening to the show at the time (and I was really surprised at how many people actually are listening to the radio at that time on a Sunday night/morning) complained about were the ads, and I can definitely see how they would be irritating to listen to,  but I have now seen it from the other side and for me it was actually the opposite. I found the ads were an immense relief, because it gave me a breather from constant babbling.

Because the show finished so late they put me up in a hotel near Newstalk ZB and the suite came with a complimentary bottle of wine. I had a few hours to kill before go-time but tried my best to resist the urge to drink the nerves away – I figured turning up sozzled probably wouldn’t be a good look. In the end I caved and had one medicinal glass, then put the bottle out of sight. By the time I got back from the interview though I was completely wired. It was 2am and I was wide awake, so I poured myself another. Then I remembered my good friend and primo cook Janie (who I had stayed with the night before) had packed me off with chocolate brownies to help me make it through the night. So there I was at 2am on a Sunday sitting by myself in a hotel room, glass of wine in one hand and chocolate brownie in the other, partying like an author.

Disclaimer: I was in bed and fast asleep pretty much 10 minutes later – rock and roll!