I think about writing a lot. It’s something that came naturally to me for most of my life. Pen to paper, scrawling so rapidly the words became lines. I still can’t read them but seeing them reminds me of the joy I used to feel, my head so bursting with ideas I couldn’t get them down fast enough.
Now days I type of course but the alacrity that the words come out is absent. I know the passion hasn’t gone. I think about what to write about all the time. Sentences form in my head developing into stories or paragraphs I start to get eager about. What I should do is jot them down right away. Keep a notebook on me for when I go on these little journeys and get them into the real world.
I used to do it all the time on my hot pink panasonic flip phone until it got stolen. Hey, I wonder what the person who stole my phone thought of the huge folder of draft text messages on the phone. I wish I still had them.
I don’t actually need a notebook. I’ve got my phone near me to write ideas as they come. The number of apps I’ve got I could even use talk to text, barely give my thumbs a workout at all. I just don’t and I have no idea why
I did manage to jot this down the other day. Not my writing style but writing does feel pretty awesome with a shiny gold pen.
Motivation of course is always the first trait I like to blame, or lack there of. I’m sure it’s a contributing factor. I started seriously thinking about writing earlier. Even picked up my phone.
Then it hit.
Elevated heart rate, an awful sensation running down my spine, breathing feeling jagged but sounding fine and little twitches in my legs. The beginnings of a panic attack for me.
The fear that washed over me was the worst though. The realization that I’ve become somewhat scared of writing. I can’t even begin to imagine what thats about but I’m sure it’ll be a high contender for top spot on my rumination list for a while. Ask me again in a few days and I’ll probably be able to give you a detailed and nuanced presentation.
I felt like a more productive way to deal with it was to just force myself to write something. Anything. And then publish it because of course sharing is caring. Mostly because I’m sure me not blogging for over a year is a heavily related. I wanted to blog, I just couldn’t. I’m going to be working on not making this my only post for the forseeable.
I’ve never been good at fashion. I’ve always had a fuller figure and clothes shopping has always made me depressed. Sometimes I find some gems but since having children I’ve gone to wearing what fits or what is comfortable which has the side effect of making me look even bigger and making my low self esteem even lower.
I tend to stick with dark colours. Or red for some reason which again, makes me look bigger. Also the eczema on my legs makes me insecure so there were so many clothes I ‘couldn’t’ wear for fear of being laughed at.
I’ve never been much of a makeup person. I like makeup, but I went through a long phase of feeling that was superficial (for me personally, I love it on others), I felt the same way about dressing well.
I knew the leggings were wrong but I still loved trying this on for the first time
I’ve put on makeup a bit lately. I’ve been so low for so long and I got the opportunity one day to wear some and a friend loaned me a beautiful dress and I felt like a different person. I felt confident, beautiful and strong. I had an amazing time that night. No awkwardness or feeling the need to hide behind my phone or fill in silences with stupid comments. I also got lots of compliments.
It’ll sound stupid but my mind I’d convinced myself that I was ugly and unimportant. My mind was blown by how a simple dress and a little makeup made me feel.
Lately I’ve been stepping out of my comfort zone with the clothes I wear. Dresses that suit my figure and hide my lumps and bumps. Colours I’d usually steer clear of. Two days ago I used a voucher I’d had for a long time and was avoiding using for the ‘god I look awful” and self hate comments that would follow. I found this white dress. It flows and from what I’ve heard from others thought it would suit my shape. So I decided to keep an open mind and give it a go. I was really unsure about buying it even though I thought it looked good but after sending a photo to friends I decided to get it. I even wore it without leggings because it was so hot.
I have never had so many compliments. I have never felt so good about myself. A simple dress and I feel like a new person. Sure, its just one dress and its not going to change my life, but the boost I have gotten from wearing it is amazing. I’ve learned recently that these things are not superficial for me. They help me. A little makeup, some nice clothes amd stepping outside my comfort zone. Its scary, but I’m going to try to take more pride in my appearance and boost my self esteem.
Since my post where I opened up about my anger problems that have stemmed from my post natal depression I’ve been all over the place. Some days I’m in control, most days I’m not. Some days I love my kids, some days I wonder what on earth possessed me to think that me, Katie, the girl who even as a kid wasn’t good with kids, should be a mother.
Some days I think I’m doing okay then all of a sudden I spend 10 minutes crying in the kitchen. For no reason. I cry a lot.
Most days I just want to give up. Everything else we do in life, if we give it a decent shot and it doesn’t work out we can just stop doing it. Well, I love those boys but I tried and I’m not good at it. It’s not working out. I’m not suicidal, but they would actually be better off without me. People say that’s not true but my boys need someone who can handle life, who doesn’t need to run away every five minutes. They need someone who doesn’t feel like ignoring them every time they need something. They need someone who wants to get out of bed and face the world.
They need someone other than me.
Some days are easier than others of course, but its so hard when I feel so useless. Having depression has impaired my ability to do so many things. I get overwhelmed by simple tasks I used to take in my stride. I don’t really eat much anymore because looking after my basic needs has become a task for the too hard basket.
These boys are my world and I am theirs, but I can’t give them the life they deserve right now and that really screws with my head
Being in maternal mental health unit earlier in the year was helpful for me, but it was a bandaid. I had 24/7 assistance and all I had to do was look after the twins. No cleaning, no cooking, no toddler. When I came out of the hospital I was doing really well but having to go from a relatively cruisy period of motherhood to having to manage a household, 3 children and continue my recovery with support from my family but not the system just didn’t work out for me and it wasnt long before I sank further down.
The problem with depression is recovery techniques are not a one size fits all. You’re supposed to take your medication, eat well, get exercise, make time for self care and get on with your life but when it takes everything you’ve got just to get out of bed and through the shower these things aren’t always possible. Of course you’re supposed to take baby steps, but sometimes those baby steps aren’t enough to keep you from falling further in the process.
Somedays it feels like I’ll always be sick. I don’t want that but depression and anxiety have been with me for as long as I can remember. Admittedly not as bad as this year, but when you’ve been sinking for so long its so hard to find that light at the end of the tunnel. I still know it’s there, I’m still doing what I can to try and find it, but what I wouldn’t do even for just a glimpse of it.
Not many of my sporadic posts lately have been very happy, but I do feel better getting the thoughts out of my head. So even though I’m not feeling the smiles and sunshine, I’ll still finish up with them.
I’ve had a lot of changes and struggles in the last few months and its led to a discovery and diagnosis of Excoriation Disorder. In short, people with this disorder pick at their skin. It is an OCD related mental illness. They pick off scabs and pick at perceived imperfections like skin tags and moles and other bumps or patches on the skin. Then they feel shame and disgust and it can stop them socializing and all sorts, especially when the scars and scabs are visible.
Ever since I was a child, I’ve always been obsessive about picking at scabs I got when I hurt myself. When my eczema came along it intensified. Obviously I spent far too much time scratching, sometimes unknowingly until I drew blood but suddenly I had an abundance of scabs everywhere on my body to pick at and squeeze pus out of. I knew it wasn’t a good idea but I just couldn’t help myself and aside from feeling like shit at the amount of blood and crap under my nails, all over my body and staining my clothes and bedsheets, I thought it was normal.
Since the twins were born my mental health has taken a massive nose dive. I have good patches, but for the most part I have been so low that I’m now at the point where I can’t even look after myself. And part of the reason for that is because my picking compulsion has started taking over my life.
In the past couple of months I have started picking at my Sebaceous glands. Not just picking at them, full on ripping them out. I wake up, attack them. I have a shower, attack them. Get in the car, attack them. Do some chores, stop several times during to attack them. Sometimes I pick for a few minutes, other times I’ll spend almost an hour picking away, pulling them out, shouting at myself to stop, ignoring myself and picking them out anyway. I’m constantly late because I literally cannot stop picking at myself (I’ve always been late but this is currently the only reason why) and it’s at the point where I can ignore my children I’m so in the zone with picking and its impossible to stop.
Thankfully I dont pick at my face but you’ll hardly ever see my legs and now my arms due to the damage I’m doing daily.
I get very sore because of the picking but also because I often have to contort my body in order to get at them. Once I’m done I feel sick, disgusted with myself, guilty for whatever has taken a back seat and adament it won’t happen again.
But it always does.
I googled skin picking and came up with Excoriation Disorder. Im not a big fan of self diagnosis, so I read a bit about it, became alarmed at how many symptoms applied to me, including some of the reasons believed to cause it and then decided it was time to talk to real people about it. So I joined an online support group, discussed it with some people who have been officially diagnosed and went to see my doctor.
I’ve been referred to the psych team. Excoriation Disorder being a mental illness, is mostly dealt with by talking therapy. Trying to get to the bottom of the compulsion. I’m assuming for me its stress related since my mental health has gotten so bad, but when I think about the fact that even as a kid I used to pick at my skin I think that addressing the issue, recognising it as not normal and actually getting some help is going to be a positive step that’s not only going to hopefully help me with the compulsions but also with my overall mental health.
I’ve found the online support group to be amazing. So many people posting photos of their picking episodes and talking about how it makes them feel, how they can’t help themselves and having people both recovered and going through the same thing offering support and advice. Even though it hasn’t done anything to alleviate the compulsions it has made me feel like less of a freak and and more determined to get help for it.
Depression is known for being depressing. Sad. Melancholy. Crying all the time. And for some people it is. The first couple of times I was depressed it was exactly like that with some anger and fear thrown in.
But depression is different for everyone and the reality of it is that sadness is usually the least of a depressed person worries.
Depression is a multi faceted beast with layer upon layer of complexity brewing below the surface, threatening to explode at any given moment from the most insignificant event when you were fine moments before.
It can be uncontrollable crying, but it can also be irrational anger that makes you lash out hurtfully at the people you love to be replaced by guilt or anxiety over the repercussions of your heated actions or words once the energy has subsided. It’s feeling picked on and victimized even with little provocation.
It can be moping around the house all day but with that often comes a paralyzing fear of the unknown world outside. You’re so filled with dread about who you might see or what horrific event will occur sometimes even opening your eyes in bed seems like the tallest mountain to climb over.
It’s feeling everything and nothing. Feeling scared, angry, sad, alone, worried, but also feeling numb. Detached from the world, not caring about anything, if you weren’t wound so high from constantly resisting your flight or fight reflex you’d almost be bored.
Oh yeah and never being able to relax from constantly fighting the urge to rage and run away or keep on battling until all energy is gone.
Except there probably won’t really be any energy. Not that can be used for something constructive anyway. All energy is reserved for worrying about events that may or may not happen and the million different outcomes that could follow. Or worrying about how you didn’t stop to help that lady who tripped on the footpath as you biked home from school and hoping shes okay even though you saw two men rush to help her and she was probably 80 at the time. Or if you’re lucky enough to not have anxiety, it often takes all your energy to get out of bed and migrate to the couch.
It’s feeling helpless. Useless. Self loathing is rife but so too can be feeling hard done by and left behind by your peers, judged and stigmatized. You place so much stigma on yourself that dealing with societies stigma just goes in the too hard basket and you retreat into yourself more.
Heavily depressed but look at that smile
It’s wanting to sleep for months but constantly feeling tired and run down. The brain fogs over and the ability to concentrate becomes a distant memory. It’s lying awake all night worrying or feeling exaggerated loneliness or fear.
It’s moments of clarity. Some days you wake up refreshed, raring to go. You jump out of bed and take advantage of this new found wonderful feeling. Until halfway through the shower when the energy runs out and you revert back to hiding under the covers.
Its laughing with friends and having a wonderful time then feeling like an absolute dick after and berating yourself for it. It’s making plans with friends and being excited about them then making up an excuse on the day because the thought of seeing people is enough to make you hyperventilate. It’s making plan after plan of how you’re going to get better but never following through with any of them.
For some people, it’s about not wanting to live. Or the lesser permanent feeling of just can’t be bothered living but also can’t be bothered ending it.
It’s a whole bunch of can’t be bothered.
It’s hating yourself for being lazy because you’ve suddenly developeed an ability to function like an adult. The dishes pile up, the floors become an obstical course and it’s not long before the state of your surroundings overwhelms you and you get even more messed up. You don’t know where to start so you just don’t. Then hate the state of the place and repeat. Or its the opposite. Constant cleaning, tidying, never satisified and unable to rest due to the “pigsty” you live in.
I’m really just scratching the surface here. Depression for most of us is everything but sad. Good days, bad days and everything in between. It’s hard to explain because you can’t understand it yourself in the moment. All you know is this feeling will last forever. Well, you’ve convinced yourself it will. But it won’t. You’ll flick through all these different emotions on a daily basis until you find the strength to pull yourself out and be well again.
I’d like to say that my upward spiral continued, but I’d be lying. After having over a week of good days and not feeling overly depressed, I sank back down and have spent the last few weeks struggling.
Mr Miles
Not as bad as I was when I was admitted to the maternal mental health unit, but a lot lower than manageable. I canceled appointments with outpatients, skipped my support group to the point where one of the facilitators came over to my house to help me get the boys ready to ensure that I went before I missed 3 in a row and spent a few days in bed.
I also had a cracked phone screen which made typing a giant pain in the ass, but realistically that was only a small part of why I haven’t posted much.
Mr Mason
I dunno. I guess I just feel like people don’t want to hear about how I’m feeling low all the time. They want the positive, happy days where I can share how great things are.
Well that’s a load of shit and I’m sorry. My followers deserve better than that. They deserve honesty and no sugar coating. After all, isn’t that why you all started following me in the first place?
So anyway, it’s been a rough few weeks. Not a lot of tears but a few unnecessary tantrums and a lot of no energy and not wanting to do anything. It’s really hard to claw your way back up when you’ve fallen so low after such a good patch.
A bowl full of goodness
But I realised my eating hadn’t been great. It’s hard, the boys eat well but I usually just shove what’s quick and easy in my mouth to quell the Harrys and when you go for a few weeks without something fresh or green, it takes its toll.
So I decided that if nothing else, I needed a side salad with dinner each night. And it only took a couple of days before I was motivated enough to get on with life. In no way cured, my eating is still all over the place, same with my mood, but it’s amazing how a bit of freshness in your diet makes a difference. Well for me anyway.
I’ve been home from the mental health unit for almost a week now and it’s been going really well. I haven’t had a freak out or an angry episode. We’ve stuck to the routine all but two days due to Zombie and I being sick, I’ve interacted and felt closer to the boys than ever before, I’ve slept well every night bar one and I’ve not felt overwhelmed once.
So of course the last couple of days Anxiety has burst through the door to remind me it’s still there and make me question why things are going so well. It MUST be time to cry, or yell, or have a bad day. You can’t have six good days in a row. That’s not a thing.
Then after two days of trying to ignore Anxiety, shouting over top of it, telling it in the least polite way possible to kindly leave, I woke up feeling flat this morning.
Anxiety smirked.
Anxiety is that annoying friend who says ‘I told you so’ every opportunity they get. Even when they didn’t tell you so. Anxiety is a dick.
I’m not saying Anxiety was right, but I do have to admit that waking up flat some days was always going to happen. Recovery from mental illness is not linear. There’s good days,, bad days, average days and days where moods go up and down faster than a toddlers.
Today wasn’t a bad day. I felt flat when I woke up and the familiar feeling of ‘I just don’t want to be a mum and have to DO things’ played on repeat for a while, but I knew we had places to be this morning so I got up and did things anyway. After being out and about for less than an hour I was feeling back to a pleasant more manageable mood.
Now I’m feeling pretty stoked because a month ago I would have stayed in bed. And if I did get up I would have huffed around in a sulk doing the bare minimum and basically sabotaging myself into an even worse mood. Funny how when we’re depressed we almost don’t want to feel better half the time.
But I do feel better and that’s what I’m trying to focus on at the moment.
I just wish Anxiety could have left me alone while I was going through my good patch.
Yesterday we had to go back to the hospital to pick up some things I left behind. On the way Raiden asked if we were staying there again. I told him no.
“Cos you feeling better?” He asked.
I told him that I was.
He then blew me away with this comment.
“You was feeling sad so you go hospital and then they make you happy so you come home with Raiden and twins.”
At two and a half years old this guy is incredible.
As soon as I was admitted I made the decision that I would never hide this from my children. They will grow up knowing what happened and that Mummy and Daddy did what needed to be done to make things better for our family. They will grow up knowing that mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of and when to ask for help.
At this stage we’ve kept it simple for Raiden and the twins are too young to understand but we will go into more detail as they grow. I’m so impressed at how he has understood and retained what we’ve told him and how well he has coped with the last few months. Kids are impressive creatures.
Day 23 at Mothers and Babies, the maternal mental health unit.
We’re going home a day early! The boys just have a tummy bug so nothing major, but we still have to be in isolation to prevent the spread of disease so they suggested I might like to go home instead of being stuck in a tiny room all day.
So I did a rush pack, loaded the car and now we’re home! Still have to go in tomorrow for my discharge meeting and I’ll still be an outpatient for a while but it feels so good to be able to get on with life.
I’d just like to say a big thank you to everyone who has read my posts, commented, messaged, followed my blog and cheered me on. It’s been an amazing help to have such a positive response and also to know that I’ve helped people gain the courage to ask for help.
I won’t be posting daily updates anymore, but I will still blog and use Instagram/Facebook to show how I’m doing and what’s going on as I know my journey is far from over, the real work begins now, maintaining my mental wellness, but I’m confident that we will cope with any hiccups.
Day 22 at Mothers and Babies, the maternal mental health unit.
At 7.30 tonight we got put into isolation. The boys haven’t eaten a lot today, there’s been a multitude of yucky poo and they just haven’t been themselves. So samples have been taken and because we’re in a hospital we have to keep to our rooms.
I am allowed out, but have to wear a gown if I do, which it’s far too hot for. If nurses need to go to the twins they wear masks, gloves and gowns. It’s probably just a simple tummy bug but we have to follow protocol.
So my anxiety is a bit raised at the moment. Depending on how it pans out we might not be going home on Thursday anymore. I’m trying to think positive and not catastrophize but it’s what I do best so I’ve been doing a lot of belly breathing and trying to distract myself in the meantime. It’s kinda working, but I’m glad it’s not far off bedtime because then I won’t have to think about it for much longer.
The Happy Healthy Kiwi 