And exhale...

I'm back.

I'm sure you've all been holding your breath wondering what happened to me. Some of you may have worked out from my last cryptic 'Oh god, oh god, everything's turning to shit' post which I followed up with 7 months of radio silence that things were not going particularly well. Well, you were right. Your prize is in the mail.

I could give you the long story but it's long and my fingers are kind of tired, plus it's a total bummer! The short story is I was bad, I went to hospital, I got worse, I thought I got better, I left hospital, I got worse, I went back to hospital, we tried this drug, we tried that drug, I thought there were conspiring men hiding in my bathroom, I had my appendix out (not as a treatment for mental illness, I had appendicitis), I tried more different drugs, I started a treatment trial of TMS (Trans-cranial Magnetic Stimulation), I started a double blind trial of Mito NAC (N-acetyl cysteine), things started to improve but I was undergoing so many treatments that nobody knew why I'd improved, we didn't care, we threw our hands up in the air and danced to Kanye West.

Ok, that last bit only happened on Saturday night.

I could have blogged earlier but I was scared of the Internet and my days consisted of trying to get enough oxygen into my lungs to stay alive and not much else so it would have made for a pretty boring read.

Now, well, my life's a virtual treasure trove of interest and intrigue. I'm back at work at the MTC but keeping my number of shifts to a minimum lest my head explode and also to keep Centrelink off my back (I'm on the DSP (disability support pension) now. When I went for my interview I told the woman I'd been admitted to hospital 11 times in 2 years and she conceded that that might be a barrier to maintaining full-time work. It's great that I'm on it but the current government is gearing up to bend all DSP recipients over and collectively royally ream us so I'm not getting too comfortable).

I've been catching up with friends a lot lately and that has helped tremendously. I convinced myself in hospital that I was the loneliest, saddest, most unloved being to ever be shut away and forgotten about but it turns out my friends just didn't really know what was going on with me so they thought I needed to be left alone. Friends out there, for the record, even on my worst days seeing people who care for me lifts my heart a little. Please always feel welcome to visit me in hospital, even unannounced. But I also totally understand if you can't get past the overwhelming beigeness and lingering smell of antiseptic and stale cigarette smoke that goes with psych hospitals and just can’t force yourself through the doors. In that case just send a text. Or flowers. Or chocolates. Or money.

I need to send out a big thank you to my family (I'm sorry, this seems to have morphed into my Oscars acceptance speech) who stood by me through the worst and the weirdest of it all. I can’t ever repay them so I think the only thing I can do is try to stay well for their sake. Although thinking about it, if I can’t stay well for my own sake (like it’s a matter of will, anyway!?) then I’m sure I can’t for them. I don’t know then, maybe I’ll bake them all biscuits and give them nice socks.

So to summarise; was bad, better now, friends good, family great. I’ll delve into details of the whole saga at some later point in time if the mood so strikes me and I can find an interesting way to frame ‘despondently stared at wall for 7 hours’.

P.S. Oh, and happy Mental Health Awareness Week everyone!!!

Milestones

Cropping up in my life are a number of milestones which if I'm not celebrating I'm at least pondering over the most appropriate way to mark their passing. This week saw the 10,000 page view of my blog, this is also the week of the one year anniversary of my disappearance and fast approaching is my 32nd birthday.

I'm humbled and slightly bewildered to think there have been so many hits on this here blog. Of course I fastly believe that some of them are strange misdirects from porn sites, but I do also know I have a core of readers who I'm ever so glad keep tuning in.
I never would have started this blog if I hadn't gotten so sick and had such a public misfortune to which I felt I needed a public right of reply. As much as I like this blog, and I do, a lot, in the world of checks and balances having this blog doesn't even out against having gotten so terribly sick.

The one year anniversary of my very public demise. There's hardly an etiquette book on how to mark such an event. There is some eerie part of me that half expects I'll again go off the rails at this exact same time of year. Undoubtedly I'll just turn up to work same as usual and the day will pass as normal while my internal voice will be screaming 'Don't you know what happened to me just one year ago! How can you go on with your day?!' I've entertained the idea of taking myself out for dinner to celebrate having survived this last year because lord knows it's been an uphill battle most of the time.

I feel a bit the same about my birthday. 32 should really be one I celebrate since 31 has been such a bust and I genuinely felt at times I really wouldn't make it. I think I might have a quiet picnic or BBQ in a park since the weather will be getting warmer. I can invite just a select few friends and be surrounded by people who also understand how miraculous it is that I made it,

\With milestones comes reflection. I think when I look back on these last 12 months more than anything I reflect on how lonely they've been. Illness is hard. You experience it on your own regardless of how many people you have surrounding you. I think for the next 12 months I'm going to really focus on rebuilding my connections with other people and hopefully that loneliness will start to seep away. Despite ominous feelings of the past repeating itself I am feeling quite good and quite strong at the moment. I'm hoping this is the feeling I will take with me into the next 12 months and it will hopefully blossom into that state we call wellness. In the meantime I'm still taking things day by day and just marking the days worth mention.

Strength

There were some mean boys on the bus this afternoon. They stole another boy's laptop and then after he got off the bus they were laughing about another time when they stole one of his shoes. It made me feel glad that I'm no longer in high school but it also made me sad that I didn't feel strong enough to stand up to them and say something.

One of my favourite internet pastimes is a site called Pinterest. Pinterest is great, it's like an electronic pinboard for sharing images and links and right now mine is going berserk with all the American feminist pinners I follow sharing links on what's happening in places like Texas, Ohio and Kansas. It seems like a full-scale assault on women's reproductive rights. Alongside the political pins there are lots of inspirational quotes about standing up and making your voice heard and being strong. These sit uneasily with me because while I know I would like to be strong, I feel at the moment like I'm not and I don't have the power to stand up and make my voice heard. Is there a place in feminism for a weak woman? Is there a place in the world for a weak woman? And if not, how do I go about suddenly becoming strong again?

I feel like I'm trying my best at the moment. I'm medication compliant, attending therapy and support groups, getting enough sleep and looking after myself as best I can. This has taken me to the point where I feel I'm recovering, but still not yet well. I want to be well. I feel it will be my first step towards becoming strong but I can't force this state into being. I wonder if there'll be a day when I realise I've passed from recovering to well or if it's a day that will slip by and only be noticed in hindsight.

Until then I think I'll just be feeling slightly abashed that I don't have more fight in me and I don't know how to be strong right now. I don't mean this to all sound so terribly self-piteous but my honest assessment of myself is that I don't have much strength right now. I think I've used it all up fighting off my demons and now I'm in a slow state of recuperation.

The good news is of course that I'm in recuperation. Little bits of me are flocking back, whether they be social involvements or shards of self-esteem. I'm going to get my haircut on Friday which might not sound like a big deal but for the longest time I couldn't care less about how my hair looked because I couldn't stand the sight of myself and thought vanity was wasted on an empty shell like me.

Perhaps I'll be like some reverse Samson and gather strength from the cutting of my locks, perhaps Friday will be the day I finally realise I'm well. I doubt it, but it's nice to think that that day is coming whether it will be recognised as such or not.