Anatomy Of An Anxiety Attack

This blog is going to be a little different to the others, possibly a little fucked up (sorry mam), but I’m going to try and document something.

This is what happens when I’m going through an anxiety attack.

The attack came on Monday 9th May. I made notes as best I could add it was going so I could chronicle it properly for this. I’ve then been able to go back and write it out properly afterwards. I’ve tried to write it in the present tense to keep it more immediate.

It was there when I woke up over an hour ago. I felt like I was coming out of a bad dream abruptly. Did the dream trigger it? I don’t know. All I know is since I started wearing the CPAP machine for my sleep apnoea, sleep has been completely different for me. I spent so many years feeling like I wasn’t sleeping or dreaming that sleep can really throw me. Dreams, when I remember them, seem really vivid. Sometimes it takes me a while for my mind to adjust, to realise it’s not sleeping, that the dreams aren’t real.

I go to the bathroom and start to get ready. Even the simple act of getting ready seems wrong. Let’s face it, it’s a daily ritual we could all do in our sleep. This morning I feel agitated and short of breath. My brain feels disconnected to what I’m doing, everything had to be done deliberately, like I’m doing everything for the first time. Toilet. Brush teeth. Wash. Get ready. Do beard and hair. Put on my rings and wrist things. Each step feels alien, almost like I’m controlling a character in a game. I feel like a visitor in my own body.

I’m jittery and breathless by the time I’d got downstairs. I tell Sarah what was going on and she suggests going upstairs and running my tapping exercises. I say I’m going to head into work. I need to change my buses at Durham and I could make a decision there to what to do. I put my boots on (which I don’t remember doing), grab my bag and the coffee Sarah had made for me and head for the bus.

I pull up ‘White Pony’ by the Deftones on my ipod as I wait for the bus that’s running a few minutes late. I go through my normal morning routines whilst I try to focus myself into getting ready for the day. Thought the simple acts of checking my phone for email, Facebook and messages would help distract me as I work on trying to shut down the anxiety. It doesn’t. The usual steps I take aren’t working. This means the attack is a big one. I would need to do my EFT/tapping exercises. Which means I would have to stop my journey to work and go somewhere quiet.

I have to change buses in Durham. I know when I get off the first bus that I need to get somewhere quiet and get this under control as best as I can. Luckily, even though Durham is a city, it’s a small and relatively quiet one. I walk up towards the cathedral that’s situated on the top of a hill. I find a bench under a blossom tree (that’s the view I have in the photo at the to of the page), send my boss and Sarah a text to let them know what is going on, and pull up the tapping exercises on my phone.

Let me try to describe what my anxiety attack is like. I get short of breath and it feels like my heart is trying to beat it’s way out of my rib cage. My hands become restless and I feel like I need to be doing something with them as I feel like I’m constantly scratching my nose or rubbing my arm. I’ve already bitten a thumbnail down to the point it stings. My brain goes into overdrive and thoughts become random like they’re jumping around. I feel physically agitated. My forehead feels dry, like the skin is starting to crack (it isn’t). My hands shake and my jaw aches from gritting my teeth.

I bring up an app on my phone called Break Free. There’s some tapping exercises on there which involves me interacting (by tapping) to an audio track. There’s a couple on there and they last about twelve minutes each. They’re designed to focus your mind and reprogram how your brain responds to an attack. I run three consecutively. They seem to take the edge off it but it’s still there.

I receive a text from my manager telling me to take my time and possibly go get some breakfast. I go to a quiet cafe and order a latte and some granola and sit down to eat them quietly. I swap some messages with a friend, Steve, who was having anxiety attack last night. It helps to reassure me a bit, reminding me I’m not alone in having them. I promise I’ll message him later (I know he’ll worry) and quickly write some things down in my blog notes, so I can use them for writing later. By twenty to ten I’m sitting back outside the cathedral. My breathing is still feeling shallow and rapid. I’m trying to keep my left hand under control by gripping the arm of the bench tightly while I use the other hand to write things on my phone. My ipod is playing some relaxing music for me by an American band called A Light Within. I feel exhausted and tired. I don’t think the tapping exercises have worked.

Next step in my attempt to stop them, some YouTube videos. When I did my therapy sessions previously, my counsellor suggested searching online for some EFT videos. I tried a few before settling with some produced by a guy called Brad Yates. I found these to work for me in the past so I bring up a couple that I already have bookmarked, incase of an emergency like this. I run them, gently tapping away at my face and chest. I know a few people who pass me by will give me some odd looks, but it’s relatively quiet here so I don’t get too many.

I’ve been in Durham now about two and a half hours by this point. I make the decision to head home. The YouTube videos have subdued me a little but, again, it’s not by much.

I feel tired, drained and a bit deflated as I text my manager to let her know I’m heading back home. I feel the need to shut myself off for a bit, but I’m not ready to admit defeat just yet so I’ll give it a while before trying to head back in again.

I head down through Durham. It’s not too busy but I still feel like people are walking into me (they’re not). I call into a newsagents to get a bottle of water as my mouth feels dry and the woman at the front of the queue is irritating me by taking her time over something. Nothing major but enough to start winding me up about being around people.

I get back home some three and a half hours after I originally left the house. I’ve travelled around ten miles, most of it on public transport. I sit on the sofa with the curtains partially closed and feeling totally exhausted. My plan is to rest for about another hour or so before making my next decision.

I sit on the sofa, trying to resist the urge to lie down and sleep. Time goes a bit odd and before I know it it’s almost one. I’m still tired and a bit spaced out. I decide to phone my manager to say how I am. It takes me about ten minutes to actually work myself up to the state when I can call her. It’s not like I’m expecting a bad call, I’m not. Like I said she’s very sympathetic. She reminds that I’ve been doing so well recently and tells me to rest. I have a light lunch and head to bed. It’s now almost two.

In bed, I put Netflix on in the background to try to distract me. It doesn’t really work so I switch it back off. In a short while I’m sleeping lightly but getting the extra rest helps a bit.

Waking up just after five I head back downstairs. I still feel jittery and anxious but nowhere near as much as I was earlier. I still feel tired and drained of energy though.

Sarah comes in from work shortly after. Having the extra noise and someone else in the house seems to put me back on edge a bit more. I focus on my breathing and help get it back under control. She goes out for a short while with her mam which gives me time to being myself down a bit. We start making a curry from scratch, me slicing the onions and chicken. I leave Sarah to do the cooking and head back into the living room.

It’s seven thirty now. I feel a bit more relaxed but still quite withdrawn. My energy feels spent. I want to read but can’t really be bothered. I kind of feel restless for a while. 

We eat tea slightly later than usual and watch Game Of Thrones. They provide decent distractions. By the time we decide to go to bed the anxiety seems a lot more subdued. It’s not gone completely, it’s still there like static on a badly tuned radio. I’m not waiting until tomorrow to start afresh. It starts right now. I won’t let the anxiety completely beat me. My future starts now. 

If you want to talk to me, please feel free to message me at rustyred666@googlemail.com. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. I’ve also created a closed support group on Facebook, also called The Order Of The Dog. We’re a collection of sufferers of various mental illnesses as well as people who want to help and support. Please feel free to join, everything is treat with respect and confidence. Finally, please share this blog with anyone and anywhere you think it might help.

Cheers,

Scott
The Order Of The Dog.

It's A Beautiful Day But I Don't See It That Way

Depression isn't something that just appears. The symptoms manifest themselves quite early on, slowly raising their collective heads as if in acknowledgment of each other. Sometimes you can spot it in the distance heading towards you, slowly gathering speed. Other times they appear suddenly, as if by magic, glaring at you directly in your face.

Everyone is different, everyone has different triggers. I thought I'd try to explain what my signposts are, how I feel as an episode creeps in. I'm not putting them in any order, I'll just list them as they come to mind. Again, these are mine. Other people might have similar or completely different ones, but here the ones I suffer with to act as a guide.

Sleep
It can go either way for me. I can start to get sleepless nights or I'll want more and more (becoming what Sarah joking calls a greedy sleeper). It's weird as hell for me as I also suffer from extreme sleep apnoea (basically my throat muscles relax that much that they close off my throat and I stop breathing) and have to sleep with a CPAP mask on every night (not as fun as it sounds) so my sleeping schedule tends to see me needing regular sleep patterns. I don't cope well if I have a good few late nights (I'm often in bed around 10.30) and find that this can really affect my mood. I also often find that as I start a prolonged episode I'll sleep as much as I can, almost like my body is trying to catch up on missed sleep.

Socialising
The deeper I get into an episode the more I'll find myself trying to avoid being around people, including my friends and family. I'll find excuses not to go to places. Even talking to people can become a monumental task, and I don't just mean talking to strangers. Everyone. When I do talk it's quiet and mumbled, like I'm trying not to be noticed and heard. It's not really a conscious thing, it's just a sign that I'm trying to dissappear and not leave a footprint anywhere for a while. You'll find me find me in the house, generally feeling spaced out, losing track of what's happening. When I do go out I often find myself having panic attacks. Trips to the local shop become hit-and-run affairs. Leaving the house becomes a chore, having to focus myself before even stepping out of the door. At least social media provides a point of contact with the outside world but even then I'll find myself using it less and less.

Mood
Yeah, I know, it sounds pretty obvious. Like I've said, I'll become less sociable. But there's other sides. I'll become quite snappy and short tempered, not my usual laid back self. I become a real short tempered, irritable dick. Everything feels like people are having a go about something, I become unforgiving. Everything feels like an argument waiting to happen. I'm not good to be around, it's almost like subconsciously I'm trying to find reasons and excuses to push people away. The more unlikeable I become the more people won't want to be around me. Also, my mood will become quite manic. One minute I'll be giggling over the slightest little thing, the next I'll be wanting to bury my head in my hands whilst fighting back floods of tears. Talk about an emotional rollercoaster.

Self-Harm
Don't panic, I don't mean I start cutting myself. There are degrees to this although mine is at a low level, there's still signs of it. I'll find myself subconsciously scratching at myself, particularly my hands and fingers, like to trying to get at an ever present itch that just won't go away. My fingers become targets in other ways too. I'll find myself gripping at my own fingers, trying to twist then into unusual positions that just aren't comfortable as if I'm trying to break them. Shopping becomes an excuse to try and lock my fingers around the wire of a shopping basket or trolly, twisting and pulling them, channeling the discomfort I feel out through the extremities of my hands.

Being Outside
Crowds become a living embodiment of the torment my mind puts me through. I'm not keen on them at the best of times but the further I slip into depression the worse they become. There's a quote attributed to Jean-Paul Sartre that says "hell is other people" that just sums this up for me perfectly. Any kind of crowd seems to trigger a fight-or-flight response inside me that keeps me on edge. I feel like a salmon trying to swim upstream against the current. I often end up having to bail out of anything that has a crowd, and it doesn't even particularly have to be a large one either. I don't know if it's a case of feeling claustrophobic in these cases but I know most of the time I just need to get the hell out of there as quickly as I can.

There are others, but these seem to be my main ones. Everyone who suffers has their own and to different degrees. There'll be common ones, some that overlap and others that are completely unique to a person. Quite often we'll be aware of them but we won't see the signs until it's too late, until we've fallen. But other times we can recognise them and try to head things off before the black dog properly descends on us.

The title of this volume of my blog is from the song "Bad Mother" from the band Therapy? You can find a video of the song here Therapy? - Bad Mother (Live)

As usual, if you want to message me you can drop me an email at rustyred666@googlemail.com and I'll get back to you. I've created a closed support group on Facebook, also called The Order Of The Dog. It's a good place filled with other sufferers of mental illnesses and people who want to help and support others. If you would like to join us just click here. Also, please feel free to share this blog with anyone and anywhere where you think it might help.

Cheers,
Scott
The Order Of The Dog.

Son, She Said, Have I Got A Little Story For You.

I was heading home from work one evening in December 2012 when I received a call from my dad. We had an okay relationship. We were close but there was still an odd kind of distance been us, some kind of barrier that we couldn't quite work around.

When my dad calls it never tends to be for good news. He isn't really the chatty type and rarely rings when there isn't something going on in our lives. More often than not, he's the harbinger of death, calling me to tell me who's passed away from our extended family in Yorkshire. I still get a bit worried when I see his name come up on my phone.

We both briefly said hello. He asked if I was at work and I said no, I was on the bus heading home. "Okay, he said, I've got some news for you son......"

I waited to find out who'd passed away.

"I've been diagnosed with Alzhiemers."

I was stunned. He'd been having a few odd episodes. He'd had instances where he'd forgotten where he'd parked the car or he'd suddenly realise he wasn't sure where he was going. He'd forget he was cooking and left things in the oven until they'd burnt. He put washing powder in the toilet rather than the washing machine. He starting buttering a plate rather than the toast he'd just made. It stopped being funny and started becoming aconcern. Things were just getting that bit worse for him.

I was taken a back. My dad was in his early sixties, not someone who was old. When you're younger you almost think of your parents as being immortal. You slowly see changes as they age but they're so subtle you don't understand the one inevitable fact that we are all growing older. Also, when he'd had the tests the doctors discovered signs of damage on his brain, caused by several mini strokes. He'd not even realised he'd had them and they had probably occurred in his sleep. Even more things to worry about.

It took me a while to understand my dad's illness, accepting it has taken a hell of a lot longer. When I talked to my counsellor about it a few months ago he said something that stopped me completely in my tracks, that what I'm experiencing is grief. The fact that we have to watch aspects of him slowly slip away, that we know we are going to be robbed of things in the future. I'm grieving over what my dad is going to lose as well as the fact that we will eventually lose him too. It's hard to prepare yourself for anything like that.

I think it's fair to say that for a while my dad struggled too. After the initial 'I'll be okay' attitude, the realisation set in. I can't begin to comprehend what it's like to be told that everything will start to become unfamiliar. People, places, memories. Aren't memories our most personal, private treasures? Each one is unique and nobody will ever have the same as you. They go to make up and shape who you are. Alzhiemers not only takes these from you, but they take away your identity. It takes the very core of what you are away.

Mental illness. It's a cancer of the soul.

Part of the thing my dad struggled with was accepting it. Doing that proved to be hard. He came from a generation where you didn't talk about things like that. You got on with it. He was a pitman until the government robbed us of the industry. You carried the world on your back and you tried to move on. He never talked about the hardships of the miner's strike. He never talked about his dad dying. He never talked about how he felt about us. He was a man from that generation that meant you just kept quiet about things. He kept things very close to his chest. To accept it would mean he would after to talk about it, about his feelings and his fears, and that was a sign of weakness.

He was diagnosed with depression not long after that and started taking medicating for that too. Understandable really and something that wasn't unexpected. But what was unexpected was what happened next. And I'm sure all my family will say it took us by surprise.

My dad started opening up and talking about it. And not to just us. To total strangers. In large numbers.

He started going to support groups and discovered that he was able to talk about others about what he was going through. My dad was approached to become a spokesperson for alzhiemers awareness and he took the challenge head on. It was part of his way of dealing with it, of trying to fight it. He started speaking to groups to help educate people. He had radio and newspaper interviews (you can read some here and here). He had taken something that frightened and worried him and found an aspect of it that he could control. He had gone from someone who liked to keep their life private to someone who had embraced what they were and were not afraid to be open about it. His attitude seemed to completely change.

(As an aside, I'd like to point something out. Although my dad had talked about it to me, to read in a newspaper article that your father has seriously considered killing himself over this is still heartbreaking. My dad found a way to release himself from that but how many others haven't?)

My dad has even gone out to people who've recently been diagnosed with dementia to talk to them and reassure them that the diagnosis isn't a life sentence. You can lead a relatively normal life. He still drives, he still cooks, he still goes to suffer watching Sunderland play football. He tries to live his life the best way he possibly can. He's developed a very dark sense of humour. The meds help fight it but we all know that at some point they won't be aaffective anymore. I dread that day and hope it's in the far distant future for us all. In the meantime though, we try to keep things as normal as we can.

We've opened up to each other more and more of late. After I published my first blog he came over and we talked for about two hours, just the pair of us. About depression. About dementia. About how we try to deal with these things. About being open. About what we're afraid of. About the lives we've had, the lives we live now and the lives we could possibly have.

I'm going to do a sit down chat with him at some point soon and record it. I think he's a great example of taking something and doing something unexpected with it. Also, it means I'll have something, a record of his story, to pass on to others and also to remind myself:

No matter what happens, there is always hope.

The title of this volume of my blog comes from 'Alive' by Pearl Jam, which you can find at Pearl Jam - Alive (Live). It's a song based around the person he thought was his father being revealed not to be him, and that his real father had passed away. To me, it's become a reminder, to reach out and be there for the ones you love while you still can.

If you'd like to talk to me further you can drop me an email at rustyred666@googlemail.com. Also, I've created a closed support group on Facebook, also called The Order Of The Dog, where you can come and find kindred spirits who suffer from mental health issues or just want to help support others. Finally, please feel free to share this with anyone or anywhere where you think it might help.

Cheers,

Scott
The Order Of The Dog.

There Are Those Of Us Who Deal With Darkness....

I've posted about music several times already in my blog and I've no doubt that I'll post about it several more times in the future. Music is such an incredibly important part of my life. Even my blog titles are taken from songs. It changes my mood, it touches me in a way most things never could.

Music is my main medication in life. If it wasn't for music I wouldn't have the friends I have (most of whom I've met through music) and I wouldn't be here. It has, quite seriously and hand on my heart, saved me. My meds work to try and keep me on an even balance, but music is the thing that can really cure me. A song can alter my mood in seconds. Some uplift me, some motivate me, some relax me. Others, a select few, offer me catharsis, that emotional release that seems impossible. I know very few people who can watch the video of Johnny Cash performing 'Hurt' without being choked up. The Temple Of The Dog album got me through the passing of my grandad and immediately sends me back to that time in a heartbeat. And as for Steve Earle's 'My Old Friend The Blues' is a perfect meditation on life.

The subject of this blog came to me after I had gone through a bit of a dry spell with my writing. I always have several blog pieces I'm writing and last week I was working on them as best I could but I wasn't connecting. My writing felt forced and faked. Take a break from it my brain said, even if it's just a week. So I took its advice and took some time away from it. I thought it'd be a couple of weeks and I'd decided I would only start when inspiration struck with a new idea, not something I'd been previously working on.

The thunderbolt struck me on Sunday night.

I'd gone with Sarah and a friend of ours to see a gig in Newcastle at the Miner's Institute. It's one of Newcastle's most beautiful buildings dating back to the 19th century. It's quite grand and is very typical of buildings of that era, with marble floors and sweeping staircases. It resonates with me in a different way too as it's a centre of mining heritage in the North East of England. My dad, my uncles, my grandad and generations before them were pitmen. I come from a strong mining background like most people in this part of the country and I've lived in mining villages for most of my life. There's a sense of community that's still there. But that's probably another conversation for another time.

We had come to see a band called The Lake Poets, a band comprised of a young guy called Marty from Sunderland. He writes acoustic songs tinged by folk and country music. A lot of them flow with the life blood of our heritage, especially when you start listening to songs about the miner's strike of the eighties in these surroundings. They instantly remind you of a once proud industry that is now non existent, thanks to the actions of the Conservative government of the time that seemed to want to create divide across the country and social classes.

I have another tie to the Lake Poets. Last year when I was going through a major episode of anxiety and depression. Sarah and I went to see them perform at a different venue in Newcastle. It had been a bad night before we even got there with long traffic tailbacks triggering anxiety that just seemed to escalate. When we eventually got there we sat on the balcony just above the stage, away from the crowd and giving me a handy exit if the need arose. By the time Marty and his band took to the stage, my anxiety was at a peak. But as soon as he started playing a combination of his songs, his voice and his playing started to sooth me, calming my frayed nerves. I lasted the whole night, shedding a couple of tears due to the power of the performance rather than the results of my illness.

Fast forward to Sunday night in the Miner's Institute. Part of me was a little worried that the songs' power would be diminished without the enhancement of an overemotional state. I was wrong, so wrong.

He was part way through his set when he started talking about the story behind one of his songs. It concerned a young girl he was teaching who showed him a huge bruise on her hip that her father had given her. He went on to play Black And Blue, the first song I ever heard from them. When I first listened to the song I was floored. I had to stop, skip the track back and play it several times in a row. I bought the album purely on the strength of that song. I know I'm not only one who's been affected by the song. A few of my friends have felt exactly the same when they heard it. It's one of those songs that just connects on a pure, raw emotional level.

Marty was playing the song solo at the Miner's Institute. His voice and guitar had everyone spellbound. I felt like time had stopped. I didn't need to breathe. The only thing that existed was this performance. Something inside me felt uncaged. The tears started. Not just tears of sadness, tears of emotional release. I felt like there was a cleansing of all the negative emotions I was still carrying from my last incident. My face and beard were damp. I could tell without looking around that I wasn't the only one touched by the power of his song, the feeling in the room was tangible. You could feel the relief once he'd come to the end of the it as the entire room seemed to exhale collectively.

Other songs hit home too. Shipyards (about his grandfather who who never got to see him perform), North View (his memories of his gran before she passed away from Alzhiemers) and Vane Tempest (influenced by the Miner's Strike and it's effect on his family) left various people, including myself, with tears on our faces, especially when you consider the latter song was being performed in a room steeped in so much mining history. The songs weren't full of misery either, they all carried a sense of hope and a celebration of the past to them.

I left the room feeling emotionally lighter. I wasn't quite prepared for emotional release it gave me, but I'm so incredibly thankful for it. So thankful that I felt I was finally able to let go of the extra baggage I wasn't even aware I'd been carrying, something that medication, counseling and therapy hadn't been able to do.

The indefinable power of music.

The title of this blog is the first line from Black And Blue (the song I discuss above) from The Lake Poets. A live version of the song preformed at Tanfield Railway (which is about ten minutes drive from my house) can be found here The Lake Poets - Black And Blue (live).

If you'd like to chat to me you can drop me an email at rustyred666@googlemail.com. I've set up a closed Facebook group, also called The Order Of The Dog, where you can come and find kindred spirits who suffer from mental health issues and people who want to learn more and support others. Just click on this link - The Order Of The Dog. Finally, please feel free to share this blog anywhere and with anyone where you think it might be of help.

Cheers,

Scott Hamilton
The Order Of The Dog.

You Can Spend Your Time Alone Redigesting Past Regrets

Sometimes trying to start something is the hardest part about it. When you suffer from anxiety just trying to make a change can be one of the hardest things you can do.

The first step on the road, turning the first page, being the first person to speak. It's like we're afraid of that commitment to something unknown. This is most of us, not just the odd ones of vus who suffer from mental health issues. We all want that something but we all seem reluctant to do anything about it.

Try to sit and take stock of things in your life. Think of all the good things you have, the special relationships, everything you're thankful for. Now realise:

None of this has happened by accident.

Some things happen because of the deliberate choices we make. Some happen because of a decision made by someone else that directly or indirectly is passed on to us. And even then, we are the ones to decide if we accept it or react against it.

Think of all the missed opportunities we've had, countless moments of triumph and failure that have passed us by. The times that have slipped us without us knowing. Should we be sad for them? Why? Isn't it better to regret something that you've done rather than something you haven't? If we spend our lives grieving our missed opportunities we'll spend the remainder of our brief time here not being able to enjoy what we have right now. We can't enjoy the next meal, the hug of a loved one, the song on the radio, a walk along the beach. We can't appreciate them as we're too busy wanting what we've missed.

These moments don't exist, they never have and they never will. Too many of us spend time obsessing about these moments that have passed us by. Too many 'what ifs' or 'if onlys'. We need to close our lives off to these. We need to start living in the present tense, not the past.

We can change what happens now and what happens next. We cannot change what has been set in stone in the past, or even things that have never happened.

All you need is the desire to make that change, the desire to take that first step. Carpe diem - seize the day. If something is wrong and you don't like it, do something, anything,to try and change it. You may change it for the better, you may not.

But you'll never know unless you try.

The title of this installment of the blog comes from the song 'Present Tense' by Pearl Jam. You can find a live version of the song here Present Tense - Pearl Jam (Live)

As usual if you want to get in touch with me you can drop me an email at rustyred666@googlemail.com. There's a closed support group on Facebook called The Order Of The Dog  that I've set up for people to talk and get support for mental health issues. Also, please feel free to share this blog wherever you think it might be of help.

Cheers,

Scott
The Order Of The Dog.

'Forgive yourself. Share your experiences. Break the stigma' - A Conversation With Megan.

I first came across Megan and her blog, The Manic Years, through WordPress. I spent a bit of time reading through it and find it fascinating. I try to spend time reading other people's work but I don’t have as much time as I'd like. But Megan's really resonated with me at the time. She was also asking people if they wanted to share their stories. A few emails later and she had mine which she blogged here Music and Blogging. I asked Megan if she'd reciprocate which she was happy to do. I sent her some questions and a few days later I received her replies. And here they are:

Would you like to say a few words about yourself?
Hello! I’m Megan, I’m 26, and I live with my 4 year old daughter. I like to write in my spare time, and I run a mental health blog called The Manic Years. I also have a degree in Biological and Biomedical Psychology, and have a working background in academic and clinical research. I love my life, but unfortunately it has been scathed by a battle of mental illness.

When did you first start showing signs of mental health issues?
The first significant memory I have of when things started to get difficult for me, was probably from the age of 12. Back then, I was having a really difficult time at home with my mum being ill (she had clinical depression, social anxiety and OCD).  She was constantly bleaching the house, in a world of her own, talking to herself, you know. I suppose I started to withdraw myself from the outside world, and that caused a whole lot of other issues for me. I just wanted to rebel. Drinking, a change in temperament and eventually, self-harm. Other than that, looking back from now I suppose I could say there was something wrong with me even earlier than that. I had a large group of friends, but I always felt like an outsider ever since I was a kid. I felt too much. I was so sensitive to the world around me. Extreme emotions which I couldn’t understand. It made me a shy child. I think what was happening at home kind of escalated that, it was too much for my little soul and unfortunately I retaliated by reaching out for dangerous coping methods.

How did people react to you? Did you get the support you needed?
People certainly noticed. But I didn’t get support. I was confused, and I was scared, and I didn’t know what was happening to me. Generally I was socially withdrawn and depressed for the last few years of high school. But then I had times where my mood elevated up to the point where I was the complete opposite to myself. I was loud, extroverted, and impulsive. There were times when I would channel this in to creative arts (I used to paint) and writing. I write a whole novel throughout my last years of high school. Who does that at that age?! Sometimes I would get so severely exhilarated with life, that I’d lose control of it and my memory would black out. I’d wake up having taken large doses of pills and I would have attacked myself, quite viciously in some way or another. That’s when the self-harm became more apparent to the people around me. The first time I lost control of myself I was at a house party that I had organised. I was having a good time, my mood escalated even higher, and then the next thing I knew I turned nasty and tried to cut my nose off with a knife. I had no idea why. I still have the scars on my nose today. I certainly didn’t draw the connection to psychosis back then. Afterwards, I would become withdrawn again, indifferent to my peers. I didn’t know what was happening to me, so I kept to myself.

How did you try and deal with your issues? Are there things that worked better (or worse) for you?
My extreme mood cycles continued after I left high school, and I can hold my hands up and admit that I went down the wrong path and dealt with them in the worst way possible. My self-harm behaviours went from occasional to a daily struggle; I developed an addiction to caffeine and prescription pills in an attempt to self-medicate my symptoms (which I ended up in rehab for), promiscuous activity, impulsiveness, even more ‘Black outs’. I thought these were my coping methods, my conscious choices. I didn’t realise it was something else altogether. At one point, when I was 17, it even went as far as me packing my things and moving to another country. That was the first time somebody had mentioned that I might have Bipolar disorder. I dismissed the thought; “But I’m not happy?” I had a total misconception of the disorder, so much that even though my symptoms were extreme and apparent, I still didn’t relate them. I thought that Bipolar was a case of being sad one minute, then happy the other. I thought my self-harm and my intense behaviour was me dealing with depression; turns out it was mania! I finally got diagnosed ten years after my first symptoms showed and it was only then when I was provided with the right tools and the right knowledge to approach the illness from there on. After a long process of getting the right medication, my life finally began to feel settled.

How are you at the moment? Do you feel like you're doing okay?
I am just coming out of a bit of a manic spell (my medication started failing), so I am still a little unstable, but I’m getting there. I have come a long way from how I dealt with episodes in the early years. I have a solid platform to keep myself well after years of psychotherapy,  counselling, CBT and well…. Practice! There was no self-harm, no destructive actions and less consequences after this one, and I was strong enough somehow to come out of after a matter of weeks (I wasn’t fully untouched however, it affected my ability to work and I am now dealing with those financial implications!). These days,  I think I finally have a better understanding of how important it is to track my moods, surround myself with the right people in my life, practice a healthier lifestyle; having a routine, strictly taking my meds, regular contact with my doctor, not going out drinking as much. I have a daughter now as well, so even more reason for me to strive for wellness. I suppose with Bipolar, it feels like a constant fight to keeping your stability; she definitely provides my safety net that keeps me from swaying.
My support network is my lifeline. My friends are incredible, even though I have a smaller circle now. They have been nothing but supportive over the years. My family and my partner have been my rocks too, I’m really lucky. My life is far from perfect, but comparing it to my teenage years and earlier twenties I can finally come to the conclusion that yes, I am doing incredibly well!

Tell us about the blog you started. How did that come around?
My blog, The Manic Years, came about as a therapy assignment back in 2013 when I finally got my diagnosis. It was an outlet to track my thoughts – my moods were all over the place back then – and I suppose when you are in the midst of feeling so down you can’t cope one minute, then ecstatic the next; writing makes a good reference for you to look back and gather your feelings in to something solid that you can understand. It helped with coming to terms with the disorder, it helped with venting my emotions when I was in such states, and it finally helped me on the road to forgiving myself after a lifetime of harmful behaviour towards myself and to others.

What do you feel the blog gives you? Do you find it a good outlet for you?
I am really proud of the way the blog has transformed over the past 6 months. I used to only write posts when I was in the fog of extreme feelings, and I think that’s when people started to take interest and connect with me. I have a way with words when I’m stuck in an emotional state, I am in no way a ‘writer’ so to speak, but when I’m trying to describe how I am feeling it somehow works. I have had a lot of feedback recently of people reaching out and saying “this sums up exactly how I feel in words!”, and the feeling of helping people and making something useful from my experiences with mental health.
Recently, trying to stick with the ‘real experiences’ feel to the blog, I started a Sharing Stories feature, where I encouraged people to tell their own stories drawn from their experiences. So far, we have had a good range of mental health topics such as eating disorders, PTSD, social anxiety. The feature has definitely broadened the blogs theme from being a one way perspective of mental health that it was originally. I feel relatable experiences of what it is really like to suffer is exactly what was lacking on my journey to understanding what was wrong with me to begin with; and so I wanted to produce something that portrays a real life account of information that people can say ‘This is me!’, rather than your usual detached facts and figures approach in to mental health issues that you so commonly find on Health websites and leaflet these days. Bipolar is a very complex disorder, and is not usually picked up for diagnosis until years later; as it was with my diagnosis experience, the average being 10 years from onset of first symptoms! Can you believe that? That’s ten full years of consequences, pain and even suicide numbers. I really feel we need to evaluate our approach to mental health, and that is exactly what I have planned for the future of my blog.
The feature has had a great response, and the amount of support and lovely comments from readers is overwhelming. If you would like to take part, please feel free to drop me an email.

In closing, do you have some final words for people?
I cannot stress how important it is to reach out to people if you feel you are struggling. Depression and other things are nothing to be ashamed of, I think it is more common these days than people realise; particularly with it becoming more of normality in this day and age. I think people who have battled to fight the stigma of mental health have done an incredible job in that past few years, especially now with higher influencing people and celebrity statuses opening up about their own personal encounters. Sharing really does save lives.

Fight for yourself, speak out, connect, help people, and drop the judgement. Forgive yourself. Share your experiences. Break the stigma.

I'd really like to take some time to thank Megan for taking the time to answer my questions. You can read her blog over at The Manic Years. If you'd like to take part in sharing your story you can drop her an email at themanicyears@gmail.com. You'll find it a rewarding experience.

If you want to get in touch with me you can drop me a line at rustyred666@googlemail.com. Also, you can join our closed Facebook group, The Order Of The Dog by going to The Order Of The Dog. It's there for people who suffer with mental health issues as well as people who want to support or just get a better understanding. Also, please feel free to share this blog wherever you think it'll be of help.

Cheers,

Scott
The Order Of The Dog. 

The Road Ahead Looks Shorter Than The One Behind, Either Way I'm No Closer To Wisdom

Even though I'm out of the other side from my last big episode, it's still there to a certain extent. Anxiety and depression ebb and flow like the tide, just without the regularity. You can feel it creeping in for days or sometimes it just crashes in like a tsunami of negativity.

Today feels like a struggle. Feel like I've been able to put on the pretence of it being a normal day but my mood is dictating otherwise inside of me.

I started feeling this one descending a few days ago. I've been working on a blog focusing on what had happened just after my overdose a good few years ago. It was a bit of a slog getting through it all to be honest. I'd spent quite a bit of time writing and rewriting everything, wondering how open and honest to be about my life at that time. As weird as it sounds but it had actually been a lot easier to write about my actual suicide attempt than it had been to write about it's aftermath. Perhaps it was being down to the fact that I could approach the story about the overdose with something more of an analytical approach.

This time though the dog feels as though it's got some teeth in me and it's trying not to let go.

The black mood is just hanging there, ebbing and flowing. I can feel it trying to get at me and I'm fighting it all the way. It's shit how it tries to recolour everything. Things that I know start to get questioned as I feel it's paranoia working it's effects on me. I'm starting to doubt things. As dumb as it sounds but I've started questioning the validity of the doing the blog. I know it's doing what I want it to do. It's letting me articulate my feelings and put things out there. It's allowing me to communicate and help people and that was the whole purpose.

But the mood is making me think twice. I've sat here wondering why I bother, what's the point? I know the benefits of it and I know about the positive feedback. I just don't know why I'm feeling negativity about something that's brought me nothing but positivity.

I know it's only temporary,is a passing phase. A lot of people I know aren't feeling quite right. Perhaps it's something contagious. I wouldn't care but there's plenty of good things going on, just feel like I'm stretching a bit to appreciate it. Things will be better soon though. Perhaps I just need to recharge my batteries a bit. Let's ride the wave out, let's see where it takes me.

The tittle of this blog comes from the song 'Deathstimate' by the Irish band Therapy? You can find a link to it's video here Therapy? Deathstimate

As usual you can get message me at rustyred666@googlemail.com. If you search for The Order Of The Dog on Facebook you'll find the closed support group I've set up. There's other sufferers there as well as people who know someone who's affected by mental health issues.

Cheers,

Scott
The Order Of The Dog

Story Of My Life (Part Two) - Footsteps In The Hall

This is the second part of my struggle with anxiety and depression over the years. The first part can be found here Story Of My Life (Part One) - The Downward Spiral

I was discharged from the hospital the next day. I had to speak to a councillor before I was given the nod to go home. I said the right things in the right places, not really feeling them. I was still numb to everything. My life felt brittle, like it would just crumble away to nothingness under the slightest bit of pressure. I looked and felt hollow.

The next couple of weeks felt, well, odd. Some people didn't know how to react around me, some handled me with kid gloves, some were angry, some were upset. One guy said he felt I'd been brave with the suicide attempt, that he wouldn't have had the courage. It wasn't brave, I told him, it was just a stupid reaction to a bad situation. 

It pissed me off. I was still trying to figure my own head out. I could do without dumb reactions like that. 

I was still having a hard time around my family. I could barely look them in the eye. We didn't really talk about it, as far as I'm aware, we still haven't. It's a hard conversation for anyone to have with their loved ones, both sides admitting that they feel like they let the other down. It was in the past, we all try to move on without acknowledging too much the elephant in the room. Even now, I can't remember much time with my family from around then. There's a huge void from these years that should be filled with memories of them and of enjoying my life,  but I can't remember a damn thing. I feel guilty about it, but it wasn't something intentional. I just have nothing there to fill the blanks.

My life seemed aimless, like I was moving at a slow pace whilst everything sped around me. I can remember very few things from the months that followed. I wasn't living my life, I was just allowing my disconnected shell to be carried along by it.

Sometimes you have a moment in your life that becomes pivotal but you really don't know it at that time. But I was about to have an epiphany without realising it.

I was at a party with some friends. Around this time I was drinking quite heavily socially, especially for someone who's brain and body was still messed up from the overdose. I would use alcohol to try and loosen up the inner me, allow the good side to come out. Most of the time though it would either leave me feeling numb and even more removed, or it would allow more of the darkness to come out. This time it was certainly leaned more towards the latter. I can't remember things leading up to it but I certainly remember what happened after.

My friend Dean and his wife-to-be were trying to talk me through things. I had bottomed out (again). I can't remember if I was crying, hurting myself or babbling away in a way to give concern, but they both had me and were trying to ease me through to the other side. I trusted Dean, he spoke with candor and often found a way for things to make sense for me. This night was no different. I don't know why he said what he did, but Dean said something that would eventually lead to the start of my recovery.

Listen to the music he said. Let it take you. Let it lead you.

There was no 'shining light of the Almighty' that you would get in films. There was no immediate eureka moment. But the words burrowed away deep in me, ready to force their way out later when I would be more receptive to them.

College were trying to be supportive of me. I talked candidly to my tutor and one of my drama lecturers who I'd developed a close bond with and they both convinced me to make an appointment with the college counsellor to try to help. My first fumbling attempt at trying to get help in this way. Again, I can't remember much of the sessions or the person leading them. I can't even remember how many sessions I had. All I vaguely remember were breathing and relaxation exercises, but then again I may have gotten those from my drama class. I just can't remember anything momentous from them. Again, I was still stuck in my mire.

The counseling really didn't do anything for me, it just left me cold with still no answers. Perhaps I just wasn't ready for it at the time. I just don't know. It left me feeling even more adrift in my life.

Something else happened. My mam would go and have a spiritualist reading about once a year and she went to see her usual one a few months after my suicide attempt. He started talking about me to her. I'm not sure of exactly what was said but he alluded to that part of the reason I was struggling with things was because I was sensitive to spirits. They were trying to communicate things through m. He wanted to help me without any charge so he passed his number on and told me to ring.

After a few days I rang and arranged to meet him to talk, which we did. He taught me things, like how to relax myself and go into a trance-like state. To put myself into a place where I could see things people normally couldn't see. Auras. Colours. Voices. Some things I can't begin to describe, and I think I'm pretty good with words. There was just something else out there that I became attuned to.

It lasted a few weeks before I  stopped going to the sessions. My brain and my imagination had gone into overdrive. My dreams became vivid and unsettling. I always felt like there was always something else there around me, and it wasn't always comforting. I would see things in the very edge of my eyesight that I knew physically couldn't be there. I know what you're thinking. I know you're questioning it. But you know what? You could be right. Perhaps I was hallucinating this. Perhaps I wasn't. I know what I felt I experienced and I have faith that what I experienced wad real to me. I don't claim to have proof of the world beyond, and I certainly won't stand here and try to talk people into believing it. I went through what I went through, and I know I had some sort of spiritual awakening because of it. But my beliefs are mine, not yours. Do I believe in ghosts and an afterlife? I honestly don't know, couldn't answer you hand on heart. I just think there's something else out there, that we can't quite explain.

I know, it sounds odd sharing something like that. But it happened and I'm okay with it being part of my life. It sounds odd as I think of myself as having a rational and logical approach to things and this conflicts with that. But that was my experience and I've embraced it as part of my life.

So, I turned my back on that and ran. I was still lost, still confused, still wanting a way to dissappear from it all. My list of questions just seemed to be growing longer and it felt like the answers I had or were being given just didn't add up. I didn't know what to do or how I was going to deal with it all. I couldn't just drift along forever hoping for something to come and guide me.

To be continued.....

Part of the title of this volume of my blog is from the song Footsteps, a song by Pearl Jam. The lyrics are quite poignant. You can find a video of the song here Pearl Jam - Footsteps (live). In fact, most of the blog titles when they're about me all tie in with songs I like in some shape or form.

As usual, if you'd like to contact me drop me an email at rustyred666@googlemail.com and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. I've set up a closed support group on Facebook, also called The Order Of The Dog. It's a place for sufferers and people who know people affected by mental health issues. Just search for it and request to join. Also, if you'd like to share your story, message me on the above email address. Finally, please feel free to share this blog anywhere and with anyone you might think would appreciate it.

Cheers,

Scott
The Order Of The Dog. 

The End Of Silence

Pretty much the last thing I do before I leave for work (or indeed anywhere) is make sure I have my ipod and headphones with me. I honestly don't know what I would do without them on my journey to work, which takes about an hour and a half each morning, and the same every night. I use music in a way I would my medication (in fact I probably use it in a better way than I would my meds). It's there in a morning to motivate me, to get me ready for the day. Coming home it relaxes me, it removes me from anything negative arising from the day. It places me in a better headspace. I need it more than I need most things in my life. And even more so, it helps to dampen the noise. Not just the noise from my immediate environment - people talking, the noise on the bus, traffic outside - but also from the internal noise that anxiety brings, the constant overacting mechanisms of my overworking brain.

We get so used to noise in our lives. The hustle and bustle of what goes on around us, the constant thrum of traffic, the endless chatter of people. The concept of absolute silence feels daunting to us. Just try to think about the last time you heard nothing at all for a period of time. Generally there's always something there, something in the background. Silence sounds like an unsettling prospect but you should try it sometime. Switch everything off and remove yourself from the relentless pace and general hubbub of modern living.

I was talking to my friend Steve online the other morning. I've lived somewhere quite rural for a while now whilst he's just moved somewhere rural too. We were talking about the views and comparing how quiet each place was. It kind of struck me in that moment as to how much I relish the silence around where I live (something I know my friend is really enjoying at the moment). When everything gets switched off in the house you don't hear any of the usual noise that constantly bleeds into your life when live somewhere suburban. All you can really hear sometimes is the wind, the rain and the occasional sound of birdsong.

Noise can come in various forms. People, animals and the place you're in can all contribute to this. Some is welcoming, some isn't. But noise is also something that interrupts our understanding of something. In communications noise is described as a 'disturbance in the transmission of a message that interferes with the interpretation of the message due to ambiguity in words, sentences or symbols used in the transmission of the message'.

I often refer to my mental health issues as white noise. To me they stop me from processing things or feeling things properly. They add confusion to the situation. What should be a nice simple 1+2=3 becomes something completely different. Everything becomes unpredictable to a certain extent.

Paranoia creeps in and colours everything. Conversations that you have suddenly seem to develop hidden meanings as you let the white noise in your head fuck with you. Everything becomes interpreted incorrectly. Offers of help feel like offers of condemnation. You feel constantly persecuted. Nobody is on your side. Everyone is out to get you. The thoughts go racing through your head until they become a relentless, intangible mess you just can't make sense of. All you want is for it to just go away.

Silence becomes the perfect metaphor for those rare moments where you can process things rationally, without having to hack away at all the crap that surrounds and confuses everything. Those perfect moments of peace are rare but are attainable. It's hard for people who've never experienced anxiety to understand as they don't get that level of noise that adds confusion to everything. To them, noise is just a slight distraction, something that occasionally clouds their train of thought but doesn't derail it.

Sometimes trying to live with anxiety involves having to try and retrain your brain into a pattern and behaviour that's probably more akin to how 'normal' people process things. The process of taking information, understanding it and reacting. When it's put like that everything sounds so simple. Too simple though, says the anxious mind, what else is going on? There's got to be something else...

That's why, to me anyway, I feel exhausted and tired a lot when I'm going through an episode of anxiety. Everything runs in fight-or-flight mode,everything is always on and turned up. There's no escape from it. You wake up and it's there, you try to do things and it's there, you try to sleep and, guess what, it's there. There's just no escape from it. That's why I relish these moments of silence so much, they're my respite from my constant battle against the noise in my head. It means most things are working fine and I'm not overprocessing everything. The noise in my head can't be drowned out with other things, that just adds to the cacophony. I need a complete absence from it for me to function as a normal person would. Everything else is just me trying to cope and wade through life as best as I can.

As usual, if you want to talk more you can email me at rustyred666@googlemail.com. We've also set up a closed support group on Facebook, also called The Order Of The Dog. Just search for it and request to join, we'll let you in. It's the perfect place to go if you want to talk. There's suffers there like myself, as well as people who are looking to support others. Finally, please feel free to share this anywhere where you might think it will help.

Cheers,

Scott
The Order Of The Dog.

"Change Your Beliefs, Change Your Life" - Talking Spirituality With Sky Baby

Spirituality is a curious thing. It's not for everyone and it can really polarise people's opinions. To me it's like having a sense of faith and purpose, something to help guide you through life. To some it can prove a hindrance, but to others it can be something that is really beneficial and positive, helping them through some really dark moments when they need it.

I first met Sky Baby in a Facebook music group a couple of years ago. A while ago she started posting about the struggles she was having and how her spiritual approach was helping her get through it. I was always curious as to how it worked and what she did to get through. When I started writing these blogs Sky Baby would drop me the odd message of support so I thought it only natural to reach out to her and ask if she'd like to share her experiences. Again, it's a hard read but a lot of times in life we need to realise that not everything is easy to sit through and understand. Guilt is a powerful feeling, it shows that deep down in our souls we're good people at the core, even if sometimes we do things that hurt the ones we love around us.

When did you first notice signs of mental health issues? In what way did they start?
I first was diagnosed with post natal depression when my eldest son was born, although I had bouts of incandescent rage where I'd black out before I was diagnosed. I was desperately unhappy and my husband at the time was totally unsupportive, he refused to discuss it with me and would walk away whenever I tried to talk to him - this was back in the 80's when it really wasn't a thing. I was given Prothiaden and they turned me into a zombie, and didn't stop the rages. I used to lock my stepson in his room for his own safety, and I couldn't talk to anyone about it, I was completely isolated. I took myself off them after a couple of years, went cold turkey. I developed an alter ego to help me cope, I'd go out at the weekend and get smashed then come back and pretend to be a mother. I was functioning on the outside but inside I was in meltdown. I felt so guilty about my feelings towards my stepson, I still do, but we have a good relationship now.

I eventually got counselling when Alex was 2, in 1986. I started off seeing my counsellor once a month, then over the next three years it went up til I was seeing her twice a week. One day I had the revelation that I didn't think my mother loved me, and my counsellor told me not to make any rash decisions as she was getting married and would be away for three weeks. I lost the plot, left my husband and the kids (I had a daughter as well by now, who was 2) and ran away. I remember Killer by Adamski was on the radio the morning I decided to leave.

Did you try to seek medical assistance at all? 
After the disaster with the counselling I lost all faith in doctors. I took an overdose of some Prothiaden I'd saved just in case and drank a bottle of Southern Comfort. Put me off it for life ☺️ My family still don't know about that. They're not really good with it all. I don't bother telling them anything, they simply don't understand. My mum said she didn't have time to have post natal depression 😳

How did your friends and family take to you? Did you find people supportive or did they struggle to understand what you were going through?
See above. Also, I didn't want to bother my friends with it, I brushed it all under the carpet and got on with things.

How have you found trying to cope with them? Have you had any major effects from suffering with anxiety and depression?
I've spent my entire life running away from whatever presented itself as a problem. I've since realised that I was running away from my own painful emotions, so it's led to a path of self discovery, eventually.

You've mentioned in the past that you've found a spiritual approach has helped you as you've had issues with medication. Was this something you were always aware of or was it something that you came across by chance?
I was always a little weirdo. I used to ask the moon for what I wanted, and I wanted to be a witch when I grew up, so it was always there. I think my first question was "what's the universe?" No wonder my mum didn't know how to deal with me.

My whole life I couldn't make sense of the world I lived in, people didn't make sense to me, I was convinced I was adopted because nobody thought the way I did. I got into tarot and spirituality when I was about 15 or 16, and then I started to feel like I wasn't alone, that there were others like me in the world. I drifted in and out of it, trying constantly to fit in to normal life and never really managing it. Although I've managed to have a lot of adventures instead so I am not complaining 😂

Then in 2007 I was attuned to reiki and that started a domino effect that changed everything for me.

What is it that you do that helps you cope with things?
I learnt through various spiritual teachings that the only way out is in, and the thing that's in the way is the way! Instead of running away from my emotions I started sitting with them and really feeling them, look on for the truth hidden underneath them. Through channeled material like Abraham Hicks and Bashar I learned that your beliefs create your reality, and, as a belief is just a thought you keep thinking, you can change them. Change your beliefs, change your life. It can be incredibly hard work. I virtually stayed in bed for two years just processing emotions, crying it all out, but I'm really seeing a difference now. I'm much more self aware, and I have so many fascinating insights about not just myself but emotions in general, and I know I've had this journey for a reason.

Obviously different things work for different people. What other alternative paths would you suggest?
Reiki is fantastic, it's non intrusive, subtle but powerful. It works on all levels - emotional, spiritual, physical. And self enquiry is essential, that way you take responsibility for your own healing and you can do it as an ongoing thing, no need to rely on doctors or medication. And you always have someone to talk to and something to do 😂

I'm closing, is there anything else you'd like to add?
Well, I'm a work in progress, and I'm sure it'll never get done, but it's becoming fun now, it's interesting, I've definitely turned a corner and I'm really proud of myself. The fact that it's so much easier to talk about now is definitely helping, and blogs like this are just brilliant, thanks Scott x

About an hour later I also got this sent to me:

Also...... another way it's impacted me is that when I ran away I left my kids with their dad, and then a few years later I did exactly the same thing with my second family. I was so terrified of being a bad mother I thought they'd be better off without me, and in doing so became a bad mother. I'm still working through it, and am completely baffled by the fact that my kids are totally forgiving of me. I know it's why my youngest is having such a hard time, and it's excruciating. I do believe tho that when the time is right we will be able to talk about it properly.

Whilst I was working on this blog I got another email from Sky Baby. She'd decided to take a step forward and starting talking to her youngest son about her depression. I'm sure it wasn't an easy conversation to have but I sincerely hope they both feel better for it and continue moving onwards.

It's never too late to open up and share with people.

As usual, if you want to talk further you can drop me an email at rustyred666@googlemail.com. We've set up a closed support group on Facebook as well, also called The Order Of The Dog. Please search for it and request to join. It's not just for people with mental health issues, it's also there for people who want to support their loved ones through it. Finally, please feel free to share this blog wherever you'd like and particularly with anyone you think it might help.

Cheers,

Scott.
The Order Of The Dog.

Somewhere In Another Land You Can't Take Much More

The past week has gone by in a bit of a blur. Sometimes this can be a good thing, other times you end up sitting and worrying, wondering where the time has gone and how long is left in the hourglass.

To me, the week has been about connecting and sharing. To me it's been really helpful and has really helped me keep focus and move forward.

The week started with my head still not in a great place (see my blog 'Got The Number Thirteen Tattooed On My Neck...'). I knew that the gig I'd played hadn't been the total wreck I'd made it out to be in my head, but I was still struggling to help turn things around. My head still seemed firmly up my arse.

I got out of it by working hard on the blogs. I'd sent some emails out to people to share their stories and I'd received them back. Working through their emails made me think. I was in a good place really. The fact that I felt I'd played a poor gig by my standards was insignificant in the gteart scheme of things. Nobody would really remember it. Put it behind you and move on Hamilton.

So I did. Producing the blogs became my focus for the week. Other people's stories took over a lot of my time. To me, the fact that people felt that they could trust me with helping tell their story was a huge thing for me, as well as being incredibly humbling. I could read their stories and edit them to help them reach other people. I was connecting to people, with people and helping them with a voice to reach others.

Sometimes you need these things in your life, even if you don't realise it. When I started this I didn't think of how it would help me connect with other people and how this would help me. I've had messages from people I know and people I don't thanking me for putting words to things they had problems with describing, for helping give them a voice. I want to thank these people as well as everyone who reads or shares the blog. I never thought this would help me the way it does. It's now become a major part of my life. Right now it's Sunday evening and I've spent the past few hours working on the blog and I did the same last night too. Normally I would have read, watched TV or played on the X Box. But here I am, editing interviews, reading up on things, preparing to email questions out and typing up on here. And this makes me happy. It makes me feel like I've gained a purpose, almost a reason for why I have my anxiety and depression. And, hell, if that's the reason I suffer then I'm good with that.

The blogs are a good way for me to connect, but they also work really well for the people telling the story too. Take for example, the post I did with Sky Baby and her spiritual approach with her issues (see blog "Change Your Beliefs, Change Your Life" - Talking Spirituality With Sky Baby). When she emailed me back the answers she'd sent she'd mentioned how writing everything down had helped her connect with some of her issues. It seemed that by the act of writing them down in an email had helped almost visualise them and put some perspective on some of them (my words, not hers). She also emailed me later to say that she'd decided to talk openly with her youngest son. He hadn't realised how much she'd suffered from it. This had really made me happy. She used the situation to connect with someone in a way she hadn't before and that's what it's all about.

Sometimes we go through life wondering who we connect with. Some people we connect with on a daily basis, sometimes the connection isn't physically made for days, weeks or months. But you know the connections are still there. You'll never truly know the influence you have with people, or what you really mean to them. Sometimes you think you might have an idea, but often is like looking at the ocean and trying to wonder how deep it is.

Every day something touches me. Occasionally it's a missed opportunity. On Saturday Sarah and I were in Durham  (the market city near to where we live). I'm the marketplace a young woman was sitting in a chair and had a sign that said "I feel lonely. Please hug me" and I'll admit I thought poor woman. I resolved to myself that I'd give her a hug as we came past later. About an hour or so we walked back through the marketplace. I looked for but she was gone. I felt quite sad. Why hadn't I hugged her when I first saw her? What had held me back and made me put it off? I really don't know. All I know is I felt bad. I hope she got the hugs and she doesn't feel as lonely now.

The missed connection has sat with me for the past few days now and it doesn't feel good to me. I hate the fact that I'm regretting NOT doing something. Not only does it feel like I've let me down bit I've let them too, by simply not hugging a stranger. I promise next time I won't let that connection slip by. I'll reach out. I don't care of it's someone I know or not, I'll reach out and I'll be there for them.

If you see me and you want a hug, come and ask for one. I promise you can have one.

As usual, if you want to talk you can email me at rustyred666@googlemail.com. I'll try my best to answer you as quick as I can. If you need a bit more support, we've created a closed support group on Facebook, also called The Order Of The Dog. Just search for it and request to join. It's not just for people who suffer from mental health, it's for everyone. I want to help educate and support people as best as I can. Finally, please feel free to share this blog wherever you think it'll be of help.

Cheers,

Scott
The Order Of The Dog.

"I'm Still Running Around In Circles But Still Smiling" - A Conversation With Rachael

Rachael has been through a lot in spite her young age. A hell of a lot. So much that when I read the answers she sent to me from our q&a session my head was spinning from it all. But let's rewind little bit.

Rachael is a member of The Order Of The Dog group on Facebook and is always trying to be positive with people. She'd commented on one of the blog posts I'd put up and we got to briefly chatting. She shared with me a link to a newspaper article she'd appeared in about the help that the charity Barnados had helped with. Here's the article here: http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/scandal-teenagers-leaving-care-nowhere-4845918#ICID=sharebar_facebook. Go take a minute, give it a read, then come back here. We used it as a jumping off point point for our question and answer session and I'll admit that I wasn't quite expecting the answers I got back. Like I said she's been through a lot for someone so young. Without further ado, here's Rachael's story.

The article says you found yourself in foster care from the age of twelve. Do you mind telling us what led to that?
Anxiety and depression hit me with a bang at a young age. This was a very difficult time, been in and out of foster care before my teenage years. Family problems, behaviour and also being abused physically, emotionally and sexually. My mental health was not recognised at this stage of my life.

It mentions that you started suffering from anxiety around then. How did it start manifesting itself to you? Was there any support available to you at the time?
I self-harmed by cutting my wrists and taking a numerous of overdoses to end my life. Times were hard. I struggled to cope with society. I started taking drugs and drinking alcohol to try and break the barriers and also hide away any negative thoughts and issues going on at that moment in my life. I didn’t understand the damage I was doing to my body; I thought it was an acceptable coping strategy at that time. On these occasions I had my stomach pumped in hospital to remove the access of medication chemicals. This was a very traumatic experience of my life, I felt alone and I had nowhere to turn at a young age of 13. I ignored help and support from social services as I just thought they were being nosey and interfering not supportive. My behaviour was out of control, I ended up being placed in a Children’s home 17 miles away from my home town. This was far from an easy time of my life. I started taking drugs and I was highly addicted to cannabis. I was unaware of the harm I was doing to my body, my coping strategies were drinking alcohol and taking drugs. Time went on…..

You ended up leaving care around seventeen where you started showing symptoms of depression and started self-harming. How hard was it on you to try and find support at this time? How bad were things for you around this time?
It was time to become independent at the age of 17. Three months before turning an adult at 18, I moved into a flat independently. I was given support to move out but no one knew what I was going through mentally. I tried to commit suicide by ending my life to jump off a bridge. Luckily a stranger was walking past and grabbed my leg otherwise to this day I would be no longer alive. The same day I took another overdose as I was so adamant I wanted to leave and the world would have been a better place without me. I was taken into hospital for further treatment.
I found it very difficult to open up and talk to people about my issues. I hid behind closed doors and refused support. Things were deteriorating and I eventually discussed my issues with a support worker. The support worker was very understanding. The help was only in place for a few months. I felt crushed to pieces. I ended up moving out and closer to family.
I moved closer to my family in a second flat of my own just after my 19th birthday. The move was the right option at the time I couldn’t have made a better decision. After a few months of living in a small village I felt isolated and no one around me. My mental health got worse and I became paranoid, depression and anxiety tore me apart and I self-harmed again. Only this time I started sniffing aerosols and had taken another overdose. I was taken to hospital for a third time to get my stomach pumped.

In the article you credit the charity Barnados for helping you. What did they do to help you break the cycle?
The third time of taking an overdose I was supported by Barnados. The support from them was outstanding. They changed my life and gave me an opportunity to move in with a family with a supported lodgings provider. I made a big decision giving up my flat and furniture this was for the better. It only meant I would have to start all over again in the future … But Barnados were willing to help me. The support was giving continuous through my placement. They were amazing! The months were flying by with happiness; it was just about time to move out as I was approaching 21 years of age. This was a scary time in my life, as I was so happy…
June 2013 was just around the corner. Barnados and my supported lodgings family give me help to move out in too my 3rd flat. The saying “third time lucky” is true…. :)

How have you found things since then? Are you using other methods of support? And how are you trying to move on?
Since moving in to my new independent home in 2013, times have been very difficult. I have been going around in circles. I never seemed to be getting any better. Months and years have come and gone. I started looking for employment as it got to a stage where I thought I was stable with mental health. I started volunteering local to home to improve my support networks, skills and experience to move into employment. I found employment; I started an apprenticeship after a wobbly beginning, which last six months due to stress and being paranoid. I then moved into a further two works places which also didn’t work out in the end due to my mental health deteriorating. At this point I thought I was worthless. There was a positive outcome of the situation; I gained a Level 3 Diploma in Customer Service. Despite the difficulties I battled through each day with mental health and I never gave up.
I gave it a week or two and then I signed up for another course. At the time I thought I made the right decision. I went straight into a different career path. My job lasted just under three months and I’m still running around in circles but still smiling.

Finally, have you got any final words for us?  
The support from my GP has been outstanding. Living with a mental health illness is not easy. I take my hats off to you.
My advice to you all is; never give up. We are here for a short and good time, not long and unhappy time. I am thinking of all you survivors and I 100% know what you are all going through I have lived with it for years.
KEEP YOUR HEAD UP HIGH AND SMILE. THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER.

Rachael still has bad days as well as good ones but, from speaking to her, she tries hard not to let them overwhelm her when she can and takes everything one step at time. And that is something we should all strive for. Don't feel like you're being caged in with a life that doesn't work. Take a step forward and try to make the change that you need.

I'd like to take a moment to thank Rachael for letting me share her story with you. If you want to contact me drop me a line at rustyred666@googlemail.com. We've set up a closed support group for anyone suffering with mental health issues as well as anyone supporting them. Just search for The Order Of The Dog and request to join. Finally, please feel free to share these blogs with anyone you think might benefit from them. The more we help educate and inform people the better we can help each other.

Cheers,

Scott
The Order Of The Dog.