#mental health professionals have only been brave enough to tell me i have depression anxiety and adhd

[survivinglife]

Asking for help

So, the last 3 weeks I have been busy working on myself. I spoke to my doctors and counsellor and asked for help dealing with my depression and anxiety. Yup, I am putting it out there that I deal with mental illness on a daily basis. It is not a negative thing. I wish more people would talk about it. But it has such a negative stigma to it. It scares people to hear it and then the people who deal with it feel ashamed and then they keep it to themselves. Which for me only created a bigger situation to deal with.

It is NOT a weakness to admit you need help. It is NOT a weakness to talk with others, including professionals about anything you need to. I think it is healthy and necessary. For me, it shows GREAT strength and courage to ask for help and even more to actually accept the help.

I started a Partial Hospitalization Program to try and gain some ways to deal with life as it comes and also life that has happened over the past. During my time in the program, I have gained some confidence in myself, and coping skills to help me moving forward. But more than that it has allowed me to open up about my past. Things I have not dealt with ever. Things that I have only recently started to talk about and deal with. I will write more about that in future entries.

I want to thank all of those people who devote their lives to mental health and helping those if us who deal with it on the daily. The group I have been lucky enough to work with has multiple levels of degrees and education. From psychiatrists down to interns. It has been great. Freeing in a lot of ways. Not to mention the members of the group. They are soo brave and strong and courageous. They are unbelievably supportive of each other. Not everyone opens up right away. But they all participate in the group therapy and whether it is eye contact, a friendly smile, a kind word, or even tears - you know they are there and that you are not alone.

I will sign off with this, I want to advocate to people to show some GRACE to themselves and others. We all have a past and we all have things we deal with even if we don't share them. You do not know what goes on in someone's life unless they tell you. We need to stop judgement. Whether you choose to keep things to yourself or open up, we all handle life differently. We need to do what is best for ourselves. And we need to do better for each other.

Listen to other and learn to love and respect each other.

[sisterssafespace]

السلام عليكم ورحمة الله وبركاته

recently i’ve been struggling a lot. i was diagnosed with depression, anxiety and bpd not too long ago now. but, i have been struggling so much with bearing it all? i haven’t told my family anything as i’ve told a few close friends. so, i cannot blame my family for the fact i’m very emotionally volatile. even though, i know i’m struggling i keep pushing people away & maybe it’s the embarrassment? the shame? that my anxiety attacks are coming back & they’re more frequent, more painful & so much easier to trigger now. i feel like i have this huge secret that i’m carrying around & it fills me with shame. i know mental health isn’t something to be ashamed of but, in a way i’m the one in my family who can do it all? so, the fact i’m struggling so much that i cry in my room a lot of the time whilst they all are chatting away fills me with sadness? i’ve never been close to my family so, it’s been this way for a long time. i’m very independent but to a fault even when i need help i won’t reach out to anyone. i know i have Allāh swt who will help me through anything & everything. but, i don’t know i feel overwhelmed i feel horrible every moment i’m alone my eyes tear up and i begin to cry because i’m hurting so much. sometimes the world feels so unbearable like i cannot go on any longer but then i remember [2:286]. sometimes, i feel as though i’m not cut of for this world it brings me so much pain & suffering. do not me wrong, i am blessed with so much but in my heart there is a lot of sadness & pain. i feel so weak the days are passing by & with each other my resolve to carry on gets weaker too. i have been referred to therapy & to take some medication but i have no time to go i have no will power to get up & seek treatment. it feels like i’m watching myself slowly wither away with each passing day. i try to make dhikr to distract myself but i end up having an anxiety attack because all i can think about is how i’m a bad muslim. that Allāh swt loves me so much He is putting me through these battles to strengthen me but, i cannot even handle them. i honestly see myself wishing that i could just disappear sometimes. - 🌊

بسم الله الرحمان الرحيم،

قال الله تعالى في سورة القصص :

وَأَوْحَيْنَا إِلَىٰ أُمِّ مُوسَىٰ أَنْ أَرْضِعِيهِ ۖ فَإِذَا خِفْتِ عَلَيْهِ فَأَلْقِيهِ فِي الْيَمِّ وَلَا تَخَافِي وَلَا تَحْزَنِي ۖ إِنَّا رَادُّوهُ إِلَيْكِ وَجَاعِلُوهُ مِنَ الْمُرْسَلِينَ

We revealed this to Moses' mother: 'Suckle him, but when you fear for him cast him into the water. Neither fear, nor sorrow because We shall restore him to you and make him among the Messengers.'

[ Qur'an 28:7 ]

و عليكم السلام و رحمة الله و بركاته 🌸

My dear sister, I started my answer with an ayah about one of my favorite stories in the Quran that is the story of how Musa (as)'s mother had to let him go as a newborn and throw him into the river (to save his life) because Allah swt told her (inspired her to do) so. This story is also mentioned in surat Ta Ha (20) - the surah that I love to call my anti-anxiety pill - but I chose this ayah from surat Al-Qasas for the precise words that Allah swt orders to Musa's mother :

ولا تخافي و لا تحزني | Do not fear nor sorrow (grieve)

The grammatical structure for these phrases is : Prohibition "النهي" which means that Allah swt orders you against doing that thing, it is not a request, it is not a piece of advice, it is actually stronger than that. It is prohibited that you give into your fear (i.e. anxiety) or fall into sorrow, saddness (i.e. depression). The same structure is used when Allah swt spoke to sayyidah Maryam (Mary as), when she was in labor and she was all alone, scared, confused, in pain, she even wished for death,

فَنَادَاهَا مِنْ تَحْتِهَا أَلَّا تَحْزَنِي

But (a voice) cried to her from beneath the (palm-tree): "Grieve not!"

[Quran 19:24]

I personally support and adapt the tafaseer that explain this as that Allah swt loves, appreciates and cares for the women and the girls of the believers so much that He swt prohibits them to feel sad or anxious. - But we will get back to this later in the answer, in shaa Allah.

Now let's go back to the beginning. I have 3 main ideas, let me bullet them not to forget anything:

1) The diagnosis: You said, my beautiful sister, that you were diagnosed not too long ago, with 3 mental health issues. So I take it a shrink/ psychiatrist diagnosed you. And then what? it is not enough to have a diagnosis, what is more important is to have a plan, i.e. therapy. It is important to identify the issue but it is more important to figure out how to deal with that issue. Sis, you need professional help. That ache in your heart and those worries, those thoughts in your mind they won't just disappear on their own. You need therapy. 🥺🥺. Which brings me to point number 2:

2) Asking for help: There is a story that I heard somewhere, a long time ago, but is so iconic that it stayed with me. One time this man's boat drowned. And he was fighting for his life in the middle of the ocean, and he asked God to save him, after a while a boat passed by and stopped for him, they wanted to rescue him but he said " no I don't need you, I have God, He will save me", so the boat moved on. And the man made duāa again and asked God to rescue him. After another while, another boat approach him, and they wanted to rescue him. Again, he declined and said " I have God, He will save me " so they went away. Eventually, the man got tired and couldn't do it anymore. He drowned. After he died, he asked God why didn't you save me? I was waiting for you to rescue you me.. and God said " who do you think was sending you the boats? " ..

Why am I telling you this story? I feel like you are doing the same as this man.

Sometimes people are a means that Allah swt puts in our way to save us! Yes, you are being all toughened up and 'strong' by trying to retrieve from people - even your own family - and not bother anyone with your issues, but you are actually doing more damage and more harm to yourself and to your loved ones this way. No good ever comes from passively sitting in a corner and isolating ourselves in our pain and suffering, especially to us girls, we are very social creatures who thrive and heal with compassionate, empathy, sharing, co-dependence (not in a negative sense), and solidarity. Half of the problem goes away just by talking about it. We immediately feel so much lighter after we have a good talk/ crying session with someone we love. By isolating yourself and drowning in your misery, you are going against your nature and that only amplifies your pain 💔🥺 So I am begging you, to take a step towards your support system, be it family, a cousin, friends, a teacher, a therapist.. you need help and you can't do this alone. Asking another human being to be there for you never means you trust Allah swt less or that Allah swt is not enough for you! On the contrary, maybe that person is fulfilling a purpose for the sake of Allah swt by being there for you. Allah swt has created us this way, there is no shame in asking for help I promise.

⚠️ ALSO OMG HIGHLY IMPORTANT THERE IS NO SHAME IN HAVING MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE I HAVE TO SAY THIS!

I don't know how much we have to deconstruct, how many walls we have to break down to set ourselves free from all the negative feelings that culture and the patriarchy installed in us since a very tender age, like shame, guilt, self-loathing.. it is A LOT, but we have to. There is no other way around it to free ourselves. And one last thing, my sweet sweet sweet sister, even if you think you can do it all, you can keep it all inside and put on a brave face and go on about your day while there is a battlefield in your head and a fire burning in your heart, you don't have to. Have mercy on yourself. Allah swt would never approve of this, you putting yourself through so much pain by refusing to seek help. And you wonder why your anxiety attacks are back! 💔🥺 which brings me to point 3:

3) Anxiety attacks: Are you sure they are anxiety attacks not panic attacks? How do you identify them? What are your symptoms? And how do you deal with them? How do you cope? See, beautiful sister, this is very very serious! You can't keep going like this and think " oh Allah swt is putting me thru this to make me stronger. " Umm actually, no, Allah swt is not putting you through this. He gave you this at the beginning yes, but He showed you the way, and you stubbornly refused! So now, you are putting yourself through this, my dear, and you do not deserve it!

Please do not take this with a rough note, I am using a very very soft tone, I promise. And also, lots of hugs and caresses 🥺❤️

I want you to promise me that you are going to consider my words, and seriously think of asking for help. For the sake of Allah, for the sake of yourself and your sanity. Remember, you do not own yourself, you do not own your soul, you do not own your body. It is all an amanah that we are responsible for keeping safe and sane until we return to Allah swt, and we are going to be held accountable for what we did with it. Allahu al'mustaān.

Looking forward to getting your updates!

May Allah swt sooth your pain and give you thr courage you need to ask for help. Ameen.

Fi Aman Allah.

- A. Z. 🍃

[malafight]

hi im so sorry but i wanted to ask for help if u feel up to it. basically ive done next to no schoolwork (bare bare min) since we went on quarantine 4-5 weeks ago and i just missed two deadlines for big things and i still haven't done those assignments and i keep missing the online classes and i can't seem to make myself work and i feel terrified and awful and also like i have to hide it from my friends and therapist despite my anxiety and depression. what do i do? (again im so sorry. ty & ily)

hey, sorry it’s taken a bit to respond to this; i spent today recovering from a massive panic attack myself and probably wouldn’t have been able to provide good enough advice at the time. but i’m here now!

first of all, you’re not alone. you’re far from the only one terrified right now. and it’s okay to be terrified. you don’t have to apologize for your feelings or for asking for help -- i’m always willing to provide whatever advice i can, and hunt down things that might help when my experience hasn’t given me a good enough answer. we’re all doing our best out here right now, even if your brain is telling you you aren’t doing enough. you’re trying to survive, right now, and that is enough. it’s all most of us can do at this point. don’t let yourself feel bad for being afraid; we all are. don’t beat yourself up for not doing more, for yourself or for other people; you can’t pour from an empty cup. you don’t have to do anything but survive, right now. i give you permission to just focus on keeping yourself together as best you can, okay? it’s a tough time, but you’re not alone.

now for the actual school-related stuff. i know most people would tell you to be professional when communicating with professors, but now is not the time for your instructors to see you as an automaton. i’ve found that being genuine, honest, and polite helps humanize you to a professor who may only know you by your name in their system. i’ll preface this with the fact that it doesn’t always work, because sometimes teachers lack basic empathy, but it’s much easier on you, even, to be honest from the get-go.

now is not the time to put on a brave face. the world is hideously, pants-shittingly terrifying right now, and if people don’t know you need help, they can’t help you. some folks have the spoons or money to spare; folks like me have words and the Mom Friend Override. for some, being able to help others makes it easier for them to cope themselves. if you can’t bring yourself to reach out and look for support for yourself, remember that humans are a social species -- we need each other. so reach out and let your friends know that you’re scared. they’re scared, too. feeling afraid sucks, but feeling afraid and alone is even worse. you know the saying “misery loves company,” right? don’t look at it as a negative right now. think of it as instructions to seek out companionship and understanding in times of trouble. misery loves company. go find some company.

(also, tell your therapist -- what’s the use of having one if you don’t open up to them? you can’t treat an illness if your patient isn’t keeping you updated on the symptoms. if you had an injured leg, and suddenly it started inexplicably hurting even worse than before, you’d tell your doctor, right? same goes for mental health. please talk to your therapist. i’m not certified or even trained in this sort of thing, just someone who’s been fighting for decades with a brain that doesn’t work right in a world trying to kick my ass at every turn. there are things a therapist can help you with that i don’t have the resources for. use what you have at your fingertips! trust me, your therapist is hearing all about covid right now, and they won’t judge you for being scared.)

i also want to say that it takes a lot of courage to reach out for help like this, and i’m proud of you. i can tell that you’re doing your best. and i know how much it sucks to feel like your best isn’t enough. everything is awful and stressful, but we need to reach out to each other, if only to huddle under a blanket together to avoid the storm roaring outside.

i’ll provide here what i hope will be a useful template for asking your instructors for help with this situation. i know emailing them is even more terrifying, but you can’t get help from someone who doesn’t know you need it.

also, i suggest you edit the template a bit to fit your situation. in situations like these it is so, so important to humanize yourself to them.

(email template below)

[Instructor Name],

This is [name] from your [course] course. I know we haven’t been in contact much over the semester, but I need to ask for your help.

I’m sure by now you’ve noticed that my performance in class has started to slip, and I want to let you know that it is not because of your failure as an instructor, and it’s not meant in any disrespect. I’ve been enjoying your course so far, but with the current Coronavirus situation, it’s getting harder and harder for me to even function on a normal, human level. [provide some detail here about your mental state, ie: I’m freaking out, I’m stressed and terrified, and I feel like I’m falling apart, and that things are awful and hopeless. use your own words, preferably, but be honest.]

I hate bringing this sort of thing up, but [I’m mentally ill, I have depression and anxiety, I have a disability, basically explain your particular situation] and it’s making an already-terrifying worldwide disaster even harder to process and cope with. [give some example of how it’s harder for you to function -- your partner has to remind you to eat, it took a spatula to even get you out of bed, you keep losing track of the time to panic and find entire days gone with no memory of doing anything but freaking out, etc]

I promise I’m doing my best in your course, and I want to be able to complete it successfully, but I’m afraid I might fail under these present conditions. Is there any sort of help you can provide for me, like an extension on assignment due dates? I’m not trying to get out of doing my work, but under this much stress and fear, it’s getting harder and harder to focus on completing my assignments. Any sort of assistance you can provide would be helpful.

[you can also ask here if there are any resources the school can provide you in this situation. even if you look up resources on your own, your instructor may know about some things you haven’t found yet]

I know you’re probably scared, too, and I want to thank you for any help you’re able to give me.

Stay healthy,

[your name]

please keep holding on. we’re in for a long ride, and we can’t do it alone. humanity’s strength is its humanity. empathy, sympathy, compassion -- we need each other. don’t be afraid to reach out, because i guarantee you, there will be someone out there reaching right back to you

thank u for attending my anime power of friendship speech. please stay safe and healthy out there. we can get through this together.

[jacfletch]

so idk if this is a silly question but I've been reading your fics (which are amazing btw) and I was wondering how do you see Jac's mental health? or how do you think Fletch sees it (ik he doesn't know enough to really know but he was there when she her anxiety attack)

thank you!

my very first instinct to this question is to say that i don’t think jac has a “diagnosable illness” like depression or anxiety. personally, i don’t think she displays any of the usual symptoms of either besides her one on screen panic attack, but having only one doesn’t justify a whole diagnosis imo. i think it’s possible that she has some kind of personality disorder but i only have about 2 semesters worth of psych classes under my belt and i’m really not comfortable throwing words around like i know what i’m talking about, so i won’t do that. 

that being said, 100% its possible to talk about mental health without putting a specific label on it. i’d say that jac has bad mental health, which i believe is due to her traumatic childhood (where she lacked the resources to learn things like emotional maturity (and just to be clear, i dont think she lacks maturity in general or that i think shes emotionally immature, just that she’s bad at identifying her emotions and expressing them in healthy ways) which isn’t to say that i think all kids with absent/neglectful/abusive parents and/or guardians are that way, but we have contextual evidence to support jac’s lack of emotional support from her guardians). i do think she has some symptoms that coincide with “diagnosable illnesses” like a lack of self worth & grandiosity, general mood swings, irritability, fear of abandonment, self destructive behavior, etc etc etc. a lot of things have gotten better over time (like, in earlier seasons she had wildly erratic behavior with little care as to how it affected her and the people around her, but now she has permanent relationships with emma, sacha, fletch, etc. and knows that if she’s doing something dangerous, that its not just her that deals with the consequences or even facing consequences at all.) 

speaking for jac as she is now in 2019, i think that lack of self worth combined with narcissism is her biggest struggle. Professionally, she believes that she’s the best that there ever was or will be, but personally, i don’t think she likes herself. for the past year or so, we’ve seen more as a patient than we have as a doctor, which has taken a massive toll on her. if she believes that her worth comes from her surgical skills, then removing herself from it will— and has— made her feel worse emotionally. we’ve seen a couple of scenes where she says she thinks that being a good doctor is all that she has and that if she can’t operate, then she’s worthless. she knows that shes a great doctor, which is where her narcissism comes in, but she also hates herself personally, which i think feeds into the narcissism as well. you ever heard that saying thats like “i think that i’m the worst, so i act like i’m the best”? That’s how i would describe her.

now, i’m having difficulty forming my thoughts into a concrete statement, but i think it’s possible that somewhere along the way growing up, she learned that being the best at academia and succeeding professionally made her worthy of love and would, eventually, result in people needing her, which is where i think her fear of abandonment comes in. her narcissism makes her hard to work with as a person, but she knows that she’ll never be “unworthy” of people’s time because she’s good at her job. yes, she’s mean and yes, she pushes people to their limit, but the hospital needs her because she’s the best that there is and, subsequently, she will never be abandoned by her job. she will always be jac naylor, M.D., and she thinks that she will always be at the top of her field, which is why when other people come in and challenge how good she is, she takes it to heart and acts irrationally in order to compete with them and show off her skills to prove that shes better than them.

right now, she’s in a weird place because she’s just gotten off her year long stint as a patient and now has/had frieda, zosia, and kian (i assume) coming in and telling her that she’s not as ahead of the game as she used to be, so i think she’s struggling

there are obviously other complexities at play here. she has a child and her fears of abandonment are both upscaled and downscaled. upscaled, because she worries that emma will love jonny & his new wife more than she loves her. downscaled because she intrinsically knows that emma will always love her and will, hopefully, never abandon her. she also has her relationship with sacha and though at first she pushed him away, he’s proven that her fear of him abandoning her is unfounded because she’s pulled some pretty wack shit while he’s been around and he’s still her best friend. and fletch, whom she pushes away because she’s afraid that she’ll ruin their relationship if they become romantic, and she doesn’t want to be left again. 

there are some other things i wanted to mention but i lost an entire train of thought, so unfortunately all i can say about that is that she pushes people away before they can push her away, like in the case of jonny and jasmine. you can’t get hurt if no ones around to hurt you lol. 

in regards to how fletch sees jac’s mental health, i think he sees her as a (forgive me for being corny) strong independent woman. he’s said that he’s seen her at her lowest and watched her pick herself up in ways he didn’t think was possible and put her life back together. he saw her panic attack and helped her through it. he also saw her recover after being shot and then recover after all of her subsequent surgeries. and i think he does know that jac puts on a brave face and acts like shes the best because she’s covering up her own insecurities, but hes not worried about her in the sense that he feels the need keep a watchful on her, but maybe he checks in with her every once in awhile to make sure she’s not in a bad place or just to be someone to lean on in case she needs it

[skylersummer]

My Secret Phobia

Until I was eighteen years old, I kept a secret from every single person in my life. I didn’t tell a soul. Had I been brave enough to take to the internet and read about my secret, I would have realised that what I was dealing with on a day to day basis was nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about, in fact it’s fairly common.

My secret? I suffer from emetophobia.

Emetophobia is the fear of vomit; either physically being sick, seeing, hearing or smelling sick will send me in to a panic attack. Anxiety UK claims that 6-7% of women and 1.7 - 3.1% men will experience emetophobia in their lifetime. Had I known earlier that this anxiety disorder existed outside of my own personal life, let alone amongst thousands of people, I am certain I would have confided in someone about my fear. There’s only a handful of information on the internet (that I’m not too scared to read) about this disorder I’ve grown up with, so I would like to share my own personal experience in the hopes that it helps those suffering in silence realise that they are not alone and to help those who don’t have it, understand the complexities of the condition. I want to keep this as trigger-free as possible, as a lot of sources I have found on the internet I’ve found far too graphic to be of any help to actual sufferers of emetophobia, but bare in mind I will be continuously using the word vomit (a word which would make me flinch and feel physically sick until recent years.)

I am not aware of any one trigger for my emetophobia, there was no obvious experience that set off this whole disorder, all I know is that I have had it for as long as I can remember, from around the age of four.  

Here’s something I want to make clear now, to those who don’t have emetophobia. It is a phobia of vomit. When I’ve told people in recent years, I’ve had some laugh at me, Of course you don’t like sick, no one likes being sick. Emetophobics don’t just ‘not like’ vomit, or being sick. Of course, it’s not pleasant for anyone and no one particularly enjoys the experience, however this is a fear. We fear it on a daily basis.

When I was younger, and suffered with more severe symptoms of anxiety, the sound of someone nearby coughing would be enough to set me off into a panic attack. I avoided school trips for fear of anyone getting travel sick on coaches and I avoided places I couldn’t easily exit in case someone did vomit. For these reasons I found school, in particular, very troublesome as there were rules and regulations - you couldn’t just leave lessons whenever you felt worried.

No one could work out exactly why I was so scared of school trips, or wanted to sit by the door in assembly or in class. Age 11 I had my first counselling session with the NHS Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services (CAMHS). I quickly came up with a lie, telling my psychologists that I had claustrophobia (ironically a phobia I actually gave myself), an excuse I deemed socially acceptable and far less embarrassing than the truth. I discharged myself within 6 weeks.

The fact that no one understand the root of why I was so scared of seemingly normal situations meant that no one could properly help give me the therapy that I needed, and I don’t want this to appear as a critique of CAMHS, or school, or my family who I know tried to do what they could, given the information they had.

As I joined secondary school my anxiety and panic attacks became more and more frequent. I would have to leave lessons almost every day, and would avoid the school toilets where possible.

Unfortunately one of the main symptoms that my emetophobia causes is nausea, and naturally this makes me worry even more that I will be sick. It becomes a vicious cycle.

Throughout my adolescent years I was in and out of doctors and hospitals multiple times as healthcare professionals tried to find the cause of my stomach pain and nausea. I had blood tests upon blood tests, I tried cutting out dairy, cutting out gluten, but nothing worked for me long term. The daily nausea persisted: from the moment I got out of bed to the moment I fell asleep at night.

During some of my worse periods I feared leaving the house entirely, in case I somehow became sick outside the safety of my home or in case I came into contact with someone else who was sick. I refused to go to school on a daily basis; until the age of 16 I would be dragged into school crying and screaming by my parents. By the time I was 17 and on study leave for my AS levels my school attendance had dropped below 50% and I was very depressed. My  claustrophobia had turned into agoraphobia and being home alone during study leave had me spiralling into periods of psychosis, imagining voices and seeing imaginary figures around my house.

My parents and sisters tried desperately to find the source of what we all knew was just pure anxiety. I persevered with CAMHS until an unfortunate misdiagnosis of my emetophobia as anorexia. Only recently have I started to realise how much the emetophobia affects the way I treat food. I’ve always been naturally slim but, I think, during my school years I was subconsciously eating very little, for fear of feeling too full in case it made me feel sick. Between the ages of 16-18 I had an average BMI of 13.5 which, upon discovering, doctors believed was caused by anorexia. I’ve read recently of emetophobics who’ve become hospitalised; their fear of vomiting making them too scared to eat anything at all. I only wish that the mental health professionals I dealt with at 17 had known about other atypical eating disorders instead of quickly trying to label me with anorexia, which ultimately led me never to return to them (I did a full on running-out-of-the-CAMHS-building and never looked back).

By the time I was 18 I thought I’d exhausted every way of getting better. I had heard the phrase ‘fight or flight’ in reference to my panic attacks (if you know, you know) too many times to count and I was begging for someone, anyone to figure it out, so I didn’t have to tell them. I legitimately thought my daily panic attacks were normal, and that this giant secret that was gnawing away at my insides was going to be something I dealt with my whole adult life. The thought of being stuck like this made me even more depressed and my body was struggling to keep me healthy at such a low weight - I had severe (and recurring) bronchitis during my final year of school which led to me getting post-viral fatigue; I was completely exhausted. I was so tired of being tired all the time, I really felt close to giving up.

Whilst my friends were out experiencing their adolescence as they rightly should, I was instead being picked up from parties at 9pm, too scared to drink alcohol in case it made me sick, too scared of someone else being sick from over-drinking as was so common at teenage parties - unfortunately something I couldn’t always avoid. I wouldn’t touch cigarettes as I’d heard so many people say they’d been sick after trying their first one. I couldn’t, and still can’t, go to the cinema for fear of an unexpected and graphic vomit scene, or go to fairgrounds or theme parks. I’m still petrified of flying in case myself or anyone around me is sick. I couldn’t enjoy anything a normal teenager was supposed to and I became somewhat of a recluse.

During my final year of school I was attending a private therapist with my mother and sister (I was too anxious to be alone with strangers by this point.) It was around then that I started to crack, and they began to notice how I reacted when the word ‘vomit’ was mentioned - I would immediately leave the room, crying in panic.  They’d always known I didn’t like being sick, but I don’t think anyone really knew the extent of the phobia, how it dominated my life each day.

At age 18, I was finally put on Citalopram to target my anxiety and panic disorder as well as the depression. I know that antidepressants do not work for everyone, but personally it changed my life. I’d been a shell of a person for the past 5 years, and I honestly think I would have just vanished had it not been for the medication. Alongside the relief of being honest with my family (and eventually friends) I dramatically became a fuller, happier version of myself. I finished school with three A Levels (something I am not sure anyone expected to happen only a year before) and even managed to go on holiday with my friends for a week (taking an aeroplane and even a dreaded coach!) Without the structure and pressure of school I really was a new person.

I started my Art Foundation at Oxford Brooke’s University in September 2015, and my exposure to lots of student drinking and therefore vomiting (other people’s as well as my own) dramatically helped me begin to overcome this phobia which has stolen half my life.

I’m in my final year of university now and living in London, and it hasn't been a completely smooth ride. I’ve had to switch medication twice now and I still struggle daily with public transport and the thought of being sick in public, but it’s definitely an improvement on where I was only 4 years ago, barely even living.

I still haven’t received any professional help or treatment besides my medication, for my emetophobia and that’s something I really want to do in the future, but I’m just trying to take small steps at the moment whilst I finish my degree. The thought of potentially having children (morning sickness, general kid sickness etc.) seems completely unattainable and terrifying to me, but one day I’d like to be brave enough to have the option.

I’m still recovering and I do have set backs, I’m still only just figuring out the extent of how much this phobia affects my daily life, but I do want to say that it is possible to get better. Age 11 I would have never dreamed of even telling someone about my phobia let alone be writing a public post on the internet like this, ten years later, but I think that’s probably why it’s so important that I do this. It’s not going to be easy, and I know the most obvious way forward for me is to get proper exposure therapy (gently exposing myself to sounds, television shows and movies featuring vomit etc.) but I do know for sure that I am going to beat this, one day, whatever it takes.

[waldowski89-blog]

Tumblr Written Return.

So, I’m back here doing my usual routine. Hello, I guess… you guess? In any case, I enjoy these don’t get me wrong. My abrasiveness is just something acquired, I think. Or not talking to people, I don’t know. Okay, that started off on a wrong foot, left or right you decide… god this is rubbish. So I’ll split this into 3? I didn’t say that last time. I think three segments is enough for 1,000 words… enough for anybody.

I think I’m at the point where most people give up [Edit 20-02-19: I kinda wanna.]. I want to be relentless with this. This notebook seems like it may take longer to fill. Anyway apparently there’s a point where people quit or feel like it but it comes just before take off as it were. Not that that was ever the plan of course. I always felt if it made one person laugh or happy or entertained etc. then it was worth it. I’ll take regular in writing this or these [Edit 20-02-19: I seriously don’t know what that means… oh breaks I think I meant.]. I won’t include times though just dates. All that was probably only interesting to me anyway. I don’t really know.

Wow, can you believe I’ve been here on and off for about two years now? Does it seem like that? I don’t know. Don’t roll your eyes at that. It really has been a while, hasn’t it? Do you look forward to another two years? I’m smiling so I must be. I never cared about popularity or getting paid… hint hint. Eurgh, all that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I just want to entertain but one has to make a living too. Can one really trade in blood… that’s overly creepy. I meant metaphysically. I don’t always talk about positive subjects. Also I was about to talk on where I’ve been this past month. The thought is conflicted… who really cares anyway. Why am I so grim and grey? Cue Bohemian Rhapsody. Actually that’s interesting that’s a nonsense song and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is a nonsense story. I really want to get around to reading that. I want to do a reading on a new channel of mine. It’s not set up properly though and I have nothing to post there yet. Just a few maybe dumb outtakes of Jane Eyre. I wanted to read that first… for an old friend. I LOVE YA BUB! BUB. Hey that’s a point, I forget to do ending ideas on my streams. I shall begin that again too… I mean I already started streaming again but I meant the Ending Ideas™ IN ANY CASE! (My talents are wasted) (What talent?)

Where I’ve Been? been up to?

Right hello again, next section. So I’m not going to go into depths as to where I was and what I got up to. Suffice it to say that it was an education. An ongoing education. Also one that technically started years ago. There’s no need for me to go into great detail anyway. Clearly there’s something wrong with my mental health. I have been determined to have a mental disorder. That is or it has been observed that way. I don’t disagree. Oof, I don’t like talking about it. It always brings the mood down. Put short I am depressed and this could be due to anxieties I have. Fear not though for I am getting help. Deers. Should I call my audience deers? Jeeze why the fuck do I have an audience for this? It’s not fun. Hopefully talking helps. Openly or at least as openly as one would like. I want to move on already. With life, with everything. Again, fear not, for I will stay here as I can. It’s too dour. Let us move on shall we? I’ve barely broached the subject though. However I feel I’ve said enough. I hope.

In any case, hope is a good tool in these situations. Hope that things will get better and that it just takes time… it’s taking a pretty fucking long time, huh? That’s about all I’ve got on this subject for now. Oh, except that there was an app about all this. Link! Hey you! Yes you! Got crippling depression? Feel anxious all the time? Yes? Then there’s an app for you.

Okay, now that was overly facetious (I’ll have to edit in whether I spelt facetious right or not later) [Edit 20-02-19: I did.]. Anyway I’ll link (spelt tink wrong it’s early… and I did it even wronger just then). I’ll link it at the end. I haven’t used it myself (fear perhaps) but I will in time. It sounds very helpful bringing each other hope in depressing times/situations/circumstances.

I’ve always wanted to help people. Entertain people. Keep people smiling. It’s nice. Like Psycho Mantis in Metal Gear Solid: “I’ve never used my powers to help people before… It feels… kind of… nice…”. I can still hear that in my head. Gosh, I played Metal Gear Solid a lot as a child… David Hayter in that Christmas message about it was like: “Yeah, well it’s a dark world.”. That was epic where he just dropped into The Voice™: “Brother” and Cam Clarke too: “Dear brother.” I FUCKING LOVE THAT GAME AND ALL THE VOICE ACTORS AND CREATORS AND EVERYONE! … In any case… FFFOXE DIE DIE DIE… calm down Andrew. Counterintuitively I’m listening to the Hitman Blood Money Soundtrack.

Been Looking at Microphones.

Anyway, time to move on. I wrote the above title a few days ago. I’ll read back this thing to get a better idea of where I am. I usually write these in bits over a few days.

Okay, so that seems like a waste of time. It’s just my usual pontificating. So the microphones. I don’t know or remember why I wanted to dedicate a whole section to that but hey ho here we are (I’m listening to the album Hollow Bones by Rival Sons by the way. More Links!). Um basically I was thinking of investing in a much more expensive microphone. That’s it really.

So moving on from that… jeeze it feels like one of these mission constraints in Assassin’s Creed. “Write only about buying a professional microphones only” Well I’ve broken that constraint but there’s no checkpoint here.

In any case, that was it. Interestingly though I found the album Hollow Bones by chance or by how I usually find music and that’s through the recommended on iTunes. I actually do usually judge an album by it’s cover and this one is cool. It has what could be an arctic fox on the front. I’ll put a pic in here.

[Edit 22-02-19: Nice vape, yo.]

I found this album from the recommended in Victorious by Wolfmother. That album gives me nostalgia (what doesn’t?) for a few years ago. It was when I was in the grip of psychosis I think (That’s brave? Don’t post this) I thought I was in a TV show or something. I can’t be the only one to ever have felt this way… Derren Brown more specifically anyway. That’s all over with now. I wasn’t it turns out. I thought the music was a message to me directly as if created for me… I know it’s or may be narcissistic of me. Anyway I tried to listen and applied the lyrics to my life… ANYWAY… I guess I finish this by linking a Jack White video: “Let the music tell you what to do” I haven’t even watched it yet. I will now but alas we are at the end of another Tumblr. I look forward to working with you again friend… The Internet. My name’s Waldowsky (with a ‘y’ why? for now) and thank you to every single one of you who read. My hand hurts (Stop complaining, Andrew).

Just watched it. Well I was going to say I can write a bunch and keep it all. I hardly delete anything. I’ll link Death Letter too… I really love that track. Curiouser and curiouser, I just realised it’s from De Stijl… what a coincidence that he should mention that song.

[Final Edit 20-02-19: A lot of this made no fucking sense.]

[Final Final Edit 22-02-19 or P.S.: The app was called Wisdo. Still haven’t tried it yet.]

Links

Wisdo

Hitman: Blood Money Soundtrack [Edit 22-02-19: I nearly forgot to add this. I need to find a soundtrack for Metal Gear Solid too. I have some music from that game, so don’t you worry.]

Hollow Bones - Rival Sons

Victorious - Wolfmother

Jack White - Speech: "Let the music tell you what to do" | Producers & Engineers Honoree | GRAMMYS

Bonus

Bonus Bonus [Edit 22-02-19: There ya go.]

[frangipanidownunder]

Mother Frangipani, I have a problem. My partner hasn’t had sex with me in nearly three weeks. I’m going crazy. It’s affecting my mood, my ability to concentrate, my mental and physical energy, everything. Masturbating doesn’t help at all. It’s started to make me feel distant from them. Every time they come around I feel like I’m going to cry, and sometimes just randomly throughout the day I feel like crying, too. And the worst thing is, according to them, there’s no real reason why. I hate this.

Hey there anon. Thank you for being brave enough to tell me your story.

I see two separate issues here. The first is your relationship. The second is your wellbeing. They are most likely interlinked, but not exclusively.

I’m not sure how long you have been with your partner, but from what you say here, there seems to be some distance between you. I know it’s hard, and sometimes painful, but you really do have to talk to them. You say your partner is telling you there’s no reason why - but I’m not sure if this is referring to your sadness or their distance? Whichever it is, your partner’s reaction is a little harsh. Most people don’t cry for no reason. Pain, tiredness, anger, grief, hormones, happiness, anxiety, depression, fear. There’s always a reason. You just have to examine yours. Only you can do that and it might mean admitting some things to yourself that you haven’t been able to acknowledge so far.

You also write in a passive way - your partner hasn’t had sex with you - but have you tried to initiate lovemaking? Is the lack of sex affecting your mood, or is it the lack of intimacy? Are you worried about lost feelings - you for your partner, or vice versa? Are you unable to get relief from masturbating because of the reasons above? Why does your partner’s presence provoke such a reaction from you? These are some of the hard asks you have to process. Without understanding your own mindset, it’s tough to understand someone else’s.

Your wellbeing is paramount. If you feel anxious and down, your relationship will suffer. If your relationship with your partner is not in a good enough place for you to seek comfort in that person, it will affect your mood. I truly believe that you have to really work on figuring out what you want, why you feel so upset, what it is about your partner that is preventing you from sharing your feelings or fears. If you can open up those lines of communication in your own mind and with your partner, things might improve. But there might be more crying to do first.

Take some time to do small things for yourself. Take a walk, meditate or do yoga or swim, find comfort in nature or a pet or a favourite place, read or write or sing or listen to music or watch your favourite movie/tv show. Give yourself a chance to relax. If you feel your sadness is getting too much, check in with a health professional. Asking for help is hard, but it’s worth it. Getting yourself on track is the best way to approach other issues in life. 

And if your partner won’t help you do that, perhaps you might need some time apart while you’re working through these feelings. Whatever you decide and however you approach this difficult time, please remember that you are the most important thing in this equation. It’s your life, your wellbeing, your future. Look after yourself and all your relationships will improve.

Best wishes to you. And come back and let me know how you get on.

[creative-type]

Organic Character Growth in Call the Midwife

One of the things I most appreciate about Call the Midwife is its character writing. There are plenty of shows that suffer from flanderization or character derailment in an effort to keep things interesting, but Call the Midwife is and remains to be an excellent, character-driven drama over six-plus seasons (As an American, I’m a little behind on the most recent episodes). 

Speaking as someone who knows nothing about writing for a television series, I can only imagine how difficult it is to maintain quality writing when you have little to no control what the future holds. The series might get cancelled. Actors and actresses might pursue other roles. The audience might not respond well to a storyline necessitating the show to go a different direction. There are so many things about syndication that our outside the writer’s control, but they still have the thankless job of working around all the bumps and hiccups to produce the story they want to tell.

I eventually want to focus on how the show handled the character of Sister Evangelina, but before we get there I want to explore a little of what I think makes the writing as engaging as it is, using some of the other characters. With that in mind, let’s begin.

Also, beware of major spoilers, especially for season five. If any of my followers haven’t watched Call the Midwife it’s on Netflix and is awesome. Go watch it and then come back. I’ll still be here.

Episodes, Seasons, and Series: The Basic Units of Television

When evaluating the writing for a television series, I like to break the show down into three units of measure: The episode, the season, and the series as a whole. There can be good episodes in bad seasons, or bad seasons in otherwise good shows, or any combination of the above. 

Call the Midwife maintains a strong continuity, and because each season is less than ten episodes it doesn’t have a lot of time to mess around with filler material that doesn’t somehow advance the plot. The hour runtime of most episodes (extended to an hour and half for the Christmas specials) gives the series time to develop an interesting and compelling case of the week-style medical drama while also allowing for a large ensemble cast, which after the departure of Jenny Lee in the third season doesn’t have a main character but rather rotates through the stories of the nuns and midwives of Nonnatus House.

While I would argue that each season has its own main theme, the overarching concept the series is trying to explore is love. There are narrated voice overs at the beginning and end of each episode that drive this point home, which can come off as narmy or charmingly sweet depending on your disposition. Romantic love, familial love, love for community...all these things are the thread that bind the series into its current form. 

But it’s through these themes of love that Call the Midwife explores heavy issues such as poverty, women’s rights, health, mental health, alcoholism, abuse, racism, homosexuality, death, and so much more. It also is a period piece examining life in the late 1950s to early 60s though a modern lens, both optimistic at how far we’ve come and exploring how much farther we have to go.

To say Call the Midwife is ambitious is an understatement, and with a series that has so much to say might forget that it’s first and foremost a story, but it doesn’t. The characters act like real people, with real struggles, hopes, dreams and ambitions. The medical aspects of the show are well-researched and realistically displayed. While maintaining an overall optimistic tone it doesn’t shy away from the difficult or unpleasant realities of life.

This kind of balance can only be maintained with good character writing. The characters are the backbone of the show, and everything else branches off from their experiences.

(It should also be noted that the series has some excellent actors and actresses that bring this writing to life, but I’m going to basically ignore that aspect of things because I know less about acting than I do writing.)

Let’s look at the example of Season One, Episode One. The series opens with newly-qualified midwife Jenny Lee walking through the East End of London towards her new job, while the narrator (an older Jenny) says the following:

I must have been mad! I could have been an air hostess, I could have been a model, I could have moved to Paris or been a concert pianist. I could have seen the world, been brave, followed my heart. But I didn't. I side-stepped love and set off for the east-end of London because I thought it would be easier. Madness is the only explanation!

Another side note: Call the Midwife was drawing from the memoir of Jennifer Worth at this point in time, so I’m not 100% sure if this is a direct quotation or not, but I’m pretty sure it’s original material. 

In any case, Jenny walks past a scene of two women fighting: A heavily pregnant wife going after her husband’s mistress. There’s a circle of onlookers egging them on, while Jenny watches helplessly until the police and Sister Evangelina arrive and break up the altercation. 

Jenny eventually reaches Nonnatus House, meets the delightfully senile Sister Monica Joan, and admits to Sister Julienne that she thought she was working at a small private hospital when in fact she will be living and working in a convent.

This one small scene--over and done with in the first ten minutes of the episode--tells you everything you need to know about Jenny as well as the main theme of the season.

I’ve alternately thought of the first season of Call the Midwife as being about finding your place in the world, growing up, and overcoming naivete. Jenny--and later on Chummy who also happens to get a lot of screen time--are both new midwives and know nothing about living in poverty, neither are terribly experienced with love, and in Jenny’s case is holding onto the idea of a relationship she knows she can’t have rather than accepting what will make her happy. 

This theme not the focus of every episode and the series doesn’t beat you over the head with it, but there’s no denying it’s there. In Episode 2, Chummy has to learn to ride a bicycle and overcome her poor self-esteem to deliver a breech baby. In Episode 3, Jenny finds herself looking after a kindly old man named Joe and has to deal with overcoming her own revulsion of his deplorable living conditions to care for him as a person. Episode 5 has Jenny coming face to face with the horrors of the workhouse and the long-acting consequences it has on those who lived in them.

Each episode contains its own self-contained story and themes that bolster that of the series--Jenny learns to see her poverty-stricken patients as “heroines”, Chummy delivers the breech baby and gains the respect of her peers, etc.--that are in and of themselves interesting. Anyone can jump into just about any episode of Call the Midwife and understand the jist of what’s going on, and still have the pleasure of seeing a unique spin on the medical drama format. 

The true genius is how the writers have taken seeds planted early in the series and let them develop organically into plot twists that don’t seem like asspulls. For example, when I introduced the Call the Midwife to my roommates we made it to maybe the second season when one of them remarked “Wow, Trixie sure drinks a lot.” And it’s true. Trixie has always been the fun-loving girl who, though extremely skilled, is always looking for a good time. It makes complete sense that given the stresses in her personal and professional life she would develop into a functioning (and later on not so functioning) alcoholic.

But when you look back on these early seasons Trixie’s drinking habit isn’t really mentioned. It’s just...sort of there, and an accepted part of her characterization without being commented on until much later in the series. The show never goes out of the way to emphasize Trixie’s drinking until it starts interfering with her life, which makes it feel both like a natural consequence and an unexpected plot-point at the same time.

You can have this natural growth only by treating the characters as characters, and not glorified mouth-pieces that for the soap-box special of the day. Going back to the example of Trixie, we get to learn eventually that a large part of her bubbly personality is a front, see her struggle to be taken seriously as a midwife and a woman, fight through a relationship with a good but ultimately incompatible fiancee, and mature into a better person and health-care provider because of it all. It’s a testament to the quality of the writing when during the Season 6 Christmas special set in South Africa that I 100% believed that Trixie could and would be able to preform a C-section without a doctor present and that her coworkers would trust her enough to pull it off.

(I kind of hope Trixie becomes the 1960s English version of a nurse practitioner, but that’s beside the point).

There are seeds like this sprinkled all throughout the series: Sister Bernadette wistfully letting her hair down after the non-nun midwives go out dancing, Cynthia Miller’s tendency towards depression and anxiety after the death of the Kelly baby, Jenny showing an interest in end of life care multiple times before her departure of the series, the list goes on and on.

Which brings me back to Sister Evangelina.

Tying Together Character and Theme 

As previously stated, Season One of Call the Midwife is a classic fish out of water scenario, and if you’re going to take a fish out of water it stands to reason that you’re going to have someone who wants to see them flounder.

That person is Sister Evangelina.

Now I’m not saying that Sister Evangelina isn’t a good character, but out of the main cast she’s one of the ones who gets the least development. Her main duty in the show is to give voice to other character’s insecurities and act as a sort of antagonist that they have to overcome. She’s the most staunchly traditional character in a series pioneering modern liberal idealism who’s most definable character traits are her sharp tongue and unyielding nature. Some quotes include:

“The East End will eat her for breakfast”

“I’ll tell you what the problem is. You young girls do too much book-learning. You sit for months in classrooms, filling your heads with loads of codswallop, when simple practical tasks are beyond you!”

“She may be my sister in Christ but I swear, she would drive a Methodist to drink!”

“If you’re suggesting that a few deep breaths and not thinking about what’s for dinner is all there is to labor, you’re leading your patients up the fairy way”

Sister Evangelina cares, but she is not by nature kind. She’s an action first, my way or the highway, suspicious of newcomers because they don’t know what they’re doing kind of character. She fits perfectly as an obstacle for the younger generation of midwives to overcome and a voice against new-fangled nonsense such such as gas and air for pain relief during deliveries, and updating to a freaking Rolodex.  

Yes, even a Rolodex is reasonable cause for a fight with Sister Evangelina.

And that’s not to say that she’s an evil or nasty woman, just a hard one, born and shaped by a life filled with hardness to the point that’s all she really knows. We understand where she’s come from and why she thinks the way she does, but at the same time by the time Season Five rolls around the series has outgrown her. 

One of the major themes for Season Five is change: change in how medicine is practiced, change from an the old generation to the new, and irreversible changes in society as it marches forward. The young, inexperienced midwives aren’t so young and inexperienced, and the introduction of Nurse Crane has taken Sister Evangelina’s status as the “tough but fair” one while being a more relatable and progressive character overall, thus fitting better with the evolution of the series and where it wants to go.

At the same time, Sister Evangelina was relatively beloved by the fandom, and a complex and deserving character in her own right. When Pam Ferris decided to leave the series, how were the writers going to let her go with grace and dignity, as befitting of her status in- and out of universe?

By killing her off in the best way possible.

Early in Season Five Sister Evangelina is confronted with the fact that her dismissive attitude towards formula versus breast milk has caused serious harm to a mother and baby. She’s rightfully called out by Barbra Gilbert, one of the newer nurses (this is important, remember the theme of the changing of the guard) before going off to the Mother House for some serious self-reflection. 

She comes back much later after it’s revealed she’s had a stroke. Sister Evangelina, a woman who believes she best serves God through direct action, is rendered unable to do just that. While able to do some nursing cares one-handed,  she gives up handling babies because she might, you know, drop them, returning to her rightful place at Nonnatus House a humbled woman.

This would have been good enough, but the show takes the time to give her a renewed purpose before killing her off. I think it’s important that she spends her last delivery with Barbra, imparting her knowledge and unique brand of home-spun wisdom to the very person who drove her into exile. Her journey comes full circle when she picks up a baby for the final time, shouts a bit for old time’s sake, and dies peacefully in her sleep with her character arc completed. The tear-inducing funeral montage is just extra icing on the cake, giving the audience a greater appreciation for her impact on the community she served for so many years. 

I’m not going to say that every single plot thread is handled with such deftness, and some characters pop into and out of the series with more grace than others. But when you treat your characters as characters, and let them grow, and change, and suffer, and overcome organically then you don’t have to throw screwy plot twists or derail a character to stay “relevant”. If you can’t trust your characters to be interesting without major outside intervention, then maybe you just need better characters.

It’s difficult, but it can be done. I know, because I and many others have been invested for over six seasons now, and I think I can speak for the fandom on this one and say that we don’t plan on stopping any time soon.

[awed-frog]

Hi! Sorry that I ask u this, u don't need to answer anyway: what would u say to a selfish bulimic and stupid human being, who can't do anything right? Not even like the other genre to at least make it a little easier for her parents? And please don't say "get help" bc I'm not talking about this (yeah it's harder to write in first person I guess whatever)

Oh, sweetheart. I would tell you that bulimia is a mental health issue, and being gay is just who you are, so neither is a thing you chose or something that’s even remotely your fault.

I don’t know how much this can help you, but here is my advice.

The bulimia needs to go. It’s an illness, and it’s a dangerous illness. I know you said you don’t want to, but if at all possible, you should see a therapist - it’s hard to guide you since I don’t know where you live, but in many countries, there are places when you can go anonymously and for free to discuss this kind of issues (hospitals, school psychologists, mental health centres). I think the best thing would be to open up to someone close to you (an adult if possible: maybe a teacher, or a relative you trust?) and explain that you need to talk to someone. 

(Don’t say about what - that’s your business. Just ask for advice.) 

If you feel you can’t do that, try to find an online community (it’d be great to connect with someone who’s living in your country) and ask them if they know of any therapists in your area. And, look, I know this is the last thing you want to hear, because I’ve been there more than once - a very good friend of mine struggled with anorexia for years, and I’m slowly getting over an eating disorder myself - but you need to let someone know. You need to get help. Mental health issues are almost impossible to overcome without some kind of external support, and accepting that is the first step on your path to get better. 

As for being gay - there is nothing wrong with it. Nothing. In fact, it’s not always easy to know who we are at all, so I’m proud of you for figuring out your sexuality so soon (since you mention your parents, I’m assuming you’re a young person - I apologize if that is not the case), and, remember, you don’t owe that knowledge to anyone. From what I understand, you came out to your parents, and I can’t imagine the courage it took for you to do that, but don’t feel you need to live openly as a lesbian right now if you don’t want to. Your sexuality is your own, and no one’s business. So it’s not about ‘making it easier for your parents’ or anything like that, because your parents simply have no right to dictate who you should love. If your sexuality is a problem for them, that’s not your fault - it’s theirs. And again, I don’t know where you live, but the good news is that in many countries around the world, life for the LGBT community is improving. So I know you find it hard right now, but please believe me: it does get better. When we’re in a bad situation, we mostly see no way out, or we think it’s going to last forever (and this affects young people even more, because of how their brains are wired), but that is not the case. Things change. If you’re comfortable doing so, try to connect with other people from the LGBT community - find places, online or offline, were you can be yourself and hear about others’ experiences. That really helps.

And finally - your parents. It’s difficult to give you advice without knowing exactly what’s going on, but let me say this: I had many conversations with parents - I decided to talk to my mother about my eating disorder, and I also talked to parents of students and friends of mine (with their consent, of course), and mostly what emerges is this: most parents love their kids without reason but are not necessarily mature or good at handling relationships with other people, and that means their first reaction to anything out of the ordinary is worry and anger. So I would say - either your parents are reacting badly because they love you and worry about you, or they belong to that minority of people who’re just not capable of understanding, empathy, forgiveness and tolerance - not even when their own kids are involved. In the first case, they will probably come to accept that this is who you are (I’ve seen it happen several times), and in the second - walking away from one’s parents, or realizing they’re never going to love you the way you need them do, is always difficult and painful and profoundly unfair, but sometimes it’s the only thing you can do. And when that happens, the problem is not you - it’s them. They’re your parents, they’re adults - is their responsability to meet you halfway, and to be there for you no matter what. So if they can’t, it’s never because you weren’t good enough - it’s something wrong deep in their hearts - please don’t forget that. Now, whether you’re still living with them or not, please don’t let yourself become obsessed with those thoughts (‘My parents don’t like me, my parents think I’m not good enough’). Instead, focus on yourself. Make plans for the future, get better at what you like doing, create and nurture connections with people who love you - and don’t worry about your parents too much. 

(Important: if you think you’re being abused, or that you’re going to get hurt or hurt yourself, seek help at once.) 

Final note: I just reread what I wrote and I’m not completely happy with it, so let me get personal for a second. I’ve been where you are. I know what it means to have an eating disorder. If you’ve never talked about this with anyone, and if you’ve never read about these issues, you may think you’re the only one going through this - the only one ‘weak’ enough, ‘selfish’ enough and ‘stupid’ enough to behave in that way. That is not the case. You say you’re stupid and selfish - I see myself in these words. I know what it’s like to be deeply ashamed of who you are and yet unable to change. I know what it’s like to buy food in secret, to steal food, to eat food you don’t want to eat, to pretend you want to have dinner when you’re so full or so empty or so goddamned depressed you can’t even sit up straight. I know what it’s like to get caught by other people doing something you’re not supposed to be doing - how some are disappointed, others concerned, and others yet just shocked and angry and what the hell is wrong with you? You’re not alone in this. Almost five million women in the US suffer from bulimia. On fifth of the population has some kind of eating disorder, and statistically, in every class one student is struggling with anorexia nervosa. So I understand you don’t want to tell anyone, and I don’t want to be harsh here, or to scare you, but you need to. I know it’s hard, but you need to be brave and get help. An eating disorder can lead to anxiety, mood swings, and self-harm. It can do severe damages to your body. It can kill you. And the thing is, it’s an illness like any other, so that shame you feel (the same shame I felt - the terror anyone would find out) - that’s the sick part of your mind trying to stay sick. It’s not real. A health professional will never judge you, whatever you tell them. Talking to a therapist will help. You can get better, and you will. So, please - I’m not asking you to make a decision straight away, because I know perfectly well how hard it is, but please, please consider it. Allow the idea to get inside your mind. Get information about bulimia, contact a support group, connect with people who have experience with it. It’s unfair and fucked up that mental health issues should be considered so differently from other kinds of health issues. Think: if you had a broken arm, would you try to hide it? Would you say, ‘Just tell me how to get better on my own, because I’m not seeing a doctor’? Of course you wouldn’t. And bulimia is exactly like a broken arm. There is no difference between the two. And I understand how difficult it is to talk to family and friends about it - if you don’t want to, don’t do it - but you need to talk to someone. Doing what you did today - reach out anonymously - that’s a great start, and I’m proud of you for doing that. And you know what? When I read your message, I didn’t see a ‘stupid’ and ‘selfish’ woman - I saw someone who’s strong and brave and determined to build a life for herself. You’re gay in a world where it’s often difficult to be gay, and you’re going through life fighting against a disease every single day and you live in an environment that is not supportive, and yet you don’t give up - you chose to ask for help today - you’re a goddamn hero. Seriously - you’re an amazing person, and one day you’re going to look back on this period of your life and barely remember how painful it was. So - hang on, okay? Things will get better - I promise you.

Here are a few websites to get you started. I wish you all the best, and please come back and talk to me if you want to - on or off anon.❤

It Gets Better Project |LGBT Youth UK |GLAAD |LGBT forums

HelpGuide | NHS | US hotlines | NCFED UK | NEDA forum | Psych forum

[emlydunstan]

Gaslighting and Mental Health: How the Medical System Failed Me

Trigger Warning: The following story mentions a suicide attempt. Proceed with caution. If you feel you are at risk and need help, skip the story and get help now. Options include: Calling the U.S. National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 800-273-TALK (8255), calling 911, and calling a friend or family member to stay with you until emergency medical personnel arrive to help you. It’s the night before my first appointment with a new allergist. I don’t even bother trying to sleep. I’m too nervous. Instead of sleep, I refresh my twitter and Facebook feeds. I take care of the laundry, reveling in one of the few perks that comes with insomnia, like free rein of the apartment laundry room at 3:30 a.m. My husband wakes up for work at 6 a.m. He doesn’t even bother asking if I got any sleep. He knows I’m already afraid, even before I set foot outside our apartment: am I going to come home crying and broken? I don’t expect to be believed anymore by the very doctors I seek out for medical treatment, and I’m never surprised when my complaints of chronic (and still undiagnosed) symptoms are reduced to nothing more than orders to “eat less” and “move more,” or worse yet: “it’s all in your head.”I used to blame myself. Maybe the doctors were right. Maybe I was crazy. They are the experts, after all. Journalist and author Maya Dusenbery knows this struggle. The author of Doing Harm: The Truth About Bad Medicine and Lazy Science Leave Women Dismissed, Misdiagnosed, and Sick, Dusenbery interviewed over 200 women with similar experiences to what she refers to as medical gaslighting.“I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis several years ago. While I got a diagnosis fairly quickly and easily, it prompted me to learn more about autoimmune diseases in general. I quickly realized how many other autoimmune patients — the majority of whom are women — weren't nearly so lucky as I was,” she said. “I started paying more attention to how many women I knew seemed to have a story of health care providers who didn't take their symptoms seriously — who dismissed them as ‘normal’ or ‘just stress’ or even disbelieved them entirely.”The result of being dismissed by the medical community for legitimate complaints is that women are labeled “complainers” during their early searches for answers.This all sounds so familiar to me that it is both comforting to know I am not alone and utterly depressing that there are so many of us being ignored by the doctors we entrust with our care.My own experiences with gender-based medical gaslighting stretches back decades, starting with the pediatrician who dismissed my hesitant admission that I thought I might have an eating disorder. And just a few weeks ago, a dermatologist flat-out told me that the painful, chronic, and recurrent skin lesions I have been experiencing since my daughter was born almost 12 years ago — and that I am quite certain are the result of an undiagnosed autoimmune condition — are nothing more than a reflection of my dermatillomania (skin picking disorder). When I tried to explain yet again that I only dig at the swollen spots to relive the buildup of pressure, he prescribed me Gabapentin, smiled, and told me to make an appointment for a follow-up in six months.This Girl Thinks She Has an Eating DisorderWhen I was 15, I sat in my pediatrician’s office in shock, listening to her tell the dietitian in the hallway that I just needed a talk-though on healthy eating and to send me home with some pamphlets on diet and exercise. The doctor had closed the door behind her, of course. But she hadn’t accounted for the paper-thin walls. “This girl thinks she has an eating disorder because she can’t stick to a diet,” I heard my doctor say. I wanted the floor to open up beneath me. Instead, I nodded and smiled when the door opened, forcing my smile bigger as the dietitian gave me my pamphlets. When I got home, I promptly binged and purged, and continued to do so for six more years because I wasn't taken seriously when I stammered my way through the phrase: “I think I have an eating disorder.”A Burden in the Emergency RoomWhen I was 21, I attempted suicide before realizing that dead was permanent and scared myself into action. I called my boyfriend at the time for help, but soon I was feeling smaller and more of a burden in the emergency room than I had felt before the suicide attempt. When the nurse asked if I felt like hurting myself again, I lied and said I was fine because I knew that if I said I still felt suicidal, they wouldn't let me leave. I couldn’t figure out how to explain that “feeling suicidal” didn't mean I wanted to attempt to harm myself again, but it didn't matter. The nurse didn't give a damn, anyway. When I said I was fine, she sighed in obvious relief, but it wasn't relief that I was actually fine (I wasn't), it was relief that she wouldn't have to deal with me anymore. She didn’t say it, but I felt like I was just another messed up college kid to deal with. I was checked off her list of things that mattered, and went home to cry myself to sleep. People Like You Can’t Be HelpedWhen I was in my mid-30’s, I sat before a dermatologist who was examining me for that recurring rash and inflammation cycle that results in painful sores and welts coving my entire body. He asked me if I pick at my skin, looking at my arms and face. I nodded, honest, and told him I knew I needed to see a therapist or psychiatrist about anti-anxiety meds to control the compulsions to pick at myself, and asked him how he could help me with my skin.“People like you can’t be helped,” was the reply that his nurse later apologized for as I sat on the exam table weeping and broken, once again dismissed by the medical professional I had sought out. MisdiagnosedI thought that maybe I’d have better luck with a nurse practitioner.My appointment coincided with a flare-up of my symptoms. Sitting before her with my daughter at my side, I watched her watch me, taking stock of the bright pink, weepy rash that went from chin to chest and the scabs and new lesions on my arms and legs. There was something very obviously wrong, and I remember thinking how lucky I was that my skin was on fire, my entire body inflamed inside and out for her to see. The fact that children on the street saw it and stopped, stared, and pointed at me before their mothers hurried them away actually had me looking forward to the appointment. I wasn’t crazy: there was (and still is) really something wrong with me. The proof was in the mirror. Instead, she ignored my description of my symptoms, disregarded the pattern in which they appeared, and asked me how often I exercised and what my diet consisted of. She told me I was likely diabetic (I wasn’t), and that all of my health problems would resolve if I ate less and exercised more. The author on the day of her appointment.It took two years before I was brave enough to see another doctor -any doctor - after that one. I’m still searching for answers and a doctor who will listen. All I have to show for it are severe anxiety and soaring blood pressure readings at the end of every appointment.Medical Gaslighting and Mental Health To Dusenbery, my experience makes sense and fits with the research and stories she shares in her book.“I think medical gaslighting can take an enormous toll on your mental health. Even for very privileged women, it can be very difficult to trust yourself and what your body is telling you and push back when an expert with a white coat and an MD is insisting that 'nothing is wrong,’” she said. “I have to believe that many health care providers simply don't realize the harm they're capable of causing by dismissing or disbelieving women's reports of their symptoms.”There are the good ones, of course. The doctors who have believed something is wrong but couldn’t find the answer. These are the doctors who treat their patients with respect and dignity and listen. And then there are the ones like the dermatologist who told me people like me could not be fixed. But I know better now. I am not the one who is broken.If you or someone you know may be at risk for suicide, immediately seek help. You are not alone.Options include:Calling the U.S. National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 800-273-TALK (8255)Calling 911Calling a friend or family member to stay with you until emergency medical personnel arrive to help you.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://www.thefix.com/gaslighting-and-mental-health-how-medical-system-failed-me

[pitz182]

Gaslighting and Mental Health: How the Medical System Failed Me

Trigger Warning: The following story mentions a suicide attempt. Proceed with caution. If you feel you are at risk and need help, skip the story and get help now. Options include: Calling the U.S. National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 800-273-TALK (8255), calling 911, and calling a friend or family member to stay with you until emergency medical personnel arrive to help you. It’s the night before my first appointment with a new allergist. I don’t even bother trying to sleep. I’m too nervous. Instead of sleep, I refresh my twitter and Facebook feeds. I take care of the laundry, reveling in one of the few perks that comes with insomnia, like free rein of the apartment laundry room at 3:30 a.m. My husband wakes up for work at 6 a.m. He doesn’t even bother asking if I got any sleep. He knows I’m already afraid, even before I set foot outside our apartment: am I going to come home crying and broken? I don’t expect to be believed anymore by the very doctors I seek out for medical treatment, and I’m never surprised when my complaints of chronic (and still undiagnosed) symptoms are reduced to nothing more than orders to “eat less” and “move more,” or worse yet: “it’s all in your head.”I used to blame myself. Maybe the doctors were right. Maybe I was crazy. They are the experts, after all. Journalist and author Maya Dusenbery knows this struggle. The author of Doing Harm: The Truth About Bad Medicine and Lazy Science Leave Women Dismissed, Misdiagnosed, and Sick, Dusenbery interviewed over 200 women with similar experiences to what she refers to as medical gaslighting.“I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis several years ago. While I got a diagnosis fairly quickly and easily, it prompted me to learn more about autoimmune diseases in general. I quickly realized how many other autoimmune patients — the majority of whom are women — weren't nearly so lucky as I was,” she said. “I started paying more attention to how many women I knew seemed to have a story of health care providers who didn't take their symptoms seriously — who dismissed them as ‘normal’ or ‘just stress’ or even disbelieved them entirely.”The result of being dismissed by the medical community for legitimate complaints is that women are labeled “complainers” during their early searches for answers.This all sounds so familiar to me that it is both comforting to know I am not alone and utterly depressing that there are so many of us being ignored by the doctors we entrust with our care.My own experiences with gender-based medical gaslighting stretches back decades, starting with the pediatrician who dismissed my hesitant admission that I thought I might have an eating disorder. And just a few weeks ago, a dermatologist flat-out told me that the painful, chronic, and recurrent skin lesions I have been experiencing since my daughter was born almost 12 years ago — and that I am quite certain are the result of an undiagnosed autoimmune condition — are nothing more than a reflection of my dermatillomania (skin picking disorder). When I tried to explain yet again that I only dig at the swollen spots to relive the buildup of pressure, he prescribed me Gabapentin, smiled, and told me to make an appointment for a follow-up in six months.This Girl Thinks She Has an Eating DisorderWhen I was 15, I sat in my pediatrician’s office in shock, listening to her tell the dietitian in the hallway that I just needed a talk-though on healthy eating and to send me home with some pamphlets on diet and exercise. The doctor had closed the door behind her, of course. But she hadn’t accounted for the paper-thin walls. “This girl thinks she has an eating disorder because she can’t stick to a diet,” I heard my doctor say. I wanted the floor to open up beneath me. Instead, I nodded and smiled when the door opened, forcing my smile bigger as the dietitian gave me my pamphlets. When I got home, I promptly binged and purged, and continued to do so for six more years because I wasn't taken seriously when I stammered my way through the phrase: “I think I have an eating disorder.”A Burden in the Emergency RoomWhen I was 21, I attempted suicide before realizing that dead was permanent and scared myself into action. I called my boyfriend at the time for help, but soon I was feeling smaller and more of a burden in the emergency room than I had felt before the suicide attempt. When the nurse asked if I felt like hurting myself again, I lied and said I was fine because I knew that if I said I still felt suicidal, they wouldn't let me leave. I couldn’t figure out how to explain that “feeling suicidal” didn't mean I wanted to attempt to harm myself again, but it didn't matter. The nurse didn't give a damn, anyway. When I said I was fine, she sighed in obvious relief, but it wasn't relief that I was actually fine (I wasn't), it was relief that she wouldn't have to deal with me anymore. She didn’t say it, but I felt like I was just another messed up college kid to deal with. I was checked off her list of things that mattered, and went home to cry myself to sleep. People Like You Can’t Be HelpedWhen I was in my mid-30’s, I sat before a dermatologist who was examining me for that recurring rash and inflammation cycle that results in painful sores and welts coving my entire body. He asked me if I pick at my skin, looking at my arms and face. I nodded, honest, and told him I knew I needed to see a therapist or psychiatrist about anti-anxiety meds to control the compulsions to pick at myself, and asked him how he could help me with my skin.“People like you can’t be helped,” was the reply that his nurse later apologized for as I sat on the exam table weeping and broken, once again dismissed by the medical professional I had sought out. MisdiagnosedI thought that maybe I’d have better luck with a nurse practitioner.My appointment coincided with a flare-up of my symptoms. Sitting before her with my daughter at my side, I watched her watch me, taking stock of the bright pink, weepy rash that went from chin to chest and the scabs and new lesions on my arms and legs. There was something very obviously wrong, and I remember thinking how lucky I was that my skin was on fire, my entire body inflamed inside and out for her to see. The fact that children on the street saw it and stopped, stared, and pointed at me before their mothers hurried them away actually had me looking forward to the appointment. I wasn’t crazy: there was (and still is) really something wrong with me. The proof was in the mirror. Instead, she ignored my description of my symptoms, disregarded the pattern in which they appeared, and asked me how often I exercised and what my diet consisted of. She told me I was likely diabetic (I wasn’t), and that all of my health problems would resolve if I ate less and exercised more. The author on the day of her appointment.It took two years before I was brave enough to see another doctor -any doctor - after that one. I’m still searching for answers and a doctor who will listen. All I have to show for it are severe anxiety and soaring blood pressure readings at the end of every appointment.Medical Gaslighting and Mental Health To Dusenbery, my experience makes sense and fits with the research and stories she shares in her book.“I think medical gaslighting can take an enormous toll on your mental health. Even for very privileged women, it can be very difficult to trust yourself and what your body is telling you and push back when an expert with a white coat and an MD is insisting that 'nothing is wrong,’” she said. “I have to believe that many health care providers simply don't realize the harm they're capable of causing by dismissing or disbelieving women's reports of their symptoms.”There are the good ones, of course. The doctors who have believed something is wrong but couldn’t find the answer. These are the doctors who treat their patients with respect and dignity and listen. And then there are the ones like the dermatologist who told me people like me could not be fixed. But I know better now. I am not the one who is broken.If you or someone you know may be at risk for suicide, immediately seek help. You are not alone.Options include:Calling the U.S. National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 800-273-TALK (8255)Calling 911Calling a friend or family member to stay with you until emergency medical personnel arrive to help you.

[alexdmorgan30]

Gaslighting and Mental Health: How the Medical System Failed Me

Trigger Warning: The following story mentions a suicide attempt. Proceed with caution. If you feel you are at risk and need help, skip the story and get help now. Options include: Calling the U.S. National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 800-273-TALK (8255), calling 911, and calling a friend or family member to stay with you until emergency medical personnel arrive to help you. It’s the night before my first appointment with a new allergist. I don’t even bother trying to sleep. I’m too nervous. Instead of sleep, I refresh my twitter and Facebook feeds. I take care of the laundry, reveling in one of the few perks that comes with insomnia, like free rein of the apartment laundry room at 3:30 a.m. My husband wakes up for work at 6 a.m. He doesn’t even bother asking if I got any sleep. He knows I’m already afraid, even before I set foot outside our apartment: am I going to come home crying and broken? I don’t expect to be believed anymore by the very doctors I seek out for medical treatment, and I’m never surprised when my complaints of chronic (and still undiagnosed) symptoms are reduced to nothing more than orders to “eat less” and “move more,” or worse yet: “it’s all in your head.”I used to blame myself. Maybe the doctors were right. Maybe I was crazy. They are the experts, after all. Journalist and author Maya Dusenbery knows this struggle. The author of Doing Harm: The Truth About Bad Medicine and Lazy Science Leave Women Dismissed, Misdiagnosed, and Sick, Dusenbery interviewed over 200 women with similar experiences to what she refers to as medical gaslighting.“I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis several years ago. While I got a diagnosis fairly quickly and easily, it prompted me to learn more about autoimmune diseases in general. I quickly realized how many other autoimmune patients — the majority of whom are women — weren't nearly so lucky as I was,” she said. “I started paying more attention to how many women I knew seemed to have a story of health care providers who didn't take their symptoms seriously — who dismissed them as ‘normal’ or ‘just stress’ or even disbelieved them entirely.”The result of being dismissed by the medical community for legitimate complaints is that women are labeled “complainers” during their early searches for answers.This all sounds so familiar to me that it is both comforting to know I am not alone and utterly depressing that there are so many of us being ignored by the doctors we entrust with our care.My own experiences with gender-based medical gaslighting stretches back decades, starting with the pediatrician who dismissed my hesitant admission that I thought I might have an eating disorder. And just a few weeks ago, a dermatologist flat-out told me that the painful, chronic, and recurrent skin lesions I have been experiencing since my daughter was born almost 12 years ago — and that I am quite certain are the result of an undiagnosed autoimmune condition — are nothing more than a reflection of my dermatillomania (skin picking disorder). When I tried to explain yet again that I only dig at the swollen spots to relive the buildup of pressure, he prescribed me Gabapentin, smiled, and told me to make an appointment for a follow-up in six months.This Girl Thinks She Has an Eating DisorderWhen I was 15, I sat in my pediatrician’s office in shock, listening to her tell the dietitian in the hallway that I just needed a talk-though on healthy eating and to send me home with some pamphlets on diet and exercise. The doctor had closed the door behind her, of course. But she hadn’t accounted for the paper-thin walls. “This girl thinks she has an eating disorder because she can’t stick to a diet,” I heard my doctor say. I wanted the floor to open up beneath me. Instead, I nodded and smiled when the door opened, forcing my smile bigger as the dietitian gave me my pamphlets. When I got home, I promptly binged and purged, and continued to do so for six more years because I wasn't taken seriously when I stammered my way through the phrase: “I think I have an eating disorder.”A Burden in the Emergency RoomWhen I was 21, I attempted suicide before realizing that dead was permanent and scared myself into action. I called my boyfriend at the time for help, but soon I was feeling smaller and more of a burden in the emergency room than I had felt before the suicide attempt. When the nurse asked if I felt like hurting myself again, I lied and said I was fine because I knew that if I said I still felt suicidal, they wouldn't let me leave. I couldn’t figure out how to explain that “feeling suicidal” didn't mean I wanted to attempt to harm myself again, but it didn't matter. The nurse didn't give a damn, anyway. When I said I was fine, she sighed in obvious relief, but it wasn't relief that I was actually fine (I wasn't), it was relief that she wouldn't have to deal with me anymore. She didn’t say it, but I felt like I was just another messed up college kid to deal with. I was checked off her list of things that mattered, and went home to cry myself to sleep. People Like You Can’t Be HelpedWhen I was in my mid-30’s, I sat before a dermatologist who was examining me for that recurring rash and inflammation cycle that results in painful sores and welts coving my entire body. He asked me if I pick at my skin, looking at my arms and face. I nodded, honest, and told him I knew I needed to see a therapist or psychiatrist about anti-anxiety meds to control the compulsions to pick at myself, and asked him how he could help me with my skin.“People like you can’t be helped,” was the reply that his nurse later apologized for as I sat on the exam table weeping and broken, once again dismissed by the medical professional I had sought out. MisdiagnosedI thought that maybe I’d have better luck with a nurse practitioner.My appointment coincided with a flare-up of my symptoms. Sitting before her with my daughter at my side, I watched her watch me, taking stock of the bright pink, weepy rash that went from chin to chest and the scabs and new lesions on my arms and legs. There was something very obviously wrong, and I remember thinking how lucky I was that my skin was on fire, my entire body inflamed inside and out for her to see. The fact that children on the street saw it and stopped, stared, and pointed at me before their mothers hurried them away actually had me looking forward to the appointment. I wasn’t crazy: there was (and still is) really something wrong with me. The proof was in the mirror. Instead, she ignored my description of my symptoms, disregarded the pattern in which they appeared, and asked me how often I exercised and what my diet consisted of. She told me I was likely diabetic (I wasn’t), and that all of my health problems would resolve if I ate less and exercised more. The author on the day of her appointment.It took two years before I was brave enough to see another doctor -any doctor - after that one. I’m still searching for answers and a doctor who will listen. All I have to show for it are severe anxiety and soaring blood pressure readings at the end of every appointment.Medical Gaslighting and Mental Health To Dusenbery, my experience makes sense and fits with the research and stories she shares in her book.“I think medical gaslighting can take an enormous toll on your mental health. Even for very privileged women, it can be very difficult to trust yourself and what your body is telling you and push back when an expert with a white coat and an MD is insisting that 'nothing is wrong,’” she said. “I have to believe that many health care providers simply don't realize the harm they're capable of causing by dismissing or disbelieving women's reports of their symptoms.”There are the good ones, of course. The doctors who have believed something is wrong but couldn’t find the answer. These are the doctors who treat their patients with respect and dignity and listen. And then there are the ones like the dermatologist who told me people like me could not be fixed. But I know better now. I am not the one who is broken.If you or someone you know may be at risk for suicide, immediately seek help. You are not alone.Options include:Calling the U.S. National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 800-273-TALK (8255)Calling 911Calling a friend or family member to stay with you until emergency medical personnel arrive to help you.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://ift.tt/2XCNSrS

[gayyogurt-blog]

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

October 10th is World Mental Health Day.

You can't tell by looking at me, but three years ago, I had a complete breakdown-or an emotional health crisis. A lot has happened in the time since. I've taken a few steps forward, then twice the amount of steps back. I've been split apart and put back together. But most importantly, I'm still here, still navigating who I've become in the aftermath of something so earth-shattering, and still hoping to be seen.

If you've never witnessed, experienced, or heard of a mental health breakdown, it's an acute manifestation of an already lingering anxiety, depression, or bipolar disorder. The result is an inability to function in everyday life, feelings of hopelessness, and/or a feeling that you will never be “normal” again. It's an isolated state because you've either hidden the warning signs from loved ones, or denied them yourself. Even when managed, my anxiety and depression have me white-knuckling a cliff so as not to drop. If you know what panic feels like, then imagine a breakdown as a heightened version of that state-like trying to see through your car windshield while driving in a monsoon. That feeling doesn't let up until you've quite literally cracked up.

My experience, which happened after months of ignoring red flags, was a combination of stress, undiagnosed disorders wreaking havoc on my everyday life (specifically OCD and PTSD), occasional suicidal ideation, and the smallest of triggers (an argument that quickly went awry). In an instant, my panic inflated from 1 to 100. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see past my rapid heartbeat. I not only felt like the room was collapsing in on me, but the whole world. This definitive moment-one so burned into my memory that I can recall an internal sound, like the heated sizzle of my short-circuiting brain wires-became the catalyst for why I split in two.

There was the me before this event, and the me after. The in-between no longer existed.

Immediately after, I was numb. I'd been protected by a shell until the shell splintered and disintegrated to nothing. Left to fend for myself (or so I felt at the time), I became catatonic, fueled only by tears and the belief that I could never be okay again. I still remember lying on the floor with my laptop in front of me, desperate to find the help I knew I so desperately needed. But, as I quickly found, mental health care is complicated.

Here are some things I learned throughout this incredibly raw time. I hope this information can help you if you ever find yourself in a similar situation:

1. You have to reach out, even if you don't feel like it.

At the time, I was blessed with an amazing support system at my job. They weren't only my friends or my coworkers, but my family. Even still, I hesitated telling them what had happened to me, for fear of judgment. I was embarrassed by something that I couldn't control.

When I finally sent the emails and texts explaining what I was recovering from, I felt a sense of relief by getting it off my chest and I was greeted with the exact love, support, and encouragement that I should've come to expect from these people. I will forever consider them my saviors for hearing me, seeing me, and reminding me that I am not alone in this world. If you don't have a support system, it's imperative that you talk to someone. Take advantage of counselors through accessible mental health resources. It could mean the difference between coming back from the brink or dropping from that aforementioned cliff.

Your mental health is important too #WorldMentalHealthDay pic.twitter.com/9Y2znMhm5P

- Action for Happiness (@actionhappiness) October 9, 2018

2. The path to recovery may be tedious.

Shortly after my breakdown, as I lay on the floor with my laptop while my husband desperately tried to understand, I searched for help. And I searched. And I searched. And I searched. Turns out, when you factor in insurance barriers, the fact that you are not feeling suicidal in that exact moment, and a doctor's track record for successful treatment, finding good health care is more difficult than it sounds. Most of the professionals who I wanted to see were completely booked with appointments that had already been set months in advance. and had room for emergencies only. I wasn't a threat to myself-just more dazed and lost than usual-and I told myself that those spots should be reserved for someone in far darker places than I felt at the time. But I still needed help.

Days later, I called a help line and an inpatient facility, and the reality of it all terrified me into hanging up. I believed I could figure it out on my own-however wrong that idea was. But I forced myself to keep searching for treatment because my life and emotional well-being was at stake. I am so glad I did, because I eventually found the right, available doctors for me.

No matter how much work it is, you have to keep searching.

Leanne Surfleet/Getty Images

3. Go to the appointments and do the work, even when it gets exhausting.

At the beginning of my treatment, I went through three forms of therapy. I'm a believer in going big or going home, and this was the most important thing I've ever needed to go big for. One therapist specialized in cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), where I learned tools for grounding myself in the present moment. CBT challenged me to stop grieving my past and to stop looking into the future so I could breathe in the present. I'm not going to lie; it's hard. I failed (still fail) often. It takes practice, and sometimes, I don't feel mentally fit to go through the motions. But when done properly, it works for me.

My second therapist helped me work through childhood traumas that were the long-standing cause of my breakdown. These sessions were emotionally draining and I often left exhausted after cleansing myself of all that plagued me. Seeing this therapist meant facing my demons head on. It was the most difficult thing I've ever done and, to be honest, I stopped going after my grandmother died. As my therapist herself warned, my grandma was the glue holding a lot of me together. Without her in my life, I didn't feel strong enough to continue such intensive therapy. That's what's so hard about these disorders: They lie, convincing you that you aren't strong enough. I know I am now.

The third form of therapy was group grief counseling to address my deepest wound-the loss of my biological father to cancer. As I sat, listening to others share their stories of loss, I began to understand that I truly wasn't alone. On some level, we all understand pain.

KatarzynaBialasiewicz/Getty Images

4. Practice continual self-care.

As the mother of two children with multiple jobs and to-do lists, I'm never not busy. That takes a toll. After the incident, I took a hard look at all I'd done to take care of myself despite whatever life demanded of me-a kind of inventory. Turns out, I'm the last person that I care for, often shorting myself in the event that someone else needs something first. I wasn't doing myself or my emotional health any favors by trying to please everyone all the time, holding my frustrations inside, and blaming myself for every upsetting moment in the history of life.

Today, we are highlighting the millions of strong and brave individuals who live with mental illness. Remember, your journey is worth sharing. #MIAW pic.twitter.com/DtIrFfcOME

- NAMI (@NAMICommunicate) October 9, 2018

5. Accept that caring for your mental health is an ongoing, imperfect journey.

Three years ago, I didn't know how to forgive myself for things beyond my control. I didn't know how to move on from my past or how to admit I'm a flawed human who sometimes needs more than she's willing to ask for (if she'll even ask at all). I still suffer from my disorders and I still have to work to manage them. But now, when all starts feeling lost again, I don't ignore the warning signs. I take precautionary measures like seeking support and health care, pouring myself into something that makes me happy, practicing self-care, and most of all, being patient with myself.

Mental health isn't a destination; it's a journey you'll be on for the rest of your life.

One bad day doesn't ruin them all. You will mess up. You will still cry. You will still battle the same emotions that brought you to your knees in the first place. In the three years since I've accepted my reality, I now understand things I couldn't in my “before.” I'm stronger than I give myself credit for, and if you see pieces of yourself in my story, then let me be the first to say that you are, too.

So, hold on, friend. You are seen.

If you are struggling and need help, call the National Alliance on Mental Illness HelpLine at 1-800-950-NAMI (6264), available Monday through Friday, 10 a.m.–6 p.m., ET. If this is an emergency, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (8255) or text NAMI's Crisis Line at 741-741.

The post What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown appeared first on HelloGiggles.

[dragons-in-bowties-blog]

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

October 10th is World Mental Health Day.

You can't tell by looking at me, but three years ago, I had a complete breakdown-or an emotional health crisis. A lot has happened in the time since. I've taken a few steps forward, then twice the amount of steps back. I've been split apart and put back together. But most importantly, I'm still here, still navigating who I've become in the aftermath of something so earth-shattering, and still hoping to be seen.

If you've never witnessed, experienced, or heard of a mental health breakdown, it's an acute manifestation of an already lingering anxiety, depression, or bipolar disorder. The result is an inability to function in everyday life, feelings of hopelessness, and/or a feeling that you will never be “normal” again. It's an isolated state because you've either hidden the warning signs from loved ones, or denied them yourself. Even when managed, my anxiety and depression have me white-knuckling a cliff so as not to drop. If you know what panic feels like, then imagine a breakdown as a heightened version of that state-like trying to see through your car windshield while driving in a monsoon. That feeling doesn't let up until you've quite literally cracked up.

My experience, which happened after months of ignoring red flags, was a combination of stress, undiagnosed disorders wreaking havoc on my everyday life (specifically OCD and PTSD), occasional suicidal ideation, and the smallest of triggers (an argument that quickly went awry). In an instant, my panic inflated from 1 to 100. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see past my rapid heartbeat. I not only felt like the room was collapsing in on me, but the whole world. This definitive moment-one so burned into my memory that I can recall an internal sound, like the heated sizzle of my short-circuiting brain wires-became the catalyst for why I split in two.

There was the me before this event, and the me after. The in-between no longer existed.

Immediately after, I was numb. I'd been protected by a shell until the shell splintered and disintegrated to nothing. Left to fend for myself (or so I felt at the time), I became catatonic, fueled only by tears and the belief that I could never be okay again. I still remember lying on the floor with my laptop in front of me, desperate to find the help I knew I so desperately needed. But, as I quickly found, mental health care is complicated.

Here are some things I learned throughout this incredibly raw time. I hope this information can help you if you ever find yourself in a similar situation:

1. You have to reach out, even if you don't feel like it.

At the time, I was blessed with an amazing support system at my job. They weren't only my friends or my coworkers, but my family. Even still, I hesitated telling them what had happened to me, for fear of judgment. I was embarrassed by something that I couldn't control.

When I finally sent the emails and texts explaining what I was recovering from, I felt a sense of relief by getting it off my chest and I was greeted with the exact love, support, and encouragement that I should've come to expect from these people. I will forever consider them my saviors for hearing me, seeing me, and reminding me that I am not alone in this world. If you don't have a support system, it's imperative that you talk to someone. Take advantage of counselors through accessible mental health resources. It could mean the difference between coming back from the brink or dropping from that aforementioned cliff.

Your mental health is important too #WorldMentalHealthDay pic.twitter.com/9Y2znMhm5P

- Action for Happiness (@actionhappiness) October 9, 2018

2. The path to recovery may be tedious.

Shortly after my breakdown, as I lay on the floor with my laptop while my husband desperately tried to understand, I searched for help. And I searched. And I searched. And I searched. Turns out, when you factor in insurance barriers, the fact that you are not feeling suicidal in that exact moment, and a doctor's track record for successful treatment, finding good health care is more difficult than it sounds. Most of the professionals who I wanted to see were completely booked with appointments that had already been set months in advance. and had room for emergencies only. I wasn't a threat to myself-just more dazed and lost than usual-and I told myself that those spots should be reserved for someone in far darker places than I felt at the time. But I still needed help.

Days later, I called a help line and an inpatient facility, and the reality of it all terrified me into hanging up. I believed I could figure it out on my own-however wrong that idea was. But I forced myself to keep searching for treatment because my life and emotional well-being was at stake. I am so glad I did, because I eventually found the right, available doctors for me.

No matter how much work it is, you have to keep searching.

Leanne Surfleet/Getty Images

3. Go to the appointments and do the work, even when it gets exhausting.

At the beginning of my treatment, I went through three forms of therapy. I'm a believer in going big or going home, and this was the most important thing I've ever needed to go big for. One therapist specialized in cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), where I learned tools for grounding myself in the present moment. CBT challenged me to stop grieving my past and to stop looking into the future so I could breathe in the present. I'm not going to lie; it's hard. I failed (still fail) often. It takes practice, and sometimes, I don't feel mentally fit to go through the motions. But when done properly, it works for me.

My second therapist helped me work through childhood traumas that were the long-standing cause of my breakdown. These sessions were emotionally draining and I often left exhausted after cleansing myself of all that plagued me. Seeing this therapist meant facing my demons head on. It was the most difficult thing I've ever done and, to be honest, I stopped going after my grandmother died. As my therapist herself warned, my grandma was the glue holding a lot of me together. Without her in my life, I didn't feel strong enough to continue such intensive therapy. That's what's so hard about these disorders: They lie, convincing you that you aren't strong enough. I know I am now.

The third form of therapy was group grief counseling to address my deepest wound-the loss of my biological father to cancer. As I sat, listening to others share their stories of loss, I began to understand that I truly wasn't alone. On some level, we all understand pain.

KatarzynaBialasiewicz/Getty Images

4. Practice continual self-care.

As the mother of two children with multiple jobs and to-do lists, I'm never not busy. That takes a toll. After the incident, I took a hard look at all I'd done to take care of myself despite whatever life demanded of me-a kind of inventory. Turns out, I'm the last person that I care for, often shorting myself in the event that someone else needs something first. I wasn't doing myself or my emotional health any favors by trying to please everyone all the time, holding my frustrations inside, and blaming myself for every upsetting moment in the history of life.

Today, we are highlighting the millions of strong and brave individuals who live with mental illness. Remember, your journey is worth sharing. #MIAW pic.twitter.com/DtIrFfcOME

- NAMI (@NAMICommunicate) October 9, 2018

5. Accept that caring for your mental health is an ongoing, imperfect journey.

Three years ago, I didn't know how to forgive myself for things beyond my control. I didn't know how to move on from my past or how to admit I'm a flawed human who sometimes needs more than she's willing to ask for (if she'll even ask at all). I still suffer from my disorders and I still have to work to manage them. But now, when all starts feeling lost again, I don't ignore the warning signs. I take precautionary measures like seeking support and health care, pouring myself into something that makes me happy, practicing self-care, and most of all, being patient with myself.

Mental health isn't a destination; it's a journey you'll be on for the rest of your life.

One bad day doesn't ruin them all. You will mess up. You will still cry. You will still battle the same emotions that brought you to your knees in the first place. In the three years since I've accepted my reality, I now understand things I couldn't in my “before.” I'm stronger than I give myself credit for, and if you see pieces of yourself in my story, then let me be the first to say that you are, too.

So, hold on, friend. You are seen.

If you are struggling and need help, call the National Alliance on Mental Illness HelpLine at 1-800-950-NAMI (6264), available Monday through Friday, 10 a.m.–6 p.m., ET. If this is an emergency, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (8255) or text NAMI's Crisis Line at 741-741.

The post What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown appeared first on HelloGiggles.

[fuckyeahslightlyamusing-blog]

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown

October 10th is World Mental Health Day.

You can't tell by looking at me, but three years ago, I had a complete breakdown-or an emotional health crisis. A lot has happened in the time since. I've taken a few steps forward, then twice the amount of steps back. I've been split apart and put back together. But most importantly, I'm still here, still navigating who I've become in the aftermath of something so earth-shattering, and still hoping to be seen.

If you've never witnessed, experienced, or heard of a mental health breakdown, it's an acute manifestation of an already lingering anxiety, depression, or bipolar disorder. The result is an inability to function in everyday life, feelings of hopelessness, and/or a feeling that you will never be “normal” again. It's an isolated state because you've either hidden the warning signs from loved ones, or denied them yourself. Even when managed, my anxiety and depression have me white-knuckling a cliff so as not to drop. If you know what panic feels like, then imagine a breakdown as a heightened version of that state-like trying to see through your car windshield while driving in a monsoon. That feeling doesn't let up until you've quite literally cracked up.

My experience, which happened after months of ignoring red flags, was a combination of stress, undiagnosed disorders wreaking havoc on my everyday life (specifically OCD and PTSD), occasional suicidal ideation, and the smallest of triggers (an argument that quickly went awry). In an instant, my panic inflated from 1 to 100. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see past my rapid heartbeat. I not only felt like the room was collapsing in on me, but the whole world. This definitive moment-one so burned into my memory that I can recall an internal sound, like the heated sizzle of my short-circuiting brain wires-became the catalyst for why I split in two.

There was the me before this event, and the me after. The in-between no longer existed.

Immediately after, I was numb. I'd been protected by a shell until the shell splintered and disintegrated to nothing. Left to fend for myself (or so I felt at the time), I became catatonic, fueled only by tears and the belief that I could never be okay again. I still remember lying on the floor with my laptop in front of me, desperate to find the help I knew I so desperately needed. But, as I quickly found, mental health care is complicated.

Here are some things I learned throughout this incredibly raw time. I hope this information can help you if you ever find yourself in a similar situation:

1. You have to reach out, even if you don't feel like it.

At the time, I was blessed with an amazing support system at my job. They weren't only my friends or my coworkers, but my family. Even still, I hesitated telling them what had happened to me, for fear of judgment. I was embarrassed by something that I couldn't control.

When I finally sent the emails and texts explaining what I was recovering from, I felt a sense of relief by getting it off my chest and I was greeted with the exact love, support, and encouragement that I should've come to expect from these people. I will forever consider them my saviors for hearing me, seeing me, and reminding me that I am not alone in this world. If you don't have a support system, it's imperative that you talk to someone. Take advantage of counselors through accessible mental health resources. It could mean the difference between coming back from the brink or dropping from that aforementioned cliff.

Your mental health is important too #WorldMentalHealthDay pic.twitter.com/9Y2znMhm5P

- Action for Happiness (@actionhappiness) October 9, 2018

2. The path to recovery may be tedious.

Shortly after my breakdown, as I lay on the floor with my laptop while my husband desperately tried to understand, I searched for help. And I searched. And I searched. And I searched. Turns out, when you factor in insurance barriers, the fact that you are not feeling suicidal in that exact moment, and a doctor's track record for successful treatment, finding good health care is more difficult than it sounds. Most of the professionals who I wanted to see were completely booked with appointments that had already been set months in advance. and had room for emergencies only. I wasn't a threat to myself-just more dazed and lost than usual-and I told myself that those spots should be reserved for someone in far darker places than I felt at the time. But I still needed help.

Days later, I called a help line and an inpatient facility, and the reality of it all terrified me into hanging up. I believed I could figure it out on my own-however wrong that idea was. But I forced myself to keep searching for treatment because my life and emotional well-being was at stake. I am so glad I did, because I eventually found the right, available doctors for me.

No matter how much work it is, you have to keep searching.

Leanne Surfleet/Getty Images

3. Go to the appointments and do the work, even when it gets exhausting.

At the beginning of my treatment, I went through three forms of therapy. I'm a believer in going big or going home, and this was the most important thing I've ever needed to go big for. One therapist specialized in cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), where I learned tools for grounding myself in the present moment. CBT challenged me to stop grieving my past and to stop looking into the future so I could breathe in the present. I'm not going to lie; it's hard. I failed (still fail) often. It takes practice, and sometimes, I don't feel mentally fit to go through the motions. But when done properly, it works for me.

My second therapist helped me work through childhood traumas that were the long-standing cause of my breakdown. These sessions were emotionally draining and I often left exhausted after cleansing myself of all that plagued me. Seeing this therapist meant facing my demons head on. It was the most difficult thing I've ever done and, to be honest, I stopped going after my grandmother died. As my therapist herself warned, my grandma was the glue holding a lot of me together. Without her in my life, I didn't feel strong enough to continue such intensive therapy. That's what's so hard about these disorders: They lie, convincing you that you aren't strong enough. I know I am now.

The third form of therapy was group grief counseling to address my deepest wound-the loss of my biological father to cancer. As I sat, listening to others share their stories of loss, I began to understand that I truly wasn't alone. On some level, we all understand pain.

KatarzynaBialasiewicz/Getty Images

4. Practice continual self-care.

As the mother of two children with multiple jobs and to-do lists, I'm never not busy. That takes a toll. After the incident, I took a hard look at all I'd done to take care of myself despite whatever life demanded of me-a kind of inventory. Turns out, I'm the last person that I care for, often shorting myself in the event that someone else needs something first. I wasn't doing myself or my emotional health any favors by trying to please everyone all the time, holding my frustrations inside, and blaming myself for every upsetting moment in the history of life.

Today, we are highlighting the millions of strong and brave individuals who live with mental illness. Remember, your journey is worth sharing. #MIAW pic.twitter.com/DtIrFfcOME

- NAMI (@NAMICommunicate) October 9, 2018

5. Accept that caring for your mental health is an ongoing, imperfect journey.

Three years ago, I didn't know how to forgive myself for things beyond my control. I didn't know how to move on from my past or how to admit I'm a flawed human who sometimes needs more than she's willing to ask for (if she'll even ask at all). I still suffer from my disorders and I still have to work to manage them. But now, when all starts feeling lost again, I don't ignore the warning signs. I take precautionary measures like seeking support and health care, pouring myself into something that makes me happy, practicing self-care, and most of all, being patient with myself.

Mental health isn't a destination; it's a journey you'll be on for the rest of your life.

One bad day doesn't ruin them all. You will mess up. You will still cry. You will still battle the same emotions that brought you to your knees in the first place. In the three years since I've accepted my reality, I now understand things I couldn't in my “before.” I'm stronger than I give myself credit for, and if you see pieces of yourself in my story, then let me be the first to say that you are, too.

So, hold on, friend. You are seen.

If you are struggling and need help, call the National Alliance on Mental Illness HelpLine at 1-800-950-NAMI (6264), available Monday through Friday, 10 a.m.–6 p.m., ET. If this is an emergency, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (8255) or text NAMI's Crisis Line at 741-741.

The post What I've learned about caring for my mental health since having a breakdown appeared first on HelloGiggles.