About Eating Disorders

There’s more than one way to get an eating disorder. Eating disorders are another mental illness that, to my mind, are poorly defined or understood, often mis-characterised and stereotyped, and far more complex than most people realise.

The DSM has a truly bizarre way of classifying eating disorders, with single symptoms such as weight or menstruation sufficient to bounce you out of one category and into another – and back again should those symptoms change. I don’t find this useful at all. I prefer not to use the clinical terminology and the irrational clusters of symptoms. I prefer to talk about food and body issues. This is a big category, there are many different ways these issues are expressed, and many different reasons people find themselves struggling with these issues. Our classic perception is a young woman starving herself because she fears getting fat. This is real, it happens. But the field is so much broader than this too, and the complexity of people’s distress so much more than we, as a culture, really understand.

The categories I find most useful are simply descriptive of behaviour or compulsions. Some people are not eating enough. Some people are eating more than enough. Some people are purging what they eat. A lot of people are doing two or all three of these. So we have restricting, binging or overeating, and purging.

These issues are prevalent! They are under-resourced – in SA we have only 2 inpatient hospital beds to support people with eating disorders – for our entire state. In my work as an ED Peer Worker I have often discussed and supported people to travel interstate to Victoria or Queensland for inpatient treatment as the wait list here is so long. We recently also lost our free counselling service for people with eating disorders that was running through Women’s Health Statewide. And yet, Eating Disorder are significantly on the rise in our population, and they carry the highest mortality rate of any of the mental illnesses. The risk of suicide is high, and the physical complications of disordered eating can be severe.

But the community perceptions can be appalling. It is assumed that people who restrict food are the most ‘serious’ and have the ‘real’ problems, whereas some studies have found that the mortality rates are actually highest for those who have a mixed condition. These people may not appear particularly underweight or unwell and as a result may not be taken very seriously. When resources are scarce, these are not the people who find themselves prioritised for treatment. The common myth is that people with eating disorders are vain young women who need to wake up to themselves. The reality is that anyone can struggle with disordered eating. The shame around these issues mean that most people struggle in secret, they feel deeply distressed, they lie to those closest to them and find their relationships cracking, they are infuriated with their own ‘weakness’, they internalise all the cultural myths about being weak, selfish, self-involved, vain, and useless, and they find themselves struggling in quicksand and going down.

I haven’t come across one ‘classic’ presentation of a person with an eating disorder in my work. I’ve come across a whole range of reasons people find themselves struggling with these issues. Most of us at some time in our lives will find ourselves struggling to maintain a healthy relationship with food. For most of us, fortunately, this will be fleeting. We’ll struggle for awhile then settle back into good routines again. 

For some of us, we get stuck. We get stuck in different patterns and for different reasons. Some of us are deeply concerned about weight gain and desperate to be thin. Some of us have severe food issues but don’t own a set of scales or count calories. There are many different ways that an eating disorder can start, and many different reasons people can find themselves having struggles with food. Distress in areas like body image isn’t always in play, and it’s a terrible dis-service to people to not believe them – or have anything to offer them, if their food issues have a different cause. Here are some commons reasons people can have major issues with food:

  • Body issues such as a desperate fear of gaining weight, pregnancy, menstruation, onset of puberty, and so on. These can be very complex and arise out of other struggles with life, relationships, and self.
  • Obsessive compulsive issues, for example around issues with germs, or extreme religious fasting.
  • Developmental or neurological challenges, for example only eating foods or a certain colour, or having nutritionally limiting requirements about texture or patterns of eating.
  • Psychotic issues, eg refusing to eat for fear food has been poisoned, or contains microchips.
  • Pica – the appetite for non-food substances such as dirt.
  • Mania changing the appetite. Some people eat voraciously when manic and do not feel full. Others forget about eating entirely. Some people do a bit of both in a binge starve cycle.
  • Depression changing the appetite – see mania.
  • Anxiety issues. When someone is afraid, the body goes into ‘fight or flight mode’ and directs energy away from non essential areas like digestion. People with chronic anxiety may find they are not hungry, have dry mouth or heartburn, and feel sick or involuntarily purge if they make themselves eat.
  • Dissociation issues. Chronic dissociation can blunt sensations such as hunger. People may not dislike the idea of food, they may simply be unable to feel hungry and forget to eat. It can also blunt the sensation of fullness so people may overeat or binge. For some people overeating or starving to the point of pain triggers dissociation in a way that is soothing.
  • Multiplicity issues. Some parts may not ever eat, so if they are out for a long time the body starves. Some people have difficulty with many parts coming out over the day and all of them eating, or none of them eating. It can be difficult to coordinate things like food intake if there’s a lot of switching and a lack of communication or co consciousness.
  • Self harm issues. Binging or starving to the point of pain is a way some people inflict pain on themselves. Denial of food or forcing unpleasant purging can be a method of punishment or self torture.
  • Abuse issues. Some people disconnect from their bodies following abuse and find the idea of caring for it and feeding it appropriately very alien and difficult. Sometimes food is part of abusive behaviour or strict punishments, where it is withheld, or a child is forced to eat when they don’t want to, or forced to eat food they dislike, overly hot or unpleasant food, or non food items. This can lead to enduring patterns and problems with food.
  • Addiction issues – for some people food issues are part of a broader pattern of addiction and difficulty with regulating impulses.
  • Drug issues – many prescription and recreational drugs alter the appetite or metabolism.
  • Social issues such as isolation, bullying, or domestic violence can disrupt healthy eating patterns and a good relationship with yourself and your body, or can lead to extreme weight management as a perceived solution eg. a preteen boy teased for being chubby may focus on starving and weight loss as a way of preventing bullying and gaining social acceptance.
  • Grief often changes eating patterns for a while. Some people go on to struggle with food or their body in the longer term.
  • Health problems – any number of physical conditions can affect your appetite, energy, metabolism, sleep patterns, and digestive health! Physical conditions can also link into other issues, so what started as vomiting due to Irritable Bowel Syndrome, may become purging as a way to manage chronic anxiety. Nausea, pain, digestive problems and appetite changes should always be investigated rather than assumed to be psychological.
  • Psychosomatic distress, where food or digestive problems are part of a bigger picture of emotional distress, for example involuntary purging that settles down once other major emotional stress is reduced.
  • Attachment issues. For example children who have experienced huge stress such as being moved into the foster care system may have an unusual relationship with food, stealing or hoarding it, refusing to eat when watched, keeping food that has gone bad, or binging when food is available.

These difficulties can also tangle together, so someone may be struggling with a combination of thyroid issues, a recent bereavement, and long term self harm issues, all of which is presenting as disordered eating. The most useful approaches for some of these concerns is quite different from others – there is no one size fits all cure. But having said that, my experience has been that the basics behind the Recovery Model and Trauma-Informed Care were a good fit for most everyone no matter where they were coming from. People were all different – some were in denial about their food intake and I spoke with deeply distressed family or friends instead. Others were very aware of how wrong things had gone for them and desperate to find a way out. Some people were at the start of their struggles, others had been fighting a war for years. People wanted to be heard, and to be treated with respect. Those who were not struggling with body issues were desperate for someone to believe them that weight was not their focus. People needed to hear that they were not weak, vain, or pathetic. They needed to hear that there was not one way out of an eating disorder, but that there is a way out!

I asked a question of almost everyone I was in contact with in my role as an Eating Disorder Peer Worker, which was – “Have you ever met anyone who has recovered from an eating disorder?” Almost everyone had not. To me, this is huge. People need to see that other people have recovered. We need to be able to meet them, read about them, learn from them. We need to see there are roads out, and not one road but many! We need to be given the freedom to try different roads, different approaches, techniques, and frameworks so we can find our own good fit. We need to talk to people who get it. We need a way out of shame and isolation.

We really do deserve better. We deserve easy to access, good quality supports that understand issues with food can be complex and arise for many different reasons. We deserve clear information about these reasons, access to peers in a safe and supportive way, and the opportunity to try different approaches. I’m frustrated and distressed that this is not the situation we are in, in large part I believe because the community perception, and therefore the perception of funding bodies, are two commonly believed myths – that eating disorders are just about vanity, and that people with eating disorders never get better anyway so there’s no point in funding services. Rubbish!

If you or someone you care about has an eating disorder, I’m sorry. You deserve a lot better. But, there is hope. All over the world, people are navigating their distress without amazing services. People who hear voices are escaping the clutches of hospitals and talking to each on the internet about how to cope instead. People with PTSD are running their own support groups. People with sensory issues as part of mild autism are discovering they’re not alone. You can seek therapy privately, read books, reach out to recovered/recovering peer workers, and fumble your way through to your own needs and solutions. You are not alone. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are stronger than you realise. You deserve a good life. You can recover.

Face paint and kittens

I’ve been busy painting at zoos and working on my paint kit and website lately. The business is going well, particularly considering that winter is the quiet time for this kind of work. I think I’m going to be very busy with it this summer! There’s a 2 days a week job that I’ve been keeping an eye on for ages and now I have to decide whether to go for it or not… it’s a hard call! The job is working as the women’s worker supporting newly identifying GLBTIQ people… pretty much my dream job… but I’m very busy also getting a new very exciting small business off the ground, and I have a lot of art projects I’m keen to sink my teeth into soon. Hrummmmm.

I keep thinking about Neil Gaimon’s advice in an awesome speech he gave (here) about how to reach your dreams – to treat your big dream (like, say, I want to be a professional artist) as a mountain you’re heading towards. Every time you have to make a career or life decision, you ask yourself if the choice in front of you is taking you closer towards, or further away from, your mountain. I think one of my challenges is that I currently have about 20 mountains… which is awesome… but does make decisions like this difficult.

So, thinking for now, and working on the People Painting business. I’ve revamped the website, updated photos, rewritten my rates information page, and added a whole new page for party theme ideas! I’m pretty damn proud of myself and have a lot more ideas buzzing about my brain. Actually I’ve been either buzzing or asleep lately, somewhere between exuberant and slightly manic. It’s fun but also a little wearing.

I painted at the Adelaide Zoo the other day, with a price set for me of $3.50 per face. That’s very low, and meant I needed to create a host of simpler designs that could be painted more quickly. I was a bit stressed about it but also kind of enjoyed the challenge. I wound up painting the most amazing collection of neon rainbow animals… the panda in particular looked incredible!

It’s a beautiful day out there… and I  have so much admin and so many errands to run. But I’ve had only one hours’ sleep and I’m fading fast, so I think I’m going to leave it all behind and go and hide out in bed. I’ll leave with one last photo of kitteny goodness. 🙂

Oh, all right, a bunch of photos then… Tonks is going great. His sister, who has been named Kiki, comes over for a visit regularly and they have a great time chasing each other around the unit. Here he is last night, exploring the awesome new cat tree Rose has let me borrow. 🙂 Zoe is doing much better now I’ve been able to get her to the dog park for a good run a couple of times. She’s still restless but it’s taken the edge off. Sarsaparilla is fighting every cat in the neighbourhood and constantly coming home wounded. I’m desperate to put together a cat run to keep him in. He hates being trapped in the house and cries at the door for hours, and then seriously gets destructive. Hopefully I can pull that off for him soon.

I’m Back

And things are happening! I made it to the Pink concert, courtesy entirely of Rose who almost had to carry me there. It was awesome and brilliant and hugely fun. I want a wire thingy in my house to zip around on.
My health started to improve just in time to pull off a day off work at Monarto Zoo, cleared of being a contagious risk but still exhausted, so Rose kindly drove me there and back. It was a quiet day due to wet weather but I was so happy to be back in the saddle.
Friends have been very kind in bringing me soup and tissues and helping run vital errands for me which has made all the difference in the world, especially when I’ve been feeling so lonely and missing out on so many wonderful things… Like my college classes. Term finished last week and I’m going to fail my classes as I simply couldn’t get there for weeks. 😦 I’ve been worried that the depression would return but it seems not, which is brilliant and a little surprising. 🙂 I have a lot more days of work lined up over the next few weeks and I’m determined to make it to all of them. I’ve been working more on my kit and business stuff, my new lovely ‘aftercare’ cards for the face paints have now arrived!
The business is going well and I’m still very excited and inspired by it.

My sister has arrived home from a 5 year stint overseas, and I’ve been almost hysterical with excitement. We’re close friends and I’ve missed her terribly. We’ve had a great time hanging out this week and she’s got to meet Rose and Tonks and Zoe and some of my other friends. We also kept our arrangement to go out clubbing last weekend despite her being jetlagged and exhausted and me being really rather unwell still… We dressed up and went off to a trash glitter themed night at the local goth club.
I’m continuing to practice applying face paints on myself in the mirror and I’m not bad at it!
I restrained myself to dancing to five songs only and having only one drink, and enjoyed listening to the music and taking some surprisingly good photos with my phone camera.
It was an awesome night. 🙂

Health wise I’m continuing to improve! Most of the infections have cleared up and I’ve finished the antibiotics at last. The fibro is still really rough and the jaw pain likewise. I have physio and dental appointments lined up soon, which will help and make it worse respectively. I’m still very, very tired and prone to weakness and dizziness so I’m still not driving yet. I’m hopeful and being patient. More difficult is my sleeping, I’ve become completely nocturnal, not getting to sleep until between 6 – 8am. I’ve been unable to shift the pattern which is giving me some grief, particularly when I’m getting up at 8 to go face paint for 5 or so hours. 😦 I’m not having much success at napping either so I’m struggling with sleep deprivation.

Psychologically I’m going pretty well. The sense of excitement and creativity and optimism about my business, relationships and future is really high considering the rough couple of months I’ve had. I’ve missed a lot of shrink appointments and I’m keen to go and talk again, but there’s no sense of crisis. My brain is pretty busy, ticking over a mile a minute, I’m writing again and coming up with creative ideas and things I want to do when I’m a little better… There’s still a sense of freedom and joy inside which is kind of amazing.

Zoe has had a rough month with very few walks. She’s been destructive and whining and barking and generally driving me mad but I know she just needs a walk and I’ve been really good at being able to keep my cool. I’ve booked her for a full day of doggy day care this week as a treat. Sars is fighting every cat in the neighbourhood and constantly coming home with scars and fur missing and sometimes a nasty wound gone ick. I’m really keen to get him settled in a cat run while he still has both his ears! Tonks is going great, his little sister cat visits with my sister often, which he loves. He’s very spoilt by me, Rose, and my friends, one of whom is his godmother and brings gifts and plays with him. 🙂 He’s sweet and adventurous and usually sleeps on my knees or curled up on my pillow.
So, you’re up to date now I reckon. I’m buzzing with art project ideas and looking forward to rearranging the house and enjoying the face painting gigs and patiently getting better. Hurrah for that.

Reporting a suicide threat on Facebook

I’ve just had to swing into action and find out what to do when someone posts on Facebook that they have overdosed and are dying. I had crept into bed, written in my journal, rescued Tonks from his own tiny cat collar when he managed to get his bottom jaw under it, had a mug of warm milk with cinnamon and honey, and was just closing down my light on my phone when it popped up in my feed. Now I’m out in the lounge on my computer, feet frozen, sticky with sweat in my dressing gown, exhausted beyond bearing, and too dazed to sleep.

I’m the sole admin for the DI open group on facebook, which currently has about 150 members… between that at my personal friends most of whom have mental health stuff and some of whom are going through seriously nasty crap, this was bound to happen sometime.

In case it does happen to you, here’s the link to report it urgently to facebook: https://www.facebook.com/help/contact/305410456169423

You can also call people, in Australia try

  • Lifeline 13 11 14 (free from landlines and mobiles)
  • ACIS 13 14 65 for mental health emergencies
  • Kids Helpline 1800 55 1800 (for young people aged 5 to 25)
  • Or 000 for an ambulance if you know the person is in life threatening danger and where they are

In America they have the suicide prevention lifeline on 1800 273 8255. If the person has posted stuff about suicide on a different type of website eg tumblr, here’s links to report to other emergency suicidal content people: http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/GetHelp/Online

If you’re affected by suicide – either yourself or by someone else and need to talk, I’ve also found the suicide call-back service helpful – obviously these ones aren’t for immediate crisis stuff like this. http://www.suicidecallbackservice.org.au

So, I’ve done what I can. It’s been a long day. I’m still very sick. Some of my friends are going through terrible things and my heart is broken for them. Other things are wonderful, like my dear sister returning from a long stay overseas, we were able to catch up a little tonight for dinner and I was so happy to see her. I haven’t slept much in days, my system has been a riot with so much going on, and the internal noise is almost unbearable as we all start to feel a little better and chatter away to each other… sleep is hard to come by.

I had hopes for tonight, until this.

It’s now 5.30am. I’ve just had a gentle conversation with a chap on lifeline… sometimes it’s just unbearable, I hear so many terrible stories of pain and suffering and because of confidentiality, they all stay with me, locked inside… sometimes it’s unbearable not having the power to make things right, to make doctors care for suicidal patients they are throwing out of hospital, to take away stigma and discrimination and violence and cruelty and poverty and loss… to be left simply with the role of being a witness, of standing vigil and saying – I see it, and it is not right, and I see that you suffer, and that is not right… to not turn aside or pretend or downplay or victim blame, but to bear to see and hear and know of these things and to stand with the people that endure them or are broken by them…

…It is wrong and I cannot make it right but I will bear witness and I will remember…

…and then to somehow let it all go, to let the pain flow through me and past me, to let go of the rage that makes me want to wake the world from their beds and scream at them – can’t you see what is happening here? How can you sleep when people are suffering like this? How can you be at peace when such injustice is being done? There’s a rage in me that wants to torch buildings and set trees burning as beacons in the night. My people are being destroyed, they are suffering, they are humiliated, abused, powerless, they are dying. We need to hear their stories. We need to know the results of our indifference, the ends of the systems and structures we create.

I feel sick.

I must stand strong, and I must let go.

There’s a sad, sad song in my soul tonight. For all the ones that life ran over, all their bright dreams turned to dust, their hopes ashes, bitterness and humiliation and grief in the night, the little people who did not have power to make it better or to have a voice or even to speak the things that went wrong for them, the way life became brutal, stuck in the throat, clawed their breath. For all the ones who find ourselves on the shores, watching other people’s ships sinking, we who love, and grieve, and despair, we who weep and watch, who mourn with them and feel their heartache in our hearts and carry their sorrows like black crows on our souls, we who remember their ancient joys and hopes with bitterness, long after they have passed. We who are witness, bound by love to not turn away. We who carry burdens of guilt and longing and regret, with tears that never entirely stop flowing, hands wrinkled and crusted with salt, gifts of love in our mouths like bright oranges, like birds that take flight over storms. We know that love is everything and that love is also not always enough.

There’s a sad song in my soul tonight for how hard life can be, how lonely and painful and desolate, and this is a truth that nothing else changes, all the joy and hope and brightness in the world does not alter even a little, a shadow that lays beneath all hope, a river that runs under rock. Life is beautiful and life is anguish. This is a truth in my left hand and a truth in my right.

There’s a sad song in me tonight, if I sing it, if I let myself cry, if I can but reach out and touch it, it may sing me to sleep, it may sweep me down that dark river to some kind of peace.

Baking Adventures

Back before I decided to personally host half of the infectious diseases known to man, I baked. Time to share photos! One of my close friends, who’s been a part of Bridges since the very first group meeting nearly two years ago, recently celebrated their birthday and I was invited to make the cake. It was a surprise cake and wonderfully fun! I created a secret board on pinterest and pinned loads of ideas and recipes to share with my co-conspirators. We narrowed the brief down to some specific ideas:
1. Chocolate cake, but not too sweet or rich
2. Pink!
3. Butterflies
4. Glitter
I started by making the butterflies. These were mild chocolate, with purple coloured white chocolate wings, and edible holographic silver glitter. The chocolate was flavoured with kahlua essence. The first lot I made didn’t work because I’d stored my chocolate for too long but a trip to the service station fixed that. It’s good to be near local stores that are open weird hours when you’re prone to nocturnal baking!
You can make them with the wings upright like this by first making just the wings and letting them set, then peeling them off the baking paper, putting folded baking paper in a folded cardboard v, and piping in a little butterfly chocolate body. Then rest each wing gently until it touches the body and allow the butterfly to set.
I made these a week in advance as they keep really well. The cake was a plain simple chocolate cake recipe from one of my decorating books. I baked three flat cakes in three identical tins. I was really not impressed with this recipe, the mix was really stodgy and the end result wasn’t inspiring. Not inedible, but not great. Nevertheless, it did the job.

For a filling I settled on a recipe for creme parisienne, which is a chocolate ganache, cooled and whipped. Wow, did that work well! It became basically invisible once sandwiched between layers of chocolate cake, which was a shame as part of the fun of a layer cake is the stripes, but the taste… Mmmmm.

I carefully chose a buttercream recipe that incorporated cream cheese for better flavour, and added wilton pink gel food colouring for the outer icing. I’ve been working more with fondant lately, which is fun, but the flavour – ugh. And definitely not suitable for someone who wants a less rich, sticky cake.

I iced the whole cake and decided to pipe some basic shells with the extra icing. I’ve not yet much used my exciting set of icing tips so this was new and great fun!

Next, add the glittery butterflies on the side and the chocolate words on the top – they read “Happy Birthday dear friend!”

Then the really fun bit – my first attempts at piping buttercream roses! They were far from professional but they did look like flowers so I was really happy with that. I made large dark pink ones and smaller violet ones.

Then added leaves, dots, and candles. These were cool rainbow candles where the flame was supposed to be the same colour as the candle… it was kinda hard to tell truth be told.

Last step – add all those chocolate butterflies. Viola!

Here it is on my very sweet new white cake stand – purchased as EVERY store I went to looking for a simple cake board that weekend had sold out. Still, it’s gorgeous and I’m sure I’ll use it again. Icing around the little sparrow was a little tricky but… Mmmm lovely.

There you have it. Things I get up to when I’m well. 🙂

The Convalescence

I’m still awfully sick, but I think I’ve hit the bottom and started to come up. I’m having some difficulty processing the meds so I’ve cut them back to the basic essentials. There’s been a fun evening of mania/weird meds high which is admittedly better than abject misery but as it usually indicates major liver stress it’s important to ease that before less fun symptoms, like half my skin falling off, show up. The upshot of this is I’m less giggly than I was last night but the pain level is a fair bit higher than I like. The throat and kidney infections seem to be improving, the chest infection is persistent but not degenerating into pneumonia, which is great. I’ve got an orchestra of bells, whistles, rattles, and wheezes in my lungs but I don’t feel like I’m drowning all the time. The fluid and pressure in my ears is still causing me troubles and wrecking my balance and sense of space. So no driving. In fact, still not a lot of walking. I’m prone to random collapses when the room suddenly flips upside on me. Mood wise I’m erratic, happy one moment and sobbing my heart out the next. I hate being sick! I’m dogged by a sense of misery and failure. Today is supposed to be my final class of Photography at college – I need to call them as I only managed to actually make it to two lessons and certainly can’t catch that all up now. 😦

Ah well. Tonks is delightful, the abscess on Sarsaparilla’s ear has healed up, saving me a vet trip thankfully. Salt water washes and betaine did their job. Zoe is miserably cooped up without her regular walk. Friends have been helping out with meals and chores as they can. Rose helped me find and clean the large puddle of kitten pee from behind the couch. I’m sleeping okay, just not at night. It could be worse!

I’m planning projects for when I feel better – I want to finish planting out all my new little seedlings, hopefully before they die. I’m terribly excited about my sister coming home from her 5 year stay overseas – she’s in the air as I type tonight! I’m planning a re arrange of my house with quite a major reshuffle of my sleep area. I currently have a queensize bed tucked into the small bedroom of my unit. It just fits by being pushed right against the wall on three sides. This has been okay-ish, but I’ve had enough of it. Rose is doing night shifts with her new job, I’m noctural and ill and spending a lot of time in bed, it’s a pain to make it when you can’t walk around it, whoever sleeps against the wall has to climb over the other person to get in or out… and more importantly sometimes the sense of being trapped is just too stressful for either of us to be comfortable in that spot. There’s been a couple of memorable rough nights with screaming nightmares and totally disorientated wakeups that I’m pretty keen not to repeat. We do have the lounge as a backup place to sleep for those nights that trauma stuff or multiplicity stuff makes sleeping in the same bed a bad option, but it’s not our preferred option and some nights we’d like to be in the same bed, we just need to both be able to easily get in and out to be comfortable. It’s worth the upheaval to me to be able to accommodate this kind of deep seated trauma stress.

So, tonight I was roaming my unit with a tape measure, trying to work out where else I could fit my bed. As it turns out, not many places. The master bedroom or the loungeroom are my only options. I’m loathe to pull my studio space in the master bedroom apart, but the lounge presents issues of its own. I’m thinking at this point that I may separate my studio into a couple of different parts and that way be able to move it into different areas. There’s the storage aspect – big shelves of boxes of supplies – I don’t need these to be immediately to hand. It’s sufficient to go and grab the box of supplies for that project at any time. I wish they could go in the shed but unfortunately, it’s not very large, not tall enough to fit the shelves, and most importantly, not waterproof and prone to flooding in winter. Then there’s my ‘wet’ table and big easel – these are for my paints and other wet messy types of art such as gluing or plaster or polymer clay work. Lastly there’s my ‘dry’ table. This is for everything where a perfectly dry, smooth surface on the table is essential, such as ink paintings, and needlework. I’m thinking that the inks for my arts and my journals could all be put together in the bedroom space as I usually do a lot of writing in bed and sketch with inks in my notebooks likewise. It’s a space for poetry and haiga and ink art and wrist poems. Then perhaps the wet art could happen in another area of the house… I’m somewhat tempted to pull all my collection of bookshelves into the small bedroom and turn that into a library/cat tree/nook. It’s got terrible light as the shed blocks the window so it’s not suitable as an art space at all. I do love light and windows, and I’m keen to use mine to their best. I’d love a spot to eat breakfast by a window (in bed is fine!), and a place for art by a window with good light.

Lastly, I need to move my computer area from the nook behind my front door. This is the draughty-est place in my home and I spend too many hours here in the wee morning hours, chilling. Fixing the draught isn’t easy due to unusual design of the door and I’m restless for a change anyway so I’m looking around. Perhaps a computer/library room? It’s fun to plan, even though at the moment the walk to the sink to refill my water bottle is as much as I can manage. Thankfully I still have library books, and a kitten is a constant source of either cuddles or diversion. Life goes on.

Terribly Sick

My health has crashed. My doctor reckons a virus has knocked out my immune system, so I have a host of secondary bacterial infections kicking me in the head. I’m battling bronchitis, laryngitis, and sinusitis, two ear infections, fluid behind my ear drums, one of which is threatening to rupture, and the start of a kidney infection. My fibro is bad with constant pain, and both TMJ (joints in my jaw) have inflamed badly causing pain and limiting my ability to chew food. I am so, so miserable.

I can’t drive, the bronchitis is contagious so I can’t have human company, and life is not currently worth living. There’s major stress or illness for many of my friends this week, which is distressing me. I feel useless, disconnected, lonely, self hating, and overwhelmed.

Zoe is bored and miserable. Left outdoors she is barking and whining incessantly. Indoors she is destroying anything in her reach, including her dog harness. I’m so exhausted. Maybe I shouldn’t own a dog, it’s so hard when I’m sick.

Sarsaparilla has an ear abscess which I’m cleaning with salt water and betadine, but it’s getting worse so I’m trying to find a way to get him to the vet. Finances are painfully tight, I’m having to cancel work which is distressing and awful and I’m trying to cover bills and still afford meds and food.

I’m on steroids, antibiotics, vitamins and whatnot. Hopefully they’ll work fast and well because this is hell.

Play

I have a kitten, and a chest infection. Life is awesome, and it sucks. I’m sleeping in my armchair tonight because I’m in danger of drowning when I lie down. Somehow I’ve graduated from breathing air to a mix of razor blades and wall paper paste. I’m mostly doing ok except for moments when I run out of patience with all this and curl into a small ball to cry. Rose took Zoe and myself to the dog park this afternoon (trying to make sure the pre – existing pets don’t feel left out) where a great dane harassed her. He’d flip get onto her back and nip at her stomach, growling. It didn’t get real bad but she was stressed so we put the lead back on her to maintain some level of control in splitting them up. She was snarling and unhappy with hackles up, ears back, and tail tucked tightly between her legs. The owner of the dane was ignoring it. Frustratingly the folks there harassed us instead of helping out. Several told us off for having her on the lead and one tried to tell us the lead was the problem. Felt painfully visible as a ‘gay couple’. Zoe was interacting fine with all the other dogs but it wasn’t playful with the dane. We left and walked her in a park on lead instead, then took her to another dog park we hadn’t tried before. That went well, when a couple of the dogs got a bit stressed with each other, both owners split them up and put them back on leads for a few minutes until they were settled and distracted. Then they played fine. I think we’ll be going back there instead. This is what most of my attempts to get a photo of Zoe at a dog park look like:It’s startling how vulnerable I felt at the first dog park tonight, that sense once again that I live in a bubble where it is normal to be gay, mentally ill, disabled… And outside that bubble are people who don’t like it, accept it, understand it, and wouldn’t protect me. Some of whom would hurt me.

Dog parks are a mixed deal. To let Zoe run off lead and pay with other dogs is a joy! Nothing in the world makes her happier. But things go wrong too. There’s a lot of dogs who don’t know each other running around. Some people bring intact dogs and bitches in heat to parks. Some people just let the dogs go and do no supervising. Occasionally things get out of hand and sometimes dogs get hurt.

I’m watchful with Zoe, she’s a boufy bouncy pup still and can scare little dogs. If she’s playing roughly I put her back on a lead, so the smaller dog can run up to her to pay, and get away from her easily if it’s getting overwhelmed. It’s worked well so far and she’s been great. This dane is a big dominating dog who picks one dog out of the park to chase down, and will continue even if the other dog gets really stressed. I’ve watched it bowl a dog over to chew playfully on its ears for an hour until the other dog was really unhappy. I’ve seen it bail a stressed dog up on the table where the smaller dog has hackles up, is snarling, barking, and whining. It’s play for him, if he wanted to hurt them they’d be hurt. But if it’s not play for other dog anymore, it’s not play. It’s not fun, it’s not okay. At some point a stressed smaller dog will really bite him, and then things will go downhill badly. My job is to keep Zoe out of that kind of situation. It was kind of scary to have a whole group of dog owners there who didn’t get that.

Makes me think how often we’re still trying to get that message across in so many different areas of human life – play is only play when both parties are having fun. If only one of you is having fun we call it other things.

Introducing Tonks

Rose and I have celebrated our 9 1/2 months together by getting a kitten. =) Meet Tonks! He’s going to live at my place. 

 He’s 8 weeks old, and kittenish. Playful, adventurous, gets through surprisingly small holes, and sleeps a lot. We’re using his cat carrier as a bed which he loves.

I am shattered today after an awesome night out celebrating a friends birthday. I expect to be worse the wear for a few days yet, but it was absolutely worth it! Today had been planned as ‘kitten day’ however, and fibro pain/hangover was not going to get in the way of that.

 This is his favourite toy mouse.

Sarsaparilla is less than impressed at the moment. The kitten has been contained in the lounge so Sars has the dining room, kitchen, laundry, studio and bedroom spaces just for him. Nevertheless he feels quite encroached upon so I’ve taken all the photos and books down from the top of the bookcases to give him a place in the lounge-room to sit and stare daggers at the interloper.

Zoe is mad with excitement and is taking a lot of energy. Rose and I are taking turns – one of us babysits the kitten, the other sits with Zoe. She is being kept in her pen with her bed and toys, and treated whenever she settles. The high pitched excited whining she’s been doing for most of the evening is not making a restful night’s sleep particularly likely. o.O Here’s hoping.

Out of Despair 6 – Dreams and Tragedy

We have dreamed large and been shattered when the dreams died. I have learned things I cannot unlearn, like searing coals that have left deep scars. Love is not enough. Life is cruel. People do not get as they deserve. Sometimes the violent prosper and the kind suffer. Sometimes you take big risks and lose it all. Death crushes dreams, sickness brings a grief that isolates utterly. We are vulnerable little bags of blood and bones and our dreams are soap bubbles and glass. Life turns on a dime.

But without dreams, there is no life, no hope, no abundance, no meaning, no joy. Without risk, we have nothing.

Nothing’s safe, except what we put at risk – Le Guin

I understand this well, it’s how I’ve stayed alive when I’ve lost so much faith in the world. But this year, it was not enough. Suddenly we’re dreaming big dreams, like having a child. The kind where I can’t imagine surviving tragedy. Death, illness, loss, all paralyzing me with terror. In the face of these nightmares, a dead child, a dead partner, court taking child from ‘mentally ill’ mother, homophobia, violence, homelessness, loss… I am like a rat in a cage, running frantically but there’s no way out. There’s no way to survive these things.

And that’s the key, there’s no way for your world to continue. It ends. What I’m doing now – this retreat, this bizarre breakdown – the letting go, it’s the letting go of a world that has ended. And you wait, you listen, you follow the small voices, the needs of the soul. And you find another path entirely, one that works for you, with what you have. So if Rose and I lose a child and it tears us apart… we sit and we cry and we say – love, love, this pain is too great, our grief is too different. Let us be free to grieve apart. If she dies and all the world we’d created together is suddenly hollow without her, I retreat, I listen, and I find a new path. Perhaps I leave the home we’d made, I buy a caravan, the child and I go traveling with the market folk, at night we watch the moon.

We are not on the railway tracks. We are free to grieve the death of dreams and make room to have new dreams. So tragedy can be faced, the inevitability of loss can be borne.

The world of structure is important. It is not wrong. It is necessary. It supports my life. Too much of it kills me. Too much of it would have me living a ‘successful’ life, the ‘recovered’ patient, doing things that have long lost meaning for me, empty and lost in my heart. This other wild way is capricious and impulsive and need driven and full of hidden mystery and meaning. People make a lot of sacrifices in their lives hoping that success will make them feel the way I feel when I’m up a tree in the moonlight full of the wonder of my world. These two things should not be divided as they are in my life and my head. They are a whole. The one supports the other. Structure follows dreaming, sustains it, makes sure there is food in the cupboard and a safe place to sleep.

Letting go frees me to dream of different things to what I have known. I have fibromyalgia, a chronic pain condition that flares and settles and flares again. I can expect that there will be days that I do not get out of bed – as there are now. If I wait until I’m well to be a mother, I will not get the chance. But the despair in my heart when I’ve realised that there will be days Mum doesn’t get out of bed had overwhelmed me. My mother got out of bed even if she was just out of hospital. She’s my whole world of what it is to be a mother. I will fall short. I will be one of those mothers.

So I grieve that vision of motherhood, and let it go. I will reach out to mothers who have disabilities and illnesses. I will find a new vision, where who and how I am, is enough. Where what I am able to offer is worthwhile. I will have a different family, a different life, a different experience of being a mother. This is sad, and it is also freeing. Let go of what does not work, and find something that speaks to me. Enough suffering. Enough diligence. Enough failure.

Instead, the most barely understood glimpse of a life where we live in harmony, where passion and diligence meet, space for dark and light, the strongest and the most vulnerable. Room for madness, permission not to fit in or hide, connection to soul.

It’s a rich life I’ve led. So many experiences, so much I’ve learned. I’ve walked many different worlds, seen so much (attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion). It’s an amazing thing to be alive.

Out of Despair Part 1 – Language is Powerful

Part 2 – Frameworks Free and Bind

Part 3 – The Tribe

Part 4 – The Railway Tracks

Part 5 – The Cave Dwellers and the Golden Light

Out of Despair 3 – The Tribe

This change of approach is everywhere in my life at the moment. I have an analogy. Picture a tribe of people, living together. Now bomb the region. Nuclear! Wasteland, devastation, loss. The tribe are alive but wounded. Some are sick, some are weak, some are young. They band together to get out of the wasteland. The journey is very, very long. They don’t know how long it will take. Somewhere it must end, somewhere there must be clean water and trees. It’s an act of faith to go on, to keep believing that all the world is not like this. As they journey, some members cannot go on. They become exhausted, or too wounded, or they die. The tribe buries them, or leaves them in caves or burrows. They promise that when they find a good place, they will return. They keep on. Sometimes one member leads, sometimes another. Sometimes they fight. They learn a lot about living together and looking after each other. They leave a trail behind them, footsteps in blood, bodies under hummocks of sand and ash.

The tribe is smaller now, leaner, wiser, older. They find the edge of the wastes, there is grass again, water, food. They can make a home. They can make a life. They can sleep indoors.

The whole world of mental health now says to me – set up home. Focus on the present moment. Be happy. Be well.

My wastes are full of wailing, angry ghosts. I’m haunted by who I used to be. I owe debts. I’ve made promises.

So I look sick instead of successful, as I go back to the burrows and rouse them, the lonely, wounded, angry ones, and promise them the world now has trees in it. As I go and wake my dead, gather the bones and bring life back into them. It looks like depression. It looks like crashing, like getting sick. I don’t look like a successful, recovered patient.

But there’s life again! There’s many voices. There’s feeling in my skin. Where my routines and plans had become empty, there’s passion. Where I’ve closed my ears to the cries and done what needed to be done, now is a time to open my ears, to sit and listen, to make a fire, to share bread, to tell the stories, to bring back together what has been divided. Dark and light, old and young, bold and timid, hope and despair, conventional and misfit, to be a tribe again, to each have a voice. We all need to have a voice to dream of a new future for us all.

And here comes the next part – the dreaming. It cannot be something that suits one, or a few. Parenthood must not be something only one or two desire. A home is not a home unless we all belong there, strange as we are. If the dark wild ones need trees to climb there must be trees. We need all of us to dream, to yearn, to share in a future together.

Without all the voices we have no balance. We are divided, unstable, without constraint. The human spirit is made to be pulled in different directions, this is our pain and our beauty, we find balance between conflicting needs. I am divided, we must work together for there to be balance, wholeness, real hope. There has been rising hope and despair, in conflict, this year. To undo the conflict and find harmony, we must undo the framework.

Out of Despair Part 1 – Language is Powerful

Part 2 – Frameworks Free and Bind

Part 4 – The Railway Tracks

Out of Despair 4 – The Railway Tracks

Let me tell you about something I call the railway tracks. It is something I have struggled with for many, many years. I get stuck. I plan my life, and those plans are like tracks laid out before me. In good times, they are a guide. I stick to them, but I can also get off them, make detours, follow impulses, go where the moon calls me. In bad times, I am trapped by them, no deviation, no way out. Rewind 5 years. I’ve driven into the city to go to a church service that evening. I’m trying to make new friends. I know I’m multiple but I’ve told almost no one. I’m exploring an idea that if we don’t switch, if we take the same part to church each time, we might have a better chance at making friends. It’s sort of working but also not. Driving home late at night, there’s a sudden yearning inside to go home via the beach instead. The night is cold and clear and the moon is bright silver and I’m terribly lonely and lost. I want to do this so badly, but I can’t. The plan was to go to church and come home. The beach isn’t in the diary, isn’t on the schedule. I fight very hard but I cannot make myself drive there. I go home instead. This is the railway tracks.

At the time I dig into it enough to realise that I suffered from it because it supported my functioning in another way. I didn’t exemplify the chaos that is common in someone who has parts, because we all stuck to an agreed schedule. The downside was this lack of freedom to be spontaneous. That was upsetting but an acceptable trade off. Over time, the schedule – and this whole approach, the group being bound to decisions made previously, a rigid adherence to agreements, inflexibility, feeling trapped and locked in, has degenerated into severe depression. Hence, the letting go of it all, the following of small voices, listening to immediate needs and wants. The tracks are suddenly gone. The sense of living my life by constantly bullying myself into doing things I desperately did not want to do, being so far outside of my comfort zone I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen it, of holding myself down, holding my hand in the fire, holding the feelings at bay, that has gone. The boulders on my heart have lifted. The despair is still there, the screaming pain, the loneliness, the scars, the terror, the years of torment and loss. But the crushing destruction of motivation, initiative, emotion, that has gone, for now at least. The tracks are gone. I can do what I wish, make impulse decisions. Turn right instead of left. Stand at the edge of the world and watch the ships.

Suddenly I’m walking Zoe because I want to, because I love her, because I love going out in the night and the cold where I have the world to myself, not because I have to, not out of guilt or obligation.

Suddenly I’m realising that this freedom is the key to attachment, to connection, to love. That this isn’t just how I want to look after my dog, it’s the kind of parent I want to be. Connected. Let off the hook for not being perfect. Working with what I have. It’s the kind of partner, friend, person, I want to be.

Stronger members of my system have allowed themselves to be bound by the needs and fears of more vulnerable members. It’s been critical for cohesion. We’ve been very good at presenting only one face to the world. We’re united by a set of values, and the primary need to survive. This leashing also strips us of much of our strength, passion, fire, and zest for life. You cannot dream when your dreamers are locked in stone. There’s a cold war between those who hope and those who despair. We are changing this. We are loosening leashes. I don’t know what will happen. That’s precisely the frightening and wonderful thing. I don’t know what my future holds.

Out of Despair Part 1 – Language is Powerful

Part 2 – Frameworks Free and Bind

Part 3 – The Tribe

Part 5 – The Cave Dwellers and the Golden Light

Out of Despair 5 – The Cave Dwellers and the Golden Light

Let me tell you another story. There is a grey world, without colour, without trees or living things. Wounded people live in caves, scratching out life from a bare and inhospitable world. Beneath the crust of this world, is a golden light, powerful and full of urgent energy. The cave dwellers can hear it and feel it rising. They fear it greatly, it haunts them. They foresee it bursting through the surface of their world, tearing apart homes and safe burrows, destroying the world they have known. They do everything they can to keep it at bay.

The light is the raw stuff of dreams, of hope, of life force. It seeks the surface with the determination of a plant, with the ferocity of a volcano.There is so much fear here, so much loss.

What if it doesn’t have to stay this way? What if the golden light is exactly what the grey world needs to come back to life, to be abundant and vibrant and nourishing? What if the cave dwellers, instead of living in fear of it, can be the stewards of it? Instead of being haunted by it, they can live in the promise of its song. What if they are the ones who mine into the rock for it? Who guide it into safe passages where it does not destroy? Who direct it so that the changes are good, thoughtful, wise ones? What is there is harmony instead of threat?

Narrative therapy and focusing techniques are something I’ve been exploring, making space to ask questions of myself and find new ways to think about my world, new ways to frame my stories. This is powerful for me.

With this shift comes also the power to face the certainty of loss. I have been terrified of my dreamers, those who fly, who take risks, who rock boats.

Out of Despair Part 1 – Language is Powerful

Part 2 – Frameworks Free and Bind

Part 3 – The Tribe

Part 4 – The Railway Tracks

Part 6 – Dreams and Tragedy

Out of Despair 1 – Language is Powerful

I’ve undergone a massive change in my mental landscape in the past month. Against a background of a bad flare in my chronic pain condition, and severe bouts of my first experiences of depression, I’ve finally found a way through. It’s difficult to communicate but I wanted to share. I’ve tried to put my thoughts in order and broken them up into 6 separate posts to make it easier to read and pick out only the bits you might useful. I hope it might be helpful to someone.

So many of my experiences in life have been so different, so alien and without words, I’ve struggled to even think about them in a coherent way, let alone communicate about them to other people. I’ve found lose frameworks and sketchy lexicons to at least be able to have a dialogue with my selves about my life. They’ve been useful but also limiting – as frameworks tend to be. So for example, as a young person, functioning in a way entirely differently from all my peers, I needed ways to describe and explain this to myself. One of the concepts I came up with is that I was a poet and they were not. This was, generally speaking, true. It also encompassed other ideas – that I was a highly creative person in a non-creative environment where sports was the focus. It spoke to a sensitive, observant nature. It had connotations far beyond that of a wordsmith – poet, and became instead Poet – a term that encompassed someone profoundly out of step with contemporaries, who spent much time up trees, on roofs, and in rivers. Who dressed primarily in velvet when given a choice, wore a knife on a belt when at home, cried most days, was desperately lonely, and carried around a journal like it was her own soul.

It was startling to meet other poets and discover that while most are misfits in some way, they are not necessarily misfits in the same way as I was. I was using the term to encompass ideas that did, and did not fit within it.

When I was first presented with the idea of dissociation it seemed primitive to me. I made no connection at all between the clinical terminology and my own experiences. I had become so accustomed to living a double life – the things we speak of and the things we do not, that starting to dig into my own fractured state in therapy deeply troubled me. I have come to accept that dissociation is the term for what I experience – a division of personality into separate parts, and at times a tenuous connection with ‘reality’. But there’s more to the story than this. Multiplicity is a big part of what makes me different. Being queer is another part. Odd developmental patterns is another – I was far ahead of my peers in some areas as a child/teen, and very behind in others. Being highly creative instantly put me at odds with systems, structures, routines, and traditions. Being highly traumatised changed how I felt, thought, and reacted. What made me feel different, and be identified by my peers as different, is far more complex than a mental illness. And to collapse some of my differences and challenges under the framework of mental illness does them a disservice.

Language is important. It shapes how we think. It provides frameworks, and frameworks are both useful and limiting. They can also be incomplete, unsophisticated, erroneous. The first times as a teenager that I went along to poetry gatherings I was deeply disappointed. I had been hoping to find people like me. People full of yearning and loneliness, who were deeply moved by life and had made the great effort to find words for experiences that defied language. People who craved connection and intensity. I felt instead, lost, lonely, confused. My frameworks were insufficient. ‘Poet’ was part of the picture but not the whole picture.

Dissociation and multiplicity are part of the picture but not the whole picture. The language of social workers and psychologists reminds me of butterfly collectors, who kill what they revere. Who have board of lifeless wings with which they cannot possibly understand the glory of flight. When lost for words, I always return to poetry. There are things you cannot understand without experiencing them as they are. Science turns on the lights and drags up the strange creatures from the deeps. It’s valuable. But it’s also limited.

Some days the single most lethal idea we’ve ever come up with, is that we are normal people, leading ordinary lives. The world is not what we think it is. Our ideas about it are a structure, a framework we’ve laid over it, to make sense of it and understand it. They are not ‘truth’, and they are not ‘reality’. Rejecting the ideas of your own culture does not mean you are rejecting reality. Being able to step outside of the roles you fill in your life can be a terrifying experience. It can also be a way of touching your soul.

Language is precious. I’m frustrated by people who say that language destroys what it seeks to describe, who believe that life cannot be communicated about. It is imperfect, which is why it should not be static. It is fluid, we change it, we add new words, we change the meanings of words, we shift it around. We lose words, we reclaim words – like queer, like mad, like freak.

I’m still partly a child. Literally and metaphorically. I’m hypersensitive, at times profoundly insecure, confused by the world. I lack filters. When I read a book or watch a movie, I live in it. I cry, I love, I feel deeply for the characters. They have been my friends when I didn’t have any. I learn quickly, the way a child does, soaking up information, mimicking instructions. The other day, I switched to a part who’s about 13. I was co conscious and could see and feel what she did. It was like peeling back so many years of my life and tossing them away for a night. Memories of those early years were as strong as a yesterday. The world shifted, shadows deepened, all the words meant something different to me. I was light as air, laughing, I was free in the night, full of mischief and uncertainty. When I’m near the beach, a poet often comes out, full of lonely yearning. She is much younger, she stands by the water at the edge of the world and watches the ships out at sea. I used to spend a lot of time in Salisbury. One of the shopping complexes has been build around an old graveyard. Between council buildings, the library, cinema, grocery store, there is a tiny plot of gravestones. Everyone walks around them as if they are not there. I used to stand among them, memorizing the names. Noticing the babies who lived only hours or days, the women who died after long, long lives. We walk around these things as if they are not there. We get stuck in our frameworks and cannot see beyond them or think beyond them. I love my little yearning girl who lives by the sea. To call her a part of my mental illness is to miss entirely who she is and what she means to me. It is to obscure and deny.

Language can kill you. After being homeless years ago, I moved into a borrowed caravan and a caravan park. It was a time of absolutely disarray in my life, every plan I’d ever made or hope I’d ever had was utterly disrupted. I was chronically physically unwell and in constant pain. My marriage had collapsed, my friendship networks were gone, my life had burned to the ground. I was living among some of the poorest members of our community.

I found myself  in the ‘white trash’ bracket of our culture. People were confused, uncomfortable, curious, weirdly sympathetic. I tried to get involved in life again but found that my address held me back. I offered to help raise a puppy for a local guide dog organisation. I asked at the information session if living in a caravan park – a pet friendly one that allowed small fenced areas around each van – would be an issue. They said of course not! I went through the training and the home inspection and failed. Someone higher up the hierarchy I’d never met had decided that a caravan was ‘not an appropriate environment for our expensive puppies’. I wasn’t really a person anymore.

That could have crushed me. I felt the impact of it, the weight of it, on my spirit. I finally turned it around by tapping into the gypsy culture in my mind. Finding a different way to see my situation, different words to use about it. Now that I’m living in a unit, I miss my van some nights. I like to sleep outdoors, to feel the rain and hear the wind and watch the moon rise. I found new words, ones that didn’t cut into me.

If dissociation is the word we’re using to describe what I feel when I’m walking through the frameworks of our culture and finding my own language instead, then it can’t be only negative, can’t be ‘illness’. It’s also freedom. There is a tremendous power in being able to define ourselves and our own lives in ways that are meaningful to us.

Out of Despair Part 2 – Frameworks Free and Bind

Out of Despair 2 – Frameworks free and bind

I’ve been doing a big shift in frameworks lately. I was conceiving of my severe bouts of depression and the fibro flare this year as an indication I was doing something wrong. I couldn’t work out what it was, what I needed, where I’d stuffed up. Framing the problem like this was immobilizing me.The mental health framework was offering me another idea, that of ‘depression’. It was presented as a mysterious, incomprehensible illness, striking randomly without warning, disabling and destroying. One you cannot fight, cannot understand. There are meds, there is waiting it out. That is all. This bogeyman was preying on my mind. It loomed larger and larger in my thoughts, bringing with it an incapacitating terror. What if nothing I try works? What if this is part of my life now? What if I never feel better?

These are the frameworks we give to people with psychosis; that it is insanity, incomprehensible, impossible to interact with. Pointless to attempt to understand. Endure. Take your meds. Endure. Hope. Lower your expectations. Don’t listen to the voices.

(I’m not anti meds. You do what works. I work a lot with people they don’t work for. There needs to be more than one approach.)

The framing of the problem was killing me. I tried turning it all around. What if getting sick and being depressed doesn’t mean I’ve done anything wrong? What if I’ve made excellent choices in difficult circumstances? What if my circumstances have changed now and the approach I’ve been using isn’t working anymore? What if I stop everything, let go of all of it, and go back to listening to myself? This letting go has been the most miraculous thing. My heart is singing again. I feel alive, my emotional connections have returned. There’s certainty and focus and hope, where there was terror, confusion, and despair. Language has power. You cannot find the answer when you’re asking a question that don’t permit that answer.

I’m ignoring the bogeyman of ‘Depression’. I’m embracing the idea of letting go, of a retreat, of a cocoon, to build something new. To reconnect with the heart of me.

Take friends. I’ve been a desperately lonely child and young person. I craved human connection and contact, dreamed about having friends I could hug, talk to about things that scared me, people who would support me when I was hurting, remember my birthday, be happy to see me, miss me when I was away. I’ve carefully worked on friendship networks over years and had something catastrophic – like PTSD – suddenly open a Gap I can’t bridge and take them all away. My multiplicity has deeply and strangely affected my relationships. I have trouble building relationships with parts of other, so called normal people, they usually keep buried. I also tended to push relationships hard. There was a big hole at the middle of my life, where very close relationships were meant to be. I took wonderful friendships and destroyed them by trying to make them closer than they were ever going to be. It’s like there was a black hole in the middle of me, and I couldn’t stop it drawing people inwards to something more personal, vulnerable, and intense, than they wanted. So I had nothing instead.

Several years I realised that this loneliness, this yearning need, was killing my friendships. So I disconnected from it. I changed focus and deliberately started seeking out acquaintances. From those, I started to make some slightly more close friends, and so on. I’ve reached a place now where I have a whole network full of really awesome people, more than I can keep up with. For a weird, lonely, mentally ill freak, I’ve been astonishingly successful at rebuilding social support. And I’ve hit a wall, where I can’t let anyone closer.

Because this approach is goal-oriented, top-down, intellectual, disconnected from that lonely, yearning, intense heart of me. Shielding people from it has been effective, it’s helped me build good caring relationships where I don’t bleed all over them, where I’m not raw, prickly, angry, scary, or in their face, most of the time. It’s helped me put my best foot forwards. But it also keeps at bay those I have come to love, walls them off from my vulnerability, cuts me off from my own yearning. So the time has come to let go of one approach, and grasp another.

Out of Despair Part 1 – Language is Powerful

Out of Despair Part 3 – The Tribe

Life is good again

I’ve turned a huge corner with the depression, finally. I wake up feeling excited about life again. 🙂 I’m happily obsessed with my face painting business, enjoying many creative projects, and coping a lot better with the chronic pain. There’s still a lot of hours or even days in bed while the fibro is so severe, but my headspace is so much better it’s manageable. I’m even planning to adopt a kitten with Rose. 🙂 I’m missing out on a lot of art college, which is frustrating, but hopefully next semester I can re evaluate it all. For now – things are good. There are pansies blooming in my garden, a kitten coming home soon, time to hang out with friends… I’m able to keep on top of jobs about the house with the extra time at home, and doing lots of thinking and journaling to make sense of things. I’m fragile and being careful, but things are going well. 🙂

UV Paints under black light!

Whoooooooo! I just went and bought a desk lamp and a UV bulb… this is the painting I did earlier shown under black light!

Even the ‘pale pastel’ painting lights up!

 Standard white does not, but you can see the blue dots among the flowers catching the light.

 Here it is; my new black light desk lamp for painting at parties! I’m so excited!!

There’s a real risk with a small business like this one, of funneling all your profits into more and more products and gismos, so I’ve been very restrained and only allowed myself standard bright paints and the metallic/pearls… Then I upgraded my brushes to quality ones. Then bought a new kit to put everything in as the old cardboard file box was pretty hopeless. Then upgraded my paints to better quality ones… added only gold silver and crystal glitters… and just the rainbow one stroke and split cake… then the rainbow in pearl… then three more one strokes from workshops… you see the progression! I’ve now got 6 powder glitters and 4 gel glitters, (this is still the highly restrained expansion you understand!) skin safe glue, googly eyes, gemstones in a variety of colours and sizes from 4mm – 8 mm, and UV paints, ointment for glittery lips, stencils for special designs, personalised business Tshirts, a velvet dress for fairy parties, and my own picture booklets of photos of my custom designs. Lordy, lordy. But how WONDERFUL to be this excited about my work! 🙂

UV Neon face paints!

Whoo hoo! Today a new item arrived for my kit… This weekend I have a party that will wind up in a nightclub, so I ordered these awesome neon UV reactive face paints! They glow under blacklight. 

 It doesn’t have to be so intense – you can also apply it for a more pastel effect… although let me tell you it doesn’t photograph HALF as bright as it is in real life… amazing colours!

 Here’s the culprit! A neon rainbow split cake. This (for those who care) is a DFX rather than my usually preferred TAG, for the simple reason that it is a proper six colour rainbow in the correct order – which is oddly rare in the world of facepainting split cakes. Weird!

 And I ordered some DFX white too, on the basis of web chatter that it held a white line better than TAG… I can’t tell the difference… I might try Wolfe next and see if that’s any better. If not – must need some work on my technique.

So yes, once again I’m covered in paint and feeling quite relieved that my dentist cancelled my appointment this afternoon!

Gemstones, glitter, and more fun than my carpet can really handle…

New face/body painting supplies! Today was awesome, I painted at a friend’s birthday party then went and bought new supplies. My house is currently covered in glitter. COVERED. I have new glitter. I have gorgeous gems to stick on with skin safe glue. I have little googly eyes in different sizes for different critters. I have some new lovely paint colours such as lilac. Did I mention the glitter?

I’ve put a stripe of clear nail polish around the lids on the glitter and dredged them in the relevant colour to make it easier to pick out the right colour quickly. I am feeling super pleased with myself. In the background you can see my new paints:
Here are my new stick on thingamys safely displayed in little screw top containers and my hand I’ve been practicing on. 
I also found some awesome chalk markers at my local art shop. No more box of broken chalk at events! They are fantastic, I love them!
Whoop whoop!
And just in case you’ve been missing out on the fun at my People Painting facebook page… here’s a taste of some of my latest work:

Celebrations

Today I went to my doctor to follow up on some enquiries we’ve been doing this year. She told me that, despite having endometriosis (a painful condition often compromising fertility) all the signs are very positive that my fertility is good and if I want to try for a baby I have a comfortable 5 year window in which to do so. There are few words for this feeling. I had previously been given a ‘start trying by 30 or forget it’ window. (I turned 30 recently)

On the way home, to celebrate I stopped by Bunnings and bought flowers for my garden. Purple pansies, stock, foxgloves, poppies, all my favourites. They are useless, they offer no shade, you can’t eat them (mostly), but they make me smile. I’m so happy.

Letting go

I’ve had a surprisingly okay… even going hesitantly to day ‘good’… couple of days. Yesterday, I went off to counselling appointment on about 3 hours sleep and no breakfast. Wound up switching appointments with someone in need and so found myself there a couple of hours early. I sat in the library and read some interesting books. One on the relationship between being queer and depression, which was a welcome counterpoint to the ‘I came out and all my problems went away’ common narrative that’s been dogging me a bit lately. The other I’ve borrowed to digest more slowly; a book on narrative therapy that spoke deeply to me. I’ve been playing over the past couple of days with completely reframing my situation. Recently I thought about my common belief – things are chaotic so I must be doing something wrong. I found myself wondering if in fact I am I doing everything ‘right’ in a difficult situation. The thought has stayed with me.

After the session I treated myself to a large chai latte and a sandwich at my favourite nearby cafe. With some filched scrap paper and a pen I caught at the thoughts swirling around inside me and sketched ideas of what might be going on with me, why I’m sick again, what I need to do about it. A line from a book on psychosis came to me – “Is it a breakdown, or a breakthrough?” I had a mental image of a horse growing from foal to stallion, and another of a caterpillar working hard in a cocoon. Sometimes growth is a natural development of what you have already been doing. Sometimes it means pulling everything apart and putting it all back together again. I asked myself if my distress was completely internal, or mostly being caused by my new inability to maintain my involvement in things in my life or to meet my expectations of myself. What happens if I let it go?

What happens if I accept that for the moment, I am closed for refurbishing?

I have used a framework, a series of approaches and values over the past few years to guide me out of a very lonely and desolate place. I’ve driven myself very hard, constantly forced myself to do things I found very difficult, reached out for anything and everything that interested me to learn about, joined every group, offered every assistance, made friends with everyone, and PUSHED so hard to make my life different.

This isn’t working anymore. I need to consolidate what I’ve gained now. I can’t keep expanding my responsibilities, networks, study, projects. I need more time to contemplate, to find new ways to approach life. I need new frameworks to support me. I need time to adapt to the massive shifts in what I’m working towards. Putting motherhood back in the picture as a possibility shakes everything up. It’s something I’ve wanted since I was 15. It’s also something that only last year, with fertility issues and approaching 30, I’d started reading books on grieving your infertility and letting go of that dream. Everything is changing and I’m struggling to keep up. I’m struggling to care for all my parts in a massively shifting world. I’m struggling to hear that tiny voice of the soul that helps me yearn towards those things that are truly important, those things that nurture me, all of us.

Maybe the depression, the getting sick, the distress of it all doesn’t actually mean anything is wrong.

I stopped off on the way home and browsed some shops. I bought a very nice pair of shoes from the salvos. I came home and took Zoe out to the dog park – not because I had to but because I wanted to. She loved it. I came home and looked up more interesting ideas about face painting. I made a decision about how I’m going to display photographs of my designs at public events. I had dinner and chocolate icecream and watched tv and did some of the dishes. Rose came by after a late shift at work and I painted her. I’ve been practicing my little white flowers and they are nearly perfect now. I was going to work on inks today but I tuned in to myself and noticed that I was feeling disappointed because I really wanted to body paint instead. I followed that feeling.

I’m thinking of getting a kitten. A friend of Rose has kittens they need to find homes for. There’s many reasons not to. But I’m home a lot, and in pain, and another cat would be wonderful company. I’m also considering signing up to foster dogs until homes can be found for them, to provide Zoe with some friends to play with. She loves other dogs so very much. I’d like to garden but the fibro pain is too severe.

I’ve read aloud case studies from the book on narrative therapy to Rose, and cried through people finding new ways to think of themselves – instead of as hopeless failures. I’m letting it all sit and filter. I’ve been involved in planning a party with a friend. I’ve got excited about buying UV reactive face paints to use at a goth nightclub next month. I’ve crept gently into bed with a glass of warm milk with honey and cinnamon, and a good book by Terry Pratchett.

I’m not in agony. There’s turmoil and unbalance and storms rumbling, but no screaming in my head. I’m thankful. I’m moving slowly, reaching out for help, withdrawing from obligations. And yesterday was a good, gentle, thoughtful day. Today was similar. I feel less destroyed, less overwhelmed. Letting go and tuning back in to that small voice. At midnight I took Zoe out to a local park, and stood up on the playground, looking out over the lawn like a green lake, and the structure beneath me a boat sailing smoothly upon it. The wind was up, cold on my skin and singing sweetly in the leaves of the trees. It feels right. It feels like coming home.

No Self Harm

There’s no self harming here in my home tonight… Pulled out my face/body paints for some practice instead. My technique is definitely improving. I’ve been up all night watching YouTube clips of designs and reading face painting forums. It’s inspiring 🙂 I’m planning to buy some UV sensitive paints next, to use on my next night out at the local goth nightclub. Also some better sponges, to make bases easier. I’m still trying to problem solve how to manage a pay per face event as madly busy as the balloon regatta the other day… I would like to make up more booklets of designs to use, that’s certain. In the meantime, there is practice and learning. It’s nice to have something else to think about.





Cool hey 🙂 and I took Zoe to the first dog park either of us have ever been to… It was nerve wracking but wonderful and she had a great time. I’m hoping to go back often. Rose helped me get out of the house and down to some markets this morning. It was good to get out into the sunshine, felt a little weird and surreal. I’m sort of ok and sort of wildly fragile at the moment. I cooked tea last night, a type of cabbage soup, for Rose who found herself working an 11 hour shift when things fell through at work. Then I made her life easier by becoming genuinely hysterical about being so sick at the moment. After pain relief, the distress settles. It’s a pattern we’re seeing a lot. So it was nice to plod about the markets instead. I bought a warm winter jumper with some face painting money, and a scoop of ice cream. All in all it hasn’t been a bad day.

Priorities of sickness

There’s this frustrating domino effect that happens when I’m not well. Take today as an example. I’ve been holed up in bed napping with bad fibro pain from painting yesterday. I’ve dragged myself out of bed with thoughts of a hot bath. Then I’ve looked at the trashed kitchen and decided I’d clean it up and wash the dishes first. Lovely Rose has just had her work shift today extended to 11 hours which is a little brutal for someone who was up at 6am this morning to start work. I want to make dinner for her tonight. So I’ve looked up recipes but can’t find anything nice that only uses what I have in the house. That means getting dressed to go to the shops. I’ve dug sausage out of the freezer and set it to defrost and tidied the kitchen. I’m thinking – shower, dressed, shops. I’d like to go to the coles a little further away to buy some nice bread to bake with the soup. But I have huge difficulties sticking to a budget in the shops, and the bigger the shop, the bigger my problem there. Plus it’s further away. So, local shops. Oh wait, if I’m going local I should fill that script. Oh and I need more pain killers. I wonder where that script is? I’ll have to find it. :/ Then I’m adding in – oh if I’m going to the shops I should take Zoe, she’s had so few walks lately while I’ve been sick. Then I’m thinking wait I need to get this on quickly because it takes a few hours in the slow cooker and it’s already afternoon. No, wait, I need to wash the current dishes before making new ones or I’ll get overwhelmed and won’t touch the kitchen for days. I really don’t have time for that. Maybe I’ll leave the dog home, drive to the shops and walk her later. (I know I wont) Maybe skip the shower, throw on any old clothes, shop, cook, clean, then have a bath. (I know I wont dress then undress for a bath then dress again, once I’m dressed, the inertia factor is too high when I feel crook) Right. Bugger it. Forget the bath, forget the dog, forget the script get to the shops, buy spuds, cabbage, pain killers, and come home and cook. Oh, and get dressed first.

Go to the bedroom to get dressed and realise I haven’t even had breakfast yet and shouldn’t drive before I’ve eaten.

Facepalm. Too hard.

Meltdowns And Split cakes

Yesterday was hard. I had a semi public meltdown, spent most of it sobbing in bed before a friend collected me and took me to group for the evening. In my pj’s. Work on the DI had ground to a halt this year as I’ve been so drowned. I’ve been hoping to get better then take on the task of restructuring how it works and either cutting back my responsibilities, or breaking up my role and parceling bits of it out to other people. No such luck, I’m going to fall apart first. I’m not making it out to college, I’ve closed off my other groups, withdrawn from a lot of my volunteer work, at the moment I’m down to the face and body painting business, running Bridges, and trying to keep my head above water. The cracks are showing and the boat is going down. So today I drew attention to the little green man behind the curtain and said help I’m not making it. People have swung into action to take various important DI roles and tasks off my shoulders or support me in carrying the load. Thank god for that.

So by the end of the evening I could breathe again. I’m off to the county today to paint faces at a hot air balloon festival, which I’m looking forward to. Particularly as Rose is kindly coming with me to help out with the driving. So I sat up all night working on my paint kit. A while ago I had the idea to stripe one side of my hand made split cakes so I have a bigger range of rainbow splits for painting, but still big patches of solid single colour paint for sponge work. So this morning I converted all my solid colours into multi split cakes. It was very calming and peaceful. I’ve been researching skin inks and free form glitter tattoos and other temporary body modifications lately and getting very excited about them. I’m booked into an upcoming workshop on creating temporary tattoos on skin, unlike face paint these are made with inks that stain the skin for a few days or up to 2 weeks! I am bursting with ideas and excitement, there’s so much more scope for artistry with these tools and I’m really looking forward to the workshop. It’s nice to have something on my life to focus on that feels peaceful and uncomplicated.

Pictures of Sophie

Sophie, my beautiful little goddaughter, is growing up. Rose and I visit every week for a shared dinner, to give Sophie’s hard working Dad some time for adult conversation, and as many cuddles for Sophie as we can fit in between her naps. She’s 7 months old now, and every week has learned something new. She’s very alert, studies her world intently, loves to lie on her back and kick her legs, hates being put on her tummy, loves to stand up if she’s supported, and babbles to herself provided you don’t try to talk back too much. I love her to bits. Here she is with her pants on her head:

 Discovering the joys of sucking on her own feet:

 And learning to turn (read ‘scrunch’) the pages of her bed time story books: