Day Leave

I have been granted an entire day at my own home! Not a big deal, many would say, but I am now so institutionalised, that I was awake from 4am because I was so excited.

I was nervous about how I might cope. I was worried I wouldn't know how to behave. I was excited to see my cat. I was dying to go outside and stand on the grass - despite the fact that it is a howling storm outside. I wanted to lie on my bed and grab some new undies, the four pairs I have in hospital are probably getting a bit over-washed by now. 

Walking into my house felt weird. On the drive home I'd suddenly realised just how long I've been unwell for, nearly six weeks now. I've been in hospital for two, it's been a month since I rang my mum to come down, and things started before that phone-call.

To be honest, it's all a little overwhelming.

I got home and played with the cat, and lay on the grass in the pouring rain and took a long bath without worrying about a nurse coming to check and even shaved my legs without asking for the razor!

I'm now only an hour or so away from going back to the hospital. I have made it through the day without taking any PRN (lorazepam if needed), but it hasn't been without it's hiccups.

I'm currently sitting in my bed, listening to Bean and Husband out in the kitchen making dinner, feeling to anxious to go back into the chaos, and aggravated by Bean's "I'm hungry" noises. I get up and try to feed her, but it doesn't help, I know that husband is frustrated that I'm not being helpful and he is doing tea and looking after her. So I try to help, I take her to her room to give her a bottle and hopefully she'll sleep. But she is refusing the bottle and STILL screaming in that overtired manner and suddenly I feel dangerous inside. I call out for my husband and push Bean into his arms as soon as he arrives.

I'm pleased I was able to call him. That I was able to recognise those feelings. But I did just break my no PRN record. Lorazepam was downed as soon as I got into the kitchen and 'took over' dinner, which was already finished.

I'm worried that I won't ever be able to cope with her crying. I worry that I won't ever be able to be a mum properly to her again. I'm worried about how I'm going to manage full stop. What if I can't and I never get better and never get out. Or worse, what if they give up on me and I do get out and then I can't cope.

And then I look back.

Two weeks ago I couldn't even handle feeding her without crying and feeling like I wanted to scream. My husband was having to take days off work because I couldn't face her without crying or becoming a quivering mess at the thought of yet another day being unable to manage her demands.

But this week has gone better. I haven't yet made it through an entire day without having a nurse have to take her for a while, but those times are getting shorter. 

I have taken control of my meds a bit, and feel more able to be in control of my own treatment and recovery. I've posted a job advert on my FB page asking for some in home help and a babysitter. We are looking into a couple of half days of Day Care and it looks like I will be eligible for a set number of respite hours during the year.

Surely things can't be too far away from getting back to normal?

I wish

I wish I had a broken leg
All wrapped up in a cast,
And crutches so that people know
Why I'm not moving fast.

I wish I had a blind man's cane
To tap before my path
So people near could warn me
Of the bumps and help me pass.

I wish I too had beads of courage
To look at every day
To remind me of each pill I've taken
And each doctors room I've cried.

Instead I stumble blindly through
Each rock, each hole, each wall.
Praying for just one more courage
To get up when I fall.

Instead I feel each judging eye
Slowly break my soul,
And force myself to smile back
As if nothing's wrong at all.

Respite

She is what I cling to.

Bringing down the Curtain

It finally happened.

A meltdown on par with the 'the great crash of 2007'.

With my own godsent mum here, I was able to hold it together for a week. I was able to sleep in the afternoons, and when I couldn't face another round of 'try to feed the baby' or 'baby seems tired, lets try to put her to bed", my mum was able to take over and happily at that.

I made it through for four whole days, and then, after I waved goodbye at the airport. Things fell apart at a great rate of knots.
By the time I got home, tears were prevalent. I had managed to stop myself from deliberately crashing the car in to the median barrier. I had managed to safely carry my daughter inside and gently put her on the mat rather than dashing her onto the ground in the driveway. I considered these a success.

Over the course of the next two hours I spiralled up and down so fast that I didn't know what had hit me. I decided to stay home and relax and stay calm, but Bean wasn't cooperating with that plan and so I put us in the car again and drove across town to our mothers matter support group. By the time I got there, tears were only one 'are you ok' away. There were a number of Phone-calls from a number of phones, to a number of different numbers in the C ward at Princess Margaret Hospital and half an hour later I was sitting in my counsellors office.

I was unsure how I'd managed to drive myself here and was trying to recall the last time I'd eaten. Bean was playing with some brightly coloured giant keys on the floor, and I was trying very hard to concentrate as Tracy (my counsellor/registrar) asked me what I needed right now. What did we need to make happen?

I looked up at her, dazed, a headache playing behind my eyes. "Sleep." Wasn't it obvious?
"If we can get you to sleep, will that be enough?"
I shook my head thinking over and over 'give me somewhere different to sleep, please put me in a hospital, I need time away from baby'. But I couldn't say it. The thought made me sick.

What kind of mother am I, who needs time away from her own child. What kind of mother begs to be put into a hospital so that they can sleep uninterrupted?

Suddenly there were two therapists in the room, they were talking about respite options, one involving in house help, the other involving inpatient stays with your baby, and respite houses without. The respite house sounded like heaven. But still, when they asked me which one did I think I needed, I couldn't bring myself to say it. I couldn't bring myself to admit that I, Mum, needed time away from my child. 

Finally, the therapists decided for me. I would go to respite for the night. Husband would have to come home early and take tomorrow off to look after the Bean. I was so relieved at the idea, and sickened by my own reaction at the same time.

Unfortunately, as luck would have it, there were no free beds in any respite houses or inpatient wards anywhere in christchurch. I would have to stay at home, or preferably, at a friends house. But I couldn't think of a single friend to ask. I have friends. But not a lot of friends with kids. Or friends with spare rooms. Or friends I wanted to ask.

So I went home. I don't remember anything about that drive except that I was driving rather slowly, because I was scared of doing something stupid. When I got home to my Husband, I instantly burst into tears again and couldn't stop apologising for being such a pain to everyone. Other mums hold it together, so why am I not coping??

That night, Husband slept in Baby Beans room. I slept in our room with the door closed, ear plugs in, and a message to not get up for 24 hours or more. I took 1 tiny blue zopiclone pill, but one hour later I was still awake, so, as prescribed, I took a second. I was still awake 40 minutes later and too scared to take another one so I found a sleep hypnosis app, and after listening to it twice (yes twice), I finally fell asleep.

I slept till 4am, and had to repeat the whole process again in order to get back to sleep.

Today, I am drifting in and out of a sleep state. I do feel better, but I know also that if I were to get up and pretend everything was fine right now, I don't know if I would actually survive the next few days.

I'm sure things will get better soon. I'm sure that I will figure out what's really going on and be able to finally manage it properly. I want to show my baby how much I love her, but clearly, that is not an option right now, as what I need is just to sleep. sleep. sleep. sleep.

A History of Mental Illness

In light of recent events, both in my personal life and on an international level, I think it's time we thought about this issue again.

My problem is, the way people, and media, just throw around the term 'mental illness.

For instance,
"...a young women, who has a history of mental illness..."
"...the killer has a history of severe mental illness..."
"...today a man with a history of mental illness attacked...
"...the alleged killer has a history of mental illness..."
"...the accused has a history of mental illness..."

If you think that's ok, then just replace mental with the word 'physical' and you'll see how ridiculous it is.

The term 'mental illness' cannot continue to be used as a cover all for every single type of mental illness out there. And it certainly cannot be used to 'explain' away people's behaviour, so that everyone just nods their head and thinks 'oh, they have a mental illness, well that explains it then.'

Just like physical health includes everything from headaches, to cancer, to the flu and hepatitis or polio, malaria or a simple cold, the term mental health covers everything from mild depression and substance abuse, to aspergers syndrome, ADHD, dementia and schizophrenia, with just as many variables in between.


This brilliant image popped up on my facebook timeline today.

What I want to know, is when the media will start actually taking notice of this, and start differentiating between them. For instance, "..a man with a history of mental illness, has been accused of assaulting a care giver...' would seem a lot less insidious, if the public were aware that this man had a history of Dissociative Identity Disorder, and had stopped taking the medications which were helping him, because a close family member had criticised him for being on 'crazy pills'.

By the same reasoning, the headline '... a mother with a history of mental illness is in custody after being charged with neglecting her child...' would make the general public more aware of the seriousness of the situation, if they were allowed to know that she was in fact, suffering from suffer Post Partum Depression, yet had been too ashamed to ask for help for fear of being labeled 'crazy' by those around her. 

But I guess that neither of those truths makes for a very exciting news story.

I'm not saying that there aren't some very mentally disturbed people out there who are legitimately dangerous, there most definitely are. But by simplifying it as simply 'mental illness', the majority of us who suffer a mental illness which is doing no one any harm but us, continue to feel as though we must live in hiding, not reveal our full selves, not ask for help, not take the medication that could save us. 

By continuing to lump every mental illness under one umbrella, the media is simply exacerbating the stigma that all people who suffer ANY type of mental illness still have to deal with on a day to day basis. 

I take daily medication to keep my depression away and my anxiety at a manageable level. I am a pretty normal person. I love to sing, I am a school teacher, I hate early mornings, I have a family and  kid on the way. But I know that if I were to end up on the news for any reason, I too, would be labeled as having a history of mental illness.

But there is so much more to me than that.

“I pledge my commitment to the Blog for Mental Health 2014 Project. I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others. By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health. I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.”