Back in Black

Call off the search party; I’m back. Everything has been moving and changing so quickly that I haven’t had a chance to sit down. But I’ve forced myself to update you all so here I am.

So what has happened in the last two months or so to cause me to become MIA? Well...I’ve moved house to be nearer to work, just for the summer, after that I’ll be off back to university after my council decided that not funding me was actually a pretty stupid decision...funny that. My working hours have increased due to the great British summer starting. Lots of kiddies needing science to be explained in a “fun and engaging” way and only about five of us employed to do it. And lastly but not least, I’m in a new relationship. About a month and a half in now and surprisingly it’s going well.

Yet, despite all this, despite all these positives in my life, despite the fact that for the first time in a while my life is looking up, I’m sitting here being immersed by dark thoughts. It’s finally dawned on me that actually, I have no control over this, no matter how great my life is, this depression, this life draining illness will still be there, sucking all energy from me. I always kidded myself in the past that once I was in a stable relationship, once I had a job I was happy with, once I had a purpose, this depression would go away, just like that, but it doesn’t, it stays, gripping onto you.

And this is why I’m here. Getting back into writing I’m hoping that maybe, just maybe, I’ll make some sense of it all, straighten out my thoughts at least. Because of my working hours I haven’t been able to see my care coordinator for two weeks. She wants me to start CBT, despite my reservations, but I can’t afford to cut my hours. I’ll just have to get through the summer, settle down on my course in October and start the long road to recovery once again.

Looks like I'm here for the long run, and that fact is hard to take.

How Screwed Up Can The System Get?

ARRGGGHHH!!! I hate Student Finance. I hate them with every pathetic cell of my worthless body.

So I pulled out of my course during my second year. It seemed like the right thing to do as I was in such a dark place that I downed a handful of painkillers to get away. They have all of this medical evidence saying that I’ve been suffering from major depression for a considerable amount of time, that it was professional medical advice that I took a break and yet they are now cutting my funding by £3225 for next year because of it.

So here I am getting punished for finally listening to my doctor and making a proper go at getting my mind sorted. Great.

You know that if I had to pull out of the course because my kidneys shut down, for example, I bet I wouldn’t be in this position. We just can’t get away from it, this damn stigma behind any sort of mental illness. Depression to them is code for “couldn’t cope with the course because she was too lazy”.

I’m going back to Wales tomorrow to go to my council personally and try and get this sorted. I have yet more letters from my university and doctor all saying I had no choice to pull out and that being punished for it is unjustified. I’m not sure what I’m going to do if they won’t change their mind. There’s no way I can afford my course next year if they don’t fund it.

I just don’t want to think about what that is going to do to me...

Needing a Hug

I desperately feel like crying at the moment and it's frustrating as I've got through the last few days without feeling remotely like this. I don't know why I've been hit by this feeling right now, but I have, and I just feel...alone. I just want someone, anyone, to take me into their arms and tell me that everything will be OK, and mean it.

I don't feel like I have a close friend right now and I think that's contributing to these random bouts of loneliness. It's complete nonsense of course, and not rational thinking in the slightest, but I just feel, deep down, that I haven't really got someone here with me that I can rely on. The conversations I have with my housemates are superficial, How was work? How was your day? They're brief, to the point and any effort I put in to have a more meaningful conversation is put to waste with the one word responses.

I just feel that I'm being pushed to the side at the moment and no matter how many times I tell myself that this is completely irrational, my mind just doesn't seem to want to listen.

Maybe if I knock myself to sleep I'll get through the worst of it and wake up tomorrow looking back at how stupid I was. Positive thinking and all that, that's what my therapist drums into me.

We'll see...

Uncomfortably Numb

I’m at a loss. Everything is telling me that I should be happy but instead I am the complete opposite. The job interview I had a couple of weeks back resulted in a job offer that I gratefully accepted and after spending the day filling in form upon form my first day has been arranged for Saturday. To all purpose it’s a dream job for me; a science explainer at a science centre/museum but right now I just can’t build up any enthusiasm. Slight issue when your job is to get kids thinking science is cool.

It sounds weird but I actually physically feel empty inside. For the last few days I’ve been constantly lightheaded and my body feels like it has no substance to it. Keeping my eyes open has resorted to wedging matchsticks in-between my eyelids...ok, maybe not, but you get the idea...but once I settle down to sleep I can’t drop off, not even my sleeping tablets could knock me out last night.

So, here I am, trying to will some life into me. Could be here a while...

Another Night

Another night I sit here hopelessly wishing the pain would stop. Another night I sit here praying for everything to be over. It shouldn’t surprise me anymore. It has always hit at night; the empty numbness that inhabits my body always awakens fully as the sun descends. And so I sit here yet again, feeling the facade slip, the day’s resolve fading into nothingness.

It’s ironic. Relationships. Friendships. Things which are synonymous with love and support. It’s ironic how they exacerbate the very things they are supposed to shielding against. I spend my days living inside myself. People walk on eggshells around me, and to some extent I do the same. They choose to ignore how desperately I’m screaming inside and instead focus on the smile on my face and the laughter in my voice. They don’t want to admit that inside I am a fortress of hatred and self-disgust. After all, ignorance is bliss.

It has become a vicious cycle. The lies, the hidden torment, the silence, the alienation. It is so much easier to fight yourself, to hurt and blame yourself than to do it to people you love. And they let me. That is the worst part. They don’t question the dark circles around my eyes or the changes in behaviour. No one sees me flinching back, cancelling plans, making excuses left right and centre. Sometimes they will ask me how I am but I know that they really don’t want to know. So once again I will smile and lie. It has become a second nature. I can’t imagine my life without it anymore.

If only I could lie to my heart with such ease. If only I could pacify the loneliness that way and convince myself that the pain and emptiness inside me is only temporary. Oh how easy it would be then. But of course it doesn’t work that way. The more I pretend, the harder it gets. Shame and guilt builds up and I know that it has taken over my life. I have reached the point where it has taken over everything. It’s all I feel. A deep, piercing ache that takes away my breath. I can’t do anything to stop it. Instead, I am now reduced to praying to a God I don’t believe in to show me some mercy and then maybe, just maybe I won’t wake up again in the morning. But then, that prospect also scares me and I find myself stuck.

My life is full of contradictions. I yearn for people’s affection yet I push away the few who care. I hide behind my facade hoping that today will be the day they build up the courage to confront it but at the same time hoping that they do not. And so I am lost. Lost and alone in world filled with so many people. Time is nothing but a broken watch in my pocket as the numbness takes its fill, sucking on my very being. I am falling now, falling into the abyss that has become my second home.

And so another night I sit here, desperately trying to grasp onto something to stop my fall but I know it is hopeless. This night is lost to me now. Another night lost in the dark lonely void that tortures my life. I can only hope now, as I always do, that tomorrow won’t be the same.

My 5 Rules For Life

Insomnia has hit once again and while I am waiting for my tablets to kick in I have decided to write five rules in which I live my life by:

1. Breathe – remember to inhale and exhale deeply throughout the day. Oxygen is renewable, good for you, and currently tax free so enjoy it while you can.

2. Do not wear underpants over your trousers. It does not give you the ability to fly like Superman, just makes you look incredibly silly.

3. Don’t be afraid to experiment in life. Take chances, be carefree. You never know if you’re going to like something until you try it. Don’t be afraid of life, grasp it with both hands and experience all it has to offer.

4. Hug at least one person a day. Preferably someone who knows you, but if hugging random strangers in the street is your thing, who am I to stop you.

5. Never take for granted the sound of silence.

Simples.

Failure in Care Systems

How many tragedies need to happen before the NHS realise that its care services for mental health patients are far below satisfactory?

A man suffering from paranoia and schizophrenia stabbed a 25 year old mother in 2006 and today evidence has been shown that a number of failing in his care could’ve prevented this tragedy. The report (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/humber/8034521.stm) found that his condition was under treated and not effectively managed. He had even been assessed two days before the stabbing.

I, someone who has seen firsthand the failures in mental health treatment here, am not surprised in the slightest by the findings. My story, albeit not as extreme as this one, shows a number of failings and has led to many preventable suicidal moments.

Let’s start when I was hospitalised after my overdose in February. My answer to the question “If you had more painkillers on you, would you have taken them?” was “Almost certainly”. This led for the doctors to call for a proper psychiatric assessment which I had later that week. All good so far but this is where it starts to go downhill. The psychologist asked for an appointment at North End House, a mental health care unit where I could get long term treatment in terms of therapy, counselling, CBT, etc. After two weeks I still hadn’t heard anything. My GP sent a letter asking them again to make an appointment with me. I was still very suicidal and after a talk with my university tutor, he sent me for an emergency appointment with another doctor as it was obvious I was close to doing something very stupid. That doctor phoned and sent another letter to North End House asking what the hell they were playing at and low and behold a few days later I’m told that I have an appointment in a week or so. A full month after my overdose.

The appointment turned out to be another assessment and I yet again went through the ins and outs of my life, the whys and hows of February’s event. It was coming up to Easter at this point and I would be on my own in my house for a 4 weeks or so. I mentioned this, stating that I felt very vulnerable about it and would appreciate some extra support. The woman agreed and said they would get in contact soon. 4 weeks later. Nothing. I hadn’t heard anything from them over Easter and to this day I still don’t know how I got through it in one piece. It takes another week and THREE different doctors to finally get me an appointment. I get a half hearted apology saying that there had been some changes and my file must’ve slipped through the net.

Finally I was assigned someone and she is meant to be in charge of all my care. After a few late night phone calls to my crisis team (the only thing that’s actually a positive in the care system) and them assuring me that my care woman would phone the next day, it takes a week before she phones, the day before our appointment. During the first appointment she then leaves early saying that there has been an ‘emergency’. I was completely lost for the rest of the day. This was during my bad week (see previous posts) and I desperately needed some sort of support.

This week she is currently sunbathing in Portugal. Fair enough, I can forgive that, everyone needs a break, but I have been assigned no one as a backup. I feel failed, a burden that people can’t be bothered to look out for. More dangerously, I feel the need to prove that the system is failing. I want to make them feel guilty about how they treat people. My head is full of these dark, selfish, stupid thoughts at the worst possible time. I only hope, for their sakes as well as mine that I’m able to compose myself and keep these thoughts locked away because something needs to change. I can see plenty more tragedies to come is things carry on the way they are.

Kick Me Whilst I'm Down

Hmm, realised I hadn’t updated this in a few days, though to be honest, I haven’t had the energy to. The last week or so has been hectic to say the least and my whole world has just collapsed around me. I really don’t know where to start.

Thursday night I had another scare. I managed to bypass the alcohol this time, but instead I went straight to the kitchen drawer, pulled out a knife and scored my arm until I could see the deep crimson seeping through. I would like to say that I very rarely do this. I don’t get much from it and I ended up feeling worse afterwards. Managed to phone the crisis team though...after I’d harmed myself, but still, it’s an improvement from not being able to phone for help. Now I just need to work on phoning before I do something stupid...

Anyway my doctor has decided to switch my medication. I’m currently on Citalopram (40mg) but I really haven’t felt any better on it and the fact that I have overdosed whilst on the stuff tends to suggest they weren’t working for me. More surprised that I haven't been taken off them sooner. For almost a week now I’ve been taking 20mg to start to taper off it and in terms of withdrawal effects all I have is slight light-headedness now and then and sleepiness. On Friday my doctor is going to review things and then start me on the new stuff, Venalfaxine. This is a different type of anti-depressant to Citalopram and after researching it I’ve decided it much scarier. The side effects are more extreme and also overdosing on it can screw you up pretty badly. I’m a little concerned. I’ve already reacted badly to one type of AD (Prozac) and that wasn’t nice. The main problem I have is I have a job interview on the 13th and if I’ve reacted badly to this medication I could quite easily mess up.

On top of this worry I found out on the weekend that my dad had been keeping letters from me back in Wales, pretty important letters, urgent letters, from my student loan company. Because I suspended my course a few months back they have obviously suspended my loan payments, but they also have refused to cover the tuition fees for my new course in October. I have spent this week on the phone constantly trying to sort it out and they may be able to change that decision but in terms of my finances right now, I’m screwed. Currently well into my overdraft, rent to pay, bills to pay, general living costs on top of that with nothing coming in. I was relying on the student loan people to be a bit more sympathetic about my situation but as the letters were kept from me for over a month, there’s very little I can do. So now I’ve been filling in forms upon forms to try and get some sort of benefits to cover my shortfalls. Normally I could cope with all this but with how I’ve been feeling, tapering off medication, new medication to deal with shortly, presentation to prepare for my job interview, it’s all far too much. I’m getting driven crazy and right now I have so little energy I’m surprised I’ve managed to type this much without collapsing.

I have no idea if this post even makes sense but there we have it, I need sleep and have no energy to check over it.

I've Done it Again

I really do have to stop chatting to charity fundraisers. Ever since I worked as a fundraiser last summer and had a firsthand experience of how hard it actually is standing in the street hours on end getting rejected by the public who look at you with more contempt than a piece of dog shit on their shoe, I have always stopped and had a chat with them.

There’s a guy who fundraises quite frequently on the cobbled streets of Durham and he has stopped me on a number of occasions. Now I do give to charity on a monthly basis and also volunteer for them and as my funds are very much nonexistent right now, I really do have to keep a tight lid on who I give to, but today, after many efforts of signing me up, he finally got me and I have ended up signing up direct debit for yet another charity. This time it’s Save the Children, a move away from my usual mental health charities.

The problem is, even in this time of credit crunching nightmares, I just can’t help doing something like this when I feel lousy. I’m not a religious person but it seems that every time I have a meaningful thought of self harm or suicide I have to do something like this to make up for it, repent my sins so to speak. While I myself have no problem giving to charity like this, my bank balance has something else to say about it. I think I may need to set up a restraining order against all fundraisers, wonder if it’s possible to do that...

New Layout

The more observant of you will notice a change of layout. This is because for some reason my previous layout deleted all word related objects. Oh well, I will probably change this one again later, never happy me, but for now this will have to do.

The Aftermath

I’m an idiot. As you can see I manage to stop the inevitable last night. I drunk, a lot, but I managed to phone someone before I was too far gone and right now I’m so grateful to that person for putting up with my drunken distressed rambling.

Last night was the closest I have come to doing something stupid in months. Looking back at it this morning, I still haven’t come to terms with how close I got. If I didn’t manage to phone, if no one answered...I wouldn’t be here, that I’m sure.

I’m feeling so bad right now. Not ‘I’m going to do something stupid’ bad, but an overwhelming feeling of guilt about what I even considered.

On Saturday a body of a young talented actress from my neck of the woods was found hanged. I spent today, after meeting with a member of the crisis team, reading the tributes left on a facebook group in her honour. The messages really got to me. The shock people felt after what had happened, that no one knew what she was going through, how they wished that she had just said something as little as “I’m not coping so well today”. I don’t want to cause people to feel like that and yesterday I came so close to doing it.

The problem is, when I’m in a mood like last night, I don’t think about all this, my brain just doesn’t comprehend the pain it would cause people. As I said before, it’s a blinkered state of mind. All you can think about is “I need to escape”. People who say that suicidal people are selfish, that they don’t care about others are frankly just plain ignorant. I beat myself up daily for thinking the things I do. This morning I was in tears about what I almost did, I’m in tears right now writing this. The worst thing is though, no matter how bad I feel about it now, I know that my depression will drag me down again. I know I will consider harming myself again. I know the black cloud will descend again and obscure my thoughts until I’m left with only one option and that is to get away.

It’s the endless feeling of it all, that’s what gets me. I feel beyond help right now. Beyond help and hopeless. But for now, I will have to live with it and hope that next time the darkness descends I will be able to fight it off.

I Can't Go On

I am really struggling right now. Really struggling. It feels like a skeletal hand has gripped my pathetic heart and is squeezing it until it causes bitter tears to mark my cheeks. Add to that the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness and loneliness, multiply the feeling by about 46.2 and you get an idea of how I’m feeling.

I’m really worried that I may do something and yet I can’t bring myself to phone the crisis team. I’m on my own, enough alcohol in the house to knock me out, sleeping tablets and razors. And writing this is just working me up into a panic. I know I’m going to work myself up so badly soon that I won’t be able to stop myself from doing anything. That is how it works, that is how it always works. I go into some kind of blinkered state where all I can think about is harming myself and I HAVE to do it. I can’t stop myself, I watch my body do the things it does and I have no control.

I know I need to phone. My mobile is on the table next to me yet there feels like there is some force stopping me from picking it up. I just can’t do it.

I’m wishing for someone to ring, someone to stop me but it won’t happen. It’s almost 1AM here, no one rings me at this time, no one will read this in time.

I’m scared.

Please. Anyone. I need someone right now.

Bugs Bunny Would be Proud

I realise that so far I haven’t really lived up to my blog’s title. Well I shall let you know, I am currently sitting on my sofa listening to the rugby on the TV (Go on the Blues!), reading The Times newspaper (yes I am sophisticated :P), and eating carrots. Yes. Carrots. So there.

Tasting Success...I Wish

I have a love hate relationship with Zopiclone. For those who are unsure about the drug it is a hypnotic drug used to treat insomnia. The drug doesn’t knock you out as such, instead relaxes your body making it easier to fall asleep. Like most sedative, hypnotic drugs, it is very easy to get dependant on and so only short term treatment is recommended.

The problem is, even though it helps me through my bouts of insomnia, it doesn’t half leave a taste in the morning when you wake up. Today was the worst yet. I was greeted to the bitter metallic taste in my mouth and the back of my throat and instead of it gradually disappearing, it seemed to just stay. My morning consisted of washing out my mouth twice with mouthwash and then drinking a mug of strong coffee. And let me tell you, mouthwash + coffee + bitter metal taste doesn’t equal a good thing.

That’s enough venting for now. Maybe some fresh air will take my mind off it.

Ben, Jerry, and a Whole Load of Bags

In this world there are only two men in the world a girl can rely on; Ben and Jerry. I managed to resist the pull of drinking myself into a stupor last night and instead binged on a girl’s best friend...chocolate. I felt so sick that the thought of any sort of alcohol made me want to empty the contents of my stomach into the nearest bowl shaped object. Probably not the best way to cope, but nevertheless, it got me through last night.

I have actually just got back home from my appointment with my doctor and despite it being obvious that he couldn’t wait to get me out of his office, he has actually done something this time. I have been prescribed the grand total of 7 sleeping tablets. Woohoo! Sorry, can’t keep my sarcasm under control.

He has also called on the crisis team here to keep an eye on me. I am grateful, they helped me a lot after my overdose in February but I’m not sure if having them involved again will help me through this. Basically, for those of you who don’t have a team like this in your area, it’s a short term programme where a team help you through a period where you are at risk. They’ll check up on you a few times a day, be there to talk if you need, go for coffee, go on a walk, whatever you need. They only usually have about 10 people on their books and the programme only lasts a couple of weeks at the most.

I feel a little more secure but I can’t help feel smothered right now. I didn’t think I was that at risk to need the team again. I’m getting prescribed sleeping tablets on a weekly basis until I break out of this latest bout of insomnia and I’m having someone check daily that I don’t abuse them or stash them away somewhere. I don’t know, maybe I’m in denial again but I feel that I may as well have a sticker on my head saying “Unstable, approach at your own risk”.

I think I’m going to go back to bed anyway, right now I have more bags under my eyes than my nan has in her entire wardrobe, and trust me, that’s a lot of bags.

Numbing the Pain

Last night, I am ashamed to say, I resorted to drinking. Ever since my overdose two months ago I cut out all alcoholic beverages from my life. One, because I felt that I needed to show my housemates that I was making an effort to recover and two, I hoped it would cause my medication to finally work. My housemates never knew about my depression until my attempt in February. I have had many years of practice in hiding it but even my skills couldn’t hide an ambulance outside the house. They reacted very badly to say the least and phrases such as “You’re burdening so-and-so” and “You need to think of others” and my personal favourite “You’re not even trying, you need to try harder” were going amongst the ranks faster than a labour party email. I thought that if I cut out alcohol all together they would see how much I was trying. Don’t think it worked.

Yesterday things just got too much and I found myself drinking the little alcohol in the house before taking a trip to the shops and buying some more. I feel like a failure. I am a failure. I lasted two meagre months. And now, the numbing effect of drink seems appealing once again. I always knew that once I cracked I wouldn’t be able to control myself and now I’m afraid of what I may do. I’m on my own, no one nearby to stop me. I need to distract myself and it really isn’t working. I just need to last till tomorrow. I have an appointment with my doctor in the morning, I just have to last till then. 14 hours, 5 minutes.

Shit.

Sleep, Don't Weep

I hate this. I’ve lost count of the days since I last had a decent sleep. I’ve spent the day walking the forest paths of Kielder, the fresh air and activity, combined with the lack of sleep the night before, driving me to exhaustion and guess what? I can’t sleep. My head is aching. Actually, scrap that, my whole body is aching and right now, more than anything, I just want a few hours of deep, fulfilled, uninterrupted rest.

Of course my doctor knows all about my weeks of insomnia and gave the very encouraging advice of “try not to sleep during the day, keep active, and I’m sure you’ll break out of it”. This was after he said that he’d love to give me sleeping tablets but unfortunately he just can’t. Apparently it must say on my file “Unstable patient. Recent history of overdosing. Do not prescribe sleeping tablets at all costs even if it means the patient goes weeks without decent sleep and ends up looking like death warmed up.”

Of course I can see why he can’t prescribe me the things but something more than "I'm sure you'll break out of it" would’ve been nice. I’m going out of my mind at the moment. Honestly, how I didn’t end up walking into a tree earlier is beyond me. I think my doctor is just relieved that whilst I’m like this I just haven’t got the energy to act on any thoughts I may have or to work myself up into a dangerous state of mind. Of course over the past few weeks I have felt pretty shit in respect to my emotional state but I’m just too damn tired to bother about it. Danger is I drive myself so crazy with my miserable sleep patterns that I sneak far too close to the border of breakdown country and all the pent-up depressiveness sucks me in so deep that I end up doing something incredibly stupid.

I don’t know. I honestly don’t know what to do anymore. I guess I should go try and get some sleep...again. Doesn’t help that my brother is coming up to visit tomorrow, early, and I have to get up to meet him. Be surprised if he recognises me in the state I’m in. Oh well.

Take a Trip into my World

I am a great believer that no matter how well written a description, no matter how vivid a picture painted in your mind, you can never truly know what it’s like to be depressed without suffering from it firsthand. But when people are coming to grips with your condition for the first time this is what they want to know, they want to know how you feel. There are many descriptions of the never ending abyss, the black hole, but here I am going to try and see if I can truly make people feel what it’s like to go through what I go through every day and night.

Ladies and Gentlemen, brace yourselves for you’re about to take a ride in my world.

Imagine for a moment if you will a world where nothing makes sense to you, a world where society is like an all-encompassing Rubik’s cube. You can sit there for hours trying to solve the puzzle, twisting and turning to match the colours, but nothing fits, nothing makes sense to you. You have no idea how to solve it. How do you feel right now? Frustrated? Useless? Worthless? Whatever you’re feeling hold onto it, feel nothing but what you are feeling right now.

Now I am going to put you in an everyday scene. Imagine a street, just a normal street, it has a road adorn with cars and buses, shops decorate each side, the smell of food wafts from restaurants, the sound of music blares from a record store. Now add a crowd, not a large crowd, say around 50 people or so. A perfectly normal scene in today’s world. Most people would just fit right in.

Imagine, for a moment, that you are not like most. Imagine that the hustle and bustle of the street stings your nerves like lemon juice on an open wound. You are completely separate from them. You know with a bitter certainty that you do not belong on this busy street and you never will. You are not welcome here. The people, they tolerate you, for a time, but nevertheless, they will be glad if you leave.

Picture their scornful faces as they watch you, hawk-like, from outside your bubble. They are waiting, waiting, waiting, and when you show just the hint of weakness they will pounce. You cannot show weakness. You cannot show them a hint of what you are feeling right now. Now, head up, shoulders straight, jaw set. Does that make you feel better?

Of course not, but what can you do? Concentrate, for me, on the shame and degradation of being entirely alone in an overpopulated world. Inside, you feel loneliness gnawing at the stems of your heart like a bloodthirsty insect, you feel misery rising before your eyes like a giant black moth obscuring your vision, you feel anger withering beneath your skin like a mass of maggots breeding and multiplying until they’ve nowhere to go but out.

Now, lose yourself in these feelings. Allow your weak will to feed on the darkness you’ve created by refusing to rise above your sufferings. Indulge yourself. Revel in the pain. Lose yourself like a wild animal to your passions. For the time being all pleasant feelings are superfluous. All you need to know is fear, self-pity and anger. How much longer can you hold onto this fury before it escapes you and wrecks havoc upon your fate?

You see someone approaching – a classmate, a co-worker, a family member who, for their own reasons, holds you in contempt. You witness a sneer cross their face as they draw closer. A mocking, superior attitude. Their voice invades your mind. A taunt, a remark on your clothing – it doesn’t matter. It’s enough. Imagine the maggots exploding from you in a white rush, and you are swept away and you don’t know yourself anymore and you’re a slave to the fury, the need for revenge and there’s blood on your hands and you’re pounding, pounding, pounding the person and you’re crying and shrieking and you’ve lost control. Shrieks fill the air, hands grasp at you – you shake them off; nothing matters but the body beneath you on the pavement.

And as suddenly as it came, the anger vanishes. In its place is an icy cold, and you’re up again and you’re running and you don’t know where you’re running but it’s urgent that you get there, it’s imperative, and you leave your mind behind you at the crime scene as you flee from a part of you you never knew existed.

When you can run no further, fall to your knees and stare at the ground, gasping. Open your eyes, look at your hands. Let the tears of exhaustion and desolation wash the crusted blood and dirt from them. There is nothing for you to do but kneel there and shake, and try to remember who you are. It’s slipping through your fingers, blowing away with the cold eastern wind.

Now, how do you feel? Exhausted? Empty? Hopeless? Devoid of identity? Do you feel the tears burning your eyes? This is how I feel. This is how I feel every day. The mixture of dark emotions crushing down on me, draining what little energy I have until I am reduced to my knees, staring at my shaking hands through tear filled eyes.

Hopefully I have given you an insight into what it’s like to live with depression, even if it’s just a small glimmer. I would however just like to point out that all of this was purely metaphorical. I haven't really pounded someone to death. That's what I keep telling the police anyway :P

Is Suicide in Japan a Socio-Cultural Phenomenon?

A friend earlier today discussed her current essay titles and one of them grabbed my attention. Is Suicide in Japan a Socio-Cultural Phenomenon? It is an interesting topic. For me, someone who often has thoughts of suicide and has a history of overdoses and self harm to my name, I put suicidal thoughts purely down to my depression. The thought of my actions being down to society and culture doesn’t even cross my mind, but of course, society and culture is very different in Japan.

Japan has long been providing social studies on suicide. Take the suicide bombings in the Middle East for example. This can easily be traced to Japan’s “Kamikaze”, the suicide air attack squad at the end of World War II. Tracing back even further and we have the samurai’s, the Japanese warriors. In order to protect the samurai from being killed by executioners, a form of suicide, hara-kiri, was committed. This wasn’t seen as some sick, heartless sacrifice as many in the western world would perceive it, but a privilege in society. Another form of suicide, shinjyuu, was committed among intimate people such as between lovers or families.

Here, suicide is seen by some as a selfish act, an act that goes against many religious teachings. By others, it is perceived as a last resort, an escape. Rarely is it seen as an act of good. Suicide in Japan however is seen as an act of individual dignity, of freewill, and has a long lasting cultural association with saving family fame, a noble act almost.

In this modern day and age there is more pressure on Japanese, especially men, to make money and be successful. In these days of recession, economic slump and high unemployment, this is becoming harder to do. It comes as no surprise then that statistically men are more likely to commit suicide in Japan than women. Failure isn’t an option for them and suicide is often attempted in a bid to get life insurance for the family. With the invention of the internet comes arise of suicide pacts in Japan, thus bringing a new phenotype of “group suicide culture”. Suicide is fine as long as people do it together.

I personally see suicide in Japan as a socio-cultural phenomenon. Despite many policies being proposed to help reduce the suicide rates, they are treating the suicides as a mental health issue. In fact, many psychiatrists are arguing that past suicides were due to depression and are urging people to regard suicide as a product of pathology. Even though I agree with this, I don’t think this is the way to go about it. For someone who is depressed a mental health hotline and counselling can prevent suicide, for someone who is under financial strain it will not help.

Japan is developing a vocabulary of motives associated with suicide permitting the Japanese to believe that they have no other choice but to die. As a result, they are resisting mental health efforts such as medication for depression. In order to move Japan away from the “nation of suicide” you first need to change the society. Allow more aid for those in financial difficulties, for those who are unemployed, change the pessimistic outlook on life. Then concentrate on the mental health aspect. This may seem like an indirect route, but personally I believe it is the most secular way to reduce suicide rates in Japan.

And So It Begins

Here we go, the first post. I am not a beginner to blogging, far from it, and through much trial and error I think I have finally come up with a winning format...well, at least I hope I have. In the past my blogs concentrated on my depression and I rather naively thought that writing about it through my blog would remove all stigma surrounding mental health and all would be well in the world. This of course didn’t happen. A blog that just contained posts describing how low I was feeling was never going to convince someone who was ignorant about mental health to change their opinions, if anything it would reinforce them, thinking that yet again another ‘attention seeking, weak, pathetic loner’ was clogging up the internet with their ‘emo’ thoughts.

That doesn’t mean I won’t touch on the subject here, definitely not. I am more determined than ever to tackle the stigma that surrounds it. I find it pathetic that in this day and age so many people are still ignorant and clueless about what mental health is. Like many, I hid my depression for many years, I still do to a high extent, because of the way people automatically label you, pity you, treat you like an outcast. No matter how close someone is to you, how long they’ve known you, you tell them you’re depressed and suddenly you’re a different person. They judge you, look at you differently, are suddenly awkward around you. Obviously not everyone reacts like that, but I would say, after personal experience, the majority would.

My aim for this blog is to give an insight into what it’s like to live with this illness whilst also looking into other areas of human behaviour. Some posts will be educational, some personal experiences, wherever the mood takes me. A little warning though before I wrap this post up. I also suffer bouts of complete randomness and if during one of these bouts I want to write a post about reinforced plastic spoons, I will do just that.

Enjoy :)