I’ve been wanting to talk about self harming for a while now. It’s a problem, if that is the right word, that a lot of people who live with depression also have to live with.

When I first thought about writing about this, I was going to do some research into the subject. But then I thought again. If I did research, what I would write would be factually correct but I also thought that it could be boring and of course anyone can research the matter.

I thought that it might be more interesting if I just wrote about it from the heart, so to speak.

Let me from the start state that yes, I do self harm. Most people have heard of people self harming, there is enough in the media about it that it is almost not possible to have never heard of it. But when it is portrayed in the media, especially through the medium of television. The person self harming almost without exception, cuts themselves. So it would not be unusual for the majority of people to believe that that is the only way people self harm.

If this is a myth. Then I want to try and dispel it. I stated earlier that I self harm, but I want to also state that I have never deliberately cut myself. My self harm takes the form of visible and invisible harming.

People who know me will know that I have scars on my arms that may, understandably be misconstrued as being scars from cutting. In fact, and I say this with a certain amount of embarrassment, I pick my skin. Skin picking is a recognised disorder, unsurprisingly called skin picking disorder, or which is a bit more interesting Dermatillomania and is linked to Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. This does not meant that all people who pick their skin have OCD, just that the two conditions are linked or correlated. A lot of the time l am not even aware that I am picking. I do know that when I am in a stressful situation, then I pick. Interestingly and this is something that I have only very recently realised, if I am with people and feel the need to pick, I will wait until I am out of the situation and then I pick for England!! When I do pick, gosh, you know this is really hard for me to write, when I do pick, I have to make myself bleed and if I can’t make a spot bleed, then I move on to another spot, until I do bleed. It doesn’t have to gush, just bleed, it’s not until I bleed that I get any kind of relief.

So that takes care of the visible signs that I spoke about. So what about the invisible? With me and I have intimated this in previous posts, I stop taking my medications. I am heavily medicated, I take 18 different meds every day, some of them twice a day. I take medication to try and keep my heart beating to a regular rhythm, meds to make me pee, meds to stop me peeing! Meds for high blood pressure, meds for depression, and anxiety, strong pain killers for my fibromyalgia and of course I am supposed to stick a needle in myself up to 8 times a day!

When my mood is low, or when I am faced with something that I would rather not face, then I have a real fight on my hands to not take my meds. It’s such a faff I tell myself, I just can’t be bothered. Deep down though, I know that it is deeper than that. When I am really in a dark place, when everything that has happened becomes too much to bear I do deliberately stop taking them in the hope that ‘nature will takes its course’. Fortunately, this has never happened. It might sound strange, but I didn’t realise what I was doing until it was pointed out to me and when I described what I had been doing, to a medical professional, it was logged as a suicide attempt. That is something else I have never told anyone. I tell you, since I started this venture (the blog!), I have made more admissions than I have in the whole of my 58 years! Anyway, there it is, that’s the story of my self harming.

Except that it’s not! I thought it was until yesterday. A really good friend said something to me which really rang a bell so hard that it is still ringing in my ears. I was having a cup of tea with her and unloading a bit and she said this. “You’ve been abused once when are you going to stop abusing yourself” (my paraphrase). Wow! I knew exactly what she meant.

Guilt, blame, self loathing and a whole load of other crap that I keep piling on my shoulders. It happens all the time. People have often said to me that I should stop ‘beating myself up’. That is tantamount to abusing myself. I have a lot of work to do on myself, I know that it’s something I can’t do on my own. Therapy!

So there it is. This is my experience of self harm. I know that I am not the only one who invisibly self harms, so when you hear that someone is self harming, don’t just look for scars caused through cutting, think of all the hidden forms of self harm, I imagine, that there are very many more than I have talked about.

Self harming is real and it’s horrible.

Over the last few weeks, the importance of true friends has been highlighted to me. It got me thinking about what a friend is.

My Mother when she was alive bless her, once told me when I was a fairly young child, that to have a friend, you have to be a friend and that is something that I have never forgotten and is something that I have always tried to live by.

The majority of people who follow this blog, will not know that I had a really successful career, spanning almost 25 years, working with people who live with Autism in a residential setting. Over my career. I worked with people with an age range range of under five to over retirement age, and from all types of backgrounds, from the aristocracy to the working class and also those who we would now describe as living below the poverty line.

I can hear you all crying out “I thought this post was supposed to be about friendship?”. It will be, don’t worry, I promise I am getting there, bear with me and keep reading.

Twelve years ago, when I was 46, I graduated from Southampton University with an honours degree degree in Applied Social Science majoring in Psychology.

I had to write a 14000 word dissertation as my final piece of work, and it was one of only two pieces of work that I received a 1st for. My chosen topic for my dissertation was ‘it it possible for for those who live with Autism to have a true friendship’, with my hypothesis being that those who do not live with Autism would select their friends from their peer group, colleagues, their cohort, long term relations from childhood onwards- horizontal friendships, whilst those who do live with autism would nominate as their friends those who are their principle carers; parents siblings, teachers social workers – vertical friendships. If I were to write that dissertation now, I would not say this, I think that I made a fundamental mistake in that i now believe that that a person who is not on the Autistic spectrum would actually pick their friends from both vertical relationships and horizontal relationships. This has been brought home to me with the death of my two very best friends, my parents.

So how would I describe what a true friend is?

Well, I would say that a true friend can come from any path that crosses your life. it can be your colleague, a fellow student, some one you have known all your life, someone you met only last week.. it can be a parent, a sibling a cousin, basically anyone. But there is a caveat to that. Just because a person fits into one of those groups, does not mean that they are, or ever will be a true friend.

A true friend is one who loves you for who you are, no matter what you have done (within reason, friendships can be irrevocably broken, horizontal or even vertical friendships), one who does not judge, so it does not matter what has happened to you, they will not care. Someone who you have not seen for 20 or even 30 years and yet when you meet it is as if you saw each other only yesterday. Someone that you know, without it being spoken, that you can call on in the middle of the night and they will not mind. Someone who will lovingly tell you the truth, even if it is hard to hear. In my opinion, unless a person meets all that I have mentioned, then they do not have the right, to call themselves your friend. Referring back to my earlier comment from my Mum, to have a friend you have to be a friend you have to be a friend, so I strive to meet my own criteria!

I am blessed, and I mean very blessed to have a number of people who meet all that I have discussed. It is to them, I shall not name, they know who they are, It is to them that I give my heartfelt thanks. Without them, I would not have been able to cope as well as I have done these last few weeks. It feels strange writing that last sentence as I do not really feel that I have been coping, but this wonderful, wonderful group of people continually tell me that I am doing well, and that what I am experiencing is totally normal, and to be expected. They have supported me and loved me and I know that will continue to do so for as long as we live.

That’s friendship, at least that’s what friendship means to me!

Value your friends, love them, support them through thick and thin and please do not take them for granted or neglect them. Treat your friends with love, respect and honesty and they will be your friends for ever.

These are just some of the emotions that I have been feeling. It’s strange, because these emotions come over me in waves and largely without warning and to add even more confusion to what at times feels like a witches cauldron that is boiling and almost overflowing, I don’t know what to do with them.

Take yesterday. I just could not settle down to anything. Tried reading, no good. Tried watching television, no good. Tried doing some Crochet, no good. I just could not concentrate on anything.

Yesterday was mainly about shame and guilt. I do not feel shame about what he did to me, at least I don’t think I do and I don’t feel guilt about it either. However, I do feel both guilt and shame because I allowed it to continue for so long. To this day, 45 years later, that eats away at me. I also have guilt that I didn’t tell my parents, although I maintain that if I had, I would have lost my dad as he would have killed him, quite literally.

The emotion that bothers me most is hate. I feel hatred on several levels. I hate what he did to me. I hate how it makes me feel. I hate him, God how I hate him and I also and this is the biggy, I hate that he has made me hate.

All this is churning over and over in my brain. I can’t figure it out. I just want it to stop. No, I need it to stop. For 45 years, my stomach has been in a state of turmoil. I have lived in a a permanent state of anxiety, so much so that anxiety became the norm and I didn’t realise that till now. Now that I know that, now that I have voiced it I have to face it and I don’t want to and I hate him for that too.

Absolutely yes, I can hear you all shouting out to me. The fact that I have headed today’s entry with that particular question implies that I must be contemplating not engaging with the therapy that I have started.

Well to a certain extent it’s true, I have been thinking that. Especially today. Why today? I have found today, really hard. I went out to get some basics from Sainsbury’s and was almost in tears the whole time. It would not have taken much to push me over the edge. In the end. I just had to get the hell out!

The problem was that for some reason, my mind was on therapy and what I will have to go through in order to get ‘better’, whatever that means, and therein lies the answer to why I’m scared of therapy, why I am contemplating not engaging with it.

If I’m honest, its that bloody word ‘better’ that I’m really frightened of. For 40 years I have hidden myself so well, buried myself so deeply that I genuinely do not know what getting ‘better’ means. How will I know if I am better?

I feel the same way about losing weight. I suppose that they are inextricably linked, even one of the same thing. I am frightened of being a thin person. I don’t know what being thin would be like, I don’t know how to behave as a thin person. All the while that I am fat, I can hide, I can use it as an excuse to not interact with society. You see that’s safe. If I don’t interact, I can stay indoors. I can shut the world out. Losing weight and getting better would put an end to all that.

I am aware that in order to get through the day, week, my life that I have to put on a mask. But you know what? Years, nay decades ago I forgot to take the mask of and it has got stuck. I can’t find the edges to begin to peel it off and I dont really want to, I just know that its is going to be just too painful. Unlike a plaster, it cannot be ripped off in one go, it will have to be done slowly.

An interesting thought has just come to me. I used the phrase ‘not engaging with therapy’ that would suggest that I would attend, but not partake. If was really serious, would I not be contemplating not going? I don’t fucking know!

I’m so confused. Want to better, don’t want to be better. Want to be thin, don’t want to be thin. Want to be in society, don’t want to be in society. Want to engage with therapy, don’t want to engage with therapy.

My life is just full of ‘want to/don’t to’. What kind of existence is that?

Oh!, how I wish my Mum was still alive!

I feel sick at the thought of writing this post. I’m not even sure that it will get posted; this is the third attempt!

The events I am going to relay stretch back over a three year period and began over 40 years ago, 45 to be precise. I was 13, a child, not a particularly happy child after all my childhood had been marred by the bullying of my older brother, (shant talk about that here that’s for a later post), but a child none the less. Not only a child but also a child whose body was full of pubescent hormones rushing to get out. I think we as adults tend to forget just how vulnerable a pubescent child is, particularly a child of 13.

At that age, I am obviously only speaking from a male point of view, so please do not accuse me of being sexist, I can’t begin to know what puberty is like for a female. I digress, sorry.

At that age you have the mind of a child, but your body is becoming that of an adult and your body behaves in a manner that you just don’t understand, and cannot control.

So when someone who is considerably older than you, is a person whom you have high respect for, namely because of the position he holds, starts paying you attention, as a 13 year old child/mini adult, you respond to it and dare I say it, you enjoy it, initially!

But when that attention turns to abuse, then the respect turns to loathing.

Forgive me if I don’t go into details, but let me just say that that it was as bad as it could be.

This has always been at the back of my mind, the far back true, but I have never forgotten it. I chose to bury it and throughout my entire life have tried not to think about it.

All that changed 4 weeks ago when I was at a Little Steps support meeting when I just said it. I was shocked, it was one of those ‘did I say that out loud’ moments. The group were unbelievable, I have never felt so much support from a group of relative strangers. For that I sincerely thank them.

From then it has snowballed, I spoke of it during a therapy session the next day, again my therapist was just simply amazing. I cried about it for the first time in 45 years. She advised that I contact an organization called Yellow Door who provide support and help for victims of sexual abuse, I have done. I have to wait until the New Year for a telephone assessment and then perhaps a further year on top of that.

I also have opened up to my dearest friends, and with my permission, they have reported the matter to the relevant authorities. I will say here and now that it is not the police. I choose not to say what authority, as that will identify him and this I do not wish to do so for various reasons, one of which is backlash from people who would choose not to believe me and trust me there will be those people.

I have an interview with this person on Friday morning. I am hoping that this will be the end of the matter.

So how has this left me feeling? Now there’s a question. Here it comes.

• Confused
• Sick and nauseous
• Angry
• Ashamed
• Tearful
• Frightened
• Suicidal!

I have not eaten a decent meal since I spoke to my friends. I have done what I always do when depression takes hold of me: stop taking my meds! I have, though taken my night times as sleep is hard enough at the best of time let alone now!

If I am honest, if I could wind the clock back to that Little Steps meeting, I would make sure that I would not have said anything. I feel so awful, my stomach is either liquid or the opposite, I am that close to tears all the time. I am presently living in one of the darkest places that I have ever been. When I was the only one that knew, I was not in the pain that I am now, I could cope. All I can say is that I hope to goodness that this pain stops and stops soon, because I am not coping, not coping at all.

Finally I am not not going to proof read this, if I did I probably won’t publish, so I apologise now for any glaring mistakes.

Do you ever find that life can be really strange?

I suffer quite badly with insomnia, if I get three hours sleep a night them I’m quite pleased, but normally I get around 2-2 1/2 hours a night. If I have an impending appointment, or I know that there us something I don’t want to face, then it can be even worse, sometimes, in fact quite often, I am awake all night.

Take Wednesday evening for instance, I went to choir, first time in 10 weeks. We opened with my favourite song This Is Me. I had to come home half way through as I had an Angina attack, probably due to the fact that the following morning, I was due at the hospital for an exercise test to see if am fit for bariatric surgery. Any way that night, I don’t suppose that I got 45 minutes sleep, I was so anxious.

This morning, however, I had another appointment which in many ways is far more important than the hospital visit was. I had to meet up with the Community Mental Health Team: hitherto known as the CMHT. I have been so anxious about this, as I knew that there is a lot of crap that I need to dig up, bash and scrub the initial dirt off on the washboard that is my brain, then fling it in the washer on the hottest cycle and finally hang it out to dry till it is beautifully clean. I am also acutely aware that it is going to take a long time, one session is not going to make it all go away. All of this mixed up is a perfect recipe for yet another sleepless night!

I slept like a log, the best night sleep I’ve had for literally years., so much so that when I did wake up, it was half past nine, my appointment was for eleven O’clock, barely enough time for me to get ready to be out of the door for the latest 10.50.

The session was tough, very, very, very tough, but at least I wasn’t physically knackered. It has, however left me emotionally exhausted. That kind of tiredness, needs as much sleep to repair the body as does physical exhaustion.

Before I sign off. The days events has left me with this thought: isn’t life strange, that it should throw into the whirlpool of your emotional existence, a protection when you most need it, i.e a good nights sleep to help you face the day!!?

Till next time. Xx

I think that I might have mentioned in previous posts that I sing in a choir. The Rock Choir and I love it. Really love it. I’m sure that I have mentioned that quite literally, Rock Choir saved my life. I won’t bore you all by going over that again, just trust me that it did.

I’ve only been a member of the cboir since end of Jan beginning of Feb, so I’m still a toddler compared to the grown ups who been members for years! What very few people knew, in fact only two, is that belonging to a choir has been a secret desire of mine for over thirty years! It has taken until now for that desire to be realised. Thank you to my good, good friend and fellow Rockie, Karen.

One of the things that I love about singing with the Rock Choir is that we only sing contemporary songs. There is not a classical or liturgical note to be heard, which is lucky as I have no desire to sing either, strange as I have very deep religious beliefs and live classical music!

Our choir leader is an amazing teacher. His enthusiasm, passion and just sheer ability is astounding. Yet he is amazingly humble about it.

You don’t have to read music, in fact if you can, it is of no real advantage as there is not a treble or bass clef to be seen and you do not have to audition. That’s right there is no audition, Rock Choir is literally open to everybody, yet on your first visit, which is free, you will be singing in a three part harmony, guaranteed within twenty minutes or less!. That is how talented our Choir leader is. Chris, if your reading this, you said in your most recent e mail that you loved us all, well, we all love you too, you are a true inspiration and I for one and I know that there are literally hundreds of other choir members who feel the same.

When I started writing today’s post. I basically just wanted it to be a quick, positive message about how much I was looking forward to tomorrow when we reconvene after a recess of nine weeks. I’m sorry that it has gone on for so long, I hope you have not been bored. But I also hope that it shows you all, including myself, that living with severe chronic depression, does have highlights, if not many.

If any of you that are local are interested then the choir I belong to meets on Wednesday evening 7.30 – 9.00, at Shirley High School, Bellmore Road, or Thursday morning 10.45 – 12.15 at Freemantle Community Centre. If not so local, then visit.

http://www.rockchoir.com

There will be Rock Choir near to you. I can promise you that, I can also promise you a fun filled evening or morning, where you can sing your hearts out in a completely safe environment. You will also meet fantastic people and make fantastic friends, I know I have.

Till next time x

I’ve been waiting, since July for my treatment with the CMHT (community mental health team), to begin. I recieved a phone call last last week inviting me for an appointment for my treatment to begin. I am presuming that the first appointment will be one of planning, before the treatment actually begins.

I should be pleased, and a good part of me is. Equally though, I’m scared. Scared of what I know the treatment will reveal. It will uncover periods of my past that I would prefer were left buried.

I know that these areas need to be uncovered, they are perhaps the root cause of my depression and weight problems.

Part of me and if I’m honest, a big part of me, does not want to get better. There I have said it. As I am at the moment, I can hide, hide behind my depression, hide behind my anxiety, largely hidden, but the other thing I can hide behind is very visible and that of course is my size. Who would want to friends or even more with someone as disgustingly fat as I am? Who would want to employ some one as fat as me? The answer, almost no one.

It may surprise you to know that all of that kind of suits me. It means that I can safely hide away from the world without having to mix with people. On my dark days/weeks/months/whole of my existence, I’ll even physically shut out the world, not open windows, get dressed or washed/showered everybody who lives with depression will understand that.

This is where I am confused. I like people, I like company. So why do I shy away from them?

Getting better will mean that I once again have to take my place in society. The thought of having a job makes me feel physically sick.

Today’s post must seem a bit erratic, sorry, normally I think about what I want to say and almost write it in my head. Today I have just written as it comes into my head, without giving any real thought to syntax etc., so I’m sorry if it reads badly. Oh well, there it is. Until next time x

Something that I have not mentioned before, is that once a fortnight I attend a support group called Little Steps. This small group is run under the auspices of Steps To Well Being,  a free NHS service for anyone aged 18+ and registered to a GP within Dorset and Hampshire who live with a range of Mental Health issues, including depression, anxiety, PTSD, stress and OCD.

It, Little Steps, is a friendly, no pressure and most importantly safe environment, where people with all manner of Mental Health issues can meet, chat, have a cup of tea and a biscuit, or even cake with people who you know really understand and where you know you will not be judged.

I have used the term Mental Health issues twice in this blog. But the point of and in my opinion one of the most important, arguably the most important point of Little Steps is that your mental health is not an issue. It is one of the few places that you can go where that is the case. Members of the group do sometimes get upset, that’s fine. You know that everyone in the room knows what it is like. Sure, we may not have gone through what they have, but we have all gone through different situations that have a direct affect on our own mental health.

Today, I disclosed something to the group, that I literally have never told anyone, maybe I will speak about it on here one day, maybe not. The point is that it felt safe to do so. I had no intentions of saying it when I left home, it just came out. The group just gave me so much support it was incredible. Not every one spoke, they didn’t need to. Support can be felt as well as heard.

I must at this point, thank Rob who facilitates the group.  He is an amazing man and it is only through his support and encouragement that I found the strength to go back to my GP during a very black time not so long ago. That visit resulted in my being referred to the local CMHT and being accepted into their care, I am still awaiting treatment, however!

You may have guessed that not only am I a huge fan of Little Steps, but am also extremely grateful for them.

I suppose one of the points that I want to get across is this. If you, like me, live with mental health issue(s), or know someone that does, maybe its even someone in your immediate family, do a bit of research. There could well be a support group in your area. If there is, then please either make contact with them, for yourself, or on behalf of someone else. I am not exaggerating when I say it could literally save your or their life. Don’t get me wrong, you do not have to be in a desperate situation to attend a support group, just in need of a bit of support, help and dare I say even love and understanding to get you through difficult times.

Support groups ROCK!