Accepting Struggles

One of the hardest aspects of long term mental health problems is spending a significant proportion of your life struggling with stuff which comes easily when you are at your best. Some things I may never find easy: crowds, dealing with inconsiderate people and talking to strangers will probably remain nerve-shattering experiences for the rest of my life. I’m not talking about pushing at the boundaries of my anxiety––I’m talking about mundane tasks which aren’t a challenge on days when my mental health is adequate, but become next to impossible when my symptoms increase.

Studying is the most obvious example which comes to mind. Usually, I can tackle reading and note-taking with no issues. Even on days when leaving the house seems insurmountable, I can do a little studying and feel as if I have done something worthwhile. However, common symptoms of depression (which I experience) include loss of concentration, lethargy and lack of motivation. There are some days when I take out my textbook and struggle to take in any information.

Last week, I spent four hours trying to write notes on a chapter of my psychology textbook. I had already covered the material, highlighting key points and making margin notes, yet I struggled to get anything down. After producing a few measly pages of notes (and my style of note-taking is loosely based on mind mapping, so there aren’t many words to each page), I gave up.

Years of negative thinking patterns have programmed my response to giving up: I beat myself up for being useless, lazy, worthless, stupid, incapable of basic functioning… you name it! What was the effect of this negative self-talk? Did I become more productive and sail through my to-do list? Er, no. I spent a few days feeling even worse than usual––which, considering I have chronic depression, is pretty bad.

My mood has shifted this week and there has been a positive effect on my productivity. With relatively little effort (compared to last week), I have completed most of the tasks on my high-priority to-do list. To put this in perspective, my average for the past couple of months has been completing approximately one third of my highest priorities each week and accomplishing little else. I’m delighted to be having a good week and try to ignore the voice in my head which tells me I don’t deserve to feel productive or that I need to get ahead now because, before long, something is bound to go wrong and mess things up. However, it’s hard to accept that there can be such a difference in the space of a single week.

I can’t control my symptoms on any given day. I repeat this often, because it’s a concept which a lot of people find difficult to understand. “You were fine the other week” they say, when I’m having a panic attack in the supermarket, or “You can write thousands of words some days, so why not every day?” But despite understanding the concept, I myself struggle to accept the reality.

Planning to have a “good day” when a deadline is looming or I have something special organised doesn’t work. I tell myself it’s important to finish this task ASAP because it will make me less stressed in the long run, but piling on the pressure just makes things worse. If I could plan all my bad days, it would be very convenient––I could choose to have them all during the summer, when I’m not studying, or dot them throughout the year and be prepared each week. Unfortunately, mental illness––and life––doesn’t work that way.

I’m learning (and relearning) to accept my bad days, because trying to fight them makes everything worse. Instead, the best strategy is to let go of my plans for the day and give myself what I need, whether that’s a run to boost my mood, resting to improve my wellbeing or reading to seek inspiration. Last week, once I had wasted a few days feeling terrible, I stepped up the self-care by feeding myself more nutritious meals and countering the negative thoughts using CBT techniques. I still didn’t feel amazing, but it was better than nothing.

I also realised my initial reaction to my improved mood and productivity this week wasn’t helpful: feeling angry and frustrated about feeling so awful last week was pointless. Instead, I could frame this week as a reminder that good days will always come again. They might take their sweet time in coming––sometimes months––and be too few when they do arrive, but they will come.

I hope these intense, prolonged struggles won’t be part of my life forever, but if they never go away then I need to accept them. Fighting them doesn’t work––it’s like trying to wrestle water. Moreover, if I do spend the rest of my life shackled by my mental health problems, I need to dredge my struggles and find something positive amongst the dross. I guess that’s what I attempt to do with this blog––thanks for reading!

Setbacks and Balancing Acts

I haven’t blogged for a long time and there are usually two reasons: either I’m ill or I’m very busy. Both apply to my recent absence. I have started a new job, which I’m very pleased, excited and anxious about! It’s only six hours a week and temporary, but I want to do my best and have a significant impact, as I will be working with young people on an art project exploring mental health. My studies with the Open University continue, which is a heavy workload because I’m taking two modules (60 and 30 credits) this year and it gets very intense when deadlines are close together. In case this wasn’t enough upheaval, The Universe decided to throw a spanner into the works…

Balancing wood

I have been experiencing a lot of abdominal and middle back pain since October, along with constant nausea and some other symptoms. At first, I thought I had gastritis because I’m prone to getting bad gastritis, but some of the symptoms didn’t fit and the pain didn’t subside like it normally does. Last week, an ultrasound scan confirmed I have gallstones.

While it’s good to have a diagnosis, after three months of not being sure what was wrong, knowing I have gallstones doesn’t stop them from disrupting my life. A lot of people reacted to my suspicions that I had gallstones by saying “ooh, that’s very painful.” Now I know I have them, I can confirm that yes, they are extremely painful! I’m seeing my doctor next week, but in the meantime I spend most of my day with heat pads clamped to my upper abdomen and middle back/shoulder blades.

The gallstones are disrupting my life in general, making it difficult to establish a routine — which is something with which I struggle most of the time anyway, having to work around my mental health problems. They also stop me from following my exercise routine, which I depend on to manage my mental health, meaning the depression and anxiety have been taking hold. It’s been a stressful few months, for various reasons, and my physical health is preventing me from using some of my main coping strategies.

It’s easy for people to say I shouldn’t worry and to take it easy, but regular exercise is crucial for my wellbeing. When I stopped taking antidepressants, I replaced them with physical activity. Exercise has loads of neurochemical and psychological benefits which are essential for me to cope. Being unable to go to classes or run because I’m curled up in a ball of pain and/or vomiting has huge implications for my mood over the following days and weeks.

So I have been struggling.

The sporadic exercise and odd eating patterns have taken their toll: I have gained weight and am around 10lbs more than I was in October, when I reached my lowest weight of 174.5lbs. I use the word “around” because I’m extremely bloated and my weight varies a lot. I can be anything between 180lb and 190lb on any given day. I feel fat and puffy. It’s difficult to keep things in perspective and not feel like I’m undoing all my hard work.

I’m also painfully aware that gallstones can be caused by weight loss, which feels like a punch in the gut. For the first time in my life, I have been losing weight with a healthy approach — a healthy mindset and a healthy eating plan. I haven’t lost weight quickly or followed a high protein diet, both of which are associated with gallstones. Health was one of my main motivations for losing weight, as I have a close family history of heart disease and type 2 diabetes, which I would like to avoid. I did everything “right” and perhaps it’s stupid and immature, but I feel as if I’m being punished.

Balancing everything is very difficult. I’m trying to practice self-care and focus on the positive aspects of my life, but it’s hard. I feel as though I’m being dragged backwards just as things were beginning to go well.

Logically, I know the improvements I have made cannot be undone, especially by gallstones and a dip in my mental health. I’m still managing to work and study, thanks to both having very flexible hours. I have made it to most of my gym classes, although it’s frustrating when I have to cancel one. Gaining 10lbs is hardly slipping back into my old ways when I’m 60lb lighter than I was at the beginning of last year and over 100lb under my heaviest. I know plenty of people struggle much more than me, but it’s frustrating to see my progress slow or halt when I want to rush forward.

I’m trying to think of this period as a sidestep off my path (to recovery, achieving my goals, leading a life worth living, etc) rather than slipping backwards. I need to take the time to recover and do what I can, instead of pressuring myself to chase down more goals. In fact, my goals for 2019 are all continuations of what I have been doing: losing weight/getting fitter, working on my writing and trying to improve my finances. Sure, I wish I could achieve them all at top speed, but slow progress will still get me where I want to be.

I love setting goals, chasing my dreams and challenging myself, but sometimes we need to step aside and take a break. To maintain our position instead of risking harm by pushing on, regardless of how much it hurts. Strip everything back to your priorities and do what you can, instead of stressing about what you wish you could do.