Okay, enough with the doom and gloom. Let's move on to something more cheerful. One of the things I did to ease my anxiety was throw myself into gardening. I'd never been a very good one but I've discovered it's very therapeutic and I've improved somewhat in my gardening skills. I'm now planning to turn the back of the garden into a 'wild' corner, with shrubs and things for garden birds especially. I even signed up as a member of the RSPB, which brings me to the story I wanted to share.
One sunny Sunday we took the children to Hyde Park to feed the wildlife and have a run-around. There's a particular spot where squirrels and small birds are in abundance. We brought peanuts for the squirrels but that day some blue tits were showing great interest in the nuts and seemed quite tame. So I put a couple of peanuts onto the palm of my hand and held it out. To my utter amazement, the tits came to feed on my hand, perching so gently on my fingers. It was incredible! The feeling was indescribable, utterly amazing. I just wish the children were braver and would try it but they were slightly worried about the birds' claws and beaks.
I think a lot of children in this modern age are losing touch with nature, so we try to take ours out as much as possible and expose them to all sorts. They especially love going to farms that allow visitors to feed the animals. We had a blast visiting Farmer Jim's dairy farm up near Sheffield, they have a play/picnic area and do short trips round the farm in a wagon pulled along by a tractor. They also have a corn maze that is designed differently every year so you face a fresh challenge everytime you visit. Hats off to Farmer Jim for his great effort to get children and adults alike involved with animals and farming.
My next objective is to get some baby chicks for the kids to raise. At school they have been hatching chicks two years in a row and have a coop to raise the chickens in, and the children love it! I believe that raising animals teach children responsibility and compassion. As a child I grew up with dozens of chickens and quite a few cats, and it's an experience that I want to pass on to my children. We now have a pet rabbit - three others sadly died due to natural causes - and a few goldfish. I recently bought a beautiful fighter fish that my middle son has declared his own so we named it Kipper. Appropriate, no? Ah well....
Monday 30 April 2012
Saturday 28 April 2012
Okay, I lied...
When I said I'm smart enough to recognise my own symptoms, I wasn't being completely honest. I did recognise them the second, third and fourth time I got hit, but not the first time around. A lot of people who suffer from depression will agree that it's a silent illness. It just creeps up on you and you're not even aware of it. And it was the same for me.
In hindsight I can see how it progressed. I was still working fulltime then. It started with just feeling low all the time. Then the low mood intensified and I became tearful all the time for no reason. The smallest thing would make my eyes well up, especially if it were something my husband said or did. But more often than not I'd just be sitting down doing nothing and a wave of sadness would wash over me.
I didn't realise it then but I started drinking more than usual. I never used to drink alcohol other than at special dinners or club outings. But this was different. I was drinking during lunch breaks, without even having my lunch. And it wasn't even a glass of wine or a mixer. I would have a couple of shots of brandy, neat. Then I'd sit at my desk and stare blankly at my computer for the rest of the afternoon, barely getting any work done.
Then it gradually got worse. I started buying brandy to take home after work. Worse still, I was hiding the fact from my husband. I know now that I'd become an alcoholic but at the time it was just something that helped me get through the day. It numbed my emotions; I'd be too tipsy to be tearful. I'd jump at any invitation to go to clubs at the weekend because it gave me an excuse to indulge in alcohol. I was the life of the party, becoming uninhibited after downing half a bottle of brandy in every sitting.
Not only did I drink like a fish, I smoked like a chimney too. What the hell, I thought, I got nothing to lose. No hope of having children, no hopes of becoming a professional singer, no career, no future. I had nothing to live for. So when my husband thought I was over-reacting to my regular monthly pains, he drove the final nail into my coffin. I felt sure then that I had absolutely nothing to live for. And I couldn't bear the pain I was suffering, month after month, year after year. I knew I had a really high tolerance to pain, but what if he was right? What if I was over-reacting? I was starting to doubt myself.
I'd always seen myself as an intelligent and confident woman. But at that stage, I didn't recognise me. I was fearful, paranoid and my work suffered. Little did I know my supervisor at work had been observing me. So one day he called me into his office and asked me to sit down. He only said, "How are you?" And I burst into tears. There were so many things I wanted to say but I was so muddled I couldn't think straight. It felt like there was a dark cloud constantly looming over my head, and I was in dense fog I couldn't see my way around. He knew straightaway I needed medical attention as his wife suffers from the same illness so he saw what I couldn't see. So on his insistence, I made an appointment to see a doctor. And that's how the ball got rolling.
LS, I'll be forever grateful to you for pushing me in the right direction. If you hadn't been such a good friend to me God knows where I'd be right now.
In hindsight I can see how it progressed. I was still working fulltime then. It started with just feeling low all the time. Then the low mood intensified and I became tearful all the time for no reason. The smallest thing would make my eyes well up, especially if it were something my husband said or did. But more often than not I'd just be sitting down doing nothing and a wave of sadness would wash over me.
I didn't realise it then but I started drinking more than usual. I never used to drink alcohol other than at special dinners or club outings. But this was different. I was drinking during lunch breaks, without even having my lunch. And it wasn't even a glass of wine or a mixer. I would have a couple of shots of brandy, neat. Then I'd sit at my desk and stare blankly at my computer for the rest of the afternoon, barely getting any work done.
Then it gradually got worse. I started buying brandy to take home after work. Worse still, I was hiding the fact from my husband. I know now that I'd become an alcoholic but at the time it was just something that helped me get through the day. It numbed my emotions; I'd be too tipsy to be tearful. I'd jump at any invitation to go to clubs at the weekend because it gave me an excuse to indulge in alcohol. I was the life of the party, becoming uninhibited after downing half a bottle of brandy in every sitting.
Not only did I drink like a fish, I smoked like a chimney too. What the hell, I thought, I got nothing to lose. No hope of having children, no hopes of becoming a professional singer, no career, no future. I had nothing to live for. So when my husband thought I was over-reacting to my regular monthly pains, he drove the final nail into my coffin. I felt sure then that I had absolutely nothing to live for. And I couldn't bear the pain I was suffering, month after month, year after year. I knew I had a really high tolerance to pain, but what if he was right? What if I was over-reacting? I was starting to doubt myself.
I'd always seen myself as an intelligent and confident woman. But at that stage, I didn't recognise me. I was fearful, paranoid and my work suffered. Little did I know my supervisor at work had been observing me. So one day he called me into his office and asked me to sit down. He only said, "How are you?" And I burst into tears. There were so many things I wanted to say but I was so muddled I couldn't think straight. It felt like there was a dark cloud constantly looming over my head, and I was in dense fog I couldn't see my way around. He knew straightaway I needed medical attention as his wife suffers from the same illness so he saw what I couldn't see. So on his insistence, I made an appointment to see a doctor. And that's how the ball got rolling.
LS, I'll be forever grateful to you for pushing me in the right direction. If you hadn't been such a good friend to me God knows where I'd be right now.
Friday 27 April 2012
Love and Marriage
"Love and marriage, love and marriage
Go together like horse and carriage"
Talking about marriage in my previous post made me think of a couple of my friends. I should count myself lucky in that I have a pretty dull one. The reason I say that is because my dear friends are or have been in a physically abusive one. And I believe women who are being abused by their partner or husband have the same problem of speaking out, albeit possibly for different reasons. Shame, guilt, the false belief that one day the man would change for the better...
One friend has put up with her abusive husband for so many years, she's still with him. But why? One time he hit her so badly, she was rendered unconscious and woke up in hospital. And she was hit when she was holding her baby. When I asked her who took her to hospital, she said that her husband did. And to show his remorse, he had smashed all the fingers on his right hand with a granite pestle. She admitted she didn't leave him for fear of shame, shame that she'd fallen into yet another abusive relationship. She had previously been married to another man that abused her so she didn't want society to view her negatively. I told her it didn't matter what people's personal opinions were, what mattered most is her and her children's safety and happiness. To this she quickly replied that her husband is now a changed man, that he hasn't laid a hand on her although he's still working on his anger management. Shame, guilt and false belief all rolled into one.
I only pray that she has made the right decision to stand by her man. And I sincerely hope that he truly has changed and become a better man. I can't tell her what to do, I can only listen and offer advice when asked. It's entirely up to her to make her own choices. It's the only liberty she has. But I told her, whatever she decided, her family and close friends including myself, would be right beside her. Love you, MM.
Go together like horse and carriage"
Talking about marriage in my previous post made me think of a couple of my friends. I should count myself lucky in that I have a pretty dull one. The reason I say that is because my dear friends are or have been in a physically abusive one. And I believe women who are being abused by their partner or husband have the same problem of speaking out, albeit possibly for different reasons. Shame, guilt, the false belief that one day the man would change for the better...
One friend has put up with her abusive husband for so many years, she's still with him. But why? One time he hit her so badly, she was rendered unconscious and woke up in hospital. And she was hit when she was holding her baby. When I asked her who took her to hospital, she said that her husband did. And to show his remorse, he had smashed all the fingers on his right hand with a granite pestle. She admitted she didn't leave him for fear of shame, shame that she'd fallen into yet another abusive relationship. She had previously been married to another man that abused her so she didn't want society to view her negatively. I told her it didn't matter what people's personal opinions were, what mattered most is her and her children's safety and happiness. To this she quickly replied that her husband is now a changed man, that he hasn't laid a hand on her although he's still working on his anger management. Shame, guilt and false belief all rolled into one.
I only pray that she has made the right decision to stand by her man. And I sincerely hope that he truly has changed and become a better man. I can't tell her what to do, I can only listen and offer advice when asked. It's entirely up to her to make her own choices. It's the only liberty she has. But I told her, whatever she decided, her family and close friends including myself, would be right beside her. Love you, MM.
Wednesday 25 April 2012
To Love Somebody...
I'm married with 3 young kids aged 8 and under, and come from an Asian
background. Now a full-time stay-at-home mum after being made redundant, I'm a college graduate with an
Honours degree in Teaching English as a Second Language.
My husband is a fellow countryman and although we've both lived in the UK for more than half our lives, he retains much of our cultural values that include 'the place of the wife'. Hence talking to him is almost impossible, let alone seeking support for clinical depression. Being a full-time mother after working in an office environment for ten years proved to be overwhelming to say the least, but to admit I had difficulty coping was even harder. My husband to this day doesn't fully comprehend mental illness and how I'm affected by it. I couldn't tell my parents as I didn't want to burden them with worry. My sister's reaction to it was: "How did that happen?" I wasn't surprised by her reaction but I didn't know what to say then. Depression isn't an illness that is acknowledged in our culture, in fact it's almost non-existent. It's never talked about; if you say someone is mentally ill then you most likely mean that that person is 'crazy', a commonly loosely-used term, and is a permanent resident of an asylum.
When I tried to talk to a friend about suicide and depression, all she said was how could I even think of suicide and that I should think about the children. All I ever do is think about the children and not about me. I was physically and mentally exhausted, tired of being pulled in all directions all the time. And the only way out I could see was to take my own life. I just wanted to be left in peace, not be called on every minute of the day. I didn't have new clothes, trips to the hairdresser had stopped for years and I was totally unkept. Every night I just crashed into bed but hardly slept even though I was so tired. I avoided sex like the plague. And that of course didn't help matters. Arguments were commonplace and they didn't go unnoticed by our eldest child.
By the time I took myself to my GP, I was in such bad shape I could barely speak to her. I was sobbing uncontrollably and could only nod or shake my head. She rang my husband to collect me from her surgery and instructed him to watch me closely in case I committed suicide. Now, you would have thought I'd be admitted to hospital and be kept on suicide watch, which was exactly what my GP suggested. But my dear husband decided it wasn't necessary. Besides, he added, who would look after the children? Even at that critical moment I wasn't allowed to take time out for myself.
And that was just my recent episode of postnatal depression. I was diagnosed clinically depressed ten years before that, when I contemplated suicide after years of suffering from endometreosis and infertility. Treatment after treatment, surgery after surgery. One night I was groaning in pain and my husband shouted: "Oh for God's sake, it can't be that bad!" Two hours later I stood in the kitchen, knife in hand and tears streaming down my face. If my own husband couldn't understand me, then who would? For the first time in my life I felt completely alone, and I wanted it to stay that way forever.
And yet I'm still here, alive and kicking. My faith in God and my voice of sanity stopped me from taking my own life every time. I'm smart enough to recognise my own symptoms and seek medical help. But it's an ongoing battle. I thought I'd become strong enough to stop taking antidepressants, only to find myself back on it months later with an even higher prescription. When will it ever end? Who knows. One thing is for sure, I have to live life one day at a time. One day at a time. One day at a time..
My husband is a fellow countryman and although we've both lived in the UK for more than half our lives, he retains much of our cultural values that include 'the place of the wife'. Hence talking to him is almost impossible, let alone seeking support for clinical depression. Being a full-time mother after working in an office environment for ten years proved to be overwhelming to say the least, but to admit I had difficulty coping was even harder. My husband to this day doesn't fully comprehend mental illness and how I'm affected by it. I couldn't tell my parents as I didn't want to burden them with worry. My sister's reaction to it was: "How did that happen?" I wasn't surprised by her reaction but I didn't know what to say then. Depression isn't an illness that is acknowledged in our culture, in fact it's almost non-existent. It's never talked about; if you say someone is mentally ill then you most likely mean that that person is 'crazy', a commonly loosely-used term, and is a permanent resident of an asylum.
When I tried to talk to a friend about suicide and depression, all she said was how could I even think of suicide and that I should think about the children. All I ever do is think about the children and not about me. I was physically and mentally exhausted, tired of being pulled in all directions all the time. And the only way out I could see was to take my own life. I just wanted to be left in peace, not be called on every minute of the day. I didn't have new clothes, trips to the hairdresser had stopped for years and I was totally unkept. Every night I just crashed into bed but hardly slept even though I was so tired. I avoided sex like the plague. And that of course didn't help matters. Arguments were commonplace and they didn't go unnoticed by our eldest child.
By the time I took myself to my GP, I was in such bad shape I could barely speak to her. I was sobbing uncontrollably and could only nod or shake my head. She rang my husband to collect me from her surgery and instructed him to watch me closely in case I committed suicide. Now, you would have thought I'd be admitted to hospital and be kept on suicide watch, which was exactly what my GP suggested. But my dear husband decided it wasn't necessary. Besides, he added, who would look after the children? Even at that critical moment I wasn't allowed to take time out for myself.
And that was just my recent episode of postnatal depression. I was diagnosed clinically depressed ten years before that, when I contemplated suicide after years of suffering from endometreosis and infertility. Treatment after treatment, surgery after surgery. One night I was groaning in pain and my husband shouted: "Oh for God's sake, it can't be that bad!" Two hours later I stood in the kitchen, knife in hand and tears streaming down my face. If my own husband couldn't understand me, then who would? For the first time in my life I felt completely alone, and I wanted it to stay that way forever.
And yet I'm still here, alive and kicking. My faith in God and my voice of sanity stopped me from taking my own life every time. I'm smart enough to recognise my own symptoms and seek medical help. But it's an ongoing battle. I thought I'd become strong enough to stop taking antidepressants, only to find myself back on it months later with an even higher prescription. When will it ever end? Who knows. One thing is for sure, I have to live life one day at a time. One day at a time. One day at a time..
Tuesday 24 April 2012
Well, here goes...
Some friends thought it would a good idea for me to start a blog. Somewhere where I can let it all out and maybe someone somewhere would read it and we could share thoughts and opinions. Or just vent. Whichever, and not necessarily in that order too.
But it's not that easy. Just as it wasn't that easy for me to tell my family - that I'm mentally ill. In fact, my parents are still unaware, bless them. Only my siblings know. It's not like you go: Hi, my name is X and I'm mentally ill. You don't go up to your friends and say, guess what, I've been diagnosed as clinically depressed.
I suppose you could try sitting people down and saying you have something important to tell them. But that just makes it sound as if you were dying of a chronic disease, which you're not. So how do you do it?
There's never a right time to tell someone something, is there? Like there's never the right time to tell someone you're madly in love with them, or that you hate them and you're leaving. You just have to pick a moment. So this is the moment I picked to share on this blog:
I SUFFER FROM DEPRESSION
But it's not that easy. Just as it wasn't that easy for me to tell my family - that I'm mentally ill. In fact, my parents are still unaware, bless them. Only my siblings know. It's not like you go: Hi, my name is X and I'm mentally ill. You don't go up to your friends and say, guess what, I've been diagnosed as clinically depressed.
I suppose you could try sitting people down and saying you have something important to tell them. But that just makes it sound as if you were dying of a chronic disease, which you're not. So how do you do it?
There's never a right time to tell someone something, is there? Like there's never the right time to tell someone you're madly in love with them, or that you hate them and you're leaving. You just have to pick a moment. So this is the moment I picked to share on this blog:
I SUFFER FROM DEPRESSION
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