It is not alright

Just because I’m depressed, doesn’t mean I have to be sad.  I read this comment the other day from an article my husband showed me, and it got me thinking. Yes, this is true. There are times throughout my journey with mental illness where I have been very sad, but to be honest, sadness has not been a major contributing factor. I know that most of the time, I have no logical reason to be down. I have a loving, amazing family, I have no real trauma to deal with, and yet I fall to the ground, and sit in the middle of the room to cry. I can be so depressed I will cry to God, begging Him to take my life, but at the same time, can join in a song of worship, and mean every word. I can be angry at God and love Him both at the same time. I can be grateful, blessed, thankful, hurt, miserable and depressed all at the same time. Depression impacts on my life so much more than just my mood. It affects every part of my life. My emotions, my mood, my thoughts, my feelings, my behaviors, an

Does it have to be alright all the time? The name of my blog is called it is not alright. That’s the main point.  That’s all I can say today.  No motivational speech or deep thoughts. It’s just not alright. But I will survive I will continue I will keep fighting I will win I will...... because I choose to. 

It’s ‘ mental health month’ this October.  I think that’s what it’s called. Or ‘mental illness awareness week’ or ‘depression awareness month’ I forget which one this is! I really don’t want to seem cynical, so please read through the whole post if you can. I am excited to be able to play my own tiny part in mental health month, raising awareness to all who read this. But at the same time, I feel almost disappointed when I see someone post a standard ‘awareness’ comment. It can become impersonal. I’m torn two ways with my view on using various ways to promote awareness on things. Part of me is so thankful that people are taking the intiative to increase understanding aand enlighten people’s awareness  about an illness which is often misunderstood. It’s a good conversation starter, and often people who have been too afraid to say anything might have the strength to speak up if they know people are listening. We deserve to be heard and understood. On the other hand th

 “IS THE GLASS HALF EMPTY OR HALF FULL?”                                      It sounded both confusing and simple at the same time. It’s all about whether we see things as a positive thing ( half full ), or negatively ( half empty ). My psychologist asked me this question the other day. I knew it had to be the full one.  I was wrong....and also right at the same time. We don’t have to settle on one perspective, good or bad.  Things are allowed to be both of them at the same time. I showed this picture of the cups to my son (9yr old) to see what he would say. His answer blew me away.  “ Both ”  What? How did he manage to come up with something I have been questioning for over 30 years???  Sigh... To have the mind of a child again.  It sounds so simple, doesn’t it? If only we could put it into practice more. One thing I read a while ago that I try and think of every night.  “If you woke up tomorrow morning, with only the things you thanked God for, what would

Can existing just..be..?  What do I mean by this? It’s hard to explain properly but I will try! I remember someone asking me who I thought I was. My thinking went like this.... ‘I’m a mum?...no, that’s what I do... I’m an Australian?.. no, that’s where I live... I’m a Christian? ...no, that’s what I believe...I’m ’scarlet’?... no, that’s just my name. They are all things about me, but are they actually me?  Is there really even a ‘me’ at all?  Talk about   Identity crisis!!  How on earth do I figure this one out? Its something most people struggle with at at least one point in their life. When we suffer from a mental illness, our mind becomes our worst enemy. We tell ourselves that we are not worth it, or that who we truly are is gone. It can be distression and confusing. It’s easy for me to say to you don’t worry. You are someone special (because you are!), but that isn’t going to shush the brain talk. One thing I have talked to my psychologist about is this.  I get s

WHAT IS THE MEANING....?? What is life, without the fear of death? What is peace, without the pain of fear, What is relief, without the sadness of pain? What is happiness, without the regret of sadness? What is hope, without the exhaustion of regret?  What is refreshment, without the question of exhaustion?  What is an answer, without a question???   Ok. So what is the question?  It’s not an easy one to answer because we all have questions. They are all different but with the same valid intent.  Understanding. If we never asked questions, we wouldn’t learn anything. But, do we over analyze things?  Yes . I know I do. Far too much!!! I ask God, ‘Why?’ Why do I suffer?  Why did this happen?  Why did that person die? Why do people cry?  On and on. The answer is always the same.  ‘Because, it has to be that way.’  God knows an awful lot more than I do. Than I ever will. Than anybody ever will.  And I prefer it that way.  It

Our life leaves scars I have scars. Many scars. Too many to count. I hide my scars everyday. Thats why I'm relieved it is long sleeve weather. (ALTHOUGH THE COLD IS HORRIBLE!) I try to convince myself that nobody notices. I pray so hard that people don't even realise what I have done to my own body, even though I know deep down my struggles have been made aware to many people. Even writing this goes against everything I try to avoid. I don't want people to know. I don't want people to see. I have had people say  'So what, thats ok, I understand ' I have been told many times by psychologists that those that care won't judge. It doesn't matter.  But does it? It's not always as straightforward as that. Some of my scars are from injuries growing up. They would have an interesting story, either funny or sad, or scary, to go with them, but for me, I don't have those stories. My mind has lost connection to all of those memories.

WHAT DO YOU SEE? I want to share with you a poem I wrote a while ago, which in a lot of ways is still relevant to me, even as I write this.  I know I don't speak for everyone, but for myself,  it is not uncommon to act a certain way, or put on a smile, or pretend to enjoy something, even if inside, it is a complete act.  This poem has very personal thoughts in it, some are relevant and some are not. Please take the time to read it, and understand, this is how I can share myself.  Sometimes I fake the smile But often I can't talk Sometimes I hold it back But often I can't walk Sometimes I do And sometimes I don't While God says I will My body says I won't My family means so much They have love to give I'm trying to keep going For them I want to live I don't see light in my heart I just feel empty and blue But I need to give that up God knows what to do I need to leave myself alone To stop t

What is the meaning of life? My thoughts infect my mind,  Like a plague, eating away at my mind.  I sabotage myself, a prisoner in my soul  My heart burns, longs to be free.  Why do I fall?  Why does it hurt?  This I do not know.  So many questions I will never understand.  But how do I move on?  How do I wade through the debre?  Every step I take, I falter  Question my own self  My heart aches, yearns to be heard.  I am swallowed up by my own thoughts.  I was thinking tonight, about a lot of things. I usually do. It’s almost impossible to get my head to shut up. I was trying to figure out why? Why am I in this mess. Why did this happen to me?  Why can’t I ‘snap out of it’? Why does it feel like no one understands? Why do I get hurt?  As if this wasn’t mentally draining enough, I was also trying to figure out who? what? how? etc.  So many muddles thoughts, and to be honest, I don’t think any of my questions were answered or explained,

After my last blog, I was quite surprised by how many people commented and responded. I was not the only one dealing with that problem. I realised that most people in some way dealt with the same thing. I knew I was not alone, and even though I know its a widespread problem, I was reminded that a lot of our problems are not exclusive to us. Yes, we are all unique, we all have our own journeys, our own experiences. BUT........ In some ways, essentially, we are all the same. I could go into the scientific and psychological evidence that covers this topic, but to be honest, it can get pretty confusing reading all that stuff. I know when I have been in hospital, and have been well enough to attend the group sessions, it always surprised people when the words 'me too' were mentioned. Somehow knowing somebody else had the same thought, or struggle with the same issue, helped us work through them. It showed us we really are not alone, and we are not 'the odd one out

I need to stop comparing. Some people spend most of their life judging others, some people spend most of their life judging themselves. I wonder if you can tell with one is me...? I judge myself. Constantly.   It can be debilitating.  I don't just judge myself when I do something wrong, or make a mistake.  I judge myself about everything .  My mental illness has caused me to be own worst enemy. If I make a mistake, even something simple, like burn the dinner, I criticise myself. Not just because I failed, but because so many other people succeeded. I am always comparing myself to others. Some comparisons are obviously unrealistic. If I compare my cooking ability to a master chef, of course I am going to come out last.  But my problem, is comparing myself to people in a similar situation. A friend struggling with depression, or a single mum of three kids.  My mind has a few favourite toxic phrases, one of which is: 'If they can do it, w

Who am I? Who am I? To be honest, I’m still trying to figure that one out.  But, I can tell you who I’m not. I’m not the depressed woman you hesitate to talk to, I’m not that person putting my family through hell, I am not the miserable pathetic one who can’t get her act together. The illness I suffer from causes these issues, I admit that. But that’s not who I am. I will always remember a beautiful woman I met in one of the hospitals I was in. It was a public hospital, set aside for the severely ill, to the point of being unsafe. People with full on schizophrenia, suicide attempts, aggressive drug addictions.  My nurse had convinced me to take my lunch to the dining area to eat. I was scared, anxious, depressed, alone. I felt worthless and hated myself so much.  This woman,  I will call her Beth, came over to me and said hello. I could tell she was on edge, but she gave me a smile and showed me the ‘best seat’ in the room.  She told me my shirt was pretty.