The Cycles of Anxiety

Several times in my adult life I’ve recovered from anxiety and depression and gotten my life “back on track.” It can be that way for years or months. Every time, however, I’m eventually triggered back into anxiety and/or depression. And the whole cycle begins again.

So far, I’ve had a very enjoyable year. I’ve tried new things, met new people and generally moved out of my comfort zone. Consequently, I was just thinking the other day that “I’m back on track.” As soon as I had that thought, however, I was anxious that I’d “jinxed myself.” (People with chronic anxiety have very active and morbid imaginations.) I didn’t go through a couple of years of therapy for nothing, though, and, as soon as I had that thought, I metaphorically raised my eyebrows and said to myself, “That’s not a very helpful thought, is it, young lady?”  And in trying to reframe that thought process, I ended up reframing not just that thought.

A thought and phrase that helps me through hard times and that I like to share with others going through a rough patch is, “Everything is cyclic and this is a bad patch that won’t last.” I believe that but somehow I’ve had trouble extrapolating it to good periods, as well. Life is cyclic; it’s not about being “on track” when all is well and vice versa. It’s not about “jinxing myself.” It’s simply that sometimes it feels as if things are going well and sometimes it feels like everything has turned to shit. For me, the former is when I’m well and, thus, free to be able to do the things I enjoy and the latter is when things have occurred that have triggered me into an unwell period.

Without being fearful or pessimistic, it is likely that at some stage in the future I will be triggered again. It’s not set in concrete, though. At the moment I’m having fun. So, instead of fearing what may or may not come, I’m going to savour what I’m doing now while it lasts.

Through the Looking Glass

I've suffered from Panic and Anxiety Disorder for nearly thirty years. For me, it's a chronic condition. I've learnt a lot over the years in relation to how to live with it. When I first got it, in its acute state, I eagerly awaited and longed for the day when I could go out and about - or even be sitting at home - and not feel anxious and/or panicky anymore. A great number of people fully recover but I'm not one of them.

My PAD doesn't define who I am. I'm more than my disorder. It is, however, part of who I am. And that's okay. In fact, it's more than okay. I won't jump for joy that I have it but I've completely and totally come to terms with it. The feelings of anxiety come and go as they always have but I'm more apt these days to feel curious, rather than more anxious when they do. "I wonder what triggered this?" The feelings aren't pleasant but I know from experience that they'll pass so I just need to keep on keeping on. Some days I even put myself in situations that I know will trigger me because I don't want my world to become narrow by avoiding triggers.

One of my friends has developed acute PAD and depression in the wake of a debilitating physical illness, which included a bad reaction to one of the prescribed pharmaceuticals. She asked if I might be able to help her so I went and visited her last week. It was very difficult for me for two reasons. As we sat and I listened to her talk about her anxiety, depression and concerns, I knew that she was in such an acute state that there was little of a practical nature I could say to her. All I could do was be there for her. I think that was enough because I know what she's going through and that gave her some comfort. It took me nearly thirty years to be at the point I am now. Thirty years of learning and growing. How could I possibly give her all that information? And even if I did, I think she's too distressed right now to be able to absorb any of it. If someone had given me that knowledge back when it started, it wouldn't have been internalised.

And, of course, there were the inevitable feelings of sadness. When I looked at her, I saw myself as I was as a young woman when it first started. Not much was known about anxiety then and I seriously feared that I was going insane and would be institutionalised. (I'd say those dramatic thoughts are fairly indicative that I'm an anxiety sufferer!!!) It was like looking in a distorted mirror, visiting with my friend. I felt quite fragile that evening and had to be kind to myself.

My friend has a hard road ahead of her. Despite having come to terms with my PAD, it's not something that I wish on anyone and I hope she makes a full recovery. I will certainly be there for her every step of the way. I'll just need to make sure I take care of myself in the process.

Cancer Platitudes

A friend of mine is going through cancer diagnosis at the moment. I cannot imagine how hard it would be to utter those three awful words to all your friends. She told very close friends and family, and then told the rest of us via social media. She didn't have to say them aloud or repeatedly more than necessary.

When you put something like that on social media, you're bombarded with responses. The ones she received were shocked, surprised, supportive and full of both love and offers of help. There were also numerous cancer platitudes.

Cancer platitudes all basically say, "You're strong so you've already got this thing beat" or "Stay positive and you'll get better." People say them to make themselves and the cancer sufferer feel better. They're myths we create to give ourselves a false sense of control over the uncontrollable. Being faced with one's own mortality or that of a loved one or dear friend is one of the ultimate forms of helplessness so we utter platitudes in the hope that uttered aloud, they'll act as a talisman against the unthinkable. At best, they offer comfort. At worst, however, they create guilt and more stress. Imagine on a bad day, feeling totally despondent and thinking to oneself, "Oh no, I'm not being positive. That means I won't survive." The nature of cancer treatment is such that people have some very shit days. They don't need guilt for not being strong or positive on top of that.

There are six factors that determine how likely one is to survive cancer:

1. The type of cancer
2. The stage at which the cancer is
3. The skill of the surgeon
4. The treatment plan
5. How well one's body responds to the treatment.
6. Your pre-cancer age, health and fitness.

My friend has had a lot of bad things happen in her life and is an emotional survivor. Her friends are right; she's strong emotionally and determined. I have no doubt that her strength will be an advantage to her as she goes through her treatment. There will be days when she feels absolutely terrible. Her strength will be what gets her up in the morning on those days and ensures she shows up for further treatment. And her strength will be what keeps life as normal as possible for her children.

In addition to that, her friends are also right that she's positive. Her positivity will be what helps her to find special moments in the ordinary on the days she feels less than ordinary. And her positivity will also ensure she gets up everyday and gets to her treatment.

A different friend spent most of last year going through treatment for breast cancer. The day after her diagnosis she got up an hour earlier and meditated, practised Tai Chi and went for a walk. She hasn't stopped that morning routine. She says that it was an important part of her treatment because it helped her to cope and "kept her sane." She in no way suggests it made her better; rather she knows that it helped her to get through. (She is currently being monitored and is cancer free.) Being strong and positive is like that. They're great additions to treatment to keep one sane and help get through. They won't, however, determine the outcome. To suggest that, also insults the memory of those who haven't survived.

I hope and pray that my friend survives cancer. I just don't hold much faith in platitudes.

"Criminally Insane"

We have a facility in the city where I live, called James Nash House. To use an outdated expression, it's a place for the "criminally insane". What I like about the expression is the fact that it uses the adjective, "criminally", thereby making a distinction between someone with mental health issues and someone with mental health issues that make them commit criminal acts. Not everyone with a mental health issue is a criminal. In fact, the number of non-criminals among the mentally ill is higher than that of criminals. Furthermore, if the only people committing criminal acts were the mentally ill, there would be no need for other prisons.

Despite that, the mentally ill can be stigmatised and misunderstood when it comes to crime - particularly homicide. Several months ago, the high profile coach of one of our local football teams was stabbed to death by his twenty-something year old son. The young man, Cy Walsh, was arrested, assessed and put into James Nash House. There were various responses on social media. They tended to fall into four main categories:

1. The poor Walsh family. What a disturbed young man Cy must be. I hope he gets the help he needs.

2. More money really must be put into mental health services.

3. People with mental illnesses are dangerous and should be institutionalised.

4. Cy Walsh is taking the soft option going into James Nash House.

Three and four were ignorant and judgemental, as well as stigmatising to anyone with mental illness. The idea that everyone with a mental illness is dangerous and should be institutionalised is ludicrous. It's not based on fact, at all. Yes, sometimes someone with a mental illness commits homicide. More often than not, however, homicides are committed by those deemed to be well. 

I've never been to James Nash House but I know that it's a prison, not a soft option. It's simply a different prison. One does not simply spend a year or so there and announce that they're better and waltz out the door. To even be put into there requires a thorough psychiatric assessment. I read a comment which said that pleading insanity was "the easy way out." I'd challenge that person to spend an extended period in James Nash House and see for himself how "easy" it is.

The controversy over the Walsh murder died down. Recently, however, there was another mass shooting in the U.S. This time, instead of using the tired slogan that guns don't kill people, people kill people, the gun lobby added mentally ill to the word, people, making their followers believe that only the mentally ill or criminals shoot people. 

To be honest, I tend to think that anyone who kills another isn't in their "right mind". That, however, is quite different to having a mental illness. With this change in slogan by the gun lobby, I'm concerned that the mentally ill, who are already marginalised and stigmatised, will find that life is even harder for them. Social media is currently rife with posts about how it's only crazy people and criminals who kill people. Define crazy. I suspect the gun lobby definition has nothing to do with the textbook definition of a mentally ill person.

I'm writing this post during Mental Health Awareness Week. It's great that so many positive posts are circulating on social media and that our national broadcaster has programmed many shows about mental illness and living with it. Given the Phil Walsh murder and the posts circulating in the wake of the Oregon college shooting, however, I think we still have some distance to go.

My form of mental illness is mild. I know others who have more severe illnesses. I can write quite categorically that the people I know with mental illnesses - myself included - are far more likely to kill ourselves than others. I suspect that the stats would probably reflect that, too.

The week is nearly over but, if you're able please watch or listen to one of the many shows on the ABC about mental health. We're really not gun and knife toting killers; we're quite nice people, actually.

What My Mother Taught Me

My sister recently tagged me in a Facebook post that read, “My mother taught me everything except how to live without her.” My sister and I were both very close to our mother so I fully understand the spirit in which it was posted. We have both grieved and struggled without her in our lives. My sister, being my mother’s “baby”, may well have been hit harder than me, and that seems unimaginable.

Be that as it may, I disagree that my mother didn’t teach me to live without her. The job of a good parent is to make oneself redundant. That is, to raise independent, fully functioning adults. My mother fulfilled that role, not only with me but with my sister. Emotionally, we miss the hell out of our mother. We can, and do, however, live without her every day and have done so for nearly nine years.

Being the older child, I’m sure my journey has been different to that of my sister but these are the lessons that I learnt from my mother, which have enabled me to live without her.

Ironic as it seems for someone with Panic and Anxiety Disorder, my mother taught me to live and explore without fear. She allowed me freedom from a very young age and I spent lovely long hours of my childhood on solitary bike rides. That freedom extended to walking to and from school alone from the time I was seven. Furthermore, as much as it must have stressed her, she allowed me to visit New York City by myself when I was just 18.

My mother taught me that a woman can be a mother and love her children without making her whole life about them. She had a full work and social life both when my sister and I were growing up and after we’d left home. I know she suffered when we’d both left home but she was also busy following her own pursuits.

By having a life apart from my sister and me, my mother was often out in the evening. This meant that, from my early teens, I was often responsible for organising dinner and clean up, and making sure my sister was bathed, teeth brushed and in bed. My mother groomed me well for my eventual transition into motherhood. The trust she had in me was illustrated by the fact that, when I was only nineteen years old, she made me the executor of her estate and gave me power of attorney.

The fact that I can and do live without my mother doesn’t mean I enjoy doing it. I miss her voice at the end of the phone line. I miss dropping in on her and having a chat over coffee and biscuits. I miss asking her family history questions. I miss telling her about the minutiae of my life. I miss her cooking. I hate the fact that she hasn’t been a part of her grandchildren’s lives. There are so many moments in all four of their lives, I know she would have loved being a part of. I wish that our new “surrogate daughter” could have met her. I wish that, as I went through all my gynaecological issues, she’d been around to tell me about her own experiences and been a sounding board for me to bounce ideas off of. Not a day passes that I don’t miss some small thing about her.

My mother lost her own parents within nine months of each other. I saw her grieve for them. I also saw her pick herself, dust herself off and get on with the business of living. She taught, by example, how to eventually live without her.

Another Reunion

Quite some time ago, I wrote about our annual "Old Girls' Conversazione" at the high school I attended. Here is the link. In it I wrote about why I enjoy attending and the effect it has on me.

Yesterday I attended a reunion of my former ballet school. I hadn't been in that studio or seen many of those people for thirty six years. These days I'm in touch with two friends from my ballet days. One, J, I also went to school with; she left school at the end of Year 10 to pursue a career in dance and we stayed in touch, lost touch and then reconnected on Facebook. She was the one who invited me to the reunion. I invited the other one, S. (She knew about it already but I think my invitation sealed the deal for her.) We also lost touch, ran into each other and learnt we lived near each other and have spent the past ten or so years running into each other locally and saying we must catch up for coffee. We're also Facebook friends.

S drove me in so we spent nearly an hour bonding and sharing our stories in the car. We were both excited. I was also nervous that no one would remember me. As soon as we got there, we saw J, who had brought her mum, and the four of us had a great time catching up and reminiscing.

S had spent about ten years at the ballet school; I'd only spent three, having come from another one, and we both stopped around the same time. J, of course, stayed on longer than us so she knew far more people and was comfortable and confident walking around and chatting to people. S and I talked to fewer people but still had a great time.

J confided in me that she didn't want to come to any school reunions because she felt like she barely knew people from school. It hit me later that our positions were reversed. I love school functions. The people I met in my school days had a profound effect on who I was and who I became. The teachers and the older girls were my inspirations when I was at school. Our school motto was, "Not for School but for Life," and that has held true for me.

As I watched J in her element at the ballet reunion I understood that the people she met in her ballet days were the ones who had the effect on who she was and who she became and it was our ballet teacher and the older ballet students who were her inspirations.

I had fun being in the old studio, looking at the photos, seeing my former teacher (who has not aged one bit) and catching up with old acquaintances. I enjoyed the nostalgia of seeing the colour ice blue everywhere, hearing my former teacher ring her old bell to get our attention and walk the floor I'd once danced across. Over the years, I've sometimes wondered if giving up ballet was a mistake. It was clear to me, yesterday, however, that I have no regrets. It was an enjoyable afternoon and it gave me some closure.

Eulogy for a Tender Hearted Friend

A few days ago, one of my friends had a headache and took a nap. She suffered from debilitating headaches so this was not an unusual thing for her to have to do. Sadly, she never woke from her nap. It would seem logical to assume she was taken by a blood clot to the brain or an aneurism but that's not what happened.

K was 35 years old and the fittest and healthiest she'd been in the twelve years that I've known her. Yet, she died of Spontaneous Coronary Artery Dissection, an extremely rare cardiac event. It's an event that doesn't fit your "typical" heart patient; it can happen to anyone. And it happened to K and her family and friends are lost for words at the shock of it all.

It's an absolute truth that, no matter how unpleasant someone has been in life, we canonise them after they die. It's also an absolute truth that K deserves every wonderful thing that has been said and written about her. She was one of those people the world needs more of. She was kind, tender hearted, generous and loving. She took great care of her family, friends and animals. And she did it quietly. One really had to get to know her to fully grasp how much she did for other people because she was not one to seek attention. Her family and friends knew, however, and loved her for it. Her husband and two sons adored her. Their love for her was palpable and it was returned tenfold.

I know a handful of people and K was one of them who just cannot see their own worth and value. If she could read all the tributes to her, she would probably say, "Pffft!" I wish she could have seen herself through the eyes of her family and friends who loved her so much. I wish she could see the emotional devastation her passing is wreaking on her family and friends. I know, however, that she wouldn't have been who she was if she could have. And we loved her just the way she was and will continue to do so.

When a loved one is taken - particularly suddenly - we examine our own lives and wonder how we can make better use of our time. We wonder how we can honour that person and incorporate some of their spirit into ourselves. We tend to agree that we must savour every moment. For me, in the wake of K's passing, I want to be fully present in every moment, especially when I'm with others. I don't want them to feel like I'm planning my response to what they're saying or even what I'm going to cook that night. I don't want them to feel like I prefer my phone to them. I want to express my love and appreciation for my family and friends more often in both words and deeds. And most of all, I want to try to follow K's shining example of how to treat people. That's how I feel I can best honour my friend, K.

Rest in peace.