Posted in Advocacy, Mental Health, neurodiversity

Ideas On Mental Health Advocacy

Posted on by Millie :)

I get wrapped up in big ideas. And big ideas are important – the overall picture is important and helps us to understand the everyday and the connections between different issues and events. But I’m interested in the idea of how we can be effective in making change too. So I consider the question – does focusing too much on the big picture get in the way of making any change at all? How accessible is it to only talk about the big picture? Are the wider ideas helpful in getting people who aren’t already interested in mental health advocacy involved at first? Essentially – how can we actually start to make change and reach more people?

The small steps are important. So too is every single voice raised, however it may be. I am reasonably good at writing and giving talks/ workshops. I also love theatre and am passionate about the arts, something I hope to marry more with my advocacy going forwards. I am not particularly good in a protest situation. I can get very overstimulated. I’m not good at phone calls. I’m not good at prolonged in person social interactions. There are many things I’m not very good at, and though I can still lend my skills to different situations, it may not be at the frontline or in the way you might expect. My power lies in recognising that – and so does yours. You do not have to come up with an innovative idea or put your life on the line to make a difference in this world. If you can do that, wonderful! But never underestimate the unique skills and voice that you bring to the table. 

So back to the matter at hand – small actions. Very important to have the wider context. But small actions built up are what really make a difference, right? Maybe! Ok, so where do we start? Ah – well there’s a problem now, because I don’t know. No one knows. 

Is the long waiting lists the place to start? Or perhaps the funding? But then can you ever really fund a broken system? I would say no. No, we cannot just fund a broken system. But I’ve also been in rooms in CAHMS and the adult mental health service where it smells weird, the paint is peeling, and the lights don’t work. So maybe we do need to bring the basic infrastructure up to a reasonable level of functioning as is before we can start reforming and introducing new ideas/ scaling back ideas that aren’t working? 

I personally would love to see an end to the carceral, cruel way the system is. But I also know most people are unaware of the true nature of the issues with the system, unable to imagine a world without it, and that the world runs on profit. So I wonder if by focusing on the immediate abolition of the psychiatric complex this part of mental health advocacy shuts people out? I don’t know! I’m not saying that I know the answer, but I think it’s important to keep asking the questions. Maybe we need to see it in steps. Steps that may eventually lead to a very different system (or even the abolition of psychiatry), but that in the meantime are still seeing improvements. And I know that improvement isn’t enough, but it is something. It’s a step on the way to freedom. 

But then here we are again at the question of where to start. Mental health is interconnected with all other social issues. So we could even argue that the first step would be ignoring mental health altogether and solely focusing on, say, housing security. But can we really do that without including mental health provisions? Probably not. So we need all these different voices and people working together on different issues! Ok, so awareness is the first step? But awareness that doesn’t just perpetuate the same easy to swallow narrative of mental health; awareness that acknowledges the need for system change and societal change too. Although, even that awareness sounds complicated so we’re gonna have to start with easier awareness to get people on board, right?

Ok so, maybe awareness alongside something else. Fighting for funding? For changing the laws on sectioning? Both? Maybe… fighting to have a nationwide, government wide, deep conversation about what steps need to be taken. Fighting to be heard by the people with the direct power to start making those changes, so we can make a plan with them. Maybe? Or is that even too tall an order?

See, I prescribe to honest activism here at Our Happy Notes. I have chosen to share my journey with you in changemaking, and for me that means also sharing my thought processes about changemaking sometimes. This is something I am currently taking time to research, to read on, and to hear other people’s ideas on – to try and ascertain where actually might be a feasible starting place, and if that’s even a good idea. I’m not at a point in researching and discussing where I am able to come up with an idea that I can articulate and share or point people towards. But I wanted to share a bit of this process anyways, because I think at the moment I do believe all change starts with a simple conversation; connection. 

So what do you think? Do you think there is one specific demand or issue that needs to be in mental health advocacy to set the ball rolling? Do you have something in particular that you think needs to be looked at? Please let me know! 

And also… how can you use your voice? That’s a question for you to consider. It’s ok if the answer right now is that you can’t. 

Sending all my love and support to you all today xxxx

Posted in Mental Health, Personal Growth

Letter on Living

Posted on by Millie :)

Content warning: Suicidal ideation and attempts (no graphic detail)

I always turned my phone off in that class. Always turned it off and put it out of sight. But I had some weird itching in my gut that day, a feeling I put down to anxiety but honoured nonetheless; a feeling that told me I needed to keep my phone on. So I did. And you texted. 

“Thank you x”

And I knew. Don’t ask me how, I don’t know. It had been a pretty normal day, you seemed fine at lunch as we hid away together giggling. 

He knew too, the second I showed him the message. We called you and you slurred back at us. 

An hour and a half it took to find you. Couldn’t tell us where you were, couldn’t convince yourself to stay. It’s ok, I understood. Still do. I can still remember every word I said to you on the phone that day – it’s a weird sort of irony that you can’t. I won’t ever forget what you looked like when we found you, though I only caught a glimpse before I was pulled away. 

Chocolate and tea and hugs, a cigarette on the curb and being taken for ice cream. Strange how tragedy brings people together. Wonderful though. 

We went to the theatre that night and I was bouncing off the walls, energy buzzing in my veins. The server at KFC let me take home all the mini corn on the cob at closing, my favourite. On the hardest day there was the gentlest kindness. 

On the train back home I got the call to turn around, go back into the city, my grandmother had fallen. She had a brain bleed and wouldn’t survive the night. Apparently. I never believed that. Maybe I just couldn’t fathom the possibility, but I was sure she would survive. Listened to the Matilda soundtrack on the way to the hospital – ‘when I grow up/ I will be brave enough to fight the creatures/ that you have to fight beneath the bed/ each night to be a grown up’.

She lived. I knew she would. Everyone was sitting in sadness in the waiting room, but I knew she would live. He sat across from me and was the only one to try and lighten the mood with me, asking about school and the like. It was the first time I thought he was genuinely kind to  me. He’s dead now too. 

She told me ‘I find that when death is following you around it’s usually telling you to live’. I think so too; I’ve carried that with me ever since. Because, you see, all the things I had to say to you on the phone that day, all the things I had to say to try and get you to stay just a little longer were things I needed to hear. It was so awful. I wanted to leave; I thought I wanted to leave. But I had to tell you to stay and so I realised I wanted to stay too. In a strange way you saved me that night. I was 15.

I have three suicide notes, but they’re not really suicide notes – they all open by saying that they are what I would write in a suicide note, which I’m writing to try and convince myself to stay. The thoughts still come, but I’ve got better at them. They just exist there. I don’t think I can stop them from existing there. But they don’t hurt me just by existing. I’ve realised that over time. The last time – two years ago now – that I was close, I decided I’d just go and have a cigarette first. And I went outside and I had a cigarette and something happened and it wasn’t ok yet, it wouldn’t be ok for a while, but it was survivable. Something about the futility of that moment – of being struck with the realisation that it changed in the time it took to roll a cigarette – stuck with me. So now the thoughts come, sometimes, but they go again. I don’t know the future. Maybe they’ll come back stronger. But I’m growing too. 

I’ve got really good at the ‘stay alive’ talk now. Or not really good, but it feels less foreign to me. Have had to give it a few times. Never quite so urgent as that first time, but urgent enough. Life-on-the-line enough. I’m ok with that though, because you’re all still here for now. 

You – I really thought I would lose you. If not intentionally I really thought you would turn up dead at the side of a road. God knows I woke up to the message you had overdosed enough times. But I hoped. And you kept calling. And now I have my best friend back. 

I still keep my phone on at night in case you call. Any of you. I’d like to not carry that with me one day. It hasn’t been easy to process. I don’t think I have really processed it. I barely drew a sober breath for two years after that day, so maybe that was my way of processing it. My recovery encompasses it. But I still keep my phone on at night. And you know what’s strange? I can sleep through twenty alarms in the morning – I frequently do – but I have never missed a call from you. I’ve always woken up. That’s love. That’s my higher power and my guiding force. I’ve never had my call go unanswered either. 

I woke up crying at two in the morning last year. Very disconcerting to wake up crying already. All I had was a vivid image of you in a dream drifting in the darkness. My soul was tearing and I didn’t know why. I cried, I calmed, I went back to sleep. I found out later you had gone into hospital that day. I knew what you had tried to do, in my gut I knew, you can call me crazy if you want but I did. Took you months to actually tell me and hearing the words tumbling out of your mouth hurt so much more. It was too real. And you were too ashamed. Please, don’t be ashamed. I’ve been there too. 

I live in fear of losing you. Any and all of you. But that’s the price I pay for loving such wonderful people. I am not afraid of death anymore. I’m afraid of not living. But I get to choose what that means; we get to choose. 

If I had died the first time I wanted to, I would have been dead for six years now. Wouldn’t have had my first kiss, or performed on a real stage. Wouldn’t have shared gut wrenching laughter or love. Wouldn’t have known so many wonderful people. 

I refuse to be consumed by the fear. But I refuse to accept this as normal either. That’s why I do what I do. That’s why I speak, and that’s why I love. You have nothing to be ashamed of; you deserve better. But you can learn to live too. I promise.

Posted in Advocacy, Mental Health

Why We Should All Be Mental Health Advocates

Posted on by Millie :)

Why Should You Care About Mental Health?

  • We all have mental health 
  • 1 in 4 people are dealing with what can be classified as mental illness every year 
  • Any of us may need to navigate dealing with or loving someone with mental illness at any time 
  • Any of us may end up trying to navigate the mental health system at any time
  • Mental health is intertwined with every part of our lives – think about the impact that grief, food scarcity, racism, work stresses and expectations etc etc etc have on our mental wellbeing 
  • People are dying

Why should you care about mental health advocacy?

(in other words, advocating for better support, systems, awareness and more around mental health)

  • The mental health system is currently failing – and in many cases harming and abusing – the vulnerable people looking for help. We all deserve better
  • Mental health advocacy can encompass lots of different areas of interest and support, like access to food and environmental connection, so no matter your field of interest you can incorporate it into your life – and together we can make a difference 
  • Better societal structures surrounding mental health would help us all on a daily basis (for example different expectations of productivity at work, no poverty, suitable housing for all, proper support for cost of living, community support etc etc)
  • Lives could be saved
  • We could have better ability and language to describe our experiences and understand the human condition to connect with each other 
  • Mental health advocacy can build community and genuine connections 
  • You can be part of a movement full of love and care, and get to help redefine what human distress means
  • Mental health advocacy hopes for all of us to lives happier, freer lives

How can you start getting involved?

  • Question what you assume to be true about the mental health system and the way we view mental illness; listen to psychiatric survivors and mad and mentally ill voices to expand your understanding, and your views of what the future of care could look like. Always keep learning and listening 
  • Start conversations with family and friends 
  • Write to your MP (or other representative)
  • Share information, but be careful what information you share 
  • Support local food banks, housing associations, and all range of initiatives in your local community – help build community
  • Look after yourself and define what healing means in your own life 
  • Connect with others who care about mental health advocacy – you can do this online as well as in person 
  • Use your own skill set – if you are an artist or a writer, an organiser or a fundraiser… use these skills! Don’t ever believe that you have less power just because you aren’t doing the same thing as others; we are stronger as a group, with everyone chipping in 

Please share this post with people in your life to start the conversation around mental health advocacy, and how we can make a change together.

Posted in Managing Mental Health, Mental Health

Things I Wish Someone Had Told Me When I Realised I’m Bipolar

Posted on by Millie :)

When I started having greater mood swings and episodes than the other kids around me, I was about 12. At 15 I was diagnosed with cyclothymia, and at 18 this was changed to Bipolar 1. I use ‘realised’ instead of ‘diagnosed’ because I knew what was going on with me long before diagnosis, and I don’t think diagnosis is the be all and end all. I hold the label of bipolar very dear to me, but through my own definition for what it means in my life. Bipolar disorder is an awful thing, and many people die from it. But through necessity to survive, having bipolar disorder has forced me to expand my view of myself, the world, creativity and more. And for that I am very grateful. 

I was also grateful to realise I was bipolar, but I do know this is not the experience for many people. Regardless of whether you are happy or not, or expected the diagnosis/ realisation, discovering that you have bipolar is a big thing. So here are some things I wish someone had told me/ wish I’d known when I realised I was bipolar. Whether I would have listened to them is a different issue, and the journey to discover them is something I wouldn’t trade for the world. However if you have been recently diagnosed with bipolar I hope maybe this list will help you make sense of it all. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn’t:

  1. Understand that you are the same person as before your diagnosis and any bipolar diagnosis is not a death sentence, it is completely manageable.
  2. You get to define what bipolar means to you. It is your label to claim or not, your language to choose if you use or not.
  3. Connect and learn from others.

I’m not talking just medical doctors, I mean real people with real experience, whether that be through peer support groups (which exist), reading books and biographies, learning about different mental health practices, nature, social media etc.

  1. Define what healing means for you.

This is so important – no one gets to tell you what healing looks like. It may never be the idea of healing society gives (and probably should never be given how the human body actually works even for neurotypicals). Maybe it is creating a life where you have the space to be less productive, or maybe it’s not no depression but shorter depression etc etc. If you define your healing, you will be ok.

  1. For practical things you can start right away:
  • Track your moods (I use the app e-moods)
  • Limit alcohol and drugs 
  • Keep a journal (can help work out thoughts and keep track), or have another self reflective practice
  • Start a gratitude practice 
  • Create routines – sleep in particular is often a very important thing to have routine around for bipolar people, although I am notoriously bad at it 
  • Connect with your body. Exercise is very good, but I also mean on a deeper level of learning how to listen to your body, where tension and trauma is being held and how to release it etc
  1. Research any medications.

Medication is often touted at the main treatment for bipolar disorder and I am not saying that is isn’t life changing for many, because it is, but many of the drugs have different effects and side effects that you may not be fully aware of before starting them, so please take the time to research independently if you can.

And also – you do not have to take medication. If a bipolar person stops or chooses not to take medication they are often seen as very unwell, unrealistic etc. Some are forcibly medicated. I hope to see an end to all forced medication one day. It is not right for everyone and you should be able to make that choice. But obviously please give it serious thought – and never come off medication without consulting doctors first on how to do so because withdrawals can be really damaging. 

It’s not a lot, but it is a start. Take it one day at a time and healing is possible. You are not alone. If you have any other questions please let me know! Sending love and support to you all today xx

Posted in Advocacy, Mental Health

Mad Liberation: The Missing Piece of The Puzzle

Posted on by Millie :)

There are a lot of social movements now that are gaining awareness and support in new ways thanks to the global communication the internet has made possible. For example, feminism, Black Lives Matter, climate activism etc. And it’s very encouraging to see that more people are becoming aware of how these all link together too. There’s still a very very long way to go, that’s for sure, and in some ways the enormity can seem overwhelming. But there’s certainly movement happening in these movements, and a lot of passion. But what about mental health? 

When we think of the mental health movement we think of mental health awareness. And for the vast majority of people what they come in contact with under ‘mental health awareness’ is hotline numbers, slogans telling people to reach out, self care tips, and really very repetitive, surface level approaches. The general public does not seem to be aware of the deep issues and abuses in psychiatry, how we view mental health, and how it really impacts all of our lives. In all the fighting for a better future, mad liberation is overlooked, underestimated, misunderstood, or ignored. And that’s damaging for all of us. We cannot be fighting for racial justice, trans rights, and human rights without mad liberation. And yet so few people seem to be aware of it – in fact many people seem scared to approach the topic, which just shows how deeply the stigma and ignorance runs. Maybe, just maybe, mad liberation is the missing piece in the social justice fight. 

Take for example the language we use to describe other social movements – you are a climate activist, a civil rights activist, a human rights activist, but you are a mental health advocate. That’s not to say advocate is a bad word, it is absolutely not, and it’s a badge I’m proud to wear. But to call myself a mental health ‘activist’ sounds wrong. Why? Is it because advocacy feels more acceptable? Perhaps it connotes simply raising awareness within the status quo, continuing to adhere to systems already in place rather than radically opposing them and fighting for change. Maybe not, but I certainly think there’s something in the language.

 Furthermore, why is it always mental health advocate, and rarely mental illness advocate, or madness advocate? For me that sums up the major narrative surrounding the mental health movement, because it focuses on the palatable part that challenges less assumptions and less people, that appeals to everyone. Everyone has mental health, so everyone should care about mental health! Yeah – that’s not wrong. But a lot of people are deemed mentally ill. A lot of people deal with the consequences of madness in this society their entire lives. And the narrative focusing on the easily digestible, easily implemented parts of mental health awareness leaves them behind yet again. It silences and harms them. 

Psychiatry uses mental illness to uphold societal values. Always has. That’s why drapetomania was a proposed mental illness to explain why slaves wanted to escape slavery. That’s why being gay was classified as a mental illness until 1990, and being trans was classified a mental illness until 2019. And that is why one of the major diagnostic criteria for mental illness nowadays is disruption to a person’s ability to work – productivity and fitting into expectations of normality are societal values. 

But people are very rarely encouraged to consider this. They are encouraged to be aware of the signs of common mental illness in the context of deriving from the expectations placed upon us, and recovery in the context of making people be productive citizens again. The common mental health awareness narrative traps us. It does not allow us to redefine healing, to discover the socioeconomic factors in wellbeing, to find community, or to change the pace at which we live. It does not allow us to think about the deeper questions of why, and how can this really be better. 

But what would happen if we questioned? We would hear the voices of psychiatric survivors shouting about the abuse they have endured in the mental health system. We would discover how mental illness and criminalisation are deeply intertwined, and perhaps discover how to create true justice by supporting and liberating people in new ways. We would start to ask, what would happen if we didn’t sedate people into the same reality, but rather found ways to help people incorporate their own reality into their world? We would find new ways of sharing resources, kindness, connection, and changing the pace at which we live. We would find new language to define our human experience. We would free all of us to actually consider what happiness entails. Finally, we would find the link to all the other socioeconomic problems we are facing today, and in doing so find new solutions and progress towards all of them. 

We need to be kind and we need to be supportive, but we don’t need to be afraid to really ask questions about mental health, its presentation, and the treatment of madness as it is. Mental health activism is needed. Mad liberation is needed. But a deep held belief that mad people need protecting – or being protected from – has too often tried to stifle the missing piece in social justice movements. Mad people deserve to be heard, believed, and treated with respect and dignity in social action spaces just like anyone else. 

So I ask the question – is mad liberation the missing piece? 

Maybe. I don’t know for sure. But I think it might be. I certainly think solidarity between oppressed, hurting, and caring people is necessary for progress. We won’t fix everything; we will get things wrong. But as long as we keep questioning, and keep learning, we can make a difference. It’s worth a try at the very least.

Posted in Advocacy, Mental Health

10 Reminders for Mental Health Week

Posted on by Millie :)

This week is mental health awareness week here in the UK, and it’s mental health awareness month in the USA. Therefore you’re likely to see a lot of information – and misinformation! – floating around. A lot of people making gestures towards mental health, and hollow gestures too. I’m obviously a mental health advocate all year round, and I’m also neurodiverse, mentally ill, and disabled all year round. So it’s not just a week for me, and in fact this week can be difficult for me because instead of showing me how far we’ve come it becomes glaringly obvious to me how far we still have to travel. It’s frustrating to see people posting hotline numbers, empty phrases, and self care tips without even hinting at the deep issues surrounding mental health. To be clear, I don’t blame individuals, it just reminds me how frustrated I am with the system.

So today here are 10 reminders of things you might not be hearing so much this mental health week that we still need to keep in mind:

1. The mental health system is failing, and inherently linked with the criminalisation of mental illness. You cannot simply fund a broken system

2. Psychiatry is used to uphold what society deems as acceptable

3. There is a lot of psychiatric abuse, which continues to go unknown by many. We must listen to psych survivors, who have been systematically silenced for years

4. Yes we all have mental health, and that is very important. But choosing to focus on the palatable narrative that goes along with ‘we all have mental health’ tends to ignore the chronically mentally ill, mad, and ostracised. Essentially, if you are talking about mental health you also need to talk about the parts that aren’t as easily digestible

5. The goal of healing should not be productivity

6. We cannot stick a bandaid on the mental health crisis without addressing the deep underlying socioeconomic problems in this country

7. We cannot heal in a vacuum. Community is needed for good mental health

8. This is actually a life or death issue for many people. We don’t have to get dragged down in the sadness of that all the time, but it is important to remember the gravity of it

9. If everyone needs therapy then society is sick, not each individual

10. Diagnosis and/or medication do not work for everyone

Thanks for reading! Sending so much love and support to you all today xxx

Posted in Advocacy, Mental Health

Mental Health is Intersectional

Posted on by Millie :)

Today is a blog reminding everyone of a certain point I try to illuminate all the time through my advocacy: mental health is intersectional. What does this mean? It means mental health is not a stand alone issue; it is connected to all other social justice issues, and all other parts of our lives. Intersectionality is about where these issues cross over, and how they cross over, and how if someone falls in the intersection of more than one (for example are faced with racism and ableism) it can create more problems for them that may be overlooked, ignored, or misunderstood by even the most well intentioned people – myself included. But intersectionality for me also is not just about these disadvantages and discriminations – which are of course very real and very harmful and deserve to be seen. It is also about problem solving, and hope. 

The systemic issue of mental illness and its manifestation in individual people’s lives is not a stand alone issue. So it can be overwhelming to consider in a wider context because how the hell are we supposed to solve everything? I get it. It can be overwhelming, scary, and sometimes makes me want to just give up. But what if we chose to see intersectionality as empowering and a source of hope? Because it means we’re not just isolated as mental health advocates, or people who care about climate justice, or people who are trying to solve poverty. It means we are united as people who care. Understanding intersectionality, and continuing to be aware of how our understanding and circumstances may shift, allows us to be more creative in our solutions and more effective in our actions. 

If we start to realise mental health care also means community care then we are not left helplessly shouting into an abyss; perhaps instead we are empowered to create a community event, or connect with friends in a more intentional way. If we realise mental health care also means food security, then we are empowered to donate to our local food banks and come up with innovative ways to share with our community. If we realise mental health care means antiracism then we are empowered to learn and be intentional in sharing this learning with the next generation. When we realise mental health care is intersectional, we actually create stronger bonds, stronger supports, and stronger futures. 

We cannot shut our eyes to the world around us. But we might have a little bit of power over how we choose to view it. This country is becoming more and more authoritarian, and I don’t think it is an exaggeration to say it is sliding towards fascism in many ways. 

From the 3rd May more laws restricting and criminalising protest – including union action! – will come into effect. Over the weekend over 50 people were arrested for protesting peacefully during the coronation ‘celebrations’ – which cost millions while more people than ever are below the poverty line. A country without protest is not a democracy. A country where the gap between rich and poor continues to widen with government support is not looking after its citizens. We cannot ignore this and we cannot allow this, and we have to recognise how it relates to all our social justice issues. How can we ever hope to see a country with good mental health if people do not have free speech and cannot afford to eat? 

The good news is, resistance isn’t one size fits all. And understanding intersectionality can allow us to fight back in an effective, loving way. If everyone who can supports their food bank and creates community driven initiatives to eradicate food insecurity, the government can’t ignore it. If the artists create art, and the people who can protest go to protests, and the workers all strike, then it sends a message loud and clear that they can try all they want, but we aren’t having it. We care about each other and we want to see a brighter future. And that big message starts with small actions. It starts with having a conversation, donating a can of beans, drawing a picture, and offering to help out a neighbour. Even if you’re only making a difference to one person, and even if that person is you, you are still making a difference. Never think you cannot make a difference; it’s at least worth a try. However that looks for you, even if it looks like rest right now. You matter. And it all intersects. 

Sending so much love and support to you all today xxx

Posted in Mental Health, Personal Growth

Fear of Going Crazy

Posted on by Millie :)

Two years ago a group of young changemakers, including myself, came together for a discussion. We decided that we would all come dressed as our worst fears. There was one person dressed as a bat, another as a spider; one came as the idea of losing love. I came dressed as the fear of losing my mind. As someone with chronic mental illness, it’s not a fear that feels far away – it’s not a distant possibility that one day I’ll get dementia. It feels very real, very possible, and very close. And I wanted to talk about that here today, because it’s a part of my mental health experience that I haven’t seen reflected in many places.

Me dressed as the fear of losing my mind

I think many people with experience of mental health issues, or big emotions, can relate to the feeling that it’s never going to get better. In times of depression, grief, and heartache our ability to truly envision a future and see the fullness of life becomes warped. It’s a terrible phenomenon that unfortunately has taken many lives. I’ve experienced it myself many times and it is terrifying. But the feeling of going crazy, the fear of it, is something different for me. In intense moments it takes the same inability to see things getting changing and redirects them towards a feeling of a loss of self and loss of reality.

As a mentally ill person, despite owning the idea of being ‘mad’ with great pride, I feel I am constantly running from the idea of being seen as crazy. Which is almost certainly related to the stigma around certain symptoms – namely the less pretty ones, mania, psychosis, irritability, flight of ideas etc; the stigma around the idea of being ‘crazy’. My mental health difficulties are a huge part of my identity – by my own choosing – and yet I still feel a need to mask how they really are lest I lose control over the narrative of my own mental illness. So that’s a part of this fear, it’s not really a fear of losing my mind, but a fear of being seen as crazy and losing autonomy and connection because of it. A deep fear of being misunderstood and unseen.

Yet the real, gnawing fear for me is internal. It is a fear that one day I will become irreversibly changed; I will lose all knowledge of our shared reality and slip entirely into a different one; I will enter an episode and never come out; I will lose myself. It’s ridiculous really, because we are constantly irreversibly changed, and our idea of self is constantly changing. Most likely the fear is rooted in internalised ableism compounded by my experiences of madness.

As Carrie Fisher once said ‘once you’ve lost your mind you don’t know it’s missing’ (that wording may not be right, but that’s the gist). So really the end result that I’m so scared of would actually just be a different way of being. Nothing inherently better or worse about it for me. So what am I really afraid of? Other people’s judgments. A lack of autonomy and care. And perhaps ‘going crazy’ and then reemerging, as would most likely happen in all the scenarios I imagine. Because I have actually lost myself before – when I was drinking I lost sight of who I was. That process of reemerging is deeply, deeply painful so maybe that’s what I’m afraid of. And finally, when I am not in the intense whirlwind of feeling like I’m going crazy, I think what I fear the most is being in that whirlwind again.

Let me attempt to illustrate why the whirlwind is so terrifying. You see, in that place I am two versions of myself at the same time – trapped in a paradox being ripped apart with searing force. One version of myself is the whirlwind. It is the tornado, screaming and tearing through life. The other version of myself stands in the eye of the storm, trying to avoid its path, screaming pointlessly into the spiral to remember who we really are while losing touch with who I am at the same time. Mostly all I can hear is the version that becomes the tornado, but there comes these background thoughts, senses and moments where the version of myself that sees life more clearly breaks through. 

And really it is the background knowledge that something is not right, that there will be consequences, that I am hurting – it is that reminder of who I am that makes me so afraid and so hurt. I know somehow that something is wrong, but I can’t stop it. This paradox creates the fear of going crazy, because I’m trying to figure out what’s real, trying to be less angry, trying to do the right thing and still getting it wrong. The moments when the whirlwind drowns out all sense of self are actually more peaceful, in a strange way.

It’s really a pointless fear. I can do all I can to protect myself and those around me and nothing more. The idea of being judged is useless to me; the internal ableism is something for me to face. But still this fear raises its head every now and then. This year at drama school I became convinced I was ‘disappeared’ – not that I had disappeared, that I was disappeared. I was so far away from myself and yet able to drift through my life and I feared that it would be that way forever. It wasn’t. Most things don’t last forever and that is wonderful. Essentially, if you’re a mentally ill person who shares this fear – hi, you’re not alone! And if you’re not and this sounds to you like I’ve already gone crazy, who knows – our realities are only relative anyway. I choose to set free this fear today and face my future with love and action instead. Sending love and support to you all today xxx

Posted in Advocacy, Mental Health

I Don’t Know What To Do

Posted on by Millie :)

I sometimes call myself a mental health advocate. I’d like to say I am one, but sometimes I feel like I’m not. Because I don’t know what to do. 

We need more awareness, yes, but actual awareness, critical awareness of how we form our views of mental health and the intersectionality of societal issues. I can – to a point – help raise awareness, and I try to. But if I’m honest it feels a bit useless sometimes. I honestly have no idea how to make tangible change. Of course we can write letters and go to protests – but in the current political atmosphere I wonder if it’s doing anything at all; it’s hard to watch the government become what I genuinely believe is more and more fascist and not know a way forward. Then of course we can also make art, have conversations, create peer connections and connect with nature. This is generally what I focus on because it seems achievable, and I really do believe small changes build up and matter greatly. But underneath it all I am at a loss. 

Why am I telling you this? Because I think a lot of us feel helpless. And because I want to explain why I don’t share more actions to take – because I don’t know what actions to take. It’s something I want to focus on more, and I think maybe a good place to start is by sharing openly that I don’t know what to do. It’s easy for us to sit back and do nothing simply because we are unsure of what to do, or because we are afraid. The sense of hopelessness or helplessness is perhaps one of the most pernicious ills we have learnt; it separates us and takes away our power even further. Of course it’s understandable. How the hell do we stop climate change when the overwhelming majority of emissions come from huge corporations? How do we reform the mental health system when most people are unaware of its issues and the bodies in charge aren’t listening? I don’t know. But I think maybe, just maybe, it might start with people working to build communities again; to build connections again. 

I’m an 18 year old who can barely keep their own head above water some days. But I want to help. I want to connect and be a part of change. I want to listen and learn and build. I’m sure in the future I will think differently about some of the things I’ve already said and written; I’m sure I have and will get things wrong, even cause harm through mistakes. And you know what? That’s ok. Because fear of getting it wrong, of being helpless or not having a voice, are not worth staying silent. All we can do is do the best we know how to at the time and stay open to learning.

I don’t know how to begin to face the systematic issues with mental health treatment. I don’t know how to involve everyone in the conversation, how to raise my own voice without speaking over others. I don’t know if there should be no psychiatry at all (because it is absolutely a harmful system), or reform it, or if it is even possible to reform. I don’t know how we can use language differently and how it might help. I don’t know! But I want to find out. I want to listen to all the voices, I want to learn and I want to have a go. Yeah, we’ll probably get things wrong. But we have to try, right? 

If you have any resources, readings, ideas or anything else you’d like to share to help me (and others) grow in our action, please share them in the comments or via the contact page. 

Sending love and support to you all today xxx

Posted in Managing Mental Health, Mental Health, Personal Growth

What Grief Means To Me

Posted on by Millie :)

Grief is something all of us will experience in our lives because death and endings are a part of life. And I suppose that can be a comfort, a way to make the grief make sense, but it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt. However the idea of grief is something many of us associate solely with death; in this last year redefining what grief is for me has helped me to process it and let myself grow. Grief doesn’t just apply to the death of a loved one – it applies to the end of a situation, a relationship, a friendship. 

This post isn’t a deep dive into grief – the stages, the processes, the sharing and healing etc – there are so many wonderful resources out there already for that (although I would encourage anyone interested to also look for creative explorations and presentations of grief in art, theatre, literature etc because it’s so healing). This post is more like me outstretching my hand with my own experiences to tell anyone out there who might happen to stumble across this that it’s ok, I’ve been there too.

In the last year I have grieved a lot. And it hasn’t always been sad – I think most of us know grief isn’t like that. In fact, I didn’t even realise at first that I was grieving; being autistic I just thought I was having a hard time adjusting to change, and I felt a lot of shame around that, the need to just move on quicker. And, ok yeah, I do definitely find change difficult. But noticing and naming the grief has actually set me free a bit. 

In June I lost my home. I left in the morning and I never went back; I had no idea that would be my last time leaving that house. I don’t remember leaving, I don’t remember the last thing I said to that person, the last time my dog came to say hello to me in the morning – because you’re not meant to remember those things. I had almost no reaction for 8 months, and then an intense explosion of anger. Feeling sad about it is still hard. And for a lack of a reaction, I thought I had a lack of grief. But I don’t. It affected my ability to feel safe in the place I am living, always feeling like any moment it could be pulled out from under me, and with that came the grief. That uncertainty was my way through to grief. 

I also left my school, which I considered my home. And this was so hard to grieve because it seemed like everyone else moved on quicker and I was just stuck, but grieving school has been perhaps the most transformative experience of this year. It’s been my path through to expanding my sense of self, world, connection, and love. It also hurts. So if like me you are thinking you’re being too slow to move on from something, please know it is alright. You are allowed to take up space, to feel, and to go on your own journey. Even if it’s a positive step, leaving behind things that mattered so much to us is painful. And we do grieve things, situations and places – not just people. 

I believe the thing about grief is you can’t force it or rush it. The only thing you can do is allow it, without allowing it to consume you. It’s hard but life does carry on. Maybe joy and excitement and purpose won’t look the same as before, but you are allowed to redefine these things. 

This year I have grieved the death of my grandmother; the possibility of a relationship that could have been in the context of a death that will be; and perhaps strangest of all, I have grieved the living. All of these are complicated, all of them come with different challenges and presentations. Sometimes I feel shame because my strongest reactions are about a dog, or a place, rather than the person who has actually died. But really they all mix together in a way too; they link and lace around each other to become an imprint on me and my journey. I’m ok with that. 

Point is – there is not one way to grieve. There is not one situation in which grief appears. And all of us will grieve many many times in our lives. This is your journey to figure out, but not alone; we are connected in our love and our loss, however it finds us. 

Sending so much love and support to you all today xx