Millie, 19, is almost kneeling next to a sign against a brick wall. The signs has a picture of Princess Leia with Bowie's red and blue lightning bolt across her eye. Millie is wearing a green top, pink trousers, glasses, and her ginger hair is in plaits
Posted in Mental Health, Personal Growth

World Bipolar Day 2024 – My Experience

Posted on by Millie :)

It’s World Bipolar Day. I’m Millie, and I am usually very open about my bipolar diagnosis. Why? Well, I don’t really have a filter. I’m also not ashamed of it. And most of all, I essentially try to be the person I needed to see. I write what 16 year old me was looking for, and I hopefully will go on to write what I’m looking for now. Do I worry how others will view me? Yeah, sometimes. Doesn’t seem to stop me. 

So it’s World Bipolar Day. Something feels odd about that name to me. Almost like I’m envisioning all of us emerging from some sort of hibernation for a day, wreaking havoc, and returning back to obscurity before the sun rises on the next day. We’re just so powerful they had to confine us to one singular day, lest the earth be run wild by crazies and mad ones. I jest, of course. I’m writing this stream of consciousness like piece because something does strike me about the day, the opportunity to speak and have it hold a defined place perhaps. I suppose this is a little insight into what my life as a young person with bipolar can look like. I hope you get something from it. 

I am proud to be bipolar. I can’t really explain to you why, but I am. Deeply. Yet it comes with many many challenges, and I’m not really referring to the symptomatic challenges here. Those are more complex than is generally understood, but I find some of the greatest challenges are the ones that emerge aside from (and of course interlace with)  the symptoms. For example: I am proud to be bipolar, but I am terrified my life will be defined by illness. Yet I understand that this idea of being defined by illness is in many ways down to me – I have this label, but it is my choice how to use it, and understand it, and it is most certainly my choice to embrace the struggles I have/will face. I made this choice. And I can change my mind.

Of course the world often tries to define you in certain ways. Many different institutions and models of working will not embrace my vision of myself. That is painful in many ways, and something I think must change in the mental health sector. I cannot walk into a psychiatrist’s office and say ‘today I would prefer to talk about my illness through a spiritual lens that opens up the possibility of deeper connection afforded to me. And I would prefer to use the term mad, not bipolar’. I can’t do that. In fact many of the things I think and experience, I would never be able to bring up in a mental health setting because of how they could be viewed through the lens of my illness. And that is deeply upsetting to me. If you are labelled mad, how can you ever convince someone you are sane? You can’t. 

I am aware my diagnosis can be weaponized against me, and of the fact that I frequently weaponise it against myself. I fear speaking my own truth in mental health spaces and advocacy because of how deeply ingrained the narrative of what is safe and sane is to me; I never want to cause anyone harm. But the fact is, in my own life I have had deeply spiritual experiences, often continuing from those first afforded to me when manic, that have been life changing. How quickly may they be labelled delusional? Psychotic? My very understanding of reality has been deeply shaken through my experiences that I am able to view as, yes, part of my illness but also something beyond and around that. And that changed understanding has led me to see the world with new openness, love, and curiosity. But I know in the wrong circumstances, that would be labelled symptomatic.

That’s not to say many of my experiences haven’t been troubling and scary. They have, but one of the ways I have found to navigate them is to accept them wholly, moving beyond the idea that they are all this illness that is separate to me, all something to be shunned. Would that work for everybody? Probably not. They’re not me. That’s why I’m not giving a step by step guide on what that looks like, because it’s a strange and beautiful process that has emerged from my personal journey. But I would like to impart the idea that we can maybe view things through different lenses, and in fact view them through more than one lens at the same time. An experience can be troubling, part of my bipolar, and positively affecting all at the same time. I have chosen to make room for that. 

Treatment for bipolar is so heavily dependent on medication in psychiatry. The path for therapy is not even slightly clear. The help is inadequate. And I refuse to believe there isn’t a better way. I respect anyone’s choices around medication, whatever they are. There has to be more to discover, more to discuss, more to live. Why aren’t we having the difficult conversations?

Bipolar disorder is a silent, invisible illness. Feels like it most days anyway. No matter how much I talk about it, I know people never seem to grasp it, or even think to look beyond the word at what that experience must really be like on a daily basis. And that’s more than ok, I do the same with a hundred other things. It makes sense. But sometimes I wish people got it more. Wish I could explain it better and more concisely. Because yeah, you’ve got the episodes and they are life changing and life threatening and life disrupting. It can be incredibly unpleasant. But you’ve also got the days in between. And for me that’s almost more difficult. I carry around a silent weight:

Once your understanding of reality, self, and the world has been fundamentally shaken in the way an episode can do, you can never go back. As mentioned above, that can be a beautiful thing. But it’s also… you can never go back. I can never see the world the same way again and there’s a grief that comes with that. There’s a lot of grief in bipolar. And there’s a fear that comes with that too. Or pressure. A drive, to live every moment, grasp life when it comes back to you, a fear it’ll slip away again, a pressure to catch up, get better, make it worth it. Whatever it is, it’s there. And somehow it’s like forever being on a slightly different wavelength to everyone else around me, unnoticeably. 

Episodes can be unpredictable. Even when I don’t realise it, I can be living on edge. 

I see in colour. I get bored stupidly easily. I am crazy creative and empathetic. Many of these sensations may, yes, originate elsewhere, but they are also intensely interwoven with my experience of bipolar. 

Being ok can be boring. Really boring, and itchy, and confusing, and a dangerous time. 

The mental health support out there is atrocious. I refuse to lie about it anymore, the mental health system in the UK is completely fucked. If it worked for you, great. It should work for other people too. But hey, shows it’s not impossible to learn how to navigate a serious mental illness using tools outside the expected norm. And in a way, that feels more right for me. I used to want professional help more than anything in the world, and I still do often, it pains me I never got it. But… I’m still here. I’m still me. I was blessed to be surrounded by some truly incredible people, and I wouldn’t be here without them. But now I am here, I’m proudly bipolar, and I’m still struggling, but I’m standing and… what I’m trying to say is that I’m able to be grateful for my path because I see the opportunities it has provided me to see the world and my illness differently. 

No one with bipolar is the same. Someone might not even want to use that label if they’re diagnosed! That’s completely fine too. I have many other terms I also use to describe my experience (language, what a wonderful enigma huh?). Just know that in whatever way it may be, living with this often isn’t easy for a million reasons you might not have expected or understood. As far as I’m concerned it’s not a good or a bad thing, it is what it means to each person. It’s just a thing that means something. You don’t have to understand it all – you probably can’t – but maybe just make space for some kindness and acceptance of its complexity, whether that be for you or someone else. 

Mills x

Posted in Advocacy, Mental Health

Language and Mental Health

Posted on by Millie :)

Language is one of the foremost ways many of us use to communicate and convey ideas and, crucially, meaning. The intricacies of the meaning in the language we use are myriad and will vary even from person to person; it is a wonderful and beautiful thing. Unfortunately many people do not have equal access to language (think of non-speaking autistics denied access and support to use proper AAC equipment; the thousands of children, especially girls, denied the right to education and literacy etc etc), but that’s a topic for another day. Today I want to talk specifically on the importance of use and language surrounding mental health. To be clear this post is not a deep dive, but an introductory exploration. 

Much of the language we see used most commonly around mental health is highly pathologised – it has medical connotations and meaning. Often this translates to seeing emotional, mental, and physical responses as indicative of a disease or disorder, and as such having connotations of being a deficit or inherent fault. Mental health itself connotes also the possibility of illness, and therefore something that needs curing. Problems arise from this in many ways, for example dismissal of legitimate concerns; inability to recognise spiritual or enlightening experiences as such, seeing everything as a symptom; putting people in boxes they don’t fit into; discrimination and ableism; etc etc. That’s not to say there aren’t benefits to this kind of language though, as I have spoken about previously in my post about diagnoses. Labels can provide validation, connection with others, understanding, and guidance to healing. Perhaps in an ideal world we would not need this kind of language – but it does certainly serve a purpose for many. 

However, what the medical paradigm of mental health – including the language used because of it – has arguably caused is a lack of wider understanding of the intersectional issues relating to mental health, lack of access and acceptance of alternative healing, and lack of autonomy for many who choose not to adopt medicalised language. 

Think for example of a bipolar person who chooses to use non-medical language to describe their experience, and engages in spiritual, holistic and peer support instead of traditional therapy and medication – many would look upon them as neglecting their mental health, in denial of their condition, and even reckless for deciding not to use chemical treatment. I know this happens regularly, as a bipolar person myself, simply from asking the question of what alternative support is out there. If you are medicalised, many find it hard to see your legitimate questions as sane. 

This is just one non-specific example of the way medicalised language can cause issues. When we see depression in a medical lens, we often think of therapy and medication, chemical imbalances, and individual faults. The language we use plays a really large role in those connotations. But it is easy to overlook things like connection to nature, systemic issues (housing inequality, racism etc), and lack of purpose in how they contribute to the depression. Instead we hear depression and that can create a block to accessing deeper thought and understanding of the real issues, as we see it as an all encompassing condition. 

But language can be a tool in helping us access different ways of thinking and communicating with others too. For example, I like the term ‘human distress’ to describe some difficult emotions and experiences, as it reminds me of our shared humanity and allows a gentler approach to seeing a way forward. Personally I also have many ways that I describe my own experiences that lay outside of the medical sphere. These phrases help me to convey my true experiences to others and process it myself. They also help me to see my experiences beyond ‘good or bad’ or medicalised ideas of delusions and reality, because it allows me a deeper exploration of what each experience actually means to me and how I can tell, rather than seeing them all as symptoms. 

For example, I do feel a much deeper empathic and intuitive connection to others when I’m manic, which has proven to be important and spot-on on many occasions. By allowing myself the language to see my mania as both unrealistic, and intuitive; delusional, and spiritual, I allow myself to see my mind in all its shades and heal more freely. Other phrases I have used to convey my experience range from ‘my brain is itchy’, ‘I can’t catch the balloons in my head’, to ‘I am disappeared’. All have meaning to me and have helped me convey my experience in a more authentic way. 

The Mad Community has also developed a lot of new and reclaimed language that is helpful to many, and provides many the opportunity to reframe their experiences and escape the trauma of medicalisation in mutual care. A noticeable reclamation of language is the word ‘mad’ itself. Much like the queer community have reclaimed the use of ‘queer’ from a slur to an empowering word, so has the mad community reclaimed the word mad. For years our madness has been used against us to discriminate, tease, abuse, and disregard our experiences. After all, if you are labelled mad, how could you ever convince someone you are sane? But the mad community is reclaiming the word. For many, it goes beyond a synonym for neurodiverse or mentally ill, but a title to be proud of, and a word that is in itself a revolution against the medicalisation and ableism of psychiatry. 

Lots of wonderful and important language has originated/ resurfaced through the mad community and people looking for different ways to describe their experiences. It is a cycle of language we see over and over again – terms gain new connotations, no longer suit the needs of people, and must be replaced; sometimes progressive terms take on the meaning of slurs and insults, only to cycle round again later and be reclaimed. Some other terms outside pathologised language include:

  • Different realities – rather than delusions or psychosis 
  • Altered states – states of being that are outside what many would consider normal, may appear chaotic, creative, extreme in some way (for example what some may call mania or depression)
  • Psychiatric survivor – people who feel their experience with psychiatry was more harmful than helpful 

Language surrounding madness and mental health has contributed to and reflected societal views on these subjects for centuries, and as such holds societal importance as much as individual importance. Perhaps the greatest take away from considering the importance of language in mental health is that it will always have significance in how we view and approach these topics as society, and it will always have significance in how we view our own experiences and communicate with others. Only you can choose the language you use in your life. And that language is free to adapt and change. If we keep considering the meaning behind our language and communicating with others on how we can best use language, we’re on our way to making meaningful change. 

Sending love and support to you all today. 

For further reading on this topic check out this article:

Mad Activists: The Language We Use Reflects Our Desire for Change
Posted in Managing Mental Health, Mental Health, therapy

Importance of Community for Mental Health

Posted on by Millie :)

I find it very interesting how although there is a constant discourse around mental health nowadays, so many aspects of what affects our mental health and how we can support it are completely overlooked. That is of course just my opinion, but I do consistently find the most common narratives to be constricting, perpetuating unhelpful ideas, or simply not understanding the complexity of the issue. I think we are as a collective much more able to have and hold complicated conversations with contradictory ideas when we are given the space, the opportunity, and the tools. Life isn’t simple; society isn’t simple; mental health isn’t simple. 

One of the aspects of healing I am surprised doesn’t come up more often in a meaningful way is community. Community is essential to supporting mental health. And when we can build deep community bonds, we can find incredible new ways of healing. The kind of community I’m talking about I see as a connection deeper than many of the bonds we find in modern life. I see it as a return to genuine mutual care, sharing responsibilities, and responsibility to each other. Essentially, I see it as a big sidestep away from what I think can be a very individualistic and isolating culture nowadays. 

We do not live in the world alone. We are made to be interconnected and intertwined with nature and with other humans. We see it in our nature constantly – think of the incredible impact we are only just starting to see in children from lockdown; in a study on the addictive nature of cocaine found rats were less likely to become addicted if they had social connection; social pain itself (for example, pain from cruel words or rejection) suggests that we are evolutionarily wired for connection. All pain exists, from an evolutionary standpoint, to teach and warn us about potential danger. The fact that social pain even exists tells us that connection is a necessity, not a luxury. 

In a fundamental sense connection is vital to healing because it fulfils a basic need. If we then also look through the lens of our traumas, the rules and lessons (whether good or bad or neither) that we have learned throughout our lives and from society, we can start to see another level to how connection can help us in healing. Regardless of where mental illness originates, it has an impact not only on the person experiencing that distress, but others around them. And that distress undoubtedly impacts the way the person experiencing it views and senses their place in connection to others.

So often being misunderstood, harmed, isolated, ostracised etc etc are a part of or contributing factor to mental illness. They’re a part of a lot of social ills – homelessness, racism, school expulsions etc. Individualism is an important part of much of western culture. But numerous studies (and many people’s lived experiences, which are also very important) show us time and time again that isolation is damaging to mental health. This is not to say that a collectivist culture is the way forward either – several studies have found collectivist cultures to have lower happiness indices, while still other studies have looked at the complex nature of trying to measure happiness in collectivist cultures through a western lens and in the midst of ongoing turmoil etc… this is all to say that there’s a balance to this, as to everything. I am not espousing to try and forget individual nature. I am simply pointing out that we need more connection than what we’re getting at the moment. Connection is almost revolutionary in some ways. 

Community is a wonderful thing because it’s a moveable thing. Community is where we live, or who we love, or online groups, or 12 step programmes. Community is not easily defined, in my opinion, and so it is possible to continue to redefine. Simply asking the question of what community is and how to build it goes a very long way already. 

To me, community is love. Community is support, safety to make mistakes, safety to feel. To me, community means non-hierarchical. Personally that’s very important within a healing space because the power imbalance in a failed mental health system has caused me so much fear and hurt. So community healing is healing together. Sharing skills, sharing resources, sharing time and sometimes being the stronger one for others. I suppose I’m thinking about peer support spaces when I speak in this way; they have been instrumental for me. Terrifying to try for the first time because of how we’ve learnt not to feel safe in groups, but so many accessible and adapting peer support spaces are emerging now; it’s wonderful to see. Connecting with people with lived experience like you can be a transformational experience. 

Some examples of peer support spaces (of different structures and aims etc) are:

– @ peersupportspace on instagram (online groups)

– Bipolar UK peer support groups

– 12 Step Programmes 

– Mad Art Club London

But the importance of community in supporting mental health (and healing with mental illness) is not just support directly related to our mental health. Like I already said, we are wired for connection. Finding meaningful ways to connect for whatever reason can have incredible healing power. Whether that be helping to create a community garden, co-working (very much similar to parallel play), sharing skills and hobbies, having ways to share resources in a community – it all matters. And it is all powerful.

I don’t know how articulate I’ve been here. It’s hard to put something I feel instinctively into words, though there is definitely research to suggest my gut feeling might have some merit. I can’t tell you how to be well; but I can tell you I care. I’ll leave you with these 3 questions to ponder today, whatever the answer may be for you:

  1. What does community look like to me?
  2. Can community support mental health? How?
  3. How is community built?

My sources are below if you’d like to read some more:

https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/why-we-are-wired-to-connect/

https://youtu.be/PY9DcIMGxMshttps://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/0022022118784204?journalCode=jcca#:~:text=Abstract,having%20lower%20indices%20of%20happiness

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