Tag: depression

lots of Palestinian flags are seen flying over the heads of a crowd of people against blue skies with scattered clouds at a protest
Posted in Advocacy

Palestinian Solidarity as a Mental Health Advocate

Posted on by Millie :)

As a mental health advocate, and a sensitive human being, I have wanted to do more to help the Palestinian people, but I’ve found myself feeling inadequate and powerless – beating myself up over not doing more already and letting that push me into further inaction. The problems in the world can feel overwhelming; it is in those moments I believe we need to find more power to lean into love and lean into hope. We’re all just one person; it’s together that we make a difference, cliche as that may be. So I decided to do what I can and write something here, because this is my little space. If we all do what we can I have a sneaking suspicion we might make a whole lot of difference, even if waiting to see that materialise can be heartbreaking.

Why do I care about Palestine? Because I care about people. We are watching horrific crimes against humanity, what the International Court of Justice has plausibly called a genocide, live streamed to us in real time following what the United Nations has recognised as a 76 year apartheid campaign in Palestine. That’s not normal. And it should never be normal or acceptable. I know personally I have become emotionally numbed to the every day experience of the images and reports streaming in. If that is you too, I implore you not to let that numb, crisis-responding brain to stop you from caring and taking action. It is more than understandable that we are having intense and varied reactions to the violence, but that doesn’t strip our humanity, in fact it shows it.

I believe all of our struggles are interconnected, and that this interconnectedness impacts us in ways we are often unaware of. From the viewpoint of a mental health advocate, my heart breaks for the grief weaving between the Palestinian people. Losing homes, family, children, their dreams, their land… the list goes on and on. How can anyone process that grief and that pain? How can we allow people to go on living in such unimaginable fear and suffering, constantly? Not only their lives and legacies are being attacked, but also their joy.

Yet I have seen such incredible displays of resilience and joy and community from Gaza. Using music, dance, art, magic shows and an ongoing commitment to educating their children in the most horrific circumstances. This is what inspires me to keep hoping and pushing for them, because it gives a glimpse of the resilience of the human spirit and the possibility for future world building.

As a mental health advocate I think often too of the neurodiverse adults and children in Gaza. How the constant uncertainty, unexpected changes, loss of familiarity, and noise from bombings and the 24/7 drones must be affecting them. I can’t deal with a humming fan for a few minutes before I start to become distressed – how is this mental torture going to affect them long term? How much more likely are they to die?

As Maysoon Zayid said, what’s happening in Palestine is a ‘mass disabling event’. We do not currently have the infrastructural setup pretty much anywhere to comprehend or deal with disability on such a scale. The genocide in Palestine highlights many issues with how we conceptualise mental illness, distress, and disability. In the west we use a highly individualised model that tends to view the mentally ill or disabled person as the problem without true consideration of what makes the person disabled, the structural problems, or how we decide distress is illness. As a mental health advocate, I hope what we see in Palestine can inspire us also to reconsider how we decide someone is ill, and how we provide support. Maybe it’s inconsequential to bring up while people are still actively being killed – but the possibility to find multiple avenues of change in these horrors keeps me energised to carry on trying.

As Dr Samah Jabr, Palestine’s head of mental health services said in 2019, ‘I question the methodology. I think they’re measuring social psychological pain and social suffering, and they’re saying this is depression. What is sick, the context or the person? In Palestine, we see many people whose symptoms – unusual emotional reaction or behaviours – are a normal reaction to a pathogenic context. There are many people in Palestine who are suffering. But Western-developed tools for measuring depression, such as the Beck inventory, do not tend to distinguish between justified misery and clinical depression’. She raises important questions around the way we conceptualise trauma and mental health for Palestinians, and indeed the world. We only grow by continuing to reconsider what we know.

All this to say, we need to do something. I am first and foremost a creative and a mental health advocate. So I can raise my unique voice by writing things like this, that take a look at the situation through the lens of a mental health advocate. How can you use your unique voice? I encourage you to ask that question. And remember, it’s never ever too late to do something to help someone else in this world – never let anyone shame you for not doing what you didn’t yet know you could. We only have today, so let’s make it count.

Below are some ideas I’ve gathered on how to help the Palestinian people, and a few resources, because education is the most powerful tool we have. I don’t have a grip on the whole situation or the history, and frankly I have no idea what the best solution would be in the intricacies of international law and politics. Bottom line, what I do know is: anti-zionism is NOT anti-semitism, and the killing has to stop. We have to fight for peace.

How you can help & resources:

  • BDS (Boycott, Divestment, & Sanctions) – A Palestinian-led movement that helps you know what to boycott to make an impact with what money you do/don’t spend. They have different catagories for the type of boycotts and links to other organisations supporting Palestine in your country. You can find their website here
  • Protests – Protests supporting Palestine have been taking place across the world, and they have done a huge amount to raise moral, momentum, awareness, and make change. In the UK the next National Demonstration calling for a ceasefire is taking place in London at 12 noon on the 18th. You can find more information about this and other events in the UK here. I have been to the protests in London and they are incredibly inspiring and joyful – people of all ages, faiths and nationalities have been in attendance. If you can go I would really encourage you to show your face!
  • Read! – It’s so important we take time to educate ourselves properly on this issue and learn more about the world around us. There are many ways to do this and if reading feels like an impossible task right now, don’t worry! It’s all about doing what you can. Watching some videos, like Bisan’s online series, or some articles are a great way to start. But reading is powerful; from books we get an almost unrivalled depth of knowledge and undertsanding. Here is a list of books to start your search, it is split into several categories
  • Podcasts – Podcasts can also be a great way to learn about Palestine as you go through your day. If you have been trying to make sense of the media portrayal of the Palestinian solidarity, and specifically the student encampments that are popping up currently, I would really recommend this episode of queer, Jewish creator Matt Bernstein’s ‘A Bit Fruity’. It’s a good listen for people with in depth and less knowledge of the pro-Palestinian movement alike
  • Follow Palestinian journalists, artists, and organisations – I love Bisan (@bisan_wizard1 on Instagram) in particular, and the Palestinian Solidarity Campaign in the UK is a great way to find out about events and other people to follow
  • Petition your government – Attend events lobbying MPs in person, write to your representatives regularly, and sign petitions like this one (and google others lobbying your government!)
  • Donate to UNRWA – Let’s be completely clear that the work UNRWA does to support and feed the Palestinian people is vital. As more aid agencies have pulled out of Gaza due to unprecedented danger for their workers, the support UNRWA provides has become even more crucial. Israel made false allegations that UNRWA workers aided in the October 7th attack – there is no evidence for this. Without their aid, even more Palestinian people will die from starvation. You can donate to help their life saving work here
  • Donate directly to Gazan families – Many families in Gaza have started Gofundme pages to raise enough money to help them flee, pay for crossing the border, and setting up new lives elsewhere. Here are just a few you can donate to if you have some spare cash: Ghabayen family, family with 3 disabled children from Gaza (this one has very few donations so needs a lot of help!
  • Look after yourself – find ways to connect with yourself in this troubling time; to lean into love and its regenerative power. When was the last time you danced, connected with your body? Have you ever felt a connection to nature, and how can you foster that connection to the earth? Can you reach out and build community (the solidarity movement is so open and a great place to find kind souls to connect with)? What has helped you before? If you are troubled, maybe this can be part of our collective world building and joy growing. I dunno, just an idea
  • Keep questioning and learning and discovering for yourself
  • Be creative – art is powerful and creative thinking is powerful. Use your voice and dream up new ways and remix old ways and be creative in how you can make a difference!

I thought I’d end the post with a poem by Refaat Alareer, who lost his life in this onslaught:

If I Must Die

If I must die, 

you must live 

to tell my story 

to sell my things 

to buy a piece of cloth 

and some strings, 

(make it white with a long tail) 

so that a child, somewhere in Gaza 

while looking heaven in the eye 

awaiting his dad who left in a blaze— 

and bid no one farewell 

not even to his flesh 

not even to himself— 

sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above 

and thinks for a moment an angel is there 

bringing back love 

If I must die 

let it bring hope 

let it be a tale

فال بد أن تعيش أنت 

رفعت العرعير

إذا كان لا بد أن أموت 

فال بد أن تعيش أنت 

لتروي حكايتي

لتبيع أشيائي

وتشتري قطعة قماش 

وخيوطا

(فلتكن بيضاء وبذيل طويل) 

كي يبصر طفل في مكان ما من ّغّزة 

وهو يح ّّدق في السماء 

منتظرًاً أباه الذي رحل فجأة 

دون أن يودع أحدًاً 

وال حتى لحمه 

أو ذاته

يبصر الطائرة الورقّية 

طائرتي الورقية التي صنعَتها أنت

تحّلق في الأعالي 

ويظ ّّن للحظة أن هناك مالكًاً 

يعيد الحب

إذا كان لا بد أن أموت 

فليأ ِِت موتي باألمل 

فليصبح حكاية

ترجمة سنان أنطون 

Translation by Sinan Antoon

Sending all of my love and support to you today xx

Sources:

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2024/feb/09/head-of-unwra-says-he-followed-reverse-due-process-in-sacking-accused-gaza-staff

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2024/apr/22/israeli-allegations-of-unrwa-staff-links-to-terrorism-cost-aid-agency-dearly

https://bdsmovement.net/get-involved/join-a-bds-campaign?country=United+Kingdom

https://qz.com/1521806/palestines-head-of-mental-health-services-says-ptsd-is-a-western-concept

Amnesty

https://www.ohchr.org/en/press-releases/2024/01/gaza-icj-ruling-offers-hope-protection-civilians-enduring-apocalyptic#:~:text=The%20ICJ%20found%20it%20plausible,under%20siege%20in%20Gaza%2C%20and

https://www.tiktok.com/@maysoonzayid/video/7327181518772784430

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 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

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 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 Mental Health

Songs for my Bipolar Experience

Posted on by Millie :)

Music is a really important tool in how I connect to the world; I have music or a podcast playing nearly all the time for sensory reasons. Like with all creative arts, music can help us connect to others, express our experiences, and change or reflect our moods. There are some things about my experience that I feel communicated in songs more deeply than I ever good in words of my own. 

So today I thought I’d share a playlist of sorts with songs that I feel connect with parts of my experience with bipolar disorder. They may be helpful in understanding what it’s like for someone else, or yourself, but they’re also really great songs so I would recommend giving them a listen! But obviously music can be quite powerful in how it makes us feel, so please use your own discretion. Let me know what you think of them in the comments below, and if you relate with any yourselves.

  1. Control by Halsey 

Captures that feeling of dangerous energy that comes along with my experience; the desire and lack of control 

  1. Piano Sonata No.14 in C# minor, Op.27 No.2, Moonlight – Presto (aka. Moonlight Sonata Movement 3)

My favourite version is played by Daniel Barenboim, I think he really conveys the emotion of the music. Such a beautiful piece of music that encapsulates the feeling of (hypo)mania for me, the energy and beauty and pain – I can find all of it in this piece 

  1. Light of Love by Florence and The Machine 

This song resonates with a sense of healing for me, and gives me the power to keep going sometimes. It helps remind me that I am still me inside

  1. The Sounds of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel 

I know it’s become a bit of a meme song but the lyrics and harmonies of this song are truly amazing. I find it resonates with my experience of depression, especially the feeling of slipping back there again 

  1. A Reason to Fight by Disturbed 

I mean the title says it all really. A powerful message of support and willing to stay and fight when it all gets too much 

  1. Both Sides Now by Joni Mitchell 

In my opinion one of the best songs ever written. It has so much love, care, and growth in it and resonates with me differently every time I hear it. It reminds me of how I feel I change and grow through each episode, and the wholeness and seasons of life 

  1. I Miss the Mountains from Next to Normal 

This musical is about a family where the mother has bipolar disorder and this song captures a sentiment I don’t hear talked about very often – that you can actually wish to go back to a time when it was worse. There’s a certain numbness and difficulty in adjusting to being ‘ok’ and a grief of life not lived, and this song really holds that message in a gentle way 

  1. Girl Anachronism by The Dresden Dolls 

This song represents so much of the feelings of (hypo)mania for me, and what that itchy energy is like, not only at the time but also how the illness as a whole makes you feel set apart from the rest of the world sometimes; how it is a huge part of our lives and our identities

  1. A Safe Place to Land by Sara Bareilles 

This song is comforting to me in a lot of situations, especially when I’m overwhelmed or hopeless. It’s full of support and helps me feel held; like it can get better again. It reminds me I’m not alone

  1. listen before i go by Billie Eilish 

Really encapsulates a feeling of hopelessness in depression 

  1. She Used to Be Mine from Waitress 

This song has been so immensely important to me on my journey, especially with addiction recovery (something a lot of people with bipolar struggle with). It holds both grief for who we used to be and a desire to fight and become who we can be. I just love it. 

  1. Quiet from Matilda The Musical 

Again this really carries the sense of what it is like in my brain when mania starts to kick in, thoughts flowing from one to the next so quickly and loudly and how that can bring such anger. But also the calm end to the song captures a part of my experience I can’t even explain but is so very very real, and almost beautiful 

  1. Everybody Hurts by R.E.M

Comforting and well known, I listened to this song on repeat as I was dragging myself out of one of my first depressive episodes 

  1. Sky Full of Song by Florence + the Machine 

Somehow carries a sense of both depression and mania for me – the exhaustion from going and going, pretending to be ok, not knowing you’re not etc etc. It is a song of pause and reconnection to myself 

  1. Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley 

Obviously there are many other versions of this song but the feeling this version gives me is unrivalled. It mirrors that desperation of that desperation in depression for me, without actually making me feel depressed listening to it 

  1. Clown by Emeli Sandé

Feel like it spans a lot of different experiences in life and trying to reckon with them, but for me it also helps process the difficult feelings that come with facing the consequences of things that have happened/ you’ve done in an episode (or in addiction)

If you liked this post, please let me know as I have many other songs that resonate with different parts of my experience and I love sharing them! Sending love and support as always xxx

Posted in Managing Mental Health, Mental Health

Nature and Mental Health

Posted on by Millie :)

I think the connection between nature and mental health is under-utilised. 

There are hundreds of studies out there looking at the proven positive effect time in and connection with nature has on our mental health, but I’ll be talking from a more holistic/ theorised place today. 

I think we have learnt to see ourselves as separate from nature, but the truth is we are part of nature. We breathe the same air as all animals, given to us by trees and plants. We are connected to the same ground as all flowers and vegetables, all fruits and roots. We are nature. We’re nature with opposable thumbs. So of course climate change affects us – not only on an intellectually anxious level, but a deep intrinsically natural level. Of course a sunset or a flight of birds can inspire us on an instinctual level. We don’t need to completely understand it, define it – of course at a scientific level that’s useful. But on an emotional level? I think just leaning into that connection can help set us free. 

The pace of the world we live in is in direct juxtaposition to nature. In the western world at least we run at what I think is an unattainable pace. The capitalistic society is intent on promoting not only individualism but also productivity. And we’ve learnt that productivity is a good word. The model citizen is a productive citizen – this really means blindly following the rules put upon us and always striving for more, at a faster rate. Not only does this harm us individually, but it is a driving cause behind the industries that are contributing most to climate change and destroying the nature we are so deeply connected with. So we are severed from the nature we are a part of, and told to keep busy enough that we never question the system we have become a part of; perhaps more importantly, in order to have the resources to survive we cannot question. We are placed in a deep survival mode, and often forced to be unaware of it. 

The next logical step would be to assume that a person with a mental health issue is individually at fault. A weakness in the mind, a personal problem. It isolates the sufferer further and gives the rest of the world and excuse to keep going as is. The common narrative surrounding mental health awareness continues to ignore, on the whole, how much societal and economic factors are contributors and causes of mental illness – and by extension how a lack of connection with our roots in nature is a contributing factor. It should be made clear I am not advocating for full blown communism or anarchism or anything like that – it’s not like we haven’t seen ample issues when those structures have tried to be deployed in the past! In fact I have very little idea how to face these issues on a wider scale. But I know how to face them on a smaller scale; I know where to start (I think) and maybe that’s enough for now. To start, perhaps we look to the pace of nature; to the connection we inherently have (but so often ignore) with nature and our fellow beings. 

Nature does not rush. It works at exactly the pace it needs to. In fact time itself is a structure we have projected onto the world to help us make sense of it – with very obvious reasons for helping us level our experience with each other. But what the construction of time can tell us is that though we may share hours between us, we can redesign what the contents of an hour should be. To explain: resting for an hour in the grass can be redefined to be just as important as furiously analysing stocks to meet a deadline. We can redefine what productivity means and looks like. Nature rests in winter – its pace changes to match the weather and the temperature, the presence of bees and hibernation of bears. And nature still survives. So by extension, perhaps we can learn to respect our rhythms. To work with the sun, to respect the rain, to rest when we are tired and flow when we are not. We are not machines – we do not have endless energy or an ability to always be running. We are not all designed to sleep and wake at exactly the same times each day. We are nature. Maybe we can learn from it. 

Then of course there is the simple benefit of being among other nature. As mentioned countless studies – and poems and songs and personal experiences in each of our lives – record the boost to our mental health when among nature. Simply taking time to sit under a tree and imagine our own roots connecting, or take a walk in the woods (if that’s possible – everyone should have access to green spaces), or swim in a lake, run through a field, watch the flowers in the breeze or the sea crash to shore. Simply taking the time, even if it is only a minute, to start learning how to just be again – alongside our nature – can have a huge positive impact. It can calm us, make us feel more connected, happier, lighter. 

Oh and by the way, this isn’t new or revolutionary. It’s been strategically forgotten and hidden. Native communities around the world have known this for such a long time; the colonial view of society and mental health has detached us from this. I’m not at all the person to be listening to on this perspective and this history  – but here’s just one article written by Indigenous writer Edson Krenak Naknanuk from Brazil about connection with nature: https://www.culturalsurvival.org/publications/cultural-survival-quarterly/indigenous-peoples-are-essential-rights-nature

As the article explores, a view to see nature as a part of us – something in a reciprocal relationship – is important when looking to solving climate change too. 

Remember – we all breathe the same air; we share a consciousness of being through nature. So why do we seek to intellectualise that connection always? How does that separate us from our connection with freedom of mental health? How can nature support us mentally, as a community and individuals?

Sending so much love and support to you all today xx

P.S. For a related science look at some of these topics I would recommend the book ‘Beyond Biocentrism’ by Robert Lanza and Bob Berman

Posted in Advocacy, autism, Mental Health, neurodiversity, Personal Growth, sobriety, therapy

Hurt by Psychiatry

Posted on by Millie :)

Content warning: ED, psychiatric abuse, suicidal ideation, any mental health topic really

I want to write a really strong and defiant letter. I want to write some crazy, proud, creative theatre piece. I want to write something truly hopeful. And while I do have hope, and I do have gratitude – because it is essential to my survival – I also have a lot of pain. And anger. I can talk openly about so many traumas and just general shitty things that have happened in my life. But the one I’ve never been able to write about, never even been able to get through a conversation about without screaming and crying, is the pain endured under the psychiatric complex. Because they were meant to help me. Time and time and time again I have gone looking for help and time and time and time again I have been turned away with only more hurt. I know help is a brave word. I’m not afraid to say it. But I am afraid that when I say it no one will listen. This is my story of a journey through the mental health system. 

Just a disclaimer, because as a writer on mental health I feel it is my responsibility – if you are in a bad place and looking for professional help, please do not use this as your excuse not to. I do know some people have been greatly helped by the mental health system, and you could be too. This is not intended to invalidate anyone’s good experiences, but rather to say that all of us deserve to have those good experiences. This is simply my story as someone who feels they have slipped through the cracks. If you feel this may affect you negatively I implore you to take the decision not to read any further. 

I first asked for help from the mental health system when I was 12 years old. I was experiencing mood swings and distress that were really bothering me – maybe just normal teenage things, maybe not, but the point is it doesn’t matter. They were bothering me. Anyone who wants help, even just to navigate daily life, should be given it. I was assigned a counsellor from the early intervention team. I didn’t like them, so I asked to change. I was discharged from the service – I took that as a message that if I had an opinion on my care, my care would be withdrawn from me. 

My first contact with CAHMS (child and adolescent mental health services) was due to an eating disorder at 14. My life was being ruled by it – I had complete meltdowns when I couldn’t exercise, was hyper fixated on food all the time, was weak and angry and alone; I was really hurting. They weighed me. They told me I wasn’t a low enough weight. I took that to mean I wasn’t sick enough. Without any regard for how I felt, or how food was ruling my life; without anyone trying to find out anything about my experience they denied me the help I so desperately needed. Suggested possibly a meal plan – with no support to implement it or formulate it. If a teacher hadn’t sat with me at lunch every single day for a year and coached me through it because she’d been there too, I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through it. 

I severely relapsed with my eating behaviours twice more, and I still struggle with some thought patterns and triggers to this day (though I am in a much better place, largely due to recovery in other areas giving me the tools to transfer). But I never felt like I really recovered from it, or had the support I needed. Even 9 months ago that teacher would still notice when my old behaviours around food crept in – even before I did – and help me to recognise and head them off. I am immensely grateful for that… but it wasn’t her job. It was never her job to be the main guidance and support in eating disorder recovery. 

CAHMS did offer me six sessions of group therapy. This was to deal with my overwhelming anxiety – much of it around socialising – and deep depression. They didn’t see it as deep depression. It was. It was really, really dark. I stopped going to any lessons and lost all sense of self and hope. But yeah, six sessions would be enough apparently (obviously not). I freaked out at the thought of group therapy, it was entirely unsuitable for me. Once again I received the message in response that if I had an opinion on my care, I wouldn’t get any care. They wanted to discharge me right then, but my wonderful mum stuck up for me so they offered me three – I repeat THREE – CBT sessions. They were not useful. I was put on a years long waiting list for an autism assessment. I was offered no more support. I continued to struggle. 

My mum’s determination to get me the help I deserved was incredible, and probably the only reason I got any support at all. (My mum is probably reading this, so thanks mum). She found a charity that was amazing in supporting us through my teen years, and funded me to see a private psychiatrist – this would not have been possible without them. However I wouldn’t say that was particularly helpful either. That psychiatrist did diagnose me with autism (side note – the assessment for autism really needs to be changed), anxiety and depression. I am eternally grateful for my autism diagnosis – it truly did change my life knowing I was autistic. But it changed my life because I went away and learnt about it, as did my family. The psychiatrist did not formulate a treatment plan for any of this, or provide any further support. Some medication that didn’t work was all she offered. 

In this time I also saw a few therapists – I didn’t like them, one of them didn’t like me and kinda dumped me. All of them were privately paid for. The subpar care I received was paid for privately – can you imagine how much worse it would have been if we hadn’t been able to afford it?

I know this is all a lot of information, but stick with me here. This journey is important to understand because it is something so so many people face. I slipped through the cracks of this system – even with the privilege of being a white, cisgendered woman. I had it reasonably easy. 

In February 2020 I had what I now recognise to be my first (and most intense) mixed episode. I cannot even put this experience into words but essentially it was all the darkness of depression with all the heightened energy and irritability of mania at the same time. I felt reality slipping away from me and I have never been in such intense distress. Two teachers stayed with me at school hours after school ended to try and keep me safe. They eventually helped me calm down, but I later found out they were so concerned they were about to call an ambulance or the police, as the crisis line wasn’t helping. I went to the GP during this episode begging for help. She prescribed me valium to calm me down, but when I begged her for more support I remember her chastising me for being so emotional because she had other patients waiting. I took that as a message that I still wasn’t sick enough; still wasn’t important enough. 

In March 2020 the private psychiatrist diagnosed me with cyclothymia. We had to pay extra for an emergency appointment. She decided I was now too complicated to be under her care and needed more support so referred me back into the NHS. They did not follow up on her recommendation for more support. By the time they saw me I was a bit calmer so apparently that meant I didn’t need help. In her eyes I was too bad, in their eyes I wasn’t bad enough. So I was left with nothing. This was the trend that would continue for the next three years. 

In September 2020 I wound up in A&E. I was broken and desperate. When the CAHMS crisis person finally arrived she acted annoyed about me being there, annoyed she had to be there, uncaring. She essentially asked ‘if things are so bad then why haven’t you killed yourself yet?’ and sent me home with no support. They didn’t follow up on any support because I calmed down a bit after, so I was no longer considered in crisis when they finally did get in contact (even though they hadn’t helped me when I was in crisis) and because I was drinking at the time. Just so we are all clear – if a young person is drinking as heavily as I was, that is exactly the time they need support. I went to my first AA meeting after I left the hospital that day. And excuse my french but thank fuck I did. I have no idea if I would still be alive otherwise. And having connected with others who have been subjected to inpatient treatment, I am incredibly grateful I did not have to bear that extra trauma. This is how bad the surface level service is – it’s even worse inside. 

After I got sober in July 2021 I was still struggling. I finally got to see a psychiatrist on the NHS in October 2021 because of my mum’s insistent fighting for me. When he asked me what I wanted from the meeting, he chastised my response. He was unclear. He shouted at me, and revoked what I thought I had been diagnosed with in a letter. I was meant to see him again in 10 weeks and he cancelled. I got discharged from CAHMS without them ever asking to talk with me about how I was doing. 

The one professional who has been a saving grace is my therapist. She is autistic herself and very flexible. But again – if I wasn’t able to fund that privately I don’t know where I would be. After my charity funding stopped when I turned 18 I had to take the sessions down to every 2 weeks, even with her sliding scale, which is significantly less helpful. Luckily I’ve also found amazing peer support, especially through AA, and spent a lot of time reflecting and doing my own work, so I’ve managed to build myself a much brighter life. But it’s been hard. And sometimes I really do need some more help – no one should have to do this alone.

I Went back to the NHS this October and had my first ever good meeting with anyone, just someone in my GP clinic. Why? He was honest. He genuinely seemed to care, but there was nothing they could offer me. He explained that as far as the system saw it, I had already been helped.

In late 2022 my mental health really started to decline again. I went back to the NHS this October and had my first ever good meeting with anyone, just someone in my GP clinic. Why? He was honest. He genuinely seemed to care, but there was nothing they could offer me. He explained that as far as the system saw it, I had already been helped. So from October I was searching for a psychiatrist who would see me. 

I was turned down by over 10 private psychiatrists for being too complex, having comorbidities, or my favourite way of putting it: ‘them not being able to offer the support I need at that time’. So I was again too bad for private and not bad enough for the NHS. One of the only people who would see me charged just under £1000 a session. Others said they would consider seeing me, but were booked up until 2024.

Finally in March 2023 – 5 months later – I got to meet with a private psychiatrist. And wow, he was amazing. We had three meetings so we could cover everything. He was kind, listened to me – really listened – and didn’t patronise. He treated me like an adult, and made it clear I would have a say in my care plan and the final report that would be sent to my doctor. I would have a say? I almost thought that wasn’t allowed. I’m still sceptical, it still doesn’t feel real. 

He diagnosed me with Bipolar type 1. Just think about that for a minute – an 18 year old has been dealing with undiagnosed bipolar 1, unsupported, emerging from 12 years old. I have no idea where I would be without the angels placed in my life along the way; without the undying support of my family and friends; without the flexibility of my school. I knew something more was going on, I knew how much pain I was in, and no one in the mental health industry was listening. I was screaming into a void and not even hearing the echoes of my own screams. (A separate issue is that we shouldn’t need labels to validate that level of human distress, which is what it is at its core, but diagnosis can be so validating. Read more about that here). 

I am not in any way saying this one experience erases all the rest. It does not. It absolutely does not. And it doesn’t not mean that psychiatry isn’t built on an oppressive, harmful foundation whose history has been hidden. It is. But it was a little hope given back to me. A relief at the very least. Before I went into that meeting I said ‘I’ll take them just not being actively mean to me’. How sad is that? What a desperately low bar. 

I’m still scared. He has instructed my GP to refer me back to secondary care teams in the NHS, which I still – like always – hope might offer some help. But the main thing offered seems to be medication, which I have some serious and valid concerns about. But I am terrified of raising these concerns or asking about alternatives for fear that a) I will be labelled as disordered and my new diagnosis weaponised against me or b) I will be labelled as non-compliant/ not wanting help enough, and sent away again. I wish I didn’t want help from them, and maybe one day I’ll be able to find a path that avoids dealing with the mental health system altogether. But I’m not there yet. Nor should I have to avoid it. It should be an inclusive, varied, accessible service. It should have community and individualised care. It should have alternative treatments and input from patients. It should see the human condition as a spectrum. But it doesn’t. And being mentally ill makes me scared that if I voice any of this, I will not be taken seriously. How can anyone ever prove that they are sane?

I deserve better. Everyone deserves better; we deserve to know that no matter what we’re going through there will be appropriate support for us. But it’s not there. And this broken system is quite literally killing people. We can’t just say fund the system either, the system needs to change. I need it to change, we all need it to change. 

I think I’m sharing this because the younger version of me wanted desperately to read it from someone else. So the core message is that you are not alone. You are not alone in the hurt psychiatry has caused you. You are allowed to be angry about it, and distrusting of it. You are allowed to choose your own care and your own path – even if others don’t understand it! (And that applies to all paths – mental illness should not be policed). Your pain is valid, completely valid, and I see you. I see you.

Sending love and support to you all today xx

Posted in Happy Notes, Managing Mental Health, Personal Growth, positivity

Gratitude Practice

Posted on by Millie :)

How often do you take time to stop and appreciate life? Even when it feels like everything’s going wrong? It’s not a test, I just want to encourage you to honestly consider how often you purposefully notice the good in the world. How often do you pause? You might be the kind of person that never does this, or the kind that laughs it off as some more mindfulness nonsense (I know that word can get on my nerves sometimes). Or maybe you try but it’s too difficult, or you feel like you aren’t present enough, aren’t appreciating things enough, so you might as well not try because you’re not getting it right. Maybe sometimes you do this a lot and other times not at all. 

Personally I make a list at the end of every single day with things I’m grateful for. And some days I really deeply feel that gratitude – somewhere indescribable in my core. And other days I’m more like going through the motions. But I make this list every day, and I have for the last 617 days – since I started addiction recovery. I guess that’s kind of been helpful for motivating me to continue with the gratitude practice because I do kind of see it as a life or death thing personally – I either do the things that keep me sober or my life takes a serious turn for the worse. However, that’s not the only reason I do it; I’ve genuinely come to love what practising gratitude in specific (such a small thing) does in my everyday life. And looking back on my mental health journey I’ve realised it became an instinct for me to practise gratitude very early on – though I didn’t realise that’s what I was doing. And that’s interesting. 

When I started to recover from my first full-blown, 9 months long, very-not-good depressive episode, I started this little practice for myself. Every day I recorded: 3 good things I noticed in the world that day, 2 good things I did that day, and 1 good thing someone else did for me that day. They could be as small as I ate some food, or got out of bed (which are not always small feats at all), or someone said hello back, the colours of the leaves are changing on the trees etc. Sometimes they were much bigger than that of course, but actually the best emotional rewards came out of finding those tiny little things to list every day, especially on the days it felt like there wasn’t anything good in the world. I realise now I had created for myself a sort of gratitude practice. 

This came about because at one of my very lowest points, in a desperate attempt to help myself (I was essentially in a headspace of ‘this has got to work or there is no hope left’) I came up with the idea to write two lists. First I wrote a list of all the good things in the world – with the caveat that I didn’t have to think they were good at the time – because nothing seemed good at the time – I just had to have thought they were good/ fun/ not utterly miserable at some point in time. The second list was all the things I would never get to do if I wasn’t around anymore. And something incredible happened while I was writing those lists. Half way through writing the first list I started to realise I wasn’t just remembering things that used to feel good, I was actually starting to feel a faint sense of happiness about these things in the present. Half way through writing the second list I realised I wasn’t listing things I would never get to do, I was listing things I wanted to do in the future. I could actually, faintly, see a future and feel joy. 

It’s interesting to me looking back for several reasons:

  1. My natural instinct when searching for something to help me was to practise gratitude
  2. Practising gratitude had an immediate effect 
  3. Despite not wanting to do many things, I wanted to continue to practise gratitude 
  4. Practising gratitude consistently actually started to change my perspectives on the world and allowed me to be able to take a step back when things got tough again. It essentially created and trained a little voice in my head that no matter how bad things got was there whispering that it would be ok, that not everything was awful

My instincts for survival and healing are fascinating to me because as someone who slipped through cracks of the mental health system, I find them a practically spiritual thing that came to me in depths of hurt. Of course that might not be the way you look at it, and gratitude has been proven in multiple studies to be a powerful tool, but for me the fact that I automatically reached for gratitude suggests that there must be powerful forces of ‘good’ and love in the universe. 

Fast forward a few years and I found myself in addiction recovery, where practising gratitude daily is a foundation of healing. That’s where I realised that what I had done those years before in creating those lists was practising gratitude. So I started doing it again, listing things I am grateful for every day, and in fact sharing them with others – another very healing exercise. Being grateful doesn’t mean we ignore the hurt and wrongdoing in the world, nor does it mean we have to settle for the way our lives are currently. But it does allow us a stable basis to build from; a calm to return to. And it really increases how wonderful the bright things in life feel!

From a scientific standpoint gratitude has been proven to yield many benefits. Here are just five:

  1. It improves empathy and reduces aggression 
  2. It helps improve sleep 
  3. It boosts self confidence 
  4. It strengthens relationships with family, friends, and romantic partners 
  5. It aids the immune system 

Personally it grounds me, makes me feel connected to the wider world, helps me feel more peaceful and content, and takes me out of my thoughts. 

I encourage everyone to try practising gratitude daily for a few weeks, and see how it affects you. If a few weeks seems like too much, then just start with today. The very simple way to practise gratitude is to simply ask yourself the question: What am I grateful for? Allow any thoughts, images and feelings to arise, and try not to judge them. It might help to take a deep breath and sit somewhere quiet – or it might help to have something to entertain your hands like a fidget toy, depending on how your brain works (it’s stuff that gets said a lot, I know, but it is actually helpful). 

Here are some questions to ask and ways to record your gratitude practice:

  • You could try writing out a list of 10 things you’re grateful for; that’s what I do most often
  • You could do a mind map 
  • Illustrate some things you’re grateful for 
  • Make a moodboard on pinterest or from magazine clippings 
  • Ask, what is a kind thing someone else has done for me today? What are the kindest things people have ever done for me?
  • What brings me joy? What used to bring me joy as a child?
  • What makes me smile? 
  • What are the three most important items to me?
  • Who are influential people in my life?
  • The possibilities are limitless 

I really hope you enjoyed reading this blog and that you give some gratitude practice a go! Best thing is it’s not a new skill, it’s something you’ve likely felt many times throughout your life – all we’re doing is tapping into an emotional tool with intentionality. Let me know your experiences in the comments below!

Sending love and support to you all today xxx

Sources and further reading:

https://greatergood.berkeley.edu/article/item/how_gratitude_changes_you_and_your_brain

https://www.forbes.com/sites/amymorin/2014/11/23/7-scientifically-proven-benefits-of-gratitude-that-will-motivate-you-to-give-thanks-year-round/?sh=118cb73e183c

https://research.com/education/scientific-benefits-of-gratitude