A Few Things I want you to Know about Dissociative Identity Disorder

I am breaking a very long hiatus to share a few thoughts about Dissociative Identity Disorder that I think are important for others to understand.

W H A T   I S   D I S S O C I A T I V E   I D E N T I T Y   D I S O R D E R ?

I have previously written about Dissociative Identity Disorder on my old blog when the diagnosis was quite new to me.  As a short summary, the way I would explain DID in my case is that throughout my childhood I suffered multiple traumatic events.  It is as though parts of me got stuck and split off at the ages when these traumatic events occurred.  They held onto to the trauma so I could find a way to go on living.  Some people who have DID have ‘alters’ – alternative identities with different names, personality traits and histories.  This is not my experience.  On reflection, I have seen that there was potential for this to happen in my case, but I experience my dissociative parts as younger versions of myself who make up who I am today.  Dissociative disorders occur on a spectrum.  Everyone’s individual experiences will be different, but no less valid.

D I D   I S   N O T   A   G A M E

DID is rooted in trauma.  It is not a choice.  Speaking from experience, life with DID can  be complicated, confusing, disorientating, exhausting, conflicting and isolating.  It’s certainly not something that is put on for the fun of it, to make life more interesting, or to make personal gains through.  During hospital admissions, I have been accused by some mental health professionals of ‘playing a game’ or ‘messing around’ when I have dissociated into other parts of myself triggered by flashbacks to traumatic events.  I would love it if DID was just a game that I could stop playing, or switch off whenever I want to.

D I D   I S   N O T   T H E R E   T O   E N T E R T A I N   O T H E R S

I have found it incredibly difficult at times when people have expressed that they are ‘excited’ to meet, and ‘really want to meet’ other parts of me.  I’ve even experienced people seemingly deliberately trying to provoke me to dissociate into another part of me for their own entertainment.  I understand how as a phenomenon, DID could be thought of as a really interesting, alternative and even ‘exciting’ way of being.  It’s an experience that most people don’t have, so I get that others might be curious and want to at least see it for themselves.  However, dissociation happens for a reason.  Something has to trigger it, and most of the time it’s traumatic memories or distressing emotions.  If I dissociate, that might be the worse and most distressing part of my day.  Dissociation is exhausting, confusing and disorientating.  It leaves me feeling very vulnerable.  Especially if it occurs in front of someone else.  I find it quite upsetting and disturbing that someone would be excited at the prospect of me being left feeling like that.  Also, when it feels like people are pushing to see other parts of me, it causes my system to clam up, and makes it less likely that they were come out.  DID is protective.  Many parts of me were born out of traumatic experiences in which others made us do things we didn’t want to, or used and abused us for their own gains.  The slightest hint of that dynamic occurring again, and we’re out of here!  There are many situations in which it is important in terms of safety for me, the adult part, to remain present.  If I don’t dissociate in front of you, I’d try to see it as a positive sign that I am managing the condition well, nothing’s upset me, and I’m feeling safe.

D I D   I S   N O T   A L W A Y S   O B V I O U S

I feel there is this stereotype of DID constituting a dramatic existence whereby someone makes several artistic dress changes across a day and is leading multiple extravagant lives with separate sets of friends and relationships.  DID can make life feel quite colourful at times, but not that colourful!  The truth as I see it, is that most people with DID are just going about their daily business, trying to survive and navigate an existence in a world that can feel very scary and bewildering at times.  Most of my closest family and friends have no idea that I have DID and have never even questioned it.  Why?  Because this is the only way they’ve ever known me, and most people aren’t on the look out for it.  DID is a comparatively unknown mental health condition, and is also most likely under-diagnosed.  I wasn’t diagnosed until the age of 22.  Yet I had lived it my whole life, and had been under mental health services for years.  What some people might see as indicating DID is referred to by others as being ‘quirky’, ‘complicated’, ‘complex’, ‘young at heart’, ‘a liar’ even, or just me being Lorna.  DID sort of becomes your longest and best kept secret.  It’s the bit of you that you feel you have to hide away because it seems so ‘abnormal’ and ‘different’ to other people’s experiences that you find yourself doubting if it’s even true, and you certainly can’t let it show.  It actually felt like a really unusual and unsettling experience when DID started coming out in therapy.  It became more of a shared experience between me and my therapist, and that felt scary, like breaking a habit of a life time.

D I D   I S   N O T   A   W A Y   O F   E S C A P I N G   R E S P O N S I B I L I T Y

This idea has arisen from popular box-sets and true crime series that DID provides a means, or an excuse, to be able to commit horrific crimes under an alternate identity, and then be absolved of all responsibility for them.  The reality is that people with DID are far more likely to become the victims of crime than the perpetrator.  The idea that DID can be used as a guise to ‘get away with stuff’, no matter how minor, does not sit well with me and my system.  It is definitely difficult at times to come to terms with things you have said or done, especially if you have no memory of it, it seems so out of character, and you feel as though you have no control over your life.  However, I always take responsibility for the actions and decisions of other parts.  Even if it puts me in awkward situations.  Even if I have no memory of what happened, feel incredibly embarrassed, or can’t believe what a part of me did.  Because my parts make up me, and therefore I have to accept and take overall responsibility for everything done by me, in whatever shape or form.  And I can only hope that my honesty and accountability is met by kindness, compassion, and the attempt to understand.

D I D   I S   N O T   S O M E T H I N G   T O   B E   G O T T E N   R I D   O F

I am often met by this notion, sometimes even by mental health professionals less familiar with the condition, that DID is something that I need to fight, battle and slay in order to become ‘well’, ‘normal’, or a regular, civilised member of society.  I don’t see DID as a mental illness, or something that’s wrong with me.  I see DID as something that’s right with me.  It’s what helped me to survive and achieve all I have done in my life.  Integration back into a single identity is held by some to represent the ultimate recovery destination for those with DID, but I suspect it isn’t the one most people who live with the condition are seeking, or would want to.  My existence is definitely more integrated than it has been in the past, but it’s not something we find helpful to dwell upon.  We see it more as life feeling more manageable.  Why would I want to ‘fight off’ or ‘get rid of’ my closest, longest-serving friends who have held my hands every step of the way out of the dark shadows of trauma?  I only started to move forwards with my life as a whole when I accepted and embraced having DID.  Acceptance, understanding, and open communication is the way forwards for me and my system.  Rather than seeing DID as something a person needs to get rid of or fight, encourage teamwork and cooperation between parts.

D I D   I S   A   V E R Y   F U N C T I O N A L   C O N D I T I O N

The whole point of DID is to survive and find a way to live and function in spite of traumatic experiences.  DID makes it easier to compartmentalise different aspects of our lives and store skills, interests and information in separate, but easily accessible places.  This element of DID is something I think we can all relate with to some extent.  People often talk about needing to put their ‘work head’ on.  And the way we behave at work is likely to be quite different to the way we behave at home.  Compartmentalising different parts of our lives can make everything feel more manageable and enables us to ‘switch off’ when we need to.  DID is at the extreme end of this spectrum, so arguably, it could make us even more functional.  People often express surprise when I tell them what I’ve achieved in my life while having DID – school, college, university, employment, living independently etc. – all the ‘ordinary’ stuff!  The reality is that people with DID may have high-flying careers, work in services that care for others, they may have families and children, and have every chance of achieving extraordinary things.  And most onlookers would never know that underneath the surface, they were navigating complex internal experiences that no one else can see.  There is even a psychologist, Dr Jacqui Dillon, who is diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

PEOPLE WITH DID CAN LEAD MEANINGFUL AND FULFILLING LIVES WITH SO MUCH INSIGHT TO CONTRIBUTE TO THE LIVES OF OTHERS.

Lorna ♥

Growing up with Parents with Mental Health Problems

How do you know that you’re growing up with parents with mental health problems when them suffering from mental health problems is all you know?

The truth is you don’t.  You think it’s just the way they are, the way everyone’s parents must be.  Without even ever hearing the term ‘mental health’ , or understanding what it means, it somehow becomes your everyday reality, your normality.

M  Y     M  U  M ,     D  E  P  R  E  S  S  I  O  N   &   A  N  X  I  E  T  Y

Unbeknown to me, my mum suffered from depression and post-natal depression after the birth of my brother who is two years younger than me.  The way this looked to me as a child growing up… My mum crying every morning while attempting to make our breakfast, and randomly bursting into tears at any given time throughout the day for no apparent reason.  Being stuck inside for days on end in the heat of the summer holidays, in the dark, with the curtains drawn, my mum sat motionless on the sofa for what seemed like hours, my brother and I playing around her.  If my brother and I started to bicker and fight with each other, she’d put her head in her hands, sob, and cry, “I can’t cope”.  Words I would hear again on countless occasions.  I quickly learnt that I had to try my best to not put pressure on my mum in order to avoid these moments of sobbing and overwhelm.  I couldn’t misbehave, ask her for anything, and looked after my brother so she didn’t have to.

It was a complete role reversal.  It was us who would go running to her to give her cuddles when she cried, reassuring her that everything was going to be okay.  I effectively became my mum’s little counsellor. I remember I’d find her lying on her bed in the middle of the day sharing her woes with me.  I think she thought I was too young to understand or remember what she was saying, but I took it all in, confused, feeling like I was expected to make her feel better somehow, but not having a clue how to.  The reality is that my mum didn’t have anyone else to talk to. She was incredibly isolated, and in a way, we all were. My mum didn’t have any friends, or any family nearby.  My dad saw to that. My mum was the most present, consistent, primary caregiver in my life.  On her better days, it was clear she had the most amazing imagination.  She’d encourage my brother and I to write and draw, on the backs of letters, envelopes and cereal box card as my dad didn’t approve of it.  We’d play make believe games with her.  She could make a simple trip to the local park feel like a magical adventure.  She was the one who would wake us up in the morning, make sure we were clean, washed and dressed as best she could, look after us when we were unwell, take us to and from school, tell us bedtime stories and kiss us goodnight.

My mum wasn’t a ‘bad mum’ by any stretch of the imagination.  She was very unwell and inevitably that had an impact on her ability to look after her children at times.  There was never really any indication to me at the time though that my mum was unwell.  I remember she once found me in the kitchen looking at some pills (probably antidepressants) she had been given thinking they were sweets.  My mum took them off me, explained that they were not sweets, they had her medicine in that was meant for adults and not children, it would make me very sick if I was to eat one and that I was to never touch them again.  Of course, I never did, but then, she never left them on the side again, until one day a couple of years later…  I found them on the kitchen side, but not just one box, quite a few of them, there was a letter next to them and her car keys.  All that felt odd and ‘different’.  Different didn’t feel good. 

It seemed like a normal day at first.  Another day spent in the dark, curtains closed, my mum sat motionless on the sofa staring at a wall, me and my brother playing at her feet.  I tried to involve her in what we were doing, tried to make her laugh, but despite my best efforts, nothing could break her helpless stare.  Engrossed in play with my brother, I didn’t notice my mum get up and leave the room. But, suddenly she appeared at the door holding her car keys. She said, “Mummy’s got to go out somewhere now, Daddy will be back soon, you’ll be alright playing won’t you?”  Somehow, I just knew. At 6 years old I had no understanding of death, but I had a very strong sense that something wasn’t right, my mum was going to walk out that door, fade into darkness and my brother and I would never see her again.  I ran over to her, threw myself down on the floor, clasped onto her feet, cried, begged and pleaded with her not to leave.  I told her that she couldn’t leave us, I couldn’t look after my brother on my own, that I loved her, that I needed her.  I remember the relief when my mum put the car keys back in their usual place by the front door, said she wasn’t going to leave us, and not to tell my dad about this.  It was just one of many things I couldn’t tell my dad about, and I never did, because I had seen what would happen to her if I did.  Only a couple of years later in another one of our ‘counselling sessions’ my mum confirmed to me that she had plans that day to end her life that day and it was me that stopped her.  Even before that I was carrying that burden though.  I was forever living in fear that one day she would leave and I wouldn’t be there to stop her.

And one day, she did leave again, not for the same reason, but it left me with the same feeling.  She found the strength to end her relationship with my dad on Boxing Day when I was 8.  I don’t remember the words she said, it all blurred into a haze of the continual shouting around me, but whatever she said, it cut the atmosphere in the room.  It told me that something big had happened and everything was going to change.  It already had because for the first time it was my dad who was crying, not her!  Not long after, she said she was going out to park with my brother as he was desperate to go out on his new go-kart.  I wanted to go with her, but she wouldn’t let me.  She told me I needed to stay with my dad, to give him lots of cuddles and that it was my job to look after him now.  As usual, these were words I took on board very literally.  I truly believed that it was now my sole purpose in life to look after my dad, yet nothing I tried seemed to stop him crying.  My mum may well have only been headed to the park for a couple of hours that day, but I honestly believed in that moment that she had walked out my life for good.  All of this just further heightened my fear of abandonment.

However, it was after my parents’ separation that I was able to come to an understanding that my mum had been unwell in some way.  Apart from my dad, it was as though she became a different person. The crying with the curtains drawn stopped. She had an opinion.  She had a say over what we were doing.  She never had that before. She still struggled at times, but this noticeable difference in her told me that how she was before wasn’t truly who she was.  Nonetheless, despite my mum being the main most consistent figure in my life, I never felt like she was truly there, or could be relied upon to be there for me.  She may have been there in body, but emotionally she was unavailable to me.  

T  H  E     I  M  P  A  C  T

It may sound harsh but it was as though both my parents were so consumed with their own difficulties most of the time that they were completely oblivious to the fact that I was facing some serious problems of my own.  It never even occurred to me that if I had a problem in my life or was upset in any way, I could turn to my parents.  So much so that when I was repeatedly sexual abused as a child, it didn’t even cross my mind that this was something I should be telling them. I was too young to understand what had happened to me, I only knew how it made me feel.  My mum couldn’t cope when I came running to her with a cut knee, and I had a sense that this was so much bigger than that.  So I didn’t tell. Not ever.

M  Y     D  A  D ,    B  I  P  O  L  A  R    &    A  L  C  O  H  O  L  I  S  M

My dad.  You’ve probably already got a sense that he is a story in his own right!  While my mum could almost be relied upon for being consistently depressed, with my dad, you never knew where you were with him… People who knew him well would describe him as either being really up or down, with nothing much in between.  For weeks or months he would sink into a deep, dark depression, which was mainly characterised by extreme irritability.  As a family we were always walking on egg shells around him.  Something as minor as crinkling a crisp packet could be enough to send him into an almighty rage.  He was pent up, aggressive, mainly emotionally abusive, but physical at times.  The most frightening thing about living with my dad was that you constantly felt as though you were just about to get hit.  He would come right up, scream in your face, grab you by the arm, push you into a corner, raise his fist, and you’d almost be willing him to hit you because that seemed preferable to the constant fear of feeling as though you were about to be hit.  He was lost and unreachable during those periods.  He would become paranoid, his thoughts usually going along the lines that everyone was out to ‘get him’, even believing that the entire family were in on a plot to kill him.

As quick as he sank, all of a sudden, sometimes almost overnight, he could be as high as a kite.  He’d be up at the crack of dawn, blasting an air horn to wake everyone up, and we’d come down stairs to him dancing around to bollywood music!  He’d sing loudly and continually no matter where he was.  He’d go round believing he was a popstar, would tell everyone he was, and would expect special treatment and offers as a result!  He’d leave himself answer machine messages just so he could laugh at them later.  He’d drive round erratically, sounding his horn and would shout at people in the streets for no apparent reason.  Then there was the excessive spending.  For someone who was usually very tight and frugal with money, all of a sudden he’d be booking expensive holidays, buying expensive items for himself (never for anyone else!) with money he didn’t have, as well as bizarrely buying bulk loads of items that we didn’t need.  I will never forget the day when he cleared the shelves of the local supermarket buying every ready meal curry they had just because they were on offer and he was adamant we needed all of them.  We had enough curries to feed the whole village and absolutely no space for them. We took them back to the supermarket, the shop workers expressing concerns about the manic and impulsive manner in which he bought them.  When we later told my dad about it, he’d deny the whole thing, or blame us for not stopping him.  That happened a lot.  On the whole, this manic, larger than life character was preferable to the alternative dark, depressed, irritable and aggressive dad, but it really was one extreme to the other and you couldn’t keep up with him.  It could also be quite embarrassing.  He turned up to pick me and brother up from school wearing a blue wig and a hawaiian shirt once!  All our friends would tell us that we were so lucky to have such a fun and cool dad.  They never saw the flip side though.  No one did.

Then there was the hallucinations, but of course I didn’t know that’s what they were at the time.  He’d tell us that he’d been having a conversation with God in the toilet.  He claimed to have seen seven donkeys walking down our street in the middle of the night and saw it as a sign of the Second Coming.  He told us stories of him having a coffee with God and Jesus in our living room, and of talking to some angels in the local pub, though it was clear they weren’t just stories to him.  As a child, I loved hearing these stories, but had no understanding at all that they weren’t true.  I’d proudly tell my friends that my dad had met God and Jesus, and of course be laughed at and ridiculed.

It’s probably clear to a lot of people reading this that my dad had bipolar type 1, but that only became clearer to me as I got older.  I remember in my teenage years following a storyline on Grange Hill of Annie and Barry Wainwright and their dad who had bipolar.  That was a turning point for me in terms of understanding that my dad’s behaviour was probably the result of a mental health problem as opposed to being simply the way he was.  As other family members read up on bipolar, they all came to similar conclusions to me.  Following a very traumatic incident at home involving my dad when I was 14, my stepmum took my dad to the doctors.  She saw my dad’s vulnerable state at the time as an opportunity to express her concerns regarding my dad’s mental health, specifically that he didn’t ever seem to be consistently depressed, but rather went through periods of extreme highs and lows, and that she felt he was displaying many of the symptoms of bipolar disorder, giving examples.  The doctor seemed to support her view, but said he would have to be referred to a psychiatrist for diagnosis. A referral was made to the CMHT, but weeks later when the letter arrived in the post inviting my dad to an assessment, it was met by pure outrage!  My dad didn’t attend, claiming that there was nothing wrong with him, it was all part of the plot we were in on to convince him he was ‘mad’ and cause him to kill himself.  According to him, we were the problem, not him.

Alongside all this was my dad’s alcoholism.  My dad was an alcoholic my whole life. Some of my earliest memories were of him being sick and passed out on the floor.  He drank when he was high.  He drank when he was low.  It was probably the only real constant in his life, and it was also all I ever knew.  As with most of the other difficulties my dad faced in his life, he was in a state of almost continual denial, and everyone else was to blame besides him.  I lost count of the amount of times I heard the spiel that he didn’t have a problem because he wasn’t as bad as so and so down the road, and the worst ever – that we were the reason he drank.  There were what felt like breakthrough moments with him, in which he’d admit he had a problem and would seek help.  We’d cross our fingers and pray that this was the end of our life of misery with him.  However, it was always short-lived.  He’d gather us all round in the morning to hear a speech about how he was never going to drink again, he’d go to an AA meeting, and yet we’d find him in the pub by lunchtime.  Mental health difficulties and addiction often intertwine, and I always saw that as being very much the case for my dad, even if he didn’t!

M E N T A L   H E A L T H   D I F F I C U L T I E S   D O   N O T   E X C U S E   A B U S E

It’s hard though, as I said at the beginning, to distinguish what was the result of alcoholism, the result of mental health problems and what was my dad, when all I ever knew was the three merged together.  Taking into account that my dad’s mental health problems and struggles with addiction did impact his behaviour significantly helps me to understand it and make sense of some of the traumatic things that happened during my childhood, but it’s important to know that it doesn’t excuse it.  I’ve since come across many others with mental health problems of a similar nature to my dad’s and they have never and would never behave in the abusive way he did towards others, particularly those closest to him.  Also, I honestly believe that most kind-hearted people, even if they didn’t fully believe at that point that they were suffering from mental health problems, would still seek support at the request of their friends and family, especially if they were told that the difficulties they were experiencing were negatively impacting on their relationships with those closest to them.  The way I look back on it now is that my dad was not to blame for the fact that he was suffering from significant mental health problems which inevitably had an impact on my childhood, but he was to blame for not seeking or accepting help.

H O W   M Y   P A R E N T S   R E A C T E D   T O   M Y   O W N   S T R U G G L E S   W I T H

M  E  N  T  A  L     H  E  A  L  T  H

I would like be able to say that my parents’ experiences of mental health difficulties made them more aware and sensitive to the potential signs of poor mental health in their children.  However, it seemed to have the complete opposite effect!  They almost became blind to potential signs that me and my brother were struggling.  There was a sense that they needed to keep telling themselves that we were fine, that their own difficulties had not affected us in any way.  There was also a sense that we had to give them the impression that we were absolutely fine because they clearly had so many difficulties themselves that they were struggling to cope with, we couldn’t add to them, so just had to be ‘okay’. 

Both my parents never noticed that I had developed an eating disorder from the age of 7 and became severely underweight until it was pointed out to them by someone outside the family when I was a teenager.  And despite me being diagnosed with anorexia under CAMHS and following a treatment plan for it, my mum has never accepted that I’ve ever had an eating disorder.  There was also no sense of them having to pull together and be strong for me when it became clear that I was suffering from mental health difficulties as a teenager.  I remember the day my dad came to my CAMHS appointment for the first (and only) time, he went straight home and drank himself into oblivion.  From that point on when anyone picked him up on his drinking, he would try to justify it by openly blaming me, asking what people expected when his daughter was ‘killing herself’ and ‘bringing shame upon the family’.  My mum would never blame me for the mental health difficulties I’ve experienced in my own life, but has always had a tendency to want to brush things under the carpet.  In recent years, it has come as a complete shock to her when I’ve had to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital, despite the fact that there were very clear signs that this was on the horizon.  

I grew up with the impression from my parents that it wasn’t okay for me not to be okay. Now I see that this was more a case of my parents trying to escape from the guilt and responsibility they felt for the difficulties I’ve faced in my own life. As far as I’m concerned, that guilt is completely misplaced. Despite everything, I have never blamed my parents for my own mental health difficulties.

T  H  E    I  M  P  A  C  T   :   O  V  E  R    R  E  S  P  O  N  S  I  B  I  L  I  T  Y

One of the main things that rubbed off on me as a result of growing up with parents with mental health difficulties was a sense of over-responsibility.  I was effectively a parentified child.  For most of my life, I felt more like a mother to my brother than a sister.  That sense of over responsibility extended outside the family.  Putting others first wasn’t a conscious effort for me, it was all I knew.  It has been something I’ve had to work on a lot since.  As children often do, I would always blame myself for any issues experienced by family members, because blaming myself gave me an illusion of power and control over the situation.  If I blamed myself, it made me feel as though I could do something about it.  Particularly in relation to my dad, I grew up thinking that if I could be the ‘perfect’ daughter, then all his problems would miraculously disappear.  This belief provided never ending fuel to my already obsessive perfectionistic nature, because all the while my dad’s issues persisted, it told me that I must try harder!

T  H  E     I  M  P  A  C  T   :   S E L F – N E G L E C T  &  A  H A R D   D E C I S I O N

As I hit adulthood, it soon dawned on me that I had spent so much of my life absorbed in trying to help others that I had completely neglected myself and my own mental health.  I had been running away and hiding from some traumatic events I had experienced throughout my childhood and the unresolved issues these experiences had left me with.  I couldn’t run anymore.  At the cusp of adulthood everything I had suppressed flooded out and hit me in the face.  I had no choice but to face it, and I knew that in order to do that I needed to re-address the balance in my life. 

I made the difficult decision to cut my dad out my life in order to focus on myself.  It was a decision that felt laden with risk, because every time I attempted to distance myself from my dad, he threatened to end his life, and had taken an overdose on occasion.  I had to get myself to a place where if that was to be the consequence of my decision, I would have to find a way to live with it.  Needless to say, that didn’t happen.  Cutting contact with my dad was one of the most difficult decisions I’ve ever made in my life, but eventually it came to be a turning point for me.  I came to the conclusion that I had spent so much of my life living to save my dad that I had completely lost myself in the process, and you can’t help someone who does not want to be helped, and won’t help themselves.  Interestingly, it was only when living abroad, separated and cut off from all former friends and family that my dad made some positive strides forwards in his own life, with his drinking at least!

T  H  E    I  M  P  A  C  T   :   A   S E N S E  O F  F A I L U R E  F O L L O W E D  B Y

A  R E N E W E D  S E N S E  O F  P U R P O S E  &  M E A N I N G

At first, when it became apparent during adulthood that I too was suffering from a multitude of mental health problems – now diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder, Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Severe Depressive Episodes and a history of Anorexia Nervosa, I was filled with a sense of failure.  If there was one promise I made to myself growing up, it was that I was not to become a product of my situation.  I was not going to turn out like my dad and make the same mistakes that both of my parents made.  I was determined not to allow my family circumstances to dictate my life’s chances.  Overwhelmed and consumed by the severity of mental illness, I believed that promise to myself to be broken, shattered alongside the series of traumatic events that had marred my entire existence.  With time I’ve come to see though that it’s not life’s difficulties that define you as a person, it’s how you choose to face them and seek to overcome them.  Unlike my parents, facing up to my mental health difficulties, seeking support and working through the traumatic experiences that have shaped my life has made me acutely aware of the mental health problems that people face.  With that awareness comes empowerment.  My own journey has led me to embark on a new peer support career path in which I endeavour to use my lived experience of mental health to help others.

M E S S A G E   T O   O T H E R S   G R O W I N G   U P   W I T H   A   P A R E N T   O R

P A R E N T S   W I T H   M E N T A L   H E A L T H   P R O B L E M S

My advice to anyone out there who is growing up with a parent who is experiencing mental health difficulties… Please know that it is not your fault.  Be there for them. Listen and be understanding, but know that it is not your responsibility to look after them. Know that you matter, first and foremost.  Know that anything in your life that feels like an issue to you is significant.

And know above all else that it’s okay not to be okay.

Lorna ♡

 

PS: Remember…

Life Post-Hospital: Surviving to Thriving

Discharge.  One of my least favourite words ever!  I have a very persistent fear of abandonment, and struggle with ‘leaving’ and change as a result.  That one word seems to encapsulate those three fears, and worse, hence my hatred of it.  Nonetheless, it is an eventuality that all will inevitably face at some point.  After all, no one can stay in hospital forever, even if, at times, it might feel like you’re destined to for eternity!  Someone recently told me that quite unlike image of being thrown out into the cold that it evokes, the actually meaning of the word ‘discharge’ denotes more a transfer of your care, rather than a complete cessation.  I much prefer the idea of a ‘transfer’ and it does ring true… Regardless of the nature of the admission, be it physical or mental health related, a hospital will never just turf you out.  They have to discharge, or rather transfer, you to somewhere, whether that’s to the care of your GP, community services, or even just the care of your family or a friend.

Discharge is still a huge adjustment though.  For me, it was a frustratingly confusing experience.  I was absolutely desperate to get out, but at the same time parts of me were extremely unsettled by the prospect of leaving, change and just the upheaval in general.  I know it doesn’t make much sense that I was struggling with leaving a place that I was desperate to leave, but within my system, it is more a case of there being triggers and anxieties associated with the act of leaving, even if we do actually want to leave!  Something I’ve noticed is that there is so much shared online about the experience of being an inpatient for mental health difficulties, but little about what comes next.  Reintegrating back into ‘normal life’ and all that comes with it.  Returning to the same environment, issues and relationships where things may have gone downhill before. Working out who you are, where you are in life and where you’re headed after the experiences you’ve had.  I’d say life after hospital is equally as challenging as life in hospital, it’s just not the bit you hear about.

I therefore want to share some tips and advice about managing and coping with discharge, based upon what I learnt from my most recent experience, in the hope that it might help someone else who is going through the same thing, and to give others more of an idea of what it is like to readjust to life outside of hospital…

P L A N  &  P R E P A R E

By this I mean plan and prepare as much as possible before being discharged.  At the very least have a plan for what you are going to do when you get home and the following day.  In an ideal world, the staff supporting you in hospital will help in the process of planning and preparing for your discharge.  You’ll probably have a build up of home leave so that it will feel more like a natural transition rather than a shock to the system to be back home full time.  When I was in hospital there was a What Comes Next Group, the focus of which was all about discharge and managing your mental health while living in the community.  One of the things they provided at the group was a weekly planning sheet that you could use to plan how you wanted to spend your time following discharge.  It was really helpful – I just didn’t expect to have to use it so soon!  The reality can be, as I found out, that discharge can come round far quicker than expected.  In my case, there was a sudden haste to get me off the ward as soon as possible as it was deemed an unsuitable environment for me.  In circumstances like this, there can be very little time to plan and prepare.  Nonetheless, there will always be somethings you can do to prepare, even if it is very last minute.  It is the small things that people often overlook that can make the transition home far less stressful, like making sure that you have food in the fridge ready for your return and that you are returning to a clean and tidy environment.  You might have to rope your friends and family into helping out with this, but it is definitely worth it, and people are often keen to do anything they can to help.

I T ‘ S   O K A Y   I F   Y O U   F E E L   O V E R W H E L M E D

With all the best planning in the world, being discharged from hospital can still be a very overwhelming experience.  Despite only having a fairly short stay in hospital on both occasions, I still found the experience of coming home extremely overwhelming.  Hospital is a very particular environment with the same faces, walls, sights, smells and rules.  It can feel like a bit of a sensory overload to be back out in the real world and all that comes with it.  Leave from hospital in the run up to discharge can help to adjust to life outside, but there are some things that can take a bit more getting used to. There are so many rules and restrictions that govern life in hospital.  I found it quite overwhelming to be back home surrounded by items that were taken off me in hospital.  I had no intention of doing anything harmful or destructive with these items.  It just felt weird to have those items around me again.  There’s also the absence of feeling constantly observed, which can be quite a relief, but also another thing to adjust to again.  With this, there can also be the absence of the support you had in hospital.  On a ward, there is usually always someone readily available to talk to if you are struggling, any time of the day or night.  Even with a very good support network, this is not the case for most people at home.  My advice would be to make the most of the people you do have around you.  You might not be able to have the same kind of conversations you could have with the staff in hospital, but you can still tell the people who care about you how you are feeling.  It is okay to feel really overwhelmed.  In fact, it’s perfectly understandable.  Going through a mental health crisis and a hospital admission is a huge ordeal.  I know with me, it’s only when I am out of a place that I begin to fully process the experience, and that’s when all the emotions come flooding out. So be kind to yourself and take things slowly.  It’s okay to feel overwhelmed, but you don’t have to feel overwhelmed alone.

E D U C A T E   P E O P L E !  O U T   OF   H O S P I T A L   D O E S   N O T  =  B E T T E R

This was a major source of frustration for me.  For some reason, a lot of very well-meaning family and friends seems to think that being discharged from hospital equates to being ‘better’.  They seem to expect you to spring back into life as it was before and be ‘back to normal’.  Some people also think that as soon as you’re out of hospital they can start hitting you with major plans and decisions.  The reality is that just because you are out of hospital, it doesn’t mean you are no longer unwell.  Hospital is there to keep you safe and set you on the right path to continue your recovery in the community.  The hard work really does begin at home.  There have actually been studies that have shown that actually the most vulnerable time for people in terms of their mental health is the first few days following discharge from hospital!  During this time, the last thing you need is people telling you that you’re better and wanting you to bounce back into life outside of hospital with them!  So educate them.  Explain to them that out of hospital does not equal better.  Tell them how you’re feeling, that you need to take things slowly.  Tell them what you need from them.  I found that a lot of friends and family didn’t want to mention my stay in hospital or hear anything about it.  Nonetheless, I felt it was important to tell them about what it is was like, even if they didn’t want to hear it.  In my experience, people tend to judge and fear what they don’t understand.  There can be so much stigma around hospital admissions for mental health that needn’t be there.  Mental health doesn’t discriminate.  I don’t think anyone sets out in life expecting to end up on an acute psychiatric ward.  I certainly didn’t, yet it happened, twice.  It really can happen to anyone.  That’s why I feel it is important to talk about the experience of hospital admission as it may give others a better idea and understanding of what to expect should they face the same situation at some point.

T A K E   T H E   T I M E   O U T   Y O U   N E E D   T O   F O C U S   O N   Y O U

We’ve already established that being out of hospital definitely doesn’t mean better, it’s just the start of another part of your recovery journey.  So don’t expect too much of yourself.  Put off life stresses and decisions as far as possible and take the time you need to focus on you and doing things that are good for you.  The period following hospital admission is a very vulnerable time.  It is not the time to be making big decisions, so hold off until you are ready.  I find that if you explain to people that you have had a hospital admission, are still unwell, and are adjusting to life at home, they are usually understanding and are happy to hold off any big decisions for an agreed period.  Inevitably, there are some life stresses that you can’t avoid or put off forever, like bills, rent contracts, prescription requests etc.  If that’s the case, then try to spread these necessary, but boring, tasks out and balance them with more enjoyable activities.

K E E P   U P   A   R O U T I N E

You don’t have to be in hospital for long to become accustomed to the routine.  All of a sudden you are thrust back into life where nobody is there telling you to get up, to take your medication, that it’s meal time etc.  When overwhelmed and with a lot of unstructured time on your hands, the temptation can be to hide away and bury your head in the sand.  However, I find that a sense of comfort and continuity can be found in keeping up a routine.  It may be helpful at first to keep up some of the routine you had in hospital – such as waking up at a particular time, taking your medication at a set time/s, keeping to meal times and also keeping up some of the daily activities that benefited you while in hospital.  As time goes on, it may help though to make the most of the fact that you now have the freedom to stray from the routine, should you wish to!  Enjoy a lie in if you need it.  Enjoy eating what you want when you want, with no one there to tell you otherwise!

S E L F   C A R E

This is such an important one!  Taking some time to focus on yourself means really homing in on self care.  The words ‘self care’ can often trigger idyllic notions of relaxation, meditation, face masks, incense and soaking in candle lit bubble baths.  The reality is that self care can actually be really hard work.  Just making sure you cover the basics can be a real struggle when suffering from a mental illness.  Sometimes self care is simply making sure you’re up and dressed, clean and showered at a regular time.  These basic tasks are real achievements that should be recognised and celebrated.  It can help to plan in these daily self care tasks into your routine as they can often fall by the wayside when you’re in the thick of it, or life starts to get in the way.  Self care can also be enjoyable.  Basically, it’s just anything that is good for you and benefits your wellbeing.  It could include doing creative stuff, having your hair or nails done, going out for a walk, having a chat with a friend, spending time with a pet – anything at all so long as it impacts you in a positive way.  I included a list of my favourite self care activities alongside my discharge plan, almost like a menu that I could choose from day to day.  I know it’s easy to slip into the mindset of self care being selfish, but it’s actually quite the opposite.  In order to be able to give and care for others, we have to be able to care for ourselves first.  There’s only ever going to be one of you so it’s important to look after yourself the best you can.  Also, self care isn’t necessary always a lone activity.  Quite a lot of the tasks and activities I’ve listed can be done with another person.  In fact that might make them even more enjoyable.  It may be a way to encourage others to also focus on their own self care, so beneficial all round, and definitely not a selfish pursuit at all!

G E T   O U T   T H E   H O U S E   E V E R Y   D A Y

Again, when feeling very overwhelmed, the temptation can always be there to hide away from life and hibernate.  It can depend how long you’ve been in hospital, but in any case, it can take time to adjust to life outside.  Even normal, everyday things such as shops, supermarkets and even just a nearby street can feel strangely alien and overwhelming when you’ve been away from it all for a while.  The longer you hide away, the harder it will hit you when you eventually have no choice but to venture out.  So, from the get-go make it part of your routine to get out the house everyday.  You don’t have to aim big… You can start off small – a walk round the block, even just a sit in the garden (if you have one), a visit to your local shop to buy a treat as a reward, venturing out further at quieter times to begin with, and my all time favourite – a walk out in nature.  Going out alone can be quite daunting at first.  If this is the case, then it can help to arrange to go out with someone else first, then build up from there.  However near or far you venture, make the most of it!  Every little trip out is an achievement and an opportunity to make new memories for yourself.

E N J O Y   Y O U R   F R E E D O M

I’ve touched on this a bit earlier, but my main advice for approaching life post-hospital is to enjoy it!  Enjoy your freedom and make the most of doing all the things you couldn’t do in hospital.  For me, this consisted of…

• Spontaneous evening beach walks – the first one post-hospital felt amazing!
• National Trusting adventures
• Baths with bath bombs (only a shower in hospital)
• Seeing animals at a farm
• Spending time with my bunnies
• Privacy – being able to lock doors!
• Doing art and crafts activities to my heart’s content without having to be supervised
• Having the freedom to go out where I want, when I want, without having to tell people exactly where I’m going, what I’ll be doing, when I’ll be back and having to fill out a form every time!

You probably get the picture!  When I’m feeling well in myself, I’m not a fan of being penned in.  It sounds a bit cheesy, but beyond hospital, there really is a whole world out there waiting to be explored. So be a part of it and make the most of it!

R E A C H   O U T   F O R   S U P P O R T

I’m hoping this is becoming a bit of a theme running throughout.  Life post-hospital can be amazing, exciting, mundane, dull, overwhelming, frustrating, all at once, but it’s not an experience you should feel you have to face alone.  Allowing others to be a part of your journey can help you through the hard times, but can also make the good times even better!  Reaching out for support isn’t a sign of neediness or weakness, it’s a sign of strength and wellness – it shows that you really want to make this work.  I always find that in situations like this friends and family have a habit of saying, “Let me know if there’s anything you need, or if there’s anything we can do to help”.  It can feel a bit perplexing when they only thing you need or want from them is simply for them to be there for you.  In my experience, most (genuine) people really want to help, but have no idea what to say or do, or are desperately worried they’ll say or do the wrong thing.  So be clear – tell them what you need from them even if it’s just something as simple as for you to chat to them when you’re struggling and for them to listen.  They offered to help after all, so take them up on it!  There comes a time in everyone’s lives where people need more support than others.  So be there for each other.

D O C U M E N T   Y O U R   J O U R N E Y

Journal. Write. Draw. Take photos. Scrapbook.  Use whatever means you have to document as much or as little as you want of your life and journey post-hospital.  All these things can be great to look back on.  Seeing all the new memories you’ve made and just how far you’ve come can help you through the darker times…

I T ‘ S   O K A Y   I F   Y O U   S T R U G G L E

Recovery isn’t linear.  It’s been said so many times, but it’s definitely true!  The transition out of hospital back into the community is a really hard one.  Personally, on both occasions, I found the first few months after discharge the most challenging periods in terms of my mental health.  It almost felt like that was when the real battle commenced.  Honestly… The amount of times I’ve struggled with suicidal thoughts and urges post-hospital – lost count.  The amount of times I’ve thought I might be heading back to hospital – lost count.  Life doesn’t run smoothly.  There are always unexpected obstacles getting in the way.  However, by simply continuing to be, even when the going gets tough, and you’re not sure you want to, you overcome them.  As it happens, I am heading back to hospital, but to work there.  I guess that really is proof that you never know where life is going to take you next!  When I have struggled post-hospital, I’ve often been quite reluctant to reach out for support as I’ve worried that I would be letting other people down, that I ‘should’ be able to cope ‘better’ than this by now, that they will expect me to be ‘better’ by now.  What I’ve learnt is that people would feel even more let down to discover that you were struggling and didn’t tell them.  If struggling means that your journey takes you back to hospital, then that’s hard, but so be it.  It’s not a failure.  It’s just another chapter in your story that was always meant to be there.

The life that’s waiting up for you post-hospital may be hard, but there’s no doubt that it will be worthwhile.

Lorna ♥

Hearing Voices isn’t such a bad sign…

I’ve been wanting to write another blog post for what feels like ages but other things got in the way.  It’s a topic that relates to one of my very early posts on my previous blog.  My thoughts are very different to what they were then so I feel like it is time for some long overdue reflections and updates.

The words that always still comes to mind whenever I think of the phenomenon of hearing voices is a quote from Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets…

‘Hearing voices isn’t a good sign Harry, even in the wizarding world.’

I would say the same remains true in the muggle world.  Hearing voices is presented as something that shouldn’t be happening, even by mental health professionals.  It’s seen as the pinnacle severity of mental illness and something that has to be eliminated to ensure wellness again.  In my previous blog post on hearing voices, which was written over 4 years ago, I gave the impression that I was striving towards a voice-free life, but in truth, I was just shutting them out because I felt well in so many other ways, and the line I was being fed by mental health professionals at the time was that hearing voices was something that needed to be stopped in order for me to be considered ‘well’, and it’s in my nature to try to please.

Hearing voices isn’t the extraordinary phenomenon many people imagine it to be.  I think we could all relate to the idea of our thoughts becoming very loud and intrusive – the line between what some perceive to be separating sanity and insanity is much finer than many would like to believe.

The truth for me is that I never knew that hearing voices or seeing things that other people can’t was anything out of the ordinary until someone told me that it was.  It was my normality.  It still is.  People tend to automatically associate auditory and visual hallucinations with psychosis and schizophrenia, but hearing voices is a symptom that spans across a wide range of mental health difficulties, including but not limited to eating disorders, OCD, personality disorders and trauma related conditions.  Not only this, but outside the context of mental illness, I have come across some people speaking of hearing a voice in their head telling them to do something, or not to, almost like an extension of their conscience.  The phenomenon of mistakenly seeing a vision of a loved one who has passed away is also widely reported.  This is something I have experienced myself, as have some of my family members who have never considered themselves as suffering from mental illness.

In my case, some of my earliest childhood memories were of playing with a little girl who looked like me and had the same name as me but that no one else seemed to be able to see.  I have heard conversations between voices in my head for as long as I can remember, and people would frequently accuse me of talking to myself, when, as far as I was concerned, I wasn’t.  This was my reality, my life.  It was all I knew and I could only assume that this was how it was for everyone else was as well.  Nothing could have prepared me for the look of utter horror that fell upon me as a teenager when for the first time I said out loud that I heard voices.  My world shattered around me.  I quickly discovered that while this was my normal, it clearly wasn’t what other people wanted to hear about.

I put my walls back up around me and retreated back into silence, even if my head was anything but silent.  From time to time I experienced that look of concern again.  A look that said – this shouldn’t be happening, we need to stop this.  I learnt to meet that concern with denial.  Until one day someone saw past me giving the answer everyone wanted to hear.  Someone asked me something different, “What are they saying?”.  That someone was my current (amazing) therapist, and I hadn’t even said I was hearing voices, in fact I repeatedly denied it, as I’d learnt to.  Never in all those years had anyone ever asked what the voices were saying or anything about them.  It was as though they didn’t care to know, or maybe they were afraid to.  It took a fair while for me to accept and let someone else into my internal world when I had built my walls so high and denied its existence for so long, but taking that leap of faith changed so much.

I wasn’t crazy, weird, or ‘different’.  There was a name for what I was experiencing – Dissociative Identity Disorder.  These younger parts of me and their voices were what helped me survive, they deserve better than to be banished and dismissed.  I was led to my most important life lesson to date – to work with the voices and not against them.  It was that lesson that changed so much.

Dissociative Identity Disorder is a condition that is not very well known or understood, even among mental health and medical professionals.  I have still experienced that concerned look from a number of professionals who are less familiar with the condition or who were not fully aware of my history when they ask me whether I am hearing voices or seeing things that other people can’t see.  They then appear even more concerned and quite taken aback when they hear my response.

“Yes I do hear voices in my head and I do see younger parts of me visually in front of me at times, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary for me.  It would be more unusual for me if they weren’t there.”

I have ended up with some rather entertaining reports stating something along the lines of: ‘Lorna experiences both auditory and visual hallucinations but she says it doesn’t bother her!’  That isn’t true either!  Dissociative Identity Disorder does bother me.  Sometimes it feels like there’s a whole world going on inside my head that no one else can see.  Sometimes I feel torn and conflicted, pulled in several different directions at once.  Sometimes those other parts of me feel like my own worst enemies, but I wouldn’t change any of it for the world.  Those parts of me are what makes me me.  Losing them would be like losing a close relative, a best friend who has always been there, and I’d lose myself in the process.

I’ve also had the experience of professionals seeing me dissociating and switching between parts in front of them as a sign of me being ‘unwell’.  When really it is just a sign of me responding to a situation in which I feel overwhelmed or that has triggered something from my past.  The reality is that they are just seeing a small proportion of what is going on in my head the majority of the time.  The only difference is that it is out there for them to see.

This brings me to the main point of this blog post…

What if the thing that others see as a sign of you being unwell and are wanting to get rid of is in fact an integral part of your life?

L I S T E N   T O   T H E   V O I C E S

Those voices have come into your life for a reason, even if that reason never becomes clear.  I honestly can’t explain fully just what a difference it made to have someone encouraging me to see the positives of having DID and all that comes with it.  Dissociation is such a clever survival mechanism and it can become a really effective coping mechanism if used in the right way.  I’m sure most people can relate to the idea that if you shut something out, it just comes back ten times stronger.  Hearing voices is the same.  If you ignore them or shut them out, they just shout louder.  So listen.

C O N C E N T R A T E   O N   T H E   W H Y   R A T H E R   T H A N   T H E   W H A T

When I say listen to the voices, I’m definitely not saying that you should do what they say, especially if they are instructing you to do something harmful.  I have experienced parts of me telling me to kill myself, to jump in front of trains, to jump out a window, and to engage in countless other self-destructive behaviours.  Obviously I did not do what they told me, otherwise I wouldn’t be here today, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t listen.  By listening I mean that I try to consider why parts of me are saying what they’re saying.  Are they scared, sad, excited or overwhelmed?  Are they worried about something?  Are they expressing a need?  Can that need be met another way that does not involve harm?  I find that it’s no different to dealing with people – once someone feels listened to and as though their concerns are being heard and addressed, they quieten down.

I am aware of the fact that I am writing this purely from the perspective of suffering from a trauma-related mental health condition that involves hearing voices.  As I stated at the beginning, hearing voices is a symptom that can occur across a wide range of mental health problems.  However, I believe that a lot of the advice I’ve shared may still be applicable to others to some extent.

S E E   T H E   P E R S O N   B E H I N D   T H E   S Y M P T O M S

As far as I know, I have not personally experienced psychosis, but through my journey  with mental health I have come across others who have.  From what limited understanding I have of it from seeing people being treated for psychosis, the focus among professionals seems to be assessing and identifying the symptoms and using medication primarily to treat it, reduce the symptoms, and ultimately get rid of them.  Similarly to my own experiences with DID, I find that with psychosis, a lot of professionals tend to focus on the symptoms rather than the person – the what rather than the why.

C O N S I D E R  T H E   L I F E   S T O R Y   B E H I N D   T H E   V O I C E S

I am not suggesting for one minute that all psychotic episodes are rooted in trauma, but most people I have come across who have experienced psychosis would agree that significant life stresses and events seemed to precede an episode or exacerbated their symptoms further.  I remember watching a documentary about bipolar a good few years ago by a German psychologist who highlighted a very crucial point – there is a tendency amongst mental health professionals to focus on what symptoms people with bipolar are experiencing in the here and now, rather than asking what happened to them?  What was their life story?  What was happening in their life in the lead up to them developing bipolar?

T H E   P U R P O S E   O F   T H E   V O I C E

There was also a brilliant documentary on hearing voices by BBC Horizon a couple of years ago, which I’m so glad I’ve just managed to find again – Why Did I Go Mad? .  The documentary focuses on auditory and visual hallucinations within the context of psychosis, but I remember being stunned at the time by just how much I could relate to the experiences shared by the people who featured in the documentary, which is what makes me think that my reflections on hearing voices may be relevant universally.  ‘Why Did I Go Mad?’ incited a radical rethinking of the traditional approach of psychiatry of treating symptoms that are regarded as indicative of ‘psychosis’ through medication, with the goal of ridding the individual of those symptoms.  Alongside the treatment of medication, psychologists explore the role that the hallucinations people experience play in their life.  For example, it was found that certain voices or visual hallucinations tended to feature when the person was experiencing a situation that involved fear, almost acting as a warning sign, or triggering memories of previous situations in which the person experienced fear.  What may come across as a particularly dark or nasty presence or voice, might actually be serving a protective role. By considering the potential purpose or function of the voices people hear and attending to the thoughts, emotions and memories brought up, it was found that the voices would lessen in intensity and the distress caused.  Listening is the first step to understanding.

S T O P   T H E   S T I G M A  :  E V E R Y   V O I C E   I S  T H E R E   T O   B E   H E A R D

It is clear that there is still so much stigma attached to hearing voices, which needn’t be there.  Voices don’t exist in isolation.  There is a person behind every voice.  There is a purpose.  There is a reason, no matter how unclear.  There is a story behind every voice that needs to be heard.  I have learnt so much from listening to the voices I hear, not just about myself, but about life and building positive relationships with others.  I hope that by sharing these reflections about my own experiences of hearing voices, I am doing my little bit to lift the stigma that surrounds hearing voices.

Every voice deserves to be heard.  So don’t shut them out.  Hearing voices is a part of people’s lives and you can’t shut life out.

Listen.

Lorna ♥

The Elephant in the Room this Holiday Season

I’m writing this right at the end of the holiday season, but this topic featured quite prominently in my experiences over the festive period, and I’m hoping others may be able to relate on some level.

So, the elephant in the room – the subject or issue that often stares people in the face in social situations yet remains unspoken as there is unease and discomfort attached to it.  Its presence overt nonetheless and shared through awkward silences, averted gazes and strained smiles.

The example that always comes to mind that for me best describes the elephant in the room is from a scenario in which I went to a meal with a group of friends.  When one particular friend arrived at the table and sat down, it was instantly noticeable that her arms were covered in bruises.  Silence fell.  Everyone was most probably thinking along similar lines… OMG what happened to her?  Has she been in a fight?  Has her boyfriend been hitting her?  Thankfully, the silence was quickly broken by one of the bolder of my friends who asked openly about the bruises.  It turned out that she had been paintballing the day before! (Rather her than me!)  We all breathed a sigh of relief.

What I’ve discovered though through recent experiences is the subtle irony of the elephant in the room.  Despite being so obvious and noticeable to the beholders, the issue may not be the one most prevalent or significant to the person concerned.  You might recognise some of the signs that something connected to you is the elephant in the room, but it often is not immediately obvious to you what the issue actually is, adding to the awkwardness.

Unknowingly, I brought an elephant into the room, or rather several rooms, over the holiday season.  My elephant in the room was my weight loss.  I sensed its presence in every concerned look exchanged by friends and family.  It was almost as though I could read their thoughts.  Overheard comments and mumbles confirm it.  When those brave enough to express their concerns but vaguely, skirting around the issue, it confirmed it further.  Sometimes you just wish people would come out and say what they’re thinking because then you might be able to set some of their unspoken thoughts straight and their worries at ease.

Please rest assured that I am not going to go into detail and specifics regarding my weight loss.  It is not my intention to trigger anyone, quite the opposite in fact!

It is around this time of year that you often meet up with people you may not have seen in quite a while – something, for the most part, I look forwards to (if I like the people concerned that is!).  In this context in which you are around others who haven’t seen you in a long time, any changes to your physical appearance that may have occurred suddenly become noticed and brought to the forefront, even if to you those changes are no longer new or important to you.

What I find interesting, or annoying even, is that some people seem to think it’s perfectly acceptable to make personal remarks about someone being ‘skinny’.  Even at a healthy weight, I have always been a slim build, and I remember at work once someone said to me, “You’re so skinny!  Go eat some chocolate or something and stop making everyone else feel bad!”  It wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve been subjected to remarks of that nature.  However, if someone was to say, “You’re getting so chubby.  I’d lay off the chocolates if I were you!” – it would be rightly met with outrage!  Yet as far as I’m concerned both remarks are equivalently awful – both have the potential to make others feel just as uncomfortable.

I’m pleased to say that I have not had to endure such comments this holiday season, but in some ways I wish I had, because at least you know where you are and it is out in the open, rather than having to contend with the awkward silences and concerned gazes.  The most frustrating thing about the unspoken elephant in the room is that sometimes you can sense what people are thinking and it is far from what you know to be the truth.

I feel like I am writing about all this in an arguably, equally frustrating vague and elusive manner.  Put more explicitly, what I discovered this holiday season through my elephant in the room is that the only thing worse than suffering from anorexia is when people think you have relapsed back into anorexia when you haven’t.

I don’t write these words lightly.  I can understand why upon seeing a person who has visibly lost a significant amount of weight in a fairly short space of time, the conclusion that the person may be suffering from an eating disorder may be the first one you come to, especially when it’s known that the person has a history of suffering from an eating disorder.

If you’ve read my previous blog, then you will probably know that I have a long history of anorexia nervosa.  I believe I developed anorexia at the age of 7, way before I had even heard of it, let alone knew what it was.  It is an issue that is deeply rooted in trauma for me.  I certainly don’t consider myself fully recovered by any means, but for the past few years or more I have consistently managed to maintain a much more ‘recovered’ lifestyle and regular routine of eating than ever before, and, as far as I can fathom, also managed to maintain a vaguely healthy weight (I found the best way to manage my eating disorder was not to weigh myself).

I have not fallen away from striving towards a more recovered lifestyle, if anything, I have made significant improvements and strides forwards!  I have questioned myself whether anorexia has crept back in and has drawn me into a state of denial, but I know in my heart that something rather different is happening.  The truth of the matter, as I know it, is that I have unintentionally lost what others seem to be describing as ‘a lot’ of weight over the space of a few months, if that.  Given my past ED struggles, I do have quite distorted body image, and it is not always apparent to me if I’ve lost weight.  However, in recent times, even I have thought that maybe I have, which is saying something!  As I’ve said, the weight loss has been completely unintentional, if anything it has occurred when I’ve been trying harder than ever where food is concerned.

I’m finding it hard to be making repeated references to weight in this post, because as difficult as it may be to believe given what I’ve divulged about my history of anorexia, weight isn’t actually very significant to me.  It was never about the weight.  Surprising to others perhaps, but I have come across many others with anorexia who have said the same.

As far as I’m concerned, it still isn’t about weight.  From my perspective, over the past few months I gradually became aware of a problem – a problem which I never envisaged I’d have to face.  For once I was actually aware and concerned about the problem.  I knew in my heart that this was not my own doing or anorexia’s.  My biggest fear was that no one was going to believe me in light of my history.

Much to my relief though, where it really mattered, I was believed.  For the first time in my life, I had a very open and honest conversation with my (amazing) GP about what I was eating on a daily basis, and how this was actually an improvement on past efforts.  Thankfully, my GP agreed that there was no way that my intake could account for the weight loss – there must be something else going on.  As yet I don’t have any answers – it is one of many things relating to my physical health that is currently being investigated.  Perhaps that’s what adds to the difficulty – I can’t tell people definitively what the problem is as I don’t even know myself.

As I mentioned in my previous post, during the year just gone, I found out that I have PoTS – Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome.  Thanks in large part to my GP who spotted the signs and symptoms of the condition!  PoTS can cause digestive issues, which unfortunately is seemingly the case for me.  It is thought that my recent unintentional weight loss is most probably down to a digestive issue of some description linked to PoTS.  This does seem to fit as it would coincide with the period in which my PoTS symptoms became more severe and consequently more noticeable.

This change of affairs in my life has made me much more thoughtful and aware of other causes of weight loss besides eating disorders.  A few months ago when PoTS became a nameable ‘thing’ in my life, I came across the Youtuber/blogger Chronically Amy, who also suffers from PoTS as well as several other chronic illnesses!  I was shocked to discover that she had experienced verbal abuse from complete strangers when she wore a nasal gastric tube in public.  The hurtful comments she received from members of the public were made from the assumption that she had an eating disorder and that her suffering was self-inflicted – an unjustified and hurtful judgement to make in any case.  The truth of the matter was that she wasn’t suffering from an eating disorder.  She had gastroparesis – a condition in which the stomach and digestive system becomes effectively paralysed and so doesn’t work properly.

Relating back to my experiences during the holiday season, the only way I can attempt to explain it is that it is incredibly frustrating when others falsely perceive you to have fallen back into an illness you have worked so hard to rise out of, and when your truth is that you have been fighting harder than ever despite lack of appetite, persistent nausea and intestinal discomfort.

I’m struggling to ascertain the point I am trying to make.  Would I prefer if people openly and publicly declared their concerns that I may have relapsed back into anorexia?  Definitely not.  On the flip side, would I prefer if people weren’t concerned at all?  Of course not – concern shows they care.  Am I saying that people shouldn’t suspect an eating disorder when faced with someone who is visibly underweight?  I don’t think so.  It’s a logical conclusion that I have made myself, and it is usually made from a place of care and concern.

I think what I want to achieve through sharing all this is to raise awareness about how an issue can be so much more complex than how it may appear on face value.  The first conclusion you come to may not always be the right one.  Perhaps this is my way of bringing my elephant in the room out into the open and maybe, in turn, it will bring it out for others as well.

So that was my elephant in the room this holiday season.  I’d be interested to hear of any you may have encountered, especially if sharing could help.

Lorna ♥

My christmas card design for this year

Endings and New Beginnings – Welcome to The Life of Lorna

I deliberated a fair bit when deciding on the content of my first blog post.  Originally I was going to go along the lines of reflecting on what has been a very eventful year in The Life of Lorna, but I decided that I’ve spent far too much ruminating over that on other platforms.  Besides, launching this blog was supposed to be fresh start – a new beginning.  What better time to write my first blog post with the new year looming?

 

My artwork above probably best encapsulates the journey I’ve been on this year in a way that words can’t fully.  Some of you may have been directed here from my previous anonymous blog – The One Day Seeker – where you can get a bit more of a sense of my background and where I’ve been.  But, for now, let me say that I’m writing this blog from a place in which I’m rising out of a mental health crisis and attempting to rebuild my life again in the face of an onset of chronic illness – PoTS.

With my anonymity now lifted, I instead decided to begin this new venture sharing a bit about me and my hopes for this blog…

1. My name is Lorna.  Or at least that’s what most people know me as these days – I like my full name, it’s just a bit long-winded.
2. I’m 27 years old.  Most people think I look a lot younger.  My parentals’ next door neighbours thought I was only 14, despite the fact that they have previously seen me driving… They’re in their 80s. I suppose everyone must look child-like compared to them!  I don’t act my age the majority of the time.
3. I refer to my mum and stepdad as ‘parentals’ as obviously one of them is not my parent biologically.  I thought it had quite a nice ring to it?  I coined the term from the PG – Parental Guidance certificate on films – the concept sort of fits…
4. I did embarrassingly well academically – 11 A*s and 2 A’s at GCSE, 4 A’s at A level and 2 A’s at AS level.  I also have a BA in Theology and Religious Studies and an MA in Religion, Politics and Conflict Resolution.  More importantly, I developed a love for learning that seems to be ceaseless.  I have never taken my education for granted.  I was the first person in my family to go to university.  What most people don’t know though is that I was actually the first female in my family to simply finish secondary school – a number of my extended family are not able to read or write.
5. I have fur-babies!  I have two very beautiful, loving and fluffy mini lop bunnies who I named Hope and Saoirse (Irish for ‘freedom’).  I named them after the values I aspire to have in my life.  They will be 5 years old this coming spring.  They are very special to me as they have seen me through two hospital admissions for my mental health.  They are my world.
6. I am diagnosed with DID, CPTSD, a history of Anorexia Nervosa, and have suffered repeated severe depressive episodes.  However, these are just the names given to describe the difficulties I have faced and continue to navigate in my life.  My mental health difficulties and past experiences have shaped me, but I will never let them define me or my future.
7. I don’t always appear to function as a single person.  I have Dissociative Identity Disorder.  I am made up of a system of seven different parts of me, formed out of traumatic experiences I endured throughout my childhood.  The part writing this blog is the main host adult part of me, who most people know as Lorna.  I will have input from other parts of course though.  I am proud to be diagnosed with DID and am incredibly grateful to every part of me as they helped me to survive and have made me the person I am today.  That’s not to say that life with DID doesn’t have it’s difficulties and challenges.  It certainly makes life interesting!
8. I’m a black belt in karate!  (This comes as a surprise to most people!).  I practised karate for 13 years.  I competed nationally and internationally at the top level.  Alongside my brother, I coached a national squad of amazing, very talented young people to achieve success on karate competition circuits.  For various reasons, I am no longer as involved in the sport, but it was incredible experience to have, filled with so memories I will take with me.
9. I have many obsessions.  My most unusual one is probably flooding!  I can’t explain why, but I just love seeing a flooded landscape – I think it’s the destructive element of it and witnessing the power of natural forces.
10. I have an extra long bone on my right wrist that sticks out when I pull my hand back.  I call it my ‘ganglion’.  It’s a great party trick and used the intrigue some of the children I worked with as a Learning Support Assistant.
11. I love clothes way too much!  Once I banned myself from buying any new clothes for an entire year as my wardrobe situation was in overflow!  I succeeded, as I often do when I set my mind to something.  I’m definitely not an expensive shopper though – I haven’t got the means to be!  Most of the time I’m dressed head to toe in Primarni, though allegedly I have a bit of a knack for finding pieces that no one else can.
12. I will always be just that little bit quirky, but I embrace it!  It would be an awfully boring old world if we were all the same.

          

M Y    H O P E S   F O R   T H I S   B L O G . . .

Something I have learnt this year is that I have always felt happiest and most fulfilled in my life when drawing upon my own experiences to help others.  Just through writing this blog post, I have been put back in touch with a sense of purpose that has been sadly lacking in my life of late.  My main intention for this blog is to continue to share advice and/or reflections relating to topics around mental health, based upon my own experiences and happenings in The Life of Lorna, in the hope that it may help others who may be facing similar difficulties and also raise awareness.  I am brimming with ideas for blog posts, which will hopefully come to fruition throughout this coming year.

Whatever may have brought you to this blog, I hope that you will find my content interesting and helpful in some way.  Thank you for taking the time to read my first blog post, which I optimistically anticipate to be the first of many.

And thank you for joining me on my journey.

Lorna ♥