Heart REset on living + SEVEN WEEKS

I think it feels as though more time has passed since that wondrous day following that fateful post. Certainly a LOT has happened.

I have always prided myself on capitalising on both hope and opportunity and I hope that this is evident.

I posted an update 14 days after my friend’s visit and I went on to post, on the 26th June, about the BIG PLAN that I was formulating and putting into action. I called it Operation Thrive. Here it is as it stood then, at that point all Priority 1 tasks were already complete or underway:

As at today, all Priority 2 tasks are now either complete or underway … yay! I have also taken a couple of tentative steps towards actioning some Priority 3 tasks.

I have had no further support since my friend’s unexpected intervention on the 10th June, except for the monthly visit of the woman I pay to help with cleaning tasks. I had three relatively good weeks then had three very challenging weeks due to a number of stressful events and by the end of the week before last was again struggling with suicidal feelings partly because I was overloaded and lacking support, but also because of the apparent impact of perimenopausal issues on my mood (I’ll cover this in a separate post). However, I managed to hold on and pulled through. Last week was altogether better and had a moment of real high! I’ll cover that in a separate post.

Priority 1:

  • I am writing most days – if not here, then in my journal. I haven’t done any work on my novel project recently but still without support my capacity is much reduced and there’s only so much that I can do. I am doing as much as I possibly can.
  • I have felt much less lonely overall, although I am aware that I am still largely isolated. In the seven weeks since my friend’s intervention, I’ve had one other visit from a friend and maybe five phone chats. I have taken the initiative and I am connecting much more with friends (almost all of whom live at a distance) via social networks. I post daily updates. I reach out when I need support and usually receive comments with virtual (((hugs))). Sometimes someone will chat via a messaging app. I am keeping in touch and not allowing myself to withdraw. One friend hopes to visit in September/October which would be lovely. Today has been difficult. I reached out specifically asking for contact yesterday and today, but there hasn’t been anyone around for anything more than a virtual (((hug))) or wave. When loneliness creeps in it does make things harder, but I keep busy and distracted as much as my ‘spoonieness’ will allow. At the worst moments I hunker down for a while. My calendar is as full as I can sensibly make it for the coming month. Perhaps by the end of the month or the start of the next, we can hope, social care support will finally be in place to pick up the slack, allowing me more freedom to get and out and build more of a life, and giving me regular twice weekly contact at home.
  • Rarely are two days the same so daily routines do vary but are generally good now. I’ve only failed to shower on a handful of very difficult days. I am mostly on top of chores – but need help to catch up with the mountain of laundry and some cleaning tasks. Luckily, I am very tidy and organised and that helps a lot.
  • Self care has improved steadily in the last seven weeks and exponentially so in the last week following a couple of significant appointments (more in a separate post)
  • My ability to get out and about has also approved steadily and continues to do so. I am  happy with my progress.
  • The routine inspection by my landlord’s agent was successfully carried out some weeks ago. My landlord himself, who lives overseas, will make an annual visit at the end of next month. If support isn’t in place in time, I will no doubt stress and overstretch myself ensuring that the flat is in entirely immaculate order.
  • I’ve been to the GP a couple of times and had the necessary tests. There are ongoing issues, I’ll cover that in a separate post at some point.
  • I am still without support for my eating disorder. However, I have made progress by myself. Progress has been steadyish and, more recently, certainly significant. I hope to join a local branch of OverEaters Anonymous but at the moment I don’t have the ‘spoons’ to attend its evening meetings. Evening outings are only possible if I rest for most of that day and each Tuesday I’ve had other commitments. I’ve recently discovered that Beat, the eating disorder charity, runs an weekly support group online. I’ve registered and I’m waiting for my registration to be processed. I will write a separate post about my weight and eating issues; they warrant it.
  • Psychotherapy/Trauma Therapy – there is a lot to say about that! Suffice to say for now that some significant progress has been made both in terms of provision and with my interim therapist.

I have resumed physiotherapy treatment – again a separate post is warranted. My treadmill routine got derailed by a lack of ‘spoons’ and being so busy elsewhere with appointments but I am determined to restart it on Monday.

I saw my dentist last week, had a fabulous appointment, I will blog about it soon and its relation to my recovery from abuse. I have a further appointment next month.

I’m due to have my eyes tested and get much-needed new specs next week.

I should be making a renewed application for Personal Independence Payments (P.I.P) in the next two weeks.

I have tried to return to a weekly support group for women who’ve experienced mental illness/trauma in the last couple of weeks but was thwarted by my ‘spoon’ count. Third time lucky this week, I hope.

Still without support, it is very difficult to keep all the necessary balls in the air. Some things are working well, while others are not. Some things work well for a time then fall by the wayside because something else has to take priority. The advent of support should see the emergence of some consistency and sustainability … both of which currently feel akin to the fabled gold at the end of the rainbow!

Thank you for reading. I’m sorry that this turned out to be more than a bite-sized post. Either I am just a waffler or there really is masses going on! I actually feel like I’ve written a lot but failed to convey all that is going on. Perhaps because I am tired.

Comments as ever are very welcome and appreciated. Do let me know that you are reading and that I’m not just talking to myself 😀 .

Heart x

 

Money, Money, Money

I’m not someone who is driven by money, money, money. I’ve no desire to amass great piles of it, and I struggle with the idea of people having vast fortunes way beyond any person’s need.

It is very nice to have enough money, by that I mean enough to live comfortably, to pay one’s way in life and to be able to live a fulfilling life.

I haven’t been able to undertake paid employment for quite some time due to ill health and the process of ‘trauma recovery’. The latter can in itself be a full time occupation. I was in paid employment as a broadcast journalist when I met the man who became my husband and I was able to contribute to our union, but he went on to support me financially for some years due to my ill health.

I’ve been in receipt of welfare support or benefits for a little over a year and a half now. Obtaining them is a stressful, arduous and sometimes dehumanising experience. Some months after my marriage broke down, I found myself unable to afford to heat my home or buy food. A couple of friends helped out but I had to rely on food parcels for three months, from one of the UK’s growing number of food banks.

I receive Employment and Support Allowance (£250 per fortnight), Housing Benefit (£500pcm) and a discount on my council tax bill meaning that I pay around £30 per month instead of more than £100. My rent costs £670pcm. I live in a one bedroom flat. It’s not ‘flash’ but it’s certainly comfortable. It could be cheaper if I were to move, but this is the first truly safe home I’ve known. It’s my haven. I don’t have the money for moving costs and waiting lists are long for local authority-owned property.

I am extremely mindful of my privilege because I’ve been able to obtain some financial support from the Journalist’s Charity, the charity for people who work or have worked in that profession. A friend wrote recently about her gratitude in having been able to turn to ‘Pharmacist Support’.

With the support of the JC, I have been able to have my hair cut and coloured this week for the first time in over a year. What?! I know, you might hardly consider a ‘hair do’ an ‘essential’. It was a scraggy, greying mess and together with my alopecia (I have female pattern balding) it was having a big impact on my self esteem. I am happier and healthier for it.

I was also able to visit the dentist, after many months, for a much-needed appointment, because I finally had the £20 needed to pay the fee I owed for a short notice cancellation due to illness.

I’ve been able to make an appointment to have my eyes tested next month, two years overdue, because I will have the money to pay for the new spectacles I need. They will be available at a reduced rate because I am in receipt of ESA but will not be free.

I’ve also been able to buy a number of healthy ‘ready meals’ – a ‘godsend’ while I continue to wait for social care support twice a week to be put in place, and continue to struggle to have the capacity for cooking. The healthy part is vital, particularly as I continue to try to recover from an eating disorder.

On a few occasions I was able to take a taxi to get me to vital hospital and GP appointments that I would otherwise have been unable to make due to my health issues, and also to return home from buying food from a budget supermarket. Budget supermarkets do not make deliveries.

Without that charitable support … NONE of these things could have happened. 

I have received support from the St Margaret’s Fund who gave me £200 towards the cost of a respite/convalescent break last year. I’m applying to another organisation in order to try to obtain funds for a similar break this year.

It is charity. I would rather not have to rely on it BUT at the same time I don’t feel ashamed about accepting it. I don’t find it easy to ask for that help but that’s because I know that in our society it does carry some sense of shame. People say things like ‘it’s not charity’ and they try to dress up ‘charitable support’ in some other way, as though accepting charity is a terrible thing to do. I’ve supported many charities, by donation and by fundraising, and I still donate, when I can, although just a pound or two here or there, supporting someone’s fundraising effort or buying a copy of the Big Issue. I believe in giving and I believe in sharing and I believe in a society that promotes opportunity for all, and which supports those who are in need.

Applying for the charitable support that I’ve received involves completing detailed application forms. I have often struggled to do this due to illness and have had to wait until such time as I could find just enough capacity to complete the task.

It’s struck me that much of the support available has a middle class tone. I was born and bred in a working class ‘cotton mill town’. I consider myself to be working class, but I know that many working class people would consider me middle class because of my privilege. I had a university education and have a professional qualification. I live in a middle class area, albeit on the edge of it and that of a ‘poorer’ area. I love literature, theatre, arts, read the Guardian newspaper and listen to BBC Radio 4. I consider those interests classless – I’ve loved all of them, with the exception of Radio 4, since my ‘cotton mill childhood’ (when I listened to Radio 1!) – BUT realistically I know that you need a certain amount of privilege to pursue them. It’s rare now that I go to the theatre because of the cost involved.

It seems that there’s privilege even among those who are poor. There is a charity offering financial support to ‘gentlewomen and artists’. I’ve seen others offering support to ‘gentlewomen’. Their definitions of what constitutes a ‘gentlewoman’ are undeniably middle class. They list ‘suitable’ professions and backgrounds, all of which you need to have had a certain amount of privilege to be able to claim. Being working class can considerably narrow one’s opportunities. A minority of students at Oxbridge come from working class or ethnically diverse backgrounds and that’s just one example.

What happens if you don’t belong to a profession with its own charitable body? What happens if you don’t have the means to discover that there are charitable organisations who may be able to help you regardless of your status, professional or otherwise? What happens if you don’t have Internet access, the default application process is now online, or aren’t even computer literate? I don’t envy those who must throw themselves entirely at the mercy of the state, run by many for whom privilege is everything.

Two links to UK based web sites that may be useful:

https://www.turn2us.org.uk/ – much useful information for people struggling financially and there is a section where you can search for organisations offering grants

http://www.disability-grants.org/grants-for-disabled-women.html – a database of organisations offering a variety of financial support to women with disabilities – the main site offers details for men too!
N.B
I love ABBA but I adore Meryl Streep, that’s the reason for the link to the Mamma Mia film version of the song at the top of this post!

 

Boarding the Social Care Merry-go-round

Hello again 🙂 !

Please note that I wrote this post several weeks ago following a social care assessment by a social worker that had taken more than a year to come about following an urgent referral. Lots has happened, and changed, since then as more recent posts evidence, but I wanted to post this to update this part of the story and so that I can next post a more brief update on the social care front.

This is an intense post … very raw

*** TRIGGER WARNING – this post contains mention of suicidal ideation and brief description of planned method – but with an optimistic outcome, I promise. It also contains a sweary moment.***

I’m afraid to get too excited. I’m scared to hope until it’s all been verified and approved. And yet somewhere inside me it’s bubbling away, small but unbridled, fizzy excitement.

It’s keeping me on top of a precipice, by keeping hope alive.

Since my collapse in mid February, it’s been quite the job to stay alive … too many times I’ve almost tumbled over the edge.

****

Having experienced significant trauma and having been abused for many years, I’ve experienced suicidal feelings on and off since my late teens – that’s almost three decades – due in part to mental illness caused by the trauma and abuse. They call that being ‘passively suicidal’, which sounds rather like there’s some relaxed, chilled vibes going on. In actual fact, feeling suicidal, regardless of whether you’ve reached the ‘actively suicidal’ stage of making and seeking to execute suicide plans, can be HORRIFIC.

Sometimes suicidal despair is less about mental illness and more a human, albeit extreme, reaction to devastating circumstances. It’s often a desire to end the most terrible pain, and to end life appears the only way to do that.

I’ve been actively suicidal around four times in all those years. I’ve made only one actual attempt to end my life (a survived attempt is known as a parasuicide) and that was a little over a decade ago. At that time I was very mentally unwell and poorly supported as I tried to come to terms with the recent realisation that the family members to whom I was devoted, hadn’t loved me at all and had sought only to harm me. Furthermore, that estrangement from them – what remained of my family – was the only way forward.

Since then I’ve become far less mentally unwell on account of a lot of psychotherapy and a lot of hard work. I’m lucky that’s worked for me, it’s not the same for everyone. Mental illness can be as individual and as complex as those who experience it. I’ve also become extremely well practised at keeping myself safe even in extreme circumstances. I know that if I can’t keep myself safe, that that’s an emergency situation. The difficulty comes when the system does not have the resources to provide appropriate support.

In July last year I set up a noose in my flat, carefully balanced I tested it to ensure that it was fit for purpose. As, during this test, I settled it around my neck, the phone rang suddenly – loud and shrill. I started and almost fell off the object on which I stood, and which ultimately I was planning to kick away … It’s not funny, it’s really not, but still I find myself laughing now. You could not make it up.

I could just have gone with it but instead I fought to right myself and hurried to the phone. My phone rarely rings. I answered to hear the voice of someone who has rarely called and never without being asked to do so. I do not believe in divine intervention but the interruption gave me sufficient pause. The ‘spark’, as I think of it, inside me that’s kept me alive through everything yelled … Do not fucking extinguish me. I am not done yet. It’s pretty difficult to ignore ol’ ‘Sparky’.

That said, in spite of the urge to fight on, I knew that I was under a great deal of pressure in very difficult circumstances. I knew that I was losing the capacity to keep fighting by myself. I knew to ask for help and I did, but it didn’t come. I had my first ever direct experience then of a mental health assessment – carried out in the large and somewhat forbidding psychiatric hospital in the city where I live. I was found to be ‘too well’ for inpatient care (much to my relief, I admit) but also for the support of the community based Intensive Home Treatment Team or ‘crisis team’. I was told that there was nothing else. The assessing doctor did suggest that I try volunteering as a means to ‘occupy myself’. The irony that I’d spent the previous four years volunteering, first for two years in that very hospital, setting up and running a not inconsiderable project by myself supporting ex and current patients, and a further two years working with a mental health charity, was not lost on me. I didn’t need to be occupied, I was more than capable of doing that for myself, sometimes to excess in a bid to keep myself going. I needed some practical and emotional support, for I had none.

***

In recent years, a complex set of circumstances including marriage breakdown and later divorce, two major bereavements, unexpected severe financial difficulty leaving me unable to afford to heat my home and dependent on food bank for three months and in fear of losing the roof over my head, had threatened my mental health again.

Added to that, was the fact that I was driving myself into the ground by working my socks off to get myself through all of this and onto a better future. I drove myself to breaking point. Support did materialise for six months, in the shape of my GP, a housing support officer and a friend. I made huge strides and began to thrive. Then my GP relocated, in the same month my housing support worker was withdraw overnight … the service is limited due to budget constraints.

By this time, a little over a year ago, I’d begun experiencing flashbacks to abuse of which I’d previously had no memory. I experienced intense anxiety that I hadn’t felt in years, and I also began to realise that dissociation had likely long been some part of my experience. The friend who been supportive, began to back off at this point, seemingly unwillingly to believe in flashbacks and dissociation, because they were outwith her own experience.

It seems as though having finally got out of my marriage, which wasn’t healthy, having some support in place and space to be myself, something unlocked in my mind. I already knew there were some things that I still needed to process in therapy, but I came to realise that there was more than I knew. In addition to the flashbacks and anxiety, it was as though I could suddenly feel the impact of all of the loss that I have experienced, and the attendant grief. That’s everything from the loss of my whole family, through losing my career, close friends and my marriage – all as a result of abuse/trauma, through the loss of the opportunity to have children, and right down to the permanent loss of a significant amount of my hair due to alopecia.

The pain was off the scale and unable to obtain any support despite, even if I do say so myself, valiant efforts, my mental and physical health deteriorated rapidly, until one day in February this year I could do no more and was left with the barest of function.

***

When I moved into my second floor flat a little over two years ago, I could run from the street below up the numerous stairs to my front door, in a one-er. I was EC-STAT-TIC the first time I managed it. I might as well have run the London Marathon … in record time … such was the size of this achievement.

I’ve never been what you’d call ‘sporty’ and, although I love to walk, I couldn’t ever imagine having any desire to run. It took among other things a broken back; the loss of my family, close friends, my career and my hair; a suicide attempt that left me in cardiac arrest, and finally a broken marriage to send me in search of my very own running machine.

My health is a bit wonky these days. I say these days. The wonkiness set in before I was 30 and I’m now approaching 50.

Aside from the umbrella of ‘Complex Trauma’ – which for me includes Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Depression, an eating disorder and compulsive skin picking known as Dermatillomania; I have several physical conditions for which there is currently no cure. The former is a direct result of my experiences of abuse and trauma.

Lots of bits hurt; bits squirt, leak and splutter. Bits fall out and bits malfunction in such a way as to leave me feeling as though I’ve gone 10 rounds in a centrifuge. Among other things, I can be incontinent, my mobility can be impaired, I experience memory loss, pain disrupts normal function and, when this lot really means business, I cease to function.

I’m great at faking wellness and pretty bad at showing sickness. It kills me to tell you – unless you’re in the same ‘club’ – how bad I’m really feeling. I’ll really try but I’ll skirt, feint and increasingly hesitate. It’ll be like pulling teeth and you’ll probably end up none the wiser.

Right now, I haven’t been able to leave my flat for almost four months and an attempt to run up those stairs would foolhardy to say the least. The treadmill is gathering dust but I still yearn to run.

I’m always going to be limited in some ways by health issues, but careful self management – to be fair, a rigorous regime of physiotherapy, graded exercise, medication, diet, meditation and more – has in the past meant I could make more of my ‘spoons‘. That’s what got me in a position to be able to run a mile several days per week. I don’t mind putting the work in, far from it, but support is necessary to sustain it.

The responsibility of care/support falls first to families, no matter their age, then friends … neighbours … the world and his dog. Social care is not readily provided by the state. Hoops must be conjured, immolated and resurrected before then being jumped through so accurately as to achieve a perfect score.

At the time of writing – popping between this and Twitter as all good writers do (!) – two tweets appeared on my timeline both, although carrying dispiriting messages, suitably illustrate this post. Cue a further frisson of excitement, stirring music, and … and … the … the …THE STARS ARE ALIGNING!

I have to shake myself back to reality. After suicidal depths and isolation, so perpetual as to rival purgatory without the promise of heaven, real hope can send one a tad giddy …

This tweet pictured below is from a psychiatrist working in an NHS Accident and Emergency Department. Whether a real or an ironic example, the message is the same. Resources are very limited, ever more strict criteria is applied to determine who may receive them. People in need can and do slip through the widening cracks in the system. The second tweet contained a link to this article in the Guardian.
Tweet 24 May 2017 to use to illustrate a HSOL blog post

This is not a great time to be vulnerable or disabled. 

After completing the lengthy assessment – in two visits of around 80 minutes each – my newly allocated social worker tells me that she thinks her request for support for me – four hours per week delivered in two hourly sessions – will be approved.

To have real possibility of a support worker or personal assistant (PA) – appropriate, flexible support — dangled, like a diamond encrusted carrot, right before my very eyes, feels like the winning the lotto, the big money, life-changing bucks. But forget that, who needs it?!

I will feel like a millionaire for having won the social care lottery because it will afford me the luxury of being able to do more than survive … and instead to thrive.

 

Treadmill Tales: #9 and #10

Day nine was a write off, as was Day seven as I said in my last tread report. It has been a challenging week on the #spoonie front.

Instead of increasing my session length by one minute each day from Monday, I instead increased by two minutes on Wednesday and again today.

Stats: Nine minutes at 3.1mph – 0.44miles in total. I did a very light jog for the first two minutes, which felt good, and the usual walk for the remaining time. I’ve also had a wee stroll up to the top of my road and back today, as I did on Monday. I hope I don’t pay for it with a painful night, as I seemed to on Monday!

x

A look at the BIG plan …

With me, there’s ALWAYS a plan. I discovered Bullet Journalling last year … and was as happy as the proverbial pig in muck/mud/sh*t – however you choose to term it, having discovered a cool system to both simplify and maximise my planning activities!

I was in some pretty deep doo doo at the time and struggling to keep afloat, 2016 being my annus horribilis, but at least I had a ‘customizable and forgiving organization system’ to help me… And one, according to the creators of the system, that will ‘teach you to do more with less,’ surely that’s got to be a goodie for a spoonie? 

Tea is oft purported to be the cure for everything. Personally, although I like tea, I think stationery is the answer to everything. A nice new notebook, PENS, lots of lovely PENS, and paper, and labels and stickers too … oh the joy! Give me those and I’ll scribble and doodle my way to a master plan. If you’re a stationery/planner geek, you probably already know the joy of just doing a Google image search for ‘bullet journal’ …

A Bullet Journal is essentially – diary/planner, journal, to do lists, notebook, budget tracker … and anything else you need … in one. For me, a bullet journal keeps me on track but does away with the need for a multitude of ‘systems’, and it’s simplified approach does allow you to ‘do more with less’. Click here for a quick lesson if you want to learn more or start your own.

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Journal Geek-ery right there: Just looking at them makes me smile, I am THAT bad

I hadn’t named this latest plan until it just struck me that I usually do – others have been Operation Self Care and Operation Fight Back – and then I knew that I wanted this one to be called Operation Thrive. I feel a bit emotional having just written that, because thriving means so very much to me. I had a taste of it earlier last year – when I had some support for a time. I survived but I plan to thrive is this blog’s tagline. Thriving is my recovery goal. Abuse recovery to me = thriving. I can’t wave a magic wand and cure my chronic health issues but when I’m living my life to the fullest alongside them, that’ll do me! When I’m thriving I’ll know that I’ve won, that despite all the pain, and grief, and terrible terrible loss, and so much time spent just existing let alone living, I’ll know that I’ve made it. I know that I’m already a winner in that I’m not bitter, and because I’m a good person and I am, by choice. very different to the people who abused me. BUT thriving, that’s the ultimate WIN.

Operation Thrive – plan initiated 10th June, 2017

PRIORITY 1: 

  • WRITING – finally this is coming top of the list and it’s staying there.
  • Ending isolation and reducing loneliness by increasing connection
  • Reinstating routine and regaining function
  • SELF CARE!
  • Being able to get out of my flat – and then get out and about locally
  • Getting my flat ‘immaculate’ ready for a routine inspection by the landlord’s agent
  • Re-engaging with GP and getting vital health checks done
  • Taking steps to begin to tackle disordered eating
  • Psychotherapy/Trauma therapy – it’s difficult to know where to place this because of difficulties/delays with the provision of it

PRIORITY 2:

  • Starting to rebuild fitness – and taking steps to resume physiotherapy treatment
  • Visiting dentist both to resume my treatment programme to restore my smile devastated by a dental phobia caused by abuse, and also to assess damage caused by latest crisis and create further treatment plan. (Delayed by illness and financial difficulty)
  • Optician –  have overdue eye test and purchase new specs. – also delayed by illness and financial difficulty.
  • P.I.P – make a new application for Personal Independence Payments

PRIORITY 3: – can only be undertaken once a support worker/P.A. is in place (assuming the local authority awards funding)

  • Back onto a calorie counted diet
  • Increased exercise – talking walks and going swimming – and once physiotherapy is complete joining an 10 week exercise management programme for people with disabilities/chronic illness – assuming I can get onto it, if not I’ve got a Plan B 🙂 !
  • Getting out and about beyond my immediate area and support groups
  • Restarting hobbies, building new ones and making new connections – join a choir (September) and an art group

There are sub-categories to some of the above – but you get the gist as it stands! Priority 1 is all now either underway or complete.

Getting back to work is a HUGE goal, but as I am not to try to run before I can walk, for a change, I’ve not yet included it on this plan. Once I’m settled into Priority 3s, I’ll add more!

The bulk of my Bullet Journalling is at the moment centred on ‘Daily Logs’ – a list of what’s happening and what’s to be done on any given day, and daily recovery focused journal entries that I’ve called ‘Recoverlogs’ – a term shamelessly snaffled from mental health campaigner and vlogger, Jonny Benjamin. You may have seen the brilliant Channel 4 film Stranger on the Bridge about his own mental health story.

To do lists keep me on track but are also a great motivator. It feels SO good to tick … ‘done’ ! Budgeting goes in there too, shopping lists, ideas, thoughts and plans for blog posts, notes for and on therapy sessions, and so on. This plan is no small undertaking. There is no one working on it with me, no one to oversee it. My social worker is classed as my ‘key worker’ but is only involved with me as far as carrying out a social care assessment and managing the application for funding to pay for some support. My GP doesn’t know the half of it, as there is never enough time to fill him in on all that’s going on for me. I hope there’ll be an opportunity to share the plan with him at our next appointment on 3rd July.

 

 

Heart REset on Living + 14 days

Fourteen days on from the day that my high school ‘bestie’s’ unexpected appearance on my doorstep tethered me to life, a lot has happened.

I’ve made a lot of progress away from the suicidal depths and towards my goal of thriving. I’ve already written about my adventures in admin. I *think* I’m winning so far but there’s more to do!

Here’s what I’ve done so far. I’ll give you a bullet list, I’m going to write another post, perhaps tomorrow, about MY BIG PLAN.  With me, there is ALWAYS a plan … even if at the worst of times, it’s only a suicide plan. I thrive on planning, targets and goals, proactivity and productivity. Did I ever mention that I’m a wee bit driven …

Perhaps having to make the best of terrible circumstances when I was younger is what helps me to capitalise on every scrap of hope, opportunity or potential. Regardless of the reason I’m very grateful for that capacity.

  • I’ve showered 13 out of those 14 days.
  • I’ve been out twice to take out my rubbish, twice to visit my GP surgery and once to go to the hospital – having vital physical health checks. Bearing in mind that prior to this I had been completely housebound for four months.
  • I’ve started on the road to rebuilding my fitness and stuck to my plan for that.
  • Progress is ongoing following my assessment for social care (a personal assistant for four hours per week) – I’ll blog separately about that.
  • I’ve set the ball rolling for a return to the physiotherapy treatment I was about to begin when the crisis that left me housebound hit in February. I may not be allowed to resume – a funding issue – but it won’t be for the want of trying.
  • My eating is improving – another more in a separate post for that!
  • I’ve been keeping in touch with friends via email and social media and they are keeping in touch with me. I feel that I’m rebuilding some old friendships and developing new ones – if you fall into either category and agree, do let me know, my friendship confidence is still a little shaky :-).
  • Another dear friend stepped up two weeks ago, asking how she could help, her message moved me to tears. It’s gratitude, she said, for a “normal” life. This is because of the research I did that helped to crack the conundrum of the rare condition that was devastating her life. She said, “I have never nor will I ever forget what you have done for me.” I well remember her illness, and know I did research but much beyond that is lost to me. This was soon after my abuse was uncovered and the rug was pulled out from under me. I was all over the place but I’m so glad I seemed to have pulled it out of the bag then. Her words mean the world to me.
  • I asked a Twitter pal if she’d like to meet up next year – there’s reason for it being next year – and she said yes, which is lovely, and I look forward to our ‘day out’ .
  • I received a ‘care package’ in the post from another online friend, full of thoughtful items – either useful, fun or edible! From comedy dvds to batteries, a massage ball to peppermints.
  • On all the occasions that I left my flat I wasn’t wearing any make up (OK, except lipstick) this is also progress – and yes, more on that in a separate post!

I hyper-focus on ‘the bright side’ – that song could be my anthem, and I’ve recognised that in the last few days I’ve been having thoughts along the lines of … Look at you, you’re doing OK. You’re fine really. You don’t need support. It’s a familiar refrain.

I know a lot about ‘getting on with it’. I know a lot less about thriving within a supportive network. Growing up, trauma was played down and I was schooled to ‘get on with it’, to such an extent that it’s one of the main reasons that I didn’t recognise that I was being deliberately harmed.

Aside from that, having spent four months housebound, showering a couple of times a month, bingeing, starving and stinking, alone, dealing with flashbacks, grief and increasing despair, the last two weeks do look like nirvana in comparison!

I have to remind myself that while it’s great to applaud each step of progress and C-E-L-E-B-R-A-T-E the small things … it feels odd to call them ‘small’ because they are huge achievements when you’ve been struggling so much, but to most people showering, going outside, doing a little shopping, taking care of the basics, are small things … I have to have an eye on the bigger picture. That’s to say that I need to recognise the difficulties I still face, the burdens I carry and the mountains I have to climb, and allow myself to get help where I can AND feel worthy of it.

There’s more on the progress front but I think I’ve given you the highlights! I’m flagging, I’m low on spoons today. I plan to do my treadmill ‘5’ then allow myself to ‘flop’ and indulge in a telly fest of Doctor Who and Pitch Battle!

I don’t know where I would be now if my friend hadn’t made that mercy dash two weeks ago. I am glad that I don’t have to think about that.

Thank you for reading. As ever, I welcome comments, conversation and tweets.

Heart x

Treadmill Tales #1 and #2 

Two days down,  two days under my belt.

See yesterday’s post ‘Treadmill Tales: The Return’ for my plan of action. 

If you’re here for UBER stats you might be disappointed, I’m recovering from serious illness and have ongoing chronic conditions which mean I’ve got to start out really S-L-O-W-L-Y. 

Yesterday’s ‘five’ felt like it went on for longer than that (!) but I still felt the thrill of being on the treadmill and remembered how good it felt to run. I swallowed my frustration and walked as planned. I wasn’t paying huge attention but think my pace was 2.5 miles per hour.

I got on the treadmill just after 7 this evening, to my surprise really after a long, productive and active day. The ‘five’ flew by, I enjoyed it and felt I could’ve gone on for longer.my speed was 3.1 miles and I covered a wee quarter of a mile! 

Now I’ve had dinner and finally ‘flopped’ … all I want to do is sleep! 

Heart x