Today’s ‘5’has been done in much the same fashion as yesterday. I enjoyed it, walking at the rare ol’ pace of 3.1 miles per hour and clocking up a wee quarter a mile.
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!
I wish Admin. were an exciting place where I was having the time of my life.
Rebuilding my life after months in the depths of crisis is exciting. It feels really good to be making progress but, I’ll admit, the administration side of the process can be more wearying than any other – emails, calls, forms, research … chasing this person … approaching that organisation … researching grants … and trying to make head or tail of the personal budgets/direct payments system in the ongoing quest for social care support.
In the last couple of days alone I’ve …
- sent three emails to my social worker
- spent considerable time and ‘spoons’ researching support and treatment options outside of the NHS for my eating disorder. and drawn a blank beyond the one option I already knew about which may not be suitable.
- sent two emails regarding a local women’s support group – one a brief testimonial to support the application for funds to keep it going – another to update on my circumstances and inform the facilitator when I hope to be well enough to return.
- researched organisations offering grants for a convalescence/respite break, sought advice about my eligibility, printed application forms, and contacted health professionals to try to find one who could spare the time to make an application on behalf, as that’s how the system works.
- undertaken an online ‘test’ for Personal Independence Payments and carried out various tasks in preparation for making a new application, having been turned down last year. For those to whom it’s relevant, the test is here.
- spent time making notes and trying to prioritise the many current ‘hot potatoes’ and decide what to take to my therapy session earlier today, in order to make the best use of the 50 minute slot.
- emailed regarding restarting vital dental treatment stalled by serious illness.
- made numerous checklists to keep track of it all.
This week I still …
- need to contact several organisations and another person with disabilities who lives locally to try to get some clarity over the best option for me with the (haha) administration of the personal budget/direct payments – and all this before it’s even been confirmed that my application for funding – made by the social worker after several hours of assessment – has been approved. This is because the process is lengthy, and I’m told it will be further slowed if I’m not ready to go if/when approval is granted.
- need to keep in touch with friends – replying to emails, messages, tweets and so forth. This isn’t a chore. I want to be in touch, I appreciate their contact and it’s vital to my health and wellbeing, particularly as isolation and loneliness are a prominent factor in my life and have had a detrimental impact on my health. That said these tasks still take time and ‘spoons’.
- need to contact the charitable body which, last year, granted me funding for physiotherapy – it wasn’t available on the NHS. I had an assessment in February and was set to have a further 11 sessions when crisis hit and it had to be put on hold. I can’t even begin to explain the admin. now involved in trying to sort out a restart – both you and I would lose the will to live.
- there’s further admin. relating to budgeting and welfare payments
- there’s a mix up with my energy supplier – which owes me money – need to try to resolve that
- there’s an energy ‘switch’ to organise in order to avoid a price hike
- there are trips to the GP and hospital which currently necessitate various emails and texts to organise advocacy support where appropriate, or someone to ‘chum me’ there if that’s necessary,
- tomorrow there’s a visit from my landlord’s agent for a routine inspection.
Blimey, I feel weary just telling you about it, and that’s not all of it but you get the idea 😀 !
My limited ‘spoons’ have to go a long way. I wish the blessed admin would do itself and I could focus on everything else that needs my attention like therapy, exercise, my eating disorder and other aspects of recovery and self management, getting out and about, dental treatment, writing, etc, not to mention the mere basics of daily living.
I think I needed to get that off my chest. Thanks for bearing with me!
I’ve been seeking peace of mind for some thirteen years, since my abuse came to light and I finally broke. I hoped to find it with my husband, but the marriage brought more fear and sadness. There was also laughter, sharing and wonderful cuddles ( I shall miss those) but the shadow of that fear and sadness loomed large above two people who in order to be themselves could not be together.
Peace of mind to me means living free from threat and fear; it’s a sense of safety, security and wellbeing.
I’ve yet to find that but in the new life I’ve made in the three years I’ve spent living in my adopted city home, I have experienced happiness, joy and contentment. Above all I’ve found me and quite frankly that’s really something to shout about. The freedom, the contentment that feeling comfortable within yourself can bring is immeasurably marvellous; it makes my heart sing.
I have always been able to picture the real me or my true self, my authentic self, if you prefer. The abuse I experienced could not obliterate that image but it did severely compromise my ability to be me.
In the last two years I’ve lost a lot of weight – much of that piled on some years ago in the aftermath of my initial breakdown – and it’s meant shedding a physical and psychological burden. I was trapped inside somewhere, by losing weight I’m breaking out. I no longer cringe when I catch sight of myself, in fact I often beam! Photographs are still difficult because of issues with my teeth – which I hope to soon address – and my ongoing alopecia. My hair loss is permanent, I am teaching myself to just ‘rock it’! At last I have the confidence to wear clothes that I love and finally begin to develop the sense of style I could always picture. Shapeless cover-ups are long gone. I’m experimenting with make-up – not to hide but to enhance and most of all for FUN. Last week, for the first time, I had my eyebrows waxed and I loved it! I did it because I wanted to do it; I felt pampered. I grew up being schooled to ignore my own needs and to believe that self-care was a bad thing – self indulgent, selfish, an unnecessary frivolity.
It took a lot of hard work to recover from an anxiety disorder and agoraphobia and until very recently I still found it difficult to go into small shops. I live in an area with a fabulous old fashioned style high street filled with independent shops – an artisan bakery, a greengrocer, a cheesemonger, a health food store among them. I was too fearful to enter them because their small nature, their intimacy, felt too exposing and left me with nowhere to hide. I felt I didn’t belong, that I wasn’t worthy of being there. NOT ANYMORE!! I stride out with a funky basket on my arm (bought some years ago and saved for just such a moment that I was determined would come) and away I go. Now in my forties, I’m beginning to live.
Yesterday was difficult. I felt acutely lonely. Those feelings began on Friday evening and I felt bad about being so affected on a day when I’d had a considerable amount of meaningful contact. I rarely get so much and usually would ensure it sustained me for days.
There was an appointment at the GP surgery with a nurse with whom I have connected. During my mammoth weight loss programme she offered, unprompted, to accompany me to a local pool to fulfill a dream to swim again after a gap of many years; to ‘hold my hand’. Her compassion and willingness to engage quite took my breath away. My burgeoning self confidence received a bonus boost. I haven’t yet taken her up on the offer, although I did buy a swimming costume last year, but I hope to do so later this year. I still have a lot to do and limited spoons with which to do it and have had to accept that I can’t do everything at once. She was pleased to see me yesterday and recognised me although we have only met twice, the last time some months ago. It’s a simple thing but being recognised, feeling a connection, means so much. I’d lived so very long in isolation having lost all links due to illness and the abuse. I have no family, having had to cut myself off from what was left of it because I was being abused. Friends had distanced themselves then disappeared, some outraged that I’d had a ‘breakdown’ believing mental illness to be not an illness but a weakness or character flaw. Others were suspicious, appearing to think I had ‘gone a bit weird’ claiming abuse that couldn’t possibly be, so dazzled were they by the polished veneer expertly laid over our family to hide the soiled lives beneath. For years it blinded me too. Perhaps others just didn’t know how to deal with me. I distanced myself from the few who remained fearing further rejection or ridicule.
Back to Friday and I arrived at a lunch date with a friend, buoyed by my encounter with lovely nurse and it too was lovely – another connection and growing friendship. Our conversation was lively and varied. Talking about my situation and the realities of Operation Fight Back (my endeavour to recover from a recent set back and continue my lengthy ‘rebuilding programme’, in the wake of my marriage ending three months ago) was, is, helpful. Without an outlet, pressure builds to dangerous levels. However, talking and sharing as oppose to silently getting on with it, brought my isolation into sharp focus. My friend talked about being ‘adopted’ by older friends following the deaths of her parents. I’ve long dreamed of that happening to me – that may sound a bit drippy! I’ve had little experience of relationships with a parent figure that wasn’t toxic. I feel the absence of healthy versions of those relationships. I don’t have someone to look up to, to turn to, to seek advice from, or feel loves, cherishes, knows and accepts me. That’s how it is, I live with it, I seek to keep developing myself and my life … then who knows what might happen? Still, sometimes that loss, that absence, that pain, punches me on the nose … really hard. Watching Sport Relief that evening I was undone. It featured a report about a 92 year old gentleman’s sense of loneliness following the loss of his much beloved wife to Alzheimer’s Disease. I felt for him so much but when the television presenter spoke of the terrible problem of loneliness among the elderly, I wanted to shout at the telly you don’t have to be elderly to experience terrible loneliness.
I ran yesterday (stats at the end of this post) morning but that and the bare basics were all I could manage. I felt low and I was hurting. Texts from two friends later in the day offered welcome respite. I hung on and today dawned more brightly. The *?!*?’* is back in its box.
Treadmill stats for Saturday:
12mins 20 – all run = 0.73 distance and 67.1 cals
The last couple of days have been … well … momentous is probably the word for it! There are several reasons for that, here’s more about two of them.
Yesterday I had my first job interview in a loooong time … and I survived 🙂 . It’s a post in mental health, just four days a month or thereabouts and an opportunity that I will grab with both hands if I’m offered it. My fingers are crossed.
Today I had my second appointment, in as many weeks, with my new GP (she is actually about to go on maternity leave so another change is on the cards). It was possibly the most satisfying – that’s perhaps not quite the word for it but I’m struggling to find another just now – appointment I’ve ever had. I’ve had chronic physical health problems for 15 years now. I’ve received diagnoses along the way but they have mostly either been vague or just plain inaccurate. Still problems remained, much was unexplained, and the impact on my quality of life was profound. I am an admirer of Christine Miserandino Donato author of the rather magnificent Spoon Theory . It’s an engaging read and explains well the realities of living with chronic illnesses like Christine’s and my own.
In the last three years despite being told that my suspected conditions are not progressive, I have gone on to develop many more symptoms including hair loss, further pain, dizziness, vertigo (having the sensation of motion although I am still) and skin problems. I have long thought it possible that I have an underlying autoimmune disorder. GP today agreed, ordered a battery of tests and referred me for an appointment with a specialist. I was quite honestly flabbergasted … I didn’t even have to beg!
I am not delighted to have to undergo tests and attend further appointments; I don’t want to be ill. The fact remains that I am experiencing illness which severely compromises my quality of life. I hope that at last real answers are on the horizon and I’ll no longer be left to live with it without knowing what is happening to me or having any idea of the prognosis. It’s also nigh on impossible to get any kind of financial support without concrete diagnosis (even then it’s far from easy).
It’s well documented (here’s an example) how physical health can be overlooked or sidelined in people who are experiencing mental illness. Indeed, during the worst of my major depression I lost count how many times I heard ‘oh that’ll be down to your depression/anxiety’; after recounting symptoms. Those symptoms were actually due to bile acid malabsorption, not related to depression or anxiety, and it was reading this article back in 2010 that finally ended a decade of crippling symptoms that had left me barely able to leave my home.
Yesterday’s treadmill stats: (no run today due to very early start for appointment at surgery. I actually felt a bit bereft at not being able to run; that’s not something I ever thought you’d hear me say!)
13mins 19 = a run of 11mins 19 (my longest yet) – 0.78 distance (furthest yet) and 70.9cals (highest yet)
I’m up early this morning and in a good frame of mind. I’m about to embark on my exercises followed by a run. It’s a glorious day outside of clear skies and much sunshine; I hope that lasts. I’ve laid out my outfit for my job interview this afternoon … but I’m torn over choice of handbag 🙂 !
More later …
I’m having a bad day on the mood front. I ran this morning but haven’t yet managed to do much else.