The role of social media in healing depression

Hello again! I thought I'd check in and let you see an article I recently wrote for a pharmaceutical industry blog about how I used social media to help me manage my depression. I think its an interesting area. I used blogging, Facebook, Twitter and various online forums instinctively, because they helped educate and inform me about depression. I also found it difficult to find accounts of other women's depression online, which was the impetus for starting this blog (that, and because I find writing cathartic, but whether that realisation came first, or whether the catharsis became apparent once I started writing, is unclear).

To quote an old cliché, 'information is power' and, as a result of my research, I believe I became a better informed and more empowered patient. However, what I also experienced was unparallelled support from strangers, who listened to me, supported me and helped me recover. In the article I call them my "cyber angels" and, if I live to be one hundred, I will never fail to be grateful for their generosity. In my experience though, there are dangers. I'd be interested to see if you agree.

Claire x

from: http://social.eyeforpharma.com/epharma/managing-my-black-dog, published 29.10.12

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I remember, with mortification, a conversation I had when I was in my 20s and a newly promoted manager. I was talking to another manager, equally green, about a mutual colleague:

 “I just don’t get this depression crap” he said to me. “I mean, dude, if you need a holiday, just take one.” I remember agreeing enthusiastically.

How the Gods of fate must have laughed. Little did I know that, less than ten years later, I’d be one of “those people” myself.In my case the breakdown snuck up on me a couple of years after my (retrospectively diagnosed) postnatal depression. I was running my own business – which was surprising successful at first, yet quickly diminished by the new recession. I was working more and more hours, expanding the business, trying to trade out of trouble. I watched my costs rise exponentially and turnover fall. Believe me when I say that way madness lies.

When my head broke it felt much like a fuse had blown. I felt hot, unbearably hot. I couldn’t concentrate, my ears were ringing, I felt sick, like the oxygen had been sucked from the air. My heart was beating too fast. There was lead in my chest. I made a mistake – something pretty insignificant, looking back - but it felt crushingly catastrophic. Driving home I started quietly crying, but once those floodgates were opened, it quickly swelled into a tsunami of racking sobs. They were harvesting peas; the smell was cloying.

It was six months before my tears subsided.

Once that fuse had blown, I could put thousands of watts of effort through my brain, but the circuit would not – could not – link back together again. I cried through days and nights, alone and in the company of my patient but worried husband. I cried through doctor’s appointments, waiting lists and ineffective NHS counselling sessions where the counsellor had little interest in me; she’d seen it all before.When I wasn’t crying, I was zombie-like, a lump of dough, brain numb and slow. I abhorred myself.

I always imagined that suicidal feelings would present themselves in a rush of brightly coloured drama; that one would turn up at A&E, confess one’s desire to slash, or strangle or jump, and that someone would hold your hand and take away your personal responsibilities until you were feeling better (possibly with some dramatic extradiagetic music for effect). For me, feeling suicidal was as mundane as can be. I was certain I would die, no doubt about it, absolutely certain. It was simply a question of when. I used to make little deals with myself. Just one more row of knitting, then I’ll hang myself. Let’s get to the ad break of Midsomer Murders, then I’ll do it. Then it’ll be time to go. Just a couple more minutes. Hang on till then.

Looking back, there were two things that got me through the endless moments of depression: knitting and writing. There were bigger things, obviously, like my children and my loving husband, but I didn’t see the importance of them at the time. I thought that my death would do them a favour. It was lonely work passing those endless moments of deathly thoughts. I didn’t have a great deal of attention to use, but what I wanted to read, and what I couldn’t find, was the experience of other people going through the same thing. I wanted to see how this journey ended.

I have always found writing cathartic, and it was this that drew me to writing a blog. If I couldn’t read other people’s experiences, I could tell them about mine. I used my knitting as the excuse for the blog, but it hid a much more vital need. Writing filled my moments as I poured my agonising emptiness into the void. It didn’t matter that people were reading; I was expressing. But they were.

I started to receive emails from people all over the world. They said I had reached out and touched their painful place. They told me their stories. Sometimes I just listened and reflected. Often I wrote back and encouraged them to keep getting to the end of their row, whatever form that took. I learned that mental illness is about health and wellness rather than weakness; that the strongest people can push themselves too hard, way beyond the point when most people stop. Eventually I also realised, like Esther Greenwood in ‘The Bell Jar,’ the unpalatable truth: no-one would cure my depression but me. Unless I started to play a more active part in my own recovery, my life would continue to be a string of voids, mirrored and endless and stifling.People would give up on me as I had given up on myself.

Unlike Esther Greenwood / Sylvia Plath, my depression was played out in a very 21^stcentury arena: the Internet. From the practical - ordering medications - to the expressive, my experience was played out through the fitting nothingness of the ether. I gained medical information from mental health charities on Twitter.I followed those who tweeted about their depression in real time, and could helpfully compare it to mine, nano second by nano second. Measuring time. Sitting with the demons. I listened whilst other people talked about which medications had worked for them, and which had made things worse. I read, came to my own conclusions about my healthcare, and went to my doctor empowered and better informed.

The anonymity of the virtual world helped me to overcome my depression. They say it’s good to talk, and sometimes it’s good to talk to strangers. Its easier to be honest, to not consider the feelings of the person you are talking to, and its easier to give advice when there is no agenda. People are kind, much kinder than you might imagine. My experience is that other people were genuinely generous with their time and wisdom, and that really helped. The dark places of my heart were not what I wanted to share with my nearest and dearest: from them I wanted familiarity, routine, security and forgiveness. My depressive pain was worked through with cyber angels. And a bloody good therapist. But the angels weren’t on £50 an hour.

I have one word of warning amongst all this praise for social media. There were times that I found forums distinctly unhelpful. What helped me to recover from the depression, alongside the therapy, medication, self expression and generosity strangers was wanting to get better, genuinely wanting it. It took time, and I had to sit with the tumultuous feelings and uncomfortable thoughts for far longer than I imagined. Platitudes were enraging - and there were a lot of those on Facebook from my nearest and dearest (who, to be fair, probably had no idea what on earth to say.) On some forums it became apparent that the same people sat and bleated the same problems over and over, like depressive Eeeyores. The world is dreadful, I will never recover, my pain is worse than yours. There is little more depressing than competitive illness, even on a forum for depressives. Maybe those people are not at the stage where they see that they can move forward through their illness yet. However, when you get a group all feeling hard done by, it’s easy to let a particular mindset creep in; its easy to start to see yourself as a victim. Group think is a scary and creeping phenomenom, like the lady behind Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s Yellow Wallpaper and its something we need to be mindful of.

If you’re reading this and you’re suffering from depression, then I would say that social media can be a very helpful tool for recovery. Use it, take the good things; give back as much genuine goodness as you can muster. Be mindful that, once you start making excuses for your illness, you’re entering the terrain of the mealy mouthed little sadsacks whose self pity conspires to keep them trapped. Recognise them for what they are, for they exist in the real world too, but they rarely have the opportunity to congregate together like they do in cyberspace.

Depression is a path that most of us walk over and over. One in four of us will suffer at any one time. As long as you watch out for Eeyore, there is no need to walk that path alone."

Winter Wonderland (and a sensitive post)

Well, it's the first of December and we had the first frosts of winter here last night, very appropriate. As has become the festive tradition in this house, I forgot to get the advent calendars again. Whoops.

It's been a truly crap week, so I haven't posted because I haven't felt up to it. Sorry guys. I also haven't taken any pictures, so I am going to post favourite inspiration posts and talk about depression miseries, I hope you like the juxtaposition. See it as black humour.

On the plus side, Saturday was lovely. We went for a drive around Sunk Island (I once accidentally called this Spunk Island in front of a rather prudish friend in London, dear God the shame). As you can see from this map  Sunk Island, literally 5 mins from here, is a huge area of unspoiled land which was once under the sea. It's incredibly flat and likely to be reclaimed by the sea within the next 100 years, so there are very few houses and roads. I have never been anywhere quite like it.

We saw several interesting species of bird including, what I suspect, was the Great White Egret:

This is a very rare visitor to the UK, a migratory bird. The jury's out as to whether they were Great Whites (size of grey Herons, which I am sure these were) or Little Egrets, which are more common but have yellow feet - I am fairly sure the ones we saw didn't. We saw 3, sat in a tree and one fishing in a drain (ditch to non locals; somewhere where all the field water drains to the Humber). This was at Saltaugh Sands where we have previously seen Kingfishers.

We also saw nine - yes, count 'em - roe deer, in three different groups

They all had fluffy white bottoms. We didn't see any stags. The first three were lay on the ground behind a hedge. They were wary of us and looked straight at us with their ears pricked, but didn't run away. We spent a good few minutes watch each other before they got up, stretched and wondered off to eat some of the crops. It's hard to tell what was planted in that field at the moment, but I suspect it's rape seed.

Third most impressive was two kestrels, at different points. There are several of these locally, we even had one in the garden last year. We get lots of barn owls too, although you tend to see them more in spring.

We also saw curlews, pheasants, avocets, lapwings  and oystercatchers. I've arranged them into this little collage. Yes, it was an amazing, very relaxing day out and about in Spunk Island with my lovely husband and sons. The boys were as riveted as we were, especially when they got to look at the boats and squelch about in the mud.

On the down side, I have been feeling seriously suicidal again. I haven't been sleeping - I've frequently started the day at 2am. It's in those dark, lonely hours that I have been wondering if it wouldn't be better for everyone to just slip away quietly, like a star fading into dawn.

The agony is that I am actutely aware of the pain it would cause my family, and so I feel trapped. I feel as though I haven't even got the basic human rights that most people have. 

Don't panic, but I have been researching ways to do it. How to tie knots, what doses are needed etc. This upset Dom hugely and we had a very tearful Thursday evening. It's very hard to explain. Firstly, it's a bit like having a mosquito bite - you're compelled to scratch and you're not entirely in control of that scratch. Secondly, I actually find the research helps. The impulse is very frightening and not something I can control. By moving it into the intellectual, reasoning part of the brain, I find I can manage it in a much more  controlled way. For example, it'll take over 600 Piriton to finish you off - you'd have got bored and grown a beard by the time you got through that lot. Slashing your wrists is not good for someone whose main lifeline is crafting; if you sever your tendons then essentially you can lose use of your hand permanently. You can see what I mean. Whilst the impulse is strange, what I find is the reality is a) too horrible to want to inflict upon myself and b) I find that the things I am deeply disturbed by are not as awful as you might imagine. For a long time I have had a dread of bodies, injuries, being the first on the scene sort of thing. Weirdly, now I think I could handle it. It sort of helps me look in on myself from the outside, rather than being consumed by the fear.

That sort of sums up my week. To be honest, since Thursday its been much better. I spoke to the counsellor at length, and they don't think I am ill enough to be referred to the Psych team - which is reassuring and frustrating in equal measure. I want to stop feeling like this. But then I only want to go through this once, so I need every moment of experience to learn all that I can.

I am in the midst of Christmas knitting and can't wait to show you what I have made. I am really enjoying it. I have this weird sort of life - really deep lows, and a perfect stillness, better clarity than I have had for years. Honestly, deep down, I feel as though I am getting to the root of me. It's taken me a long time to get this far, but the more I experience it, the more I know this is a process I have to experience and I will end it a permanently changed person. I am hibernating, and I am observing. It's uncomfortable at times, but I am surviving.

Thanks for checking back on me, I hope you are OK too. I think about you often, and I am deeply touched on those who check in on me regularly, even when I haven't updated for a while.

Love and hugs

C x
 
 
 
 

You Gotta Be Strong Enough To Walk On Through The Night...

 

Isn't this afghan amazing? It's not mine! I discovered it on Ravelry and can't stop looking at it. What inspiration!
 

Well, hello my lovelies. I am sending you big, woolly hugs, I've poured myself a coffee and suggest you do the same too. Shall we take 5 minutes to put our feet up together and catch up? Good-oh.

It's been a very dark couple of weeks here in East Yorkshire literally and metaphorically. I have been really, really struggling. There have been lots of days when I have double locked all the doors and refused to open the blinds and curtains. Jonny has a secret knock and Dom has to send me a text message just before he gets home. I know this isn't right, and I feel dreadfully sad for my family, but I just can't help it. I need to feel safe.

There has been a lot going on, relating to the closure of the business, that I can't really talk about on here. But it has made me feel very frightened and panicky. I can really relate to the 'fight or flight' feelings that books on depression always mention. My self esteem has really taken a knock and there are days when I wonder whether everyone would be better off without me.

Having said that, today I am feeling an eensy bit more positive, so I don't want to dwell too much on the darkness. Suffice to say, I have been / am there, if you are in the black pit at the moment.

On a positive note, I have reached out for help and got some amazing responses. Weird as it may seem, I emailed Dom and told him how suicidal I was feeling; I hadn't wanted to trouble him before as he has a lot on his place. He has been marvellous. I emailed The Samaritans one especially bleak afternoon and they responded, saying they were glad I felt I could talk to them. I don't know why, but that sentence made me feel warm inside and has been very helpful. Perhaps because it didn;t make me feel like a burden. Also, I posted on a forum I visit regularly and got some lovely responses from friends old and new. Many had experienced the same thing and, in a funny way, it's reassuring to hear that it's part of a process. I have also had some wonderful, wonderful comments from Postcrossers - welcome, if you're visiting! Even though I feel in a dark place personally, I feel blessed to have some wonderful, loving people around me. I can feel you, even if I can't always respond.

I haven't blogged for ages because I couldn't motivate myself to take some pictures. That would have meant getting the camera out, charging it, finding something to photograph, finding some good light, arranging the pieces, uploading the images, editing them etc etc - it was just too many decisions. I missed you though. I love blogland, it gives me the opportunity to engage with the world in a voyeuristic way, but engage with it nevertheless. And it's warm, personable, friendly and inspiring.

I have always considered myself to be something of a bloke's girl and, having a brother, husband and two sons, that has always been useful. However, at the moment, I find I am craving female company (I hope that doesn't sound rude?!) I have been thinking about it a lot, and I realise that it's a need to feel mothered. I have spent the last 13 years of my life mothering, and now I feel as though I need something back. I don't mean this to be a criticism of my own mother at all, because this is quite an abstract feeling.

Let me sum it up:

I want to be somewhere safe, where I don't have to make any decisions. Somewhere where I feel loved and cherished. Somewhere clean and warm and comfortable, with clean, nice smelling bed linen. Somewhere I can relax completely and not feel guilty, or as though I am not pulling my weight. Someone who will hug me, and laugh with me and leave me alone if I need it. Someone who will understand me without needing to say a word. Somewhere I can undo myself and be properly vulnerable for the first time in my life, so that I can put myself back together properly and face the world again.

My husband really can't provide this for me, it's the mothering of an older woman I need. Someone warm and wise and who really, really wants the best for me.

Imagine you have clenched your fist for a long time, really, really tightly. It would hurt, wouldn't it? In order to recover from the pain you would have to gradually relax each of your fingers until they were straight and then massage them until the pain had left. And wait for a good long time until you had forgotten they had ever been clenched in the first place before you used that hand again.

That is where I am at the moment. My fist has been clenched for as long as I can remember. I guess I am in the process of relaxing, and I know it's going to take a long time.

Today I opened the curtains and blinds for the first time in a week and let the weak afternoon sunshine in. It's a start. Now I am going to wrap myself up in the afghan I made, and have a snooze on the sofa. Dom is home late this evening, so I have lots of time to get the chores done. I will iron his shirts, I think, and make a cake. A couple of little ways I can let my family know that I love them.

I have started Christmas gift knitting and it's really helping me through the tough times. Did I say I have had tonsillitis for a week now? Just in one tonsil, it's driving me mad. Anyway, tomorrow I will share some knitting pictures with you. At least I have written about the darkness, and now I can draw a line under it.

I hope all is well with you. I think about you often.

Chin up

Claire x

Project 20 : Sea Foam Scarf

I haven't been so hot on posting all my projects, especially the relatively small ones - scarves and booties and the like. I am not good at solely working on one project at once, I am much happier to have 3 or 4 things on my needles at once. Ideally, one will be crochet, one will be a long term project and one will be a quickie. That means instant gratification depending on my mood (although I do have storage issues!) I am good at going back and finishing things off, so I don't give myself a hard time about being unfocussed. Knitting / crocheting is sheer pleasure, afterall.

This Drop Stitch Scarf pattern by Christine Vogel is free on Ravelry (you need to sign up for an account and it may take a few days for your password to come through but my, oh my, is it worth it.) I loved this pattern, it was sheer knitting porn. And the end product looked pretty good too.

I made it for my Mum, whose birthday was on 12th September. She wears a lilac coat in the autumn and the colour really suits her. I thought this lightweight, purple scarf would complement it. She seemed really pleased and said that my knitting was becoming "really professional" (yay! high praise indeed from my Mum!) and that is one of the nicest comments anyone has made over the past couple of weeks.

Cost: £7.00 2 x balls Debbie Bliss Cashmerino, purchased from Ebay

Time taken: 2 days

Lessons Learned: Don't be limited by what you perceive as difficult. This was as easy as pie and I was convinced I couldn't do it for the first few rows.

Satisfaction Rating: It's high on up there. 9.5/10. I am itching to make it again, but may very well choose a Clapotis instead for a similar but different experience.

In other news, I have a new girl crush. In addition to the fabulous Kirsty Allsop whom I want to possess/be in equal measure, and Nigella Lawson (ditto, known in our family as our children's "other mother" - i.e. they one they would have had if Dominic had complete free choice. My only condition in this is that it would have to be a three way affair), I have today discovered the fantastic 'Some Girls Wander By Mistake' blog. I want to possess/be Emily Martin <deep sigh> That is all. Go, look. I dare you. Tell me she is not amazing.

In depression news, it's not been an easy couple of days although I suspected that might be the case after overdoing things on Friday. I am mainly suffering with night wakings after vivid (often frightening) dreams and it is then I feel suicidal. Without wishing to be melodramatic/poncy I think the french expression "Je suis désolée" sums it up well. I am desolate.

It's hard to explain because the depression has changed. Once it was just a barren wilderness, like a desert as far as the eye can see, all the same. Now I have good times (rarely more than a couple of hours) and then really harsh, sharp downs. During those moments I keep having to repeat over and over in my head why I should want to be alive. I am not always convinced, I'll be honest. The thing that keeps me going is thinking how ungrateful I am. I have the most wonderful life, really. Why can't I enjoy it more? Do these desolate nighttime waking sessions really count?

My medication is causing me some problems - I appear to be itching a great deal, all over my body but especially on my scalp and neck. At first I had no reaction, then I thought it was because the heating has started to come on and my skin was drying out. But the skin feels different from normal dry skin, and it's getting worse every day even though the heating is not coming on proprotionately more. Do I go back to the doctors and explain, and go through the miserable two weeks of new medication again? Or do I put up with it, as the medication is helping on the whole? Also, I stiull haven't heard from psychological services. I am 11 weeks into a breakdown and I have no support yet. I can't ring them because of my phone phobia. I have written and my friend has phoned. My doctor thinks I am getting better and I am afraid I am being left behind. Dom seems to be losing patience as I am not the same every day and he's getting more and more tired with work.

<deep sigh>. Sorry for the brain dump. I have never had a breakdown before and I don't know what to expect. In a lot of ways I would like to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital because then I could take my feet off the pedals for a while. On the other hand, the very thought frightens me to death.

I'll leave it there I think. I have a couple of episodes of Midsummer Murders recorded, so I will snuggle up on my sofa under my crochet blanket with a coffee, home made carrot cake and some knitting and make the most of it. If nothing else, I have created this comforting, warm little woolly world I can retreat into when I need to. I just wish I could be as sparky, in control and unique as my girl crushes. Oh well, c'est la vie.

Love and hugs, I hope your day is good

Claire xx

 

Some reasons to feel proud

My lovely kitchen knick-knacks that cheer me up every day.

Hello my lovelies, how are you all doing?  I hope you didn't miss me too much over the past six days. I have been thinking of you all, and hoping that you're finding the light at the end of the tunnel.

It was one heck of a week for me, my feelings were flying round like a cloud of gnats, and I wanted a bit of time to reflect and get my head together. Thank you so much to those of you who emailed to say that you didn't think the blog was showing off, the encouragement really helped.

So... last week was a week of big changes. For some reason, at the moment, I am not very good at change. The first weekend back after the start of the school term was tough for me, as I think I said before, because I slipped straight back into 'Mum' and, for the first time since the start of the summer holidays, I didn't make any allowances for the illness. That was a mistake and I started the week feeling somewhat overwrought.

Monday and Tuesday I had Charlie at home with me full time - it sounds like nothing, but I have not looked after him from 6am to 7pm on my own for a long time. He was full of beans because he was excited about starting school, prone to emotional outbursts and, if I admit it, a bit naughty because he, too, was overwrought. I was depressed and needing peace and quiet! Not a great combination, you'll have to admit.

Monday we went out to a few shops - Asda, McDonalds, we took some old clothes to the charity shop and by the time I got home and did the housework (why?!) I had done too much. Tuesday I could barely get off the sofa, and felt horribly, awfully guilty for squandering Charlie's last day at home with me. I spent a lot of the time in tears, including the evening when I cried in bed. Dom was shocked and worried, but wonderfully patient.

Wednesday was the big day. Charlie was so excited I thought he would burst. I was really anxious about taking him to this new institution, nervous about what to do and where to go, worried on his behalf, sad that he was leaving the nest, excited for myself and my new freedom - a whole muddle of feelings. Anyway, suffice to say he was fine, in fact he's had a lovely time. And I have quickly got used to my new routine. Shall I share a picture? He is a very good Reason To Be Proud this week.

Isn't he just adorable? That's Billy with him, his teddy bear that has gone pretty much everywhere from birth. Of course Billy needed his hand holding as he was nervous about starting school, and the teachers made every effort to welcome Billy to the classroom and even let him come in and listen to the lessons. Charlie was very glad he was there, I think.

I have been trying to gain inspiration from my little man - he's taking on the world because he's not worrying about too much at once. I could do the same. Good enough is good enough, nothing has to be perfect. So I thought I would share with you some of the things bringing me happiness at the moment, if not because it balances the days when I am having to run through in my head the list of reasons I should not want to die.

You may wonder why I seem to gravitate toward the homemade/craft blogs. As well as being something that I love doing, and just.... well, I can't express it easily... feels right and as though it will help me get better, I am in awe of those wonderful women, so full of character life and creativity. I need their warm domesticity, I guess I need to be mothered myself. And I also want to me that sort of mother.

So, here are some things I have been proud of doing this week.

Look - cables and shaping! I mastered short rows! Yeee-haw! I'll ignore the fact that I have been knitting this jumper since May, that this part literally took weeks and, when I sewed the whole thing up the gauge was wrong and the jumper made me look like Barbapapa. Who cares, when you've made something curved, with cables?! <does happy dance> I am making it into something funky, so watch this space....

I invented a recipe! These are lemon and honey flapjacks and, believe me, they are divine. I will post the recipe tomorrow. Made from honey from our very own bees! sadly, the lemons were from Tesco (wouldn't it be lovely to be able to grow those too?)

My fantastic pumpkin patch. We now have pumpkins, squashes, marrows and still the odd courgette. More home-grown vegetable pictures tomorrow, but it feels me with such a thrill to produce food through love and nurture.

I'm going to come out of this depression one day, aren't I? One day I won't have to run through my lists of why I should be alive, or convince myself I won't attempt suicide today. One day, I won't feel stoned on my meds, or spend the day in a fluffy coma on the sofa. One day, I will be able to answer the phone and make calls without blinking an eyelid. One day I will again wear make up, get my hair cut, have a job (career, maybe), smile and not feel as though I am deceving people.

One day soon .... xxxx