A new direction

The new year brings with it a new direction for this blog, which I'm excited to tell you about today.

Image courtesy of Pixababy

Those of you who are regular readers will know that my sister and I have been occupied in supporting our ageing parents for the past 5-6 months. It has been a steep learning curve for both of us, as we've got to grips with their domestic and financial affairs, engaged for the first time with adult social services and explored care and funding options.

As time has worn on, my brain has begun to bubble with thoughts and feelings and experiences that I want to share. I've always been driven to write about events that are important or memorable to me, even if only as a record for myself or my family, for example being at the birth of my first nephew. 

Such writing often also proves therapeutic. The focus required to corral my thoughts and to find the best words to express myself is a great distraction from day-to-day worries. The act of writing leaves no mental space for my usual anxieties, quite apart from the cathartic effect of putting things down in words.

Now, though, I wish to share what we're going through, and what we've learned so far, with the wider world. I'm well aware that our story is not unique - very far from it - but I've found that reading about other people's experiences has helped me and I feel compelled to add to that writing canon to assist others.

I hope you'll find what I have to say both interesting and useful. I'll be building on my resource links - below right on this page - with pointers to the best advice we've found on elderly care, funding and the like. Something to come back to at a later date, even if you don't need it at present.

I also want to continue to inject humour into my writing. This is in no way intended to detract from the sometimes serious nature of the situation, but if you can't find something to laugh about when times are bad, life becomes intolerable. I learned this from the best: my late friend Nicki approached her terminal cancer diagnosis with a dark humour that was her way of coping - it is for many of us.

There will, inevitably, still be a link to mental health. I wrote recently about how the stress of my current circumstances has exacerbated various of my conditions; I expect that to continue in the future and for me to reflect on this in my posts.

I look forward to starting this new writing journey in the next few weeks and I'd love you to join me on this slight detour from my usual blogging path.

In the meantime, if you've come to this site seeking information or support on mental health issues, please do use the 'Search' facility - see below right - to find past posts on a wide variety of related subjects.

Good enough

'Her life's ambition is to figure out what "good enough" means' - so says my author biography. It's a goal I've been reflecting on a lot recently, as the year hurtles to an end and I look back on what I have - and haven't - achieved in 2016.

The trouble with being a perfectionist is that, whatever you accomplish, it never seems to be enough. I'm not ambitious in terms of career or money, but I am incredibly driven in other ways and give my all to any project I undertake.

So, when I brought out my novel, it wasn't in the pursuit of fame or fortune, but to share my writing and my experience of mental health issues - albeit entirely fictionalised. In fact, I doubt I'll ever break even from my publishing journey! Especially given the way this year has panned out...

In January, I found myself unemployed after the conclusion of a temporary contract, but began a new part-time job in mid-April. The salary wasn't enough to manage on, but I planned to top it up with an unused redundancy payment and review my position when that ran out. 

Time was more important to me than money: I intended to devote my two days off mid-week to promoting my book and giving talks about living with OCD and anxiety. Mental health advocacy has become very important to me and is vital to raising awareness and reducing stigma.

Except, four months later, life intervened. Since August, my sister and I have devoted most of our spare time to supporting our parents, as a result of their declining health. For every item we tick off our 'to do' list, another two replace it, and there is no end in sight to the constant problem-solving. In spite of my wish to do whatever it takes to help my parents, it has been frustrating to have to put my own life and plans on hold

Feeling particularly gloomy one day, I decided to review my writing year up to August, to establish exactly what I had achieved. Amongst other things, I have:

• Written 23 blog posts, totalling more than 12k words.
• Given two author talks in local libraries and three about mental health for Barnet Council staff.
• Delivered a 2-hour course on self-publishing at a writing conference - my first tutoring experience.
• Got my book into four libraries in Barnet.
• Recorded an interview for Barnet TV.
• And secured an indieBRAG medallion award for my book and seven great reviews from book bloggers.

At the end of my talk at North Finchley Library

And I don't think I've done enough?! I need to give myself a break.

I heard a quote once along the lines of 'When you die, there will still be things to do in your in-tray.' In other words, stop trying to do it all. I have nearly two weeks off over Christmas and the New Year, so what better time for me to put that advice into effect?

Wishing you all a happy and restful festive season.

* * *

My novel waiting to be shelved
at North Finchley Library

If you'd like to help kick start my advocacy work in 2017, why not buy a copy of my book for yourself, or your family and friends? - see my 'Novel' page for purchasing options. And don't forget, a book is not just for Christmas! 

Please do also post a review, on whichever is your preferred forum - Amazon, Goodreads etc - to help spread the word.

You can check out all my news from 2016 here.

Eye strain

Occasionally I'm stricken by health anxiety, though this rarely slides into fully-blown hypochondria - fortunately for both me and my doctor! I only ever seek help for actual, rather than imagined, symptoms, and usually manage to stop obsessing about them as soon as a medical professional has provided reassurance or a diagnosis. It's the uncertainty of not knowing that I can't stand.

So, when I noticed an intermittent blurry patch in my left eye, I immediately booked a check-up at my opticians. This blurriness coincided with the appearance of a larger than usual 'floater' in that eye and I thought they might be connected - floaters are lines or spots that drift across your vision, caused by tiny bits of debris floating about in the vitreous humour and casting shadows on the retina.

I fully expected the optician to tell me that there was nothing wrong, however, at the end of the examination, she said, 'Well, I can see a white patch on the retina, but I don't know if it's new or if you've always had it. It might be a retinal tear.'

Image courtesy of Pixabay

My heart pounded.

'I'll give you a letter to take to the hospital today,' she continued.

'Today!' That must mean it was really bad.

'Or tomorrow,' she said. 'This weekend, anyway.'

Maybe not really bad, but definitely not good.

As instructed, I set off straightaway to make the Tube trip into central London, to the walk-in centre at Moorfields Eye Hospital.

Amazingly, the place was heaving. It looked as if half of Greater London had gone to the opticians that afternoon and been despatched for further tests. The electronic information board provided updates as to how many were in the final waiting area - always around 21 or 22 - and, at 8.35pm, stated that 188 people had been seen that day.

It was some small consolation that I wasn't the only one whose Saturday had been ruined and at least I was spared the 4 hour 58 minute wait that the board threatened when I arrived.

For the whole 3 hours that I was there, however, my heart was racing with anxiety as to what might be wrong. With everything that has been going on with my family of late, I couldn't afford downtime for an operation. And what if it was worse than that? - what if I had a condition leading to sight loss?

With no one to talk to and nothing to distract me, all I could do was worry.

Finally, though, I was summoned in to see the consultant and, less than five minutes later, given the all-clear. I practically danced home, in spite of my exhaustion.

The experience helped me to put things in perspective. Yes, I am under huge stress at the moment, but at least I have good health and am in a position to support my parents.

I often talk in my blog posts about 'lessons learned' and one of my followers recently asked if I retain those lessons. The sad truth is that, no, I don't. Before long, I inevitably find something else to worry about. 

Perhaps, then, it's a good thing that life keeps throwing me curveballs - it seems I need these regular wake-up calls to remind me just how lucky I really am.

Catalogue of woes

A month on from writing about my stress over my parents' declining health, it's become apparent that the last few weeks have turned my situation into a microcosm of this blog.

It's as if I'd received the secret instruction 'Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to demonstrate to your readers as many of your issues as you can in as short a space of time as possible.'

Firstly, and almost inevitably, there has been an exacerbation of my OCD, as any distressing event is liable to have this effect. Increasing my ordering compulsions creates an illusion of certainty and control in largely uncertain and uncontrollable circumstances. 

Coming a close second is a flare-up of my generalised anxiety. These days, my body seems to be in a state of almost constant 'fight or flight'. Not only is my mind buzzing with worry, but I'm also experiencing the classic physical symptoms - mainly heart palpitations, a churning stomach and a sporadic loss of appetite. 

Even my tendency towards obsessive-compulsive spartanism - the opposite of hoarding - has reared its head again. When I cleaned my flat last week, it was all I could do not to throw away a whole heap of stuff in the process. I always find getting rid of things cleansing: it's as if I'm making space in my brain as well as my home. Fortunately I managed to avoid binning anything important.

Image courtesy of artur84/
FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Worst of all, however, has been the escalation of my insomnia. Even if I get to sleep quickly, the moment I wake in the night, my heart is racing. Before my mind has time to pick a worry to focus on, my body is on the case - it knows I'm anxious even when I'm asleep, which is reflected in the troubling dreams that make any rest I do get unrefreshing. Once awake, it can be up to an hour before I settle again. Multiply that by two or three times a night and it's no wonder I spend my days feeling like a zombie.

In addition, I've always had a propensity to tears - I've written previously about how some of us are 'highly sensitive people' - and tiredness only makes me more fragile. Barely a day goes by now when I don't cry at least once. 

The only respite from the mess in my head has been the couple of occasions when I've drunk slightly too much wine and inadvertently achieved a pleasant state of relaxation. However, I know self-medication is no solution. In a post last year, I expressed my concerns about that 'treatment' and, once again, I find myself having to make a conscious effort not to tread that path.

I have, at least, rediscovered sudoku puzzles, which I found to be a great distraction earlier this year, but had stopped doing. 

But puzzles are not enough. 

Reflecting on all of this, I've realised that I can't afford to wait for the cognitive behavioural therapy I've been promised, as that's likely to be at least three months away. I'll end up having a full-scale breakdown without some earlier intervention. 

So I'm considering paying privately for neuro-linguistic programming and/or hynotherapy sessions and also plan to seek - somewhat reluctantly - a prescription for sleeping pills.

In the meantime, I'd love to hear if any of these options have helped those of you who've experienced similar issues?

Going pro

Image courtesy of cbenjasuwan/
FreeDigitalPhotos.net

A couple of weeks ago, I did something that I haven't done in decades: I sought professional help for my mental health issues - specifically, my generalised anxiety.

Those of you who regularly read my blog will know two things about me. The first is that, every now and again, I experience a period of exceptionally high anxiety, more often than not over some anticipated problem, rather than an actual crisis.

The second is that I've got by with little professional help - just one short course of treatment from an occupational therapist more than 20 years ago, when my OCD first took hold.

Although I've read a lot of books and online resources, I've never properly tackled my anxiety. My default approach is to grit my teeth and drag myself through difficult times hour by hour, managing to hang on only because I know I've survived them before.

The reason I'm seeking help now is that there's no end in sight to my current stress, as the cause is my parents' declining health and corresponding difficulty in managing on their own. 

My sister lives half an hour's drive away from them, so does what she can on the ground, while I - being 100+ miles away - have tried to make myself useful with research on care options, funding, Power of Attorney and so on. It's a steep learning curve, but being proactive and getting informed creates an illusion of control amidst all the worry, sadness and frustration.

Tearfully telling a friend about it all, I said 'I feel such a wuss. I mean, everybody goes through this, don't they?' 'Yes,' she said, 'but everybody goes through it with tears and anxiety.' A friend once again being kinder to me than I am to myself. 

She's right, of course, just because everybody goes through it, doesn't make it any easier at an individual level. In the same way, everybody experiences bereavement, but that doesn't make your own losses any more bearable. 

Having closely followed this year's Paralympics, it occurs to me that, likewise, you wouldn't expect somebody who had lost an arm in an accident to take it in their stride just because millions of other people are amputees!

When I found myself wailing to another friend 'I can't imagine ever feeling happy or relaxed again', I realised that I needed to do something; I had to arm myself with some proper tools to cope.

After my GP had listened to my woes and my response to them - or, at least, what she could hear of it all through the sniffing and the crying - she said, 'I had another patient in almost exactly the same position and cognitive behavioural therapy [CBT] really helped'. I left the surgery with a self-referral form for the Mind Matters Barnet service.

The form is largely taken up by an Anxiety and Depression Questionnaire, which asks how often you feel, for example, 'Little interest or pleasure in doing things' and 'Down, depressed, or hopeless'. I scored a lot of 3s, ie 'Nearly every day'. 

A telephone assessment quickly followed, once again accompanied, on my part, by sniffing and crying that rendered me almost incoherent at times. A few days later, I was told that I had been approved for CBT...but that there was a four month waiting list.

So, in the meantime, it's back to the teeth-gritting and getting through life hour by hour - with just the tiniest of lights visible at the end of the tunnel.