M is for mental health

Reading about other people, or listening to something that someone else is doing. It always sounds so charmed doesn’t it? But when it’s you living your own charmed life, why is it, that from time to time you still think about how lovely it might be to sink under the water. To wade out past the waves. And sink. And stay there. And never have to come up to the surface. Never have to hear other people yell, tell you bad things, put pressure on you, make you feel sad.

Some days, the majority of it is spent fantasising about your underwater life. “Life” in the childlike sense, as ultimately what you teeter on, in these day dreams that occupy sometimes, your whole day, very closely resembles suicide. That word has a huge stigma, and rightly so. It’s serious, it’s a very big sign that you need to start asking for help. But do you?

I don’t. Not because I actually want to die, but more because my day dreams are about a calm place, a quiet hideaway where no one else knows I am. And I am happy, I’m floating around in my underwater world and all I can hear is the bubbles from me breathing. In my fantasy I have obviously worked out some superhero way to covert H20 to 02… but that detail never gets labored on.

Generally, this is as far as my escape goes. And it’s safe, childish and very much resembles either The Snorks and/ or Finding Nemo. I get called Dori by people that know me well, for obvious reasons, so I feel safe in this day dream space.

But then some days it get so overwhelming and I feel so much pressure and so helpless, so hopeless. I’ll walk up near the top of the headland - in North Bondi this is epic as you are so high up - and I look out across that great expanse that is the Pacific Ocean… and literally want to get lost it in, and never found. I know this is different because I imagine the minute I hit the water, the noise, my fear, the cold water, the physical pain of the rocks and the water, and desperation, then huge regret. It's these moments I tell my husband about. I tell him I’m not coping. I tell him I need some help.

When I get really overwhelmed - I remember this space, this place. What it looks like, to look down. Standing at the top of Ben Buckler, I look at the rocks. Look at he crashing waves. I get smashed by the icy sea breeze. It’s cold, painful, uncomfortable and I don’t like it. And then I get absolutely real about the fact that no one person’s turmoil can ever be more than your mum’s heart.

And that’s it. I’m a sobbing emotional wreck, but I am back.

See, absolutely shit things happen to absolutely decent people, daily. But that doesn’t mean you need to ruin your mum’s life. And look, it’s a modern world these days and I know not everyone has a mum. But there will be one person somewhere in your life that loves you so unconditionally. Find that person and protect their heart. Once you’ve connected in your mind with that person, and connected with precisely how crushed they would be to lose you, find someone else or even that same person. And tell them about your thoughts. If you find yourself not being able or wanting to find some one, call life line. I have before. Honestly just the act of picking up the phone helped me feel like I was steadying myself. I also find it easier psychologically sometimes to talk to a stranger like the life line coaches. If you get to this point in your journey, promise yourself you will know this number.

I personally, have also worked out that for me, to tell someone I know. I’m no psychologist and I definitely don’t know much about anything, but I do know these thoughts are dangerous and scary. That’s why I’m honest about what happens to me and I share it here, as we all have to work out ways to recognise when we have completely escalated. Because this escalation is the really dangerous part. And we all need an escape route. Some way to work out how to get ourselves back away from that edge.

I have worked out my Snork life is escapism fantasy and I treat it as if I would treat watching a series on Netflix. Pure escapism, except I’m the one making the story up in my mind. And I know I’m safe here.

Full noise, raging waves crashing on the rocks, and I’m physically here watching it and wondering? I tell someone i know. Not just any one and not more than one person. I tell my husband. And we reassess what’s important and whether or not fitting so much in, is too much.

”Too much” is personal. You and your safe person will know what your maximum level is. I have a high tolerance. It’s afforded me my version of a charmed life. And to be frank, I have always kept myself distracted and immersed in work. It keeps me safe from myself.

So much so, that after round two Lemtrada, we put an offer in on a forth property - the week after I was discharged from hospital. The day of settlement and when the seller couldn’t settle, and I had arranged perfection to within an inch of its life to occur that day (professional cleaners, truck loads of new furniture, white goods and soft furnishings - compete with my entire Sydney wardrobe, cosmetics and toiletries all arriving within a 2 hr period before taking a flight home to Byron). I had what might have been nervous breakdown? I’m not sure, but I literally couldn’t see straight, my stomach hurt - I felt desperation like I’d never felt before. Such a thick feeling. Desperate, deep despair. I couldn’t sleep and my frustration turned in to anger, which then fizzled in exhaustion. Eventually I think I slept maybe and hour or two, then woke up at 5am and started a report draft for work. Full tilt psycho much?

I worked my day job that day and ignored the delivery calls, my broker, the settlement agent and my solicitor. The property eventually settled. I decided to stay busy and not entertain my own insaneness.

Seizing life, the day, your health back - whatever you want to call it, comes with a lot of pressure. I’m not advocating this at all, because to be absolutely real - when you’re in hospital having been filled up with chemicals that are destroying your white blood cells, and you get hooked up to more drugs because you’re having trouble breathing and the thought that there’s blood on your lungs? That’s what everyone is thinking but no one is saying… I guarantee you that you will not be fretting about whether or not the blush suede or the sea foam colour-ways is the better option for your chaise lounge. Or that you only have three of the same pillow covers now and can’t find the forth, so you’ll need to buy another set of two so there’s an even number, but what style of white?

Fact. You will not give a shit.

You will recall your best friend from when you were 3 years old, and the see the comedy sized bunch of flowers sitting in your hospital room from her. You will remember how much your mum loves you, and how to be strong for her. And you will always, no matter what’s happening, remember that your husband has your back and is always there ready to go, and do whatever you think you need to do. You think about the people you love. That is all.

But, I explain all this here as “too much” is relative to your life. Property #4 in Sydney by myself while my husband was away interstate with his work? That was my "too much".

Still be ferocious in your pursuit of what your charmed life is, but be smart about it. And get to know your own mind. Recognise the warning signs that give you an indication that you are about to max out.

Again I am certainly no expert but I know what has saved me from my own self destruction:

Never be afraid to confide in someone.

Always be open to professional help.

We are so medicated, we have so many specialists, medical teams, appointments. A psychologist is a just another one to add to the bill. So really, what’s the big deal about adding one of these Doc's to the mix.

Getting your head right? Well that’s the most important method of treatment throughout all this xx