Awareness days suck

An old friend of mine has had breast cancer. She hates ‘Breast Cancer Awareness Day’. Says we’re all already aware. That wearing pink means nothing. The same with that fad of turning your Facebook picture black and white (without saying why!), for ‘cancer awareness’. A while ago, she wrote a Facebook post about it that went viral. The picture she posted was a black and white selfie…of her topless, showing botched mastectomies. You could say the words she used were harsh. She said that people were already aware of cancer, and that what people need is actual help, not a bunch of black and white selfies. That the people who did it were self-serving, and wanted to feel better about themselves.

I have an odd relationship with mental health awareness days.I realise that there is a lot of work to do on stigma. However, these days don’t seem to be doing that. I once wrote:

“[mental health awareness day] seems to be an exercise in people who want to appear open and inclusive encouraging other people to have clean, sanitised convos about ‘easy to understand/relate to’ mental illnesses so everyone gets to feel smug. There, I said it.
WE DO NOT EXIST TO MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER ABOUT YOURSELF.
We are not cuddly injured puppies. We are a monstrous scary mess.”

I was feeling particularly ranty when I wrote this, but I think I have a point. These days seem to exist more for the people who support them, than the actual people with mental health problems. Additionally, where is the awareness of the ‘less palatable’ mental illnesses? I can tell you that my friends with schizophrenia, personality disorders, psychotic illnesses etc do not feel included in these days.

My final gripe with awareness days – they very rarely take reality into account. ‘Just ask for help’ is all well and good, but when mental health provision in no way matches the demand (for example, after several months of waiting, feeling regularly suicidal, my friend just received an appointment through to see a psychiatrist…in six months time), we have to ask ourselves how responsible that message is?

It is not a case of asking for help and accessing it at a point of crisis. The reality is long, lonely waiting times. And while I acknowledge the fantastic work of organisations like Samaritans and Breathing Space, they should be an addition to NHS services, not be expected to catch all the people failed by the system – some of whom have multiple and complex mental illnesses.

What is the answer? More NHS resources, of course. Will that happen? I’m not holding my breath, but in the meantime I’m sure there’ll be an awareness day.

Space to ‘just be’

“I feel as if I wanted to be quite alone by myself”
Bobbie, in ‘The Railway Children’

When I have periods of being unwell, I don’t want to do anything. I want to be away from everything, everyone. I want to be alone.

I recognise that an important part of getting better is engaging, doing things, being active. I’m pretty sure that’s what psychology calls ‘behavioural activation’ (get me, with the fancy terms!). But I also think that the importance of doing nothing, or giving yourself time and space to ‘just be’, can’t be underestimated. This is hard to see sometimes though. Especially when it seems like everything is demanding your time.

When in the steely grip of a depressive episode, I lose myself. I stop having opinions, I refuse to even acknowledge my feelings. Instead of listening to myself, slowing down, taking a break, I try to do what everyone else wants, and push myself until I can’t keep going. Physically and mentally exhausted, I want everything to stop, and instead of saying no to people, relieving the pressure a bit and allowing me space to rest, I feel that my only option is to make everything stop by ending my life. This is a scary place to be, and one that’s difficult to navigate your way out of.

It’s difficult to say no. In our personal lives, we don’t want to let down the people we care about. At work, we want to be seen as capable, reliable, and hardworking – ‘team players’. So saying no, that we don’t want to do something, or that we can’t or don’t have the capacity, is difficult. But it is important. I’m realising more and more that feeling able to say no is essential when it comes to my own mental health. I’m not saying that we should refuse to do anything we don’t fancy – compromise is a really big part of relationships – but setting limits, and sticking to them, means that you’re not sacrificing your own health and wellbeing in order to keep others happy.

A good few years ago, I was talking to a friend about this. She said that, very often, when someone asks her to do something, instead of saying yes immediately, she asks for time to think about it. I think we all need that time, sometimes, but we are afraid to ask for it. Maybe it’s time to be brave though. What’s the worst that could happen? The world will not end, people will not hate you. And the best? You get time out, to ‘just be’. And that is a very good thing.

The importance of people

“I feel like my life is so scattered right now. Like it’s all the small pieces of paper and someone’s turned on the fan. But, talking to you makes me feel like the fan’s been turned off for a little bit. Like things could actually make sense. You completely unscatter me, and I appreciate that so much.”

Will Grayson, Will Grayson – John Green and David Levithan

People are important. Reaching out is important. A text can save a life. Today I am grateful for my friends.

For years, I was convinced I needed to deal with everything on my own. That my problems were mine alone, and that letting people in was the worst possible thing I could do, for them, and for me. Depression convinces you that you are worthless. Worth less than everybody else. So what right do you have to inflict yourself on other people? Who are you to ask for anything from anyone?

I personally find it very difficult to ask for help, with anything. I think this is true for a lot of people. We live in a world where admitting weakness very often results in a loss of respect from those around us. People take advantage. Survival of the fittest has created a culture of fear. Fear of honesty. Fear of judgement. Fear of being seen a less than. In some cases, even physical illness is seen as a personal weakness. But there is a particular feeling of superiority when it comes mental health problems. Borne out of a lack of understanding, perhaps. Well, I’d like to think.

To a large extent, mental illness is invisible. People suffer in silence, develop coping mechanisms, some healthy, some not. So unless someone reaches crisis point, the people around them are very unlikely to know there is a problem. And if your only experience of mental health problems is seeing someone in crisis, it all becomes a bit Big and Scary. But what if we were all more honest about our daily struggles? What if admitting to anxiety was no more remarkable than telling people you had a headache? Are we ready for that? Do we even have the language necessary to have these discussions? It’s hard to say things, articulate things, that people have a limited understanding of.

But it is important. To talk. Whether it’s sending a text, messaging on social media sites, leaving a comment on a blog, meeting up for a coffee and a chat, or sending a good old fashioned letter. These are things that can help. It’s important to reach out, to let people in. It may seem scary. You may stare at that send button for ages before working up the courage to press it. But believe me, it’s amazing the weight that lifts afterwards. Just knowing that someone else knows can make a huge difference to how much strength you have to cope with difficult situations.

So, I guess what I’m saying is, if you know someone who’s having a hard time, contact them. Let them know they’re not alone. And if you’re suffering, I know it’s hard sometimes to see anything outside yourself. But people are there. And want to help. A text could be the first step.