It is well

It was my birthday 8 days ago. One of my friends presented me with the gift pictured below. I don't think she had any idea how much my inner being is saying this at the moment. Despite the turmoil and the uncertainty of the past few months, I feel at peace currently.

2 days ago Gilbert joined the house. Gilbert is a one year old tortoise. I've wanted a tortoise for almost 2 years now, but it has never quite been the right time. Last November was a real battle for me, but I promised myself if I survived til spring time, I'd be allowed a tortoise. In March, I got permission from my landlords, but life was still a bit shaky. After turning 27 and managing, for the first time in at least a decade, not to have a birthday-related meltdown, I couldn't see a better time. I cried happy tears in the car driving home with Gilbert, because buying him was me committing to living. A tortoise isn't like a dog or cat in lifespan. The whole likelihood is Gilbert will outlive me, but he will outlive me when I die of old age, not by me ending my life prematurely. My housemate has already nicknamed him Dr Gilbert, because he's my new therapist, and yes he will keep me alive and somewhat sane, but he's also my reward for surviving until now. He will be the reminder of the promise I've made to myself. I don't break promises to others, and I'm praying that now I can keep this promise without external accountability. Meet Gilbert...

There's another reason I'm blogging today; not just to be excited about life and tortoises, but because it's an anniversary. 10 years ago, I was awoken by the phone ringing at 4am. My dad answered. A phone call from New Zealand, my uncle had cancer. He had days to live. I went to school that morning. I remember snapping at a friend who offered me Haribo, because how could I eat sweets when my uncle was dying halfway across the world? Less than 10 hours after the initial phone call, the second came with the worst news. My dad picked me up at the end of the school day. My family only seem to be able to deliver bad news in the car (I can count at least 3 more times I've been told bad news while either mum or dad were driving). The next weeks were a whirlwind. This happened 2 days before mum's birthday, he'd been diagnosed on mine. Flights were booked to the funeral. I realised I'd never speak to my cousin again. I met people who weren't who they said they were. I'd hugged my uncle at Easter for the first time in years, did I know then it would be the last time saw him alive? The mask I'd been hiding behind was rudely ripped off. My mental illnesses exposed after 5 or so years of being hidden. Everything was attributed to my uncle's death but it was far more than that. My diary entry on this day 10 years ago read "It shouldn't have been Graham. It should have been me." These sentences repeated in entries for at least another year, but it wasn't the first time I'd contemplated not existing.

My uncle was like a second father to me. I remember fondly the times he'd take my cousin and I shopping. The times we'd drive him crazy. His baseball caps. His sunglasses. The way he'd never raise his voice, just change the tone if we were in trouble. I notice it in my own voice now when telling children off. When I spoke to him on the phone and he'd ask me how learning Latin was going. He was one of the only people who I felt ok talking to on the phone. His visits were special. Christmas dinners with the compulsory brussels sprouts. Nana and Grandad's joy at having their son home for a little while, mum spending time with her brother. His love of travel became mine. In a couple of weeks I'm going to Canada. I always remember Graham speaking of Vancouver and it's been on my bucket list since he went. It seems fitting to be going this year. I remember when my uncle first bought his car- it was so exciting that he didn't have to hire cars anymore so always knew it was him when the car pulled up outside the house. That's my car now and while I want to replace it, it does still hold a special place in my heart. I knew he loved me dearly.

So much has happened in 10 years. I think he'd be surprised to see where life has taken me. But I think he'd be proud of me too. I've fought hard, faced challenges I don't think anyone could have expected. It's taken 10 years for me to be able to feel ok with life again. And for the first time since depression hit me, I want to live and live well. I want to enjoy every moment for now on and hope I make Graham proud.

I'm finishing this post with the title. An old hymn (by Horatio Spafford) that's been in my head for a few weeks.

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to know
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

It is well
With my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

What I Wish You Knew About My Mental Illness...

Monday 10th October is World Mental Health Day. Time to Change's Story Camp inspired me and so this blog post is happening. I've not so bluntly spoken about my mental health in a long time and this feels weird but hopefully I can do this.

I currently have 2 diagnoses. Depression and Atypical Anorexia. This week I surprised my boss by asking to take my time in lieu in one go instead of taking a week off sick; she had very little idea. There are so many misconceptions about mental illness. I want to tackle a couple related to depression that I've experienced- and they're all lies that my head likes to tell me regularly.

1) A relapse of depression means something has happened in my life.
Believe it or not, everything in my life is pretty darn good currently. Work is amazing, I love where I'm living, I have fabulous friends, I'm taking my medication every single day. Depression doesn't always have a cause, sometimes medication stops working, sometimes nothing big triggers it. It isn't a delayed reaction to something that happened weeks/months ago. I'm not faking it nor am I doing anything wrong. Sometimes it happens without any cause.

2) I can't be depressed because I have good days.
Up until Tuesday, I went in to work every single day and plastered a smile on my face. I did everything I was meant to, in the time frame I needed to and chatted to colleagues in spare moments. I used every ounce of energy that I had to do that. 4 hours out of 24 hours every day. 20 hours of letting my head win so I have the energy for 4 hours of fighting. In the past 3 days, leaving the house has been near impossible, and that's after getting dressed. Just because I don't show you outwardly what's going on in my head, doesn't mean I'm fine.

3) My friends are used to my depression and know exactly how to help so no-one else needs to get involved. 
Honestly, from one episode to the next, I cannot tell you what has consistently helped. Sometimes being with my friends is the best thing, sometimes sleeping for 18 hours a day is better. Sometimes continuing life as normal is helpful, sometimes it just masks what is really going on. If I knew what helped, I could tell my friends or even potentially help myself. If you have a new idea, say. I'm relatively ok with people suggesting things (except "have you tried meditating/medication/thinking more positively).

4) Don't get close to me because I am a burden. 
I really struggle with this one. I believe that I am an utter drain on my friends because I'm attention seeking and needy and always interrupting their lives. I know this isn't true. My friends are really good at telling me when it's too much but they're also amazing at dropping everything and making sure I'm ok. They also respect my space if I go silent on them for a couple of days. You do not need to avoid me, I maintain balanced friendships and your bad week will not send me spiralling- my depression also isn't contagious.

5) You can't be a real Christian/God can't be real because you're not healed.
This is the one I have the biggest fight with. I know God is real. I chose to follow Jesus 2.5 years ago and I don't regret this at all. Life following Jesus isn't easy, even when I am well there are challenges but that's ok. One really clear thing throughout this entire time is that God will use my story in a powerful way. I used to ask for healing frequently and He would tell me "no", that answer has changed over the past year to "not yet". And this is the hope that keeps me clinging on for better days- I just have to be patient. Please don't judge me for my faith nor God for not healing me instantly. Respect my beliefs. I have hope for the future and that's what keeps me alive. One day it will be better,

I know there are so many more but these are the five biggest misconceptions I experience regularly. If there are other massive stigma that you've experienced and think I've missed, feel free to comment. Slowly we'll break through stigma and people will understand more.

Speak

I thought I had a really catchy title for this post, but it doesn't quite fit. Hmmmm anyway...

The week before last I had the privilege of curating a different twitter account. One called MH_Voices. Every week someone different takes over and tweets about their life and their experiences, they ask questions, raise awareness and help build community. I was really nervous, because wow suddenly everyone was about to really see my life. Not just the personal-Twitter-appropriate version either. I've been putting off this blog post because it's really hard to write also.

I went in to curating the account with the view of "stories are important". I am a massive believer in that everyone has a story to tell. Life may seem uneventful or it may be incredibly overwhelming but every single thing that happens is part of what makes you unique. I find my own story a bit hard to deal with sometimes. There's some bad stuff (which I'm relatively open about), some good stuff (which I'll constantly talk about) and then there's some stuff I'm still processing (mostly bad and definitely not often talked about). Some of it I'm ashamed about but it happened and it has made me who I am today. I told the Twitter-world some of my mental health story. It's hard because a lot of it is intertwined with other things. My recovery definitely has made more progress since I became a Christian. How does one tell people that in a sensitive manner; telling the truth but not forcing my beliefs upon others? I hope that I got that balance right. God doesn't fix everything but doing life with Him had to be better than the state I got myself in to alone. That's what my faith hinged on, that one thought the night I became a Christian; "it can't be worse than my life right now".

I finished my week curating even more convinced that stories are valuable and no story is insignificant. I also finished it with a realisation: I have a voice. I have infinite words when it comes to writing them on paper, typing them on a computer screen but speaking aloud is not my thing. But maybe it should be. I've never been the outgoing one in a group of people, I struggle to maintain conversations with strangers, I become socially incompetent when faced with more than one person to talk to at a time. If we're in a meeting, unless I'm having a particularly bad day, I will sit quietly, agree with whatever is said and let opportunities pass me by because I am afraid of the repercussions of voicing my thoughts. People have said utterly hurtful things about the way I've spoken up previously which has resulted in me being even less willing to talk. A Twitter account, where I can share my story and not be told it's wrong is an infinite confidence boost. I've been more honest, I've been brave in doing different things, I've started to speak up a little more (but I know I need to work on my tone of voice!). Things are changing, little by little. All thanks to Mental Health Voices.

I have dreams for the future where telling my story will bring hope to others in a big way, but right now, I want to make a difference to one person at a time and a simple Twitter account has started the process. I can do this. I have a story and my voice is valuable. One step at a time.

We have hope.

A long winded introduction as to why this post is only appearing now: 

When I was younger, I'd go on a camp in the summer or at Easter and it would be awesome, then I would come home and fall in to a horrid depression. We'd call it post-camp blues but I knew I felt it more intensely than others. I never quite knew what to do to cope through this time. No-one wanted to talk about camp after it was done. Apparently it's different when you go on mission. People want to talk about a mission trip for a while and it isn't until people stop asking that the struggle sets in. 

This past week hasn't been easy. My mental health is rapidly falling off the cliff that I walk along the edge of on a regular basis. So maybe, just maybe, this might help me cling on a bit and remind me of the hope I learnt of while away. 

End of disclaimer ;)

Lisieux

The first week in Normandy was hard, like insanely hard. My anxiety was at an all-time high despite taking medication. It was scary. I could not shake this anxiety and it is my overriding memory of the whole week. There were moments of joy: hanging out with the team every night, pastries for breakfast, going to see the city, praying for the city at 7.30am in front of the basilica (watching the sun rise, seeing the beautiful morning sky, sharing communion), the women's breakfast, getting really powerful words spoken to me that started a change, helping to set up a 24/7 prayer room and praying in it, sharing a room with all the girls, giving out Bibles on a university campus in Caen. Plenty of amazing things and yet, I remember so clearly the weight of oppression I felt the entire week. 

What did I learn from that week though? Perseverance. I begged most nights to be allowed to go home, to just not have to do the things I'd been asked to do, to just give up. And yet, I didn't leave. I didn't quite do everything as planned, but I stayed. That was my biggest achievement. Not giving up. When things get hard I run in the opposite direction, I have no desire to stay and see if things get better; I have no control over the outcome so it's safer to run because I know what happens then. But I stayed. More than anything, I learnt how much others love me, and that God puts me in places for a reason. If I'd not gone, I would never have been told that a tunnel ends eventually, that God wants to turn me around significantly, that I shouldn't just hear of God's provision for others but believe it for myself too. If I'd have left, I wouldn't have heard a testimony that's changed my perspective so significantly. I wouldn't have gone to Paris and I wouldn't have gone to Madrid. Hold on, pain ends. 

Paris

Paris was 100% about being brave in a way I never imagined. I never thought a city could trigger memories from a different city because of an association. I never thought that I'd tell anyone that part of my story (it was a silly teenage mistake, you see) or that it'd be relevant in my life any more. But it was and I had to talk. 

I love Paris- the language, atmosphere, places to see. I spent time in my European happy place (the steps in front of the Sacre Coeur if you're wondering) and I spent time rocking back and forth in a corner of a church in absolute fear. But I was brave. I wouldn't have got to my happy place if I hadn't fought the thoughts. I wouldn't have made beautiful new memories if I hadn't told anyone why it was so flipping hard for me to be in that city. I learnt the importance of being surrounded by people you can trust that love you no matter what your mental state. I learnt the value of being hugged tight like nothing else exists. I remembered the need to persevere even when your world feels like it's falling apart because you just might be surprised. 

Madrid

And after many, many hours in the airport we arrived in Madrid. I'm not sure I'm about to do this justice, but I will try. My life has been forever changed by spending 6 days in Betel. The women we stayed with welcomed us with open arms (quite literally) and loved us from the minute they met us. Nothing was too much trouble for them. The language barrier didn't matter, we're all part of God's family and that's what mattered most. 

I spent several days working in the kitchen. It was comforting, familiar. I'm thankful for the opportunity to do something that was safe because it meant the "ohmygosh I speak no Spanish" was infinitely less scary. I got to hear the stories of the 2 women I worked with (yay for broken English!) and I shared a little bit of mine. On the 2nd full day we got to go out with the evangelism team to the slum. It was weird. I put up my mental wall and just accepted it. I had to protect others. I don't think I'll ever be able to totally recall what I saw that day- people desperate for drugs that they couldn't care who was watching when they injected, people asking to buy us girls as slaves, a guy who said he was too bad for God, another who was completely blind to where this habit would lead him. We were surrounded by darkness, and yet, for me not one bit of what I saw surprised me. What actually overwhelmed me was just how much God had redeemed those at Betel; how much love He's shown them and brought them out from utter destruction to a much more amazing way of life. And they praise God for it. Continually. I'll admit I don't believe that God can ever do that much in my life- how could he? I'm such an average person, why make me in to something better? Well that was my thought process before Betel anyway. 

As the week went on I got to know one of the women more. By Saturday it made sense to share my testimony completely with her. The wisdom with which she spoke in to my life after that, the things that she shared to encourage me. I was taken aback. This woman who had known me less than a week knew exactly what I needed to hear. Only God could have told her to say some of those things. It was an amazing blessing to be able to have that conversation with her. I'd led the devotional time a couple of days previously on Isaiah 43:1-7 and she knew how much I needed to hear what I'd said to them for myself. She even said to me that in a few years time I'll make an amazing nurse again, that she can see me doing that. For the first time since 2012 I didn't recoil at this suggestion. That's big. 

On the final morning the house leader asked to speak to me. She sat me down and told me her testimony. I am the only one of the group to have heard it and that will forever be a privilege. She told me she wanted to get close to me at the start of the week but I built a wall and wouldn't budge. I needed to hear her story, God made it happen. I truly am overwhelmed by God's healing power, His desire to redeem, His overflowing love for anyone who knows him. That I may not have been addicted to drugs, but I have been addicted to other things, I have looked for my identity and value in the world, I have neglected God while searching for something to fill the emptiness I've felt.  

The mission trip gave me hope like I've never had before. A very real idea of hope. I don't need to be fixed by the time I turned 25. I haven't missed my chance. I am battling a different addiction but one that I can still be healed from. It doesn't have to be instant. I've learnt the power of telling my story. That it can be an encouragement even before it has reached a conclusion. That I am a work in progress, but it's God doing the work. I don't need to be fixed before I go to Him. And that He is the solid foundation on which I need to stand. I can't take good care of others until I've taken care of myself. But there is always more of God to help me, I'm never doing this on my own strength. I've seen things I never thought I'd see, I've heard stories I never imagined I'd hear and because of this I have hope. There are better things to come for everyone reading this, and for myself. 

Don't just read stories of hope, believe it is possible for yourself.

We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf.

Hebrews 6:19-20

One Week...

The first week of 2016 is complete. I survived. If my word for the year wasn't brave I'm not entirely convinced I'd still be standing right now. Every evening has involved repeating "I need to be brave enough just for tonight. We'll deal with tomorrow when it comes" So how have the resolutions been going?

First up the resolutions. Well I sit here at 20.30 with my phone on beside me. Turning it off at 6pm? Well it's happened some nights but also my mental health is a bit fragile at the moment. I need that external support that being able to contact my friends at different hours bring me right now. That doesn't mean I'm not still aiming for no phone after 6pm; circumstances right now require it to be different and actually I need to be kind to myself, not force myself to do this alone. I am, however, already more aware at how much more I need to invest myself in being present for others. Same with Facebook. I waste a lot less time on social media already and actually I'm more efficient to the point I'm left wondering "how did this ever take me so long?"!

I've managed my two walks this week, I've kept up daily quiet time and I'm being brave. Which brings me on to how my one word has been going. It hasn't been easy. Every single day I've had some sort of struggle; I'm so up and down at the moment but every night I'm making a conscious decision to be brave; to not give in to my head and see what happens tomorrow. I've had my first proper counselling session in several years, I've come back for the second term of internship (not an easy decision) and I've managed to start the term forgiving someone I wasn't sure I could. This week I've had to decide that I need to not look for jobs yet- it's not the time and it's stressing me out endlessly. The time will come and until then I have to keep giving it back to God.

I've had so many compliments and encouragements this week about things I've done and it feels good. The bad times are bad, but there's always something positive floating around that makes it easier. The days ahead scare me so bad, but I can smile. I am brave enough and I will win this battle. One day at a time.

She is clothed in strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come
Proverbs 31:25

Christmas

I feel I need to blog about Christmas, to remind me really what it is all about. 

Christmas is not about:
*how many times my mother can comment on my weight/eating habits
*how many "joke" arguments my parents have
*how many presents I got
*how many Christmases in a row Santa has not bought me slippers despite me taking Santa to a shop each year, pointing out the pair I want and saying "buy these now please so we don't have a repeat of last year"...and it still happening. I was so confident mum Santa had bought me slippers this year that I even bought my old ones so they could be replaced. You'd think I'd have learnt after 5 years...
*my grandparents believing they'll ruin Christmas if mum has to pick them up
*lamenting that it's been x amount of Christmases without *family member* (8 without my uncle and cousin now)
*how quickly I can get away from the dinner table to retreat back in to my own space
*how quickly I can get back home to Oxford

Christmas is about:
*Jesus and the amazing gift that God gave to the world
*reconnecting with family
*using the phrase "calories don't count at Christmas" as much as is possible. 
*Christmas socks and Christmas pants and new pyjamas
*welling up at the Queen's Speech because it is exactly what you need to hear
*the Light of the World winning against the darkness 

I know so many people who struggle with Christmas for many reasons. There's one particular friend this year who is in my thoughts almost constantly. Something really significant happens and suddenly Christmas is changed forever. In my family, this year has been relatively low drama. No-one died, no-one was in hospital, there were no screaming matches, and no arguments over whether phones/laptops/tv are allowed to be used on Christmas Day. 

Christmas for me is not easy. As an only child, there's no special extended family gathering. My grandparents don't even come over any more (I'm pretty sure if I didn't venture to Kent, my grandparents wouldn't even acknowledge Christmas exists). So Christmas Day, except for the presents, is like any other time my parents and I get together. Mum and dad bicker, mum comments on/criticises my life in some way, dad just sits silently or hides on the computer and I end up crying myself to sleep in the early hours of the morning because why can't my family be normal? 

I tell people I hate Christmas. That's not entirely true. I hate the fake festivities that Christmas is expected to be. I love that Jesus came in to the world, I love that no matter how many times I screw up, I'm still forgiven because my sin was taken when Jesus died on the cross, I love that God loves me (even when I can't quite understand why!). I just hate the hype and the family expectation and the "everyone look at what a wonderful Christmas we're having" thing, especially on social media. In the build up to Christmas I cannot cope with the discussion over "what does your family do for Christmas?" "oh I've got this extended family and that extended family and even though a few years ago this happened, we still love having them at Christmas time" GREAT but it doesn't work for everyone.  And apparently it's not limited to Christmas with my parents, but also this year we had Christmas as an intern house. I cried my way through the whole entire day because it's overwhelming. Christmas has never been a big family thing, it hasn't involved lots of games, and I definitely am not used to "protected family time but we can bend the rules because it's x" Maybe when I have a family of my own it'll be different. We'll make new traditions, we'll actually go to church on Christmas Day, and midnight communion the night before, and it'll be a day free of arguments no matter what happens. That's my hope for the future. Right now I have to suck it up and admit Christmas sucks, that being poorly is actually a really good way to survive it because I can "need a lie down" when I can't face anything more, and just remember that it isn't about family but about God. There is hope, because Jesus is light. Jesus brings life where there appears to be none. Right now is hard, but the future will be worth it. To look back and see where God has brought me, through all this rubbish in the middle. 

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned
Isaiah 9:2 (ESV)

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
John 1:5 (ESV)