Always Keep Fighting

     I'm not jumping on the bandwagon of being the "biggest fan" of a recent celebrity who's death is all over the news, and I'm not writing this because it is popular to talk about. I've actually instead, been inspired to write and tell you that you matter.

Depression and all other mental health issues are horrible. No matter what you do or say, sometimes people just can't see that you are reaching out a helping hand. And equally some people are just so good at pretending they're floating along fine that under the surface even their closest family and friends cannot see that they are so close to being dragged under and drowning.

    This facade is unfortunately blameless. No two people can react to the same mental health issues in the exact same way. While subject number 1 with Depression can be obviously depressed and eventually receive help, subject number 2's depression could be completely masked, and masked so well they are overlooked by everyone. And both these subjects are equally as in need of help. But in the UK at least. although flawed, there is a system in place that can and WILL help if you ask. But something as simple as asking for help seems like just such an easy feat to any "normal" person. To someone suffering under the weight of their own mental health, this is almost impossible.
    To add to that- the day to day stigmas of close minded people who have never have, or never will suffer from any issues like this. Society has been so closed and looked away from so many people over the centuries, we have endless amounts of evidence of clearly mentally challenged, mentally disabled and mentally ill people suffering from various psychological mental health issues being either locked away, ignored, experimented on and even killed. There are studies into the horrors of Psychiatric hospitals, people with schizophrenia being "treated" for possession, being burned for being a witch. And all of this needless suffering and pain has come from the simple act of a lack of compassion and refusal to want to understand, and almost a fear because so many people seem unable to understand. And this exact thing is still happening, and I suspect will still continue to happen no matter how many people try and talk about it in a way that everyone will understand.
   

    Of course I am referring to Chester Bennington of Linkin Park. In the last couple of years we have had our fair share of celebrity deaths, through various reasons, including suicide, but none hit me quite as hard as this. Mainly because it brought to light the exact thing most mental health sufferers fear most, and that is the Depression (or other illness) winning.
   The only way I can begin to describe it is if you know you have this huge, overpowering darkness inside. You have lived under it for years. You are perhaps at a point where you have an umbrella to shield you from its heavy downpours, or you have a box you can compress it all down and store it in, and for the brief times you are not under its control, and you are able to be "Lucid" and "Normal" you can look back at it and see how much it affects your entire life. All aspects of it, like an annoying fly buzzing in the background of every conversation, every laugh, every smile, it's lurking back there and you know its there. You can even hear it on the happiest day at the happiest moments. You wonder how everyone else hears and sees the world without this evil buzzing about you and your entire life. And the fear as you look back from your lucidity is that it will get so big one day you can't put it back in its box, your umbrella wont work, no one walking past will be able to save you. Nothing will break through the overwhelming sadness you feel into your very soul- and what makes it worse is it all seems to be for no reason. You could have the love of your life next to you, beautiful kids and the perfect job, plenty of money and be the saddest most depressed person in the world. This pressure, this overwhelming horror of every day life hurting your soul on a daily basis makes you want to end it. What is the point in "living" if there is literally nothing to live for. If every day seems like it is your darkest day. When it feels like all the hatred in the entire world is your fault and it all falls back on you.
This is the scariest part. Your brain, Your emotions, your soul. What makes you you....is also the thing that seems to want to kill you. It makes you not want to be here any more. You don't want to eat, or you want to eat too much. you don't want to be alone but you don't want to go out. You can't stand your own company but you're stuck in here with you- forever.
Imagine the most hated person you can in your life. Someone you'd easily hurt without a second thought...now imagine that person is you. And live like that, for the rest of your days.
There is enough hatred on the planet as it is, without you then hating yourself too. And if you have a vendetta against yourself. Who's going to really win?

....

I am a diagnosed, high Anxiety sufferer and I have paranoia, and as a result this makes me depressed. I have been suffering for many, many years. I had my first panic attack at the age of 12 because I was worried about what happens to you when you die. And the very vast expanse that is our endless universe exists within what? What is the universe actually within...
BOOM. Panic.
I had no idea what this was. I thought that I'd been worrying about death so much I'd managed to kill myself with my mind.I actually thought I was dying and I couldn't escape it.
I still panic and freak out about this now. I had a panic attack about dying in June last year. I sat screaming and crying in absolute fear on my landing, while my husband cradled me and tried to calm me down. You cannot escape it.

I have Anxiety as a result of being sexually abused between the ages of 8-12 by a "well loved local man". he was a family friend. As a result of this, therapy, court case and coming to terms with it all... and also blaming myself. I missed a lot of school, kids at school I thought knew about it all and were talking about me. The people in my small town too...which it actually turns out they were talking about me, even going as far as to call me a "slut" at the age of 14. I had people that I was no longer allowed to be friends with... and I was constantly aware of everyone around me. Hyper aware. I'd listen to everyone else's conversations, even from afar. I'd be looking around everywhere to see who was where, if they were looking at me, what were they doing, why? Did I know them, are they walking towards me, if they do come over where can I go to get away from them. I started to predict things before they happened because I was so aware of everything I knew what was coming next, My natural instincts, my "fight or flight" reflex was on constant high alert. Code red 24/7. I became an introvert. I had a few very close very amazing friends. Who I am sure, without them and my amazing family, I wouldn't still be here...because living with that anxiety every day, being so on edge was exhausting and I was tired of myself and my life.
   By the age of 16 I didn't want to be here anymore. For someone so afraid of death and what happens when you die, I was very quick and willing to end it. THAT'S how much control it had. I knew this was such a bad thing to have, I grasped desperately at anything to keep me here. I remember watching ITV2 and a TV series called Supernatural was just airing, I watched the entire first season without fail and then it ended on a huge cliff hanger, I remember thinking "well I can't do it yet, I need to see what happens"- so literally as you can see, ANY excuse I could find to not let it win. It was like I was bargaining with my own brain to just survive a bit longer... just want to see the next season, or I just want to make it till Sunday so I can go on a walk to the local woods with my best friend...I cant do it now I've got to go swimming tomorrow with my Pops. I was desperate to anchor myself here for any reason, because daily I could feel this depression taking over and taking me away.
    I used to self harm as a way of controlling it. Remind myself that I was still in control and not my Anxiety or Depression, ME, I was still here. And if I wanted to mark myself I could. And I did.
   Guess what... I was in control, I am still here. I am a fighter. And ironically the cast of Supernatural have an "always keep fighting" campaign now for people who are struggling. (I will post links at the end).
I was officially diagnosed after becoming really bad again at the age of about 22. I was working for a large supermarket chain here in the UK. I had to move from a department I loved because of my scoliosis and I ended up on a department where I loved most of the people but one manager just didn't understand me at all. By this point in my life i'd worked out I had some form of anxiety and depression. So I also knew when I was pushing myself too much. I began to hate my job and this woman so much on the way to work I just wanted to walk into traffic, make it look like an accident. No one would hate me then. In the end i just wanted to jump off the overpass into the road below. I actually laughed at the image of her seeing my body and being like "oh I guess she really was depressed". She was the kind of person who would tell an Anorexic person to "just eat something". So ignorant to others needs.
    I knew I was becoming very bad, and also that perhaps I was focusing all of my paranoia into this one person hating me. I started to skip work a lot. Call in sick for weeks at a time. I knew it wasn't right so I went to the doctors...and he recommended I do less hours, this didn't go down well with the evil manager and I ended up being signed off work, for months at a time. I was put onto medication and told to "relax" try and enjoy the little things in the every day. The therapist I eventually did get to see told me to document my good days with photos and share them, as a way of proving to others I wasn't "mental" (as I kept describing it) and to help my paranoia. I had very few good days, but when I did i'd put the odd photo's online, i'd be proud that I left the house and that I did my own shopping etc...But this actually really backfired and I ended up getting several disciplinary's for "not looking sick" after people I worked and considered friends, took these photos of me out of context, without my captions explaining i'd conquered my agoraphobia and gone to the shop etc; all of it was seen as being off work for no reason. Apparently trying to kill yourself and wanting to kill yourself weren't acceptable reasons for being off work. They didn't understand that, the one photo of me in my garden, and the one of some cakes I baked...well, in my garden was as far out of my house as I had gone for an entire month, and that after id made the cupcakes I smashed them up because I was too fat to enjoy them. This manager sat across from me in my meeting and smirked as she read back my private Facebook status's and used examples of people seeing me food shopping, or out and about (usually going to therapy or my doctors) and they had told her I looked completely fine. So clearly there was nothing wrong. This hit me hard. Because first off, I felt like no one believed me. and secondly people who were my 'friends' at work, and so understanding were reporting me for this shit after knowing everything that was going on...
Paranoia overload.
I rage quit that job. I tried to get justice for constructive dismissal but I didn't have any evidence as I didn't document it all. I spiraled into a deep depression. got into debt because I was out of work for over a year in the end and I was saved simply by the strength of my Husband, my close family and a tiny amount of friends. In fact during this time I lost a lot of friends. I was declining invites. I went months without replying to people and seeing anyone. The darkness had escaped it's box and I was lost in it.

And this is why Chester hit me hard. So many people knew he was depressed. Knew he suffered. But everyone has said how he seemed "fine". he looked "fine" he was "happy".
   I used to (and still do) listen to Linkin Parks songs, and they used to speak to me on such a level that understood exactly how it felt, and I felt relieved that someone was making songs about the exact things I was feeling. This guy had this horrible thing of depression but he was beating it and did beat it every day...until one day it won. I am battling my issues back on a daily basis, friends and family members have their own similar issues, they are fighting every day, and looking at them and thinking about how it is terrifying that some may not win. What if IT wins. It gets so many people on a daily basis and their seems to be nothing we can do...But there is. Their really is. Just be there. Think of your words. The most precious thing on this earth is time. Respect the time you have and if you can give your time to others then do. Just a text or a phone call to see how someone is could save someones life. Let them know they matter to you. They are enough. And this planet needs them. You need them. And if you don't understand mental health issues or you think suicide is "selfish", spend one minuet talking to someone who has these problems, and actually LISTEN. Don't just listen to reply with why you are "right". Educate yourself. And if you still can't find that compassion for another human life, then perhaps question why you are here. If it's religion you believe, science, spirits...whatever, why are YOU here on this planet? Is it to be oblivious to everyone and everything else around you, what will that mean you take with you in the end? Is it to not care at all and just blindly skip along until you end. Or Is it to tell someone they mean something...could that be the only sentence you need to say to save someone, because surely even if you don't understand, knowing you have been supportive of another human soul is thousands of times better than the negativity people are so quick to spew. You matter. They Matter. All human lives matter. Even if you don't understand, you can help.

The planet is one finite force of life, and it all matters. Save everyone and everything you can. And Always Keep Fighting.

https://twloha.com/

https://www.samaritans.org/how-we-can-help-you/what-speak-us-about/i-want-kill-myself

https://www.rethink.org/diagnosis-treatment/conditions/depression?gclid=EAIaIQobChMI8feWlqHB1QIVh7XtCh2XRQiCEAAYBCAAEgLk-fD_BwE

https://www.rethink.org/diagnosis-treatment/conditions/anxiety-disorders/about?gclid=EAIaIQobChMI4OC4pKHB1QIVLJPtCh0CFAL5EAAYAyAAEgI43_D_BwE

https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/paranoia/#.WYZWmoQrJhE

I had Day Surgery and kept control of my Anxiety (warning graphic images)

June 2016, I noticed a small mark on the sole of my foot, about 1/2 a cm away from a mole that I've had in the arch of my foot for pretty much all of my adult life. I even tried to wipe this "mark off" in the shower, until I realised it was a new freckle, which of course is odd as freckles are usually signs of skin damage from exposure to the sun and your body producing melanin in that area as a result, and I don't go out in the sun as it is, let alone sunbathe or catch the sun on the sole of my foot.

Anyway, I kept an eye on it, but soon forgot about it, then August hit and I randomly thought to check it one night and discovered it had grown, and not only had it grown, it had doubled in size, it now had a white dot in the middle and my mole next to it had changed and extended and of course I freaked out. One of the down sides to studying beauty therapy and skin analysis is knowing all the nasty things your skin can do. I went to my GP who put me on a two week emergency referral to a Dermatologist, initially I had some serious issues, first of all my appointment letter was sent out THE DAY BEFORE my appointment, so I got it through the post while I was at work the morning of the appointment, and my post is usually around 11am and the appointment was for 10.30!!! So I phoned and explained what had happened and got a new referral, this extended the time from two weeks to 3, then as the new referral had been made to a Dermatologist that worked in a doctors in a town miles away from where I lived, I don't drive and i'd have had to taken two buses to get there, and with no lift available on the date I was originally given I then had to change that date too, so my two week emergency referral turned into a 4 week hell of worry and phone calls until I managed to get an appointment at my local hospital, and before I knew it I was sat nervously in outpatients waiting to get my moles looked at, with my friend Anna who came along for morel and anxiety support.
I felt sick just waiting for the examination. But my friend was a rock and kept me occupied.
When I entered the room I gave a brief explanation to the lady who was lovely and she requested I undressed down to my underwear and she looked over every mole I had, which is quiet a few. She seemed fine with all of my other moles, even though some had changed over the past few years it was more likely down to further damage than anything sinister but the one on my

foot and my "new addition" had to go. She wasn't happy with them one bit. The new one had irregular lines around the outside, white dot in the middle and the one I've always had on my arch had visibly extended. So again I was put on a two week emergency referral to the hospital...but that actually came through really quick and for the right place too. I was referred to a Plastic Surgeon who did a quick initial examination and then said he was happy to remove them under local anesthetic and he would send an appointment through ASAP. By this time it was mid October and I just wanted these moles gone.
I got a letter through really quick and it was for a date within two weeks (4th November) so I booked the day off work, and subsequently the week after too to allow for healing and nervously waiting for the 4th to roll around.
Now anyone with anxiety will know the wait is possibly the worst bit, and for me what made it even harder was on the letter it says you cant take anyone into day surgery with you. I wont lie. I freaked. Despite what these moles could be I was going to cancel and just hope for the best.

I ended up phoning the day surgery unit and explaining my situation with my mental health issues etc. and on the day I couldn't have asked for a better team to be there. They allowed my husband

through with me to wait in pre-op with me. They took my blood pressure when I got there and it was super high, I was shaking, nervous, felt sick, I wanted to run away, I was constantly on the edge of a panic attack. In fact I think if I hadn't have been distracted by work all the week previous and leading up to my operation I would have entered full melt-down. To most people these kid of operations may seem ridiculously minor but i'd never had anything like this before! I didn't know what to expect, I had to wait around in pre-op for ages and that just make everything worse. But with my husband there, and the loveliest nurses checking up on me, they put the TV on for me to distract me, got me to get changed, explained everything in detail to me so my anxiety wouldn't freak out. I got to sit with the surgeon beforehand and just explain my mind was being a poo. Which he laughed at the way I explained that I had a "logical" side of my brain and my anxiety side is like a small child, hyper on sugar and set on fire, let lose to run around and destroy every reasonable thought.
The operation was in a proper huge operating theater, like you see on tv, lights and surgical staff, and i'm guessing a few intrigued students too, (it's not every day someone grows a mole on the sole of their foot). There was a nurse there, who I want to say was an assistant too, but i'm not sure. she distracted me with talking about my tattoos, said she was a white witch, we talked about my work etc. she sat up by my head and held my hand, answered all my questions was the nicest human to me ever.
The worst part was the injections. I had 8, I think. It was the worst pain. I'd rather have my dental injections. Getting several injections in the sole of your foot is not how to spend a good friday afternoon. The surgeon was really quick, took a maximum of 15 min. stitched me up and I WALKED out of there. I have to put my weight on my heel encase of too much pressure on my stitches because of where they are placed and then was told I had to walk on my heel for two weeks until my stitches can be removed, so as of now that's a week today.

The evening and night after it stayed really numb. I used a crutch to add support as walking on my heal with my wonky legs and scoliosis aren't great when I don't have stitches! My brother and his mates took me to see a really late viewing of Doctor Strange which was amazing. It also meant we got back late enough for me to fall straight to sleep when I got back. I spent the Saturday morning with my sister buying hair colour and eating out, and I relied on my crutch a hell of a lot that morning. Then I spent the Saturday afternoon and evening sulking because I was in pain but wanted to see the fireworks and couldn't go. I was prescribed pain killers but the side effects of them far out weight just keeping weight off my foot and it stinging a bit so I chose not to take any. Although I did end up taking Ibuprofen because I ended up with a migraine all that Saturday and most of the Sunday probably due to stress.
The Sunday my mum and step dad took me out for a Christmas costa! whoop! and then brought me back home and I've pretty much been resting every since, other that another appointment and a quick
bus trip into town my husband and my cats have been looking after me really well and I've just got to wait for the stitches to be taken out before I can go back to work. Which is the most frustrating part. I don't like sitting around not doing anything, I don't like losing money and the worst part of the healing process is what I like to call the "20 min sting" where it just kills for 10-20min for no reason and then it's fine again. I'm hoping once the stitches are out that will stop.

I'll update this with the results when I get them, and probably how its healed after the stitches are out. Thanks for reading and remember to keep an eye on your moles and check your skin monthly at least!!! even if you don't sunbathe!!!!

XOXO

Rant/Mind Rambling.

I am a firm believer in "everything happens for a reason", but sometimes I do just want to shake my fists at the universe and shout..."well what the fuck was this for? Was I a toilet brush in a past life!!!"

  I genuinely sympathize with anyone trying to get a solid 30h+ job in this day and age. I have a 20h a week job in a certain high street retail chain, and I love my job, but this time of year overtime is hard to get as all the uni and collage kids are out stealing it all. But my husband has been in retail and then hospitality for as long as I've known him. He's always worked 30-40h a week without question....until recently.
  He was a Duty Manager at a bar in a local Hotel. Really nice people, great job, but career advancements weren't quite as fast paced as he wanted so when he was offered the role as Manager of a bar he leapt at the chance, and left his secure job to go and work for a much smaller pub, but it'd be his own place to manage, and much better pay for the hours.
 He was originally hired with the pretense that he'd be replacing their current manager as she was terrible and they wanted to fire her. That didn't happen at all. Despite multiple complaints against her too. He was there for his 3 week trial, during this time the 'woman' that he was supposed to be replacing had began what we have worked out was her usual torrent of abuse to a new member of staff (this place has had more people leave than I've had hot dinners and we figure she is why) and he made a formal complaint about her after he started suffering with anxiety at just the thought of working with her. That's pretty much as far as it went. And it turned out after the 3 week trial they just wanted him as a general dogsbody. A barman. No set salary, no set working hours...Not slating barmen, it's a hard job, he's done it for years, but when you've worked your way up to manager you don't want to take that much of a step backwards, and why should you! So he left. But trying to find any job over 30 hours or that isn't a zero hour contract seems to be impossible around here. I truly think they don't realize how much it costs to run a house here in the UK. We have no savings left as we didn't have much in the first place and we used what we did have while he was transitioning over into his "new" job.
   He has got himself another new job within 9 days but its only 14h a week and the pay alone wouldn't even cover one months rent. It's going to be tough. It already is tough. When you include rent, gas, electric, council tax, water rates, internet, tv licence, feeding the pets...feeding ourselves, plus debts were still paying off from years ago...it's all too much and can so easily snowball out of control. We will never, EVER be in the financial situation where we could get a mortgage or a business loan to open our own bar/pub. Our credit history is just appalling, and then in times like this when you get into arrears again it just affects it more.
   We've already been arguing. Money is the ultimate stress maker. I hate it as much as I love what it can do for a person, the lack of it can royally screw up your life in a very short space of time. And I find myself getting annoyed with myself as I struggle with my various health issues, I wish I could push myself to find a job with more hours, or that my back problems and my mental health would allow me to work more hours, regularly without breaking myself. But i'm finding even doing extra overtime at the moment is making me feel broken and fragile mentally and physically. It's a terrible horrifying thought that we just exist to exchange hours of our lives to make money, to pay bills for things we don't inherently need to survive and live on this planet...yet here we are...little hamsters in our wheels turning the cogs on the industry. Our reward...4 weeks holiday a year, food money. bills to pay...and then retirement money...that you should have saved up yourself as there is no retirement/state funded pensions anymore.
I'm going to have to work until i'm dead just to be able to eat.
I do feel sometimes that if you have a disability or a mental health issue they just like to brush you off and ignore you until you break and remove yourself as a problem to them... and by "they" I mean any government body that's supposed to be there to help you financially and medically. But this is probably the defeatist in me coming out because of recent events and lack of help out there for people who have worked most of their lives who are having a bit of trouble...there is NO HELP.
I GIVE UP.


Side note; I'm also a tad proud of myself that given my list of disabilities from such a young age I do hold down a job and get up and go and do things. I know some people aren't able to do as many things as I can who suffer with similar issues and worse. So I do feel fortunate. It's just really hard sometimes to pretend to be fully functioning human being when really you're lucky your broken shell and mind can even roll you out of bed in the morning.