This is the third time since Monday that I've attempted to post an update. Often an idea will roll round inside my head for a few days before it makes it on to here. Sometimes ideas come and go. The post I attempted to write this week was to be entitled 'Breakthrough' and the gist was the notion that "Hey, I might actually win this battle against my crappy mental health!" While I still believe that to be true, a few instances in the last few days have served to remind me of just how fragile and fleeting a positive mindset can be.
My last proper post was all about a magnificent Saturday I'd spent in London town in the company of Christopher Moyles and Team Dubland. It was most certainly not an average Saturday. Last Saturday was equally wonderful but in a completely different way. It certainly wasn't a run-of-the-mill Saturday by any stretch of the imagination but it was a little lighter on celebs!
Myself and my small humans spent last Saturday hanging out on Baggers & Bling - the narrowboat owned by my lovely friend Sophie and her family. It was a Bank Holiday weekend and for once the weather played ball. I mean it really, really did! Blue skies, glorious sunshine and all the optimism and joy that comes with a sunny UK Bank Holiday. The Smith's boat was moored at Foxton Locks and the whole place was a-buzz. Families and friends enjoying a beer or an ice cream in the sun with no work until Tuesday. Marvellous! It was one of those days that if you'd tried to plan it, it would all have gone to shit but our visit was spontaneous, the stars aligned and everyone had a jolly lovely time.
Driving back from Foxton with two tired, happy children in the car - sun still shining, music on - I had the first flicker of "Maybe, just maybe I could beat this thing..."
Sunday only served to cement the idea. I returned the children to their dad and borrowed his lawn mower while I was there. The grass needed doing and despite the ridiculous heat and the fact that I've never mowed a lawn in all my 36 years, I decided I was just the woman for the job! Once the lawn was cut I tackled the house, cleaning it from top to bottom. Mundane? A waste of a sunny Bank Holiday Sunday? Perhaps but I was so filled with energy, positivity and determination that it seemed like absolute the right thing for me to do.
The biggest achievement of Sunday wasn't the lawn mowing however, it was the fact that I spent pretty much the whole day alone and I coped. Not only did I cope, I actually enjoyed time by myself. Un-fucking-believable. Unheard of! Kati does not enjoy time with Kati. Kati doesn't like Kati! Ah but this Kati is positive and focused and a joy to be around...
Bank Holiday Monday morning I made my first attempt at a blog post, rattling on about how positive I was feeling and how I was maybe, kinda, sorta starting to believe that I was going to be okay... Maybe even better than okay. Saved it as a draft, went to work. My intention was to return to it that evening but Eva and her current allergy to sleeping gave me the evening from hell and the blog remained unfinished.
[Sidebar - I considered an entirely different blog post while working on Tuesday entitled 'My 9 year old is trying to kill me'. It was a shade dramatic and Daily Mail-esque but felt entirely justified after the umpteenth night of Bedtime Wars with my beloved first born!]
A few days later, I had another stab at getting the post out in to the blogosphere, taking bits I liked from my previous draft but it still never got as far as me hitting publish. I was so determined to record the monumental occurrence of self-belief as so much of my blog has been doom and gloom but it just never felt ready to share.
And then two things happened - my grief roundhouse kicked me in the face and my positivity packed a bag and fucked right off.
In the spirit of honesty and self disclosure, it is partly my fault this happened. I ran out of Sertraline mid-week and while I knew I needed to get myself to the pharmacy to collect my tablets, I didn't prioritise it. Why would I? I was feeling tip top. Until I wasn't. In short, I grossly underestimated just how much my medication helps to keep me functioning as a normal-ish member of society. The tablets help to keep me level so I experience less of the high highs but I'm also spared the lowest lows. Had I been taking my meds daily, I could perhaps of coped better with what happened on Thursday afternoon...
Innocently clearing out my 'other' inbox on Messenger where all the strange messages from foreign men reside (You know the ones "Hello. U luck beeutiful lady. Lets chat") I stumbled across a handful of messages sent in the wake of my dad's death. They'd sat there because they'd been sent by people who I know but aren't Facebook friends of mine. Reading these messages - kind words from kind souls saying wonderful things about my wonderful dad - took me back to the first few days after he died when a wave of similar messages arrived hourly via email, text and Facebook. I miss my dad every day but on Thursday the bear was back and it just crushed me. I cried like I might never stop.
And so to yesterday when I got further proof of just how much I need to be medicated. I arrived at work with my usual happy swagger but as the hours passed I could just feel myself shutting down. I avoided eye contact, not feeling capable of the banter I usually share with my colleagues. I just couldn't face it. I could feel myself getting wound up and, suspecting tears were nigh, I removed myself from the warehouse for a bit.
Alas, the tears came later. Along with a row with Pete. I could hear myself spitting words at him, hating myself for not being able to control my emotions. The added frustration of knowing that all of this could have been avoided if I'd just taken my feckin tablets made the whole situation worse. I eventually got a grip and apologised to Pete but collecting myself felt like trying to squeeze one of those daft pop out snakes back in to the can.
It's Saturday morning now. I collected my prescription yesterday and there's now Sertraline back in my system. I'm tired having worked at my new casual bar job until almost midnight and then waking up at 6am (SAKE!) but I feel like I might just be okay today. One day at a time, right?
I know that everything I was feeling was real. I can get better. I am already getting better! I'm finally losing weight. I've started running again (despite giving it up last year!). I've taken on a second job so I can be less skint. I'll get there. Wherever there is? If I could I'd add the "I dunno!" shrug emoji lady here as she is my current favourite and most used.
Until next time kids...
Saturday, 12 May 2018
Sunday, 29 April 2018
My mate, Chris
Sunday night and I'm already tucked up in bed. I was going to just read my book until sleepy time but I just made a dash downstairs to grab two things: my laptop and the last bag of mini Party Rings from the cupboard. The first item I needed as I felt the urge to blog was upon me and the second I didn't need at all - I'd just eaten a piece of homemade birthday cake - but I'm a greedy bitch with emotional eating tendencies. Don't judge me!
Many a week has passed since I last threw open the windows and invited you all (all?! who am I kidding?) to peer inside my funny little world and there are a whole host of reasons why I haven't blogged in a while. I shan't go in to them. I'm back now.
While I don't feel it necessary to explain my extended absence from blogsville, I do feel compelled to tell you that my soundtrack to this evening's proceedings is Smooth radio. It's entirely possible that anything played on Smooth on a Sunday night could tip me over the edge and have me weeping openly. I will do my best to keep my shit together.
I had a rather smashing day yesterday and I wanted to reflect on it a bit for a few reasons. First and foremost, I don't want to forget it! It was almost definitely a once in a lifetime kind of a day. Secondly, I'm trying to appreciate moments - both the big and spectacular like yesterday but also the more simple and sweet.
Yesterday's events need a bit of backstory/ build up so just bare with me...
Back in 2012, when DJ Chris Moyles ended his (as yet unbeaten) run as the host of the Radio 1 breakfast show I was gutted. Yes it was just a radio show and he was just a DJ but I'd been listening to Chris on Radio 1 since he'd hosted the afternoon show back in 2001! During his eight and a half year stint on Breakfast I tuned in most days and suddenly not having him there to listen to left me feeling a bit adrift. Silly but true.
I defected briefly to BBC Radio 2 as I've always liked Chris Evans on the radio but the music choices of that station felt too old for me. In the end, I returned to Radio 1 and the shouty nonsense of Nick Grimshaw's presenting style. By now I was in my 30s, a mother of two, and a world away from R1's target audience.
September 2015 and somehow - although I honestly don't remember how - I heard that Chris Moyles was back on the radio. I was familiar with XFM but had never listened to it. Now it was the all-new Radio X and Chris Moyles was their brand new breakfast show host. I tuned in immediately and I haven't tuned out since. I already knew Dominic Byrne from the old place and I quickly warmed to newcomers Pippa and Dave. All was well! I had Chris and Dom back in my morning routine and the sensibilities of Radio X were much better suited to Chris' style. They talked, they joked, they laughed... I laughed, a lot. Marvellous!
October 18, 2015. My beloved dad is gone and the world no longer makes sense. After a few weeks of chaos, back and forth to the North East, I returned home to Kettering and 'normality'. Dad was laid to rest and I was expected to continue living my life. What I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep for as long as was necessary for this nightmare to be over and for my dad to be returned to us. What I had to do was keep going. My children, though sad at the loss of their Geordie Grandad, needed their mummy to keep doing her job. Shutting down was not an option. So every day, I got up and I put the radio on. As long as I had Chris, Dom, Pippa and Dave for company, I could cope. Not only did they help me cope, they made me laugh. Every single day without fail, I would laugh out loud at the show.
Days, weeks and months passed. Monday to Saturday I would listen live to Radio X via my DAB or the app if I was in the car and on a Sunday morning, I'd listen to the Chris Moyles show podcast. Even when I was hearing highlights from the show that I'd actually heard live, I'd still laugh.
A few months back I wrote a letter in to Radio X for Dom's letters feature. In the letter I did my best to explain everything I've written about here - how much the show meant to me and how it helped me function in the mornings after losing my dad. My letter was read out by Dom and Chris thanked me on air saying what a lovely letter it was. Thankfully, I was in the car driving the children to school at the time and we all heard it.
Chris made references all the time on air to his cousin Suzanne's podcast and in January 2016 I listened to Dubland for the first time. I was hooked. In a nutshell, Dubland is two Dubliners - broadcaster, blogger and mammy, Suzanne Kane (Chris' cousin) and broadcaster, actor and comedian, PJ Gallagher in a room talking about anything and everything for about an hour. It is sweary, honest and fucking hilarious. No topic is off limits - everything from blow jobs from toothless koala bears to how far back men should shave their bollocks gets discussed. Politics, religion, sex, childbirth, food, exercise... you name it, Suzi and PJ have probably talked about it. One story in particular told by PJ made my sister laugh so much while driving that she had to pull over. Clare FaceTimed me with tears streaming down her face. "GET THE HEART MACHINE!" we shouted at each other while both laughing hysterically. Like the breakfast show, Dubland has been such a blessing. A guaranteed laugh every time I listen.
When I heard that Suzi and PJ were planning to come to London to record the podcast with a live audience I knew I had to be there... Not only be there but if possible, get a chance to speak to them both and tell them how much I enjoy what they do. Chris has been plugging the event on his show for weeks and confirmed last week that he would be in attendance.
So there we all were yesterday in The Boogaloo pub in North London. Chris introduced Suzi and PJ and Dubland Live was underway. It was amazing to watch them just chat and swear and do what they do right there in front of me! When Chris vanished briefly I wagered he'd gone for a cig and popped out the back of the pub to find him. I didn't want to miss the show but I also knew I'd probably never get a chance like that again.
Sure enough, he was smoking outside. I admitted to following him but assured him I wasn't crackers. As calmly as I could I explained about the letter, about my dad and told him how much I love what they do on the show every day. He gave me a massive hug and thanked me genuinely. "We're staying for a few drinks after the show finishes," said Chris, "Come and have a drink with us." Erm, yeah okay Chris Moyles, I'll do that.
Once the show ended, PJ, Suzi and Chris were mobbed. I'd already had my moment with Chris so I just watched as he greeted the queue of fans waiting for a selfie. The atmosphere was so relaxed, it just felt like the most normal thing in the world to be stood in a pub with Chris Moyles, his cousin and her mate, the stand up comic.
When the queue finally dwindled and Chris escaped to the smoking area, I unashamedly followed him again. This time we sat on a bench and chatted like old friends. Inside I'd seen him be polite and jovial with all the folks waiting for a handshake and a pic with him but we sat together and discussed Avengers: Infinity War, the show, my dad... I'm not an idiot. I know that we are not friends. I know he will eventually forget me but we had a bit of a moment in that pub's back yard. His lovely friend Megan took pictures for me of Chris and I together. I later got a pic with both Chris and Suzi.
It was a surreal and wonderful experience that I never want to forget. I know many people aren't keen on Chris, presuming that the loutish persona he played up to back in the day is really him. It's not. The man I chatted to yesterday was geeky, kind and funny.
As the time came for Chris, Suzi and Megan to move on to a birthday party they were all going to, I admitted to Suzi that I'd missed my train home. Of course there would be other trains (it wasn't that late) but my ticket was specifically for one at 18.54. She went in to a panic, making me promise to let her know that I'd got home safely! Saying goodbye to Chris I got another hug and a kiss on the hand. "I've missed my train!" I told him. "Will you let Suzi know that you've got home safe?" What a family!
The journey home was eventful to say the least but that's another story for another day. I did as I said and let Suzanne know I was back safe.
This blog post may come across as a little smug and I realise it doesn't pack the emotional punch of some of my other entries. Perhaps it reads a little more like a diary entry but feck it! My blog, my rules. I had a great day yesterday and I wanted to document that. When you have Mental Health problems as I do (did you think I was going to manage a whole blog post without wheeling out my crazy?! No chance!) and the days often seem long and dark, you have to celebrate the moments of joy and nonsense. Yesterday was both glorious and ridiculous in equal measure.
Many a week has passed since I last threw open the windows and invited you all (all?! who am I kidding?) to peer inside my funny little world and there are a whole host of reasons why I haven't blogged in a while. I shan't go in to them. I'm back now.
While I don't feel it necessary to explain my extended absence from blogsville, I do feel compelled to tell you that my soundtrack to this evening's proceedings is Smooth radio. It's entirely possible that anything played on Smooth on a Sunday night could tip me over the edge and have me weeping openly. I will do my best to keep my shit together.
I had a rather smashing day yesterday and I wanted to reflect on it a bit for a few reasons. First and foremost, I don't want to forget it! It was almost definitely a once in a lifetime kind of a day. Secondly, I'm trying to appreciate moments - both the big and spectacular like yesterday but also the more simple and sweet.
Yesterday's events need a bit of backstory/ build up so just bare with me...
Back in 2012, when DJ Chris Moyles ended his (as yet unbeaten) run as the host of the Radio 1 breakfast show I was gutted. Yes it was just a radio show and he was just a DJ but I'd been listening to Chris on Radio 1 since he'd hosted the afternoon show back in 2001! During his eight and a half year stint on Breakfast I tuned in most days and suddenly not having him there to listen to left me feeling a bit adrift. Silly but true.
I defected briefly to BBC Radio 2 as I've always liked Chris Evans on the radio but the music choices of that station felt too old for me. In the end, I returned to Radio 1 and the shouty nonsense of Nick Grimshaw's presenting style. By now I was in my 30s, a mother of two, and a world away from R1's target audience.
September 2015 and somehow - although I honestly don't remember how - I heard that Chris Moyles was back on the radio. I was familiar with XFM but had never listened to it. Now it was the all-new Radio X and Chris Moyles was their brand new breakfast show host. I tuned in immediately and I haven't tuned out since. I already knew Dominic Byrne from the old place and I quickly warmed to newcomers Pippa and Dave. All was well! I had Chris and Dom back in my morning routine and the sensibilities of Radio X were much better suited to Chris' style. They talked, they joked, they laughed... I laughed, a lot. Marvellous!
October 18, 2015. My beloved dad is gone and the world no longer makes sense. After a few weeks of chaos, back and forth to the North East, I returned home to Kettering and 'normality'. Dad was laid to rest and I was expected to continue living my life. What I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep for as long as was necessary for this nightmare to be over and for my dad to be returned to us. What I had to do was keep going. My children, though sad at the loss of their Geordie Grandad, needed their mummy to keep doing her job. Shutting down was not an option. So every day, I got up and I put the radio on. As long as I had Chris, Dom, Pippa and Dave for company, I could cope. Not only did they help me cope, they made me laugh. Every single day without fail, I would laugh out loud at the show.
Days, weeks and months passed. Monday to Saturday I would listen live to Radio X via my DAB or the app if I was in the car and on a Sunday morning, I'd listen to the Chris Moyles show podcast. Even when I was hearing highlights from the show that I'd actually heard live, I'd still laugh.
A few months back I wrote a letter in to Radio X for Dom's letters feature. In the letter I did my best to explain everything I've written about here - how much the show meant to me and how it helped me function in the mornings after losing my dad. My letter was read out by Dom and Chris thanked me on air saying what a lovely letter it was. Thankfully, I was in the car driving the children to school at the time and we all heard it.
Chris made references all the time on air to his cousin Suzanne's podcast and in January 2016 I listened to Dubland for the first time. I was hooked. In a nutshell, Dubland is two Dubliners - broadcaster, blogger and mammy, Suzanne Kane (Chris' cousin) and broadcaster, actor and comedian, PJ Gallagher in a room talking about anything and everything for about an hour. It is sweary, honest and fucking hilarious. No topic is off limits - everything from blow jobs from toothless koala bears to how far back men should shave their bollocks gets discussed. Politics, religion, sex, childbirth, food, exercise... you name it, Suzi and PJ have probably talked about it. One story in particular told by PJ made my sister laugh so much while driving that she had to pull over. Clare FaceTimed me with tears streaming down her face. "GET THE HEART MACHINE!" we shouted at each other while both laughing hysterically. Like the breakfast show, Dubland has been such a blessing. A guaranteed laugh every time I listen.
When I heard that Suzi and PJ were planning to come to London to record the podcast with a live audience I knew I had to be there... Not only be there but if possible, get a chance to speak to them both and tell them how much I enjoy what they do. Chris has been plugging the event on his show for weeks and confirmed last week that he would be in attendance.
So there we all were yesterday in The Boogaloo pub in North London. Chris introduced Suzi and PJ and Dubland Live was underway. It was amazing to watch them just chat and swear and do what they do right there in front of me! When Chris vanished briefly I wagered he'd gone for a cig and popped out the back of the pub to find him. I didn't want to miss the show but I also knew I'd probably never get a chance like that again.
Sure enough, he was smoking outside. I admitted to following him but assured him I wasn't crackers. As calmly as I could I explained about the letter, about my dad and told him how much I love what they do on the show every day. He gave me a massive hug and thanked me genuinely. "We're staying for a few drinks after the show finishes," said Chris, "Come and have a drink with us." Erm, yeah okay Chris Moyles, I'll do that.
Once the show ended, PJ, Suzi and Chris were mobbed. I'd already had my moment with Chris so I just watched as he greeted the queue of fans waiting for a selfie. The atmosphere was so relaxed, it just felt like the most normal thing in the world to be stood in a pub with Chris Moyles, his cousin and her mate, the stand up comic.
When the queue finally dwindled and Chris escaped to the smoking area, I unashamedly followed him again. This time we sat on a bench and chatted like old friends. Inside I'd seen him be polite and jovial with all the folks waiting for a handshake and a pic with him but we sat together and discussed Avengers: Infinity War, the show, my dad... I'm not an idiot. I know that we are not friends. I know he will eventually forget me but we had a bit of a moment in that pub's back yard. His lovely friend Megan took pictures for me of Chris and I together. I later got a pic with both Chris and Suzi.
It was a surreal and wonderful experience that I never want to forget. I know many people aren't keen on Chris, presuming that the loutish persona he played up to back in the day is really him. It's not. The man I chatted to yesterday was geeky, kind and funny.
As the time came for Chris, Suzi and Megan to move on to a birthday party they were all going to, I admitted to Suzi that I'd missed my train home. Of course there would be other trains (it wasn't that late) but my ticket was specifically for one at 18.54. She went in to a panic, making me promise to let her know that I'd got home safely! Saying goodbye to Chris I got another hug and a kiss on the hand. "I've missed my train!" I told him. "Will you let Suzi know that you've got home safe?" What a family!
The journey home was eventful to say the least but that's another story for another day. I did as I said and let Suzanne know I was back safe.
This blog post may come across as a little smug and I realise it doesn't pack the emotional punch of some of my other entries. Perhaps it reads a little more like a diary entry but feck it! My blog, my rules. I had a great day yesterday and I wanted to document that. When you have Mental Health problems as I do (did you think I was going to manage a whole blog post without wheeling out my crazy?! No chance!) and the days often seem long and dark, you have to celebrate the moments of joy and nonsense. Yesterday was both glorious and ridiculous in equal measure.
Wednesday, 7 March 2018
WARNING: May contain poetry!
Not a single post in the whole of February. Trust me, it's not a bad thing. For the most part, the second month of the year was a bit of a write off for me. I ended January feeling like I hadn't achieved much but on reflection and in contrast with what followed it, January was a massive win.
February was ROUGH. I mean really, really bastard hard. My mood plummeted and, as I tried to get to grips with my new job, all thoughts of walking for my wellbeing fell by the wayside. I didn't blog at all so all the crap in my brain that I usually decant on to here for the whole world to see just stayed in my head. In short, my PMA went AWOL!
I'm happy to report that just this week, I've started to claw it back. I've been for a couple of walks and I've taken control of my food. I even rejoined my beloved Wednesday morning Slimming World group in Corby this morning! 9lbs is all I have to lose but I know I can't do it alone.
Even with my positivity restored, I myself wondering why it's so hard to establish good habits but so insanely easy to break them? I saw an amazing counsellor through the charity Cruse after I lost my dad [sidebar - I hate that expression! Lost my dad... I didn't misplace him! He's not keys or an umbrella!! I guess we just don't like talking about death and dying... Understandably so I suppose but anyway, I digress] and she told me that it takes three weeks to establish a habit and only three days to break it. True dat!
I actually wanted to blog when I got in from work last night but common sense prevailed. It may be a little after 9pm now but nine at night Kati is a very different beast from the creature that emerges after 10! Oh she's an unpredictable minx that one, quite angsty and a bit woeful. Case in point, she wrote poetry the other night. Poetry!! We haven't done that since the late 90s.
We... She... Sweet Christ, I really do sound utterly mental. Thankfully, I do not suffer from a split personality but I do recognise that there are many different versions of me and which version appears at any given time can vary wildly and change rapidly depending on the wind speed, the time of day and whether or not I have swift and immediate access to Moam Pinballs should I need them, to name but a few factors.
While we're on the subject I've been thinking a lot about my diagnosis just lately. Last night, while wandering the warehouse (and working, obvs!) I got to thinking about what it all means. Initially I was thrilled to have a diagnosis. It felt like a massive relief after years of wondering why I behaved so erratically and often, so destructively. But now the dust has settled and the feeling that's left behind is shame.
We're hearing more and more often now that "It's okay not to be okay" and I love that the message is getting out there. It's okay to struggle, ask for help, you are not alone etc. I myself have hashtagged that very phrase countless times when posting on Instagram about mental health problems but here's the thing... What if I'm not okay with not being okay? What if I'm sick of feeling this way? What if, quite frankly, I do not want a mental illness, thank you very much?!
Since I posted back in January about my assessment by the mental health team at St Mary's, I have seen the team psychiatrist and she was looking more at a diagnosis of Unstable Personality Disorder. Certainly I demonstrate many traits of BPD but there are other behaviours that, thank Christ, I do not present with. Whichever way you slice it, I'm not a mentally well woman and I wonder about the impact on my future happiness.
I've may have sworn off men and relationships this year while I try to fix myself but last night and now (as it's almost 11pm and the woe is creeping in) I see myself standing before a man, holding the broken pieces of who I am and asking him to love me anyway. Take me, all of me, and love me. I am unpredictable and disorganised. I have a temper I sometimes can't control. In many ways, I'm a bit of a nightmare but if you could just overlook all of that, that'd be grand!
Shit man.
A relationship isn't the be all and end all, I get that. I know I must learn to love myself and treat myself with kindness before I can expect anyone to do the same but there's that fear... that malicious voice whispering in my ear "No one will want you. Who would love you? You're a monster!"
I start twenty weeks of group therapy soon once the referral is sorted. I've already started new medication to work alongside my existing anti-depressants. And I must get back to walking. One step at a time, right? Just keep putting one foot in front of the other and I'll get there, wherever the fuck there may be, eventually.
One more thing... I'm going to share the poem I wrote last week. I churned out quite the collection of verse back when I was at school. The majority of it was self absorbed, angsty nonsense BUT I can think of one or two that I wrote that I remain proud of to this day. Here's my first attempt at poetry in about eighteen years. It came about when I was drafting my wedding vows in my head despite not being engaged or indeed in a relationship of any sort. I mean, if that doesn't have the men queuing up at my door, I don't know what will! Jesus, I terrify myself. It doesn't have a title. (Annnnnd, it's probably terrible)
Accept that I am chaos.
Accept that I am noise.
Know that at times I will rage and scream like an angry toddler.
Frustrated, you'll exclaim "It's like having an extra child!"
I know that I am not easy to love.
Please believe me when I say that it's when I am at my least loveable that I need you to love me most.
I do not mean to be this way.
I do not enjoy the loss of control or the temper tantrums.
My emotions are at times a beast, ferocious and wild.
I am asking you to love me when I am tooth and claw, venom and bile.
Love me then.
In return I promise to love you with all that I am. My love for you will burn as fiercely as my temper.
Accept that I am chaos and noise.
Love me as I am, as I was and as I will be.
Just love me please.
I think that's quite enough from me for now. It's late and I need sleep. I may wake up tomorrow and take this down after reading it back and realising it's dreadful or just a little bit too honest but for now, Midnight Kati says "Hit publish! What's the worst that can happen?!" Until next time...
February was ROUGH. I mean really, really bastard hard. My mood plummeted and, as I tried to get to grips with my new job, all thoughts of walking for my wellbeing fell by the wayside. I didn't blog at all so all the crap in my brain that I usually decant on to here for the whole world to see just stayed in my head. In short, my PMA went AWOL!
I'm happy to report that just this week, I've started to claw it back. I've been for a couple of walks and I've taken control of my food. I even rejoined my beloved Wednesday morning Slimming World group in Corby this morning! 9lbs is all I have to lose but I know I can't do it alone.
Even with my positivity restored, I myself wondering why it's so hard to establish good habits but so insanely easy to break them? I saw an amazing counsellor through the charity Cruse after I lost my dad [sidebar - I hate that expression! Lost my dad... I didn't misplace him! He's not keys or an umbrella!! I guess we just don't like talking about death and dying... Understandably so I suppose but anyway, I digress] and she told me that it takes three weeks to establish a habit and only three days to break it. True dat!
I actually wanted to blog when I got in from work last night but common sense prevailed. It may be a little after 9pm now but nine at night Kati is a very different beast from the creature that emerges after 10! Oh she's an unpredictable minx that one, quite angsty and a bit woeful. Case in point, she wrote poetry the other night. Poetry!! We haven't done that since the late 90s.
We... She... Sweet Christ, I really do sound utterly mental. Thankfully, I do not suffer from a split personality but I do recognise that there are many different versions of me and which version appears at any given time can vary wildly and change rapidly depending on the wind speed, the time of day and whether or not I have swift and immediate access to Moam Pinballs should I need them, to name but a few factors.
While we're on the subject I've been thinking a lot about my diagnosis just lately. Last night, while wandering the warehouse (and working, obvs!) I got to thinking about what it all means. Initially I was thrilled to have a diagnosis. It felt like a massive relief after years of wondering why I behaved so erratically and often, so destructively. But now the dust has settled and the feeling that's left behind is shame.
We're hearing more and more often now that "It's okay not to be okay" and I love that the message is getting out there. It's okay to struggle, ask for help, you are not alone etc. I myself have hashtagged that very phrase countless times when posting on Instagram about mental health problems but here's the thing... What if I'm not okay with not being okay? What if I'm sick of feeling this way? What if, quite frankly, I do not want a mental illness, thank you very much?!
Since I posted back in January about my assessment by the mental health team at St Mary's, I have seen the team psychiatrist and she was looking more at a diagnosis of Unstable Personality Disorder. Certainly I demonstrate many traits of BPD but there are other behaviours that, thank Christ, I do not present with. Whichever way you slice it, I'm not a mentally well woman and I wonder about the impact on my future happiness.
I've may have sworn off men and relationships this year while I try to fix myself but last night and now (as it's almost 11pm and the woe is creeping in) I see myself standing before a man, holding the broken pieces of who I am and asking him to love me anyway. Take me, all of me, and love me. I am unpredictable and disorganised. I have a temper I sometimes can't control. In many ways, I'm a bit of a nightmare but if you could just overlook all of that, that'd be grand!
Shit man.
A relationship isn't the be all and end all, I get that. I know I must learn to love myself and treat myself with kindness before I can expect anyone to do the same but there's that fear... that malicious voice whispering in my ear "No one will want you. Who would love you? You're a monster!"
I start twenty weeks of group therapy soon once the referral is sorted. I've already started new medication to work alongside my existing anti-depressants. And I must get back to walking. One step at a time, right? Just keep putting one foot in front of the other and I'll get there, wherever the fuck there may be, eventually.
One more thing... I'm going to share the poem I wrote last week. I churned out quite the collection of verse back when I was at school. The majority of it was self absorbed, angsty nonsense BUT I can think of one or two that I wrote that I remain proud of to this day. Here's my first attempt at poetry in about eighteen years. It came about when I was drafting my wedding vows in my head despite not being engaged or indeed in a relationship of any sort. I mean, if that doesn't have the men queuing up at my door, I don't know what will! Jesus, I terrify myself. It doesn't have a title. (Annnnnd, it's probably terrible)
Accept that I am chaos.
Accept that I am noise.
Know that at times I will rage and scream like an angry toddler.
Frustrated, you'll exclaim "It's like having an extra child!"
I know that I am not easy to love.
Please believe me when I say that it's when I am at my least loveable that I need you to love me most.
I do not mean to be this way.
I do not enjoy the loss of control or the temper tantrums.
My emotions are at times a beast, ferocious and wild.
I am asking you to love me when I am tooth and claw, venom and bile.
Love me then.
In return I promise to love you with all that I am. My love for you will burn as fiercely as my temper.
Accept that I am chaos and noise.
Love me as I am, as I was and as I will be.
Just love me please.
I think that's quite enough from me for now. It's late and I need sleep. I may wake up tomorrow and take this down after reading it back and realising it's dreadful or just a little bit too honest but for now, Midnight Kati says "Hit publish! What's the worst that can happen?!" Until next time...
Wednesday, 31 January 2018
Adios January!
I started a blog post earlier today with the intention of reflecting on the month that had been and looking ahead at what's to come... As I'd been dancing around in my joggers to the mighty Puff Daddy/ Jimmy Page collaboration 'Come With Me' (Godzilla soundtrack, 1999. Great soundtrack, shit film. True story) only moments before sitting down to commence writing, I ended up rattling on about music instead. I guess that's the thing with writing, sometimes it takes you in an unexpected direction. I saved my update as a draft and went off to work. Now, I feel like I want to write about my original topic so you may never know what prompted me to crank up that retro tune and get as gangster as a white chick from Denton Burn possibly can at 10:15 on a Wednesday morning...
My January began with grand plans for change and progress... and it then sort of became just about surviving. I was right all along when I said January was a daft time to try and undertake big lifestyle changes! It's just such a rough month.
I've had a few appointments and assessments this month so progress has been made on Operation: Get Well Kati... Or Operation: Be Less Crackers to be slightly less PC about it! It still feels like I haven't really started yet though if I'm honest. I baked cakes today for the staff at school because Friday is my last day. I went way overboard and when Pete asked me why I said "Because I want everyone to like me!" He reminded me that it's up to me to start rallying against feelings like these but sometimes I just can't be arsed so I make enough Mars Crispy Cakes to induce a diabetic coma.
One thing I am proud of this month is how much I've walked. I didn't quite manage one purposeful walk a day which was my aim but in total I clocked up over seventy miles including one 10 miler with my amazing mate Rachael and a solo 8 miler too. I've used walking as therapy and a coping mechanism. Last Thursday being a prime example: everything got too much for me, I cried until I actually felt sick... Then I laced up my trainers and walked 5 miles. Admittedly they were slow, weepy miles but there's no denying I felt better afterwards.
I have managed to bag myself a job at last. I wrote earlier this month about crying in the car when I couldn't find the office I needed on a huge site BUT I did eventually find it and my induction is next week. This does mean however that I have to say goodbye to my little day job as a lunchtime supervisor at my children's school. When I joined the school in November 2016 I never imagined how much joy it would bring me. It's cutting up Yorkshire puddings, mopping up spillages, refereeing playground disagreements but it's somehow glorious and it makes my heart happy. Our school has some utterly wonderful, hilarious children as pupils and I have adored getting to know them. They enjoy my nonsense and my funny accent and I enjoy their bluntness and their innocence. It has been a pleasure to clean up their peas and open their yogurts. Thankfully, as I'm still a parent with children in the school and will be until 2023 (when obviously I'll be taking Hal to school by hover car or wearing matching Mummy and Son jet packs!) I will still see those gorgeous, cheeky faces on a regular basis.
On top of my walking, I've done a few exercise classes this month too. Another positive to focus on! One Clubbercise class which I loved (but haven't managed to do since due to other plans on Tuesday evenings!) and a regular Friday morning Pilates class too.
The guided meditation fell by the wayside a bit if I'm honest but once I'm more financially stable (I'm prioritising things like rent and food at the mo) I will subscribe to the Headspace app. I would also ideally like a subscription to Audible as I adore being read to and I'd also love an Odeon Limitless card too. Thank you please. None of these things are necessities but they're all things which are investments in me in a roundabout way. I so badly want to get mentally better this year and all of those things as well as the more obvious treatments like therapies and drugs, will help me achieve that.
This month I've seen four new films on the big screen and watched a few older films I'd missed at home too. Film has always been my passion and once upon a time it was the thing I knew most about. Over time, as is inevitable when you become a parent, I've visited the cinema less and swapped encyclopedic film knowledge for the names of Pokemon and Descendants characters. I'm determined to reclaim my status as a film buff among my friends and family and it feels like I got off to a good start.
The whole weight loss thing was a bit of a disaster with me ending January as heavy as I was at the start of the month, if not a few pounds heavier. I've been quite open both here on the blog and on my Instagram account about my emotional eating. Many times I have climbed inside a gigantic bag of sweets and challenged myself to eat my way to freedom. Sweet stuff is my comfort, my distraction from my pain and feelings of hopelessness. It is a safer crutch than a bottle of vodka or a crack pipe but it is still a crutch that I need to learn to cope without. I am hoping (nay, praying) that the routine of my new job and the fact that I can't just nip off to Morrisons to buy and annihilate eight (FUCKING EIGHT, MAN!) Malteaser Reindeers in the middle of the day will help with the awful cycle I find myself trapped in. I'm not trapped of course. It is 100% within my power to break free, I just need to be ready to do it. And yes, I did really eat eight chocolate reindeer yesterday. They were my main course after a starter of a whole pack (that's five just FYI) of mini banana Soreen loaves. Christ on a bike...
Tomorrow marks the beginning at a new month and we're all saying "So long!" to the utter crap fest that is January. I'm adding a "Don't let the door hit you on the arse on the way out!" to mine too. Sod that actually! Let's try "Screw you January, I hope the door knocks you on your arse as you leave!" I'm planning to embrace the cliche and go for a fresh start from February 1st... For now there's a cup of decaf and a Mars Crispy Cake with my name on it!
Thanks for reading my blog this month. I hope you'll stick with me for many more months to come.
My January began with grand plans for change and progress... and it then sort of became just about surviving. I was right all along when I said January was a daft time to try and undertake big lifestyle changes! It's just such a rough month.
I've had a few appointments and assessments this month so progress has been made on Operation: Get Well Kati... Or Operation: Be Less Crackers to be slightly less PC about it! It still feels like I haven't really started yet though if I'm honest. I baked cakes today for the staff at school because Friday is my last day. I went way overboard and when Pete asked me why I said "Because I want everyone to like me!" He reminded me that it's up to me to start rallying against feelings like these but sometimes I just can't be arsed so I make enough Mars Crispy Cakes to induce a diabetic coma.
One thing I am proud of this month is how much I've walked. I didn't quite manage one purposeful walk a day which was my aim but in total I clocked up over seventy miles including one 10 miler with my amazing mate Rachael and a solo 8 miler too. I've used walking as therapy and a coping mechanism. Last Thursday being a prime example: everything got too much for me, I cried until I actually felt sick... Then I laced up my trainers and walked 5 miles. Admittedly they were slow, weepy miles but there's no denying I felt better afterwards.
I have managed to bag myself a job at last. I wrote earlier this month about crying in the car when I couldn't find the office I needed on a huge site BUT I did eventually find it and my induction is next week. This does mean however that I have to say goodbye to my little day job as a lunchtime supervisor at my children's school. When I joined the school in November 2016 I never imagined how much joy it would bring me. It's cutting up Yorkshire puddings, mopping up spillages, refereeing playground disagreements but it's somehow glorious and it makes my heart happy. Our school has some utterly wonderful, hilarious children as pupils and I have adored getting to know them. They enjoy my nonsense and my funny accent and I enjoy their bluntness and their innocence. It has been a pleasure to clean up their peas and open their yogurts. Thankfully, as I'm still a parent with children in the school and will be until 2023 (when obviously I'll be taking Hal to school by hover car or wearing matching Mummy and Son jet packs!) I will still see those gorgeous, cheeky faces on a regular basis.
On top of my walking, I've done a few exercise classes this month too. Another positive to focus on! One Clubbercise class which I loved (but haven't managed to do since due to other plans on Tuesday evenings!) and a regular Friday morning Pilates class too.
The guided meditation fell by the wayside a bit if I'm honest but once I'm more financially stable (I'm prioritising things like rent and food at the mo) I will subscribe to the Headspace app. I would also ideally like a subscription to Audible as I adore being read to and I'd also love an Odeon Limitless card too. Thank you please. None of these things are necessities but they're all things which are investments in me in a roundabout way. I so badly want to get mentally better this year and all of those things as well as the more obvious treatments like therapies and drugs, will help me achieve that.
This month I've seen four new films on the big screen and watched a few older films I'd missed at home too. Film has always been my passion and once upon a time it was the thing I knew most about. Over time, as is inevitable when you become a parent, I've visited the cinema less and swapped encyclopedic film knowledge for the names of Pokemon and Descendants characters. I'm determined to reclaim my status as a film buff among my friends and family and it feels like I got off to a good start.
The whole weight loss thing was a bit of a disaster with me ending January as heavy as I was at the start of the month, if not a few pounds heavier. I've been quite open both here on the blog and on my Instagram account about my emotional eating. Many times I have climbed inside a gigantic bag of sweets and challenged myself to eat my way to freedom. Sweet stuff is my comfort, my distraction from my pain and feelings of hopelessness. It is a safer crutch than a bottle of vodka or a crack pipe but it is still a crutch that I need to learn to cope without. I am hoping (nay, praying) that the routine of my new job and the fact that I can't just nip off to Morrisons to buy and annihilate eight (FUCKING EIGHT, MAN!) Malteaser Reindeers in the middle of the day will help with the awful cycle I find myself trapped in. I'm not trapped of course. It is 100% within my power to break free, I just need to be ready to do it. And yes, I did really eat eight chocolate reindeer yesterday. They were my main course after a starter of a whole pack (that's five just FYI) of mini banana Soreen loaves. Christ on a bike...
Tomorrow marks the beginning at a new month and we're all saying "So long!" to the utter crap fest that is January. I'm adding a "Don't let the door hit you on the arse on the way out!" to mine too. Sod that actually! Let's try "Screw you January, I hope the door knocks you on your arse as you leave!" I'm planning to embrace the cliche and go for a fresh start from February 1st... For now there's a cup of decaf and a Mars Crispy Cake with my name on it!
Thanks for reading my blog this month. I hope you'll stick with me for many more months to come.
Monday, 22 January 2018
Eating my Emotions... with a side order of shame!
Despite posting back in Autumn about January being a horrible time to make changes (everyone is a bit fat, a bit skint and it's really fookin cold!) I was adamant that I was up to the challenge of overhauling my eating and exercise habits this month. No hanging about, I was ready.
It's worth mentioning (if you don't know already) that I've been a Slimming World member on/ off since 2010 and a Slimming World consultant since 2014. I know how to eat well and I actually enjoy eating the Slimming World way. I like vegetables (though this miracle only occurred in my thirties) and fruit, I enjoy cooking from scratch. It works for me! I don't actually crave bad food all that often. I prefer eating well.
If all of this sounds horribly smug or like an ad for SW, stay with me... Coz here's the thing. I am an emotional eater. I got to my target weight with a 2 stone weight loss within six months of giving birth to Hal and I maintained it easily (smug smug smugetty smug!) for over two years. And then I lost my dad.
Enter the emotional eating monster.
When I get sad or stressed or I'm flapping about because I have to be somewhere and I haven't left yet and "Where the shitting hell are my keys?" etc etc (this happens A LOT) all I want is sugar. Sweet stuff. Anything. And I want it NOW. Chewing is optional to be completely honest, I just inhale it.
I've often referred to the door pocket of my car as the Door Pocket of Shame because of all the wrappers that dwell there. If I was in my car, in my head, no one could see me and I could eat what I wanted. Often I didn't even want what I was eating, I just wanted the hit of sugar to distract me from whatever negative emotion was trying to swallow me at the time.
So I rejoined SW as a new member (again) on January 5th this year and a week later I weighed in with a 3lb weight loss. The following Friday I didn't go because I threw myself off the wagon and ran to the shop to buy sweets.
I mentioned the dynamite combo of Shreddies and a Krispy Kreme for dinner, yes? Dear me.
Here's the thing... I don't actually give a stuff what I weigh. I used to. I spent all of last year driving myself bananas trying to get under 10 stone (9st 13.5lbs would do!) until I realised that I actually didn't give a shit about the number on the scale. What I do give a shit about is how I feel and how my clothes fit.
Joe Wicks (The Body Coach) was on The Chris Moyles Show on Radio X a few weeks back and he was telling Chris off for weighing himself all the time. According to Joe, the best way to monitor progress is through pictures. Beginning and end of the month, take a full length pic and then compare the two. Despite agreeing with this wholeheartedly and despite discouraging my members from constantly weighing at home, I got on our scales last night. Bad idea. Ludicrous in fact as I'd been eating all day. All actual fucking day, I shit you not. Not even hungry for half of it, just ramming food in to my face. *sigh* So the numbers I saw were pretty horrific.
To look at me maybe you'd think I look okay. Maybe you'd think I was just allowing myself to be sucked in by media images of perfect women. It's not that. It's this... None of my clothes fit. Nowt. "Buy new clothes, you say?" Erm no. I don't really have a job at the mo and I have perfectly good clothes in my wardrobe. They just don't fucking fit!!
In the past few weeks I've been in super sabotage mode, gaining weight on purpose just to prove how much I suck at weight loss/ self care/ eating well. I told myself I had more important stuff to concentrate on. I told myself I couldn't keep going to SW as a member because I couldn't spare the £4.95. In truth, I'm ashamed. I do this for a living (not currently admittedly but..) and I know how to eat well. How frustrating to find yourself in a cycle of self destruction! How annoying to know exactly what you need to do to lose weight but to just not be able to get in the right head space to do it.
Today my food has been good and I walked five miles. Go me! I'm not asleep yet so there's still time for a chocolate binge but I'm feeling fairly confident that it won't happen. Tomorrow I aim to get up and do it again. If it falls apart, so be it. I can but try!
Size 10 jeans you WILL fit again... without leaving flesh wounds!
It's worth mentioning (if you don't know already) that I've been a Slimming World member on/ off since 2010 and a Slimming World consultant since 2014. I know how to eat well and I actually enjoy eating the Slimming World way. I like vegetables (though this miracle only occurred in my thirties) and fruit, I enjoy cooking from scratch. It works for me! I don't actually crave bad food all that often. I prefer eating well.
If all of this sounds horribly smug or like an ad for SW, stay with me... Coz here's the thing. I am an emotional eater. I got to my target weight with a 2 stone weight loss within six months of giving birth to Hal and I maintained it easily (smug smug smugetty smug!) for over two years. And then I lost my dad.
Enter the emotional eating monster.
When I get sad or stressed or I'm flapping about because I have to be somewhere and I haven't left yet and "Where the shitting hell are my keys?" etc etc (this happens A LOT) all I want is sugar. Sweet stuff. Anything. And I want it NOW. Chewing is optional to be completely honest, I just inhale it.
I've often referred to the door pocket of my car as the Door Pocket of Shame because of all the wrappers that dwell there. If I was in my car, in my head, no one could see me and I could eat what I wanted. Often I didn't even want what I was eating, I just wanted the hit of sugar to distract me from whatever negative emotion was trying to swallow me at the time.
So I rejoined SW as a new member (again) on January 5th this year and a week later I weighed in with a 3lb weight loss. The following Friday I didn't go because I threw myself off the wagon and ran to the shop to buy sweets.
I mentioned the dynamite combo of Shreddies and a Krispy Kreme for dinner, yes? Dear me.
Here's the thing... I don't actually give a stuff what I weigh. I used to. I spent all of last year driving myself bananas trying to get under 10 stone (9st 13.5lbs would do!) until I realised that I actually didn't give a shit about the number on the scale. What I do give a shit about is how I feel and how my clothes fit.
Joe Wicks (The Body Coach) was on The Chris Moyles Show on Radio X a few weeks back and he was telling Chris off for weighing himself all the time. According to Joe, the best way to monitor progress is through pictures. Beginning and end of the month, take a full length pic and then compare the two. Despite agreeing with this wholeheartedly and despite discouraging my members from constantly weighing at home, I got on our scales last night. Bad idea. Ludicrous in fact as I'd been eating all day. All actual fucking day, I shit you not. Not even hungry for half of it, just ramming food in to my face. *sigh* So the numbers I saw were pretty horrific.
To look at me maybe you'd think I look okay. Maybe you'd think I was just allowing myself to be sucked in by media images of perfect women. It's not that. It's this... None of my clothes fit. Nowt. "Buy new clothes, you say?" Erm no. I don't really have a job at the mo and I have perfectly good clothes in my wardrobe. They just don't fucking fit!!
In the past few weeks I've been in super sabotage mode, gaining weight on purpose just to prove how much I suck at weight loss/ self care/ eating well. I told myself I had more important stuff to concentrate on. I told myself I couldn't keep going to SW as a member because I couldn't spare the £4.95. In truth, I'm ashamed. I do this for a living (not currently admittedly but..) and I know how to eat well. How frustrating to find yourself in a cycle of self destruction! How annoying to know exactly what you need to do to lose weight but to just not be able to get in the right head space to do it.
Today my food has been good and I walked five miles. Go me! I'm not asleep yet so there's still time for a chocolate binge but I'm feeling fairly confident that it won't happen. Tomorrow I aim to get up and do it again. If it falls apart, so be it. I can but try!
Size 10 jeans you WILL fit again... without leaving flesh wounds!
Wednesday, 17 January 2018
... On the plus side, I'm not addicted to crack!
I'm sat at my desk in my office, laptop open, cuppa to my right. It's a little after 9pm on a Wednesday and eight days have passed since my last post. After discussing my blog with a friend she suggested I post more frequently to keep people interested and coming back for more! I honestly don't believe I have folks waiting to hear the latest outpourings from my brain but I do love writing/ blogging and the catharsis I feel when I do it is amazing.
I just had dinner (faux Shreddies with sultanas) and dessert (a Krispy Kreme Nutella doughnut) and now I'm ready to write... Before I crack on, let's just take a moment to deal with the fact that my dinner was cereal and a doughnut. Yes, at 36 I have reverted back to eating like a student. Right now my brain is so overloaded (more on that later) that I can't even face assembling the most basic of meals. For the record, my breakfast and lunch were smashing but then I had popcorn at the cinema, a whole bar of chocolate as I drove home from Aldi and it was downhill from there really. When it comes to me and my eating habits at the mo, I do the best I can but when it goes to shit (as it does most days) I try not to stress. As the title of this post points out, things could be worse. At least I find comfort in Dairy Milk and not a crack den.
Today I returned to my little day job as a lunchtime supervisor at the school my children attend. My GP signed me off on January 2nd so even though the new term is well under way, this was my first day back after the Christmas break. It was wonderful to see all the children again as we really do have the most adorable bunch of smashers at our school. My joy at being back was tinged with sadness however as my last day in that role will be on February 2nd. I registered with an agency onsite at a massive local warehouse and I will be starting work there once I'm finished at school. I'm absolutely gutted that I have to give up this gig that I started back in November 2016. I remember Pete saying it was too much for me on top of my Slimming World groups and he was absolutely right (which, infuriatingly he often is) but I was determined to prove him wrong. And prove him wrong I did! I juggled two groups with my school job for seven months and then I did another seven months of both jobs with the added stress of a third SW group. Alas, all good things must come to an end and it's time to move on... I got teary thinking about it today so Lord only knows what fucking state I'll be in on my last day.
In all honesty, the warehouse job nearly didn't happen after I lost my shit completely trying to find the right fucking building yesterday. I said earlier that the warehouse is massive? Doesn't really cover it. It's vast and the site doesn't have very clear sign posting. I arrived, parked and walked to a gate with an intercom. Buzzed it and was told I'm in the wrong place. Fine! Where do I need to go? The far end, the voice tells me. I get back in to my car and try a different entrance only to find myself at a barrier with a gigantic lorry behind me waiting to come in. If I was in the wrong place before, then where I am now is even wrongerer! I had to get out, ask the lorry to back up so I could reverse and drive off. It's not the end of the world, indeed some people may even have found it funny. Not I. I cried. Hot, angry tears making my make up run. I sat in my car and wept because I just felt so useless and stupid. I feel that way a lot and thanks to my assessment last week, I am beginning to understand why.
Once I'd got a fucking grip, I found the right building and all was well. I passed the numeracy and literacy tests (thank the Lord, my brain still works!) and am good to go from early February. It's shift work: 6am until 2pm or 2pm until 10pm. I am terrified and oddly excited in equal measure. After so many years of feeling like I should be someone, that I was destined for stardom and greatness, I'm actually excited by the prospect of a job that I can walk away from at the end of each shift and not think about until the next time I clock in. As long as the folk I'm working with are okay and I settle in, I think I should be fine. I bloody hope so...
So... In my last post I mentioned that I was due to meet with my local Community Mental Health Team to be assessed. After the absolutely hellish roller coaster of emotions that unfolded in the wake of my decision to perhaps NOT be an SW consultant anymore, I went to my GP and begged for help. It's not that I haven't had support where my mental health is concerned from my doctors in the past but I've never had an official diagnosis. It might seem odd that I was pursuing a label when many people hate the idea of being pigeon holed but I just wanted to know if there was something more wrong with me than depression. I wouldn't dream of saying 'just' depression as I know how debilitating that can be but I felt like there was a bit more to what I was going through. Turns out I was right! Who'd have thunk it?!
Last Tuesday afternoon I sat in a room at a local hospital with a member of the UCAT (Urgent Care Assessment Team) and I talked. A lot. Nothing unusual there, I've never been one to keep my gob shut. She asked me questions and I answered them honestly. I certainly wasn't trying to lead her in any specific direction and I'm sure she's experienced enough to know when a patient is trying to do that. I admitted to certain things I've done over the years that I'm not proud of but I wanted her to have as complete a picture as possible.
After well over an hour of talking from me and furious typing from her she asked me if I wanted a diagnosis. Some patients don't apparently want one, preferring just to look at treatment and how to move forward. I wanted an answer. I've had more than twenty bastard years of acting in ways that make no sense to me, decades of destroying my own chances at happiness and of feeling pointless and unworthy of love... To just not understand why you do the things you do or why you say certain things is a pretty crappy way to live. How about loathing your own company, believing wholeheartedly that everyone would be better off in you weren't around? Yeah, that's no fun either and no, I'm not suicidal and thankfully I never have been but the desire to just pack a bag and go somewhere so as not to inflict myself on the people I love any more? I fight that urge almost every single day. Why? Why am I like this? What's fucking wrong with me...?
Borderline Personality Disorder or BPD.
The NHS website describes it thus...
The NHS website describes it thus...
Borderline personality disorder (BPD) is a disorder of mood and how a person interacts with others. It's the most commonly recognised personality disorder.
In general, someone with a personality disorder will differ significantly from an average person in terms of how he or she thinks, perceives, feels or relates to others.
And just like that, I feel better. After spending the best part of my life thinking I was a bit of a knob, I can now actually say that there is something wrong with me. I am officially mentally unwell and I'm fucking delighted about it! Is that wrong? Am I supposed to be sad? Well I'm not. If I had tonsillitis, they'd give me antibiotics and okay, I'd imagine a poorly personality is not quite so easily treated but it CAN be treated. Different medication, therapies, group support... whatever. Bring it the fuck on because I am ready. Do I think I can be cured? Probably not. Will I always suffer certain symptoms? Almost definitely... However, it can't control me in the way that it once did because I know about it now. I can read up (reputable sources only, obviously!) and learn and understand my illness and as a result of that, understand myself better too.
Pressing publish on this post scares the shit out of me. I've been telling friends over the past week what the outcome of my assessment was. In true Kati style, I may have described myself as being "officially crackers" which I know I shouldn't but I've used humour as a defence mechanism since I could speak and I don't imagine that's going to change any time soon. In all honesty, I'm not sure I'd want it to. That said, throwing something out in to the world, confirming I have a mental illness is a pretty big deal... But do you know what? It's okay not to be okay. That's a hashtag so it must be true! I might not be okay now. I may not have been okay for large chunks of my life so far but I can get better. I will get better. Just you watch me...
Tuesday, 9 January 2018
Honesty in the Best Policy
It's been a while since I posted and I'm realising that I'm perhaps not the most prolific blogger. No matter, best to wait until I have something interesting to say.
Of course I considered posting on New Year's Eve (or Old Year's Night as my mam calls it) reflecting on the year that's been and looking forward to the year ahead but as I spent NYE alone (with my babies sleeping upstairs) I was a little concerned it would just be a barrage of woe and self-pity.
I can't promise this will be a joy-fest but as the title suggests, I believe in honesty so hopefully it will be open and real but without descending in to a tirade of misery.
Straight from the school run today I went to Morrisions to get a few bits. I actually quite enjoy food shopping and will smile and chat to other shoppers. Today however, I was in shut down mode. The longer I wandered round the sadder I felt, even choosing a self serve checkout so I didn't have to exchange pleasantries with the cashier. This isn't like me at all. I usually love any opportunity to chat to ... well, anyone! I am a deeply sociable creature.
While I was shopping I saw an ex-colleague from when I worked as a doctor's receptionist, a lovely nurse called Alison. I deliberately avoided her. I just didn't have the energy to chat and put on a brave face.
Over the last few weeks I've been wrestling with how honest I should be when someone asks how I am. When people ask that question, do they really want the answer? Over time "You alright?" has become a standard greeting but are we really enquiring about that person's health and well-being or is it just a conversational habit that we can't break? How often have you dashed past a friend or acquaintance and had the following exchange...
Them: "Hiya!"
You: "Oh hello, you alright?"
Them: "Yeah, you?"
You: "Yeah! Bye!"
Them: "Bye!"
Are you both alright? We're so British that even if we ill/ grieving/ depressed/ injured we always say "Yeah, fine!" because does that person actually want the real answer?
Don't misunderstand me, sometimes when we say we're fine it's because we are! But right now (and for the past few months) I am far from fine. My mental health is in tatters, so much so that I am on a three month sabbatical from my main job (as a Slimming World consultant) and I am also signed off sick from my daytime school job.
But do I say that when people ask how I am...? Well, in all honesty, I have been answering the "How are you?" question either with "Physically? Fine. Mentally? Not so much..." or I just make an odd noise that says "Yeah, not great to be honest." I don't know if this is right or wrong. I don't know if I'm making people uncomfortable... Certainly that's not my intention but I just think it's best to be honest.
I've said before that I am very passionate about "starting a conversation" about Mental Health. It's so very important to me that it is spoken about freely and that the taboo surrounding the subject is destroyed. So many people suffer in silence because they're too afraid or ashamed to admit that actually they are a million miles away from "fine".
My willingness to share musings like this, to post on social media about my own struggles with my mental well-being is something my (now ex) partner just can't fathom. He just can't see why I do it other than to get attention. I'd be lying if I said I don't like an audience, since childhood I've looked for attention anywhere I could get it and sometimes it has back-fired horribly. I truly believe though, that this blog and some of my other public posting is more about helping others to feel less alone. The "Oh thank God, it's not just me!" feeling I get when I read other blogs and statuses that articulate my own feelings... Well, if even one person reads my ramblings and feels that way, I see that as a win.
In the end, Alison ended up opposite me at the self checkout. We spoke, exchanged pleasantries and walked out in to the car park together. I admitted to not being in a great place mentally or indeed financially at the mo (due to the not working) and she asked if I had time for a cuppa. We both loaded our shopping in to our cars and headed back to the cafe for a chat over coffee. I didn't spend the whole time whingeing, it was nice to listen to Ali talk about what her family are up to but she did also listen as I filled her in on my current situation. I'm so glad she managed to catch my eye. It was great to catch up and it seemed so silly that I'd tried to hide from her but my mood as I shopped had shut down the social side of me.
At 3pm today I have an appointment with our local Mental Health team to be assessed. I don't really know what to expect in all honesty. I am hoping that the outcome will be an offer of professional help to break some of the behaviours that drag me down and damage my relationships. I've had counselling on and off since I was 14 years old but what I want isn't just someone to listen to me! I need real practical coping strategies and ways of dealing with my highs and lows.
My mission for 2018 is to get well: mentally, physically... the whole shebang. When someone asks me how I am in future I want to answer "I'm great, thanks. Really well!" and for it to be true.
If you're reading this and you're feeling more than just the standard January Blues, please make sure you talk to someone about it. It is absolutely "okay not to be okay" but make sure you don't suffer alone.
Of course I considered posting on New Year's Eve (or Old Year's Night as my mam calls it) reflecting on the year that's been and looking forward to the year ahead but as I spent NYE alone (with my babies sleeping upstairs) I was a little concerned it would just be a barrage of woe and self-pity.
I can't promise this will be a joy-fest but as the title suggests, I believe in honesty so hopefully it will be open and real but without descending in to a tirade of misery.
Straight from the school run today I went to Morrisions to get a few bits. I actually quite enjoy food shopping and will smile and chat to other shoppers. Today however, I was in shut down mode. The longer I wandered round the sadder I felt, even choosing a self serve checkout so I didn't have to exchange pleasantries with the cashier. This isn't like me at all. I usually love any opportunity to chat to ... well, anyone! I am a deeply sociable creature.
While I was shopping I saw an ex-colleague from when I worked as a doctor's receptionist, a lovely nurse called Alison. I deliberately avoided her. I just didn't have the energy to chat and put on a brave face.
Over the last few weeks I've been wrestling with how honest I should be when someone asks how I am. When people ask that question, do they really want the answer? Over time "You alright?" has become a standard greeting but are we really enquiring about that person's health and well-being or is it just a conversational habit that we can't break? How often have you dashed past a friend or acquaintance and had the following exchange...
Them: "Hiya!"
You: "Oh hello, you alright?"
Them: "Yeah, you?"
You: "Yeah! Bye!"
Them: "Bye!"
Are you both alright? We're so British that even if we ill/ grieving/ depressed/ injured we always say "Yeah, fine!" because does that person actually want the real answer?
Don't misunderstand me, sometimes when we say we're fine it's because we are! But right now (and for the past few months) I am far from fine. My mental health is in tatters, so much so that I am on a three month sabbatical from my main job (as a Slimming World consultant) and I am also signed off sick from my daytime school job.
But do I say that when people ask how I am...? Well, in all honesty, I have been answering the "How are you?" question either with "Physically? Fine. Mentally? Not so much..." or I just make an odd noise that says "Yeah, not great to be honest." I don't know if this is right or wrong. I don't know if I'm making people uncomfortable... Certainly that's not my intention but I just think it's best to be honest.
I've said before that I am very passionate about "starting a conversation" about Mental Health. It's so very important to me that it is spoken about freely and that the taboo surrounding the subject is destroyed. So many people suffer in silence because they're too afraid or ashamed to admit that actually they are a million miles away from "fine".
My willingness to share musings like this, to post on social media about my own struggles with my mental well-being is something my (now ex) partner just can't fathom. He just can't see why I do it other than to get attention. I'd be lying if I said I don't like an audience, since childhood I've looked for attention anywhere I could get it and sometimes it has back-fired horribly. I truly believe though, that this blog and some of my other public posting is more about helping others to feel less alone. The "Oh thank God, it's not just me!" feeling I get when I read other blogs and statuses that articulate my own feelings... Well, if even one person reads my ramblings and feels that way, I see that as a win.
In the end, Alison ended up opposite me at the self checkout. We spoke, exchanged pleasantries and walked out in to the car park together. I admitted to not being in a great place mentally or indeed financially at the mo (due to the not working) and she asked if I had time for a cuppa. We both loaded our shopping in to our cars and headed back to the cafe for a chat over coffee. I didn't spend the whole time whingeing, it was nice to listen to Ali talk about what her family are up to but she did also listen as I filled her in on my current situation. I'm so glad she managed to catch my eye. It was great to catch up and it seemed so silly that I'd tried to hide from her but my mood as I shopped had shut down the social side of me.
At 3pm today I have an appointment with our local Mental Health team to be assessed. I don't really know what to expect in all honesty. I am hoping that the outcome will be an offer of professional help to break some of the behaviours that drag me down and damage my relationships. I've had counselling on and off since I was 14 years old but what I want isn't just someone to listen to me! I need real practical coping strategies and ways of dealing with my highs and lows.
My mission for 2018 is to get well: mentally, physically... the whole shebang. When someone asks me how I am in future I want to answer "I'm great, thanks. Really well!" and for it to be true.
If you're reading this and you're feeling more than just the standard January Blues, please make sure you talk to someone about it. It is absolutely "okay not to be okay" but make sure you don't suffer alone.
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