Challenging Myself. Becoming a Survivor.

One thing that I'm doing through the psychotherapy is learning to look at the things in my life that I've probably spent too much time trying to find answers to and see them from a different perspective. As people, we naturally spend most of our time trying to make sense of chaos and work out what part of it we played. Some people just dismiss the responsibility outright and pretend that they were the victims. Some, however, internalise every single thing, each time they were hurt or something bad happens and convincing themselves that it was their fault. I'm not saying that I'm perfect and have never done any unkind things, because that would be a lie.

I've always been of the latter state of mind and I think it's something I started doing as a child because I was blamed for many things that I didn't do. I started believing that everything bad that happened was because I did something, even when it wasn't really anything to do with me. When one of my friends witnessed and spoke up about some things that were happening at home, I was blamed for telling people when actually, I'd been begging my friend to not tell people what she saw, which probably in retrospect must have been a massive burden on her and now I'm older and able to look back on that, I do understand that they must have been as upset to see what was happening as I was experiencing it. 

I think the reasons that I struggled with so many things for so long wasn't me choosing to wallow in the past, but more to do with how I internalised everything that happened to me to the point where I honestly think I believed that I deserved to be mentally tortured by those events and it was all my fault that things happened. I think the torture of reliving things in your mind can actually be more damaging than the event itself. I remember individual moments in my life with such clarity and I have nightmares where I'm right back at that moment, kind of like watching from a 3rd person perspective? Watching my younger self and even though I'm sometimes screaming at her not to go to the certain spot where something happens and watching it over and over again. 

Since therapy it's been easier because I've managed to break down some of the things I've had happen and how I coped and survived. Because that's what I always do. I've always managed to find myself a way to escape, give myself some time to regain my composure and face things as they are. It's something that sits in my very core and it's how I've managed to get as far as possible. Even if it was just allowing myself an outlet like screaming in a field or drawing and losing myself to my imagination for a while. If my body was stuck, my mind didn't have to be. Or I'd seek safety in another world and spend my time in the world of fictional characters where I could be who I wanted, do as I pleased and not be bound by my physical limitations.

Another thing we discussed, and this is something I always found confusing until now, was how I did academically. How at Weston Road, I was always in the lower classes and often got poor marks (except in my SATS exams where I managed to surprise practically every one, including myself) but as soon as I moved to Rising Brook in Year 10, after nearly 13 weeks of being out of school after my first mental breakdown, I was suddenly in top classes and achieving grades that given my academic background at Weston Road, no one thought I'd ever get. Maybe it was because at Weston Road, my only goal was to get through another day, another week and spend the weekend with friends and decompressing my mind. 

When I started at Rising Brook, it was amazing. I flourished because I didn't feel like I had to focus my attention on keeping safe and I didn't have anything holding me back. I actually started to enjoy school for a while and did really well considering that they didn't even think I'd finish school at Weston Road. I think that was what gave me the drive to do what I needed to and to keep reaching for my goals. It wasn't always easy and there was a point where I was close to giving up because I couldn't escape my own head. I had a lot of counselling and talking therapy. 

So the take away here isn't that I'm "cured" or will never feel depressed again but more of my ability to now take what I've learned and to understand better ways of coping which aren't toxic or dangerous. I can't fix things for that little girl but I can give her a future.

Til all are one

Wendy xx

Safety and Smiles.

I've embarked on another course of psychotherapy. It's been really tough these last few weeks (and months) and I'm still struggling to get my head around everything. I've not exactly had an easy ride and it's no surprise that I've been closer to breaking point than I've let on sometimes. Actually at its darkest, the thoughts of doing something awful has been harrowing at times and sometimes it's been difficult to explain or figure out what to do.

It's interesting to understand myself a lot better and figure out ways to cope with things. The psychologist explained to me that as I experienced a lot of diffcult and socially isolating situations, I learned that my way of getting some respite from the world was, and often still is, the escape to other worlds through books, cartoons and games. It was in those worlds, I could safely escape and explore. Whether it was at Hogwarts, Cybertron or even the Island of Sodor, I could find adventure and afterwards return feeling better about things. I often find that during periods of stress or uncertainty, one way to soothe my mind is with a pencil and a piece of paper, 

I think everyone needs that soothing and special place to retreat to. When I started following the story of a little boy called Lincoln and his lovely parents, I felt inspired by how brave he was. I've seen so many children who have illnesses and they just take it without complaint or the need to broadcast every single twinge to strangers. It's amazing how resilient they are. Lincoln has a disease that means his bones are very weak and has just had surgery. I wanted to gift him and his family something that would last them a lifetime and would be as unique as their little one is, choosing a character that has meant a lot for so many children since his creation (by the parent of a poorly child) in the 1940s. Painting Thomas the Tank Engine was such a release and I was able to access those wonderful feelings as Thomas has always been a place of safety and happiness for me and many other children. You can follow Lincoln's story on Facebook here. 

After the sessions it's important that I find those wonderful places and hold on to that feeling, doing something involving, like art, and let my imagination free is also very important. Art really does heal you. I'm trying to embrace that right now, especially upon hearing that my paternal grandmother contracted Covid and passed recently. I've had a hard time grieving process for her because there was just so much crap with the "other" family and as a result, I was pretty much barred from any kind of closure. I'm trying but sometimes it can be hard to push through the sadness and dosconnection I feel. With both of my grandmothers gone, it's like I don't really have a connection with my hometown anymore. I guess I always felt better with that connection and knowing they weren't too far away. With my art, I've been trying to put that feeling in to something beautiful and positive. I don't want to forget either Nan and they're always a part of me, the safe place I could find myself when I felt scared or alone. It's just hard to accept that both are gone. Stolen by covid.

It's taken me nearly a month to kind of process it and open up. Maybe it's because August was not a great time for me. Last month, I underwent some pretty intense dental treatments on my wisdom teeth. One of which had to come out (another one is probably going to end up the same way as it's not been happy since treatment) and because this is me and my body, that didn't exactly go as planned. As a result, I'm now waiting to get an appointment to have a minor operation to remove the large broken root and infection that has been left behind. My face is still sore and swollen on one side. So hopefully that will be sorted soon and my face won't throb any more. It's been a bit of a hectic month so I'm just kind of processing it all still. I'll get there though eventually.

Til all are one

Wendy xx

More Complications

Ever find something out and not even be prepared for it, yet it making sense at the same time? I had one of those moments recently and my general response was "great, just something else to contend with". It turns out, on top of everything else, my adrenal glands have stopped working properly and I will never be able to come off prednisolone altogether.

About Prednisolone: (AKA: pred, the devil's tic-tacs)

Prednisolone is a medication used to help control asthma. It's an oral corticosteroid and believe me, it's not nice stuff. Prednisolone has been so problematic but its literally what keeps my lungs in check, or at least partially. I've been on the stuff for literally years now, whether it's post admission or daily maintenance at the lowest dose possible and it has literally taken a heavy toll on my body.

Osteoporosis - otherwise known as brittle bones disease. Meaning that I am more likely to crack or break bones and it has erroded parts of my spine. My back problems started during childhood but now they are getting worse due to my weak bones. 

Reflux - something I always had a genetic predisposition for but now it's something that I'm dealing with daily.

Liver issues - something we don't exactly understand (yet) but we are monitoring it.

And now 

Adrenal gland failure - this only came to light recently. Those little glands do a lot of work and produce cortisol naturally. Basically mine have decided not to work anymore so my body relies on steroids to function. Missing any doses of prednisolone can actually be lethal. Adrenal crisis is scary stuff and it's something else I've got to be careful of. It's all about figuring out how best to manage it and always making sure to take my medications as needed. 

Whats scary is that there's been times where I had forgotten to take my meds or the pharmacy didn't deliver them on time (the worst time was just before Christmas and they "lost" my prescription, including a prescription for morphine..not at all fun). If they did that now with the prednisolone, my life will be in extreme danger. It worries me a bit but I am trying to take everything as I usually do, in my stride. I do have to be more careful and keep an eye on things, signs that could be worrysome and things to keep an eye on. 

Another thing that I have been doing recently has been getting my teeth checked. I have always had a phobia of the dentist, having ANYONE touching anything in my mouth just makes me feel all icky inside. My teeth in themselves aren't bad. Considering all my medication and general health its little more than good luck that I've not got a mouthful of fillings and rotted teeth. I've just been having issues with my wisdom teeth again. I won't go in to too much detail now but the right side ones are being particularly troublesome but hopefully we can sort that out soon. I'm worried because, due to some phobias that I've had since I was small, I don't want to freak out. 

I'm trying to keep as calm as I can. During the heatwave over the last week, its not like I've felt like much anyway. So forgive me for smiling and enjoying the rain as it rattles through the trees in the back garden, accompanied by the sweet notes of my music boxes. I find them soothing and maybe they may help during my appointment. 

Til all are One

Wendy xx

Hope and Home

Last month, I'll have been on home oxygen for 7 years. I wasn't even aware then how much it would change my life, for the better or how much I was struggling before it was prescribed. Before it was given to me, I was so tired, so out of it and spent most of my time sleeping. I wasn't really able to do a lot and to be honest it was like I was just fading slowly and that was it. When I started with oxygen and when we did tests to find out why I was struggling, the doctors then said it didn't look good for me and we just didn't know what was going to happen.

I kind of drifted for a bit. I'd just get up and go and wander around blindly, didn't really want to do anything or talk to anyone.

It's fair to say that I've definitely beaten the odds there and I'm still carrying on with life. Being told that there may not be much more we could do and even having some doctors even telling me that I wouldn't be around too long (quite wrongly, if I do say so myself) meant that I had been forced to face my own mortality and decide to defy anyone who said that I can't. I don't fear it, I've made my peace with certain eventualities but at the same time, it's made me more determined to keep going and keep making my own decisions and choices. 

When I moved from my old flat, I vowed to make changes to how I lived. Stopping myself from destructive habits and cutting energy drinks out. I still remember when I moved here. After 5 years in Abbeydale, the main thing that hit me was just how quiet it was. Being able to hear my own thoughts for the first time in months and looking out at the stars, thinking how bright they were. I've been here for nearly 6 years. Which means that after Cull Avenue, this is the longest I've ever stayed in a place. Probably the first real "home" I've made for myself (aside from family homes), Jace and our guinea pigs. 

I do have fond memories of the other places I've lived in, even the YMCA, but now that I think about it, the HMO (house of multiple occupancy) or flat life never really suited me. While it's nice to have a door you can lock behind you, I think that life in our bungalow has been better for our needs, having a real kitchen helps too. 

I'm just hoping that the whole pandemic situation improves. I want to believe that eventually things will get better. I want to hope that we can get some kind of normality and we can start doing things again.

Guess there's a reason I've got my "hope" tattoo isn't there?

Til all are one

Wendy xx

Where Did I Go in Year 9 (part of my back story)

WARNING: Before I go in to this, this post contains graphic descriptions of suicidal thoughts and self harm. Some people may find this upsetting or distressing. I've always urged people who feel that way to try and get some help if you're being bullied or have suicidal feelings.

Over the years, there has been a lot of speculation and people asking about a certain time in my life. It's not usually something I like looking back on and well, to the people who didn't know me that well, it was all a bit of a mystery. People have asked me what happened and why and it was something that I couldn't really give a clear answer to, some of the weeks leading up to it, even I don't really remember (probably my mind locked it out and to genuinely honest, it was probably better at the time). So, here goes, what happened to me and why I suddenly left Weston Road High School for good.

To fully understand the whole thing, you first have to know one simple truth. For the nearly 3 years that I attended that school, I was miserable. I hated it. I was bullied, a lot. And it wasn't just the simple bullying most kids endure, this was daily torture by a good number of people and I didn't understand them, nor did they really understand me. Maybe we should look a bit further back?

I was a bit different to my peers and even during primary school, I found it hard to fit in with other kids my age, especially with the other girls. We didn't know why. I just couldn't click with the girls who were interested in playing with baby dolls or Barbie. I just didn't find myself too interested in Baby Born or Tiny Tears (i had a Tiny Tears but never really liked playing house with it, I was more interested in drawing on it or overfilling so the water ran out of the neck) but I was happier with Transformers or Biker Mice From Mars figures. My friends were often boys. I preferred climbing trees and riding bikes. I had interests in the arts and loved playing the flute.

Another thing you need to understand is that I have never been interested in sports, in fact I am probably one of the least athletic people out there but unfortunately where I grew up, most of the popular kids were athletic and loved sports. I mean, that's great if you can find pleasure in something that seems so alien to me. It doesn't help that I inherited a condition called Spastic Paraplegia, along with spinal problems as well. This condition affects my back and my legs. I used to walk "funny" and my gait often caused me to fall over. It was made worse by a teacher at Weston Road who was sometimes as bad, if not worse, towards me as the other kids, despite my mum explaining over again that it wasn't my fault that I was so bad at her subject (PE...) but it was a physical, mechanical problem. That woman was adamant that I was just "lazy and stupid" (yes, she said that a few times, to my face as well). 

It was during my last few months at that school that I found out what exactly I was good at. Art and music were my favourite subjects and I would relish those brief lessons. Unfortunately though during the "Cull Avenue" period, I wasn't exactly happy at home either. Now, there is a lot to unpack here and I won't be picking all that apart here, purely because it wouldn't be appropriate to discuss someone else's mental state or situations in a public place. It wouldn't be right and certainly wouldn't be fair to say anything about them. All you really need to understand in that scenario is that I was struggling at home too and spent a lot of time in my room. 

So when we left Cull Avenue when I was about 13, nearly 14, I really was hoping this would be a catalyst for a change. I was given 2 weeks away from school so that we could focus on both moving house and my operation on my eyes, being a teenager with strabismus didn't help me at all, and we hoped that I could just be enrolled in a new school. This didn't happen and for 6 months I would have to commute from one side of town to the other. When you're already kind of burned out after a long day of school (leaving the house before 8am, returning about 5ish), you really can't face a bus full of abusive peers (admittedly most were gone before we left the town centre but still about 40 extra minutes there amd back was not fun or healthy) before arriving back at home with the house to yourself (alone with your thoughts and anguish), that was when I really started to do things that I'm not proud of and self harming.

By year 9, there were other things going on. Things that I couldn't tell adults about. Things that shouldn't have happened to a 13/14 year-old in a place where they should have always felt safe. I was told to keep quiet while these boys hurt me and that no one would believe me anyway. When I did try and tell someone, they found out and I was "punished" by having rocks smashed in to my legs and told that if it happened again then it would be worse. It took me until I was 19 (and some stiff drinks) that I told my Mum what happened. 

I've selfharmed on and off (admittedly the last 5 years I've been "clean") for years. Whether it was starving myself to maintain a weight that was unhealthy (which was a result of a long sickness), cutting or other things, I would often use that as a way of letting the frustration and self hatred out. Selfharm is a symptom of something greater and often when people do it, they're branded as "attention seekers" which is really not the case. Nor is it an expression of a wish to die. Sometimes it's a way of getting back some form of control over your own body or a way of expressing your frustrations in a way that you can choose. For me, when I was cutting, it felt like a release of all that pressure, all that anger and sadness. I would often do it in places people couldn't see under my school uniform, I was terrified that people would find out and tell social services or blame my mum for all of this when really she had no idea what I was doing. 

I started going to my Nan's after school so I wasn't alone, I never really talked about what was going on at school but I think my Nan, Aunt and brother knew I was unhappy at school. I was happier at home though, so at least I got some kind of break but I think by the time the decision to take me out of school (after one day that I was sat on the stairs of our house refusing to move because I just couldn't face it, the Education Authority were great but we decided to give the school one more try, about 2 weeks later we decided I was done), I was a wreck. I was lashing out at that point and I didn't care anymore. 

I think the thing that fuelled the rumours surrounding me leaving so abruptly was that there had been some really tragic situations which were similar to mine in the local area where 2 young ladies had sadly taken their own lives. Everyone wondered if I was going to be next and it's hard to admit that had it been different, I may well have been. I'm just thankful that we had the right people supporting us through that because when I think on it, I always think about how my family would've been the ones to suffer for it. So my summer holidays that year were longer, but it gave me time to get my head together and I was started at Rising Brook for my GCSEs. 

So, yeah, if you were wondering what the truth was when one day, I kind of just vanished one day. It was a rough experience but in some ways, I'm kind of glad as it did make me stronger. 

Til all are one

Wendy xx

So, 2021?

I won't lie, 2020 was a heck of a shitshow (I don't like to swear but this year...it's been rough). The whole Covid-19 saga was mismanaged and so much more difficult than it needed to be. I won't go in to my whole views on this, to be honest it would've been simpler to say that if the government had listened to experts, not their bank balances (or the orange American Idiot) then maybe we wouldn't even have had a second wave, and if they'd learned lessons maybe the virus wouldn't have mutated. Last year we were so close and then everything went to hell around September. It's frustrating as we nearly beat it and were so close. Too many people have died as a result and it's been galling to see people not following the rules to keep everyone safe. I get that we're all frustrated and want some normality but when you see your local rates skyrocket you just have to wonder, do people even want it to end?

Here we go, Lockdown 3. It's a couple of weeks in and I'm just finding myself getting more and more unsettled and sick of this now. I've not been allowed out for months as I've had to shield, I'm missing my friends, family and the freedom to just go outside, ride around and do simple things like shopping or meeting up with people. It's knowing that it's the right thing to do that keeps me going. After all, my family has already had a tragic loss from the virus, they shouldn't have to have another. Nan wouldn't want me taking risks either. It's still kind of raw. When someone you love dies, it's like something has been forcibly torn from you. I've never really gone through this before, it's still kind of like a horrible nightmare and there are times when I think about it all and feel a surge of sadness and just wanting to go back to those old days where I would follow Nan like a shadow. But the door closed on those days and now I feel like all I can do is watch through the window. 

I've been so quiet recently because I'm still going through the grief process. I usually end the year with a post summing everything up but I'm struggling to find the right words to say. I'm still hurting, I miss her so much, even harder that I couldn't see her for too long due to my illnesses. When you have a number of illnesses it's hard to balance them properly. Sometimes you just can't. I have to plan everything, carrying oxygen and meds. I wanted so much to be at the funeral. It hurt that I couldn't go but I know my words were there. Christmas Day I had a doorstep visit from my mum and she gave me something very special, a locket with some of Nan's ashes, yesterday a keychain with her handprint engraved on arrived. It gives me comfort to have them, like she's here with me. I keep her under my pillow so she's there while I sleep.

I think it goes without saying that my mental health hasn't exactly been too good recently. I'm struggling with the limitations and changes my body has. I struggle with the fact that even getting up and transferring to my chair can be tough. My back recently has been bothering me, it's difficult to explain what happens but sometimes I get spasms that start at my neck and run through to my hips. The thing with Spastic Paraplegia is that I can't comfortably have my legs straight. This has been an issue ever since I could remember (kind of hard to forget when your Mum had to forcibly stretch your legs out several times a day, ouch!) and as a result, if I sleep with my legs straight for long periods, well you can imagine it. It's rather rough. My asthma is flaring too so I'm finding things a bit tiring right now, thankful though for Animal Crossing as it's been a welcome distraction and it's been good to kind of get out of my own head for a bit, even if it's just an avatar running around a make-believe island. 

Last year, I had an infection and it lasted for months, I'm just hoping that this isn't going to try the same trick. 

Til all are one

Wendy xx