So, the tally of people in my life

So, the tally of people in my life with mental illness rises to four. I hate thinking of them as numbers but it helps me to distance myself a bit, allows me a bit of perspective.

Mum’s pretty cool, as far as Mum’s go. She’s smart, reads a lot, I think of her as a walking dictionary/thesaurus. She wears appropriate clothing for a woman of her age (no daggy grandma clothes and no mini skirts). She’s generally quiet and well-spoken and she’s damn good job of raising three girls.

She’s also been a stay-at-home Mum for nearly twenty-two years. She’s obsessed to the point of potential OCD about cleaning the house. Little happens in the day-to-day business of the house anymore, not since Chelsea (the youngest) started high school. The friends that she has made over the years have moved away and the closest family we have are in Sydney or Melbourne.

I’ve always viewed Mum as somewhat timid, like a mouse. Non-assertive, introverted, shy. Some of my friends said they thought she was snobby; but she’s just quiet. So, she hasn’t held a job for twenty-two years, leaving Ba as the bread-winner for the family. And for the most part it’s been rough financially but we’re a pretty happy family, as they say.

About a fortnight ago, one of Mum’s fillings came out and she needed a bit of dental work done. One dodgy dentist and $250 later, she’s out and in excruciating pain. Back to the dentist, a different tooth out, another $250, more pain. Unbearable. Worse than childbirth, she said. Back to dentist, original problem tooth out. Later that night, she fainted from the pain and I took her to hospital. So she’s home, still in pain but with sleeping pills, so all’s well that ends well according to the stupid dentist.

The first week was the most stressful week I think I’ve ever had. No one was really taking Mum seriously. So I took time off work and uni to take her to and from the dentist and to look after her and cook and clean and do house stuff. Talk about role reversal. I was cleaning up her vomit, sponging her brow, feeding her soup. After she had the first tooth out I desperately needed help so I asked Monique to come home from her boyfriend’s, which, fortunately, she did. It wasn’t until I took her to the hospital that Ba finally realised that it was serious. He’s hell-bent on going to Vietnam and he’s got a notoriously one-track mind. Part of Mum’s distress was that we do not have the money to spend on expensive dental work. She also said that she felt embarrassed about having to tell people all the time that we couldn’t afford things.

So Ba finally took a day off work, they treated Mum for dry socket, I’m up-to-date on uni work and the house is all in order. We’re all together and I think we’re stronger for it.

However, Ba just announced that Mum wasn’t coping and that he was going to take her to a GP and have her referred to a psychologist. I can honestly say, it’s been a long time coming. As much as I think I know what she’s thinking and how she’s feeling, I’ll have to wait until the morning to have a chat. I suppose this isn’t uncommon, feeling depressed when your children grow up and don’t need as much support as usual? Or feeling depressed after an unusually traumatic experience? But the thing is, we’d be pretty lost without her. Her help has meant that we get focus on our futures, that we actually get a shot at a better future than what her and Ba got. Should I tell her that we need her or is that just going to put more pressure on her? And I think I should be supporting Ba through this too. I can see a lot of me in him; he wants to be up-beat and keep everything together but you can see he’s tired. It’s starting to get too much…I don’t really like being an adult.

P.S. I got nominated for a couple of awards by the ladies at depressionscollateraldamage but because I’m a lazy bum I didn’t get around to fulfilling the requirements. Thanks anyway, it means so much to me

Love, Steph

In December 2011, an Adelaide bus driver who was accused of abusing seven intellectually-disabled children walked free without a trial because prosecutors were concerned the victims could not adequately communicate what happened to them.

http://theprojecttv.com.au/justice-elusive-for-those-with-disabilities.htm

Too angry for words…you’ll have to read it yourself…

Although, one of the women interviewed (who had cerebral palsy) said something along the lines of “people with physical or mental disabilities walk around with a red flashing light above their heads that says to potential predators ‘if you’re going to abuse someone you might as well abuse me because you’re more likely to get away with it'”. 

 

Ok, so, my boyfriend, my sister and now my best friend are living with mental illness. It is becoming of increasing importance for me to be able to support the people closest to me. I’m a woman on a mission!

My best friend is my best friend for a reason. She was voted ‘Nicest Person’ in some high school thingy once upon a time. And it’s true, she is a nice person. She’s very selfless, caring, smart, funny…but lately, those reasons were starting to fade.

She dated a guy on and off for two years. This guy was a devout Catholic, did not believe in sex before marriage and hence wanted to marry her. At 18. Which suits some people but not my friend. So they broke up and she made a pact with herself that she would start ‘living her life’.

‘Good for you’, I told her…until I realised that ‘living her life’ involved getting drunk every weekend, sleeping with strangers, trying drugs, spending all her money and letting her grades fall (she’s studying to be a psychologist; how ironic). This went on for at least eighteen months.

About a year ago now, she admitted to me that she was on antidepressants for symptoms of depression and anxiety. She’d been to see a psychologist and a psychiatrist who said that her actions were typical of someone that has had a manic episode.

So, in the last twelve months the medication has stabilised her somewhat: she no longer has the extreme mania, she got into honours for psychology and she seems to have her life back on track. She’s been a wealth of knowledge about the ‘mechanics’ of depression and how I can support Mitch and my sister and in return I lend her an ear and a shoulder when she needs it and we drink tea. I think whatever medication she’s taking makes her a little aloof, a little ‘out-of-it’ so I find I’m regularly reminding her of common sense things, like bringing a rain coat and water bottle to Bluesfest (more on that in another post) or turning her car lights off, or not spending a hundred dollars on a pair of shoes. I feel a bit like her mum sometimes…

In fact, that’s how I feel in relation to most of the people in my life these days. Which is nice in some ways, I get to help them but, as any mum can testify, it is very taxing.

Soldier on,

Love, Steph.

I am currently reading ‘The Silver Linings Playbook’ by Matthew Quick. I haven’t quite finished it yet but a word of advice: GO AND GET YOURSELF A COPY. RIGHT NOW. Some of the traits of the main character are so uncannily like my Mitch that I can’t help fall in love with him. Anyway, I won’t spoil it but do yourself a favour and have a read.

I had an epiphany in the shower the other night (where the best epiphanies occur, I think). I’d had lunch with a friend that day; said friend is in the throes of a worsening relationship which she wants to get out of. But she kept saying, ‘I love him though’. I asked her why she loved him and without any consideration she said ‘Because he loves me’.

I considered this as I shampooed my hair and thought, if the only reason why you love your partner is because of what they give you in return, isn’t that a little counterproductive? In other words, we love them for ourselves.

I verbalised this to Mitch saying something along the lines of ‘I don’t love you only because you love me, I don’t love you for myself, for personal want or gain. I love you because of who you are and your own personal traits, intricacies, triumphs and obstacles’. And that is the truth. For me at least.

Another excellent quote I found: ‘The key to succeeding in a relationship is not finding the right person…

it is learning to love the person you found.’

So, so true. Gee, if Mitch and I had given up as soon as the going got tough, we’d have been separated ages ago. As it is, I want Mitch in my life because I love him despite his mental illness. Love for us is a decision not just a feeling, we have to work on it each day.

And the pay off is life-long companionship, someone who has always got your back no matter what. It’s worth it for me,

Love, Steph.

It has been a long time since Mitch’s fish died and consequently, a lot of stuff has happened; it’s been a roller-coaster of events, thoughts and emotions.

We did end up visiting my Ba Noi. And all she wanted to do was make sure that I was happy. You know what? Despite my constant reassurances that yes, Mitch does make me happy, she saw right through it. ‘I not sure he make you happy’, she said in her halting English. What does she know anyway? I asked myself and until now I’ve pushed it out of my mind.

It seems to be a recurring question that people ask of people in relationships: ‘do they make you happy?’ What the hell is happiness anyway? Am I supposed to keep a tally along the lines of, ‘right, on Monday he made me a cup of tea but he also got grumpy at me for being late and on Tuesday he had a bad day which made me unhappy but he got over it so in the end I’m happy…I guess’? 

If I’m honest with myself (which I always try to be despite my suspicions that I’m living in a state of denial), Mitch’s mental illness makes me unhappy. He is the only one that can truly bring me down. Like I’ve said before, I’m a naturally positive, happy person and I can deal with everything logically and with reason. But when Mitch is down, I try and try and try with all might, everything that I can think, I pull out all the stops, I try EVERYTHING (and here I am crying with frustration at the moment) and it’s still not good enough. Hours and hours later maybe, just maybe, I’ll have gotten through to him. I don’t have time for that. I don’t have the energy anymore. And now I’m in constant fear of becoming desensitised, of not caring anymore. I don’t want that to happen.

Now, more than ever, I’m consciously aware of the times where I think of my Mitch, the one who will grab me around the waist and hug me and kiss my neck, the one that makes me laugh a real, belly-chuckle laugh and who genuinely cares about me. He’s getting harder and harder to find.

This ties in well with the following blog which has some honest but hard-hitting words: http://depressionscollateraldamage.wordpress.com/2013/04/02/depression-and-other-mental-illnesses-sometimes-theres-no-happily-ever-after/

Love, Steph.

One of Mitch’s fish died today. The pretty angel fish one. Now, the death of a pet is always a sad occasion and maybe I’ve gone through so many pet fish in my lifetime that I’ve become desensitised. But Mitch isn’t just sad. He’s devastated. 

He called me this morning in floods of tears and told me that it was all his fault and that the poor  fish put its life in his hands and it was his responsibility and he blew it. It sounds comical but it’s not. It is these kinds of situations that can trigger a week-long descent into depression. 

I’m flooded in at the moment so I’m not able to go and visit him and it’s so hard to comfort him on the phone. I honestly had no idea what to say. I’m hopeless at this kind of thing. So I’m worrying about him sitting at home and wallowing. I feel like, that at the same time as comforting him, I should inject a sense of reason into the whole ordeal: fish don’t last that long, they die, it happens. But I can’t say that because he obviously felt a great attachment to this fish and feels duly responsible.

What do I do?! This is another one of those situations that, in the whole scheme of things, is trivial but he sees things differently. How’s he going to get through what life throws at him if he can’t handle little situations like this? 

Love, Steph.

It’s been a few days since last posting and in that time the weather has gotten progressively worse, effectively postponing our trip to visit Ba Noi. Because we were going to take the van and just drive down, Mitch was quite adamant that we not exactly plan anything. Now, Mitch isn’t really a ‘plan anything’ kind of guy anyway; he prefers to take everything as it comes and generally not be organised (for example, if it is up to him we will always be late). I, however, am the opposite and like to have at least some idea of where we are going. At least. And I also know that despite Mitch’s ideals, he copes a lot better when things are organised. And here’s my dilemma:

I’ve gotten myself into a hole of organising everything for him. And when I say ‘everything’ I don’t mean I wipe his bum and spoon-feed him. It seems like I organise the things that require contact with other people (i.e. making phone calls for appointments, bookings, meetings, etc.) or things that are ‘unnecessarily stressful’ (i.e. uni assignments). 

I tend to find that easier for both of us. I know I’m a control freak. And I also know that Mitch appreciates it when I do these things for him. I’m not insulting or doubting his abilities and he hasn’t said anything to the contrary but I’m definitely stuck. I don’t want him to take it for granted and I also don’t want to take away opportunities for him to deal with everyday life. 

This is probably a good time to clarify a few things:

1. Mitch and I are very independent people. We’ve been together for four years and we went through the whole ‘a-minute-without-you-is-wasted’ thing but we both enjoy our time apart.

2. He has many, many friends (he says too many) so it’s not like he sits inside all day hiding from the world.

So I’ve got myself into this situation and I don’t know how to get myself out. The actual act of doing things for him doesn’t worry me (except for when I’m doing two sets of assignments at one time). Its that I don’t want him to just cruise through life. As much as we all want to shelter the one’s we love from anything hurtful we can’t. I say often to Mitch that I wish I could take him to a deserted, self-sufficient island and take away his pain and stop his mind from spinning a million miles an hour. But I can’t. I want him (both of us) to feel the full extent of emotions that each situation in life throws at us, the good and the bad. We’ve been through a lot already and I want life to test us again and again so that we can say ‘we’re stronger’ as individuals and as a couple.

Love to all, Steph.

Mitch is finally meeting my Ba Noi. I don’t know who’s more nervous.

Ba Noi is my dad’s mother. I’m half Vietnamese and Ba Noi and my dad, his two sisters and one brother (all younger) fled from the war and were refugees in Malaysia for a few years. 

Ba Noi is a very strong woman. Her husband died before they left Vietnam so she had to raise her children by herself in a country she did not know with a language she did not know. She managed but she’s maintained her strong-mindedness. In other words, she can be intimidating. She has some old-fashioned views and always wants to make sure that Mitch takes care of me. 

I don’t know how Mitch is going to handle it. Everyone loves him, he’s a really open person and makes everyone he meets feel comfortable around him. I know they’ll love him but I don’t know how he’s going to feel. It’s really important to me that he meet my Ba Noi (she’s not getting any younger) and I so badly want things to turn out well but I never know with Mitch…I think I need to lower my expectations? How else can I make it as comfortable an experience as possible?

I’m nervous, that’s probably nothing to what he’s feeling (I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about it because he’s been away visiting a mate and I’ve been studying). 

I’ll keep you updated, if there are any suggestions about tackling new situations I’d love to hear them,

Thanks heaps, Steph.

I think it’s a good time to reiterate that I have no idea how people with depression or anxiety or any mental illness feel. No idea. I try really hard not to be insensitive and I think I’m past the stage of trying to understand in the literal sense. I just want to be able to help the people closest to me to the best of my ability. And I want to be able to help other people in my situation. So I’m going to be as honest as possible.

Monique started seeing a psychologist and a psychiatrist and started taking a lot of medication. Mum and Ba finally met her boyfriend and I suppose having him around made her happy. The thing with Monique is, her happiness depends almost exclusively on other people. She’s one of those people that needs to be constantly told that she’s beautiful, smart, funny, good-looking, etc. She’s not happy just being who she is for herself. 

The medication (I’m not sure exactly what she was taking) made her lethargic and temperamental. It continued for about a year with no real improvement in her behaviour or her attitude to us. Mum and Ba were constantly worrying, driving her to appointments, paying for all the expenses. It was hard for me to be sympathetic. I was used to Mitch’s quiet suffering not Monique’s constant posts on Facebook along the lines of ‘fml, my life sucks, I’m so depressed, I’m gonna go cut myself’. 

She went down to the local footy fields one night to play touch football. We waited for hours after she was supposed to be home for her to come back. Ba went out to search for her and in the meantime she walked in crying and shaking. While Mum and Ba went to pieces with fury at her for not being where she was meant to be and not coming home I asked her what had happened to her. She had tried to walk home after her supposed lift left her and she was chased by some boys. They dragged her to the ground and tried to take off her clothes but she somehow managed to get away. Why was it that our parents, so good at raising us in a general sense, had to lose it at the moments we needed them most? Not meaning to sound self-appreciating but I remained calm and called the police, got Monique into the bath and got her to calm down while Mum cried and Ba locked himself in his room.

Then her boyfriend broke up with her. She called me to come and pick her up from his house. She was in her swimmers. It was the first time I’d seen her in her swimmers for a long time and she had got three tattoos (keep in mind she’s not yet eighteen). She also had lots of little cuts on her thighs. I took her for a walk along the beach and she asked me, ‘Is there something wrong with me?’ I was so angry. No one should dictate so thoroughly how you feel about yourself. But it seems to be a recurring theme with people with depression. 

But after that she started to get better. Very, very slowly. She stopped taking her medication cold turkey. She was so sick. She constantly had flu-like symptoms, didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t eat. But she got better. She got her appetite back, she started laughing and making us laugh again, she went back to the school she was at originally. And after about a year she found her current boyfriend. He’s nine years older than her and, despite our first thoughts, he has been good for her.

I stand by what I said before, her happiness depends on her boyfriend’s availability but she’s still happy. She’ll still have days where she seems really down and, granted, she doesn’t seem to have a lot of direction, motivation or ambition but a lot of kids her age don’t.

This whole ordeal tied in with Mitch semi-significantly. He helped me to understand what she was going through and he supported me while I was trying to support them both. From then on I became very anti-medication. I’d had an indirect experience with it and made up my mind. 

Life goes on, 

Love, Steph.

A turning point in my ‘mission’ to support Mitch as much as possible was the directly unrelated events regarding my younger sister Monique. 

Monique is three years my junior. She always wanted to be the centre of attention, academically brilliant, quick-witted and beautiful. I don’t know all the details but around when she turned sixteen, everything started to crumble for her. I noticed she’d started posting horrible pictures of herself in lingerie on Facebook, I found a used condom in her bag, there were rumours about her getting with guys, drinking, smoking, fights…I suppose the norm for girls that age these days. Then she moved school from the private Catholic school our parents paid a fortune for us to go to to the local delinquent state high school (nothing against public education but this one is notoriously bad and for good reason). Not long after that I was out for a walk and spotted Monique kissing a much older looking guy. When I asked her about it she admitted it was her boyfriend. From then on, she was never home, she made Mum sick with worry, Ba (my Dad) became withdrawn and I found myself holding together a family for my youngest sister. 

I was bitter and resentful. How could she do this? Our parents provided us with everything we needed for a good future and she was throwing it away. And she didn’t give a damn. After months and months of Mum and Ba’s ‘all-talk-no-action’ I decided to take matters into my own hands. While Monique was out, I packed all her stuff into cardboard boxes and hid them in my car. I’m sorry that I did it (you can judge me if you like) but I don’t regret it. 

She came home and cried and cried and admitted that she’d been seeing the school counsellor about depression. She pulled out a letter she’d got from school saying that she’d missed eleven weeks of the term and had therefore failed her preliminary studies. She told us that she often heard voices telling her to self-harm and she had. Mum and Ba were devastated. It was one of the few times I’ve ever seen my Dad cry.

Me? Please judge me again but I was sceptical. I didn’t doubt that Monique had depression but I also thought that she had told so many lies in a short amount of time that she’d dug herself in way too far and couldn’t see any other way out…

Enough for now, I think. More soon.

Love, Steph.