Today marks the start of National Mental Health week here in Australia, and Wednesday the 10th will be world mental health day. Mental health awareness is crucial in today's society. The rising cost of living without rise in wages, pressure from the media, and in Queensland a state of political and social free-fall makes this year's mental health week and it's activities even more important than ever.
So today I am going to do my part to raise awareness about mental health by sharing my story about my ongoing battle with anxiety and anger management issues. Anxiety is a condition that for the sufferrer can be impossible to talk about because the very nature of the condition pretty much prevents you from doing so. Anxiety can be mild, the odd panic attack here, or fit of anger there, but it can get to the point where it controls your life and can become a gateway to other mental health conditions such as depression, mania, agoraphobia, and depending on the source, eating disorders. Many people with anxiety are also often ignored, their condition dismissed with people assuming they need to just "toughen up." Well I tell you what, I'm tougher than an old leather boot that's spend 30 years in the desert sun, and it happened to me.
Looking back now, I can see episodes in my childhood that really were indicators of anxiety. I was completely incapable of dealing with disappointing people, or others being angry with me - and I still am for the most part. I was terrified of not being able to do things that others found so easy. I would crumble into a blubbering, hyperventilating mess whenever someone so much as raised their voice at me, or if I failed in front of others. Most famously these incidents occurred at the piano when my mother would stand over me and force me to practice until I was more perfect than perfect, and my hands were wet with tears and snot. Sometimes though they would happen at school.
My most vivid and horrifying memory of anxiety at school was in year 6, when my teacher was trying to explain how to do something on the computer in computer class, and I just couldn't do it. I couldn't understand, I was the only one in the class who failed at this stupidly simple thing. Even the really dumb kids who had special tutors just to read could do it. My IT teacher was one of the most lovely and understanding teachers I've ever had, and we are still friends today, which perhaps made the shame of failing her greater. I felt the prickling behind my eyes and I started to cry. Then my breathing became quick and shallow, and my chest felt tight and I couldn't breathe. To make things worse some of my classmates proceeded to laugh at me, and call me cry baby. I was embarrassed, frustrated, angry, and afraid. I felt so stupid. My teacher and my best friend escorted me outside to calm down. I remember these things happening at other points at school but this day sticks in my mind like it was yesterday.
As I got older I forced myself to harden up. To hold everything in and just cry it all into my pillow at night. In sports, I became unable to lose, even terrified of losing. I would be inconsolably enraged and ashamed of myself if I lost or didn't achieve something in some way. At school, I began to over achieve in some areas. I was also unable to say no to my teachers and elders. If I was asked to take on an extra responsibility, I always did it because I couldn't bear the shame of letting down my teachers. By the time I was in year 11 I was run ragged. I remember quitting the school Marching Band in what would become one of my famous fits of rage. I suddenly decided I needed to rebel against 'the man' and did a complete backflip.
I was angry that everyone was just taking advantage of my condition, and so decided to take the "screw you all" path. My grades in subjects I didn't like or for teachers I didn't like dropped off to tow the line of mediocrity, much to my parents dismay and of course in turn, my own. I didn't like letting my parents down, but they didn't understand that I needed to be tough and not let others take advantage of me, even if it meant they were included in the mix. I had a boyfriend at the time who went on to be vice-captain of the school, and now has a successful career in business in Sydney. He was (is!) so talented at everything and my parents loved him, as I believed I did too. This relationship kept them off my back, and in a way kept me off my own back in regards to them because I wasn't failing them in finding an "agreeable match" (as they would have said at court!). I also began to reach out to other students who were obviously struggling with issues of their own, partially out of a compulsive need to help others, but also to distract me from my own issues. I would stay up all night talking people down off ledges, and building them back up from nothing. I helped people navigate the waters of relationships, parents, and school, and it made me feel good that I was helping these people and not failing them.
Then high school was over, and things settled down for a while. It was much easier to please my parents at uni, because the uni didn't give a shit about my grades and even less of a shit about calling my parents about them. I could easily fudge my results and mum and dad were none the wiser. I also joined the UQ Hockey club, where our team trained by eating donuts and pizza, yet still made it all the way to the grand final. I had made new friends, and was doing well with my studies without the scrutiny of teachers and parents, but through sports my anger again rose it's ugly head. We lost the grand final and as captain I was devastated. I don't think I so much as looked at my team mates for over a month let alone spoke to any of them! Of course I had a new relationship too, and now I realise that it was unhealthy as he would constantly dismiss my anxiety and concerns about everything, which of course made me angry and more anxious. After nearly 2 years in this relationship that had done nothing but feed my insecurities and anxiety, I'd finally had enough and just like in high school became angry again. The whole thing ended at our Bon Voyage party when I got very drunk, hooked up with is best friend, and told him it was over. I should mention this was also Valentines Day and the next day we were going on a 2 week hiking trip of Borneo. Luckily for me he had wanted to end it too so in spite of the manner in which it happened it all worked out.
Another chapter over. I returned from the jungle reborn from the ancient earth like a magnificent and majestic tree. I was confident, happy, and for once completely calm. For the first time in my life, I did what I wanted, when I wanted, and did many things I had always wanted to do. I got a tattoo, dyed my hair blonde, would go on massive benders with my friends and gave myself a new rock n roll image. I think the cliche is "I found myself." I thought that maybe the monkey was finally off my back, and I'd won, and for a long time I had. In the time I call my "peace time," I met my wonderful husband, fell in love, saw my sister marry a wonderful man, and finally even got over my crippling inability to lose a hockey match. Really I should call it the calm before the storm.
I knew when I met Chris that he was going into the army. I just always thought we would cross that bridge when we came to it. Turns out it's a pretty effing long bridge. In the weeks looming up to his departure to Kapooka, I couldn't sleep, I struggled to eat. I would cry all night, sobbing uncontrollably. Three days after he left I went to my doctor for help. I was prescribed xanax, something to be taken irregularly. My doctor had known me all my life and thought this was just temporary. In an unfortunate and ironic turn of events, the medication designed to relax me gave me horrific, graphic, and violent nightmares. It also had the effect of making me drowsy, so I wouldn't be able to wake from the nightmare. My parents were also away overseas at the time, so I was home alone. When I did wake I would go intstantly into a panic attack, scouring my body for wounds and blood spatter. The nightmares were so vivid I could feel the warmth of blood spraying my face, or pain in areas where I became wounded, which would linger for a few minutes after I woke. I returned to the doctor and explained what had happened, and was prescribed vallium. However, the same nightmares kept happening whenever I used the medication, so I came to terms with the fact that it was not an option. So I joined a gym.
This was when 24hour gyms were becoming the big thing in fitness, so I joined Jetts. I would go there for hours on end, sometimes multiple times a day. When I couldn't sleep I would go, when I was bored and afraid of becoming upset I would go. I would go after hockey training and after games. I didn't care if I was in pain or if I was tired or hungry. It was more important to keep busy and avoid being alone or bored because I didn't want to have a panic attack. Eventually the shin splints happened, but by this point it was okay, we were going to be together again and be moving to Townsville to start our new life. I was excited to be leaving Brisbane finally, but a little worried about not really knowing anyone.
Chris arranged for me to meet some other wives of men in his unit so I could make friends. I thought we got along well and would become fast friends but I was wrong. I was left out of all social gatherings which were posted on Facebook for me to see. When I invited them places they would ignore me, or not be able to go for this reason or that. To make things worse, Chris seemed to be being bullied at work, and seeing him come home so unhappy at the end of every day make my anxiety about being left out worse. Was it my fault? Were the men leaving him out because their wives didn't like me? After only a month of being in Townsville he was sent on a month long exercise and I was so alone with the exception of my puppy, Freya. I did go to the movies with one of the other ladies during that time, but I think perhaps peer pressure got the better of her because we never really hung out again in spite of having a good time. During that month, my group thesis for uni was due. My final assignment, and I was trying to do it via distance. As much as I love my friends who were in my group, they're pretty disorganised, and as the one in charge of writing the final thing and handing it in, it stressed me out to the max. Plus we were planning our wedding, and the day after the invitations went out, my mother called to say that for the second time our venue had gone bankrupt and stolen away with our money. I had no idea what to do, I couldn't make my friends get their work done faster, I had to find another venue for the wedding, with the same date available, and I had absolutely nobody here to just give me a hug and tell me it would all work out.
I once again became unable to sleep, or eat. My hair started to fall out in clumps, and I would regularly have panic attacks both at home and in public places. I had been working the punching bag so hard my knuckles were blue. I once again started to compulsively stick sewing pins just under the skin on the backs of my hands; the concentration this took calmed me and made me focus. I began to frequent the beach as being near the ocean was the only thing that seemed to calm me, but I couldn't be there all the time. I tried to reach out to local mental health facilities for help only to find that there was a two month wait for an appointment at most of them. I couldn't afford to see a private psychologist, and the unit didn't have a padre at that time so I was left to go it alone. Then of course there was the cherry on the top being I was probably going to spend my birthday alone, or having to put up with the intrusion of my parents. Somehow my friend Tash must have sensed my distress and as her birthday is only a week after mine, she came up so we could have a girly weekend. Her best friend was on the same exercise as Chris and she missed him dearly, so she was welcome company, in that she understood so many of the things I was feeling. The boys returned early from the exercise thanks to the baffling yet in this instant wonderful incompetence of the ADF. Things were good again for a while, the assignment and uni were over, we went on and got married and had a fabulous time on our honeymoon, and I even managed to get a job interview on return.
Unfortunately the job didn't pan out, and I began to feel I was failing my husband, and mooching off him. I hate being unemployed. I worked my ass off since the day I was old enough, so to go from that to not working, and being not wanted by anywhere - including McDonalds - feeds my anxiety like nothing else. I hated feeling useless to the world, but my husband assured me it would be okay, and he made me feel and believe it as he always does. He calms me, anchors me, and shelters me through all my storms, it's like he has a super power!
One night, I woke up around midnight with this unsettled feeling in my stomach. I found myself running to the toilet and I had no idea what was happening. It had been a good decade since the last time I vomited, so it came as a pretty huge shock. Then I realised, it probably wasn't the fact I had eaten a whole box of nerds and had iced coffee for dinner, I was late. We were going to have a baby. The tests confirmed it and I panicked. I was so happy but so scared, we couldn't afford this, what would my parents think, how would we cope being alone here with no support? Then we found out we weren't having one baby, we were having two. I was inconsolable. Torn between being scared, and happy and then guilty for feeling happy knowing my parents would think me a fool. Then the cyclone struck, and my husband was gone from me all day and night during the clean up while I was too sick to even stand up. I was so angry inside because I heard his sargeant say he didn't care that I was sick or pregnant, and that my husband needed to get to work now. I wanted so badly to be able to go the full Lara Croft on that man and beat him within an inch of his life. I was not in a good place, and I was going to bring TWO little babies into it? How was this going to work?
Lady luck was on my side though, and I managed to win a great deal of money off Sunrise, which enabled us to buy the bigger car we were going to need. I was still plagued by a feeling of loneliness, but like all good generation Y girls, I turned to the internet for help, finding the baby forum BellyBelly. I felt less alone, and eventually connected with Bex, who was also an army wife, a mother, and who was moving to Townsville in August, along with many of her army wife friends and their partners. There was a light at the end of the tunnel. More stresses came upon us courtesy of the defence force, but we got there in the end. Bex arrived the weekend I went into hospital to have my girls, and shortly after we finally met in person at her housewarming shindig. I finally knew I had made a friend, and not just one, but many. The ladies and gents we met that night have come to be my family here, and without them I don't know where I would be today. I will be forever in Bex's debt for that. I also have been introduced to a greater network of defence ladies, and made great friends, such as Fiona, through that network. While the bullies from our early days here did come back to haunt me again, causing me to have to ostracise myself from many defence events and facebook social pages, I no longer feel alone.
I still struggle to ask for help, but my new friends being mostly a little older and a lot wiser than me, now notice if I'm off, and perhaps in a show of maturity on my part I don't feel afraid, or ashamed to tell them things that I wouldn't have even let myself hear in my own head before. I still get fits of rage because of the way the defence force treats me, my family, and my friends and their families, but I now have the tools and the support network to deal with it. I have a very structured life, and I have found activities and exercises that help me keep my anxiety and anger mostly under control.
Anxiety and other mental illnesses are diseases like no other. They show no obvious symptoms, and they can be hidden easily by skilled individuals. They are difficult, if not impossible to talk about, and often sufferers can be burned by trying to reach out by people who don't believe them. Society has for many years treated mental illness as something to be ashamed of, however it is not. It is just as crippling, and can be just as deadly as any virus, infection, or physical illness, and unlike many sicknesses there is no cure. Just a prescription for medication and rituals to control it, and a call for support and understanding from those around the sufferer.
If you know someone who suffers, or who may be suffering from a mental illness such as anxiety, manic depression, bipolar disorder, antisocial personality disorder, depression, anorexia, bulimia, or substance/food abuse, don't be afraid to ask them if they are alright. Even if you just let them know that you are there for them, that you will listen, and you will not judge them or criticise them. Be open, approachable, and understanding. They may not come to you right away, but they will need time to work out their feelings towards asking for help, and admitting to someone they may need it. If they seek professional help, make sure you are consistent in your support with their carer's plans so that you can support them fully and in a productive and healthy way.
I hope that anyone who has read my story today and may be suffering from anxiety, grows to feel they are not alone. There is hope, there is help, and most of all there is nothing to be ashamed of.
Mental health week runs every year in October, this year from the 7th-14th. Check your local area for events and activities being run to help raise awareness for mental health issues, and get in and be a part of it. Doing so might even give a loved one the courage to come to you, and take the first steps into building their new life.
xx
