A
Apotheosis
Guest
Hope, Time and Love; three guardian angels, Alternative Routes to Recovery
http://bipolarblast.wordpress.com/2009/11/16/hope-time-and-love/
Drug-free healing. Human beings inevitably suffer. Here is one story of renewal. By Grainne Humphrys
Firstly, I would like to read out an extract from a book I am attempting to write about my own personal experiences with mental distress. In this particular extract I am writing about hope and starting again after a period in my life when I had been unwell for about 2 years. I was just starting to re-emerge from a vulnerable state and to gradually become stronger. I felt raw, exposed and a whole plethora of other emotions; shame, guilt and fear but I tentatively started to be gentle on myself and to take care of myself. It felt like I had to learn to walk again, and in a way I did, albeit metaphorically! It was a case of baby steps, one day at a time, 2 steps forward, 1 step back….
If I had to describe hope, it would be a tiny seed in a pot of black earth, it’s potential unrealized as of yet, like the garden in my head.
Hope is also sitting on the front doorway step with the sun on my forehead drinking a cup of warm sweet tea listening to birdsong as the buds shoot. The little things. Hope is feeling the possibility of tenderness in the air after a harsh, cold and long winter.
Hope is being intimate with life itself. Hope is being able to let in and receive the warm smile of a friend reaching out, hope is connection, hope is heart-led, hope is hanging onto a thread of hope. It is realizing that the fruits of my labouring in the dark night of the soul helped me to discover the mysteries of life, that life is indeed a mystery, a sort of organized chaos. All comes from seeds and a strange, almost intangible natural law that suggests you get out what you put in, though I had been salvaged from my own particular wreckage by Grace. Hope is shedding my old patterns and opening up to the new. And time, of course, heals when mother nature is left to run her course like a wise old crone.’
I have learnt that there are two things that heal mental distress; love and work, or meaningful activity. I would like to add two more things; time and hope. My mother suggested Time, and patience, as she watched me gradually change over the course of my breakdown and subsequent depression, and, of course, it must have felt like forever for her. There were months when I made no progress whatsoever and was stuck on a ferris wheel of regret and self-recrimination.
The things that healed my mental distress were the unconditional and unwavering love of my mother, my family and friends and the community I lived in. I was kept safe by this body of people. I am blessed with a tolerant and very loving family and a tolerant and loving community, something which to this day I do not take for granted. I now recognise this as a privileged position to be in. My mother and my step-father, Sue King, Carol James and Giana Ferguson being a few of my hands-on 24/7 team, taking it in shifts to be responsible for me, keeping me housed and fed and, if possible, occupied. My mother wanted to keep me out of hospital and off medication. The reality of this is her home became an acute crisis centre and I was a major disruption to the quiet routine of their lives. Obviously, this is not an ideal situation and it would be wonderful if there were places people could go that did not force medication on you if you didn’t want to take it to prevent the medicalisation of what is essentially a human experience. In the beginning I needed round-the-clock attention as is the case with anyone in an acute crisis and when this experience is not blocked or suppressed with drugs it is an enormous work-load for those involved. Saying that, my short time in hospital further down the line was not a bad experience – I was admitted after a suicide attempt – however, I later discovered that I could have been discharged but I was kept in to give my mother a break. In effect, for her mental health. This gives you some indication of the strain she was going through. No doubt, I was lucky that the psychiatrist who worked at my local hospital at the time I was admitted was progressive and humane. I escaped labelling and drugging, though I know this was down to luck and circumstance and who took care of me during my crisis.
I went for many wonderful and helpful alternative treatments; shiatsu, nutrition, exercise, acupuncture, osteopathy, homeopathy, herbs, healing and bio-energy. I only went on an anti-anxiety and anti-depressant for a brief time but it wasn’t for me and I don’t remember it making any difference. However, sleeping tablets may have helped as I badly needed sleep because I suffered from insomnia. Sleep is vital for the healing process. It has to be said, though, that I cost my father and step-mother a small fortune in these alternative treatments, and emotionally I was very draining for my family and extended family and for my mother and step-father, in particular, because they bore the brunt of my distress. So though they kept me safe, no-one kept them safe and they had to learn ways to protect themselves from my depression. This was something that I felt which made me feel more isolated, but I had to learn that although I chose to punish myself and to be unhappy, I couldn’t expect them to stop living their lives and be miserable with me. The nature of my distress was selfish and made me loathe myself even more. I bored myself out of it in the end.
But it was their love and belief in me, particularly my mother, that enabled my recovery. My mum did all manner of rituals and healing sessions with me, two incidents stick in my mind; (1) in the custom of a native american Indian ritual, we put all my fears into some tobacco and buried it in the garden – this gives you some idea how desperate things got! And (2) we went to see a bio-energy healer together which was an amazing experience, as he told us we were still connected and never grew apart from each other. I daresay my mother was wishing she had a more cheerful symbiotic companion! My step-father discovered that he has healing hands and went on to do a reiki course after I recovered. Thankfully, something positive emerged from the hell I put them through on a daily basis.
All this gives you some idea of the lengths my mother went to, to help me and without her love and support, I’m not sure that I, or my 2 children, would be here today. I am eternally grateful to her for this and realise how lucky I was to have her support. However, it took it’s toll on her and now she is burnt out herself.
There were different stages to my mental distress and initially I can liken it to falling into an abyss. It was the most terrifying experience of my life. Nothing prepared me for the sheer terror of it. My breakdown was sudden, intense, dramatic and very painful. I literally screamed in terror. All this must have been very disturbing for my family, and particularly, my younger siblings. I was a liability, an embarrassment as I would scream anywhere and at any given time, which at the beginning was most of the time. Mine was the manic variety of depression, rather than an over-whelming tiredness to the bone marrow. I was only a mere 6 stone in weight and could not gain weight. I walked, bent over, like an old woman (in fact, I felt ancient). All this and with my unkempt appearance and terrified demeanor must have been quite frightening for my peers to see when they visited me. My bubbley and out-going personality had meant I was popular and good friends found it difficult to equate my new experience with their old perception of me. Most, told me later, had been so shocked by my transformation that they went home and cried afterwards, but tried to keep it together in my company. I really learnt that I had good friends during this difficult stage in my life.
Continues..........
http://bipolarblast.wordpress.com/2009/11/16/hope-time-and-love/
Drug-free healing. Human beings inevitably suffer. Here is one story of renewal. By Grainne Humphrys
Firstly, I would like to read out an extract from a book I am attempting to write about my own personal experiences with mental distress. In this particular extract I am writing about hope and starting again after a period in my life when I had been unwell for about 2 years. I was just starting to re-emerge from a vulnerable state and to gradually become stronger. I felt raw, exposed and a whole plethora of other emotions; shame, guilt and fear but I tentatively started to be gentle on myself and to take care of myself. It felt like I had to learn to walk again, and in a way I did, albeit metaphorically! It was a case of baby steps, one day at a time, 2 steps forward, 1 step back….
If I had to describe hope, it would be a tiny seed in a pot of black earth, it’s potential unrealized as of yet, like the garden in my head.
Hope is also sitting on the front doorway step with the sun on my forehead drinking a cup of warm sweet tea listening to birdsong as the buds shoot. The little things. Hope is feeling the possibility of tenderness in the air after a harsh, cold and long winter.
Hope is being intimate with life itself. Hope is being able to let in and receive the warm smile of a friend reaching out, hope is connection, hope is heart-led, hope is hanging onto a thread of hope. It is realizing that the fruits of my labouring in the dark night of the soul helped me to discover the mysteries of life, that life is indeed a mystery, a sort of organized chaos. All comes from seeds and a strange, almost intangible natural law that suggests you get out what you put in, though I had been salvaged from my own particular wreckage by Grace. Hope is shedding my old patterns and opening up to the new. And time, of course, heals when mother nature is left to run her course like a wise old crone.’
I have learnt that there are two things that heal mental distress; love and work, or meaningful activity. I would like to add two more things; time and hope. My mother suggested Time, and patience, as she watched me gradually change over the course of my breakdown and subsequent depression, and, of course, it must have felt like forever for her. There were months when I made no progress whatsoever and was stuck on a ferris wheel of regret and self-recrimination.
The things that healed my mental distress were the unconditional and unwavering love of my mother, my family and friends and the community I lived in. I was kept safe by this body of people. I am blessed with a tolerant and very loving family and a tolerant and loving community, something which to this day I do not take for granted. I now recognise this as a privileged position to be in. My mother and my step-father, Sue King, Carol James and Giana Ferguson being a few of my hands-on 24/7 team, taking it in shifts to be responsible for me, keeping me housed and fed and, if possible, occupied. My mother wanted to keep me out of hospital and off medication. The reality of this is her home became an acute crisis centre and I was a major disruption to the quiet routine of their lives. Obviously, this is not an ideal situation and it would be wonderful if there were places people could go that did not force medication on you if you didn’t want to take it to prevent the medicalisation of what is essentially a human experience. In the beginning I needed round-the-clock attention as is the case with anyone in an acute crisis and when this experience is not blocked or suppressed with drugs it is an enormous work-load for those involved. Saying that, my short time in hospital further down the line was not a bad experience – I was admitted after a suicide attempt – however, I later discovered that I could have been discharged but I was kept in to give my mother a break. In effect, for her mental health. This gives you some indication of the strain she was going through. No doubt, I was lucky that the psychiatrist who worked at my local hospital at the time I was admitted was progressive and humane. I escaped labelling and drugging, though I know this was down to luck and circumstance and who took care of me during my crisis.
I went for many wonderful and helpful alternative treatments; shiatsu, nutrition, exercise, acupuncture, osteopathy, homeopathy, herbs, healing and bio-energy. I only went on an anti-anxiety and anti-depressant for a brief time but it wasn’t for me and I don’t remember it making any difference. However, sleeping tablets may have helped as I badly needed sleep because I suffered from insomnia. Sleep is vital for the healing process. It has to be said, though, that I cost my father and step-mother a small fortune in these alternative treatments, and emotionally I was very draining for my family and extended family and for my mother and step-father, in particular, because they bore the brunt of my distress. So though they kept me safe, no-one kept them safe and they had to learn ways to protect themselves from my depression. This was something that I felt which made me feel more isolated, but I had to learn that although I chose to punish myself and to be unhappy, I couldn’t expect them to stop living their lives and be miserable with me. The nature of my distress was selfish and made me loathe myself even more. I bored myself out of it in the end.
But it was their love and belief in me, particularly my mother, that enabled my recovery. My mum did all manner of rituals and healing sessions with me, two incidents stick in my mind; (1) in the custom of a native american Indian ritual, we put all my fears into some tobacco and buried it in the garden – this gives you some idea how desperate things got! And (2) we went to see a bio-energy healer together which was an amazing experience, as he told us we were still connected and never grew apart from each other. I daresay my mother was wishing she had a more cheerful symbiotic companion! My step-father discovered that he has healing hands and went on to do a reiki course after I recovered. Thankfully, something positive emerged from the hell I put them through on a daily basis.
All this gives you some idea of the lengths my mother went to, to help me and without her love and support, I’m not sure that I, or my 2 children, would be here today. I am eternally grateful to her for this and realise how lucky I was to have her support. However, it took it’s toll on her and now she is burnt out herself.
There were different stages to my mental distress and initially I can liken it to falling into an abyss. It was the most terrifying experience of my life. Nothing prepared me for the sheer terror of it. My breakdown was sudden, intense, dramatic and very painful. I literally screamed in terror. All this must have been very disturbing for my family, and particularly, my younger siblings. I was a liability, an embarrassment as I would scream anywhere and at any given time, which at the beginning was most of the time. Mine was the manic variety of depression, rather than an over-whelming tiredness to the bone marrow. I was only a mere 6 stone in weight and could not gain weight. I walked, bent over, like an old woman (in fact, I felt ancient). All this and with my unkempt appearance and terrified demeanor must have been quite frightening for my peers to see when they visited me. My bubbley and out-going personality had meant I was popular and good friends found it difficult to equate my new experience with their old perception of me. Most, told me later, had been so shocked by my transformation that they went home and cried afterwards, but tried to keep it together in my company. I really learnt that I had good friends during this difficult stage in my life.
Continues..........
