What Are We Laughing At?

Cate Reddell:

This is my latest post for A Canvas of the Minds.

Originally posted on A Canvas Of The Minds:

Cate

Click to read Cate’s bio

In the playground of mental illness there is always a risk that someone is going to get hurt when people start telling jokes.  It’s like everyone has their own limit of what is acceptable and what is incredibly bad-taste.  A few weeks ago UK comedian and mental health advocate Stephen Fry found this out for himself.

He got roasted on Twitter for a joke he made about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) ( see David Adam’s comment on Guardian).  The backlash began to hit.  Fry was attacked for joking about OCD  when he “didn’t have OCD”.  Apparently it’s okay to joke about an illness you have yourself but not any other.

Actually Stephen Fry does have OCD so considered himself worthy of making such a joke and a few terse words by Fry saw the whole thing die down.

It raises the issue though of what is okay…

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Time To Call In The Troops (aka I Can ‘Do’ Tough!)

These troops are on their way from Space as you read. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3e/Teddies_in_Space.jpg By Cambridge University Spaceflight (University of Cambridge Department of Engineering) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

These troops are on their way from Space as you read.
By Cambridge University Spaceflight (University of Cambridge Department of Engineering) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Whether you have a chronic physical illness, a mental illness, or whether you’re just ploughing through life keeping one foot in front of the other, and your head above water… sometimes it’s time to realise that just perhaps… it’s time to call in the troops.

Sometimes I’m a little slow to realise that the time has come.  Sometimes I think I can just keep plodding on by myself and “I’ll be okay“.  Sometimes I’m standing, gazing at the sky, wondering just when the troops are going to arrive.  It doesn’t matter that I haven’t called them, I just assume that somehow, magically, they will know I need them and come running (or flying in the case of the image above).

Other times I get a whack in the side of head and realise that unless I ask, it just won’t happen.

And vague mentions of stress are not enough.  When I finally work that one out and actually specify to someone who can help that I need their help… then I’m finally getting somewhere.

That whack in the side of the head (not literal) came yesterday and today, I asked for help.  I called in the troops.

Just in case you haven’t got it yet, that is a major accomplishment for me.

Yesterday I walked away from a situation in tears, out of sadness for a person I love, and an inability to know how to make a positive difference in that person’s life.  I wasn’t even sure it was possible, but meanwhile I felt helpless and frustrated.  Aside from the other person’s needs, I could feel my own stress levels had skyrocketed again.  Again, because I was going through the same helplessness and frustration day in, day out.  And it wasn’t getting any better.  If anything it was getting worse.  What’s more it was something I simply couldn’t run away from (although you can bet I considered it).

I realised that I could sit, feeling helpless and frustrated, hoping that someone would come along one day and help me… but I knew (finally) what wouldn’t happen.  The help wouldn’t come (certainly not magically) and I would simply get sicker, both mentally and physically, as my stress levels continued to rise.  I finally realised that I had to find a way of getting help for myself before I become helpless, not to mention hopeless.  I know myself well enough to know that I walk a very fine line.  It doesn’t take much to tip the balance and end up in despair, depression and hopelessness.

So with all this wise thinking on board, today I went out to ask for help.  It turned out not to be quite the help I was hoping for.  It seemed that bureaucracy got in the way.  Doesn’t it always?  But almost miraculously (maybe that’s going over the top) I got enough help to change my mindset, and actually that’s what I think is the exciting part of all this.

Somehow literally walking down the street and into an office to ask for help, lifted the feeling of helplessness and hopelessness.  Even though the person I spoke to saw me for maybe five minutes at the most, I realised I wasn’t helpless.  Actually I have a hard task ahead of me.  One I would rather not have.  But I’ve got it and today I’ve been able to suck it up and really accept this role.  I’m not helpless and the situation is not without hope (although definitely pretty bleak).  It’s just tough.  But I can ‘do‘ tough.

No one said this to me.  I just got the message myself.  Sometimes weird things happen that way and we find our own strength to do what’s needed.  Somehow by going out to look for help from another source, even though I didn’t get exactly what I was looking for, I did get what I need.  I really hope that’s not too confusing.

Today’s quote might seem like it’s not really relevant, but actually it is totally relevant to my situation and my effort today to take back some control in my life.  If it only means something to me, then that’s okay.  Perhaps the relevance is contained in the parts I couldn’t share.  My apologies.

“The death of democracy is not likely to be an assassination from ambush.  It will be a slow extinction from apathy, indifference, and undernourishment.”

 – Robert Hutchins

 

Flared

Today is day two of my latest fibromyalgia flare.  There seems to be less and less space between one flare to the next.  Actually I’d go so far as to suggest that I have had a bad case of brain fog (it usually partners a flare) for at least a month. I am shamed to admit that the other day I couldn’t do a three-year old’s jigsaw puzzle for the life of me.  My niece, L was keen for me to ‘participate’. I realised quickly that what she was after was for me to do the puzzle and she would ‘assist’.  Hmm.  The only problem with her plan was that I had absolutely no clue what I was doing. My brain was out to lunch.

Eventually L’s father, who was watching this, came to my rescue.  Brothers are so good… when they want to be.  Anyway he had the puzzle sorted in a matter of moments and while I quietly swore at brain fog, I was equally glad that L’s teenaged brothers hadn’t arrived home from school yet. They would have loved that Aunty Cate couldn’t do a three-year old’s puzzle.  They laugh enough when they have to show me how to use my phone.  If it’s not too late I might have to take out a confidentiality contract with L and her Dad.

But back to the flare. I’m used to these.  More often than not they spring up unannounced and unwelcome when there is something going on in my head. No wonder I get fog, there’s simply not enough space in my head.

Today has been Mothers Day here, and I admit it is always a difficult day for me. Last year I skipped the issue by being on the other side of the planet.  Not so easy this year.

I’m not a mother. Never have been, never will be. Aside from pets and the odd ( not that odd) teddy bear.  And don’t think I’m somehow mourning for the mother I am not. I’m not. I am perfectly satisfied with having opted not to have children.  Actually I am relieved I saw sense at another time when my brain simply wasn’t working.

What is difficult for me is my own relationship with my mother. Out of respect for her, I’m not going to go into details except to say that we have always had a difficult relationship.  We have impacted each other’s lives in ways we probably didn’t intend and possibly regret.   At this stage it is something that I don’t expect we can ever resolve for a number of reasons.  It just is.

Actually my mother, at 86, relies on me a lot now. A situation I would never have imagined, but then sometimes life has surprises for us along the way.  I am the person she most relies on, and just as that’s not easy for me, I don’t imagine for one instance that it is easy for her either.  We simply go on from day to day, doing what has to be done.  Personally I think that is more important than grand gestures.

But I draw the line at Mothers Day. It’s not the occasion itself but more the hype.  As we fill lives and screens with pink sparkly images of perfection… Me? I cringe.  Perfection is not always what is real, and it seems to me that we are more able to accept that not every father is perfect than every mother being less than the ideal.  The hype, drummed up by marketers usually, ignores what is real.

I don’t in any way want to be critical of any mother, including mine. I simply think we need to be real. Mothers Day for me today meant picking my mother up after her church service, as I always do, and then back to her home for a shared lunch. Mothers Day wasn’t mentioned.  If that makes me a cruel, heartless daughter, then so be it.

The cost, of course, for me bas been this latest flare. The rest of the day has been spent in bed in a lot of pain. I hope it will ease tomorrow.

“She preferred imaginary heroes to real ones, because when tired of them, the former could be shut up in the tin kitchen till called for, and the latter were less manageable.” 

― Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

Whatever Happened To Lucy?

Remember my post Lucy In The Sound Dome With Diamonds from just over a month ago?  Lucy (that’s me!) was waiting to see a specialist after being told she probably had a tumour being played out in music hallucinations.  Yes, that’s right, a tumour on either my ear drum or my brain.  I had a whole list of other symptoms which I had no idea whether or not they were connected.  Thanks to one of my brothers I finally found a way to be seen by a specialist.  This specialist was an Otolaryngologist (I can’t even say that, let alone spell it!), which means a Head and Neck Surgeon, including the better known Ear, Nose and Throat.

I admit that the night before my appointment I was perusing websites selling hats.  I had, by the time I had nearly three months of hallucinations, convinced myself that I was going to need surgery and what’s more I was going to lose my hair.  All of my hair.

The good news is I’m not losing my hair, but I have decided that hats would be a good look for winter (fast approaching) anyway.

Instead of answering the question I desperately wanted to know, the specialist started off on what I thought were the minor but annoying symptoms – dizziness, nausea, loss of balance not to mention more dizziness again.  I could hardly stand up straight.  By looking at my eyes (it’s a while since anyone has been looking into my eyes!  He had to stand on his tip toes to do so.) while dizziness was induced, he could apparently tell that something was going on with my ears that usually happens after brain injury.  No brain injury here and he couldn’t tell why it had happened to me.  He simply manipulated my head in all sorts of strange directions and sent me into a spin like no spin has ever been.  I admit I swore…  the room was spinning so fast.  He ignored my colourful language and insisted that I keep my head where he’d left it for another 20 seconds.  Easy for him to say.  …and apparently it was fixed, as long as I slept half sitting up for a couple of nights.

But onto the important stuff.  The supposed tumour.  He had an old MRI from a few years ago which apparently told him I was tumour free. It’s still beyond me how an old MRI can tell him how I am now, but the fact that I didn’t have to fork out for another MRI was good.  And he gave every impression of knowing what he was talking about.   He seemed to be one of those doctors who are very knowledgeable but a lacked a little in terms of sharing that knowledge with the patient.  Actually he appeared to be getting tired of my questions, but for the money I was paying why shouldn’t I ask a question or six?

That’s the good news anyway, and don’t get me wrong I am very happy to be tumour free.

But the bad news now.  It may seem like there could be no bad news. After all, tumour-free is fantastic.  But I still needed an answer as to what was causing the music blaring in my ears most hours of the day.  It might not sound that bad to you, but it is like a form of torture and my biggest fear was that I would be told I just had to live with it… forever.

The music hallucinations are apparently being caused as a side effect of the pain medication I use for Fibromyalgia.  It has taken two years to find a medication I could use (in this case, Codeine), and now I can’t use it.  What’s more he was quick to add that the only other pain medication I had been able to use (Tramadol) is also likely to cause the same side effect.  In other words, I can’t use either.

Understandably the specialist wasn’t an expert on pain and so has sent me back to my usual doctor to work out what I do now, but it looks very much like I am back to only being able to use over-the-counter medication,  which does nothing.  Lucy is not happy.

Do I want pain?  Or music?  That might seem easy, but I don’t want either.  Maybe I’m expecting too much.

At least I don’t have a tumour.  At least I am not going to lose my hair.  But nor am I going to lose the pain or the music.

But hey, I bought a couple of hats!

“He took his pain and turned it into something beautiful. Into something that people connect to. And that’s what good music does. It speaks to you. It changes you.” 

― Hannah Harrington, Saving June

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Shifting The Goal Posts Is Okay

 

Recently I have seen a  number of statements and general topics on social media formats which show what I see as a resignation by sufferers of mental illnesses to a belief that the point at which they are now is where they’re going to be for life.  Examples of statements include:

“It’s beyond happiness now, I just have to exist”

“Getting better is no longer an option”

“I will be depressed for the rest of my life.”

 

I am the first to say that I have been at that point myself.  Ten years ago I simply believed that happiness was not an option for me, and that yes, how my life was then would be how it always would be.

Nothing took away any sense of hope more than these statements.  Actually there was no hope (in my mind) , and I was simply existing.  If I had read a post like this at all, I would have said “it’s easy for you to say” and probably “you just don’t understand my reality“.

But I honestly believe that it doesn’t have to be this way.  Instead, this is what I believe:

“At any given moment, you have the power to say that this is NOT how the story is going to END”

― M.H.S. Pourri

 Frankly I have as much reason as anyone else to close the book, shut up shop and say “this is how it’s going to be“.  I have two decades of diagnosed mental illnesses.  I have been told repeatedly by doctors, who were ready to give up, that this is just how it’s going to be for me.  I know what it feels like to have no hope.  My family knows too how it is to have no hope for me.

25 years ago I was healthy, relatively happy and quickly climbing my way to the top of the corporate ladder.  My goal was to be Chief Executive.  It’s almost funny to think of that now, because that corporate world I was a part of (and loved) seems so foreign to what my life became just a few years later.  One unexpected bout of ill-health, followed by post-viral depression, and my life just spiralled down from there.

I know now that I’m never going to achieve that career goal.  Actually it’s not what I want anymore either.  But I’m not prepared to settle for nothing.  I don’t want to accept that there is no cure, so that my life will be as it is forever.  And I strongly believe that if I accepted that fate, then I would simply be fulfilling a very bleak prophecy.

Credit: Wikipedia.com

Credit: Wikipedia.com

As you may know, I am a Kiwi.  We New Zealanders take a fair bit of pride in thinking we know more about our national sport, rugby, than we actually do.  I admit from the outset that I’m not a rugby fan (there are a couple of us in the country!) but I know enough to know that sometimes it’s okay to shift the goal posts.

One end of a rugby pitch to the other is a long way, especially if you’re being chased by the entire opposing team.  Just watching them, I know it’s a fair workout from one goal post to the other.  I think it’s 100 metres.

Now think about rugby for school children.  We know that full distance is too far, and so young children play ruby across the field (70 metres).  It just makes sense and it’s realistic.  It’s something they can work at to achieve.

Do you need another example?  Try wheelchair rugby.  It’s one of the toughest team sports I’ve seen.  They play on a basketball court.

It’s the same when you’re learning to swim.  I remember my big goal was to be able to swim the whole length of the pool.  But that was unrealistic for this six year old, and so my first aim was to swim across the width of the pool.  And I was so proud when I did.

I can look back at my life 25 years ago and think I’ll never get to my goal and so I may as well stop right here.  Or I can shift my goal posts and work at something that is achievable, in spite of both my chronic mental and physical illnesses.  That has to be better than sitting feeling feeling I’m doomed… and getting more depressed by the minute.

I know that it’s hard to see beyond mental illness, especially those illnesses that are technically with us for life.  I’ve been pretty sick (thanks fibro!) over the past few weeks and yes, I would find it easy to give up and accept an invalid life.

But I don’t want to.  I don’t know exactly what is ahead of me, or even what is possible, but I have hope for better than I’ve got now.  It’s why I use the blog title I do. Infinite Sadness… or hope? is my expression of choosing  hope over what I have lived with through illness.

I don’t know what ‘getting better‘ looks like.  I don’t know what it is going to involve to get there.  I know that my ‘being better‘ won’t look like the life I had 25 years ago.  That’s just not possible now.  There are so many unknowns and obstacles right now, that it would be so easy to settle for never ‘getting better‘.  While it wouldn’t be comfortable, it would be the easy option.  But I simply can not accept that.  I have to hope that it will be better.

One last thing.  Mental Health Awareness Month begins today (on NZ time zone anyway).  Wouldn’t it be great to have it focussed on hope?  Mental Illness is a terrible thing but I believe that no matter what diagnosis we have, there is hope for all of us.

I strongly believe that this following statement applies as much to the mind as to the heart.

If your heart is broken, make art with the pieces.


― Shane Koyczan (2013)

 

There Are Worse Things

Cate Reddell:

This is my latest post on Canvas.

Originally posted on A Canvas Of The Minds:

Cate

Click to read Cate’s bio

It’s one of those things on which, probably, each of us has a different viewpoint.    What’s the worst thing someone could do to me?  And then, is it really the ‘worst‘?  Or is something else ‘worse‘?

I’ve been thinking, trying to find myself some closure from something that happened in my past.  The closure hadn’t come naturally and I’ve realised that perhaps it was because of this.  I was hung up by what the ‘worst thing‘ was.

Without wanting to trigger anyone into places they don’t want to go, let me just say that in general we, as a society, have ideas about what is the ‘worst’ harm that could happen to a person.  I want to suggest that we don’t always get that right.  It’s usually some type of sexual or physical crime.  I think part of…

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Remembering Trauma – Anzac Day 2014

 

Image Credit:  Aaron Campbell Photography See his Facebook page at:   https://www.facebook.com/AaronCampbellPhotography

Image Credit: Aaron Campbell Photography
See his Facebook page at: http://www.facebook.com/AaronCampbellPhotography

Today, in Australia and New Zealand, we commemorate Anzac Day. It is a national day of remembrance in both countries that broadly commemorates all Australians and New Zealanders (including animals) “who served and died in all wars, conflicts, and peacekeeping operations”.  It particularly honours those Army soldiers who served at Galliopli in 1915.  

There are many commemoration services held around both countries and at Galliopli, but I have to admit that it’s been a while since I have been to one.  I simply don’t ‘do‘ crowds.  That doesn’t stop me from remembering though.  While I am an advocate of peace, I have great admiration and respect for those who have served in the past, and those who still serve.  I just hope and pray that one day such service will no longer be necessary and we will find a way of living in this world in harmony.

My chief memory relating to Anzac Day lies with my paternal Grandfather.  Let me tell you about his war service.  Don’t worry.  It won’t take long.

My grandfather joined the Royal New Zealand Navy  (RNZN) Intelligence Division as a Lieutenant to fight in World War Two.  He was stationed at home in New Zealand but was required to go overseas regularly.  He was injured in an accident (in New Zealand) and those injuries left him unwell for the rest of his life.

That’s it.  We don’t know anything else.  In the approximately five years my grandfather served, and in the years after, he was never allowed to tell anyone of what he did, and where he went.  Granddad died about 25 years later and took his secrets with him.

It strikes me this year as I remember him, and others who served, that the trauma they witnessed must have been immense.  Now days we are becoming more aware of the affects of the trauma soldiers face.  We recognise the existence of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and the havoc that can play on their lives in the years following their service.  I know we still have a distance to go in understanding the need for help and treatment but awareness in itself has to be good.

But today, I am struck by the lack of this knowledge and understanding back in the time my grandfather served, and before in previous wars.  I suspect war was very different then, to what it is today, but no less traumatic.  Not just for those who served either.

My father was a child at the time his father was away at war.  Neither he, not my grandmother were allowed to know anything.  Not then, not ever. The hardship and fear they must have carried with them must have been huge.  Remember too, this was a time of no emails, no Skype, simply no communication but the odd letter.

My grandfather, and many others with him, lived both then and into the future with no assistance in dealing with what they had seen, done and heard.  The affect on their lives must be beyond our modern comprehension.

Granddad died, from his war injuries when I was three.  I have just one memory of him playing in this front garden with me.

“They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.”

 – Laurence Binyon, For the Fallen

 

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Lucy In The Sound Dome With Diamonds

I’m not about to debate the true meaning of ‘Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds‘ by the Beatles, but it sprang to mind when thinking about writing this post.  Am I seeing diamonds in the sky?  No.  But the popular belief that the song has something to do with drug-laced hallucinations is appropriate.

No, I’m not doing drugs.  Well, not anymore than the small mountain of prescribed psychotropic and pain medication.  I am, however, living my life in a sound dome.  Where I go, it goes.  It’s actually very clever.

The connection for me is that I’ve been having hallucinations for six weeks now.  I am hearing music that is not there, nor can anyone else hear it.

I’m not seeing things, but I am hearing plenty.  Plenty of music, that is.  And while we’re about what ‘is‘ and ‘isn’t‘… I’m not psychotic (confirmed by a doctor!).  This is nothing to do with my mental health, although it’s fair to say that as time goes on, it is having a great effect on my mental health.  The music hallucinations I am having are related to my ears, and not some psychotic illness.

If you want to know more about music hallucinations, you can do your own googling.  What I want to talk about is how these auditory hallucinations are doing my head in right now.

You might think that six weeks of music that is almost constant in my waking hours, would be welcome, especially if you’re not having to pay for it.  But actually this is anything but welcome.  Let me explain:

  • I don’t have any control over when it plays, or at what volume;

  • I don’t have any control over what type of music plays.  Right now, I being inundated with full ensemble, church music.  Yes, that’s hymns, mostly with orchestra, choir and at times, a full pipe organ.  It’s not the type of music I would choose and actually having such a full exposure to this in my earlier life, it really does nothing but press emotional buttons;

  • I don’t have control over the quality.  I regularly hear wrong notes and off-key singing.  I regard myself as enough of a (even if lapsed) musician, that I find the errors mostly offensive.  How about when the instruments aren’t in time with the voices?

  • Sometimes my brain gets really clever and plays two separate tunes at once.  That’s fun.  Actually no it’s not, it simply becomes noise.

I don’t know why my brain/ears are choosing to do this.  That’s slightly freaky especially as with time, it seems to be getting worse and louder.  I’ve had a medical opinion (as I mentioned in What’s Fair?) but I’m still waiting to see the specialist.

Musical hallucinations running about 95 per cent of every day are also affecting the rest of my life.  Again, let me explain:

  • As an introvert, I like my silence.  Oh, how I miss it.  The only thing that successfully drowns the sound is the television (as long as I totally focus on it and don’t just have it as background noise).  But then that’s just more noise.

  • As someone who is hearing impaired and who has worn hearing aids for the past six years, I also find background noise stops me from hearing the things I need to hear.  Now days I don’t often listen to music for this very reason.  But now I am overloaded in background noise flowing from my left ear;

  • As someone who needs plenty of sleep, I need quiet.  I am trying to use a Sleep App and while that generally works for me when I am dealing with a loud case of tinnitus, with the hallucinations I just find the Sleep App creates more noise.  Oh, if I could temporarily amputate my head and leave it in another room!  Okay, I’m only half joking;

  • As a fibromyalgia sufferer, I need stress-free everything.  With an increase in stress, partly because of the noise and partly because I don’t have any definite knowledge of what is really going on in my head, that all adds to more stress in my life.  That is resulting in more pain, more fatigue and what seems like permanent brain fog.  None of that is good or welcome;

  • As a reader (yes, including your posts) I simply can’t concentrate to read when I have this noise going on.  I’m not sure if that is a by-product of past Electro Convulsive Treatments (ECT) or the brain fog related to fibro.  What I do know is that I am really struggling to read anything;

  • As a writer (and blogger), the same applies.  That’s part of the purpose of this post to explain to you why I haven’t been posting regularly.  I apologise, especially to the many who have recently followed me.  There’s nothing like following a blogger and never getting any new posts to read.  Today I am using my trusty Sleep App again as I write.  It’s not really working, so if this is the most poorly written of all my posts, you’ll hopefully understand why;

  • And finally as someone with a small pile of mental illnesses.  I started to realise last week that these hallucinations are affecting my mental health.  I’m fighting not to slide back into Depression.  Some of the worst of my Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) traits are rising to the service and I find myself constantly argumentative and irritable.  Trying to withstand idiots has been beyond my ability at times, and I want to change the world… NOW!  Oh and one more thing.  It doesn’t seem related but I have absolutely no interest in eating right now.  That’s not good for someone with a history of Anorexia but I’m watching that one. Right now all of these issues have me taking a break from Social Media (except for WordPress).  Hopefully that way I won’t offend anymore people.

That’s probably more than you wanted to know but as you can see, these hallucinations are affecting my whole life.  I have a list of other symptoms for the ENT specialist when I get there.  I really hope s/he can help me as there wouldn’t be much worse than being stuck with these hallucinations for life.  That scares me as much as anything.

Please don’t give me advice (unless you are a ENT specialist).  I didn’t post this to get advice, but more to explain just what is going on for me and why you haven’t seen much of me lately.

My quote to finish is one more problem I have right now.  And it is perhaps the scariest of all.  I really struggle with it at night when I think the noise I can hear is someone breaking in.

“I no longer knew what was real and what wasn’t.  The lines between reality and delusion had become so blurred.” 

― A.B. Shepherd, The Beacon

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Almost Too Sensitive For The Regular World

Cate Reddell:

This is my latest post on A Canvas Of The Minds.

Originally posted on A Canvas Of The Minds:

Cate

Click to read Cate’s bio!







Think Black and White "Image courtesy of [anankkml] / FreeDigitalPhotos.net".

Think Black and White
“Image courtesy of [anankkml] / FreeDigitalPhotos.net”.

I’ve borrowed my title from a good friend.  She struggles like me and when she suggested we were both “almost too sensitive for the regular world“, I finally had the words that I hadn’t been able to find.  How do I fit into this regular world when so much of it grates so painfully against my raw skin?

I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD).  It’s also known in some countries as Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder (EUPD).  I admit I have struggled to get a hold of what the well-known BPD spokesperson, Marsha Linehan, said a while ago. She said that people with BPD are like people with third degree burns right across their emotional skin.  I know lots of people with BPD find that description very helpful, but it just didn’t mean anything to me…

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What’s Fair?

I caught myself out last week, saying a sneaky little “It’s Not Fair!!!”  It’s easy when I take a somewhat child-like view of ‘everything is against me‘ and so…  ‘it’s not fair‘.  It’s so easy to slide down that way and to end up feeling completely sorry for myself.

In my family, my second oldest nephew is well known for his “it’s not fair!“.  Of course, being the second oldest, and worse still, the middle child, is first on his list of what is ‘not fair‘.  There’s sometimes bigger issues at stake for him too.  I’ve heard his father (my second oldest brother and a middle child) give Master Thirteen his reasoning for why actually it is fair.  It’s something to do with being fair or equitable.  Actually it’s lost on me, but then his speech was never for me anyway.  Sometimes though, it would be helpful to have someone who would remind me of a better way to look at things than ‘it’s not fair‘.  Sometimes it’s too easy to forget.

Last week I went to the doctor after a few weeks of what seemed concerning and slightly weird symptoms.  I’m never very good at getting myself to the doctor but googling some of my symptoms left me with the clear instruction to do exactly that.  Go to the doctor.  Now.

To cut a long story short (I know you don’t have all day), the doctor started using the words ‘likely tumour‘ and began the process referring me to an ENT specialist.  As he said, my symptoms were out of his league.  I guess at least he was honest.  Then again, that ‘T‘ word is a bit like the ‘C‘ (cancer) word.  Words we don’t want to hear. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

I think I was only in the car park when I began on my ‘it’s not fair‘.  Doesn’t it seem like some people go through life with not a problem?  No serious illnesses, no big crises, not even huge relationship breakdowns.  They just glide through life.

And that’s where I got in my rating of fair.  I didn’t need to go any further than mental illnesses and chronic physical illnesses.  It seems like it’s one thing after the other.  I won’t go through all my other woes.  If you’ve been reading you will have an idea of them.  If I simply look back at the last five years?  Wow!  Crisis after crisis.  Wouldn’t it be nice to have a quiet patch?  A space in which life would just flow easily?  Is that too much to ask?

I started to think about what ‘fair‘ actually means.  I didn’t get very far.  What dictionaries suggested was that “fair  was the right way to treat someone, and what they deserve“.  But what does that mean?  Who gets to decide what is right for my life compared to what is right for say, yours?  And even more so, who gets to decide what I deserve?  That starts to suggest karma, and I have to admit that I actually don’t believe in karma (I’ll probably be shot down for that one).  Karma, in terms of retribution makes no sense to me for the same reason as fair makes no sense.  Some people get such a rough deal in suffering when they’re actually very good people, where others just sail through life and are scoundrels.  I can’t accept that this is because of what they might or might not have done, or even what they deserve.

So I’m choosing not to say this latest blow at the doctor’s surgery is fair or not fair.  It just is.  It’s just the next thing that I’m going to go through.  It scares the hell out of me but I don’t deserve this any more than anyone else would.  It’s not about fair, it’s simply about what is.

In the meantime I just have to wait.  The New Zealand Health System is such that I just have to wait my turn to see the specialist.  The doctor told me I am likely to get bumped up the waiting list because of what he called the serious nature, but I still have no idea how long that will take.  Hopefully not too long as some of the symptoms are getting on my nerves, and I sure can’t claim to being a patient person.

“The world isn’t fair, Calvin.”
“I know Dad, but why isn’t it ever unfair in my favor?” 

― Bill Watterson, The Essential Calvin and Hobbes: A Calvin and Hobbes Treasury