Certainty

Certainty is one of those things that we never realise how much we appreciate it until we don’t have it.  I’ve realised that I am lacking certainty, and right now, I miss it dreadfully.

If you have been following my blog for a while you’ll remember that I live in Christchurch, NZ where we have been ravaged by a procession of earthquakes since September, 2010.  The quakes have finally died away (pretty much) but we live with the aftermath on a daily basis.

The most devastating quake to hit the city was on 22 February 2011.  People died, buildings collapsed, and lives would never be the same.  My home sustained substantial damage including basically splitting the building into three pieces and knocking it off its foundations in one corner.  But hey, after some emergency repairs it was deemed liveable.  It’s just not entirely weather-proof (it’s winter here, so I’m feeling that) and the floor slopes to one side.  Aesthetically it doesn’t look too good, but then there are many worse off than me.

Since then, certainty vanished.  I have little idea whether the house can be fixed, or whether it will end up being demolished.  I know that to fix it will take some major work, not to mention money.  In New Zealand we have a government agency, the Earthquake Commission (EQC), whose responsibility it is to fund the repairs of damage caused my natural disasters.  That funding is through a tax levy on insurance.

EQC has become the organisation we love to hate.  Personally I think a lot of that is justified.  Between them and my insurance company (that’s another story entirely because they literally fled the country) they hold my life in their hands.  My certainty is at their mercy.

For some residents of Christchurch, including my parents, their future was determined on the day of that quake.  Their home was immediately deemed only fit for demolition, and they were instantly homeless.  Not entirely homeless, because they just shifted into my home, until we were able to find a new home for them some months down the track.

That would clearly be devastating for anyone, and there were thousands of people in that boat. I don’t wish that for myself, but sometimes I think it would have been a bit easier.  At least I would know.  At least I could get on with my life.

But instead life stopped that day, and it’s been a waiting game ever since (for me, and thousands of other residents in the same boat).  Will my home survive?  I don’t know.  Will I have to shift out?  And where will I go?  I don’t know.  Will there be a fair settlement?  I don’t know.  I’m just waiting.

So today as I write, there is a small army of assessors from EQC roaming my property.  This was last done in September 2011 but they have come to the conclusion that the assessment they did at that time was not accurate.  Basically they didn’t take into account that my home is physically joined to three others.  How could they miss this fact?  I don’t know.  This has particular implications for me because my foundations need to be repaired and to lift the house in order to do that, they would probably have to lift the other houses too.  That starts to sounds complicated, expensive and possibly simply not worth it.

As this team of EQC staff (I think there are about 10 and apparently they are combining the assessment with a staff training exercise) go through my property (and my neighbours) inside and out, I wonder just what will be the result.  I certainly won’t know this today, and I suspect it will be months more before I get any certainty from them.  That’s just the pace they work at.  And this… is just life.

So does certainty matter?  Is it something I need to ensure lasting mental health even?  I’m inclined to think it does matter, simply because I like to know what is ahead.  Even if change is ahead, at least if I know, then I can prepare for it (mentally and physically).  But in this situation that’s not possible.  It’s no worse for me than for many other residents of this city.  We all face this indeterminate wait, with a foreboding that our future is in someone else’s hands.

Perhaps the major thing that I have learnt in this whole earthquake nightmare (which included the subsequent death of my father) is to live one day at a time.  The only problem is that sometimes it is just so damn hard to do that.

Some days I can do the ‘one day at a time’ philosophy.  I can accept that at some stage I am going to have to leave my home, either permanently, or temporarily while repairs are undertaken.  That I don’t know when that will be, and when it happens I probably won’t get much warning.

But other days, like last night when I was trying to sleep, it just seems all too much.  I just want to know.  I just want that certainty of what is ahead. Some days I can live with the uncertainty, but on others it seems like my entire mental health rides on those 10 EQC assessors who are here today.  But then here in Christchurch, that is the only certainty so many of us have.

“The world is a wonderfully weird place, consensual reality is significantly flawed, no institution can be trusted, certainty is a mirage, security a delusion, and the tyranny of the dull mind forever threatens — but our lives are not as limited as we think they are, all things are possible, laughter is holier than piety, freedom is sweeter than fame, and in the end it’s love and love alone that really matters.” 

― Tom Robbins

Related articles

• When Your World Turns Upside Down (infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com)
• In My Corner of the World… There Is Hope (infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com)

You Are My Sunshine

It makes my day when I receive a nomination for an award.  It’s even better when I discover it comes from another kiwi blog.  I have only been following this blog for a short time, and shamefully hadn’t even  realised that it is written by a fellow kiwi.  I love the fact that there is another kiwi, passionate as I am, about mental health… and is writing about it.

D.J. Halswell from A Mid-Life Adventure has nominated me for the Sunshine Award.

Here are the Sunshine Award’s simple rules:

• Post the Sunshine Award logo
• Then nominate 10 fellow bloggers you feel are worthy of this award
• Announce their nomination on their blog
• Plus, link a ping-back to the nominator’s blog

Questions for all nominees:

Favourite colour?Green… any green.

Favourite animal? I don’t have my own pet at present but my canine nephew Duncan is a favourite as are his feline siblings Sally and Harry. My beagle friend, Poppy is also a firm favourite even though she is on the other side of the planet.

Oh, were we talking favourite kind of animal?  If we were, then it’s a bear.  Unfortunately bears have never got as far as New Zealand.

Favourite number?  I don’t do numbers.  Any number is just fine with me.

Favourite non-alcoholic drink?Freshly squeezed orange juice (with bits, pulp or whatever you like to call it).

Favourite alcoholic drink?I don’t drink a lot these days, but when I do it is dry white wine.

Facebook or Twitter? 

• Twitter: @CateReddell   I admit I don’t do much on Twitter, but I’m there…
• Facebook: Infinite Sadness or what?  I’m currently debating how much longer I’m staying there.  My purpose for starting a page was to spread the word on my blog, and that just isn’t really happening due to Facebook’s reluctance to share posts (at no cost).

My Passions?Writing, reading, spending time with my two-year old niece and her teenage brothers,  life where judgement of others does not have a place.  I’m also passionate in my dislike of reality television.  I simply don’t get what is so entertaining.  Why can’t we have real, quality television instead?  Or better still, why not just turn it off?

Giving or Receiving Gifts? Both are rewarding!  Receiving gifts can be hard sometimes because I find myself wondering about the motives behind the gift.  But I love giving gifts, especially those which are for no other reason than because I could.

And my 10 nominees are…

Firstly let me acknowledge that there are a lot of bloggers who don’t want to accept awards, for a variety of reasons.  If you are one of those, and I have nominated you, please accept my apologies and don’t feel under any pressure to participate in this award.  Just know that I think your blog is great… and then carry on with your day.

With that said, my nominations ( in no order) are:

Claudia at Summer Solstice Musings

Jayne and Chas at THE SUNRISE GOAL

Jennifer at Chopping Potatoes

PTSD And Beyond (particularly for her post We Are Not All the Same)

Sid at Dad Knows

Natalya and Anya from Finding Health After Illness

Kina at Human In Recovery

Come November

A Wilderness Love Story

And yes, the perfectionists will notice that are nine blogs listed when I was meant to nominate 10.  Just sit back and breathe for a moment.  It will feel okay soon.  It’s always good to be able to just sit with imperfect things (a shortened list too)and break a few rules.

And to finish, just because I can…

♦

“I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable, I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do.” 

― Robert A. Heinlein

Related articles

• Nomination & Nominees for ‘The Sunshine Award’ (amidlifeadventure.wordpress.com)

• Wow! I Got Some Awards (infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com)

Now That Was Really Nice

It’s really nice when someone who knows what journey you’ve been on, and for how long, takes the time to tell you that they’re impressed with what you’ve done and proud of you.  That’s what happened to me today, and it was so nice, and so unexpected, that I simply had to share it with you.

I haven’t always been very polite here, about my doctor (a General Practitioner), and I have come very close to finding myself a new one.  I might still, as this doctor and I often don’t see eye to eye, especially over the treatment of my fibromyalgia.  I’d go so far as to say that I suspect he’s one of those doctors who doesn’t quite believe that fibro is real.  He certainly wasn’t the doctor who diagnosed mine, and I really get no help from him in managing my symptoms.  But that’s not the issue though today.

My mental health journey has been going on for almost twenty years, and while this man hasn’t been my doctor all that time, he has indirectly watched my whole journey simply because he was my father’s doctor.  My father (who has since died) was always very concerned for me, and often felt helpless because either I was living away from him, or I chose at times to distance myself from my family.  I’ve always known that Dad used his doctor as something of a therapist for himself almost, as he struggled with his daughter’s illnesses.

Ten years ago this doctor became my doctor when I shifted to Christchurch, and I would add that I never felt he crossed any boundaries between his two patients.

Today I saw my doctor, just for a routine visit to pick up a prescription for the medication I take.  He told me that he was really proud of what I had achieved in my recent trip to England.  He said it was amazing to see me do that trip and have everything work out so well.  He was quite surprised and very happy for me.

He knew full well that for years leaving the house, or the hospital, was a huge achievement for me, but to see me fly to the other side of the world…    on my own…     meet a boyfriend who I had met on the internet through blogging…  have a fantastic time…   and then fly all the way back again…    was simply incredible…  and he was really proud of me.

It was far from easy to do what I did.  And it wasn’t without times when I almost backed out.  Actually I sat alone, in the departure lounge at Christchurch International Airport, crying because I didn’t think I could do it.  I was so close to walking out and catching a bus home, but somewhere I found the courage.  I so glad I did.

It took my doctor a few seconds to say what he said, but it means the world to me.  He told me that he wouldn’t want to make that trip alone himself, yet I had done it.  I think the best thing of him saying this to me was that it made me stop and say, “Wow!  I DID IT!”

There’s no way I could have done what I did two years ago, let alone ten or even nearly twenty years ago.  There is so much that I wouldn’t have coped with.  My mind was so muddled much of the time that if I had managed to get to the airport I probably would have ended up in the wrong part of the world.  But I DID IT!

To simply enjoy life is no mean feat, as anyone with a mental illness can tell you. But that’s exactly what I spent six weeks doing.  I DID IT!

I am so proud of myself. . . and appreciate the time my doctor took to remind me.

My message to you is that there is hope.  We can all do it (whatever ‘it’ is for each of us).  Sometimes it takes a while, but never give up!

Oh, and a final thought.  I told my doctor about my therapist’s fees (see yesterday’s post ‘Being There’ In Psychotherapy) and how I had finished my therapy yesterday.  My doctor was quite shocked by what my therapist had expected and agreed that I did the right thing in ending the relationship.  He had never heard of a therapist operating with that kind of ‘retainer’ fee system.  If I had any doubt (which actually I didn’t), he confirmed I had made the right decision.

*

“And one has to understand that braveness is not the absence of fear but rather the strength to keep on going forward despite the fear.” 

 - Paul Coelho

*

“Hope is a waking dream.” 

―    Aristotle

Related articles

• ‘Being There’ In Psychotherapy (infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com)
• Who Would Have Guessed? (infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com)

Sunrise… To Improve Mental Health

Whether we have a mental illness or not, we all have varying degrees of mental health, which we should treasure.  One of the things that I happen to know does wonders for my daily mental health, is to witness the sunrise.

I’ve always liked a good sunrise.  No matter how I’m feeling, it somehow lifts my soul to see the beauty of our universe put on display for me (and you) every morning.  In my younger, fitter and healthier days I used to run regularly at the crack of dawn.  I chose this time primarily because, other than other runners and walkers, there is generally no one else around.  But it also gave me the chance to watch the sunrise.

On particularly energetic mornings I would run to New Brighton Beach to see the sun come out of the sea, and then home around the Avon River in the stunning morning light.  It was impossible not to stop and go

“wow”

It doesn’t matter what your beliefs are about how that sunrise was created, it is beautiful, it is everyday and seeing it is so good for my mental health.  A great way to start the day.

Now that fibromyalgia has put paid to running, I admit I don’t see the sunrise as much as I’d like.  It’s just too hard to get out of bed early enough, but this past week I have been lucky enough to witness two sunrise experiences that are not usually within my reach.

I was flying home from my stay in England this week.  It was 41 hours of travelling and I might have snatched a few minutes snoozing, but not anything worth counting.  Planes and sleep just don’t seem to go together… for me anyway.

Early Monday morning (about 1am) I arrived at Dubai Airport where I had an eight-hour wait for my next flight.  It was going to be a long night.  I set about upping my caffeine levels, as firstly coffee on planes doesn’t even resemble coffee (other than it is wet, warm and brown) and… because it was going to be a long night.

I can tell you that coffee served in airports is also fairly insipid and not resembling the dark, strong brew I prefer.  At 4.20am I was sitting at the Nestle Toll House Coffee Stand.  The coffee was reasonable, the staff were friendly and most importantly, it was quiet (just what I needed!)

At that moment, over the public loud-speaker, came a male voice which I’m not sure whether I should describe as a wail, a chant or a song.  My limited knowledge of religion in that part of the world suggested to me that perhaps this was some kind of sunrise call to prayer.  It went on for about four minutes.  It wasn’t at all intrusive, although it was certainly different from the music that had been playing, interspersed with announcements.

I admit I had absolutely no idea what the words he sung/chanted meant but I liked it.  I liked the idea of calling people to pray, and I don’t really care which religion you or I are thinking of.  For me it was a chance to take a few moments to be thankful for the day.

Having left my boyfriend in England the day before, I hadn’t been very thankful for anything.  I was very upset to have left.  But this unknown-to-me chant, encouraged me to be thankful.  It was a good thing for me, because it turned my emotions from upset to calm.  That had to be good as I faced the rest of my trip home.

Shortly after the chant finished, I walked around the terminal to where I could hopefully see the sunrise (believing that the two coincided).  Actually in Dubai, it’s hard to see the sunrise (and the sunset for that matter).  There is a very thick brown haze over the city.  Of people I asked about it, some said it was smog (air pollution), others said it was sand in the air, heat, and yet more others said “oh, that’s just Dubai“.  Actually I suspect it was a combination of all four, but whatever it was it made the sunrise or sunset rather hazy and difficult to appreciate.

Later that morning my flight continued on to Bangkok, Sydney and then finally Christchurch, on Tuesday afternoon.

On Tuesday morning while flying east across Australia I had the opportunity to see the most amazing sunrise I have ever seen.

“wow”    “wow”    “wow”

Unfortunately the camera on my phone doesn’t work (and I really need to go and replace the phone) so I don’t have a photo of it to show you.  I did find a link to a sunrise similar to what I saw.  I don’t have permission to show it here, but if you are interested… check out this link:

http://www.travelblog.org/Photos/7972?fb_action_ids=463709203717651&fb_action_types=og.likes&fb_source=timeline_og&action_object_map=%7B%22463709203717651%22%3A10150243191270737%7D&action_type_map=%7B%22463709203717651%22%3A%22og.likes%22%7D&action_ref_map=%5B%5D

Excuse me for going on about it, but it was even better than that photo (which is pretty amazing).  It started out terracotta red.  Now sunrises in New Zealand are never that colour, just the ordinary pinks and reds, so I knew I was in for something special.  If you can imagine this, it developed into a rainbow effect flat along the horizon for as far as the eye could see (with the colours in their order right down to the red at the horizon).  I could even see green in the sky.  Yes, really.

I have never seen green in the sky as a natural colour, and was completely blown away as I watched for maybe 20 minutes.  When the sun finally came up it was molten gold.  Wow!

That sunrise made my day.  It made me happy.  It made me glad I had been on that plane, at that time, even if it had meant leaving England.  When my brother picked me up at Christchurch Airport, it was one of the first things I told him, even though it was some nine hours on.  It had completely lifted my spirits to see something so natural, be so beautiful.

So maybe getting up to watch the sunrise isn’t your thing.  That’s fine, but there are other times of the day where we can just marvel at the beauty of the universe.  Why not?  What harm can come of it?  Go outside and watch the sunset, or check out the moon and the stars when it is dark.  Do what works for you.  For me it is the sunrise, but also seeing the moon always connects me somehow to my friends on the other side of the world.  I know that they will see that same moon soon.

It’s only a little thing but appreciating the beauty of this earth, and universe is a good way to lift our mental health.  Give it a try sometime.  See what it is that you appreciate.

An excuse:  Two days on, I am still jet-lagged and trying to catch up on sleep, and myself.  So please forgive me for rambling.  I just knew I needed to share the moments.

“And yet day and night meet fleetingly at twilight and dawn,” he said, lowering his voice again and narrowing his eyes and moving his head a quarter of an inch closer to hers. “And their merging sometimes affords the beholder the most enchanted moments of all the twenty four hours. A sunrise or sunset can be ablaze with brilliance and arouse all the passion, all the yearning, in the soul of the beholder.” 

―    Mary Balogh,    A Summer to Remember

Related articles

• Sunrise over Australia from the plane (TravelBlog.org)
• Sunrise Goal – First Blog Post! (sunrisegoal.org)
• Who Would Have Guessed? (infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com)

Coming Out

If your first thought is that this post is going to be about either my sexuality, or someone elses, you’d be forgiven. Coming out used to be about being presented to society, and more recently it’s been about coming out of the closet. Usually the gay closet. I’m not about to do either of these but coming out is something that I’ve been thinking about in terms of mental illness.

Lately I’ve been reading a number of blogs and articles about the stigma of mental illness, and more specifically the stigma of Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). And each time I’ve finished feeling a little frustrated, like we haven’t quite hit the nail on the head yet in addressing this problem.

That’s why I started thinking about the way in which sexuality, and more specifically, different kinds of sexuality have been moving toward a more acceptable space in society. I know that there is a long way to go yet for the LGBT movement, to enable all people to feel able to be who they are without being stigmatized. I look forward to the day when we all accept people for who they are.

Image credit: Hugh Young

It’s got me thinking. Head back nearly 30 years ago, in New Zealand there was massive reform going on to see homosexuality legalised in 1986. It was a huge reform which saw many protests and arguments. Actually it was much along the lines of the Marriage Equality legislation that is currently being debated in many countries (including New Zealand).

As a young, (I was 21) heterosexual I could have chosen to ignore the 1980′s reform. At the time I was very involved in a Christian church (as I had been all my life) where homosexuality was frowned upon.  Actually ‘frowned’ is not that word.  It was regarded as wrong, and as a sin.

For me though, at the time I was working in an office where my boss was an openly gay man, and a co-worker was openly transsexual. It gave me a completely different view-point than the middle-class, Christian upbringing I had.  At that time, to be open about your sexuality was a big thing.  Not only were my workmates going against the norm, they were also going against the law.

I have to admit that it wasn’t until I knew those people who I realised that actually we are all the same and that no one deserves to be judged by another.  At 21, I came to the conclusion that if they weren’t hurting anyone then why should they not be able to live freely the life they chose?  I accordingly voted for homosexual law reform.

What has this got to do with mental illness?  It strikes me that those of us who have mental illness need to ‘come out’ too.  I know only too well that when we’re dealing with mental illness, we’ve got more than enough to think about let alone taking on activism.  But it seems to me that it is exactly what had to happen (and still happens) for those of a sexuality other than heterosexuality.  They had to come out in order to see change happen in our society.  Maybe it’s not fair, but no one can deny that coming out has helped open society to different realities.

Image credit: GO LIME Awareness for Mental Health (GLAMH)

Maybe it shouldn’t have been the responsibility of the LGBT movement to change the thinking of society.  In an ideal world, I’d go so far as to suggest as this should have been a responsibility of all human beings.  The thing is though, that the LGBT movement were the one’s who had a vested interest in getting laws and attitudes changed.

In the same way it is those of us with mental illnesses who have the vested interest in seeing the end of the stigma of mental illness.  It seems to me that I will directly benefit if there is more openness and acceptance of mental illness in society.  For my neighbours who don’t have a mental illness the benefit is indirect.

I’d like to think that everyone in society would want this, but the reality is that there isn’t the same obvious benefit for them, as there is for me.  They’re not the one’s who have to think carefully who they admit their mental illness to.  I do though, and in that respect I am little different from my transsexual work-mate of 30 years ago.

I believe we have a choice.  We can sit and wait, hoping that one day society will magically change its attitude to mental illness.  Or we can think about speaking up.  Coming out about our mental illness.  Because the more people who realise that they have a friend, neighbour, family member or work-mate with a mental illness, the more acceptable it will become.

It doesn’t need to be a big deal.  I don’t think we need to list off all our diagnoses.  Actually I believe that would be as off putting as if we listed off everything that was physically wrong.  We just need to let people know that mental illness is exists, and is not the scary thing society has thought it to be. If we can admit to our friends that we have, say diabetes, then why not mental illness?  This is exactly what the LGBT movement has done… shown that different sexualities are actually normal.

I don’t for one moment think that this is an easy ask.  There is a lot at stake.  I’ve simply come to the conclusion that I can’t just sit and wait, hoping that one day things will change.  It’s not going to magically happen.  But if each person takes a small step, as the LGBT people have done over years, and as other minority groups have also done in the past, then we start to make a difference.

♦

“We learned three crucial lessons from LGBT activists: We had to build a movement. We couldn’t be afraid to challenge our friends in power. And we had to give our cause a human face.”

 - Frank Sharry,  America’s Voice

♦

“We have got some very big problems confronting us and let us not make any mistake about it, human history in the future is fraught with tragedy … It’s only through people making a stand against that tragedy and being doggedly optimistic that we are going to win through. If you look at the plight of the human race it could well tip you into despair, so you have to be very strong.” 

―    Robert James Brown

Related articles

• Learning From LGBTs How To Change Minds (peteearley.com)
• How did we build an immigrant movement? We learned from gay rights advocates. (washingtonpost.com)
• Blog For Mental Health 2013 (infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com)
• Still Standing Up To Stigma (infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com)
• Demolishing Stigma (infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com)
• Illustrating Stigma (infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com)
• It’s All In Your Head! (infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com)

…And She Flew

Image credit: whakaangi.co.nz
.

Remember the kiwi? It’s not a piece of fruit (that’s a kiwifruit) but a small, flightless bird. Our national icon here in New Zealand, s/he lives in the undergrowth of the New Zealand bush doing all s/he can to avoid predators. S/he is an endangered species, and that must be hard when you’re a bird… and you can’t fly. What’s more, as someone pointed out to me recently, s/he also can’t swim. Actually it’s amazing s/he has survived, against the odds, for so long.

According to the Department of Conservation, who work to protect this, and other natural treasures here in New Zealand, there are only about 72,000 of these birds left.  Actually that’s not many, and you won’t see them easily when you come here as they are also nocturnal birds.

Even if you’re not from New Zealand, it’s hard not to be taken with the kiwi.  A bird that can not fly, that hangs out in the dark, and apart from an impressive looking beak, does not have much with which to defend itself.

The kiwi (bird) is where some 4.5 million New Zealanders take their name.  We are also known as kiwis, and personally I’m honoured to be represented by such a bird who faces the odds, time and time again.  That kiwi (the bird) can not fly… but this kiwi (me) is going to fly.

♦

“Come to the edge”, he said.  We are afraid. 

“Come to the edge”, he said. 

They came.  He pushed them, And they flew…”

   – Guillaume Apollinaire    

♦

My favourite quote (above) reminds me that sometimes, even when we are scared, we need to fly.  We have to take a (hopefully somewhat measured) risk and leap into the unknown.  And there we fly…

In five weeks, I am going to get on a plane (actually several) and fly half way around the planet to be with someone I love.  Standing on the edge, there are risks, but I’ve measured them and believe they are worth it.  Aside from the risk of flying half way around the planet to be with someone I haven’t met in person before, I also have to face 31 hours of travelling time.  Yes, that’s right.  31 hours.  That includes stops in Sydney, Bangkok and Dubai before I get to my destination in England.  And that is the shortest possible trip I could afford.

31 hours of sitting on planes, and passing time in airports is not exactly many people’s idea of fun.  The most I have ever done is 15 hours and that was hard enough.  Now I am doubling that, and have to factor into the equation my fibromyalgia.

Anyone with fibro, or probably any type of chronic pain, will be wincing at the idea of this.  It is a huge undertaking when sitting for any extended length of time will see my body seize but, and walking through airports and waiting in lines will see the fatigue set in.  This is not going to be easy, or even pleasant.  But that has been part of the weighing up the risks for me.  I expect by the time I get to England I will be half dead, but it’s worth it.  I have no doubt of that.

I have done my homework on what I should expect of my body but  I admit I haven’t yet considered too closely what my brain function might be like by the end of this.  Will I be able to think straight?  Unlikely but Frank knows to expect a wreck off the plane.  If anything can test our commitment to each other it will be the state of me after that 31 hours.  While it would be nice to think I’ll be looking my best, I know I won’t be.  That’s just how it is.  Sometimes that’s life.

The difficulty with fibro is that I really can’t accurately predict how I will be.  I know sitting immobile is a factor, as is the difficulty of sleeping over that time.  I would love to have one of those seats where you can lie down properly to sleep, but they were way too expensive.  I also know walking long walkways in airports might be difficult.  But I might handle it all really well.  Let’s hope.

Meantime I did some reading.  7 Keys to Savvy Traveling with Fibromyalgia by Tami Stackelhouse, a Fibromyalgia Health Coach provided some interesting food for thought.  Some of it I admit I struggled with though.

One of the first ideas suggested was to use wheelchair assistance in airports.  Hmm.  It might be a good idea, because usually there is a lot of walking in airports, but I’m not ready to face a wheelchair just yet.  I’m struggling enough with hope right now (see Fatigued Hope), without going that far.  Maybe that’s pride, maybe it’s stupidity, and maybe it’s maintaining some sense of self-empowerment.  I think  I need that right now.

What I need from my blogging friends is to hear what works for you.  Have you travelled long distance with fibro?  What did you do to make this as easy, and preferable pain-free, as possible?  And if I wake the morning of departure to a fibro flare, how would I be best to manage that?

I am going to step to the edge, and fly (unlike the kiwi).  Whatever the pain, I know this is worth it.  But anything I can do to lessen that pain, would just make damn good sense.

“I am not the same having seen the moon shine on the other side of the world.” 

―    Mary Anne Radmacher

Related articles

• Facts about kiwi  (conservation.govt.nz)
• 7 Keys to Savvy Traveling with Fibromyalgia (myrestoredhealth.com)
• Fatigued Hope (infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com)

When Your World Turns Upside Down (reposted)

A few weeks ago I published this post but removed it shortly after, when I felt uncomfortable having shared what is contained in it.  I now feel more comfortable with sharing it, and so am re-posting it.  I apologise to those who read the original post and commented, before I deleted it.  I did appreciate your comments.

Today has been the second anniversary of the worst earthquake we lived through in Christchurch, NZ.  185 people weren’t so lucky and lost their lives.  Many more were injured.  And yet many more have suffered health problems (and for some death) following the quakes.  For me, my father died six weeks later, my mother is a completely different woman and my own fibromyalgia is attributed to my trauma from that experience. 

Our lives literally turned upside down.  While recovery, repair and rebuilding slowly take place, for about 450,000 residents life will never be the same.  This post is about what came to matter.

My world has literally turned upside down in more than one occasion. It has been frightening, life changing and heart stopping (both literally and figuratively when I look across my family who also experienced this). It happened, for me, by way of massive earthquakes, but for others it might have been tornadoes, hurricanes, bush fires, floods, tsunamis or a number of other events that we know as ‘natural disasters’.

It might be ‘natural’ but nothing seems ‘natural’ at the time. Everything is totally unknown and shocking.Out of nowhere, comes complete devastation. The question that repeatedly came into my mind as I was in a number of major earthquakes in Christchurch, NZ was “how can the earth do this?” It was simply beyond my wildest imagination that the world was capable of moving like this, yet now it was my reality.

If you have read back through my posts you may have read some of this before, but this is a different angle than that which I have shared previously.

In a few weeks it will be two years since Christchurch experienced its worst (although not biggest) and deadly earthquake. On 22 February 2011 a 6.3 earthquake, centred just 10 kilometres from the central city, hit on a busy, summer Tuesday. It wasn’t the first, or the last quake to devastate the city.

Nearly two years on, it seems that finally the after shocks might have died away. There are still occasional ones just to remind us of our terror, but mostly now it is about concentrating on rebuilding ourselves, our homes and our city. Or waiting. There is so much waiting. In early days for supplies of fresh water, now we wait for the Government and Insurance companies, and of course we wait at the thousands of roads-works holding up traffic as the repairs to roads, water pipes and sewers go on.

Five months earlier on 4 September 2010 at 4.35am I was woken by our first quake. It was a 7.1 quake centred just out of the city at Darfield (about 30 kilometres away). It was dark, and I woke to this incredible violent shaking. Initially I had no idea what was happening. In New Zealand we are used to minor quakes but this was far beyond anything I had experienced.

As children we had been taught that in an earthquake you make your way to a doorway or under a table. Instinct somehow kicked in. Moments before my cat had been asleep by my feet, but I couldn’t see or hear where she was. That instinct saw me grab my teddy bear and try to make it to the doorway. It was only two metres but it seemed like miles because the cupboard doors on one side, and the bed on the other, were being tossed and thrown around the room. I literally had to fight to get past.

I clung to the door frame, and as I did I realised that there was an old doll on my bedside table. I had grabbed the teddy bear but I hadn’t grabbed the doll, and now I wanted her. I wanted to go back. For a moment, she was everything in the world, but then I knew I wouldn’t make it back. Right then I wasn’t sure if this was the end of the world, or was it a very bad earthquake. I just hung on and hoped it would end. I hoped my doll would still be there when it stopped.

When these ‘natural’ disasters strike they tend to be life-changing in many ways that one would never have expected. What is important takes on new meaning and you find that things you thought were important, don’t hold the same value you thought they did.

On that dark September morning, all that mattered to me was my cat (who I didn’t see for another two days) and the teddy bear and doll. I thought my world was ending. It would have been useful to have my mobile phone from the bedside table, but I didn’t think of that until it rang a few minutes later (what became a regular ritual of checking on other family members).

There wasn’t much logic to what was important but in time I would repeat the same choices. Five months later, when the February quake struck it caused much more damage because it was closer to the city centre, it was very shallow and it was lunchtime on a busy work day. My parents lived in an apartment building in the city centre, and when they (and I) struggled down the damaged stairs some time after the quake, they were leaving the building forever. I was with them that day, and while I had time to grab my bag, they had no time to grab anything. Dad had his car keys. That was all.

Their experience made me question my priorities again. What really mattered? Actually a lot didn’t matter. Mum was understandably upset because she hadn’t put her wedding rings on that morning.

We were fortunate that my brother and I were able to go back into the building for a short while several months later. By then we had worked out what really mattered. There was mum’s rings, my grandfather’s World War Two medals, and family photos. Of a houseful of possessions we had narrowed it down to that.

It seemed a little crazy to walk past broken china on the floor. Items my parents had got as wedding gifts and had been part of our family for my whole life. They didn’t matter. They just weren’t important. I’d like to say that what mattered was that we were all alive, but by that time my Dad had died. The stress of everything had beaten his heart.

But we do have everyone else, and some families weren’t so lucky. We are fortunate. We found mum’s rings and Granddad’s medals (although they mysteriously disappeared later). We retrieved most of the family and ancestor photos that couldn’t have been replaced.

For me, I lost precious items in my home too, particularly gifts from friends. Smashed on the floor. But two years on those things don’t matter. The things that did matter, which were of my heart, were my cat, my teddy bear and the doll. Oh, and I never take my rings off now. I learnt that lesson from Mum.

“You can’t help respecting anybody who can spell TUESDAY, even if he doesn’t spell it right; but spelling isn’t everything. There are days when spelling Tuesday simply doesn’t count.”

― A.A. Milne

Related articles

• In My Corner Of The World… There Is Hope (infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com)
• Good From Bad (infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com)
• One Year On (quakestories.govt.nz)

A Bit Mental (Lilo The Waikato)

Image credit: Lilo The Waikato (used with permission)

Yesterday I watched a great piece of television, and what’s more it was on mainstream television channel TV3.  The scheduling wasn’t great but at least it got there.  The programme was all about raising awareness of depression, and that has to be a great thing.  If you want to watch it, here’s the link.  It will be there for a couple of weeks.

Inside New Zealand – A Bit Mental – Special – On Demand – TV3.

Location map of Waikato River, North Island, New Zealand (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A Bit Mental is a documentary about Jimi Hunt, a New Zealand man who has struggled with depression for two years.  As part of his recovery he created a challenge for himself of travelling down New Zealand’s Waikato River… on a $8 lilo air mattress (in other words cheap!)… and in doing so raising awareness for depression.  If you’re not sure what a lilo is, that’s the yellow thing Jimi is floating on in the picture above.  Just plastic and air.  He went through 11 in the whole trip as he succumbed to punctures.

He described it as:

“a ridiculous journey to raise awareness for a super serious problem.”

For those in other parts of the world, the Waikato River is our longest river at 425 kilometres.  There is some gorgeous scenery but some very serious white water known as the Huka Falls, as well as a few hydro power stations to get through.  In other words it’s a crazy journey that no one had done before on a flimsy plastic lilo, but Jimi did it.  The link above will give you the full story.

Jimi was told by his doctor that his depression had a chemical basis, rather than psychological and so his recovery was about correcting that chemical balance.  I admit I was slightly concerned when he commented that he wasn’t bad enough to need medication.  It was one of those things that just didn’t sit right with me.  Maybe because I was ‘bad enough’ to need medication.  Was he saying that because I needed depression I was much worse?  To me, I was just different.  I decided to drop the issue in my head, maybe I was seeing things that weren’t there (it happens often!).

Back to Jimi’s recovery, he was challenged by his doctor to get some exercise, get fit and set some goals.  And so Lilo The Waikato was born with his aim to raise awareness for depression and funds for Lifeline (a 24 hour telephone counselling line).

The Huka Falls, Waikato, New Zealand (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The thing I really liked was that along the journey Jimi set himself up so that he had to ask for help, something which he recognised as key to his recovery, and something that he took a while to learn.  He had to ask for accommodation (the journey took about two weeks) and meals.  He had to ask for the occasional tow.

It was a practical reminder of how asking for help is so important when struggling with depression, and mental illness.  I guess it rang home to me because it is something that I recognise I have struggled with at different parts of my mental illness journey.  Some parts would have been so much easier, and less painful had I asked for help at the time.  Jimi recognised it as something that would have made a big difference to his recovery too.

What Jimi did was pretty amazing.  You wouldn’t get too many people who would take on such a challenge, let alone while raising awareness for mental illness.  And what’s more, there were many people (including more than 20,000 Facebook followers who encouraged, supported and followed his journey).

All this got me wondering, as I watched the programme, what awareness and support could be raised for other mental illnesses?  There is no official hierarchy of mental illnesses, but I’m inclined to think that depression is a little more ‘acceptable’ to the general public than other mental illnesses.  So what if there was a person with say, Schizophrenia or Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) who could raise this kind of acceptance?  Would it work?  Would the general public just say “s/he’s crazy”?

No doubt plenty of people said that Jimi was crazy.  It’s certainly not something that I would choose to do.  But people got behind him and supported his cause.  It would be great to see more people backing a greater awareness of all mental illness.

Currently there is a woman, Annie Chapman, who is walking the length of the North Island – using the Te Araroa Trail (1600 kilometres), here in New Zealand to raise awareness of the need for better treatment options for those with mental illnesses.  It’s a completely different undertaking being a protest walk (known here as a hikoi) with community meetings along the way.  What interests me is that her Facebook followers amount to under 200.

Why is there such a difference in support?  I guess there are a lot of reasons, but I wonder whether the need to ask for help when you’re battling depression is more acceptable somehow to the public than the nitty-gritty of treatment options for all mental illness.  I don’t know, and perhaps I’m not being fair, but it does raise the question of what is acceptable to the public and what is too much?

What I do know is that what these two people, and probably others I haven’t heard about, are doing is fantastic.  Whatever is done to make mental illness easier to talk about, and more widely acceptable has to be great.

♦

“One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.” 

―    Friedrich Nietzsche

Related sites

• Lilo the Waikato (facebook.com)
• 
  http://www.depression.org.nz/
  
• 
  http://www.beatingtheblues.co.nz/
  
• 
  http://www.thelowdown.co.nz/
  
• 
  http://www.lifeline.org.nz/
  
• Hikoi for healthy choices in Mental Health (facebook.com)

The Other Side Of The Story

On Christmas night I sat down for a short while to watch the headlines of the daily news on television.  I have been cutting back on what news I watch recently because of the often traumatic nature of it.  Now days I might watch the first ten minutes and then leave it.  That way I know some of what is going on, but don’t need to torment myself with the rest.

The first story was the record number of people who had attended the Auckland (NZ’s largest city) City Mission Christmas dinner.  These types of free meals have been run in major centres for years, and provide a free meal and entertainment for those who can not afford to have their own celebration.

What struck me was the way the newsreader told it.  There was almost glee in his voice as if he was talking about record numbers attending a car show, or some other event where record numbers would be looked on as a good thing.

For me, I see the record numbers as a terribly bad thing, that more and more people are having to turn to charitable organisations to enable some celebration of Christmas.  We should be looking to find ways of making these numbers go down rather than up.  It’s just wrong.  Ironically there were even people there who were tourists in New Zealand.  the bus tour they were on had brought them there for their Chritmas meal.  I admired the head of the City Mission who said it was fine they were there because they were seeing another side to New Zealand.  I just hope they paid for their meal.

I love that these events happen each year, and actually I have grown up  all my life being part of such events.  My parents would regularly do family Christmas celebrations for us at lunch time on Christmas Day, and then we would be involved in putting on a community meal at night for those who had no where else to go.  Mum would do most of the cooking and Dad would be out front welcoming people.  Us kids were often doing the dishes.

It is wonderful that so many give up their time (and money) to run these meals, but the fact that there is growing need for such events simply suggests to me that people are struggling more and so many people are alone.

This is one event where record-breaking statistics should be very unwelcome.  Yes there will always be people alone, and for them I am glad these events still exist.  But many of the people attending are families who simply can not afford to celebrate Christmas.

Image credit: FB/Fresh Minds Matter

Straight after Christmas Day, in this country comes Boxing Day on 26 December.  It is a day recognised in most Commonwealth countries (although feel free to correct me if I’m wrong).  Boxing Day used to be a day to go to the beach in New Zealand, or better yet, the day to head off on your summer holiday.

Traditionally though, Boxing Day was a day to give money and gifts to the poor.  I grew up with the explanation that is was the day when servants packed up (in boxes) all the left overs from Christmas, and gave them to the poor.  Also it was a day when servants who had worked hard through Christmas Day, could have time off to visit their own families.

Boxing Day is probably one of those events where there are many different explanations, but it seems that giving to the more needy is a common thread.  I suspect most countries who recognise Boxing Day have lost this aspect to it, and I think that is sad.  I also have this question in my head of why the poor had to wait to simply get what amounts to ‘leftovers’?  And why couldn’t the rich give to the poor before Christmas?

I think what disturbs me most is what has happened to Boxing Day now.  Boxing Day has lost that charitable aspect and now is a consumer day.  It is now the day when the retail sales start, in the same line as the Black Friday sales in the United States after Thanksgiving.

How did we go from a day recognised for giving to the poor, to a mad scramble around the shops to get the best bargains possible?  Isn’t there something wrong with that?

Personally I don’t handle large crowds of people and so the idea of going shopping for the Boxing Day sales is completely beyond me.  I’m not interested in what bargains I might be able to get, and would rather preserve my mental health.

Boxing Day was yesterday in New Zealand, and like I had done the night before, I watched the first ten minutes of the television news.  The headlines were the record sales for the retail sector.

What I’m wondering is how many people buying up on Boxing Day could really afford what they were buying?  How many purchased on credit, and will struggle to pay it off?  And dare I say it, I wonder if there were people at the Christmas Day meals who were also at the sales, trying to get a bargain?  I don’t mean to criticise them personally.  I criticise a system that has the extremes of wealth and poverty, which no one appears to be trying to align.

There is something wrong with this side of the story.  The news readers don’t stop to align the two, but I bet the social workers who will be trying to help people budget their money know it only too well.

♦

“Every life deserves a certain amount of dignity, no matter how poor or damaged the shell that carries it.” 

―    Rick Bragg,    All Over But the Shoutin’

Peace on Earth

Merry Christmas

from New Zealand

New Zealand’s Pohutukawa flower (the NZ Christmas Tree) Image credit: Sarang/Wikipedia.com

Christmas in New Zealand arrives right on time for a summer celebration.  While I see pictures of Christmas celebrations in the snow from around the world, that seems completely foreign to me.

We have the usual pine Christmas Tree in our homes, but the real tree of Christmas (and probably the most well-known symbol of New Zealand Christmas) is that which produces the flower above.  The Pohutukawa tree.  If there are plenty of the red flowers out in time for Christmas, we know that summer will be a good one. Most of these trees are found in the North Island, where I spent my childhood, so I have lots of good memories of them, although they’re not that common down here in the south.

I grew up having a hot Christmas dinner of roast turkey and ham, but really it always seems a little crazy considering the warm weather outside.  Now days, and today’s plans with my family, will be around the barbeque outside followed by pavlova and fresh berries for dessert.

So that’s my Christmas plans, but I have to admit that I’m not big on the whole Christmas theme.  The reason I think I struggle with it is this expectation that everyone will be on their best behaviour, and we are cheerfully ‘nice’ to people who during the rest of the year, we perhaps don’t want a bar of.  If only we could use Christmas to find peace in our world and in our families.

I wish for a Christmas that spells the end of war. 

•

I wish for a Christmas that spells the end of hate, and a return to loving our neighbours.

•

I wish for a Christmas that contains no crime.

•

I wish for a Christmas where we all stay safe from harm.

•

I wish for a Christmas of love, especially for those grieving as a result of crime and war.

•

I wish for a Christmas of peace.

•

There are no doubt millions of people in this world who wish for the same, regardless of any religious beliefs they may or may not have.  Wouldn’t it be great if we could take those individual wishes and turn them into both an individual, and global reality?

Santa Claus, presents and singing Christmas Carols are simply not what matters, in my mind.  What matters is working out what each of us, as individuals, can do today to turn this planet towards peace.

Image credit: FB/ONE HUMAN FAMILY

Two years ago my family celebrated Christmas with a new child, my niece L.  She was born about six weeks before Christmas.  It was to be our last Christmas with everyone there, as my father died suddenly four months later.  It was a stressful time for us as the earthquakes had started to hit Christchurch and while we were all together, it was a difficult time.

A baby in our midst lightened the mood and promised of good to come.  She bought hope.  We had no idea of what trauma we would go through in the months to come, how much we would lose, and how much pain there would be.   But somehow L’s presence in our family gathering offered us hope and joy.  And no doubt today, she will continue to provide that to me.

And that’s on my mind as I’ve picked out this music (complete with snowy scenes for those who need that to connect with Christmas).  The lyrics veer towards a Christian understanding of Christmas but I don’t think that needs to exclude anyone.  We can use Christmas to celebrate new life, regardless of our religious beliefs.  That’s what I’ll be doing anyway.

I wish you all peace, love and hope as you celebrate your Christmas.  Enjoy the young.  Take joy in their lives.  And most of all, find a way to be at peace with yourself, and with our fellow beings.

♦

“Oh look, yet another Christmas TV special!  How touching to have the meaning of Christmas brought to us by cola, fast food, and beer…. Who’d have ever guessed that product consumption, popular entertainment, and spirituality would mix so harmoniously? ” 

―    Bill Watterson,    The Essential Calvin and Hobbes

Related articles

• What Matters To Me This Christmas Eve (infinitesadnessorhope.wordpress.com)