When Ish Hits The Fan

"Secrets make you sick"

This is probably one of the biggest and simplest take home messages from To Write Love On Her Arms (TWLOHA).

For those who haven't seen it, it focuses on Rene Yohe and how, with the help of her friends, she overcame drug addiction. Although that seems like a really simplified or watered down explanation of what really happened, because what you learn at the end is that it's a daily battle. She comes home and writes 'Day 1' on her bedroom mirror, because essentially, every day is day 1, over and over again until you don't need to think about the number associated with the day anymore.

The most inspiring thing that I took from it is to own my story. I may not have been sexually assaulted or suffered deep depression, I may not have anything more serious than Generalised Anxiety Disorder, but my story is still one worth telling, if only to make myself heard and so others know that they're not alone.

So hi, I'm Melissa and I'm a love addict who also suffers from anxiety and possibly depression.

I grew up in a family that, due to a family history of mental illness and not knowing how to cope with it, saw me lacking in my own psychological and particularly emotional needs being met.

As a child, I didn't understand what was going on and took it personally when one or both of my parents would yell at me because I genuinely believed that it meant I wasn't worthy of love, attention, affection or any of the other things that I craved.

Throughout high school I sought out quite possibly the one person that couldn't give me the love I so desperately wanted, which only make me want to fight harder for it, much to my own detriment.

I was also diagnosed with severe Idiopathic Scoliosis at 12 which saw me undergo two intensive surgeries just before my 14th birthday. Despite this huge hurdle and the impact this had on me at the time and has since affected me and helped shaped my life, I don't consider myself a Scoliosis survivor. It's a condition that I have and was corrected as best as the surgeons possibly could, but it in no way defines me, who I am, what I do, or what I want to achieve in my life.

Anyway, with my love addiction seeking a new target after spending 4-5 years hopelessly trailing after a guy who was becoming less and less appealing as a person the older he got, I met a teacher when I was 16 and became completely obsessed with him for about 3 years. I'm really not proud of how I acted during this time and how relentlessly I pursued him despite him making it clear that he couldn't give me the kind of attention that I wanted and trying to get me to stop what I was doing, but I understand why I did what I did and have subconsciously vowed to never behave in the same way ever again.

Everything came to an absolutely crushing halt when the teacher got married. It was like my entire world had been completely shattered and I was left with two choices: either stay where I was and revel in the pain and misery of what my life had suddenly become, or ask for help and keep doing whatever it takes to get myself out of the intensely grey pit I'd found myself in.

It took a few weeks along with trial and error of counselors, but I finally found someone who was just right for me and help me get past the first hurdle of pain, find the core of my problem and helped me rebuild myself and my life, one step at a time.

I've now been seeing her for nearly 7 years and my life, as she reminds me as well, is completely different from when I first started seeing her. I've got a stable job, a happy home life, great friends, am halfway through an Arts degree, finished paying off my car a few months ago, and am finally learning to love and accept myself exactly as I am.

During my darkest times, namely around the age of 15 when I hated everything about my life, was sick of fighting for a reason to keep living and often thought about running away or taking my own life, I couldn't have fathomed I'd be able to create the kind of life I have now. It's not perfect, but it's a hell of a lot better than where I've come from, which means that where I'm headed it going to be better still.

So that's my story in a nutshell. I'm sharing it because I feel like I need to and that others need to hear it.

So tell me, what's your story? What do you do when life messes with the fan?

The Only Daughter

There's something special about the bond between mother and child. It's different for everyone though. Some sons are closer, some daughters are closer, some don't have the opportunity to have that bond which in itself is a different kind of special, don't ask me how.

For pretty much my entire life I've taken immense pleasure doing the opposite of what my mother asked or wanted me to do. She had her ideas and preconceptions of what a daughter should be, and I almost always refused to agree with her. It was kinda fun.

Naturally this caused tension between us, we still loved each other, but hardly ever saw eye to eye which was hard. 

I think we've spent most of my life wishing each other was closer to the ideal mother or daughter that we each had in mind, and resented the fact that it was never going to happen. I wanted to have the kind of mother I saw some of my other friends have, the one I could relate to and be good friends with, I got the mentally ill yet loving and nurturing one who was taught to obey at all costs. She wanted the submissive and dutifully obedient daughter that enjoyed everything she did. Camps, religious things, classical music, non-trashy romance novels. I wasn't and just couldn't be that. I found it soul-crushing and ultimately, just not who I was.

I hated the fact that she made me feel that I was never good enough or could never be who she wanted me to be, and just wished she would accept me for who I was. It really sucked.

After years of quarreling I decided enough was enough and moved out of home. Mum was thrilled. Perhaps because subconsciously she was getting her own way, but more obviously, because it gave her something to talk about with the ladies at her various church groups whose kids had already moved on to bigger and better things and they could live through their children.

I realized this is what she was doing and resented it again, but then acknowledged that I'd done similarly and that because of the way she'd grown up, she never thought it was possible to do what I was doing, and yet there I was. Out of home at 21, marriage not imminent, living with 2 strangers (females, for safety sake) and fully enjoying my new found independence. I'd say it was terrifyingly exciting for her, but that's just me.

My relationship with her has dramatically improved. I can appreciate her so much more now because we're not getting under each other's skin. I think there is still some slight underlying wishing that we were still different people, but we've come to accept each other for who we are.

When we made plans to go to the aquarium last weekend but fell through at the last minute when I realized the free tickets I'd been given has expired the day before. I thought rather than letting mum down at the last minute, I'd surprise her at the train station with a bouquet of flowers (because aren't all mums worth it?!) and tell her there was a change of plans and I'd be shouting her the High Tea instead. In my mind it was a foolproof plan, except that my time management skills seem to falter slightly when it involves meeting up with a parental figure.

After I arrived in the city and told her of my seemingly brilliant plan, she wasn't as overjoyed as I thought she'd be. She just took it in her stride and I felt more determined to make it up to her, kinda in the way that a parent feels bad for letting down their child and seeks to brighten their day in another manner and as quickly as possible. That's the kind of relationship she and I have. I've been a mother/older sister to her since I was a teenager (hence part of the resentment). Now I'm at an age where it's not so bad. In fact, I don't quite mind it.

She thoroughly enjoyed the cakes and pot of tea and just having the opportunity to get out of the house and spend some time with another female, just having a girly day out. She said she did want to make another day trip to the aquarium which I said we could do in my upcoming work holidays and she was happy.

As we were leaving, she thanked me for a wonderful day even if it was cut short by my next engagement, but she told me how much she enjoyed the food and tea and she was glad to be with someone who encouraged her to 'spend money' although I pointed out that it probably wasn't the best form of encouragement one could offer. She's never been the type of person to leave her comfort zone, admittedly I don't think a vast majority of people are, myself occasionally included. It really made me appreciate her, our relationship, but mostly how lucky I am. The people we wanted each other to be weren't the ones we were meant to be or needed to be.

She's taught me kindness, gentleness, caring and compassion. How to give unto others without expecting anything in return. How to be grateful for what I have and how everyone is strong in the only way they can be, even if it doesn't seem like it. I think the biggest lesson she's taught me albeit indirectly is how to be my own person. I saw the kind of life she had for herself and thought it was the most boring thing ever. I'm not housewife material, least of all a submissive one. Yes I can cook and clean and keep a place in some kind of order, I can nurture and mother and do all those things, but I can't be stifled or oppressed. I refuse to let a man make decisions for me about my life. He, and no one else can control me. I am a free spirit who will not be tamed. 

Being co-raised by her made me feel different. No one else at school or church or wherever else I was talked about their mother's latest mental episode. Granted she's lived in childlike denial her whole life so she sees her illnesses as something akin to a cold and takes her medicines every night like a dutiful child would. 

It also gave me the ability to understand. 

What it's like to have or be around people with mental illnesses or just illnesses in general. To have someone in your family who makes it a little less than normal (by society's standards), but mostly to appreciate that no one is perfect and we are all doing the best we can with what we have where we are.

Because of her (and the environment in which I was raised) I am fascinated by the way the mind works, why we do things, why we think things or in some case why we don't. I am also hopelessly enthusiastic about what we are capable of achieving when we stop blaming others, worrying so much about what other people think (including ourselves) and just enjoying the life we have in the best way we can. Without limits, reservations or judgments.

On another note, I ran into the mother of one of the guys I went to school with a few months back. She had all boys and was, from what I could tell, a very loving and nurturing mother who wanted nothing more than to share her love of feminine and girly things with a daughter she never had.

When we spoke, she mentioned that her eldest sons (the firstborn was in my class) had gotten married within a few months of each other and she FINALLY had the girls in the family which she'd longed for. I was happy for her. After meeting up with mum recently I could start to fully appreciate just what that meant. Even though she hadn't given birth to, or raised the girls, they loved and were committed to spending the rest of their lives with the boys whom she had. Presuming the girls were on the same wavelength as her, she could now share the same interests which I share with my mother. 

That's a different kind a special mother/daughter bond.

One of my close friends sadly lost her mother at a young age and because of that, has her reservations about motherhood. The exciting thing, at least from my perspective, is that she has the opportunity to create a different kind of bond with her future mother-in-law, or if that doesn't go as planned, her future child/ren.

I always desperately wanted an older sister when I was little and found that need fulfilled in so many of my friendships. Now I'm in a place in my life where I don't need a sister. I've got fantastic friends who themselves are only daughters, or some of them are, and when they're busy, I have the mother/daughter/sister within myself which is the greatest gift I could ever have.

Be aWare of the Black Dog

Depression is a nasty, energy-sucking thing.

We have increased awareness of it and other mental health illnesses and issues, but there's still a fair bit of stigma attached to it.

My mother was diagnosed with depression years ago, possibly before I was born, so my entire life has been based around her mindset as well as witnessing her taking antidepressants as well as other medicines prescribed by her psychiatrist or whoever.

I self-diagnosed when I was going through high school, just because I felt low moods a fair bit more than I noticed others did and would come home from school and sleep until dinner time and repeat the same pattern most nights.

With my mother being mentally ill, my father did the best he could even if to me it seemed that was nothing and it continually frustrated me because I didn't understand what it was like to be him.

I sought help through Kids Help Line, an Australian organisation which provides free counselling for people up to age 25. I started talking to them when I was about 12 or 13 and continued until just recently after I turned 25.

I'm sure everyone knows what it's like to hold your breath. Carrying a weight on your chest is a similar feeling. You want to let it out but don't know how to or who to ask for help. There's a common idea that once you reach adulthood you're meant to have everything figured out and no longer need help or you're just able to deal with life's pitfalls as they come because that's what grown ups do.

This doesn't take into account people's circumstances or upbringings.

An example that comes to mind is with the Michael Jackson molestation case and how some guy came forward and said that he too was a victim and he only realized that he was when his son was born and knew that the way he'd been treated wasn't okay.

When we're young we're told many many things, we tend to believe what we're told and the people who tell us because we don't know any better and the people who tell us insist they are correct, or they get mad when we question why they think/say they're right so we continue believing it.

I was talking to my dad yesterday about him starting his own blog since he seems to have a ridiculous amount of things to say, but his response was "no one listens to me anyway". I was also talking to him on the weekend about getting diagnosed and treated for depression to which he responded "because then I'd have to deal with it".

I can understand his second point. Having been co-raised by him I was always indirectly taught not to deal with stuff that's too hard to deal with, just avoid it and then avoid it some more. I did this until my late teens when I got to a point where that elephant in the room was just too big and heavy to ignore anymore. Seeking professional help has been the BEST thing I've ever done and most definitely something I needed to do. Yes it's been hard, tiring, emotional and all the above, but it has brought me to where I am now and I couldn't be more grateful or a bigger advocate for it!

We do have periods of awareness in Australia, such as R U OK? Day, Mental Health Month and a few others. I think the biggest thing to focus on is actually listening when someone responds with "no, I'm really not".

For the people who feel completely lost, you are not alone despite how you might feel it. I strongly urge people who do feel down to seek out help and start talking to someone, whether it be a trusted friend, a counselling service, or even a diary like I did at the very start.

Asking for help is NEVER a bad thing. Despite what 'they' say, you aren't expected to have it all figured out at any age.

One last anecdote. There's a story somewhere on the internet where a teacher who I believe is a psychologist holds up a glass of water to the class they're teaching and asks how heavy it is. A few people take random guesses at it's physical weight to which the teacher responds "it depends how long you carry it for". The point = the longer you carry or hold onto something, the heavier it gets.

As a final note. For people in Sydney, Australia, Aponia Magazine is having their launch party tonight from 5.30-9.30pm in Chippendale to raise funds for The Black Dog Institute. Tickets are $15 and available here.