Change

All posts in the Change category

To be honest….

Published 14 March, 2013 by ladyem83

This phrase seems to have been incredibly diluted through excessive use in popular discourse.  My brother uses the abbreviation, ‘tbh’ too frequently in text messages.  Why do we feel the need to prefix certain statements and/or opinions with a warning of honesty?  Surely we should be confident that every opinion we express is done so with pride, conviction and, above all else, honesty?

I have entitled this post as such because I feel a need to qualify my previous post  My 30th birthday…

This blog honestly describes my path through anorexia, depression and recovery.   My 30th birthday… described how I enjoyed and experienced my fabulous birthday weekend.  If, however,  I am to be true to this blog, then I should also describe the other aspect to my birthday weekend because, recovery isn’t all party poppers and Champagne.

My path through recovery seems to be hellishly bumpy.  Just as I begin to gather strength, a degree of contentment and self-confidence, a demon inside me hits the self-destruct button and I spiral downwards at a rate of knots.

In my writing, I purposefully separate myself from the demon.  You may think I’m seeking a scapegoat, so that I can excuse my thoughts and behaviour. This isn’t the case.  I know this isn’t the case because I have lived most of my life without anorexia and depression.  I know that I do not want to walk the path to self-destruction, yet there is something inside me that paints an extremely convincing picture as to why I deserve only self-destruction.  You may say; “Well, if you know that’s not the real you and that you want to behave differently, then why don’t you?”

At this point, I hold my hands up.  You may give up reading here, and I don’t blame you.  You may despise my weakness and think I should, ‘pull myself together’;  I know that’s what I think.

I am a strong character.  I have been strong for the last 17 years.  I really don’t know why, but now, for some reason I can’t quite muster that all-encompassing strength to put myself on the right track and continuously keep myself there.

Oh, believe me, when it’s called for I can put on my ‘Game Face’ and knock it out of the park.  But, during the hours I spend alone (and they are many), I struggle with the other voice.  I’m so tired of putting on my Game Face.  Even at the weekend when no Game Face was required, just being happy and being me, is enough for the other voice to kick into gear and put me in my place.

So, here it is TBH:

I was shaking and crying when I saw my birthday cards and presents….I don’t deserve that love.

Mum held me to ransom outside Aberdeen:  “We will sit here in the car until you’ve eaten that bread roll.  IT doesn’t want you to enjoy this weekend, we are not giving IT what IT wants.”  I hid half of the bread roll in the folds of the road map until an hour later when I confessed to Mum what I’d done and then ate the rest of it, knowing that doing so was like throwing a grenade into the heart of Ana’s camp but that I needed to do it.

I felt I didn’t deserve the effort my brother and his girlfriend had gone to to make a wonderful, relaxed birthday buffet for me (including all my safe foods).

I don’t deserve, I don’t deserve, I don’t deserve.

This all sounds so self-pitying, and I won’t think ill of you if you interpret it that way.

As a small token of defence I will say that; I am trying.  Yep, I’m tripping up and cocking up an awful lot, however, along the way I am telling those who need to know all about these mess-ups.  I don’t think I’m strong enough to do this on my own.

I would so like to bury my head in the sand and stay there, but if I do so I will be signing my own death certificate.

Suffice to say, something is still preventing me from signing that death certificate and at times, I really resent whatever that ‘something’ is.

In the meantime, I’ll just keep walking, making messy mistakes, stumbling, falling, reaching out my hand, getting up and falling again until, finally, hopefully, I am able to walk alone.

This is not a pretty truth, but it’s my truth. 

Dangling Carrots

Published 20 November, 2012 by ladyem83

Excuse me the indulgence of a further post today.

My last post, ‘A Game of Patience’ explains what the last few days have been like; dark and lonely.

I’ve spent the last hour or so searching for scientific research articles to explain this disease.  What am I looking for; a cure, a step-by-step guide to recovery?  I want to understand the beast that lurks in the dark places in my mind and continues to torment me.  I thought that I was Ana but that’s not the case.

Just as a group of haywire cells divide and form a malignant tumour which invades an otherwise healthy body, a part of my brain malfunctioned on some level and anorexia developed and forced its way into my mind.   The degrees to which I invited it, permitted its presence and colluded with it are something that only I can try to work out.  However, Carrie Arnold’s book, ‘Decoding Anorexia’ is now on my Amazon wish list is a research guide!

It’s different now, I don’t want to be Ana’s victim.  I have chosen not to follow Ana’s ways and yet she’s still hanging on.

However, despite her persistence, I want to let her know and those who read this and perhaps are fighting a similar battle, that our small victories must not be overlooked:

I eat. I even eat chocolate, cashew nuts and…haggis!  Not in one sitting, not frequently and not in great amounts but I know that I can!

I recognise when I’m hungry and I’m generally not afraid to feed my body.

I can leap in the air!  This formed part of one of my exercise DVDs and only a few months ago I didn’t have the strength to jump up.

I wear clothes, I fill them out.  Clothes no longer hang from me.  Yes, this scares me but I will continue to tell myself that it is healthy.

I can read.  My ability to concentrate has returned and I can  now sit and read a book without rereading the same paragraph several times.

I have a growing sense of myself again.  I haven’t got it all back and I don’t like that I lost it along the way but I am finding myself again.

I can run!  I have to be in the mood but my legs feel strong and I feel energy running through them.

I laugh, I feel, I enjoy. Undeniably the most precious and which should never, ever be taken for granted.

So, although when Ana hits me, she hits me hard, I must not overlook where I am now.  I must not forget how far I’ve come.  This is why I have to keep going.

These and many others are the carrots being dangled in front of me and this recovering anorexic is hungry for them all!

 

Squidgy Around The Edges

Published 15 October, 2012 by ladyem83

I’ve just typed the heading to this post and felt a lurch in my tummy and tears prick in my eyes.

I don’t cry easily these days.  In fact over the last 10 months of this hell, I’ve hardly cried.  So, to spare my pride, let’s attribute this emotional wobble to tiredness!

My body is changing; perceptibly and before my very eyes.

My weight loss happened gradually over a two year period than dropped dramatically in the space of a couple of months at the beginning of this year.  However, my eyes were so blinded by depression and by the opaque cloak that Ana had thrown over me that I couldn’t see it.

Today was my fortnightly check in with my nurse for my blood to be taken and weight noted.  I’ve put on 2lb in two weeks and am now 1 stone heavier than I was in March.  1 stone.

My thighs aren’t as stick like (although my legs are still pretty unshapely still), my arms have lost that emaciated look.  My cheeks have filled out and my waist  has a softness to it:  I am squidgier around the edges now.

So why am I so scared and uncomfortable by what I see?  I have been two stone heavier than I am now and still been slim and, more importantly, I was happy and confident with the way I looked!

Ana taught me that protruding bones and the leanest of lean limbs were a symbol of my strength, my determination, my achievement.  It was a way to show the world that I was stronger than they were.  They were weak for giving in and feeding themselves.

The thing is, whilst I know that I am feeding and repairing my body, Ana’s words still linger in my mind.

How odd it is that I look at other women of all shapes and sizes and praise them.  I see their shapeliness not as indicative of greed or indulgence but of their pride in themselves.  I see it as representative of them being happy and content, I imagine them laughing freely with their friends over cocktails and nibbles; enjoying wonderful meals out with their partners.

Yet, when I look at my changing body I don’t see it as representative of any of those things.  Perhaps it’s partly because the weight gain has been caused not through happy social times but by bloody hard work.  Eating three times a day even though my dietician wants me to eat 6 times a day!

I’m a bundle of contradictions.  I want to be proud of the skin and the body I’m in again, like I used to be.  I want to really wear my clothes, not have them wear me.   Yet, despite wanting this so much, I’m not comfortable with the real life transformation that is visibly happening.

But, I will take the words of my dietician forward with me.

She used the example of a newborn baby, whose flesh and limbs are so soft and almost pliable.  The tissue making up those limbs has never been used, it has never borne weight.  Compare that newborn tissue with that of a toddler whose body is growing, learning to walk and carry its weight; that toddler tissue is firmer and grows into lean muscle.

In starvation mode my body had started to consume its muscle mass.  Now that I’m feeding it again, its stores are building.  Those stores aren’t lean muscle….yet.  They will change though.  The more I fuel my body, the stronger I get, the more my muscles will form underneath the soft tissue and I’ll regain my shape.

I had never ever thought of my body in those terms.  What terrible, terrible harm I inflicted on myself.  I caused my own body to turn on itself.

This truly is an existentialist journey of transformation, not only internally but externally.  I’m nowhere near the end; in fact, I suppose, there isn’t an end.  I may think that I’m well, fit and healthy, but I still have some distance to go before this butterfly breaks from her chrysalis.

Finding My Voice

Published 12 October, 2012 by ladyem83

Depression, my ‘black dog’ is a mysterious, unfathomable, organic creature.  It’s a shape-shifter.  From day to day, even moment to moment it changes its form and alters my state of mind.  It pulls my strings and plays with me.  It makes me feel hopeless and numb, then it allows me to feel empowered and elated.  Then it seemingly leaves me feeling flat.  What it doesn’t let me feel, however, is me.  

So, instead, I have learnt to become grateful for the days when I feel flat.  I hate the dark days, and the moments or days filled with elation are deceptively high; I don’t trust them.

Monday was flat.  Tuesday was dark. Wednesday was brighter. Thursday was a little brighter still and, today, there’s a glimmer of me.  I felt her yesterday evening.   I’d been occupying myself all afternoon trying to resist the pull of my gremlin’s voice. I was swinging from the flat baseline to feelings of empowerment and back again.  A voice told me that I could manage my gremlin, I could play with him but be strong enough not to give in to him totally.

But, then something told me otherwise.  That something was me. My black dog and my gremlin were colluding with each other.  They have become master ventriloquists and their voices are frighteningly convincing; they sound like me but their message is dangerous.

So, I sat still.  I continued to read my book (and re-read the pages and passages where my mind had wondered for the umpteenth time as it tuned into my gremlin’s voice).

Mum arrived home late and I told her the way I’d been feeling the last couple of days.  I like being honest with her. Even now, I expect her to be disappointed with me and somewhat ashamed of me because, essentially, I am; or at least I’m ashamed of the characteristics  that my black dog and my gremlin play out in me .  Mum never, ever judges me.  She listens and acknowledges.  She points out the possible pathways to further improvement and she commends the steps and/or the truths I’ve discovered so far.  She gives strength to my emerging voice.

I spend all day on my own with my thoughts, my black dog’s thoughts and my gremlin’s thoughts.  By the end of the day when Mum arrives home I’m exhausted from all the mental to-ing and fro-ing.  So, everyday (more or less) for the last 10 months I’ve looked forward to the evening when I would numb them all into submission.  It has been bliss.  I would feel the wave wash over me and the voices would be silenced.  What was left was banal and I gave in to its calming, wonderful simplicity.

But, I’d wake feeling guilty.  I’d wake knowing that all I’d done was temporarily gag the mouths of my black dog, my gremlin and, most worryingly, myself.  The numbness wasn’t selective and I favoured drowning out all the voices.

I realised that the longer I continued with this destructive practice, the weaker my voice would get.  I was worried that I would start to forget it.

Something had to change.

So, for the last two days I have heard and cowered from the growls and vicious barks of my black dog.  I have wrestled with the devilishly teasing, tempting, coercing voice of my gremlin.  I have not handed myself over to them, however (despite wanting to at times).  They have been noisily occupying my mind so I have gone for walks, I have even gone for a run (!). I have cleaned, I have read.  I have even just sat and listened to their raucous chatter .

Today, they are still there; I know they are.  This evening will be a test for me.  I will write about it this afternoon, or later.  However, the fact that for the last two days I haven’t played ball with them makes me start to believe that I don’t have to.  I have the strength to say no, I don’t want to play the game and nothing truly bad will come from that.  

Ok, I acknowledge that I’m writing this on an ‘up’ day.   But I believe it is important for me to take everything I can out of these moments.  It is important that if I hear my voice that I listen to it and praise it because, when the down days come I need to know that they will not stay forever.  I need to know that my voice is still inside me and that I have had the strength in the past to overcome or simply live through the dark moments.

When I hear that voice that I know to be mine, when I feel the feelings of old Em again, I cling on to them for dear life.  I am not ashamed to say that I liked old Em! Old Em doesn’t deserve to be cowering in a dark corner with a black dog and a gremlin nipping away at her.  They deserve to be kept in the dog house!

This week has been another learning curve.

World Mental Health Day and Me

Published 10 October, 2012 by ladyem83

It’s World Mental Health Day today and twitter has been flooded with positive words of support, inspiration and motivation to all those suffering with a mental illness.

This morning I joined the masses and wanted add my voice to the increasing chorus.  I wanted to shout about it, let everybody know that what I’m going through isn’t unusual, it isn’t wrong, it isn’t my fault.  After yesterday being such a dark day for me, today I felt buoyed up by the determined voices speaking out in unison each against their own ‘Black Dog’, ‘Gremlin’.

I took some time out and continued reading ‘The Chimp Paradox:  The Mind Management Programme for Confidence, Success and Happiness’ by Dr Steven Peters.  I have been attending CBT sessions and this book neatly compliments them.  Through the metaphors of a ‘Chimp’ (the emotional and reactionary part of our mind), a ‘Human’ (the logical part of our mind) and a ‘Computer’ (the part of our mind which stores the information (which becomes our core beliefs) sent to it by the Chimp and the Human , the book explains how our thoughts, emotions, behaviours and beliefs inter-relate.  It invites you to stop and break down your engrained thought processes and behaviours with a view to understanding their origin, questioning them and, where necessary, re-programming your ‘Computer’.

This book has provoked me to consider myself in a way I never have before.  Of course, implementing the changes I know I need to is a challenging and slow process.  Especially when there are days when I can’t see the value in anything, when I feel numb and just want to sleep until this all goes away.

I have digressed.

I started to become aware of how much ‘thinking’ I was doing.  I was thinking  about my feelings of depression that have flared up again over the last few weeks.  I was thinking about my reliance on my Gremlin.  What did my depression and my Gremlin make me?  I’m recovering from anorexia. I’m recovering from depression.  I’m teetering on the edge of succumbing to another Gremlin and trying hard not to.

I can only describe what I felt by likening it to being in a noisy shop, when there are too many people around you, you can’t quite see the way through to where you want to go and you’re constantly being distracted by them and their chatter.

I wanted some silence.  I didn’t want to be surrounded by the chatter in my mind.  I didn’t want to be a recovering anorexic, depressive!  I just wanted to be Em.  I wanted to return to the days when I could read a book and my mind wouldn’t wander.  I wanted to hear only my voice and be comfortable with it.

I put the book away and picked up a fiction book, The Hypnotist by Lars Kepler.  It’s a fast paced thriller which I’ve just started reading and am increasingly enjoying.

I’d read a page, then my mind would wonder to my Gremlin; how would I cope later on without its support? I refocussed on the book.  I thought about the number on the scales this morning; is that a good or bad number, should I do something to reverse it, am I lazy, am I greedy?  I refocussed on the book.

This mental cycle continued for an hour until I decided it was time to break the motion and go out for a run.

My point is, whether it is depression, an eating disorder or any other mental illness, it is just a label.   The illness tries its damnedest to define us; to suppress our individual spark.  Today, I wanted to to take a step back from it.  I didn’t want to think about it any more.  I didn’t want to listen to its voices.  I wanted to remember me and just be me. 

Of course, the hard thing now is for me to believe that the person I am without Ana, my Gremlin, or my Black Dog is enough of a person.

Am I a good enough person….?

That phrase captures it all.  Good enough for whom?  I should only be trying to be good enough for myself.  I know that I used to be so content with the young woman I had become.  I was confident, comfortable and accepting of myself.

I think I need to stop thinking and questioning.  I need to quieten my mind so my old voice can come through again.  That’s the one that I need to listen to.  That’s the one that will help me recover.

I’m Em; nothing more and certainly nothing less.

 

Rules, Rules, Rules

Published 8 October, 2012 by ladyem83

Whether consciously or not,  I’ve always adhered to a set of rules which I’ve imposed on myself.   I touched on this briefly in my post, ‘Breaking The Routine and Going With The Flow, however, over the last year and particularly when I fell into Ana’s tight grip, I have added to these rules and become imprisoned by them.  Abiding by them has become such an engrained part of my life that departing from them, or even bending them, causes me so much inner torment and confusion.

My CPN asked me to consider the rules which I live by and the effect they have on my life.  So here’s my Rule Book.  I need to see it in black and white.  I need to consider the true worth of each rule.

Rule #1 – I must always be active.  Being still is lazy and indulgent.

Rule #2 – I must make sure that those around me are happy. I must look after them.

Rule # 3 – I must be ensure that everything I do is to my standard of ‘perfection’.  ‘That’ll do’, isn’t acceptable.  Nothing is ever totally right, I need always to learn how to better what I do.  I cannot settle for anything less.

Rule # 4 – I cannot treat myself unless I have done something to deserve it.

Rule#5 – I must achieve the goals I set myself.

Rule #6 – I must please others.

Rule #7 – I define myself by the goals that I achieve.

Rule#8 – I must adhere to every plan that I set ahead of myself.

Some of these rules have been engrained in me since I was young, others have developed latterly and others I have taken to extreme lengths only recently as depression and anorexia took over.

I don’t doubt that there are also numerous other rules  to which I unconsciously adhere.

These rules gave me a sense of security.  When I was younger I had no self-confidence, so ensuring that I got full marks on each test, passed my exams, got a good career meant that I was worth something.  It gave me a means against which to measure myself and my value.

When I qualified as a solicitor, those regular benchmarks disappeared and I felt lost.  I had nothing against which I could measure myself; so I started to loose my self-confidence and my self-esteem.

As this happened my fixation on the other rules grew.  If a test couldn’t tell me how good I am then I needed to go into overdrive in all other areas of my life.  I needed to ensure that I was the best person I could be for other people.  Whether it was friendships or relationships, it was those other people who mattered more than I did.  I lost my identity by trying to be the person I thought other people wanted me to be.  This manifested itself not only in my behaviour but even the way I dressed changed.

My Rule Book engulfed me.

So now it’s time to re-write the Rule Book.  In fact, let’s throw it out!  I don’t want my life to be governed by rules.  I want to govern my life.   Of course, this doesn’t mean that I will lower my standards.  I believe in being the best I can be.  I believe in learning and growing.  I believe in being a loyal and supportive daughter, sister and friend.  These are my values.  Values are important; they help to define a person’s character.

How could I ever  fully experience my life, and thereby become the rounded person I want to be, if I am forbidden from stepping outside of certain fixed parameters?

As long as I remain true to my values then I don’t need rules to govern my every action and thought.  I can explore, learn, try, fail, succeed…live!

I don’t expect that I will be able to throw the Rule Book out today but I’ll close it and put it on the shelf.  The only question I need to ask myself is whether I’m being true to what I believe in.  If the answer is yes, then I’m free to do it!

Do you have a Rule Book?  

Going With The Flow

Published 26 September, 2012 by ladyem83

How apt that my last post was entitled, ‘Winds of Change’.  I’ve always known that I don’t deal well with change but I never realised the extent to which it troubles me until now.

I’ve always been a creature of habit and routine.  I would have the same ham sandwiches for lunch day in and day out and would never tire of them.   I always have lunch at the same time, whether or not my stomach’s been growling for the last hour.  I can’t bring myself to act out of my norm.  Of course, I’m sure we’re all the same to an extent.  We have our ways of doing things and our routine may give us a sense of security.  But the crucial key to a healthy routine is flexibility.  The ability to take a step to the side of your norm and feel comfortable with that.

Over the last few years there have been several major upheavals which I’ve had to deal with, and I thought I had navigated my way through them well.  That wasn’t the case.  Rather than addressing what was scaring me, I put myself into fight mode and buried those feelings as deep as I could.  I don’t do breaking down, I don’t do ‘weakness’.  I have to succeed.  I have to surmount each obstacle and do so without bothering others.  I have to be strong.

Fast forward a few years and the wall around those suppressed emotions couldn’t take the strain any more and it crumbled.  The ensuing raging flood took me with it and I had no strength left to fight against the tide or even tread water. I sunk to the bottom of a suffocatingly bleak and murky pool.

My obsessive control over food and my weight became my stabilising force.  But, that’s fading now.  I’m learning to feed my mind, body and soul again.  In doing so, however, certain of my usual behaviours have become engrained to the extent that they are as destructive as my eating disorder.

Mum always sends me a text when she’s leaving the office so that I can start preparing dinner and we’re not eating too late.  Last Friday she had to do the ‘Big Shop’ on the way home.  I knew this and so knew she’d be a little late.  That was ok, it would mean she’d be home around 7.30.

At 7pm I still hadn’t received a text so I called her.  She was only just leaving the office and wouldn’t be home until closer to 8.30.  I went into a spin.  This didn’t fit with our pattern, this wasn’t usual.  I could feel the anxiety levels rising in me.

Here is where I admit that lately, another gremlin has been growing inside my mind and I’ve been listening to it when I’ve been struggling and it’s effects have become quite serious.  I’ve recognised it and have been open about it as it scares me.

As I grew more and more anxious all I wanted was the numbness and release from the ‘crutch’ that my new gremlin was suggesting.

I would not do it.  I wanted to do it so badly though.  I wanted to stop the feelings.

I didn’t trust myself to move from the settee.  I knew, if I got up the gremlin would walk me to my new crutch and let me indulge.

Instead I sat dead still.  I didn’t even get up to close the curtains or put a light on as the evening’s darkness came in.

felt the anxiety. I felt the panic, the confusion, the feeling of not being in control of the situation, of myself.  I heard the gremlin’s voice over and over again, tempting me and giving me its wonderfully simplistic logic.

It was utterly horrible.  It was the longest hour I can remember and it shocked me.  How could something so trivial as Mum being an hour later home than usual cause me so much physical and mental pain?

Two days ago my brother was offered a job in Aberdeen, which is roughly a five/six hour drive from where Mum and I live.  I’ve known that he was applying for jobs up there but I never really considered the reality of it until it hit me face on and hard.

I am ashamed of my initial reactions.  I claimed that this would be the end of our tight family, that he’s too lazy to keep in touch, that we would see each other once a year. I heard the words coming out of my mouth and I knew they were born out of my fear of change and instability but I couldn’t stop them.

I took myself up to bed and lay there fighting back the tears.  My chest felt tight and I could feel my heart hurting with every beat.  I didn’t want him to go.  I wanted him to stay close by.  I’ll miss him so painfully much.  As before,  I sought release.  I wanted these feelings out of me.  This time, however, my gremlin offered a different crutch; a deeply more disturbing one.

As with anorexia, I had now had two voices in my head.  The gremlin rationalised the wonderful, blissful benefits of this newest crutch.  I could visualise the numbing release, it was just there in front of me.

But this gremlin’s new voice isn’t as strong as Ana was, it doesn’t have the power over my mind and body yet.

I let this new gremlin tempt me with its emotive, persuasive images but, I told it no.  It wasn’t a definitive, strong ‘no’ I admit.  I pinned my body to the bed, as I had done the week before to the settee, and I did not let myself move a muscle.  I didn’t trust myself not to give in to the gremlin but I knew if I stayed still it would get tired and go away.

Of course, I’ve told my Mum about this new gremlin and its two ‘crutches’.  I know the dangers of keeping him as a secret ‘friend’ and  I do not want to succumb to him. 

On Monday I met with a new consultant psychiatrist (that takes the count to 33 people I have had to speak to about all ‘this’.)

I told him about the first crutch which I’d been turning to and he explained that it was likely that this was because of my release of Ana.  Ana saw me through the tough, stressful times when my world was turning upside down.  I’ve created another gremlin with two new crutches as a substitute because I don’t have alternative healthy mental mechanisms in place to deal rely on.

Yesterday my brother and I had talked about the move.  I told him the emotions I’d gone through and he talked about his fears and worries.  I must admit, I was unsure whether to talk so frankly to him as I didn’t want to give him more stress or worry.  But I wanted to show him that I hadn’t succumb to my gremlin, that he’s helping me to learn and to recover.  That I will be ok, I will get through this and he will be ok too! 

I love him with all of my heart and every bit of my being.  He’s my best friend, my brother, my rock, my everything.  That won’t change just because his address changes.

Buddhism tells us that one of the causes of our suffering is that we try to hold on to that which is impermanent.  Everything changes, even we do, we age.  If we hang on to things then we’re inevitably going to be hurt when they change or leave our lives.  This doesn’t mean that we should be detached from our lives and our experiences, or in our relationships.  Rather, by recognising and allowing ourselves to move with the changing flow of the river we’ll move forward.  It may not be in the direction we envisaged, we may drift here and there, but we won’t be exhausted by trying to endlessly tread water against the tide.

I’m buoyant now, I know that I’m not going to drown.  But I can’t continue to tread water.  I have to let go of the edges and my floats and trust that my body will stay afloat and that I can move with the ebb and flow of the river.  I have to learn to be comfortable with that.

Now for the hard part; actually doing it!!

 

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The life of a Daddy with mental illness.

Being a Dad is hard. Being a Dad with mental illness is even harder. This is my life laid bare for you all to read.

Nut Job is my middle name

"Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself"

Individual Thought Patterns

A Single Mum's Journey to Medical School

natpopsponders

The ponderings of Natpops

eatingasapathtoyoga

Savoring yoga & intuitive eating. Come join the journey.

Baking as Therapy

Recipes, musings and ideas- plus ' how to' tutorials

Natpops Mental Health Blog

A WordPress.com site

Just Me, Nobody Else

I write what I feel....however it will not always make pleasant reading!!! Take away what you want and leave the rest!

Lisa's Dreams

Where little dreams turn big

Living with Lightness

Holistic Health Coaching ~ Nourishing Yourself Inside & Out

Who Would Have Thought The Tiny Courageous?

Thoughts from the mind of a tiny man waging an unseen war.

The Dawn Report

Dawn O'Porter