Changing Minds

July 3, 2015 raphaela997 Comments

I have slowed down, and my brain (and life) are better for it. I am actually letting myself feel the physical pain that I endure. It hurts, but it is real. It appreciates being felt. I am still limiting my caffeine intake and exercise in the sunshine each day. I am eating regularly and acknowledging feelings as they come up. It hasn’t been as overwhelming as I feared.

A production crew are shooting the next season of the excellent series Changing Minds in the district I live in. It will be shown on the ABC later this year. A beautiful mum I know was interviewed the other day by the crew. She was so brave as she turned her face to the winter sun and talked about her depression. How it felled her, and how she is making her comeback. I was in awe of her. The production crew impressed me with their sensitivity and empathy. The mental health sector needs more funding, and it needs it now.

I well remember when I searched for help for a loved one several years ago. I was frightened for them, that they may not make it. Time was of the essence. There was a procession of psychologists, doctors, scans, blood tests, and diagnosis’. Some believed this person had an adrenal issue, others believed it was hormonal. Still others believed it was depression. There were about ten different diagnosis before bipolar was diagnosed. I was left to sort through all the information as this person was too ill to do it themselves. Alternative health practitioners became involved in case it was dietary. You will try anything when you are so ill. The person became sicker. I turned to a church who offered counselling. I was asked whether this person’s family had ever been involved in the Masonic practice. I was bemused and asked what this had to do with mental health. I was told that curses can be carried through bloodlines. I was aghast that no practical help was offered. It made this person become more insular, to everyone’s detriment.

Finally, a mental health service opened in our town. A place I was able to get to easily and which was free. As a support person, I was going down, and these people could see it. I was given excellent advice and was able to remain on an even keel whilst helping this loved one. I looked forward to my visits, and finding a workable way of life, for myself and this person. I rang to make an appointment late last year, only to find that this service had closed. The local mental health unit do their very best with limited resources. It is immensely frustrating and heart-rending for the staff. It took years for this person to reach a proper diagnosis. I am so thankful that they held on for it. They are stable, though their grip on life can be tenuous. I look forward to watching the next season of Changing Minds. I look forward to hearing from the dedicated staff, who do their level best in a system plagued with funding cuts and politics. I look forward to hearing the stories of the clients, who have been through hell and keep paddling. You all amaze and astound me with your iron will. There is something inside that makes you hold on; the promise of a beautiful future filled with restful sleep and wondrous times. Keep holding on.

Getting out in the Sunshine.

June 30, 2015 raphaela9910 Comments

A friend texted me the other day, and insisted on seeing me. “When are you free today?” he had written. I felt a pain in my chest, knowing I would be flitting from one activity to another, and then another. Then, a smattering of light hit the quagmire, and I replied, “I have an hour whilst L is at a class.” We sat down and conversed, he with green tea, and me with a strong coffee. It was my fifth of the day. He could see I was overwhelmed and questioned all that I forced myself to fit into a day. He was concerned. It was enough for me to be taken aback and review what I was doing. Home schooling my daughter, I was trying to be all things to her. Teacher, mum, social planner, and many more aside. I was trying to please all the people in my world, keep my commitments, and generally be functional. I had around thirty texts a day and around a thousand emails to answer. I was exhausted.

There was no time to eat lunch, no time to change hormone patches, no time to see a doctor or exercise… Hell, there was barely enough time to down more caffeine! I had been feeling as though I were heading for a nervous collapse. Deadlines for articles and deadlines I put on myself. Put in a noisy neighbour who compromised my sleep… I would wake up and have to down two coffees. I would sit on the couch shaking with anxiety, filled with dread at all I had to do. I had to keep everyone happy. Sometimes I would hyperventilate and my stomach would churn. When you have so much to do that you don’t know where to start… My friend was right, and I acknowledged the wisdom of his observation. “I use business as an avoidance tool,” I replied. If I am busy, I can’t feel lonely. If I am busy, my physical pain is ignored. If I am busy, I don’t have time to feel the sorrow, depression and anger.

If I am busy, I can avoid my social anxiety. I don’t quite know where I fit in, and if people actually want to see me. I don’t call friends out of fear of rejection. I am unsure of my place in friend’s lives. I am scared. Thus, I drink coffee of a day, run around like a mad thing, and drink wine at night to come down off my adrenaline rush. The wine brings me down, way down. I go to bed, sleep for a few hours, wake up with a dry mouth and start again. It has to stop. My friend held up a mirror, and I saw the truth. I had no spaces in my life. None. I have to let go of control.

The school holidays began, and I vowed to not over-commit. A new playground opened around the corner, and I set off with my daughter. It felt wrong, and I had a panic attack. I felt guilt that I wasn’t doing things at home. That was a big indicator that I needed to do this, immediately. When depression hits, it hits in a big and scary way, like a tsunami of churned-up emotions. It tells me to stay home and hide. I have to do the opposite. We went to the park, and a friend joined us. We watched the girls play, and we walked in the sun. A few hours later, when we returned home, I felt refreshed. I didn’t drink wine last night. I went to bed early, and had a good sleep. The noisy neighbour was at it early this morning. I had one coffee, made lunch, and we set off for the park again. It was glorious. So many friendly faces, hugs and smiles. A friend even brought her little pony for the kids to pat. I am changing everything at this point. If I continue on this trajectory, I will inevitably collapse. More early nights, and less commitments are required. I have to. It will mean saying “no” to things that are stretching my limits. It will mean more time in the sunshine and for spontaneous gatherings.

Two years ago, I did a free e-course for people with anxiety. I completed a questionnaire which was designed to advise how far I had come.

‘Dear Raphaela,

Thank you again for your ongoing support of this important research – we really appreciate your time and benefit from your support.

We are pleased to say that the questionnaires you completed indicate that your symptoms have reduced since you first completed the questionnaires more than 24 months ago. Specifically, your symptoms of both panic and low mood have reduced by more than 70% and are now in the low to non-clinical ranges. We appreciate that the questionnaires do not always reflect people’s experiences, but these are good improvements to have made and maintained – we hope they are reflected in improvements in your wellbeing.’

I am never going back to how I felt as a young person; to how I felt two years ago. I wont. I do have work to do, and life does get busy, but I am going to cease pushing myself to the brink. It leaves no time for joy and happen-chance. I am going to walk in the sun, and we are going to play most days. I will find time. If emails go unanswered, if my phone gets switched off, so be it. I will snatch back time.

I have to retrain my nervous system and my brain. I have to learn how to breathe again. I have to understand that caffeine is lovely provided its one cup a day. I have to stop using alcohol to make me feel comfortable socially and to drown out the panic which overtakes me at night. They are only habits, and a habit can be changed.

Abba, Lolo Lovina, Red Wine and Rainbows

June 28, 2015 raphaela997 Comments

The week that was…

My daughter played Titania in a Midsummer Nights Dream. She loved the experience and wants to do more acting! I was very proud of her.

I took my daughter to see Inside Out, a spectacular film, which addresses depression. It illustrates how a young person can break down and also be rebuilt. Afterward, we had a few chores to see to. As I walked through the shopping centre, I started to stumble. I had an horrific pain through my left foot, shooting up my leg and into my spine. This was annoying, as I usually have that sort of pain on my right side. There I was, holding onto a trolley, my daughter gently guiding both it and I. I met a friend, who saw that I was in agony. She had just been to the post office to pick up a box filled with wine from the Margaret River region. She handed me a bottle of red, of which I am immensely grateful. I managed to get home, poured myself a glass and lay down. New symptoms added to the mix shake things up. At least its a change to the pathways of pain!

11650654_985275598172952_392033220_n — Should I get a device that turns zucchini into spaghetti? Hang on, I have one but have never used it!

We went on a cruise around Sydney Harbor Friday night. My daughter loves Abba, and was delighted with the tribute band.

Here is an excellent article on the machinations of PTSD. I found myself nodding in agreement throughout.

Saturday night, we went to Marrickville Town hall, to a Masquerade Balkan Beats Ball. The divine Rroma Gypsy fusion band, Lolo Lovina got us all up dancing.

My daughter went for it on the dance floor, enthralled with the frantic beat and unencumbered joy. When life is rough and you are tired and in pain, my suggestion is get yourself along to a festival. Go for a walk. Shake up your world.

We saw a lot of rainbows on the internet, and it filled me with joy! Things can change and advance, yay!

Once a Victim, now a Survivor

June 28, 2015June 29, 2015 raphaela994 Comments

I am incredibly touched that Gentle Kindness nominated me for the Once a Victim Now a Survivor Award.

This award is for those who have gone through mental illness of any kind, abuse, trauma, and especially PTSD. Here are the rules:

Thank the blogger that nominated you
Nominate 5 – 10 bloggers to pass the award to
Post questions for your nominees to answer (you may use the same as these below)
Inform your nominees and post a comment in their blog to let them know they’ve been nominated

Here are the questions for my nominees. Feel free to skip any questions that you want to skip. You can fill in your own questions as you feel appropriate.

1. In what ways do you feel that blogging can help people with psychological trauma or mental illness?

Most definitely! It gives you a platform to not only articulate your experience and feelings, but also to educate.

2. How has blogging helped you with your healing, or your personal journey?

Being able to tell my story has been invaluable, and the messages of support I have received are incredibly uplifting. We are a real community! I certainly feel validated.

3. What books, movies, or YouTube channels would you recommend to someone with a similar background to you?

I have written a book called Lived to Tell. It details what occurred, and most importantly, how I came back from hell. It has a happy ending! People placed bets that I wouldn’t live to fifteen, and now I am a grown woman. That still makes me shake my head in wonder! My worst day now pales when compared to my worst days then.

Here are my Nominees:

There are so many others, and you all deserve this award. Please put it up if you would like to.

Ten Ways to Help Yourself During a Flashback

June 22, 2015June 22, 2015 raphaela9918 Comments

Many people in my circle would probably be surprised to know that I have PTSD. They would be surprised at its ferocity and how hard I have had to work to have a semblance of normality. It hasn’t been easy! There was years of involuntary shaking when the telephone rang or someone knocked at the door. I would have to talk myself into venturing to the letterbox. I rarely went out alone. I can suffer flashbacks pretty easily, especially in social settings. You are out of your comfort zone and when a “red zone” topic comes up in conversation, I can literally feel my body tense and my brain react. I will sometimes feel welded to the seat, unable to move and get away. Sometimes I look placid and I smile. I have covered up my terror with gulps of wine, but when I get home, the horror hits. It can take weeks to get my equilibrium back. When a group of people start talking about the horror in the news and such, I usually think “there goes two weeks of sleep.”

I began to think that there had to be a better way than to nurse a flute of champagne (well, actually several), to take away my discomfort. There had to be a better way than to stay glued to my seat, listening to horrifying opinions on deeply upsetting topics.
Here is how I cope.
1. Remembering that I am here, not there. I have a little piece of paper that I pull out of my purse. You are here, not there, it reads. I find it deeply assuring when I am feeling myself pulled back into the trauma of the past.

2. I will immediately excuse myself. Whether that be from a conversation or a shop where music is being played that reminds me of the past. I will find a quiet area (usually the bathroom), and concentrate on my breathing.

3. I will watch my diet. Grabbing crackers and dips at a party will not do. A balanced diet is necessary. When I was at my worst, it was found I wasn’t absorbing B12 and needed shots. The difference was quite incredible. Bananas and other foods high in the amino acid Tryptophan are also helpful.

4. I am allowed to state that I am uncomfortable. If the people are unaware, I am allowed to state what my past looked like.

5. I need to have adequate rest. The PTSD (which involves nightmares, flashbacks and panic attacks), escalates if I am rushing from one thing to another.

6. On certain dates, I need space. I wont commit to anything on the anniversary of my fall, for instance. It is a time of reflection, grief and also celebration that I survived. It is a deeply personal time.

7. I take a bottle of Rescue Remedy and lavender essential oil with me in my bag. The act of sniffing them -or putting the Rescue Remedy on my tongue- snaps me back to the present.

8. I carry a photo of my daughter with me and take it out and look at her smiling face. The joy contained in the picture helps me to centre. It could be a picture of a pet. Whatever helps you.

9. I wont over-imbibe. The crash that comes afterward emotionally is devastating.

10. I can leave. Wow! I now give myself permission to leave! If the vibe is going South and the conversation is awful, I can leave.

It is a hard thing to live with. Sometimes the past can seem clearer than now. Every detail is etched into my memory, and doesn’t fade with time. Sights, sounds, smells, touch and taste can take me back. No wonder it happens a fair bit! The most important thing is that I show myself kindness. I need regular time to myself to process what I am feeling, and what I have heard. In a week, people can talk about murder, sexual abuse, child abduction, and crime movies/novels many times over. It sticks to my skin, like they have gone mad with a labeller. I go out to nature and breathe. I need silence to oppose the noise in my mind.

I had an experience the other day, whilst visiting a school on the other side of our city. I saw a lady sitting by herself. Her eyes showed abject terror, her body language stiff and self-protective. She was waiting to pick up her kids. I sat with her, and we started talking. She talked about a man from her childhood, a member of her family. “He was too friendly,” she whispered. Her eyes met mine. She knew I knew and I knew that she knew that I knew. I told her how sorry I was. So very sorry. I hope she is treated kindly in her adult life. You don’t “get over” some experiences, but you can live beautifully despite them.

PTSD in the Police Force.

November 16, 2014 raphaela997 Comments

I have just watched a story on PTSD regarding the police force on Sunday Night
I thought about every police officer who came into my life as a child. The ones who took weapons off my brother and escorted him to psychiatric hospitals, who entered the family home to encounter blood, shattered glass and screaming. The ones who took me in their arms, and comforted me. The ones who tried to make it all better. They attended our home over fifty times. I think of the Sergeant who found me the night I was pushed. I was broken, in and out of consciousness and spitting up blood. He knelt beside me, stroking my hair. As the paramedics assembled the spinal board, he wept. I tried to comfort him, this beautiful bear of a man. He stayed by my side in emergency. My parents weren’t there, this angel was. He tried everything in his power to get the monster immediately charged in a bedside hearing. What has become of all these men and women who stepped into such violent and horrific scenes, not only in my life, but so many others? I think of them often, pray for them, and hope that they are still intact, in spite of it all.

I have PTSD, and when it is active, it is a living hell. Months can pass and all will be well, but then a newspaper article, song or harmless comment will open the gates. The sooner you get proper help, the better your outcome. I wasn’t allowed to talk about what went on in the year I was away from home. I was told to “forget about it.” The worst advice you can ever receive. You shut down, and try to drown out the memories in any way possible. This entices the memories to fight for breath, becoming more determined. These officers need immediate assistance, not to be stalled by red tape. Insurance companies dealing with their claims need a complete overhaul. Financial help needs to be offered immediately. It is long overdue. It is time. To be demeaned, and have your distress questioned is obscene. These officers see more during a shift than most people would in their lifetime. Give them what they are due, and do it now.

24 Hours

July 26, 2014December 30, 2014 raphaela993 Comments

Yesterday I woke up feeling ill. My specialist has put me on a new medication, and I know I have to give myself time to adjust. It was bitterly cold and the sky was grey. Someone had smeared the sky with charcoal. My stomach was distended as the endometriosis grew, fed by this new drug, which I need. “Look at the big picture, Raphie,” I urged. Always look at the big picture. I felt the urge to scream from the pain, and the desire to clean and discard. I did both. Why the hell do we keep the things we do? Old numbers on scraps of paper, old ways of being. I put an angel who had lost her wings into the pile of donations. I had stored my maternity clothes in a special drawer. I looked at them, and wondered why I had held on so long. My subconscious must surely have been seared every time I went past that drawer, even if I was unaware. As I washed up, I exhaled heavily. A burden had been lifted. I then heard the ‘snap’ of my spine as I was dragged along the ground after my fall. It was as distinct as though it were happening then and there. “Oh my God!” I cried, bursting into tears. I sat with the memory a while. I assured myself that it was natural to have events, sounds, smells and more clamour to the forefront on the anniversary. On White Ribbon Night.

After school pickup, a friend popped in. She hugged me, and said how sorry she was that today was “the day.” It meant the world to have it acknowledged. This lady knows all about “those days.” The pain ramped up, and I was in a holding pattern of agony, fevers and chills. There was to be a meeting of gentle souls around the corner that evening, and I determined that I would go. I didn’t want to be home with my memories. The hostess is a vegan, and she had made this delicious main meal.

We laughed and talked about foster kids, homelessness, travelling, art and beauty. We sipped coconut water and made sure room was saved for this.

I didn’t stay late, and I gave my gorgeous friend a tight hug and thanked her. My mind had been summoned to wondrous places, leaving that dark building on a winter’s night. The pain was softened by the graciousness of a nourishing meal and a room full of good people. I went home and hugged my little girl, smoothing her tendrils of honeyed hair. “May your world be markedly different, my darling.”

Celebration, Sorrow, Gratitude and Everything in Between.

July 24, 2014 raphaela99Leave a comment

On this day, and on this hour, almost two decades ago, I was being bustled into a car, my head pushed down. I felt the cessation of life as I understood it. An event out of my control was going to slap me hard, and I would fall to my knees. Today is the anniversary of my being kidnapped. The bitter cold always reminds me, before I acknowledge the date. It was so cold… Life inside the old hospital-where I neither belonged nor felt at home- was contracting in. Within a few hours, the large ward and long staircases were replaced by a tiny bedsit, bars on the sealed windows. A butterfly already held in a glass jar was having her wings pinched by tweezers. Pins were about to be put in.

Tomorrow heralds the night I fell. I couldn’t fly, as my wings were pinned down. “I am embarking on the last adventure,” I reassured myself when my pleading was ignored. “This bastard has merely sped up my departure by sixty or so years. God speed to you, kiddo!” He hated the bemused smirk which spread across my face. I was holding my own. He hadn’t taken my power. He had tortured me in every way possible for several months, day in and out, but he couldn’t take my spirit. I was terrified, but even as I acknowledged my fear of heights, of pain and death, I kept my own counsel. July 25th is White Ribbon Night. I will commemorate those I have lost to violence. I will celebrate survival and hug my little girl. I will be haunted by memories and recall what it felt like to have soft rain tap my face on the way to the Catscan machine the morning of the 26th. I wept and I smiled. It is possible to have great sorrow and great joy coursing through your body at the same time. There is nothing like the anniversary of your kidnapping and attempted murder to inspire both. If you see me over the next few days, I will be the wild creature hugging everyone and throwing back her head in laughter. I will be the sorrowful girl keeping her own counsel and shedding private tears. I am both, and that’s okay.
http://www.whiteribbon.org.au

Writing 101. Day Seventeen: Your Personality on the Page.

June 25, 2014 raphaela994 Comments

I have been recovering from pneumonia, and have missed quite a few days of the writing challenge. I tuned in today to be asked the question, what are you scared of? I was asked to address one of my worst fears. I don’t have a terror of dying, nor of public speaking. Snakes and spiders don’t scare me. Its heights. That is my Everest. I don’t have the gossamer wings I’ve always craved. I don’t even have invisible wings. In preschool, a group of children dared me to swing upside down (on my coaxing), from the monkey bars with no hands. This occurred back in the good old days of metal cubes soldered together over a pad of cement. None of that springy material as ground-cover. Sure enough, I soared head-first to the cement, and went splat. Concussion and a nose ripped open, requiring stitches. I decided heights weren’t for me.

I had nightmares for ten years about being thrown off a balcony… Then it happened. Even as I was in the experience of being set down on a ledge, I couldn’t quite believe it. It was an out-of-body experience. My nightmare was a reality. When I fell, time and space seemed to disappear and it took forever to hit the ground. I knew it was going to hurt and may well be fatal. Was the nightmare a precursor to this fated event? It seemed too coincidental. It was cruel to be spirited out of the world-siphoned away from your body- by an act that happened to be your worst fear. I survived, and of course, my fear of heights grew. Twice I have fallen and twice have been broken by the experience.

My fear was so great that I couldn’t venture past ground level at the Queen Victoria Building, nor of most places. Anywhere that had an open centre and a railing or balcony, well, I couldn’t do it. I am markedly better now. It has taken a long time. There are some places and experiences I will never allow myself to encounter, and I don’t need to. I have nothing to prove. Walking up a staircase after having been jostled up one, going up an escalator, and walking anywhere near a balcony is triumph enough. I am a nervous flyer. My child squeezes my hand, and bless her, talks me through it. Its the take-off and landing which scares me. When we ascend and are in the clouds, I relax. There is nothing to fear up here. I am embraced by clouds, and can relax, the fine opaque film reassuring me. I am above it all now. Concerns, terrors and nightmares.

I have a daughter who adores climbing. I watch her at gymnastics, climbing up the rope, all the way to the ceiling. I attended a playgroup party at a softplay centre when she was three. I heard a little voice call out “look at me!” I looked up to see my child waving. She had crawled through three levels, found a gaping hole in the mesh, and had pulled herself through it. She was now standing on top, with nothing around her. “Stay still! Mummy is coming!” I called, in my best sing-song voice. My heart thudded as I made my way through the hellish levels of toddler fun. She thought it was hilarious, and I needed a stiff drink. Somehow we survived the experience. Its amazing what you can do when adrenaline kicks in. I have gotten used to seeing her climb at every opportunity. I may not have wings, but will do everything in my power to ensure whatever I have ever been through holds no tool that could clip hers.

Hold On.

March 26, 2014December 30, 2014 raphaela99Leave a comment

I am going to republish this post, after hearing of the passing of Robin Williams.There are many amongst us who are battling depression. Brilliant people, who seemingly have the world at their feet. I can tell you from firsthand experience,that when you are feeling low, you have fallen into an abyss where the stars aren’t seen. They are smothered by an unforgiving cluster of coal, smeared across the light. I almost succeeded at ending my life at fifteen. In fact, I had a few serious attempts. Serious enough to have claimed my life each time. I didn’t want to die, I just wanted the pain to stop. I had to be brought back after my heart stopped. I awoke several days later in ICU,after dancing between life and death. I wasn’t pleased to still be here. I felt like a stranger in this world, without a home nor tribe. It seemed that circumstances including severe abuse- had conspired to push me out, and so I spun around in orbit. I tried to cling to a glimmer of hope, but in that dark moment,I couldn’t imagine anything changing. This was before being thrown off a building. This was before more pain, and a lengthy recovery.

I am a grown woman now. I would say to that teen, “little girl, don’t give up. Don’t react in an act of violence against yourself. There will be growth after this anguish is done. You will get away.” Have you ever seen a forest after a bushfire? Black, the trees devoid of life. Then, regrowth. New shoots, tremulously and shyly start to peek out of the hollows. When I see this spectacle, I get emotional. That is what a person battling depression must cling to. New shoots will grow. It wont always feel like this. Today I talked to a friend, was helped by a friend, my daughter told me about her day, and we played. I had a few of her friends rush up and give me a hug. I have been loved. I have eaten good food and smelt citrus fruit. I have heard my little canaries melodic song and patted my guinea pig’s soft fur.

Those with sensitive spirits, the wounded and vulnerable. We need more of you. You are the healers. Defy the pain that wants to take you out of this world. Just keep breathing. The answers will come to you in time. If you speak and aren’t heard, put it down to a dodgy connection, and try again with someone else. I love the saying, ‘If you are brave all the time, people will come to expect it of you’-Mignon McLaughlin. Nobody sees your suffering if they don’t know it exists. It is true, that some won’t understand when you speak your truth. Keep talking. I know Lifeline is stretched, and sometimes they can’t pick up every call. Try again. The stakes are too high. You are fighting for your life. You are precious. We need you. Lifeline, 13 11 14 in Australia. xxx