... always be honest about my condition.

Have I mentioned that I'm not supposed to drink alcohol with the ADs I'm on? Really? Pretty sure I must have said something. In passing. At some point. About my not being able to drink. It's enough to make me depressed... I've definitely said that. On more than one occasion.

Here's the real question I want to ask you. If you were on medication for a heart problem or an infection, and someone asked if you wanted a drink, would you tell them the reason why you couldn't have one? For most of us the answer is probably yes. "No I won't thanks, I'm a diabetic." "No I can't, I'm on antibiotics". However what about if you were on drugs to help with a mental health condition? An illness that isn't always thought of in the same way.

When my GP finally persuaded me I needed to take some medication I asked lots of questions. Would it affect my creativity? Would I live in a permanent state of numbness with fewer lows but also not so many highs? How long would I need to take them? What about treatment for my toenail...? Did he think I was an idiot? Weak? Pathetic? I'm fairly sure the poor bloke was relieved when I eventually left his office. I bombarded him with everything I could think of in between tears, self ridicule and some seriously blunt questioning. Why I forgot to ask him if I could still drink I don't know. Probably because I don't drink a huge amount and it's not top of the list when you're staring down the barrel of a metaphoric gun.

It didn't occur to me until I got home and decided to read the notes inside the pill box before I committed to a mid to long term relationship.

"This drug is known for causing tiredness as a side effect. Combining Prozac with alcohol can quickly lead to increased sedation. Even one drink combined with the drug can cause tranquilisation. As a magnifier of the drug’s effect, alcohol mixed with the sedative can produce potentially dangerous situations." 

The potentially dangerous situations? Mixing alcohol with prozac (fluoxetine) can lead to suicidal thoughts. I kid you not! You couldn't make this stuff up. Ok clearly you could but seriously if Alanis Morissette ever decides to rewrite Ironic she should chat to some people who suffer from mental health problems. We'd have a enough material for a track that rivalled the length of Fools Gold and This Is What She's Like.

Which finally brings me to my point (note to self: check if side effects also include an inability to retain a single train of thought...). If I was on any other medication and someone offered me a drink I'd politely decline and probably say why. But since I started taking ADs I've become increasingly aware that honesty isn't always the best policy. It is for me. I feel liberated. But I recognise that it does leave some people tongue tied. What do you say when someone tells you they're on antidepressants? Maybe ask them if they want to talk about it. Are the tablets helping? Is it hard adjusting to life without a cold glass of white (yes is the answer)? Are you nuts? Perhaps save that one for those friendships where they expect that sort of response...

Initially I shied away from addressing the issue and said I was on a health kick; taking 3 months off the booze as part of a lifestyle change. Then I realised it was just too much to hide and so began a level of openness, alongside a new level of abstinence, both of which I fully accept make some people uncomfortable. I'm still fundamentally the same person I was before the meds albeit a bit less manic and hopefully on my way to being a lot happier. If we're really going to remove the stigma associated with mental health we can all play a part in understanding what it means. For my friends and family it now means they have a regular designated driver. Not all bad news is it?

... realise that I'm never walking alone.

Come on. I'm a scouser I'm allowed to use that reference!

When I wrote my 'share all' blog a few days ago I hesitated enormously before I clicked the post button.

What if the response was really negative? There's been one person who I can see doesn't know what to say to me. I totally understand. I must seem like a stranger to some of you. I'm not really. Just revealing a side of me that has stayed hidden for too long. About 30 years too long.

And what if I lost work as a result of my honesty? Mental health is still largely misunderstood. I don't claim to be an expert. I'm finding my feet here as much as the next person but I need to be realistic. I'm self-employed and I need to stay on top of my game. There's no sick leave. No compassionate leave. At least not officially. As I mentioned earlier this week I'm extremely fortunate to work with clients who treat me like one of the team but I can't take this for granted.

It was a huge risk. But I knew I couldn't carry on the way I was. Being able to talk to people could quite literally save my life. I'll come on to the S word in a later post; I'm not at the stage where I can share how I really feel about this yet. It's too raw. I'm too raw. And I don't think the people closest to me are ready either.

I have however been blown away by the response. Firstly the people who reached out with good wishes and to give me a virtual hug. Thank you. It may seem small but it really does mean a lot.

SANE runs a campaign called 'Send a text save a life' which encourages people to send an unsolicited 'are you ok' text to someone who needs it. One of my friends sent me a funny photo of one of his kids. No other message. No 'how are you?' or 'how's it going?'. Just a really cute picture with a caption that made me laugh. That sort of support has such a positive impact so thanks especially to you Mr X, you know who you are :)

Secondly I've received a surprising number of messages from friends, family, colleagues and strangers who are currently going through, or have experienced, depression in their lives. Again thank you. I know how hard it can be to share your experience. Each one of us is on our own personal journey. Everything we go through is relative to us and I can't compare my depressive apple with your depressive orange. However if I can help any of you please let me know. For now I'll live by the SANE approach and send you a message now and again to remind you that I care.

That's it really. I took a risk and the early signs are good. Thanks for reading.


Photo by LFCJosh

...ask for help.

Someone reminded me that I hadn't blogged for a while. It's been over a year.

I could have conceived and given birth to a baby in that time.
Or grown a pineapple.
Completed an MBA.

I didn't do any of these things. I didn't blog either. Other than a few posts, I haven't written much at all since finishing my photo a day blog on 31st December 2013.

I have worked though. A lot. And I've been unhappy with myself.

So unhappy that I was in danger of doing something stupid. This isn't a cry for attention. I'm self sufficient. My family would tell you too self sufficient. I never ask for help and that can be tiring for all of us. When I began to check that all my paperwork was in order and regularly thought everyone would be better off without me; that's when I finally realised I hadn't been happy for as long as I can remember and asked for help.

And that's why eight weeks ago I found myself telling a complete stranger that I couldn't cope anymore. It was a GP, not some random person in the street and actually I couldn't even tell him at first. Instead I showed him a damaged toenail even though he knew why I was there because I'd had to tell the receptionist when I made the appointment. In truly British fashion I apologised constantly for taking up his time on something so stupid but he listened patiently and I left with a prescription for Fluoxetine and a meeting with a counsellor.

I had at last faced the truth and accepted that I was depressed. Not a bit down. Not a bit miserable. Depressed. I'd become quite good at hiding it. People who know me well but not well enough would probably describe me as happy. I like to play the joker. To make other people laugh. To be there for people who are having a tough time.

Robin Williams is quoted as saying "I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it's like to feel absolutely worthless and they don't want anyone else to feel like that." I can relate to that.

Saying the words 'I'm depressed" out loud was, I hope, the start of my recovery. I know I'm lucky to have a great family, a job I love and (what could be) a beautiful home but as I've previously said to people who don't understand depression, "It's not about what you have, it's about how you feel."

I fell out with a cousin who I care for a lot because we disagreed on this. I wasn't brave enough to tell him I know this is true because it's how I've felt every day.

Before I sought help I set up another twitter account to share my real feelings and to connect with other people who are in a similar situation. I now take part in twitter chats about mental health. It helps to be honest about how I was doing. To talk about my medication and its side effects. To talk. Full stop. With complete honesty and without judgement. Except it's not completely honest is it because nobody knows who I really am?

My counsellor asked if I could speak to Will (my husband) about how I felt. However how do you tell someone that loves you that you don't want to go on living? Of course he knows I'm getting help and I talk to him when I need to but there are parts of our life together that I don't want to spoil for him. As I said before, it's not about what I have, or who I'm with, it's about who I am and how that makes me feel. If you're reading this and have no comprehension of what I'm talking about. Good. I'm pleased for you. It's a wretched place and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Well maybe a small handful of people but only if really pushed.

It's taken two months for the meds to begin to balance themselves out. I spent 6 weeks feeling nauseous and exhausted during the day, then suffering from insomnia at night. Then I changed the time of day that I took them and it's starting to feel a little better. Being self employed has brought additional pressures. I'm extremely lucky that I've been able to tell my clients what I'm going through, to have had the flexibility to adjust to the meds. They've all been amazing.

I'm not looking for sympathy or pity. If just one other person who feels like I have reads this and decides to make a change that's a good thing. If someone who thinks that depression only happens to the weak changes their mind that's good too.

I think I'm pretty tough. I believe I can do anything. Except beat this on my own. This may seem like a tiny step but one small step for (wo)man - well - I'm hoping that's one giant leap for my own peace of mind.

This is the start of my journey. The road to happiness. And I'm going to share some of it in this blog.

... remember.

Just over two weeks ago something rather special started to happen at the Tower of London. To mark 100 years since Britain entered the First World War the dry moat that surrounds the Tower is being progressively filled with 888,246 ceramic red poppies. Each poppy representing one of the British or Colonial soldiers that died. Each one hand made by 1 of 30 artists in Derby. Each one planted by a team of volunteers, like me, honoured to play a small part in this historic and emotive project.  

It’s peaceful in the moat. 

With just the gentle tapping of hammers against metal posts it’s easy to forget the thousands of tourists watching from the viewing areas high above. Many of us lost in our own thoughts, silently taking in the 100,000 poppies already in place, a reminder of the fallen. 

Called ‘Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red’, this installation has been created by ceramic artist Paul Cummins and stage designer Tom Piper. Paul, who has himself already made 50,000 poppies in his Derbyshire studio, joins us in the moat to see how the planting is going. Tom’s daughter Rachel is one of the team leaders walking us through how best to plant the poppies to maintain a stunning visual throughout the construction phase. 

It’s exciting to talk to both of them but really this is a large-scale community art project and it’s the people working quietly alongside me that make the day truly special. The man from Birmingham who caught a coach at 3am to make sure he arrived in plenty of time for his 9am shift and is already planning another visit later in the year. The lady who describes each poppy as being ‘as unique as the person it represents’, teary eyed, her voice trembling slightly. Everyone that I speak to feels privileged to be involved. This doesn’t feel like volunteering. We feel we're getting more out of this than we're putting back. 

We work in small teams. There are general instructions about which size of poppy should be used and where. My team is working close to the section where the flowers tumble from the Tower wall to fill the moat below. We are using the smallest size stalk and asked to plant them approximately 15 cm apart in a non-uniform way. Other than that it's up to us. If we feel inclined we can choose to place a taller poppy to break up the section. My teammate is right when she describes them as unique. Each flower is different and as I plant them I too begin to see them as the soldiers they portray. This band of red flowers becomes a band of brothers. Standing shoulder to shoulder. Side by side. Marching forwards, united in a single goal. It is overwhelmingly emotional and eerily quiet. And then someone speaks and we're back in the present day. Planting flowers in a moat to say thank you to those whose hands we can longer shake. To acknowledge the sacrifice they made for us all. To maintain our promise to remember them. Lest we forget.

All too soon our shift is over. We take photos of the poppies, our teammates, of the crowds and each other. We’re reluctant to leave. Making our way slowly back to the site office we wish each other a safe journey, sneaking last glances at what is sure to become an iconic reminder of the centennial commemorations. 

Later on that day I walk past the Tower again as I head to the tube station, making my way home to Norfolk. The next shift of volunteers has now taken our place and I feel a connection with a group of people that I don’t even know. Aware that I have been replaced by the next wave but wearing my volunteer t-shirt like a medal of honour. They are adding to a section that clearly depicts going over the top. I head over to look at the patch of poppies that I planted and pause to take in the view one last time. Just a spectator now I feel proud to have been involved and as I head home I can't help but smile. Yes there is sadness in the scene we're creating but there's also great joy. Red may well be the colour associated with danger but it also symbolises passion and warmth; it's the colour of love.

In his now famous poem, In Flanders Fields, John McCrae wrote ‘…the poppies blow, between the crosses, row on row’. 

Today, working safely in a different kind of trench, I watched as the poppies grew. Row on row, between the walls, and like those all around me I remembered. 

Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red will be launched officially on August 5th and throughout the next 14 weeks volunteers will continue to plant poppies in the moat. The last poppy will be planted on Armistice Day. 

Every evening at dusk the names of 180 soldiers will be read out before the Last Post is played. 

You can buy a poppy from the HRP website and a % of the purchase price will be shared by six service charities.

If you would like to volunteer you can register your interest here.

#TowerPoppies

... do more for charity.

I managed to piss off a handful of people on Facebook this week. The younger me would have been mortified. Tried to appease those I'd upset and yet still maintain my position. This me is less inclined to care. I don't purposely want to upset anyone but it's impossible to have an opinion that everyone agrees with.

It started with this: the #nomakeupselfie. My timeline was filled with friends, friends of friends and random celebrities baring their all and going make-up free to raise awareness about cancer. On twitter and Facebook I saw photo after photo of fresh faced women nominating others to join in but with no mention of the reason for posting their pics.

I was irritated. Mildly. Only one friend had included details of why she was doing this and how to donate - I did, immediately. Several other people told me they had donated and shared this link outlining how CRUK had received more than 800,000 donations since Tuesday, most of them via text message donations. So why weren't they including the details in their posts?

Not for one minute did I believe that they intentionally left off the reason, simply that like so many things on social media it's easy to get swept along with a hashtag long after its original meaning has been forgotten. Assuming that people will know what you're doing, share your views and support your cause, presumably getting the message by telepathy. Equally I'm not against digital campaigns being used to generate money for good causes but people need to know what the cause is and how to contribute. If they choose not to that's up to them but without the details campaigns like this can seem more about conceit than cancer.

And in saying this I alienated myself pretty quickly from several people. I did however notice that shortly afterwards some of them added the 'Text BEAT to 70099 to donate £3 to CRUK' message to their posts which can only be good.

As a monthly contributor to CRUK I'm a supporter of cancer charities. I've witnessed my Mum and her sister battle with breast cancer (successfully) at a young age, and then last year my Dad died after his cancer re-emerged with ferocious intensity. So it may seem odd to be so critical. But I am. Because whilst 800,000 donations is a spectacularly positive result, how many donation opportunities have been missed because of a lack of information?

I mentioned how the speed of social, a bit like Chinese whispers, can result in something's meaning getting lost as it hurtles from one profile to another. I was unaware of the source of the #nomakeupselfie until a friend shared the origins of this campaign with me. Last September #DARETOBARE encouraged women to go make-up free at work or on a night out as part of a breast cancer awareness campaign. They were to seek sponsorship for going make-up free. It's a courageous thing to do; a nod to those cancer sufferers who have had to brave the world looking different to their former selves - exposed and bare. And do you know something? Evolving #DARETOBARE into a #nomakeupselfie campaign is no bad thing but please explain what you're trying to achieve. If you don't it just looks like you want us to tell you how beautiful you look without your make-up on before asking us to take our own photo hopefully showing us in a similarly good light. And by the way, most of you did look pretty gorgeous bare faced but the one asking me to donate, not pose, got my vote.

There are plenty of cancer charities out there. Pick the one that means something to you. Raise awareness AND make a donation. Encourage cynics like me to put our money where our mouths are - lipstick free.

Next month my husband Will is running the London marathon. He's raising money for Dove House, the hospice where my Dad died. If you haven't donated to a charity recently but would like to support a good cause I can assure you he'll be running make-up free. We'll even share a picture afterwards to prove it ;0) You can donate here.

... have a smile and a giggle. A smiggle if you will. by Bea Honeybone

Hi.

My name's Beatrice and I'm one of the few people who got invited to write a blog about Smiggle. It stands for "where a smile meets a giggle". A very nice lady called Mel Kirk, from Tribal Media, organised it so I could take part in telling you about Smiggle before the first shop opens in London on Thursday.

My Mum told me that I had a package and I was really excited. I knew it was stationery as soon as she said it was something for me to do. It was FULL of Smiggle stuff.

In my package I got an amazing pencil case that has 9 places to put my things including the pencil holders that can have 7 pencils in each. I also got some double ended pens - thick and thin tipped, double ended pencils, an ordinary pencil with an owl rubber on top. There was a 30cm rubber in the shape of a flume and a sketch pad with A5 pieces of paper in it. A horse stencil and sticker book and black scratch pad. Last of all I got a book light which is cool because I love to read in bed.

I've created some of my own pictures using all my Smiggle stuff. Here is the first piece of art I did using the horse stencil. It's called 'The Horse in the Mushrooms".

My second piece of art is the name Smiggle. I call this 'Smiggle with a Hummingbird'.

This is quite unique I think, well that's how I'd describe it. 'The Alien in the Wrong Space!' It's 3D and uses the black scratch pad and the A5 pad as well as the double ended pencils.

Finally, I made this for my homework last week. We had to draw a picture of an alien spaceship. The egg shaped aliens have hearts hanging from their ship and my teacher gave me extra merits for this. You can see some of my Smiggle goodies here too.

I really like Smiggle because their products are great for adults and children. They seem very friendly and I advise you to go to Smiggle when it opens in Westfield Stratford City. I wish it had been there when we went to the Olympics!

Thank you for reading this blog.

From Beatrice :)

Age 9

... take a photo - Day 1

It's January 1st and many of you will be making resolutions for the forthcoming year. Not me though. After repeatedly failing to keep mine I've finally realised that if I want to achieve something I need to act straight away, not wait for the clock to strike midnight on New Year's Eve.

So this year instead I'm going to steal an idea from a twitter friend and post a photo a day. Let's hope when I get to December 31st I don't look back and think 'well that was a dull year'!

Here's day one.