Three Little Pills: Adventures in Antidepressants

 I've been debating whether or not to post something about this but hey, as I'm still awake I might as well. About three weeks ago I had an appointment with my psychiatrist, in the run-up to this my anxiety had been in check, the horrible migraines it used to bring on were no longer part of my daily routine thanks to the increased dose of my meds. However for whatever reason my depression had been rearing its ugly head, and while I didn't know if it was because of Christmas having just gone and the stress that comes with it hanging over me, the back-to-university panic setting in, or just my brain deciding to be mean to me for shits and giggles.

10am yesterday, calling it bedtime in Monday's clothes

 We discussed my sleeping patterns, and how little sleep I tend to get, and even long sleep tends to be poor quality (you try having reoccurring dreams about having Vladimir Putin as your Year 9 English teacher). In the end she decided to prescribe me some new medication to work alongside my current ones. They would hopefully calm me down and overall help me sleep. By this point I was willing to try damn near anything, I could barely remember the last time I had a decent night's sleep. The new tablets were green and purple, and combined with my current prescription of course my first thought was "yay! Suffragette-coloured meds!". My first night on them came with the typical new substance anxiety, I felt like a teenager trying out drinking again. But within an hour or so I was flat out, it was hands-down the best sleep I've had all year. Remember though, it's not February yet.

 I even managed to get up early, by my standards, the next morning and already couldn't wait to go back to bed. Not in my usual "ugh, I'm always so exhausted" sort of way, but because I was so excited to experience a decent sleep again after so long. But like they say you can have too much of a good thing. By the time I got into bed that night I wasn't feeling tired, despite having worn myself out looking after my niece that afternoon, and instead I climbed into bed with a head full of swirling thoughts and anxieties, going deeper than they had previously. I didn't sleep until 5 the next morning and even then only managed a few hours. The rest of my time on this medication led to a recurring pattern: one night of blissful, uninterrupted sleep, the next plagued by a new level of anxiety. Through the day I would feel flat, no energy and no drive. I felt the worst I had in months. The house was neglected, I wasn't feeding myself properly, and I was no longer looking after myself mentally. No matter how good the possibility of sleeping on a normal schedule sounded I knew that they weren't the right meds for me. I've made the decision not to name them because I don't want to influence anybody else's decision to take them.

 A few weeks later and here I am, 3am on my third night without them. 3 days into sweats, shakes, and the 6 hours of sleep I've had overall, when I'd gotten to the point where I was too exhausted to shake and sweat anymore. I'm currently lying in the empty bath, wrapped in a blanket with the window open. It's the only place in the house where I'm perfectly between being warm and cool, and there's room for me to lie down. Plus I won't wake Paul up in here. I'm sure that some of you might roll your eyes and think "drama queen"; I've barely gave them a try, if I keep at them they'll settle down, I shouldn't feel as ill so soon without them. I'll address the last one first and tell you why that's bollocks. Before I started taking them the psychiatrist went through all of the possible side effects of both taking them and finishing them, my blood pressure is ridiculously low - despite being a 'salted is better than sweet' type of popcorn gal - and blood pressure was mentioned in all of the side effects. Plus I'm allowed to be a wuss sometimes. Secondly, I know my own body, and know what it feels like when my body doesn't accept something; this was definitely one of these times. Because of this, and past experiences, I knew that it would be better for me in the long-run to to quit now rather than wait and see how it goes. 

 And, one person to shut you all up, my psychiatrist at yesterday's group therapy (which I can't say anything else about due to confidentiality, other than I think it's a pile of wank) said that I had made the ultimately right decision. She says she's seen people who thought they should come off of a certain medication wait it out just that little bit longer, and ultimately end up worse for it. I'm tired of putting my body through unnecessary amounts of meds in order to see what happens. I'm not a guinea pig, having no say over what the effects on me are as opposed to what they could be (totally against vivisection btw), and not being able to say no. While this may not be helpful advice for others it helped me get these past few days off of my chest. Several of my burly sisters said I looked like I should have probably been in bed but honestly I just feel much better knowing how I'll feel once they're totally out of my system, but thank you for being lovely ladies! Keep an eye out soon for more burlesque-related posts coming soon, despite how weak the link was here...

 I've honestly never been a fan of self-care or mindfulness, I think they're both a load of bollocks. No, I'm not asking for a fight here; no, I don't care if you disagree with me; no, I am not willing to discuss why I feel this way about it with you; no, I don't give a shit. I was once on the phone to the district mental health Crisis Team when I was told by one of their advisers to try a mindfulness app or an adult colouring book while I had been screaming down the phone to him at breaking point. He rang back after I hung up on him, not to check how I was, but to tell me I was rude for swearing at him when I suggested where he could stick said colouring book. I digress. But this situation is one of the first where I can truly say that I was mindful of my own body and its needs, and took care of myself by stopping these tablets.

 Ugh. No. That was beyond cheesy. I hate myself for that line. Ew.

 Anyway, I think I'm starting to get sleepy. Sweet dreams and sweet potatoes; guys, gals, and NB pals x

New Year, Same Angry Bitch

 So it's January 3rd: the day many poor bastards have gone back to work after not knowing what day it is for the past week, only knowing that - whatever day it is - drinking before midday is still acceptable and 'festive' rather than bordering on alcohol dependency. As many are now sat at their desks hoping for a lottery win, or slyly browsing cheap flights while they're meant to be doing work. And what am I doing today?

 Well I was woken up at 9 by the postie, went back to bed, and got up again at 12 after a series of strange and bizarre dreams. Now I'm flipping through this season's H&M catalogue, window shopping on the Ikea website, and wondering what the hell is in that box from Superdrug (thanks postie!). Now this might sound like the perfect "yay, I'm not at work!" day to many but in my own little way I'm sort of feeling productive and proud of myself. I didn't manage to sleep until at least 6 in the morning, so I could've potentially slept in much, much later; given that this time last year I was in the midst of a full-blown manic episode I ended up buying a new sofa, tables and chairs, more bras than I have boobs for, and other shit that I really didn't have room for I'm doing quite well just browsing - other than a set of baking trays I got last night, though I consider them to be a bargain practical purchase; I've made two phone calls and answered two (which is a huge achievement for me) - one of those being a dental appointment.

 So yes, I may still be in bed but I've been productive. And considering how else I could have spent my day - sleeping until 3, buying things I don't need and can't afford - I'm pretty proud of myself. Now some of you may ask why should I be proud of myself for doing things that others do and manage to fit into a day of work? Well my mental health has been shaky at best over the holiday season.

 Christmas is always a time of huge stress for me, I love my family more than anything but I'm starting to wonder if my DNA is at least 10% cat - I can only be social and surrounded by people, overnight no less, for at least a day. And while I had a lovely time seeing everybody it took quite a toll on me. I did what I knew was best for me at some points though, taking a breather and sitting in another room by myself for a while, it was a huge sense of relief getting back to my own home. It didn't help having the beginnings of a chest infection at the time, plus wisdom teeth coming through, and I felt like an anti-social twat in my efforts to not give it to anybody as a bonus Christmas present, but taking care of myself definitely made a difference. 

 But yes, I'm not going to be jumping on the annual "New Year, New Me" bullshit bandwagon in 2017. Though what I am going to be doing this year is celebrating my daily little victories, rather than berating myself for what I could have done instead. And I'm doing pretty well so far. I'm taking care of myself and for once not feeling selfish for doing so. I'm doing work at my own pace, rather than ruminating over not having done enough - which inevitably leads to none getting done. Anyway, this year may finally be the year that I get my shit together, who knows? 

You Know You're A Weird Feminist Type When...

 So some of you may have saw the recent picture I posted. I'm sorry to disappoint (or perhaps reassure!) you but nope, there's no baby. And a good thing too, I'd be a rubbish parent; plus there's a lot of doubt about my fertility as it is but that's another story for another time. I do feel very mean actually, it was Paul's idea but I asked some friends and they liked the idea too.

 A few weeks ago, after having a Mirena coil for four years I lost a fight with a tampon and it ended up stuck in my cervix. It was so, so painful. It was a relief to get it out but at the same time I was worried about what i'd do for birth control. I must admit after several days without hormones I felt better than I have in years, mental health wise. So I opted for a copper coil, which I had fitted today. Being a little scared I asked Paul to come with me. The staff at the New Croft Centre were absolutely lovely, and very reassuring.

 As my last one had slipped I was given an ultrasound to double-check it was in the right place. Paul joked that we should get a print out of it, as with not wanting children we laughed that it would probably be the only ultrasound we'd see together. The doctor must've overheard as when she gave me my pad and my painkillers I was also given two lovely prints.

It made me think though, you always see pictures on social media of things in people's uterine - generally babies. And I really like the idea of celebrating not having a baby in there. I'm currently very groggy, in a lot of pain, and probably not in a good mind set, but I like having reproductive control over my body ❤ hooray for birth control!

The Holy Grail? Birth Control for Men

When my mind is racing, to the point where I can feel nothing else but the tension and the buzzing across my forehead, I know that one of three things will calm me down; a drink, a chat or a blog post. Preferably all three in one. Sometimes, like tonight, that chat is with myself but I find that chats between Lizi, myself and I always lead to some interesting thoughts. And where else to start but where every girl's mind should be on Halloween - birth control pills/injections for men, yikes!

Now this is something I've seen news and 'news' articles floating around the web about since...oof, at least since I started using social media. So say 8 years ago, or at least this was the first time I'd heard of the idea. And as a slightly overweight, spotty and angsty fourteen-year-old you see such things and think "Yes!! There is justice in the world!", then you suddenly forget about it as you're distracted by somebody who sits behind you in your Physics class sending you a chicken on Farmville (admit it, you've had similar moments). Yet years later, in your twenties - older and a little wiser at least -, your braces finally off and you've wrecked your teeth from too many drunken attempts at drinking from a glass without a straw instead of sucking your thumb... You see it again. Almost at the point of completion... And it's still "a long way off" in case men get sad.

 Yes, after one too many: cat-calls, unsolicited dick pics, gropes, sexual assaults, threats of violence, unwanted opinions, put-downs, manipulations; something which could potentially delayed and forgotten about in case it could be bad for men.

 Story. Of. Every. Woman's. Fucking. Life.

 As the possibility of birth control for men has grown closer and closer - the risks and side effects sensationalised, a potential release date, it makes me wonder: given the excessive side effects given to birth control for those of us with a uterus, if it were to be developed today, would something with so many detrimental side effects would they be approved for use? Or like in the case of the pill would the side effects be listed but the extent of them be swept under the rug? When women taking progesterone-based birth control are 34% more likely to be prescribed antidepressants, and these statistics only recently having been published, it beggars belief that they would be approved today. That's not even starting on the excessive physical side effects.

  This has led to a lot of angry women, understandably. Many women have shouted back, saying that it's now time for men to bare the brunt of these side effects that we have for decades too. And I agree with them too, I really do. Given the state of my mental health it's gotten me thinking, for the past seven years I've been pumped full of synthetic hormones in some way or another (both pills, the injection, mirena coil). What are they actually doing to my mind and body? I've gotten an appointment booked with my GP and will be running it past my CPN (psychiatric nurse) to see whether switching to something non-hormonal, such as a copper coil, could potentially do me some good. It's not fair that women should be more or less expected to fill themselves full of synthetic hormones to avoid the 'punishment' of getting pregnant if they should dare want to have sex. 

 I was put on these hormones at a time when my body was still developing, when I was still trying to figure out who I was. The pill was meant to be a solution to try and calm me down, help me handle my periods better at a time when everything was still settling down and finding its feet. And it terrifies me that after years of trial and error that I may not know myself without synthetic hormones, it really fucking scares me. But it's gotten me thinking, and anybody who knows me knows that it physically pains me to write this, what about the men? Sorry, excuse me while I vomit and berate myself for even typing that but hear me out. While suicide rates for women have increased in the past few years, they are still three times higher for men. Do we really want to see this increase? And keep in mind the horrific state of mental health services at the minute. 

 I'm looking at a solution to this in the same way I explain socialism to people. It's not about fighting to all be on the same, shitty minimum wage that nobody can survive on; it's about fighting for a decent living wage for everybody. In this case I don't want more men to be put at risk of mental and physical health issues, I want to see a fuck-off-massive improvement in current hormonal contraception for women. Make sure that the pill, the coil, implants, what have you, all come with the lowest risk possible for women's mental and physical health before we start saying everyone should suffer the same.

 Now, shock-horror, as you've probably guessed by now I'm not a doctor. But I'm somebody with a uterus who is pretty scared of the idea of more side effects from my birth control. And somebody who enjoys having sex and not having children. And I would really like to be able to continue having sex and not getting pregnant while not being at risk of uterus perforation, hair loss and all kinds of cysts. Is this really too much to ask?

You might not think you're brave, but you are to me

 So many of you have probably seen the video doing the rounds on Facebook of a woman chasing a racist attacker down Upton Park tube station platform after the man punched another passenger in the face. A man has since been arrested and bailed until November 14th on charges of “assault occasioning ABH and using threatening / abusive words / behaviour or disorderly behaviour likely to cause harassment, alarm or distress”. This has definitely struck a chord with me, given that it's been just over two years since I was attacked for standing up in a similar incident, getting a nasty injury to my shoulder after standing up to a man sexually harassing a teenage girl.

 Now the title of this post may seem a bit odd but bare with me. After my experience I had friends and family telling me how brave I was. I remember the worst part of the night was for ours, ringing and ringing my parents and not getting an answer from either of them. But I definitely didn't feel brave, I felt like a stupid child who had tried to do something good, but then fallen over and scraped my knee; like I'd made things worse. 

 Luckily the woman in this incident wasn't harmed (as far as we know) and that has been the biggest relief for me in seeing this. And at the same time I can relate so much to her. Being surrounded by men, bigger and stronger than she is, sitting by and doing nothing while the man sat next to her is verbally abused before he is punched. There were so many others who could have intervened but didn't, it was left to her to stand up. I'm by no means saying that she isn't capable of standing up for herself and others - she clearly demonstrates the opposite! - but it put her at greater risk than it would have for others. It was an incredibly brave thing for her to do. But that's the thing with brave women, we don't always feel it. We feel like we're just doing what any other person would have done, and not want a fuss made.

 Personally I think this needs to change; we need to recognise women that stand up, putting themselves in danger, do help others. It's important. In fact I've been thinking that if anybody knows who this woman is I would like to get her flowers - or something else that she may need and find more practical. It's important that she knows that people admire her bravery, and others who have done what she did are thinking of her. We did the same thing with the Buy Gary a Pint fund for making a very fitting gesture behind Nigel Farage on the news, so how about we try and get some similar support for a brave woman?

National Coming Out Day 2016: Family-phobia, mental health, and breaking the cycle

 So the other week I posted a piece about Bi Visibility Week which included my own coming out story. As those of you on the LGBTQIA+ spectrum and good allies know, 'coming out' isn't a one-off experience; it's a staggered constant experience. Coming out to friends and family, then there's more to come when it comes to co-workers, peers, and new acquaintances. And in some cases other family members, beyond those who you initially knew would understand. You take that chance, thinking you've come this far and this person loves you enough to not give two shits about it. Well, that's what you think.

 I decided to get this off of my chest in a post, in order to get it out of my head so I can move on and stop stewing on it. It's difficult though. I'd spent the day with a relative last Friday; we had lunch, shopped, and talked about all sorts. It got to the point that we were talking about current TV programmes and talked about Poldark, it's a show I never managed to get into the storyline but happily watched a few episodes of because *swoon* Aiden Turner! Such a gorgeous man, I watched it just to look at him. The conversation moved to the new Victoria series on ITV and, being a fan of Jenna Coleman from her portrayal as Clara in Doctor Who, I expressed to this relative that I found her very good-looking. It was an innocent comment, yet this relative managed to read my undertones: that I found her attractive rather than just expressing an admiration for her looks.

 That's when shit hit the fan and it all spiralled down. While it showed progress for somebody of their generation that they accepted that they know some people are gay and accept that, they refused to accept that a person can be bisexual. Apparently "you can't ride two horses with one arse", and that's what confused me. Confused me in terms of my mental health and has done me damage; dating women is what has caused me to become mentally ill according to this relative. It's funny when I think about it because it wasn't a woman who sexually assaulted me, it wasn't a woman who made me feel it was my fault, it wasn't a woman who made me feel utterly worthless and broken when I thought I could trust them. Relationships with women tend to have been the healthiest I've had (other than my relationship with Paul, he is the exception to the rule!) and have always left me with a better understanding of myself. For somebody to try and throw that in my face as something that has done me damage makes me feel sick. In fact being told this made me cry in front of this relative for the first time in years.

 In fact I think that is what made me most angry, that they made me cry. A good rule I try to follow is that a relative shouldn't make you cry out of sadness unless they're dying/have died. To try and make me feel so ashamed about my sexuality and my mental health in one fell swoop, trying to blame one on the other, makes me feel physically sick. This was probably the most recent point lately that I've felt utterly helpless, and almost embarrassed to by myself. Though it wasn't shame about myself I felt, but more ashamed of myself for being stupid enough to open up to this relative, thinking they would react kindly.


 I have told my parents about this experience and, when opening up to them about how this relative has treated me about my mental health, they have grown concerned about my relationship with them and offered to talk to them about it. It has done me a lot of damage. I've gone through about two years of being told by this relative that my mental health doesn't matter, that I've made it all up. But this has been my breaking point, going from downright dismissing my mental health to blaming it on my sexuality, something that I cannot and would not change for the world.

 We've always been told since we were children to respect our elders, or the more condescending that they're old and don't know any better, and should do so regardless. But after this experience I'm not sure that I can unquestioningly follow this rule. I still love this family member dearly, and do not at all regret my decision to come out to them, but it will take me a while to forgive them.

Keep your Rosaries off our Ovaries: Victory for Polish Women, Next Stop Ireland!

 Disclaimer: This may be more of a ramble than usual, somebody has taken 'sharing is caring' very out of context and given me their germs! Apologies in advance.

 The term 'Pro-Life' has never sat well with me, in the context of it meaning anti-abortion. It's paradoxical when you look at it. Pictures have been flooding social media of protesters in Poland, mostly women, all dressed in black and taking to the streets against the proposed changes to already restrictive abortion laws; as well as messages of solidarity from around the globe, including a solidarity demonstration in Edinburgh (video from Emito.net). According to recent polls only 11% of the population were in favour of the proposed bill, opposed to more than 51% in favour of liberalising the current abortion laws.

 Today articles have surfaced saything that government officials are planning a u-turn on the proposed bill after the amazing show of direct action from citizens, with the minister for science and higher education saying that the women had "caused us to think and taught us humility". With such widespread contention for the proposed bill it would have been a dreadful move not to, leading to further strike action and escalating tactics. And who would blame them?? When a government tells you that you cannot have autonomy over your own body anybody would be pissed off. Whether you have a uterus or not, whether you would personally have an abortion or not, would you really want laws in place telling you that you cannot have a say in something that may risk your own life?

 That's where the paradox comes in. When a woman's life is at risk because of a cluster of cells that is doing her harm, and she is told that she cannot have it removed, where is the pro-life sentiment there? When a teenage girl finds out her contraception has failed but the law says she has to give up on her ambitions of getting a good job that would provide childcare, so she can give her future children the best life possible, where is it then? Pro-Life campaigners aren't fighting for paid parental leave, better pre- and post-natal healthcare, support for parents of disabled children, or helping to ensure children in care, waiting to be adopted, are being properly cared for. No, they're standing there with pictures of aborted foetuses, telling women who are seeking a medical procedure that they should be punished for doing so. And the scary thing is that these people are in our governments.

 While researching the topic I stumbled across the sickening statistic that because of current restrictions, legal abortions in Poland only make up around 10% of the total figure, leaving 90% of them being carried out in potentially dangerous conditions, threatening the woman's life and future health. Tell me again how riky medical practices are pro-life? It has always been the case that such laws will not stop abortion, they will only stop safe abortion. How many women will end up dying because of lack of access to safe procedures? And how many more would we have seen in prison if these laws came through, arrested for miscarrying like so many other women in the USA and South America have been? I feel physically sick thinking about it. Not to mention the number of appalling cases, including a woman in Ireland, where dead women have been kept alive on life support as nothing more than an incubator, because they were pregnant at the time of death. These cases go beyond disregarding respect for the deceased to treating these women as objects.

 With only five days to go until Ireland's debate to Repeal the 8th we wish them the best of luck and solidarity. I urge you all to check out ROSA, the campaign for Reproductive rights, against Oppression, Sexism and Austerity, and send them your support. Polish women have kicked arse this week, now it's Ireland's turn!