Sunday, April 28, 2013

MINDFULNESS

“Do you own a Yoga mat?”, This was the first question asked of me when I was introduced to Mindfulness. The man I met with was John Coffey (like the drink, only not spelt the same; and like the literary and cinematic character, only not huge, black, and magical) and he invited me to join my first therapy group.

The principal of Mindfulness (as it relates to psychology) is to bring your attention and awareness to the here and now; to live in the present rather that fester on the past and/or worry about the future. To achieve this, students of Mindfulness are taught meditation and some yoga based techniques.

The course was eight weeks long and each weeks session lasted roughly two hours. I wasn’t really sure what to expect, I had never even considered using the practices which John had spoke of as means of dealing with my depression; not because I didn’t think it would work, it wast just not something that was within my sphere of reference.

I was very nervous on the first night. For months before walking into the class I had only had a social relationship with one friend, my two-year-old son, my wife, and my mother. When I arrived I was greeted with weak smiles, little nods, and tension so thick that I practically could have swam to my chair. The question was this: In a room full of people with anxiety, who will speak first?

For the majority of the first session, the group introduced themselves, discussed rules, and were asked to say what they expected to get out of the course. In my case, I felt that Cognitive Behaviour Therapy (CBT) may have taken me as far as it could, and I hoped this different approach may help me further along.

At the end of the session John told us to lay out our yoga mats (yes, I bought one.) and that we were going to try an exercise called the Body Scan. Despite my initial thoughts on hearing this — run! It’s a cult! They're going to touch you! — I actually found the Body Scan incredibly effective. It relaxed me in a way that I hadn’t been for months; even my shoulders (usually like blocks of concrete) felt loose.

Over the next few weeks we, the group, learned a variety of techniques on how be mindful. At first I struggled with how exactly Mindfulness could help me, but then I read something in the paperwork which made it all into place. The section described how people with depression/anxiety will often find outlets to take them away from their thoughts and/or ways to avoid interacting with the world. The paper referred to this as being ‘addicted to distraction’, a sentence which fits me so perfectly that it could be carved on my gravestone. When I read that I realised that, although Mindfulness itself is essentially a distraction, it is a much healthier distraction. Rather than say, busying yourself with ‘Angry Birds’, you would instead try to live in he moment, taking in everything around you and bringing awareness to the here and now.

The course ended on Wednesday night and ultimately I’m unsure if I will be able to use Mindfulness to my full advantage. I believe the theory is sound, I believe that the techniques are useful, but I have a couple of barriers which are holding me back. Firstly, there’s time; the process of learning mindfulness practices is described as being simple but not easy — meaning that the concept is easy to understand, but that the goal can be difficult to achieve. The key to learning how best to use mindfulness is the same as it is when learning any new skill: practice. It is advised in the course that you use what is called formal practice — the body scan, meditation, yoga based exercises — and informal practice, which is just bringing the principals of attention and awareness to your everyday life. Formal practice should be done for 30 - 40 minutes per day. Per. Day. During the course of any given day I have just over one hour to myself. Of course, you would think that this would be ample time for me to engage in my formal practice, and you would be right; if not for my second problem: the hangover. No, not unexpected comedy hit of 2009 ‘The Hangover’, the hangover I’m referring to is the after effect of the little mood regulating pill I take each night before bed. I get up just after 6:30am every morning (cheers, son.) but I wouldn’t say I really wake up until just before early afternoon. That free hour which I spoke of before falls dead centre of that time frame, and the chances of me not falling asleep while attempting formal practice and waking up in time to collect my boy from nursery is close to nil. Despite these barriers, I will endeavour to use Mindfulness as best I can.

Over the eight weeks of attending the group I found some practices were more helpful than others, but I almost always felt better at the end of each class than I did it the start; the main reason for this was the people I was with. Together, we all learned a new way to think. A new way to face the world. Whether or not I’m ever able to use mindfulness properly, I’m glad I was able to share my time with everyone involved.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

My Little Gift

I just received this little gift from my wife. Every morning, after having to drag me out of bed, she tends to our son, feeds our cats, and makes me a coffee before going of to work for 9 hours.

I was ill last night, loaded with the cold, so when I woke up this morning I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. My wife asked me many times how I was feeling and bought me medicine, something which I perceived as her telling me that I had to be okay, that I had to be all better because there was nobody else that could look after our son. I snapped and said that if were her that was sick then she could take a day off and why shouldn't I get to have a sick day. She told me that what I had was a cold and just to get on with it. I did not take that very well and said some nasty things. Things I did not and do not mean.

It's afternoon now and I more or less am feeling back to 100%. I would not have needed a day off, and even if I had still been feeling sick, I would have been able to look after our son until it was time for him to go to nursary.

I don't deserve this little gift. I don't deserve my wife. I don't deserve her care, or kindness, or love. Thank you for your love. Thank you for your care. And thank you for occasionally pushing me when I need to be pushed.

Thank you for my gift.

Be Smarter

People on benefits are greedy. People on benefits don’t deserve anything. People on benefits are parasites. This is what I see every day.

Well guess what, 99% of people on benefits don't want to be. People on benefits didn't expect to be put out of a job, didn't expect to fall ill, didn't expect to fail the people they love. People on benefits don't need to hear what you think of them. People on benefits are doing the best they can.

Do people cheat, and lie, and steal? Yes. But I don't. And neither do most of the people like me.

This government wants you to hate people like me so that they can slowly eradicate us. They would rather you blame us than ask questions. They want you to hate us so that they're greed and corruption can continue unchecked.

Don't fall for it. Be better. Be smarter.

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

HAPPY CHRISTMAS

Since 2004 I have wrote a series of Christmas messages with the partial aim to help people get into a festive mood in time for the big day. For the first time in 8 years I failed to write that message, I wanted to but I was finding it hard to come up with something in the tone of happiness and cheer which I aim for. I wasn’t feeling very festive you see. In fact I was feeling angry.

In a year in which I could have lost everything, in a year in which I could no longer see a path to continue on there has been one light ahead of me. One person who could always make me smile and laugh, even on the bleakest day. One person who is too small to have had to draw me out of darkness. My son. My Nathan.

Michelle is a rock. Michelle has been forged harder than steel. She has held me and us all together. My guilt for the struggles Michelle has to endure shadows the happiness that I feel with her. When we smile and laugh together I can’t help but see how tired she is; how hard her life has become. Nathan, however, knows no such struggle.

Nathan’s innocence to the realities of our life have made it possible to get lost in his world. Who could worry when they see their toddler run towards them with open arms? How could I feel low around a son who sings all day long? What is depression versus seeing the smile on the that smart and beautiful boys face, that smile which is just for me? I could not ask for a better boy. So bright, so loving, so caring. Just so good.

Since November it has been impossible to be around Nathan for any length of time without hearing him sing a Christmas song. He knows When Santa Got Stuck Up the Chimney, Santa Claus is Coming to Town, and more words to Jingle Bells than I do. You might think you would have got sick of hearing them, but if anything I’m actually sad they will stop soon. His excitement about Christmas has been so prevelant in our lives that it has been almost palpable. As well as the songs, all he has wanted to watch is Christmas movies. Climbing the arm of the couch and jumping on the couch is “being Santa”. He has even taken to wearing socks on his hands as a substitute for Santa’s cotton gloves.

So why was I angry? On Thursday afternoon when I arrived to pick Nathan up at Nursery I found him being cradled and having his temperature taken. He was sick, and by Christmas Eve he was really sick. He had a small fever, wasn’t eating, had little to no energy and had a terrible cough.

Maybe you’re still wondering why I was angry? What you have to understand is: the universe hates me. It just really likes to mess with me. That’s fine, I probably deserve it, but, Universe, listen up: Leave my boy out of it. It just was so unfair. Nathan doesn’t have as easy a life as a 2-year-old should. Some days he has had to put up with a father who was barely functioning, who is too stressed to play or too depressed to be there for him. And yet, still he is so good. He’s still so kind. He’s still so happy. And yet what was his reward for these achievements? To be ill at Christmas. Not fair.

This morning, Christmas morning, Nathan woke up feeling better and continued improving as the day went on. He had a great Christmas. He loved his gifts, of course, but more importantly he loved the day. How do I know that? Because when his mummy was tucking him into bed tonight he turned to her and said “Mummy, I’m happy”. What more could any parent want at Christmas?

I hope you all had a happy Christmas too. I hope that happiness follows us all into the new year and beyond.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

SIDE EFFECTS

Tonight, after a two week absence, I returned to work after having suffered from the ill effects of the withdrawal from, and subsequent reintroduction of, selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRI) to my body. In other words I reacted badly to a change in anti-depression medication. What I want to talk about here however, is not nausea, fatigue or any of the other common side effects caused by SSRI's, but rather the effect that depression has had on me in relation to the world around me. The side effects of life with depression.

Each night that I sit down at work I think the same thing: You are worthless. Why? Because it's an easy job which I have done for a long time (over six years). Of course I know why this is the case, after having had a mental breakdown four years ago my employer and I have had a somewhat strained on again off again relationship; like Ross and Rachel with the laughs replaced by bureaucracy and the constant fear of unemployment.

Being regularly absent means that I am unreliable, which in turn means that I am rarely given additional responsibilities, which in turn again means that I am unable to progress in the business and left with the simple and unchallenging duties of my current grade.

Even those times I do go to work I show little promise. Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS) is a byproduct of my depression and often causes me to be away from my desk. Other side effects I experience are a lack of concentration and fatigue, which means that, even at those times where I am at work and able to sit and do my job, that my productivity is awful and that, despite my employers patience and understanding, my opinion of myself at the end of each night reinforces that which I had at the start of the night: I am worthless.

My opinion of myself is, I perceive, shared by many of my peers and superiors. And why not? I'm always off and never do much when I'm there. Certainly, when I was younger, I once worked with a woman who I met briefly and then who was off for the next seven months. Depression, yeah right, more like a paid holiday! That's what I thought about the absent woman, so why wouldn't my colleagues think that about me? All of which is not to say that those people with whom I work, or even my former self, are ignorant, uncaring or cruel, far from it. Each time I return to work I am welcomed by 'how are you', 'nice to have you back', and the polite understanding that I don't want to go into the reason I was off. What I am talking about is my own anxiety about how I am seen by these hard working people, each with worries of their own, who manage to do what I frequently cannot: show up.

Naturally things at home can be difficult too. While my wife Michelle and my parents are supportive and always reliable, they too have to live with the disease while being powerless to do much of anything about it, which of course can lead to frustration and worries of their own, which I then feel guilty and anxious about.

My family's worries, especially Michelle's, expand past me to our son, Nathan. As a full time dad with depression, it is unfortunately unavoidable for Nathan not to be affected by my illness at times. For some time now a combination of my anxiety and fatigue have meant the Nathan has rarely been given the opportunity to be out and interact with other children. Recently he has become increasingly withdrawn while out out of the house and shy, sometimes to the point of being fearful, in crowds. Above all my failures with my son are the hardest part of living with my depression, I can only hope to try to be better for him.

In the months ahead I will soon begin regular therapy sessions and, hopefully, my new medication will be of greater help too. I hope that in reading this you have not found me to be self pitying or seeking pity, but rather that you might have gained a better understanding of a greatly misunderstood disease. At least I hope that you might have a better understanding of me, and life as I know it.

If you have mental health problems or know someone who has, I have found these organisations helpful: Mind, Breathing Space and Action on Depression.

Location:Columbia Pl,Glasgow,United Kingdom