I DON'T HATE CHRISTMAS (ANYMORE)

I feel like every where I go on the internet (if thats the correct term, go?) I see another person blogging about how to cope with mental health and christmas. Christmas can be a really difficult time for anyone with an illness because of the expectations of happiness that we put on our selves for the month of December. Nobody logically expects anyone with an illness to magically forget about the pain they are in, or the difficulties they experience, but somehow, when you are in pain yourself, you feel like you should be a fountain of jolliness. And when you're not, you can feel even worse than you did before. 

For a couple of years I hated christmas. For me the only way to cope with the actual day was to stay in pyjamas from christmas eve to stephens day and when things got too much, read in the bath for hours. I didn't feel like I deserved presents and the thought of meeting relatives and family friends made me feel sick. So I stayed in my pyjamas and had my long baths and watched movies constantly and I obviously survived and I am now here to tell the tale. If I had read any of the blog posts would they have helped? Maybe a little, but I don't think they would have made the day any easier. 

This year is finally different. I am excited for christmas and christmas day. I will 100% get dressed. I might read in the bath, but not because I want to pretend christmas doesn't exist. I 100% deserve lots of presents and I can't wait to unwrap them. I'm going to buy an elf costume for my dog. I'm going to make my dad wear a singing christmas tie. My mum will light tonnes of candles and my day will worry about things catching on fire, and I will probably laugh at him for this then my lack of spacial awareness will prove him right. 

Christmas this year has made me appreciate, more then ever, the wonderful people that are around me, as cheesy and cliche as that sounds. I'm glad they stuck around through all the crying in the bath stages. Not that they were in the bath when I was crying, that would be weird. But I am really looking forward to christmas, and the fact my boyfriend might finally stop ignoring me in the grand debate of what skis to buy (he's going to end up with the original pair, I'd put money on it) is only a tiny tiny factor.

It's my birthday and my anti- wrinkle campaign has begun // reflections on turning 20

Me on my last birthday with my youthful skin

It's my birthday next thursday and I'm scared. I'm turning 20. Twenty. I distinctly remember being 14 and my dermatologist telling me that I had a couple of years left of not using anti agin products but when I turned 20 it was time to start tackling my aging skin. Now I am 20 and my skin is aged. I am old. I am over the hill. Well, maybe not quite but I am no longer a teenager and therefore approaching the hill.

I do things like buy toilet paper for myself, take out the bins and decide that it's not sensible to go out because I have a lecture the next day. I haven't eaten mcdonalds in months. 

I wrote this before meeting my mum and aunt, Rosamund, for afternoon tea. My feeling on the subject after this life changing tea is quite different. 

Rosamund stopped telling people her age when she turned 21. I am going to do the same. Every so often, she has a significant birthday, but her actual age is never revealed. So it doesn't worry her. After all, this is only a number, a cliche but true saying. So after 21 I will officially stop counting the age and focus on the amount of presents I get instead. That is the real reason for birthdays after all. 

I am going to use turning 20 as an opportunity to change some things in my life. Some small and some big. I am going to spend less time watching shitty TV and more time doing things. You never remember the 10 hours you spend watching keeping up with the kardashians, but you remember reading, or crocheting, or drawing. Or not but you have something to show for the end. I know I am turning into my mother when I say this. 

I am going to stop wearing sweatpants outside on most occasions. Obviously, there are some times that simply cannot be got through without sweatpants. Being hungover is one of these. But I have fears of becoming a middle age woman wearing trackies and in my effort to avoid this I am going to try and wean myself off them (at least in social situations).

I am going to read more. And I am going to read whatever I want, and If I don't enjoy a book I am going to give myself permission to stop reading it halfway through. Instead of scrolling through instagram before I go to bed I will read. 

I am going to print more pictures so instead of having thousands of digital images I never look through I at least have some that I can look back on. 

I am going to start putting my health first. Nothing is more important than being well, and I need to stop putting unrealistic goals and my perfectionism above my happiness. 

I am going to start doing the things I love again. I feel like I don't do a lot of the things I really love anymore and I miss them and would be happier if I did them. So I will. 

I am never going to pretend I like kale ever again. I do not like kale. 

I am going to spend more time with the people I love. I am going to travel and see the world and write and listen to music. I will never allow anyone to treat me unfairly, be rude to me, degrade me. I will believe in myself. 

Some of these things are big and some are small. I feel like my life has really changed, and is really changing right now. The main thing being half my face has swollen up so half of me is a happy puffer fish and half is an angry puffer fish. This fact would have made me super self conscious and I probably wouldn't have been able to leave my house a couple of months ago. However, today I went out to lunch with my dad and worked my confused puffer fish face and it didn't bother me at all. 

if being 20 means ageing skin, but I get to care a tiny bit less about unimportant things and actually start being the person I want to be, I am ready for it. 

World Mental Health Day!

I have been sat here staring at a blank page trying to think about something to write about world mental health day. Not because I don't have anything to say, but because I have too much. Mental health is something that has hugely affected me. I don't want to write 'my story', because it is still too soon, for me and the people who supported me through it. I also don't want to write a general piece on how the silence and stigma needs to change either, because how ever much I try to distance myself from it, I can't. 

So I am, instead, going to write about how, at the darkest and worst times of my life, when I couldn't see a reason for living, because it was too painful, there were people who stuck by me no matter what. Who loved me, despite the hell I was going through and bring them along with me. 

It's a massive cliche, but I am still here in no part thanks to the mental health services in ireland. Individually, I have had the fortune to have met some lovely health care practicioners, nurses and doctors who despite working in a terrible system still managed to make a difference. 

I could spend all day talking about the terrible things that renowned doctors said to me, and my parents. The times when I was in desperate need but the waiting list to see anybody was a year long, the general insensitivity that seems to be prevalent and the sheer ignorance of mental health in this country, and the world in general. But this is not what got me here today. 

What got me here today was my mum and dad, who let me drop out of school. Who understood that I couldn't get out of bed and didn't make me feel bad about it, because they knew how much pressure I put myself under. Who drove me to appointment after appointment even when nothing seemed to be working and never, ever complained. 

My sisters and brother. For forgiving me for taking up all my parents energy and attention, and never once made me feel ashamed for it. Who even when I was at my sickest still treated me as normal. 

My friends. Aoife and Jean,at the earlier stages, Emma and Emsie and Katie, later on. The people who listened to me and loved me even though nobody really understood what was going on, least of all me. People think they have best friends, and I guess they kind of do, but not like that. Aoife and jean basically kept me alive when I honestly felt like the real caoimhe had died and there was an empty shell left. They were there through the worst days of my life. They understand my need to make horrible jokes about it all and they laugh. Even though they had awful stuff going on too they still let a massive centre stage light shine on me for years. I am becoming incoherent because I am blinded by love. These are the people that helped me recover. 

The girls I met in hospital also get a special mention. I won't name you, but you know who you are. Somebody that can make you laugh when you feel so bad that you can't even shower is somebody that deserves a medal, especially because they feel bad too. You were the people who really helped me through hospital. 

My boyfriend, for not caring. And for letting me cry. And for understanding that it is physically impossible for me to cry while watching TLC and not caring that he has sat through far more reality TV then I have ever sat through foot ball matches. Even though he didn't know what he was really getting into, he never cared. And he always calls me to ask if I'm ok. And know when I'm lying.

All the teachers, and lectures, and tutors that made sure I could continue with my education.  That made me feel ok about walking into a class not having gone for weeks. That extended my deadlines, and understood that I get anxious about answering emails. That spent time helping me to catch up. I may have not always said it, but thank you from the bottom of my heart. You made being sick and having some sort of normal life happen. You made sure I was able to continue my education, the most important thing to me. 

The people who knew I was unwell, and asked was I ok. That were nice and understanding about me missing a lot of time in college and didn't make me feel bad or weird about it. All you people are in halls, in college, in school... The fact I could be having a shitty time and someone would be nice and understanding has made me feel so much better so many times. You might not even know that you are doing it. But thank you.

So I guess what I am trying to say is, thank you. I don't always say it. I feel awkward. All these people were not trained doctors, or nurses, or psychiatrists, or psychologists or therapists but you helped me get to where I am today. You have made such a huge difference to my life and I am so grateful to have all of you. 

So, if you're struggling, look around. You might not be able to see it but there are people that love you and are trying to help you as best they know how. Mental illness is just as serious as physical illness. It's not just in your head. Your health is the most important thing. Don't be ashamed to suffer from mental illness. 

I guess I'm living proof that it does get better. Even if getting better seems the most impossible thing in the world.