Should I tell the World I'm getting Divorced? Whoops...

Well, now the cat's out of the bag. Sorry if it seems as though I'm making light of it, but if you didn't laugh you'd cry. And I know which option I prefer.

Anyway, I am not exactly telling the world. I mean, this blog is a bit...would 'niche' be the right word? And who actually cares? I mean, if anyone has read my memoir they might be disappointed to hear that a relationship that began as a 'love at first sight' story, that endured through a psychotic breakdown, that became a twenty year marriage and which produced four incredible kids, has come to an end. 

But most people recognise that marriage is a tough gig and that not many people have got what it takes to make the grade, to grow together, to stay happy and fulfilled as a couple. 

There was enough suffering in my life when I was young; now I am the architect of my own existence and I need to choose happiness. In fact, I have developed a theory about marriage. My idea is this; people should just get married for five years or ten, then opt-out for a month or two, and get some training or something before they sign up to another stint. Wishful thinking...

Anyway, it's done. Paul has moved on and found himself a new girlfriend (much younger than he is; very pretty). They found each other quickly, it seems that they are both extremely happy with the new arrangement and I genuinely wish them both luck. I mean, I'm not an angel or anything and sometimes I feel angry or hurt or whatever, about various things. But the truth is, I woke up the morning after he left and I knew it was the right thing for both of us, and I haven't wavered in that conviction ever since. It's been almost a year now. You see; I did pay due consideration as to whether divulging this information was the right thing to do. 

In other news, I am due to start a job in the Civil Service very soon. It took a while, but I got there at last. Respectability! A pension! Paid holiday! I just can't wait to get started. It's part-time hours so I'll still be able to do most of my care work and I'll still write. I am attached to my clients and I couldn't live if I didn't write. I mean, physically I'd survive but I would not be a pretty thing to behold. 

I think it was Time to Talk Day recently. Not an issue for me. In fact, I could do with a Time to Talk Less Day. I never seem to stop jabbering about one thing or another. I don't only talk about mental health of course, but I am not scared at all to drop it into the conversation now and again. Because the greatest thing about writing my memoir is knowing that many people have been helped by reading it. It is the best feeling you can imagine.  

I won't stop participating in the mental health conversation though, not until psychiatrists stop diagnosing people with 'schizophrenia'. That day will come, I am sure. When enough people have the courage to speak out about the way they have been treated, when enough is understood about the cruelty inherent in our mental health system, change will be implemented at last. Roll on that day. 

Thought for the Day - and Why I Don't Drink

My thought for the day is how little any of us know about anyone else's experience. That's why emotional distress is so hard to understand and to treat, because we just don't know how much anyone is suffering. Especially if they choose not to speak about it and even if they do.

I have come to this conclusion while thinking about something that happened the other day while I was doing my food shopping. I was at Aldi, in what is generally considered to be the worst area in our town, although I used to live there and never encountered any real problems (apart from being burgled, once). 

Anyway, I was at the checkout when suddenly there was a kerfuffle, lots of shouting. I didn't see what had actually happened, but the security guard was at the door, yelling and swearing at someone outside. I mean, effing and blinding, no holds barred. The man outside was saying that the security guard had broken his leg, the guard said he was going to effing break the other one. From the look of him, he could have done it easily. 

Then the guard came over to the checkout and started sounding off at the cashier. 'I got him on the ground because he pushed me,' he said. 'He had this down his trousers.' ('This' was a bottle of something, it looked like ether vodka or gin.) The cashier shrugged and said that was fair enough. As I left the store the guard was back at the door, yelling at his victim again (if victim is the right word) who was limping off across the road. 

Now, I think it's pretty clear that the security guard had gone over and above his necessary duty, even if the man had pushed him (which he might or might not have done. He looked very drunk, it wouldn't have been much of a push). I mean, getting the guy on the ground, causing him physical injury, getting so angry that he turned the air blue...it was all too much of a response. Disproportionate to the offence, definitely. 

Well, it was over, and hopefully no permanent damage done. But what this made me think about is how addictive alcohol must be. Luckily for me, I don't drink (partly because I feel sometimes that if I started I'd never stop). But my mother was an alcoholic and several members of my family have substance abuse issues (although I doubt very much that they would think of themselves in this way). I know lots of people who are dependent to varying degrees on alcohol, I am sure I am not alone there.

I used to drink a bit when I was young. I don't miss it. I found it much harder to give up smoking. Alcohol was never really necessary to me. So I don't think I fully understand the issues involved in addiction to alcohol, the pull it can exert on a human being. Witnessing that awful situation yesterday made me think, my God, that man needed that drink. He was desperate enough to try to steal it, desperate enough to try to fight for it. It was only about ten o'clock in the morning.

What had happened to him? What had he been through in his life, to get to that degree of desperation?

And then I wondered whether my mother had needed alcohol to the same degree as that poor man. I think she probably did. I think I have perhaps judged her too harshly, by taking my own standards and applying them to her. I don't think she could have helped herself. I don't think she was ever actually capable of putting her children's needs before her own. I am very lucky never to have been in that situation. 

Which is why, I think, emotional distress is so hard to understand. It is all so subjective. Even if we are very close to someone, we never really know what they are going through. 

Which is why I am passionate about better treatment for emotional distress. We should not be judged, labelled and diagnosed by people who think they know the workings of our mind better than we do. Helping people in distress should be done compassionately and force should never be used, in any setting and for any reason. 

Quickly...

I have to start cooking the dinner soon. The evening meal in our house used to be at five pm; we kept nursery hours for many years. This was because we had four young children and also because I am and have always been a hungry sort of person, and used to be disciplined enough not to snack between meals, which meant that I was ravenous by mealtimes. 

The discipline has gone AWOL. I snack a lot and so I don't get ravenous any more. Also, the children have grown. Two are now adults, away at University for a large part of the year, and the other two are teenagers. Huge, hulking boys, in fact. If they ate dinner at five o'clock, they'd need another meal at eight. 

So we eat at seven. The boys still have a snack after school (for snack, read chicken sandwich or similar) and they come down to snack later. The change of mealtimes...where was I going with this? Oh yes, quick blog, about to cook.

I can't now remember what I was about to write. Oh yes... I have been working today, after my fashion. I wrote around a thousand words of a novel, a respectable amount, in between walking the dogs and letting the dogs in and out of the back garden about a million times. And going to visit my elderly client, and having a PCR test and sorting out the washing and so on. 

I used to think it wasn't a sacrifice, looking after the family, that I couldn't be doing anything more useful or enjoyable and I wouldn't have had much of a career anyway. Recently, I have started to see things differently. I wonder whether if, for the last 22 years, Paul had spent his time nurturing the family and doing all the washing, cooking and cleaning, I might have achieved something. If I'd had a back-up person so that I could focus on my career as he has done...

But it wouldn't have been possible. I needed those children as much as they needed me, perhaps more. I couldn't have delegated their care. I can only begin to let go now because it is screamingly obvious that they don't need me like they used to. I am more reluctant to let go, even now, than they are. 

And, of course, I am only able to think in terms of what I can achieve in my career because I have them in my life, because I have 'achieved' parenthood (or did I have it thrust upon me? Or both?)

And of course, I am not free yet, just more free than I was. I do have all day to get on with my writing (after the house stuff and dog stuff and care work stuff is done) but I still has to cook the dinner. 

(Deliberate error, I find it amusing.)

And bye for now. I'll write another blog post tomorrow. I'm trying to get back into practice. Hopefully tomorrow I'll think of something interesting to write about (smiley face emoji). 

Back in the Game - soon to be out of it?

Well, I have been sitting at my desk writing. It's progress. I have also been tweeting, but that's all part of the fun of being a writer. Smiley face emoji. 

I went to work this morning for the first time in a while, because my elderly client has had Covid. I think I wrote here about that yesterday. Anyway, he said he was sure he was over it and I needed to start earning again (self-employed; don't work, don't get paid). The first thing I did when I arrived was to carry out a lateral flow test (poor old thing, who wants to be woken up to that). Horror, it was positive. Additional horror, he coughed directly in my face as the swab tickled his tonsils. 

I was wearing my mask, but even if I wasn't a hypochondriac I would be sure that I have contracted the virus. So now I can't visit my other elderly client (I only see her once a week for an hour, but I'll miss her) because I might be incubating Covid. She's not willing to risk it and I am glad because I wouldn't want to put her in danger. 

When I finished work I had to do M's shopping, so I dropped that off (I shopped carefully, masked etc) and bought a few things for our household too, in case I am about to be housebound. 

I'll do a lateral flow test daily, I'll soon find out.

I wish I'd waited a few days before going back. M did need some food shopping and he was desperate for a shower (I don't assist, but am on hand in case he falls, he hasn't got the confidence to do it alone). But I wish I'd thought harder, because if I have the virus it'll mean I'll have to take another ten days off work, during which time he'll have to manage without me. Plus, my family might catch it, spread it, have to isolate etc. 

Ah well. The thing is, government guidance is that carers can work, as long as they have been double vaccinated (which I have). This puts pressure on us to help our clients, because we know how they rely on us and we don't want to let them down. M kept telling me that the girl on the phone, when he called in with the lateral flow result (the first one, a week ago) said that I could work, and he found it hard to accept that actually I couldn't, due to members of my family visiting because another family member is very unwell... I held out for as long as I could, and I wish I'd waited until I was sure the virus was out of his system. 

And this is how bugs spread, despite our best efforts.

Maybe I'll have extra time now, to write those words. 

Almost a year later...

Sometimes I can't believe how long it has been since I last wrote a blog post, and today is one of those times. I mean, almost a year? And what have I actually achieved in that time?

I'm still working for the old chap who prompted that last, angst-ridden post. We still get on fine, no issues. Well, the only issue is that he currently has Covid; he came back from a mini-cruise with his son and daughter-in-law last week, and they all have it. There are personal reasons why I haven't been able to visit. I am doubled vaccinated, but I can't risk passing it to certain members of my family... I'll skip over the details, but I have had some time off, and another carer has taken over. I'm back to work tomorrow, although looking after M still doesn't really feel like work. I look after another old person too now, just for an hour a week, and I've had a couple of other care jobs over the last year, which have fizzled out now.

Because what I have discovered is that although I am very caring, in some ways I am too caring. I get too emotionally involved, the work of caring takes its toll on my physical health. I am approaching my mid-fifties, I really need a sedentary job. (I had a full-time job for a couple of months on Census 2021 this year, as well as caring for M. I was 'in the field' knocking on doors, asking why people hadn't returned their census forms. I thought the work would make me fit, I now realise I have gone past that stage. It half-killed me.)

Back to the point of this post. The other week, a carpenter came to the house to do some work. He'd been before to do another job. He had worked incredibly hard the first time, and he charged £200 for the day which I felt was fair enough, although steep. I have only ever earned anything near that amount once in my life, and it was for three days only. Tradesmen of any kind are expensive though, I know that, and as I said, fair play to them.

But the next time, he worked for only two and a half hours, then said he was going to call it half a day, announced that his day rate was £220 and that half a day would be £120. I nearly fell over. I did speak up, telling him that he'd arrived at nine and it was now only half past eleven, and that wasn't actually half a day. I mean, he hadn't even finished the job; he'd said he wanted to get home as his cousin was staying. 

So anyway, the carpenter said he didn't want to upset me, and so he'd call it £100, which I stumped up, somewhat resentfully. But he's a good chap, I mean I don't think he intended to rip me off, so I had him back once more for what I hope is the final time. I checked the daily rate before he came, it was back to £200. I specified that I wanted him to finish the job he'd left half done the last time, as well as the main job. And he did what he said he would, and that is the end of that. At least for now; because in fact I might need his help again, but it won't be for at least six months because I have run out of funds.

The point of this long-winded story is the thing that occurred to me while I was mulling it all over, as I have done a few times since. Because the carpenter did tell me the charge for his work in all innocence, I am sure of that. If he wants to call two and a half hours of work half a day and charge accordingly, he believes he is entitled to do so. He knows the value of his labour.

At no point does this young man think; I am only young, I can't charge £200 (or £220) for a day's work. Nor at any stage does he say to himself, I can't be a carpenter, I should be a carer or a cleaner. No, he trained to be a carpenter, he has the tools, thus he carpentizes (yes, I know it's ungrammatical, I think it's amusing) and he charges accordingly. And people like me think, fair play to him, I am fair game, this is what it costs me to get this work done.

And I drew a parallel. Why, I asked myself, do I never think like that about my trade? Why when people ask what I do, do I say I am a carer, or a home-maker? Why, when I do admit to being a writer, am I then too embarrassed to say I write about mental health, why do I tell people that my novel isn't very good, then let them know that I don't actually do much writing, because I procrastinate a lot of the time? Come to that, why do I procrastinate? Why don't I finish my projects? 

I need to change. I quite often say that in this blog. I say, I am going to write more, or I am going to campaign about mental health more, or do a MA in mental health law, or an MA in novel writing (I actually did do that one). I am prone to calling myself to arms. And then a year later, I find my last blog post, in which I resolved to do whatever, and I realise that I haven't done it, or not really, or not properly. 

What annoys me is that this inability to follow things through is supposed to be a trait of 'schizophrenia'. I mean, as if half the population haven't started novels then not finished them, or gone in one direction and then tried another... I mean, it's human behaviour. But because I read that it's supposed to be a 'schizophrenic' trait, I will conquer it in the end, because I don't want to prove 'them' right. 

I mean, I have followed a lot of stuff through. I have raised a family of four children, I have been Kennel Club registered to breed puppies, I have published a number of books and there is probably more than this to add. I've held various jobs down over the years. I have definitely achieved some stuff. 

But I still thrash and drift, I don't apply myself to the thing I feel I am here for. I don't stand up and say 'I am a writer', and more importantly, I don't write enough words. I am dissatisfied with my output.

I hope that, a year from now, I'll have made some real progress. Because the stupid thing is, I have a sedentary job. I have a trade. In fact, I have a vocation. And now that my other vocation, that great pull on my heart and my time, motherhood, is pretty much over and done, I can concentrate on the other thing that matters. 

Almost a year later, it's time to write some words.  

Murderous nurses and other phenomena

I am upset today. I’ve been a little emotional for the last few days, actually.

I attended an online mental health workshop event on Saturday which unsettled me. Don't get me wrong, the workshop was wonderful. All the best people, in my opinion, are against the traditional mental health outlook and the speakers on Saturday were some of the best of the best. PCCS books, who publishes all the author speakers, deserve a huge shout out for all the great work they do. They look at the issues in terms of emotional distress, not mental health, which is the only humane vantage point.

We heard from Rachel Freeth, who trained as a psychiatrist and now works as a counsellor, and  has written a book 'Psychiatry and Mental Health, a guide for Counsellors and Psychotherapists' and from Helen Kewell, who was speaking about her book, 'Living Well and Dying Well, Tales of Counselling Older People'. 

Another speaker was Joanna Moncrieff, who has written 'The Straight-Talking Introduction to Psychiatric Drugs - the truth about how they work and how to come off them.' And finally, Mary Boyle and Lucy Johnstone told us about their book, 'The Power Threat Meaning Framework - an Alternative to Psychiatric Diagnosis'. 

All of these authors have really valuable insight into the failings of our current mental health system and brilliant ideas about how it can be improved. 

So why did I feel unsettled? Because I realised during the course of the day that I haven't got over my diagnosis of schizophrenia, and I know I need to. Or maybe I don't - perhaps the sense of injustice I feel about it will prove useful, if it helps prevent others from being diagnosed in the future. In the meantime though, I am still distressed about it, even though I know it is meaningless in my life. I'd like to be calmer and more philosophical about the issue and sometimes I think I am - and then something happens to make me realise how much it still affects me.

The diagnosis undermines people in so many ways. It undermines a person's credibility...are you to be believed? Are you to be taken at face value? Or are you a schizophrenic? It goes to the essence of self - if you are to believe this assessment of yourself, you are no longer a human, you are a 'schizophrenic'. 

All diagnoses, in my opinion, are erroneous. It's so much better to look at things in a different way, to ask 'What happened to you?' instead of asking 'What's wrong with you?' and then deciding, 'It's this!' 

There are no objective tests, after all, and how can the existence of one type of illness as opposed to another be decided on the basis of observation of behaviour? I remember years ago, when I was not much more than a child, nineteen years old, in hospital, ranting about 'sisters under the skin'. 'That's very profound,' commented a nurse. 

'Someone else said that,' I told her. This probably went in my medical record as evidence that I was hearing voices - but I was merely quoting the lyrics of a song and didn't want to take the credit for them! (I'm not saying I wasn't very ill indeed - I really was - I did and said all sorts of ridiculous things, some of which I may have forgotten, which would probably be a mercy).  

The 'Power Threat Meaning Framework' book sets out an alternative to diagnosis. In the meantime, as Lucy Johnstone said in her talk, those of us who have been struggling with them just have to think how silly they are, but perhaps play along if we need benefits or other help that is dependent on a particular label.

Personally, it's the sense of injustice that bothers me most. The idea that someone has labelled me unfairly and yet won't retract that label despite all the evidence against it... The idea that young lives are still being ruined by this issue, despite all the evidence...

Anyway, you may say, that's all old hat. We've heard it before. You said at the start of this blog post that you were upset today - well, why? What's all this about murderous nurses?

Well, in the news today is the case of a nurse who has been arrested for the third time for murdering babies - and this time she has been charged in court. Presumably there is sufficient evidence to convict her now - although of course we must remember that anybody who has not been proven guilty must in the meantime be assumed to be innocent.

But the case is shocking. The girl looks so sweet, so innocent - the epitome of a caring nurse. How can she have committed such heinous crimes. How could anybody?

 

I recently started a very part-time job, looking after an elderly chap. I’m devoted to him already – he’s so kind, so grateful, so clever and interesting. In fact, going to visit him doesn't really feel like going to work. I'm basically just going to visit a friend, making him breakfast and having a chat and then getting paid for it. Let's call my new friend M.

I didn't tell M about my diagnosis when I met him and accepted his job offer, because for one thing I wanted the work and for another, I didn't want to scare the poor man to death. However it was on my mind, as it usually is. I know I'm as safe as anybody else, safer perhaps. I have the correct insurance for the work, and I have an enhanced DBS form. But I'm aware M is vulnerable because he's elderly and needs personal care, and I'm glad his son and daughter live locally and can safeguard him. (I asked him for their phone numbers and called them both to introduce myself before I started work, because I don't want anyone to think I'm potentially taking advantage of anyone's kindness, never mind them thinking that I could be potentially dangerous... I always remember the father of one of my daughter's friends, whose wife is wheelchair bound, saying nobody would choose to be a carer if they weren't hoping to be left some money on their death. I think this is an appalling viewpoint - but I won't go into that here because I don't want to digress further).

Anyway, my employer's previous carer left due to mental health problems. When he told me about this he was not at all judgmental about her, and after he'd spoken about it on several occasions I felt that really I should tell him I’ve been there too (it took me a few weeks to tell him and I still didn’t divulge the whole story or the diagnosis, just said I'd been in hospital a long time ago due to a nervous breakdown).

 

We often discuss the news, and this morning he brought up the subject of the nurse who has allegedly killed eight babies and attempted to kill another ten. It started me off – he said she must have something wrong in her head, I said that of course she must, anybody must, if they are capable of harming another human being. But then, I said (I’d already been thinking about this because I read the article in The Times online this morning before work) I bet they’ll diagnose her with something. (My best guess is schizophrenia. And then all the other people with 'schizophrenia' (including, apparently, me) will feel even worse than usual… are we unstable too? Are we capable of murdering babies? Etc. And if we don't think it of ourselves, there are other people who will think it of us.)

 

I've said it before - it shouldn't need saying - being mentally ill does not mean you have a criminal propensity. It's a bit like drunks perhaps - some of them get violent under the influence, some get soppy, some of them just get extremely inebriated and wet the bed or whatever. Lose control of their bodily functions, I should say. But of course crimes committed under the influence of alcohol - and there are a lot of them - can be attributed to an external cause, whereas 'mental illness' is seen as inherent to the person.... Although it's my opinion that people who abuse alcohol are often self-medicating their emotional distress...

 

Anyway, I went on a bit and then M (my employer) said, ‘Do you think someone can do something without realising what they're doing?’ (because this is what the article in his paper had said happened in this case).

 

‘No’ I replied, 'Although the mental health people would probably say yes.' But then later (going around Aldi doing the shopping, somewhat distracted) I thought maybe you can do things without realising, if you’re very ill. I mean, as I have said, I did and thought some ridiculous things when I was mad (and I really was mad). Some of them might have been erased from my memory, as I have said. Others have certainly not been. But – and it’s a big but – I know I never would have hurt anyone. And anyone who does hurt anyone should not be treated differently on the grounds that they are 'mentally ill'.

 

I think there were turning points in my own illness and my treatment and diagnosis. I remember at the start of my first period of hospitalisation, when I was in an isolated room and visited at intervals by teams of nurses, mostly men, who would pin me down on the bed and inject me with drugs because I wouldn’t take them orally (this is really the most brutal of violence and I am sure if anybody had said ‘Take these tablets or you’ll get forcibly injected again’ I’d have done it, but the choice was never presented in that way) – I remember one day I threw a bowl of water at a nurse. Not the bowl, just the water, and it was only luke-warm (I checked first). I remember my thinking very clearly – this was all so bizarre, it must be a dream, I could check by throwing the water at the nurse, see if it was really wet, but of course I should check first in case it was real and the water was hot and might hurt the nurse… 

 

That was the only ‘violent’ thing I ever did – but perhaps it was enough to earn me the diagnosis. And of course, there was the 'sisters under the skin' thing and probably other similar misinterpretations of my behaviour and/or speech. And then much later, after my second breakdown, when I in my mid-twenties, attending a day hospital, I was stupid enough to provoke a psychiatrist who was speaking to a colleague as I stood nearby. He was using medical language and I said something to the effect that he wasn't as clever as he thought, anybody could understand what he was saying... I could see the anger in his eyes and was quite pleased with myself for touching a nerve. Stupid of me, and a little unkind too.

 

The thing is, as I have already said the diagnosis discredits a person. There could be anything in my medical notes - it could say 'Louise did X, Y, Z and she has forgotten'. I would never even know what had been said about me (I did once ask to see my medical records and eventually got them, but some of the notes had been left out because of 'third party interests' or some such thing). 

The mental health team recently refused to even meet me and talk about the diagnosis when the GP referred me at my request, earlier this year. I appealed to my MP, who promised to refer the matter to Matt Hancock - but then Covid-19 happened and for some reason the global pandemic appears to have taken precedence...

 

It’s not all about me. It really isn’t. You could say that things worked out for me – I have the life that suits me now. I have my four lovely children, my wonderful husband, our happy home. I’m still anxious at times, I might never have thrived in an office or another work environment. 

 

But it all still matters, terribly. It’s about the young people who are still being labelled in this way – about their parents who are being led to believe that there is something seriously wrong with their kids, and that they should take anti-psychotic drugs for the rest of their lives (and let’s not forget these drugs have many severe side-effects and shorten lives by an average of twenty years). Under another, more equitable system, these people might recover and go on to flourish. 

 

‘It’s not fair’ I said to M this morning, and then I shrugged and added, 'But life isn’t fair.' And things could always be worse. I can't bear to imagine how I would feel if it was one of my babies who died in intensive care... my eldest was premature and was in special care for a month after her birth. If anyone had harmed her while she was there, I don't think I could have coped. I think I'd have gone mad and I don't think I could ever have recovered my sanity, or gone on to have more children. I literally cannot conceive the degree of distress that parents must feel at the loss of their baby and my heart goes out to all the parents involved in this case.

 

And yet. I feel I need to keep on with my 'mission', if I can call it that. There's so much that needs fixing around the question of mental health diagnosis. As Lucy Johnstone said in her talk on Saturday, it's all about power. And she's right. It's about abuse of power and injustice and it needs to stop. 

The problem, as I see it, is the way the criminal justice system has become enmeshed with the mental health system. The two things need to be separated once and for all. I've written about this before here... I won't go into it at length now. But I think it's crucial to the issue of injustice in the system and I think that a proper analysis and reform would go a long way to solving the various problems.

I'm not going to give up. I am ideally placed to do something about all this. I have nothing to lose. I am no longer young, I've long since given up any idea of a prestigious career…my husband and my kids love me, understand what I’ve been through and know the truth of who I am. The children are all old enough to appreciate the importance of the issues involved. 

 

The only issue is that I still get upset about it all on occasion. As I said at the start of this blog post, I find it difficult sometimes to be calm and dispassionate on the subject of  mental health/emotional distress. I can even be a little paranoid – I worry that people might think I am mad, or even worse, believe that I capable of evil, even though there is no reason why they should (apart from the silly diagnosis). 

Well, so what if they do? Why should I care what people think? 

I have a job to do. I need to shed light on an important subject, and I'm just going to get on with that, and do it to the best of my ability.  

 

Twitter/Resilence/Responsibilty for self

 I've just dipped my toes into the Twitter water. I like Twitter, always have - at it's best, it means that you can have an intelligent conversation with people you've never met and are never likely to. 

At its worst though, Twitter means that you get vilified and shouted down for expressing the 'wrong' thoughts, as happened to JKRowling recently. I thought that was so unfair. That author is a great force for good in our world, she does a lot for charity...she should be allowed to say what she thinks, as we all should be, without having to justify and explain herself later. As a society, we should encourage civilised debate.

Anyway, I only had a quick look at Twitter just now, and said hi to a couple of people. I was trying to cook dinner for the family at the same time (it turned out surprisingly well considering how social media sucks you in). I typed 'mental health' into the search engine to see what it threw up, find out what was on people's minds...

And, from what I saw there, I got to thinking... It's great that so many people are more open about their mental health nowadays. I mean everybody suffers to some extent, at some time in their life, from some degree of emotional and/or physical malfunction. The two are usually intertwined. Those facts are immutable and it's astonishing that they have taken this long to be expressed and acknowledged.

But at what point should we be just getting on with life, even when it's difficult? Hang on, let's go back to the first thing I read on Twitter or this blog post won't make sense. The Twitter post said (I paraphrase) that if you wake up with a low mood you are just as entitled to a day off work as if you have a physical illness. 

Is this right? I mean, should you be off work with a headache? A cold? (Pre-Covid you'd almost certainly have gone to work with a cold, post-Covid definitely not). Sometimes I wake up with a headache (or in a low mood) and after an hour or so I feel better. Surely we should just try to shrug things off, some of the time at least? I mean, people with severe disabilities go to work, and are rightly admired for doing so. So should people with, say, anxiety, get a free pass?

I am perhaps not the best person to speak about this, because I used to shrug everything off, crippling anxiety included, and I ended up having several serious breakdowns. Also, I don't have a 'proper' job myself - I work very part-time out of the house (for just one hour each day) and then I write from home. There are probably days when I'd feel I couldn't cope if I had to head out to an office.

But nowadays I do like to think I'm more resilient - and I don't think I'd have developed that resilience if I hadn't pushed through some difficult life experiences. I'd like a day job, sometimes, just to prove that I am capable (although I know I shouldn't keep trying to prove that...to some invisible monitor who is actually just the inner me). 

Moving on. Another Twitter post was about obesity and the government stance on 'fat' people. The poster said (and again I paraphrase) that this was an example of fat shaming and would negatively affect people's body image. Is this true? Or do people need reminding sometimes that they should look after themselves better, guard their health, for their own wellbeing? The Prime Minister certainly had a wake-up call when he contracted the Covid-19 virus and I think he now genuinely wants to send this message. More controversially, perhaps, we as a nation need to safeguard the NHS - and obesity with its related diseases look as though it might become the single issue that sends the NHS finally crashing to the ground. If each of us takes personal responsibility for our weight (and other aspects of our health that are within our control) collectively we'll prove to be far less of a burden on the organisation that we all love and appreciate.

I know weight is difficult to control. I think a lot of the problem, for women in particular perhaps, is emotional eating - we use food to comfort ourselves. But we can lose weight if we try hard enough, and if we get the right advice and support it's possible to make huge changes very quickly. Personally, I favour the Blood Sugar Diet advocated by Professor Roy Taylor, and modified by Doctor Michael Mosley. 

I didn't reply to either of these posts on Twitter, because I didn't want to offend anyone. Things get pretty political on Twitter and often it's impossible to reconcile polarised views. But they did make me think - and wonder what other people's attitudes to this might be. Comments welcome as usual. Or maybe I should just head back to Twitter and have the courage to plough into the debate...

Advertising

Hi, all. Just wanted to write a quick post about advertising, since that's what I've been doing recently. I'm using Amazon Ads to publicise 'Surviving Schizophrenia' and it's been quite a learning curve. I'm enjoying the process though; I'm finding it immersive. It's good to have a project.

Shouting out about my work makes me feel a bit odd in some ways - but I have felt for a long time that my memoir could be more widely read and that if it was, it would help more people. I'm not just being vain - there are now more than 150 reviews of my book on Amazon, almost all of them five stars, and a lot of them saying how helpful it has been to them.

I think I'm right to be proud of what I've achieved. My second memoir, Surfacing, is not as well-written as the first and I've been thinking of revising it for some time - it's more of a self-help manual than a memoir in some ways. As time has passed I've thought a lot about what has helped, and what hasn't, in my journey to recovery and so I have some useful material to add to that book. I've been talking about doing this for a while though and still haven't got around to it!

When I look back over the the ten years since I published Surviving, what seems to be lacking is continuity. I have done various things - some work for mental health charities, some writing for a local magazine...I've written a novel and some children's books. Also various other short books. Oh, and I studied for a Masters degree in creative writing. I think there are probably some other things I have forgotten...

So, I do seem to flit around. I can't help wondering whether, if I'd devoted all my attention to writing about mental health over the past ten years, I would have been further forward in my career. 

But then, my career wasn't the thing I was striving towards. What I've wanted more than anything was to be a good parent, the best I could be, to raise a happy family, and that is where the bulk of my efforts have been directed. I've also spent quite a lot of time caring for my mother... 

So caring for others is the unifying thread, the continuity in my life - except that now I am not needed at all by my mother and not constantly by my children. So where do I go from here...? Whatever I choose to do I want to get it right, if at all possible. I haven't got time to keep meandering down different paths.

It has to be writing, that's for sure. I love caring - it's why I've made a reasonable parent, and I love my new part-time job looking after an elderly gentleman. He's so kind to me, so sweet...so grateful for everything that I do. It makes me feel that my efforts matter, that I'm making a difference to his quality of life, which is so rewarding.

But I need to write...it's what I'm here for, I'm convinced of it. Write what, though? I got enthused about writing children's books recently, but that seems to have worn off quite quickly. I tried writing thrillers - I self-published my novel Into Thin Air, written under my married name of Louise van Wingerden, but it met with more of a whimper than a bang (although this was before I began to learn about Amazon Ads, I also think it has the wrong cover for its genre...it's not a badly written book, I'm sure of that). I'm not sure that thrillers are my genre though. Maybe romance...although I am reading a romance novel at the moment and have become rather bored, which is not a good sign! Or maybe I should come back full circle and continue to write about mental health?

All comments gratefully received, although of course I might disregard them and carry on my merry way of trying this and that until I discover what is the best writing route for me. Seriously though, all comments really would be gratefully received.

Just Quickly...

 I'm waiting for dinner (cooked by my son with the help of his friend who's staying with us for the week). I've managed to keep the household rota going, despite the boys returning to school and the girls both going off to Uni. I still do the food shopping, cleaning and washing, or the majority of it, but we take turns tidying the kitchen, doing the dishwasher and cooking the evening meals.

This, and the fact that I have a new job caring for an elderly gentleman one hour a morning, has enabled me to get into a proper writing routine at home. For the last four weeks - this is the start of week five - I have written every day, Monday to Friday, and occasionally at the weekends too. The caring job helps because it provides me with a small income and also makes sure I get up early every morning, including the weekends. I find myself with more time suddenly - not loads of time, but enough to devote a portion of the day to writing. 

I've recently published a children's book, the third in a series. The series is called The Diary of Ellie Topp by Jenny Bell - you can google it if you're interested. I wrote the new book because I have some fans in India! Amazon is quite big over there now and when I found all the reviews and ratings on Amazon and Goodreads from my young readers, some of them asking for the next book in the series, I couldn't resist. I'm currently writing the fourth and last book in that series and planning a new series of children's books too! I think I have finally found my genre - I'm really enjoying writing for children.

I have some very sad news to share - my mother passed away on Easter Sunday. It's been a really difficult time and I couldn't have shared the news until now. She died of natural causes, it was peaceful...there's not much more to say except that I loved her so much and always will. She knew that, of course, which helps. 

So, love to all, and keep safe. (Personally I'm trying not to think about Covid - whilst taking all the necessary precautions. We all need to get through these days as best as we can - we will come out the other side and one day all this will seem like a distant memory.) 

Covid19: Mixed messages and why we shouldn't judge or blame others

So, I just wanted to pontificate a bit...I don't know if my thoughts are useful but I do hope they might be to someone, somewhere...

I read a post on Facebook yesterday which chimed with me (this doesn't happen often; I try to keep away from the site partly for this reason and partly because whether or not there's much of note or use on there, it still sucks up my attention and wastes my time).

Anyway, a friend - someone I met on a writing course more than twenty years ago and have only seen  on a few occasions since - was writing about supermarkets. Firstly, about the apocalyptic fear that you currently can't help but sense when in them - the packed trolleys, the empty shelves, the haunted visages - and secondly, regarding the fact that he felt judged when shopping in one recently.

This guy, by the way, is the tallest person I've ever met (so presumably he's legitimately hungrier than most) and he has three strapping teenage sons (teenage boys physically need quite a lot more calories than a grown man). This chap is married but ever since the children were small he has always been the homemaker, while his wife goes out to work. So there he was, feeling the apocalyptic fear in the supermarket and trying to ignore it and get on with his shopping. He said he always buys enough for a few days and I'm guessing this is equivalent to a week's shopping for most people/families. And he felt embarrassed in case people thought he was hoarding. Which they probably did. And they were probably judging him for it without having any idea of the true facts. I've formed this opinion from a lot of comments I've read online - Facebook, Twitter and an app called NextDoor which is supposed to provide links for people who live in the same neighbourhoods. People have become very judgemental of 'selfish hoarders'.

I can completely relate to my friend's concerns. I go shopping every couple of days for our family of six to avoid being judged for buying too much at one time, and I am still judged. I'm not imagining this. I've had shop workers talk to me with disdain, for example, when I've asked when eggs and porridge were going to be re-stocked. I wasn't aware there was a national shortage when I asked about either item. Things have moved so fast in the last week or so; I wouldn't even ask if I couldn't find something on the shelves nowadays. When I asked about the porridge the supermarket worker told me (a bit rudely) that she had no idea when there would be more. I ignored the rudeness, put it down to bad manners without thinking any further, then took two packs of the more expensive organic porridge instead. An elderly couple then came along and took one pack and the woman made a point of saying to them, 'Oh, do you want some porridge?' while shooting me daggers. Then I understood - she was making a point about my 'greed'. (The old people didn't understand at all - they looked at her as if she was mad, which made me smile to myself).

She didn't know how much porridge the elderly couple might have had at home. She didn't know that my family of six eat porridge for breakfast every day (about half a kg each day, believe it or not). She didn't know that I didn't know that porridge was in short supply. She also didn't know that I'd be quite happy never to eat porridge again or feed it to my family, if it means being judged negatively. I find people's disapproval, real or imagined, hard to take. (This is one of my many character flaws and also one of the reasons why I've suffered three serious nervous breakdowns in the past - I'm a people pleaser. It took me a while to work this out.)

Yet, without knowing any of these facts, this woman felt able to judge me and treat me rudely - and possibly added me to the tally of 'greedy' people she'd been judging all day. I don't think she was right and I don't think any of us would be right to judge others, however shabbily they might behave (or appear to behave) in these unprecedented times.

(I'm sick of the word unprecedented by the way. I used it ironically there. I won't be using it again. I have spent some time thinking up alternative words over the last few days and have several up my sleeve - strange, weird, unparalleled, and so on and so forth. I probably won't be using them either. We all know this situation is surreal).

More of my personal picture now. My family are self-isolating. We started on Wednesday last week - my husband has asthma so is working from home, one daughter was already home from Uni and the other's school closed early (she is at private school, she got a full academic scholarship) and to me it only made sense to get the boys out of school too. My mum is 84, housebound with COPD - I was already caring for her and I'm not about to stop now, so I still visit her daily (while taking care to sit at a distance and keep everything as clean as possible in her house).

Really, I shouldn't be going to see her at all and nor should my sisters - but when I suggested that they stop going (I've been her carer for a while because my sisters work) I was told that this might just be spoiling her last days. Which is a fair point - we don't know how much time she's got left. She's very frail indeed. I can't insist that I should be the only one to visit her - that wouldn't be fair. And I don't want to leave her completely alone - none of them can visit every day.

Also, we haven't got any specific guidance to go by, in this sort of a situation. We all have to use our own judgement as to how far to go in isolating ourselves. We're only supposed to go to the shops when we really have to but we're also not supposed to buy more than we need? More than we need for how long? Confusion. Mixed messages.

Apparently Boris Johnson said, in answer to a journalist's question, that he was going to see his mother today (it's Mother's Day in the UK) but then Downing Street issued a 'clarification' saying that what he meant was that he was going to speak to her on Skype. Boris, of course, is not allowed to trust his own judgement, because he is the man that the masses are going to follow. So whether he was actually intending to visit his mother or not, he's not going to now!

I did visit my mother, because she wanted some long life milk - 'as much as you can get' - even though she never uses milk. I got her four cartons, the most I was allowed to buy in Aldi, even though I was frightened I might get judged by other shoppers. I bought her some flowers while I was there (I'd already written a card, which I was intending to put through her door, because I don't visit on the days when my sisters do, to minimise any risk to her health. Sunday is the day that one of them usually visits. They're all going more often than usual now, which I really appreciate and I know my mother does too).

We might all have that element of choice over our actions removed soon, if we follow the example of other countries and go into complete lockdown. In Italy, public parks and other public spaces have been closed. Our family - Paul and I and the children - have spent an hour or two each afternoon at our beach hut the last few days, which has been bliss - it's not cold in the sunshine. But when we walk along the beach, we see that the promenades are packed and people are queuing for takeaway drinks and foods from the restaurants which have been told to close. And the toilets are all still open...I suspect that the virus might be spreading in these places. We've been told to take exercise, so I'm hoping that we can still go to our beach hut but that the cafes and toilets will be completely closed - that should limit each visit to a couple of hours and mean that everyone isn't too close together. We'll have to wait and see.

Back to the judging and blaming and why we shouldn't.

If I was the gambling sort, I would stake a bet that most people in this country currently have more food at home than they usually do. It's human nature - like squirrels, we're packing away extra nuts just in case. I spoke to a lady in the supermarket this morning who said it was just the same in Spain a few weeks ago, but the shortages only lasted about a week and now everything is back to normal. And things were normal in the supermarket this morning - no gaps on the shelves whatsoever. And I didn't go until eleven thirty. Hopefully we can now start to put all this behind us. The sooner, the better.

So why should we not judge? We don't know the circumstances of these shoppers. Are they self-isolating? About to self-isolate because they feel unwell and they live alone? Who else are they shopping for, apart from themselves?  And we don't know who feels the most fear, or why. Maybe some of the 'selfish hoarders' are just more scared than the average person for some reason - they deserve our sympathy, not our blame, for this. There's no point inflicting guilt upon these people, whoever they are, who have bought up all the toilet rolls. They are only human. Even the 'profiteers' deserve our sympathy. We don't have to buy from them. (I haven't got any hand sanitiser in the house and I don't want any. I never bought any in the past, why would I now? I do wash my hands...) Something must have made these so-called profiteers feel so deprived that they have put aside their morals and scruples and behaved badly, risking the disapproval of others.

Those of us who are not excessively fearful of the virus are fortunate. I have always suffered from anxiety, but my sort is over nothing - or nothing real. I am more frightened of being judged negatively by the supermarket workers than I am about the very much more real risk of catching the virus on one of my overly frequent visits there. Crazy but true. And I realise I need to work on not caring about what people think of me - I fear it will be the work of a lifetime.

I heard from one of my daughters this morning that one of her wealthy schoolfriend's fathers has bought a ventilator on the black market for ten thousand pounds. My immediate response was that he was clearly morally wrong in this action. Then I thought again.

What I thought was: If I had six months left to live (just suppose) I wouldn't want to spend any of them learning to use a ventilator. I wouldn't want to try to recruit a nurse who knew how to use it either. I would be too ashamed of myself to do that. Plus, it might be a criminal offence to buy one for private use, for all I know. If it isn't, it should be.

Or should it? I mean, if the guy has worked hard all his life to accumulate money (possibly because of a gaping void in his heart formed in childhood, and due to the fear that he will never be loved, never deserved to be loved) - shouldn't he be allowed to buy what he wants? Shouldn't everyone? If we believe in capitalism, isn't this just an extension of someone buying a mansion - or a second mansion - while others don't have a home at all, or don't have enough to eat?

Personally, I wouldn't want to be using my ventilator to keep  myself alive, knowing how many other lives it could have saved in the six months before I became unwell. But then, isn't that a matter for this man's conscience? In a liberal society? Life isn't fair, and times like this make it even more obvious than usual - celebrities using private jets to fly to risk-free zones, anybody? - but I still prefer capitalism and personal freedom to the alternative.

I've thought for a while that if you have more to lose, you're not necessarily lucky. I can walk on the beach and admire the huge beachfront houses. but I have the same access to the sea that they do and I enjoy the same views - free. I don't have a massive mortgage, or a business to run with the worries and responsibilities that these things entail.

Not that I wouldn't want the beachfront house if I had the opportunity - but I don't need it to be happy.  And that in itself makes me lucky. (The beach hut makes me lucky too - I've waited a long time to get one! It's not actually mine, in fact, I'm renting it for a year with another family but I feel incredibly fortunate to have the opportunity to do so.)

So I'm not going to judge the guy who bought the ventilator. I wonder how many of the super-rich have done the same and how many of us would do the same if we could. None of us are beyond reproach. I only behave 'selflessly' - to the extent that I do, which isn't to the point of being saintly at all - for personal reasons, which are not always the right reasons.

My family - the six of us - have decided to watch an episode of The Durrells together on TV every evening. It's given us all something to look forward to each day - so I have to go now. I can't wait!

Can Carrots Catch Covid19?

I just re-read the last post I'd written on here just ten days ago - and I find it hard to believe that I didn't even mention Covid19. Things have changed so fast - to the point that this week the new normal is Boris Johnson appearing on our TV screens every day at about five pm, telling us about the latest developments.

Boris is fascinating - I'd often read about how his bumbling persona was just an act to endear him to the people and that in reality he was sharp as a pin - and now here he is live on TV every day, being sharp as a pin. I mean, I already knew it, but sometimes you have to see things to believe them. He answers almost all of the questions the journalists throw at him off the cuff, word perfectly, and without beating around the bush. Amazing - and impressive.

I'm still losing weight - I mean, the world has changed around us and we have to adapt, but that doesn't mean we have to change everything in our own lives. Although once or twice I have thought - does this actually matter? Should I just start buying cakes and crisps again? But the answers are always yes, and no. It's even more important to get into shape in the current circumstances because being the correct weight is part of being fit and healthy and it all benefits the immune system. In fact, other members of the family - I won't name names. Okay, it's just Paul - have joined me on the Blood Sugar Diet. It's the ideal opportunity in many ways. The family were already benefitting from the new way of eating because of my improved understanding of nutrition and cooking - now they can reap all the benefits of feeling healthier, as I am.

Paul has frozen our family gym membership, although I expect the gyms will all be closed soon anyway, if they're not already. He's working from home because he has asthma. I'm still visiting my mum daily because she's really vulnerable and needs regular human contact and other care. She has COPD and is 84 and very frail. We've kept our sons off school since Wednesday morning (the government were only a couple of days behind us, closing the schools from this afternoon, although most of the boys' friends are already staying at home). Our younger daughter goes to a different school and has been having online lessons for the last couple of days - her end of term was scheduled for today anyway. Our elder daughter is at Uni and has already been home for a week or so anyway - her end of term was last Friday.

We've kept up some routine - quite a lot of routine. We're getting up early and having breakfast together (we eat all our meals together in fact). The children are all studying in the mornings and part of the afternoons (they have short breaks and walk the dogs during the morning). We're also all going out in the afternoons together for walks.

Our routine is evolving. Soon all the kids will be on their official Easter breaks, and then maybe I won't be insisting that we all get up at 7am - although I'm going to make sure they don't just dive into the internet and get lost there for several weeks. The girls wouldn't anyway, they're really motivated to study, but the boys might... So they're going to be reading books for a large proportion of the day instead. We're also going to garden together...

I bought some vegetable seeds a few weeks ago, aided by a friend who has been working her allotment for many years and advised me on some foolproof first-time grower purchases, such as courgettes and potatoes. Of course, this was nothing to do with the virus, we weren't even thinking about it back then. And we're not planning to become self-sufficient in case there is a famine or anything - it's pure coincidence. A lucky one though - again, not because of a famine - our supply chains are all still working and I don't think carrots can catch coronavirus - but because gardening will be good for all of us. I planted quite a few bulbs back in the autumn which means we can spend more time admiring the flowers and making the most of our outside space. We can also make the garden look even better by all weeding together and make it more productive with the vegetables. Gardening is very therapeutic and it will be a brilliant learning experience for all of us. It was going to be something for me only - like the new way of eating was originally, but I'm really glad to be able to include the rest of the family. Despite the circumstances which have led to the change of plans...

The weather is improving - we might even get started with the weeding and digging this weekend. Yesterday I bought compost (the shops are surprisingly quiet mid-afternoon and I've been able to buy all the provisions I need, including toilet tissue - the only thing we can't find is eggs, but that was yesterday and they're probably back in the shops today, or will be soon. As I said to the guy on the checkout in Aldi yesterday, it doesn't really matter if we can't get eggs, we'll live. And then I realised what I'd said. But I stand by it - we will live.)

So, I said our routine is evolving, and it will continue to evolve. I'm hoping for lots of reading and lots of exercise for us all. I'm also hoping that Paul can keep working remotely (i.e. that his company won't go bust, as many will). We had a lot of foreign language students booked in for the next few months - I'd decided that this would be my financial contribution to the household and I was intending to stick at it and make it work. We've hosted students in the past and I know it's not always easy having non-family members in the home, especially as in our household it means the boys have to share a room. But anyway, all that has gone out of the window - the student groups had cancelled one by one and the language school gave up the ghost yesterday and closed its doors for the foreseeable future. Just one of the many businesses that have suffered - I do hope they'll all re-emerge before too long, hopefully working from paper-free offices (we're all going to be working online anyway for the next few months - we'll manage without paper, and it's an ideal opportunity to keep that going). As the kids have said, there will be silver linings to various accumulating clouds - the environment will benefit from less air travel, for one.

One big thing has changed in our home and to me it is definitely a silver lining. On our first day at home - Wednesday - I was worn out by lunchtime. I had spent three or four hours preparing and clearing up breakfast and lunch for everyone, cleaning the bathrooms, hoovering, walking the dogs and so on. All the things I do every day, but there is more of it to do when everyone is at home. At one point, Luke (our youngest) came into the bathroom when I was on my hands and knees and said, in genuine surprise, 'Why are you cleaning?'

'This is what I do,' I told him, surprised that he didn't realise. I suppose when they're at school they think I sit around at home and read the newspaper or something. I do that too...

Anyway, on the portentous Wednesday it suddenly occurred to me - I don't need to provide a support system any more. I mean, Paul works. The older girls study very hard and the boys will be studying too. But we all live together in this house and I have things I want to do. I am a writer. I don't earn anything most of the time but this is partly because I so often distract myself with various other things - visiting friends, hosting students, holding writing groups and so on.

Now this is my opportunity to take my own work seriously. I can actually be a writer. Why should that be less important than everyone else's studies and Paul's work? They'll all have leisure time and can use some of it to keep the house running. All my time does not need to be sacrificed to that.

I want equal parity, I told everyone over dinner that evening. And to my surprise, they didn't object. So I drew up a rota - everyone is to take turns preparing each meal. Everyone is to help with cleaning and washing. We'll all garden together (as I already mentioned).

The thing is, it will be beneficial for all of us. The children already have some cooking skills - learned at school and at home, and in Anna's case, at University and on her gap year when she lived away from home. They can all read a recipe book and follow instructions. They are learning self-sufficiency. The youngest is only 12 so I am helping him to learn some of the necessary skills - even the 15 year old didn't have a clue how the washing machine worked - but basically they already know how to do most household tasks, they've just all assumed it was my job because that's what I've been doing for all these years. Practising them, and being praised for doing so, can only be a good thing.

And for me, the new order of things is bliss. I came back from visiting my mother yesterday evening to a meal of lentil fritters and salad, cooked by my eldest daughter. What a treat - better than being out in a restaurant. This morning, Paul cooked porridge for the family. At lunchtime, Luke made a salad... Each household chore is not onerous in itself, it is only when the entire burden falls on one person that the weight becomes too heavy. A lot of my time has been freed, just like that.

I just need to justify this by taking my work seriously. By actually writing. So, I was reading the newspaper this morning in the living room, when Anna came in and reminded me that I should be writing. 'A writer has to read' I announced, before reluctantly taking her point and getting out my laptop. Two and a half hours later, I had got properly stuck in to my work and was really pleased with myself. (I'm editing my thriller, Into Thin Air, it's going to be so different and so much better than before. I'd already written half of the next book in the series, but stopped when I started my healthy eating thing a couple of months ago - it's still there, waiting for me to pick it up... I am going to write the three book series I said I would. After that, who knows?)

This time, I'm really going to get it done (just like Boris and Brexit and now Boris and Covid19 - he did actually say on his broadcast yesterday that he was going to 'get this done'. I was watching Gogglebox the other day when one of the viewers said that they wouldn't take Boris seriously until he said exactly that in relation to the virus...it made me laugh at the time and when he said it yesterday I couldn't help wondering if he had been watching that episode too).

I haven't changed my politics by the way. But Boris seems to be an example of someone coming out of this in a good light - it turns out that he is a good leader after all, or hopefully so. It'll be interesting to see who does and who doesn't. Acting selflessly is easier when we don't feel that we're in personal danger. I hope I'm one of the people who acquits myself well and with dignity, if push comes to shove...

Enough for now. Love to all.

An Update

Just read my last blog post and thought an update might be useful. As far as the blood sugar diet goes, I'm now in my eighth week and have lost around eighteen pounds, bringing my weight down to just over ten stone. I feel so much better and move so much more easily - I particularly notice this when I walk the dogs. All the weight around my hips and middle must have impeded me, although I didn't realise it. I mean, I never felt that walking was a strain, but walking now is such a pleasure, a totally different experience.

I have fallen off the blood sugar wagon a bit in recent weeks. I upped my calorie intake to 1200 a day after I'd lost a stone, about four weeks in, because I started to feel that 800 cals wasn't enough A week or two later I started to creep over the 1200, and now I reach around 1500 most days. But I'm still slowly losing, getting fairly close to my target weight, and I've decided to go back on the strict 800 cals a day version from the end of this week. Hopefully it will then only take a few weeks to get to my goal, if I stick to my guns.

I've been to various exercise classes at the gym. Paul has been much better than the rest of us at making use of the family membership - he has gone literally every other day without fail. I haven't been nearly as good. I started swimming lengths at first but for some reason that has tailed off.

I've tried aquarobics a few times (I must be middle-aged because I literally love this exercise. I used to look at all the middle-aged women doing it in the shallow end of the pool when I was young, ploughing up and down doing my solitary lengths and just think 'why?'. But now I get into the pool with my contemporaries, the music blares out, the instructor begins to yell at us all and I and just start grinning like a maniac. Weird.)

I've also been to a high intensity strength conditioning class with a friend. I did my best at this but it was nowhere near good enough; at one point when everyone else was doing push ups and planks I just coiled up into the foetal position on my mat and hoped the instructor wouldn't notice or comment. I don't really want to try it again but have resolved to do so one day, when I am much further forward on my fitness journey, in the hope that I will have improved.

I've been to the gym a few times, to the family exercise sessions (Paul comes along too, and these are the only times the boys make use of their memberships. It's nice to do something together as a family, although to be honest I have to say it hasn't happened for quite a few weeks.)

Oh yes, I tried spinning the other day. I went with a different friend and I was absolutely rubbish at it. My friend said I would soon get better, but I don't think I will ever find out whether that is true. I'd rather go for a real cycle ride, in the fresh air, and without half-killing myself in the process. Also, I felt sorry for the instructor, who was clearly concerned for me. I left the class early so she could stop worrying (that was the excuse I gave myself, anyhow).

You will be pleased to hear though, that I have now, finally, found the exercise for me! It's called yoga. It involves a lot of lying supine on a mat thinking nice thoughts, and plenty of gentle stretching. There was also a little planking and leg lifting but I didn't do most of that and nobody told me off. Downward dog, likewise. I intend to build up to it, and I feel that such a thing is actually possible. (This is hatha yoga by the way, which I think must be the gentle sort. I might challenge myself with a more advanced type one day, but I'm not in a hurry).

I feel like Eeyore must have done when he finally found the thing he liked to eat (thistles, for those of you not familiar with Winnie the Pooh). I'm so pleased. I have booked in for next week and intend to make a regular thing of it. I like it even better than the aquarobics.

I do intend to up my game. I'll instigate the continuation (reinstitution?) of the family gym sessions again. And of course, I'll keep walking the dogs every day. And I'll keep on with the swimming and aquarobics. I might even keep trying different exercise sessions. But yoga! Love it.

Yay!

In other news, I started a new writing group at the local library last weekend. It went well and hopefully it will continue for some time and motivate all of us to keep on... I'll keep you informed as to how my writing is going - next time.

About, Turn...!

So, here's the thing: there's been a pretty dramatic change in our household recently. This year, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I didn't make a New Year's resolution to lose weight - there didn't seem much point. I wasn't massively overweight anyway, in fact I was still the right weight for my height (just) on the BMI chart. And none of my previous new year's resolutions to lose weight had really worked. I still put on a few pounds every year. It was time, at last, to relax about it.

But really, I knew I was kidding myself. I had to squeeze into my clothes and even then I couldn't wear some of them because they just didn't look right. I didn't want to buy new clothes in a larger size so I was getting quite uncomfortable. Then, one day around the middle of January, I bought a new set of scales (the last pair had given up the ghost before Christmas and I didn't miss them). I weighed myself and realised I needed to take action. Full disclosure - I was eleven stone and five pounds. It's a lot, for me. I used to be around nine stone when I was younger, and I was slim then but not ultra skinny. My weight has just crept up and up over the years and I thought that was normal but suddenly I realised it really wasn't, and neither was it acceptable. I wasn't looking after myself properly and I needed to sort this out.

On the same day that I bought the scales I read an article in The Times by Professor Roy Taylor about how Type 2 diabetics can be cured through diet. All they have to do is eat only 800 calories a day for 8 weeks and their diabetes will be put into remission. It works on most people, providing they haven't been diabetic for too many years.

This discovery is a truly amazing achievement - in my opinion Professor Taylor should be knighted for his research (he also found out how to prevent blindness in diabetics, by early retina scanning...he was incredibly dedicated in pursuing his theory about this, in the face of rejections by those 'in the know'). 

Anyway, I wasn't diabetic as far as I knew, but I'd had gestational diabetes which put me at risk, my dad had middle aged onset diabetes...and Professor Taylor stated in his article that any woman who had a BMI of 22 or under as a young adult and who now has a BMI of 25 is four times more likely to get diabetes than the average person. Which, I calculated, made me about 200 per cent likely to get it...

I wasn't feeling well and hadn't been for some time. I had constant aches and pains. My IBS was out of control and I'd started to get acid reflux too. I was constantly hungry (this has been the case throughout my life; even when I was young and slim I was always starving). Anyway, I'd reached the point where I seemed to be constantly either eating, thinking about eating, or suffering food guilt (yes, this is a thing. I got it whenever I ate junk food, which was a lot of the time). And then I got a new symptom - acid reflux and accompanying nausea. There was no doubt that my body was trying to tell me something. 

To cut a long story short, three weeks ago I started the Blood Sugar Diet, which is an adaptation by Dr Michael Mosley of Prof Roy Taylor's work, plus his own earlier work on the 5:2 diet (the idea there was to restrict calories on two days a week, while eating a low carb Mediterranean style diet on the other five days). (Dr Mosley should be knighted too. He's a star). I am basically eating low carb, low calorie and the weight is literally dropping off. By the end of the eight weeks I should be a healthy weight and can then keep eating low carb, fresh food, without counting calories.

And life has changed so much - not just for me, but for everyone in the household, as I said at the start of this blog. I thought at the outset that I would continue cooking in the same way as I'd always done for the family and make special meals for myself. But as it has turned out, instead I am cooking proper food for everyone, from scratch, every day. I have to make sure that everyone gets enough calories - so tonight, for example, I made spaghetti bolognese but bulked out with lentils and including loads of veg - garlic, onions, celery, mushrooms, tomatoes...etc. I had my portion without the pasta. Another meal I've made is vegetarian casserole - with courgettes and aubergines, vegetables that I don't think I have ever cooked with before, or not for ages - and I had mine on its own while everyone else had six seeded bread with theirs.

I have cooked a different meal almost every day for the last three weeks - there are so many recipes online that this isn't hard at all. It has taken some time but it is so worthwhile and I know that the more I do it, the easier and quicker it will become. I even get up in the morning when everyone else does and cook them breakfast. Maybe I should have always done this but they get up so early to go to work or school - six thirty, and although the noise of four or five people getting ready always woke me it was just easier for me to stay in bed until all the fuss had died down and they left the house, at around 7.15. I mean, this hasn't always been the case. Until a few months ago, I did the morning school runs. But I was enjoying not having to get up at the crack of dawn, and there wasn't any need. Everyone just got their own breakfast - as they always have done - and I cleared up all the mess when I got out of bed.

This way is so much better. Nobody is stuffing down huge bowls of cereal or four pieces of toast at a go any more - you know who you are, if you're reading this, family members! I usually make porridge with frozen fruit, or eggs/avodado on toast, or pancakes. There's also the option of Greek yoghurt with berries. And we all put flaxseed and chia seeds on our food! I'm not sure I even knew what those things were a few weeks ago.

We have all stopped snacking between meals too. I have to be a little careful. The kids are a healthy weight already, the boys are still growing and I don't want to damage their health - so if they really need something to tide them over after school and before dinner (if, for example, dinner is going to be later than usual) they have unsalted nuts. I'm amazed when I think back to how I used to constantly feed the children, worried that they would be hungry. They survive perfectly happily now almost all of the time between meals. Professor Taylor pointed out in that Times article that the human body is designed to last for long periods of time without food, and he said  that anyone can manage a few hours between meals. And who would have known it - he's right!

The key, for me and many others, is to cut out or cut down on carbs and sugar. It was the carbs that were making me hungry - blood sugar spikes when you eat carbs and sugar and then falls dramatically, and now I know it was this that made me think I couldn't manage to go more than a couple of hours without eating.

I feel so free now - I eat breakfast, lunch and dinner and that's all. I don't constantly think about where my next meal is coming from. I'm not hungry any more. It's a revelation.

I had no idea how bad our previous diet was, how much sugar and carbs there was in all the food I served and ate. I thought I was feeding my family reasonably healthily - we always had several full fruit bowls and I tried to serve vegetables with every meal. We virtually never ate takeaways. But I would give them meals like breaded fish and oven chips with peas and sweetcorn - or pre-bought chicken pies. Baked potatoes featured heavily and if I made spaghetti bolognese it was usually with a shop bought sauce. None of it was anywhere near as nutritious as I thought, even if I did serve broccoli and carrots regularly at mealtimes.

It's been a complete about turn and now I'm even making the kids' lunches. I used to be quite proud of the fact that they sorted out their own lunchboxes - I thought it demonstrated independence. However, I felt uneasy about the amount of junk that went in the lunchboxes - my younger son was the worst offender here. He used to toast bread and then just put butter on it and wrap it in clingfilm. No attempt at a sandwich, even though the fridge was always full of possible fillings. Then there would be a piece of fruit - usually a banana - and a sweet treat and a savoury treat - some chocolate biscuits perhaps, or a cereal bar, and a bag of crisps. If I didn't watch, there would be extra treats shoved in. And yet he was constantly starving, so I told myself he must need it all.

I'm still not fully there with the lunches, partly because I still have a lot of sweet stuff to use up - I've put it all on top of the cupboard and nobody is allowed to just help themselves, so it has lasted ages. I use just one biscuit a day for the lunches, then I might put a couple of oatcakes or other savoury biscuits in, perhaps some homemade popcorn, three pieces of fruit (I know there's sugar in there but they do need energy) and I make a sandwich with wholemeal bread and salad. I'm going to start making pasta soon, and things like flapjacks and scones for them to take to school... I'm actually really looking forward to it!

It's all quite time-consuming, as I mentioned. But it will get easier and anyway I do have time now - the kids are out all day and I can fit quite a lot in. I'm currently editing and proofreading someone's book (paid work, yay!), I've recently been running writing workshops at the library, and I'm also writing my own stuff, walking the dogs, looking after my mum... I make a point never to rush around and I don't need to. Life is good - although I could do with a little more of the paid work, to be honest. We're taking students in the meantime - which means more shopping and cooking, but also a chance for the kids to socialise and learn about different cultures and languages. It's all good.

We're even going to the gym as a family - Paul paid for a family membership at the start of the year and we have been attending regularly. We do a family session at the weekends with the children, then Paul uses the gym - more than me, but I also swim and do classes. We've even started ice skating at the weekends! It's early days for all of this, but I feel so enthused about it. I can only see things going upwards from here.

So that's the doing more for other people resolution box ticked. I didn't think I meant my own family, but where better to start than at home? And as for the listening to more music - box ticked too - I listen to Spotify while I cook and when I'm on the treadmill and the music enhances both these experiences more than I ever thought it could.

Hurrah!

2020

Hi everyone - and Happy New Year! I've always liked the New Year and the promise it gives of a fresh start - and this one is even better than usual. 2020 is the start of a new decade too and seems to be to be a real opportunity for a new, enthusiastic approach. It's all in the mind, I know...

We are expecting a new arrival in our household today. The pitter patter of small claws on the laminate flooring...we're adopting a new dog. On the face of it, this is a foolish move since we have three dogs already - and I must admit that the prospect of taking on another worries me a little. But I heard about her through a friend - she's only eleven months old and her current family aren't coping and are brave enough to pass her on in the hope that she'll have a better life.

Once I saw her photo I was lost. She's so beautiful. 'We'll have her!' I clamoured. Paul, to my surprise, was in full agreement - we can't leave her there, he said (her current family love her but both parents have to work and they have a toddler so she's crated a lot of the time). Our youngest was delighted - he adores all dogs - so once we'd told him we were getting another, there was no going back.

On the bright side, she's only a small dog. She's a Cavalier King Charles spaniel and we already have two of those, aged 10 and 6, plus a 13 month old Cavalier crossed with a cockapoo (part poodle, part cocker spaniel) so the new dog will fit in just fine.

We know the breed. Our eldest dog has heart problems so we've learned how to cope with that over the last year - most Cavaliers as they age, sadly, will develop a heart murmur and eventually go into heart failure. It's soul destroying to witness, but all dog breeds have their susceptibilities.

One argument in favour of cross breeds is that they'll live longer and be less susceptible to health issues - I take great pleasure looking at our youngest, knowing that she'll go on for so many years - but I still think it would be a great loss to the world not to have Cavaliers, Great Danes, Dalmations and so on...

Anyway, enough about doggy matters. I'm well aware of what I'm doing here, by the way. Four children, growing up fast (the eldest at Uni, the next due to go, hopefully, this October) - four dogs, to replace them. More beings for me to look after as my darlings are leaving the nest...

But still, why not? They keep us healthy - all the walks, plus there's always new evidence that it's good for kids to grow up with dogs. Most of the research centres on the advantages to their immune systems, but the latest one I read in The Times a couple of weeks ago says that children are less likely to develop schizophrenia if they grow up with a dog in the household.

Which is ridiculous. As we know (or readers of this blog should be aware) 'schizophrenia' is a construct anyway - and think about it, kids who grow up in households with animals are just more likely to be relaxed (due to the comfort of having a furry body to stroke and unconditional love to give and receive) and more likely to get exercise and so on and so forth. Of course they are likely to have less emotional issues.

Unless, of course, all the financial resources in the household are consumed by an excess of dogs. Whoops. But no, we'll manage. Our eldest dog is currently on lots of medication and requires constant trips to the vet, but that won't go on for much longer (although actually I really wish it would!) We'll soon be back to a three dog household again.

Also, we have a back-up plan - someone else who is happy to take the new dog on if she doesn't fit into our household. My main concern is that she won't get on with the others - although that's unlikely, because Cavaliers are sociable and particularly like their own breed.

So. I'd better get on with some writing. I'm currently on a roll with that, since it's the New Year and all - I'm making it a priority to get a certain number of words written each day, come what may. Hopefully I'll get the second and third books in the Robyn Walters mystery series out this year. Then I think I'm going to concentrate on children's fiction. I wrote some short children's books quite a while ago and they're selling quite well on Kindle suddenly, in India of all places. I enjoyed writing those, they came to me easily and quickly. So that's my way forward, although if the Robyn Walters series takes off, I'll keep going with that too.

Hopes and dreams.

Happy New Year!

PS
As for my resolutions - mentioned in my last post - I suppose taking on the new dog from her previous owners means that we're doing something for other people (although also for ourselves!).

And I have been listening to more music - I'm still on radio 4 in the car because I'm not so keen on just random music, but I've got to grips with my Spotify account after an intense instruction session from one of the teenagers and started to compile some playlists of things that I like listening to. A lot of the stuff I like is from the eighties. I was a troubled young person back then and the eighties were in many ways my 'lost years', but there were some happy times too and a surprising amount of music amidst the chaos. A lot of the people I spent time with back then were into their 'sounds' and because I didn't have much sense of who I was I tended to just absorb it all though them... It's good to revisit that aspect of my youth and remember that it wasn't all bad. Bye for now.

Nearly Christmas...

So, it's less than a week before Christmas and I'm not really prepared. I did go shopping yesterday and buy a few gifts and I have got two turkeys in the freezer...so I'm not completely unprepared either. And I'm not worried - I have a few days to go and just need to buy some food and some stocking fillers for the children.

The contrast for me personally between Christmas now, and how it used to be, is huge. I used to find it a very lonely time - now I'm surrounded by people I love. I know how lucky I am.

I also know that there are many people out there who are not as fortunate and I am going to make a concerted effort to do more to help others in the year ahead. That's one of my New Year Resolutions. The other is to listen to more music.

That's all from me for now. Happy Holidays everyone! XX

Review of The Heartlands by Nathan Filer

 Hi everyone. I've spent ages writing this review - well over an hour, maybe two, and so I think (I hope) it deserves an audience. Enjoy!

The Heartlands by Nathan Filer - reviewed on Amazon - given four stars.

I could have been more generous with my rating - this book was very well written and I think the author has the best of intentions. Hopefully it will go some way towards de-stigmatising 'schizophrenia'. However, as somebody who was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the age of 19 (I am now 51) I have serious reservations about the ideas expressed within it. Also, this review is taking me ages to write and I am trying to be fair, so please bear with me! 

I feel as though the author uses 'so-called schizophrenia' (as he puts it) to make various points about what is wrong with the mental health system in this country and the USA, but that he never goes as far as admitting that it's a label which damages people.  He could have used the platform afforded him by the publication of this book to canvas for its abolition. 

Basically, the author states that ‘schizophrenia’ is a dubious diagnosis - there's no scientific test for it, or for any of the 'mental illnesses' in all the editions of the DSM (the psychiatrists' manual). He quotes those who truly understand the subject and are enlightened about the issues - Lucy Johnstone, Joanna Moncrieff, even J.D. Laing. He says there's a theory that we'd be better off as a society without any diagnoses. He points out that there is no evidence for genetic theories of 'mental illness' (i.e that these problems are hereditary) - he says that genetic studies are flawed but then he describes in detail one such study (which is, it turns out, flawed – so why go into it?) 

In fact, although the author is meticulous about putting the various diagnoses within parentheses, or adding the prefix ‘so-called’ to illustrate that all diagnoses are simply concepts, I am not convinced that he actually believes this himself. It must be hard to disregard many years of training as a psychiatric nurse, and many more years of working in the field.

I enjoyed reading the case studies - but again, they were not a fair representation of the people diagnosed with ‘schizophrenia’. For example, there is no study of someone who has had psychosis and has completely recovered and now lives without medication. I know I am not the only example of this by a long chalk (it’s just that most people living ‘normal’ lives have the sense to keep quiet about past breakdowns!) In the past I have communicated with the author via his website (after reading his novel, The Shock of the Fall) and directed him to my own book (Surviving Schizophrenia, a Memoir) so he is definitely aware of my existence and could have used my case to illustrate that medication is not always the answer. 

In my opinion, medications are only of use if the patient wants them (i.e. is not physically forced to take them) and is informed of all the potential side effects. The author of this book seems to think that they are crucial to control people and to keep them stable – although he does admit that there’s no long-term study to show whether people, in fact, relapse more often when they are on these drugs. He refers quite often to Professor Robin Murray, who comes across as a very understanding man who never diagnoses people with schizophrenia – I have to say, this is simply not true. I have met Professor Murray and heard him say – at a Rethink Mental Illness conference, to a room full of people diagnosed with it and suffering the consequences – that the term needs to go but that ‘we’ (the psychiatrists) ‘are not ready yet’. 

The study of a mother of a young man diagnosed with 'schizophrenia' who killed himself, is sad in the extreme. The author admits that he found it impossible to discuss with the mother the matter of whether her son's childhood was a factor. He then seems to conclude that her theory that her son's dependence on alcohol was due to something being wrong with his brain and that this was somehow inter-connected with his mental illness, is probably as good a way as any to look at it. But as a reader of that story (and someone with personal experience of stigma from within and outside a family) I see things very differently. This child was taken away from his father in England, to live in the USA, and was brought up with a stepfather and his two younger half-siblings. He was (we can assume) the odd one out in a family, missing his father and feeling bad about him being abandoned...and yes, he smoked cannabis, took other drugs, drank alcohol to excess. 

There's no one cause for 'mental illness' as the author concedes, but I don't think a difficult childhood can be discounted. I am not one to point the finger – I have four children and they might well suffer from emotional distress themselves at some stage in their lives, and if they do it will probably be partly due to having been brought up by a mother who has struggled with various problems over the years… But also, emotional distress is normal. It is part of life. We can’t sail through the world and be unaffected by the various problems we encounter. If we did, we wouldn’t be human. Which is why I prefer the term emotional distress to ‘mental illness’. 

Another case study is that of a psychiatric nurse who himself hears voices and works in a prison with the ‘mentally ill’. I consider that to be equally misleading. The author mentions that being ‘mentally ill’ does not make you violent, and yet he goes on to write at length about prisoners who are ‘mentally ill’. I have a lot more to say on this particular subject, but this is not the place… 

In fact, I could say a lot more about all of this. I think instead that I need to re-visit my second memoir, Surfacing, which was about my own recovery from ‘mental illness’. (Not to say that I am ‘recovered’ - I am still busy being human…)  I was never satisfied with that book and I now have a lot to add on the subject, in the light of all I have learned in recent years, and hope that any insight I have gained might be of use.

Incidentally, I wrote both those books in my maiden name, Louise Gillett, and have only recently found the courage to put my married name, Louise van Wingerden, to them. My main reservation was that my children might be adversely affected by stigma – but I have realised that hiding my identity is not the way to educate them about this. 

In any case, The Heartland is worth a read. The author does make some good points, including the one that fear is at the root of all 'mental illness'. He also recognises that poverty is very often a factor. I think he does have an understanding of the issues. Where he falls down is in his attempts to fit things into boxes – diagnoses, genetic theories, medication…these theories don’t hold weight, because emotional distress simply cannot be understood in those terms. He could work as a ‘researcher’ for years and not get anywhere – indeed, he might well do more good if he was back working on the wards, simply listening to people who need to be heard.

Incidentally, I know that I am biased to some extent, due to my own experiences of the mental health system. I know other people have difference experiences to my own, and will hopefully have a smoother ride through their troubles even within the current system. 

So, to finish where I started – I am sorry that I could not give this book a five star rating. I do have my reasons. 

Review by Louise van Wingerden author of Surviving Schizophrenia: a Memoir (written in my maiden name, Louise Gillett)