On Mental Health

Hey Ragers and Ragettes!!!!  I am soooooooooooooooo sorry for the length of time that I have posted.  It’s been a crazy, busy few weeks for me.

Today, I am rocking a long turquoise jumper with a white camisole, skinny jeans and brown knee high riding boots.

This is a post that I have wanted to write for ages.  I have started writing it but quickly have deleted it.  This post for me is on an issue that is dear to my heart because I, Betty Rage, suffer with mental health issues.

I was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder when I was 16 when I was caught stealing from my job.  The police couldn’t understand why a straight A student from a good family would want to steal.  So the court sentenced me to 100 hours of community service plus therapy.

Back in the 90’s when I was diagnosed, the doctors were not interested in why I felt the way I did, they just wanted to shut me up so they prescribed me anti-depressants that made me feel  like a zombie. 

The first batch they put me on made me sleepy and gain weight.  I couldn’t laugh, cry, or feel like a real woman.  So how did they remedy this?  They prescribed an additional pill to take the side effects away from the first pill.

Then the therapy.  That was a joke.  My therapist got it into my head because my parents spanked me that I was an “abused” child.  This seed got planted into my head and germinated into more destructive behaviour.  This woman effectively put me against the very people that loved me, cared for me, that had my back.  I became even worse, behaviour wise.

Then they decided to change my meds.  They gave me good old Prozac.   I continued in a zombie state and unleashed another side effect:  OCD. 

I started to micromanage my life.  I became obsessed with exercise and losing weight.  I went to the gym every morning.  That then turned into going to the gym twice a day 3 times a week.  Then twice a day 5 days a week.  Before I knew it, every spare minute, I was pounding it outside running 6 miles, 10 miles.  One day I ran 16 miles in the hot Ohio sun. 

Then I started to nit-pick at my diet.  I remember going 3 days without food and still punishing my body with the exercising.  It was around Easter time and I justified it that I was fasting for religious reasons.   I wasn’t religious.

My dad snapped me out of this behaviour very quickly.  My dosage of Prozac was decreased.

I then decided, when I left my home, that I was going to stop the medication.

I was in this strange new country unmedicated.  I was like a kid in a sweet shop.  I drank so much alcohol, fucked, and didn’t sleep much.  I gained so much weight, 5 stone (70 pounds)  And since then I have not shifted it.  (I am trying to)

When I moved to Ireland in 2005, I decided to try to go back in to therapy.  I found a lovely counsellor who fully listened to me.  She  hugged me when I cried, laughed with me, let me call her at all hours when I wasn’t feeling right.  She taught me that I didn’t need medication.  I just needed someone to care and listen to me.

I stopped seeing her because I thought I knew best.

I moved to the UK with Dan and he subjected me to emotional abuse and neglect.   I was getting bullied at work and at home and I truly felt that I didn’t have anyone to run to.  I considered throwing myself off the Centenary Bridge in Trafford Business Park as a way out.  I was desperate.

I left Dan, moved to Manchester and moved in with my psycho ex-roommate.  I decided to go to the doctor and reach out for help.

They asked if I would consider medication.  I stupidly said yes.  They put me on a pill that I had to take before bed.  They said that it would make me drowsy.  I slept like the dead.

The next morning, I woke up feeling like I was trapped in a fuzzy cloud.  I staggered to the gym.  The lady behind the desk said, go away, you’re drunk.  I was shocked.

I walked around Eccles trying to wake myself up.  I didn’t work.  I was slurring my words, I couldn’t walk in a straight line.

So I stopped medication.   And I started to educate myself. 

I read up on how diet and exercise can help you mentally.  So I started to exercise again and diet and the OCD came back. 

I would wake up at 5:38 (exactly without an alarm) walk a mile to the gym, work out, change and walk 2 miles to work.  I lived on pitta bread with burger in it.  That’s it.  I lost weight but started to grow fine hair on my cheeks near my ear, my fine hair started to fall out.  I was clearly a mess.  I was taking it to an extreme.

I left my job, got a new one and the pattern continued for the last 3 years.  Bad romantic situations, weight gain, feelings of low self worth. 

And the reason why I am telling you all this?  I have recognized the  signs, and through my experiences I can control these emotions and feelings a lot better.

When I am on a low, I tend to hide myself away.  My reasoning?  I don’t want to be a burden to anyone at all.  I am a believer (from experience) that 80% of people don’t care about your problems and 20% are happy that you have them in the first place.  So, like a turtle, I go into my shell and cry.  I try and work it out.  So I become quiet and withdrawn.

When I am on a high, it’s worse.  I run around 1000 miles an hour trying to fix everything.  I talk faster, I feel jittery and like a robot almost.  I am at my most dangerous then.  I overspend, make promises I can’t keep, I am also at my most creative.  I write music, poetry and essays.  It’s scary.  I understand why they say that there is a fine line between genius and madness.

So, the last few weeks I have been on a low.  I haven’t spoken much to Suzanne because I don’t want to bring her down.   And I have been snippy with Simon.  He’s tolerated me (I don’t know how he doesn’t know about my condition) and deserves a gold medal.

Today?  My feelings are on the up.  I am going into an in between phase, almost levelled out.  I feel almost normal, a bit fragile.  It’s scary but I am handling it fine.

I would like to speak to someone though.  So I am looking into that.

Ragers and Ragettes.  Mental  illness seems to be a dirty word.   People think that if you are depressed, bipolar are basket cases or mental. 

Guess what.  We are normal human beings.  We laugh, cry, smile, and feel pain like everyone else.  We feel things deeply and hard.  It really is. 

So I have signed up to volunteer at a local mental health charity to reach out in the community to help those like myself.  Who don’t know what or how to feel.  If I can offer comfort, help and direction to someone that needs it, then it’s all worth it. 

Anyway, this has been a hard post to write.  If anyone who suffers in the same way I feel , please feel free to contact me on bettyrage2014@gmail.com.  If I can help I will. 

Untilk next time Ragers and Ragettes, keep your heads and standards high and your heels higher.

Lots of love

The Fabulous Betty Rage xxxxxxxxxxx