Showing posts with label black dog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label black dog. Show all posts
Thursday, 19 October 2017
Wednesday, 18 October 2017
Permanency and ill health retirement. Or Not!!
So the time is ticking by and I am getting somewhat twitchy about a few things.
Supportive people can explain the logistics will work, federation reps can promise that things 'should' go smoothly but when it is your life, your finances, your grocery shopping in jeopardy, going onto half pay seems to be all the more daunting.
Since August I have visited our new force medical officer, the occupational health doctor and she has made it clear to me that she thinks it is highly unlikely that with my various medical complaints I will ever be fit to do my job as a police officer ever again.
I have chronic debilitating Fibromyalgia with no known cure, I have PTSD, I suffer with Depression, I struggle with Anxiety and I have two prolapsed discs, but she feels after nine months off sick that it is too early to ask any questions of my force about ill health retirement as she says the application would fail at this juncture as we have not exhausted all possible medical remedies/cures.
She says we might be ready in 6-9 months time.
They all say I have to prove 'permanency' , that my illnesses cannot be cured, that I will not be magically restored to full health to serve out my last 2 years of my 30 years service.
Show me the hoops and I will jump through them all, I will moan and groan, I will post on twitter how dissatisfied I am, but I will do whatever you ask of me to establish the facts to satisfy you, but when you do not specify the hoops, when you leave me in what has been described as a 'fluid' situation what the hell am I meant to do?
It's like playing hide and seek in the dark, whilst blindfolded, with your hands and feet tied.
I am suffering with an illness that induces me to suffer extreme pain when I get stressed or tired!!
I wonder what they think in their ivory admin towers, Oh I know let's take away half of her pay, tell her that in another 6 months we will stop paying her altogether and then make any escape from our employment as improbable to conquer as reaching the summit of Everest alive! GRRR
To what end? Whom does it serve? I gather the government because they fine any police force that let's an officer retire on ill health! Or should I say Theresa May? Of course it's all chuffing marvellous for a single parent, crippled with a variety of ills who simply cannot work anymore.
It seems like the only person who could start sorting the mess out is me, but I'm a shell of my former self and the mere idea of fighting my own corner seems horrifying. Should I be paying out of my half wage to visit pompous over priced 'experts' to prove my 'permanency'? I could I guess but then I wouldn't be able to pay the utilities and I'd have to rely on a food bank.
Ultimately I am told it will be just one person, an SMP, Selected Medical Practitioner, who gets to decide if my woes add up to permanency and early release! Not a panel, not a jury just one solitary person. I'd stand more chance of release if I'd murdered someone!
There is a set order of procedure and before any decision can be made the police authority must put specific questions to this medical practitioner selected by them (the ‘selected medical practitioner’) to determine whether I am permanently disabled for ‘the performance of the ordinary duties of a member of the police force’. The selected medical practitioner will consider such issues as my ability to:
• run, walk reasonable distances, and stand for reasonable periods;
• exercise reasonable physical force in restraint and retention in custody;
• sit for reasonable periods, to write, read, use the telephone and to use (or learn to use) IT;
• make decisions and report situations to others;
• evaluate information and to record details;
• understand, retain and explain facts and procedures.
Even if I'm assessed as permanently disabled for the performance of the ordinary duties, it does not automatically mean that I will be retired on ill-health grounds. The police authority will consider my specific disabilities and overall capabilities to see whether there are alternative duties which I could undertake whilst remaining a police officer!
If and it seems like a big IF I was found by the selected medical practitioner to be permanently disabled for ordinary duties and there were no suitable alternative duties that I could undertake the police authority 'may' decide whether to retire me or not!
At the very least it's all so frustrating, at the worst it borders on being downright inept, exceptionally stressful and seemingly unfair.
Just let me go, please. Pretty please?
I'm broken, I'm a recluse and I'm soon to be broke!
Cut me loose, I want some sort of life back that isn't governed by stress and pain.
SIGNED - A broken. chewed up, mangled mess of a former police officer.
Supportive people can explain the logistics will work, federation reps can promise that things 'should' go smoothly but when it is your life, your finances, your grocery shopping in jeopardy, going onto half pay seems to be all the more daunting.
Since August I have visited our new force medical officer, the occupational health doctor and she has made it clear to me that she thinks it is highly unlikely that with my various medical complaints I will ever be fit to do my job as a police officer ever again.
I have chronic debilitating Fibromyalgia with no known cure, I have PTSD, I suffer with Depression, I struggle with Anxiety and I have two prolapsed discs, but she feels after nine months off sick that it is too early to ask any questions of my force about ill health retirement as she says the application would fail at this juncture as we have not exhausted all possible medical remedies/cures.
She says we might be ready in 6-9 months time.
They all say I have to prove 'permanency' , that my illnesses cannot be cured, that I will not be magically restored to full health to serve out my last 2 years of my 30 years service.
What a complete joke this system of ours currently is!
Show me the hoops and I will jump through them all, I will moan and groan, I will post on twitter how dissatisfied I am, but I will do whatever you ask of me to establish the facts to satisfy you, but when you do not specify the hoops, when you leave me in what has been described as a 'fluid' situation what the hell am I meant to do?
It's like playing hide and seek in the dark, whilst blindfolded, with your hands and feet tied.
It is so flipping riling!
I am suffering with an illness that induces me to suffer extreme pain when I get stressed or tired!!
I wonder what they think in their ivory admin towers, Oh I know let's take away half of her pay, tell her that in another 6 months we will stop paying her altogether and then make any escape from our employment as improbable to conquer as reaching the summit of Everest alive! GRRR
To what end? Whom does it serve? I gather the government because they fine any police force that let's an officer retire on ill health! Or should I say Theresa May? Of course it's all chuffing marvellous for a single parent, crippled with a variety of ills who simply cannot work anymore.
It seems like the only person who could start sorting the mess out is me, but I'm a shell of my former self and the mere idea of fighting my own corner seems horrifying. Should I be paying out of my half wage to visit pompous over priced 'experts' to prove my 'permanency'? I could I guess but then I wouldn't be able to pay the utilities and I'd have to rely on a food bank.
Ultimately I am told it will be just one person, an SMP, Selected Medical Practitioner, who gets to decide if my woes add up to permanency and early release! Not a panel, not a jury just one solitary person. I'd stand more chance of release if I'd murdered someone!
There is a set order of procedure and before any decision can be made the police authority must put specific questions to this medical practitioner selected by them (the ‘selected medical practitioner’) to determine whether I am permanently disabled for ‘the performance of the ordinary duties of a member of the police force’. The selected medical practitioner will consider such issues as my ability to:
• run, walk reasonable distances, and stand for reasonable periods;
• exercise reasonable physical force in restraint and retention in custody;
• sit for reasonable periods, to write, read, use the telephone and to use (or learn to use) IT;
• make decisions and report situations to others;
• evaluate information and to record details;
• understand, retain and explain facts and procedures.
Even if I'm assessed as permanently disabled for the performance of the ordinary duties, it does not automatically mean that I will be retired on ill-health grounds. The police authority will consider my specific disabilities and overall capabilities to see whether there are alternative duties which I could undertake whilst remaining a police officer!
If and it seems like a big IF I was found by the selected medical practitioner to be permanently disabled for ordinary duties and there were no suitable alternative duties that I could undertake the police authority 'may' decide whether to retire me or not!
At the very least it's all so frustrating, at the worst it borders on being downright inept, exceptionally stressful and seemingly unfair.
Just let me go, please. Pretty please?
I'm broken, I'm a recluse and I'm soon to be broke!
Cut me loose, I want some sort of life back that isn't governed by stress and pain.
SIGNED - A broken. chewed up, mangled mess of a former police officer.
Friday, 14 July 2017
Friday 14th July 2017
Its that time of year where change is in the air isn't it?
Summer holidays for the kids, change of routines all around for those affected families as a consequence. Seaside towns like the one I live in becoming inundated by some of those families looking for some well deserved rest and relaxation. Whilst at the same time we look forward with some trepidation to the new school year and what that will bring. I'm feeling the winds of change too, I'm not sure I can put my finger on precisely why but I can feel a shift.
Since the last blog I wrote and left posted... I've had a bit of a roller-coaster ride with my emotions. A week ago today I visited a psychiatrist at the request of my force. They say to establish what treatment I should be receiving but I have my doubts that their grounds were quite that compassionate! Especially as they've not been the source of any treatment to date over the last seven months!
The encounter was not a pleasant one and the professional was overbearing, jumped to conclusions and put words into my mouth. I was so distraught throughout the consultation that I was continually crying and at times incapable of being coherent. The consultation was an hour in total and cost the force £350. There was about ten minutes of administration, thirty minutes of very closed questioning which was then stunted further by him contemporaneously recording everything I said. Then he used the last twenty minutes of the session to dictate his letter about me! He says he does it that way so that people know what he will be saying but I have to say it felt more like a time saving exercise to me!
I left the appointment feeling very low and ashamed as he'd made some wild assumptions that I felt stained my character and I spent the next two days feeling really quite distraught about the whole experience. Quite a joke really bearing in mind he is meant to be a mental health specialist and advocate!
After forty eight hours of feeling terribly downtrodden and utterly beaten by the system I had an epiphany. I recalled him saying to me that I could withdraw my consent for him to share his findings with the force at anytime. So I did! This resulted in some squirming, an apology and the letter he'd so hastily dictated being re-written to better reflect my case based on the facts as opposed to his snap assumptions. I have now reinstated my consent for him to share it with the Occupational health department and in turn my force.
Anyway what I have found in the last week is that I have been through a whole array of emotions. From the down trodden beaten feelings of despair to the incensed fire to stand up for myself. Now I'm feeling that I'm almost grateful he treated me so badly as it lit a fire under my butt and forced me to confront the issues head on if you'll excuse the pun!
The psychiatrist reached the following diagnosis for me in his letter:
1. Moderate depressive disorder
2. Generalised anxiety disorder
3. PTSD symptoms
I've had to email him back again and ask if No 3 is a PTSD diagnosis or if just having symptoms isn't quite going that far? Or does it take longer than thirty minutes in a one off session to reach that sort of conclusive diagnosis?
As an aside, he quotes a passage from the force's referral to him in his letter. Apparently they made the following statement "she is reluctant to return to work"? Now I read that as she's swinging the lead or can't be arsed to come to work as opposed to she's unable to return to work or she's too poorly to return to work. What do you think? Have to say it got under my skin somewhat. In his letter he refers to it as a poor prognostic factor!
Another odd comment in his letter is this one;
How does it cloud things? If he knows his stuff and one is assuming he should, it's well documented that PTSD and Fibromyalgia often go hand in hand, in fact my last blog looked at just this area so why does he feel my Fibromyalgia clouds a diagnosis?
Anyway that letter will be winging its way to the OH department, as to what benefit it'll have for me I'm unsure! Does it take me any further forwards? I'm not sure. Was it worth £350?? Probably not! Any decent detective could have taken a far better, all encompassing witness statement from me gathering much greater detail. He could definitely learn a thing or two about listening and compassion because the way he went about things was seriously flawed. Plus detectives don't earn £350 an hour! It certainly brings it home how professional we are as a service for what essentially is peanuts in comparison to what that monkey is earning!
Summer holidays for the kids, change of routines all around for those affected families as a consequence. Seaside towns like the one I live in becoming inundated by some of those families looking for some well deserved rest and relaxation. Whilst at the same time we look forward with some trepidation to the new school year and what that will bring. I'm feeling the winds of change too, I'm not sure I can put my finger on precisely why but I can feel a shift.
Since the last blog I wrote and left posted... I've had a bit of a roller-coaster ride with my emotions. A week ago today I visited a psychiatrist at the request of my force. They say to establish what treatment I should be receiving but I have my doubts that their grounds were quite that compassionate! Especially as they've not been the source of any treatment to date over the last seven months!
The encounter was not a pleasant one and the professional was overbearing, jumped to conclusions and put words into my mouth. I was so distraught throughout the consultation that I was continually crying and at times incapable of being coherent. The consultation was an hour in total and cost the force £350. There was about ten minutes of administration, thirty minutes of very closed questioning which was then stunted further by him contemporaneously recording everything I said. Then he used the last twenty minutes of the session to dictate his letter about me! He says he does it that way so that people know what he will be saying but I have to say it felt more like a time saving exercise to me!
I left the appointment feeling very low and ashamed as he'd made some wild assumptions that I felt stained my character and I spent the next two days feeling really quite distraught about the whole experience. Quite a joke really bearing in mind he is meant to be a mental health specialist and advocate!
After forty eight hours of feeling terribly downtrodden and utterly beaten by the system I had an epiphany. I recalled him saying to me that I could withdraw my consent for him to share his findings with the force at anytime. So I did! This resulted in some squirming, an apology and the letter he'd so hastily dictated being re-written to better reflect my case based on the facts as opposed to his snap assumptions. I have now reinstated my consent for him to share it with the Occupational health department and in turn my force.
Anyway what I have found in the last week is that I have been through a whole array of emotions. From the down trodden beaten feelings of despair to the incensed fire to stand up for myself. Now I'm feeling that I'm almost grateful he treated me so badly as it lit a fire under my butt and forced me to confront the issues head on if you'll excuse the pun!
The psychiatrist reached the following diagnosis for me in his letter:
1. Moderate depressive disorder
2. Generalised anxiety disorder
3. PTSD symptoms
I've had to email him back again and ask if No 3 is a PTSD diagnosis or if just having symptoms isn't quite going that far? Or does it take longer than thirty minutes in a one off session to reach that sort of conclusive diagnosis?
As an aside, he quotes a passage from the force's referral to him in his letter. Apparently they made the following statement "she is reluctant to return to work"? Now I read that as she's swinging the lead or can't be arsed to come to work as opposed to she's unable to return to work or she's too poorly to return to work. What do you think? Have to say it got under my skin somewhat. In his letter he refers to it as a poor prognostic factor!
Another odd comment in his letter is this one;
"perhaps either contributing or perhaps clouding diagnostically is her fibromyalgia"
How does it cloud things? If he knows his stuff and one is assuming he should, it's well documented that PTSD and Fibromyalgia often go hand in hand, in fact my last blog looked at just this area so why does he feel my Fibromyalgia clouds a diagnosis?
Anyway that letter will be winging its way to the OH department, as to what benefit it'll have for me I'm unsure! Does it take me any further forwards? I'm not sure. Was it worth £350?? Probably not! Any decent detective could have taken a far better, all encompassing witness statement from me gathering much greater detail. He could definitely learn a thing or two about listening and compassion because the way he went about things was seriously flawed. Plus detectives don't earn £350 an hour! It certainly brings it home how professional we are as a service for what essentially is peanuts in comparison to what that monkey is earning!
Sunday, 25 June 2017
Sunday 25th June 2017 - It's okay not to be okay
The feeling of impending doom, does it ever go away? That constant niggle at the back of your mind that you have something you should be remembering. The inability to sit at rest for fear that you should be doing something constructive...but what was it? The churning stomach the constant looking over your shoulder to see who's there.
In the run up to the end of the school term there are so many events and things going on with baby bear at school that I feel as if I'm balanced on a knife edge, scared stiff I'll forget something as my brain is just a complete mush of madness and consternation.
Last week I lost my house and car keys for forty eight hours, only to find them outside on the wheelie bin lid on full view to every Tom, Dick or Harry car thief and burglar that might have happened past my way.
I stand for minutes on end wondering what I'm meant to be doing or even thinking. I know some of you will say this is just down to age but trust be it borders on dementia. The Fibro fog pads out my brain much like a teddy who is filled to bursting with kapok. I'm like an iPad that needs a software upgrade, slow to respond and freezing up a lot!
Worse than that though I'm constantly cross and agitated which means baby bear is having a rougher ride of things than normal as I seem to be nit picking at her over the smallest details of life. Every time I see her crest fallen little face it chips my heart a bit more. This damned illness, be it the depression or the Fibromyalgia it's got a lot to answer for, which in a world where I'm trying to learn to like myself and give myself permission to exist just leads to more self loathing which isn't at all healthy.
Mental Health is like the spiders web, and I'm the fly stuck in its clutches, struggling for freedom, panicking that I'll never be free.
I used to be confident, capable and a force to be reckoned with, yet now I'm a wreck, a mere shadow of that former self. Things that I wouldn't have blinked twice about doing in the past now cause me great angst and self doubt. The racing heart, the shortness of breath, the dizziness, the mental fog and that's before we even start discussing my swollen and seized up joints. What a sorry state of affairs to get oneself into.
The more I try and focus on what I should be doing the further away the idea seems to float, it's like when you can't remember a fact that's 'on the tip of your tongue' the harder you think the less likely you are to recall it. Well that's just life in general inside my brain these days. What's even crueller in some respects is that I still sound and look normal because I feel anything but. I feel disabled, I feel mentally challenged, I feel diminished. I think I'd need an appropriate adult if brought into custody. What a state of affairs!
I've been wondering if I had listened to myself more down the years, if I'd paid attention to the depression and anxiety instead of ignoring it, would things have gotten this bad? No probably not. Should I have spoken up sooner? Yes of course, well I kind of did but it wasn't the politically correct thing to do so I just made jokes about myself being mad.
If you're suffering you have to do something about it. I spent two years driving to work hyper ventilating and crying through the anxiety of being at work. I battled on but to what cost to my health? When you leave the police service and we all will what are you left with? Yourself and without your health you're screwed. A good friend said to me last week, 'Don't give them any more of your sanity'
In the run up to the end of the school term there are so many events and things going on with baby bear at school that I feel as if I'm balanced on a knife edge, scared stiff I'll forget something as my brain is just a complete mush of madness and consternation.
Last week I lost my house and car keys for forty eight hours, only to find them outside on the wheelie bin lid on full view to every Tom, Dick or Harry car thief and burglar that might have happened past my way.
I stand for minutes on end wondering what I'm meant to be doing or even thinking. I know some of you will say this is just down to age but trust be it borders on dementia. The Fibro fog pads out my brain much like a teddy who is filled to bursting with kapok. I'm like an iPad that needs a software upgrade, slow to respond and freezing up a lot!
Worse than that though I'm constantly cross and agitated which means baby bear is having a rougher ride of things than normal as I seem to be nit picking at her over the smallest details of life. Every time I see her crest fallen little face it chips my heart a bit more. This damned illness, be it the depression or the Fibromyalgia it's got a lot to answer for, which in a world where I'm trying to learn to like myself and give myself permission to exist just leads to more self loathing which isn't at all healthy.
Mental Health is like the spiders web, and I'm the fly stuck in its clutches, struggling for freedom, panicking that I'll never be free.
I used to be confident, capable and a force to be reckoned with, yet now I'm a wreck, a mere shadow of that former self. Things that I wouldn't have blinked twice about doing in the past now cause me great angst and self doubt. The racing heart, the shortness of breath, the dizziness, the mental fog and that's before we even start discussing my swollen and seized up joints. What a sorry state of affairs to get oneself into.
The more I try and focus on what I should be doing the further away the idea seems to float, it's like when you can't remember a fact that's 'on the tip of your tongue' the harder you think the less likely you are to recall it. Well that's just life in general inside my brain these days. What's even crueller in some respects is that I still sound and look normal because I feel anything but. I feel disabled, I feel mentally challenged, I feel diminished. I think I'd need an appropriate adult if brought into custody. What a state of affairs!
I've been wondering if I had listened to myself more down the years, if I'd paid attention to the depression and anxiety instead of ignoring it, would things have gotten this bad? No probably not. Should I have spoken up sooner? Yes of course, well I kind of did but it wasn't the politically correct thing to do so I just made jokes about myself being mad.
If you're suffering you have to do something about it. I spent two years driving to work hyper ventilating and crying through the anxiety of being at work. I battled on but to what cost to my health? When you leave the police service and we all will what are you left with? Yourself and without your health you're screwed. A good friend said to me last week, 'Don't give them any more of your sanity'
'Don't give them any more of your sanity'
and she's so right. Battling on, hiding the symptoms, self medicating on booze or pills, eventually something will give and I think there would have been less damage to my health if it had been a controlled melt down as opposed to just falling flat on my face!
It's okay not to be okay
Think about that statement a while. When I first admitted to myself I had depression it felt good, it was as if a burden had been lifted. The hiding of it will only seek to let it fester. When I went back to work after my first break down two years ago I talked about it openly and although some people were very uncomfortable with that it made me feel good. In fact the less they liked it the more I shouted my mouth off! It's not a cure though, there was part of me that couldn't fathom out why it didn't bugger off once I'd acknowledged it. But accepting it does mean you can look at methods of dealing with it. Much like with addiction, the addict has to admit the problem before help can be sought. It's okay not to be okay.
Even now I've learnt about lots of self help tools I'm not going to kid you, it's a struggle. The black dog is that weighted bag around your neck whilst your swimming, dragging you down, trying to put you down. But you have to keep fighting, I need to be here for baby bear, although she deserves better than to have a broken mum.
Try not to get as far along the line as I did before admitting you need help. Hopefully the sooner you get help the lighter your weights will be.
Thursday, 15 June 2017
0909 hrs Thursday 15/6/17
So I find myself very apprehensive today. Stomach churning, blinding headache. Joints all seized to the extent I couldn't get out of bed without rolling off the mattress this morning, followed by having to bum shuffle down the stairs. For those of you that do not understand Fibromyalgia, when I am put under psychological stress my body reacts with seizing up and extreme pain. It's almost like the brain is trying to stop me going anywhere in full awareness of the negative impact the days plans will have on me. In a warped way it's my body trying to protect me and yet it just bloody hurts and makes me feel really disabled.
Of course for those twitter followers that know my story, today is case conference day, no 2, for my sickness absence from the police service as a result of depression, anxiety and Fibromyalgia. Now approaching six months.
That's this afternoon at 1330 hours so I suspect I'll write another chunk later. For now my headache is making typing difficult as it's not just any old headache. My head hurts from the neck upwards, its sore to turn my head and stiff to even look down at the keyboard, and my forehead feels like there is someone inside with a pick axe mining for something....brain maybe!
I also need to contact the IODPA very soon, the Injury On Duty Pensioners Association. They might be able to shine a light into my darkness as to the likelihood of ill health retirement and whether I might ever be a candidate. So that's on my 'to do' list for today as well.
Right off to have some breakfast, watch some Jeremy Kyle (hides head in shame!) then dog walk, bath and ready for my appointment .....
Of course for those twitter followers that know my story, today is case conference day, no 2, for my sickness absence from the police service as a result of depression, anxiety and Fibromyalgia. Now approaching six months.
That's this afternoon at 1330 hours so I suspect I'll write another chunk later. For now my headache is making typing difficult as it's not just any old headache. My head hurts from the neck upwards, its sore to turn my head and stiff to even look down at the keyboard, and my forehead feels like there is someone inside with a pick axe mining for something....brain maybe!
I also need to contact the IODPA very soon, the Injury On Duty Pensioners Association. They might be able to shine a light into my darkness as to the likelihood of ill health retirement and whether I might ever be a candidate. So that's on my 'to do' list for today as well.
Right off to have some breakfast, watch some Jeremy Kyle (hides head in shame!) then dog walk, bath and ready for my appointment .....
Wednesday, 14 June 2017
0936 hours Wednesday 14/6/17
So as of today I have decided to adopt a diary format for my blog.
I have for years kept a written diary that recorded my thoughts and feelings as time went by. Up until this juncture in regards this blog I have found a topic that is bothering me or that I wanted to explore, then sat down and let my fingers do the talking. However of late I have found that style has been hampering my ability to write effectively as I have felt I had covered 'all' the topics that would interest a stranger, so have written less and less blogs.
As of today I intend to sit and write a lot more regularly using all the detritus that is floating about my vacant head space at any given point in time.
As I sit writing this I am watching the horrors of the Grenfell Tower fire, the tower block in London, still unfolding to the nation via Good Morning Britain. I am not shamed to say that I have shed a tear or two watching the horrific images of people waving things at windows as they tried to attract the attention of the emergency services in what we now know was probably a vain attempt to attract rescue. I cannot help but look to the future and find myself considering the #mentalhealth of personnel who have and still are entering those 'houses of horror'.
Yesterday I had another day's worth of help from Save Our Soldier the charity that to date have already provided me with upwards of thirty hours of therapy to tackle what they believe to be my PTSD symptoms from 28 years worth of police service. In my last blog I looked at my feelings of negativity and the belief that I was not making any progress towards recovery, so yesterday we looked in depth at cultivating emotional resilience to allow me to find a life of wellbeing. We spent time exploring the concept that we can all step back from ourselves and observe ourselves in almost the third person. I need to accept that life in my future may never ever be the same again and that I need to find a way of accepting that, a way of understanding that 'I am enough'.
Fibromyalgia is a long term condition that will not just go away. It creates extreme pain in various areas of my body all of which I can say without any doubt get a lot, lot worse when I am under psychological pressure. I have to come to an understanding whereby I almost have to allow myself the permission to plan ahead and take life a lot more carefully. I need to stop battling with myself. What became clear to me yesterday is that I have been beating myself up because I can get back to being my 'old' self. I cannot just plough on through anything and everything expecting my body and brain to keep up. I may never ever have those same abilities again but that does not make me the failure I thought it did. I do not have to feel guilty or ashamed because I fear never being able to don a uniform again, to be able to go about strenuous physical or psychological activities. There is no shame there. I am enough.
What I need to do is find my self esteem, locate the hope for my future, develop a curiosity for my life and discover a positive attitude towards my life. I need to develop psychological flexibility, an ability to accept who I am now, not what or who I have been, not who I thought I had to get back to being but who I am now and what I can achieve as the me of today. I felt shame. I felt guilt. I thought I had to get back to somebody I used to be. But my body is unwilling, my brain has been battling the notion for many months. Yesterday I realised that I can exist without my past self, I can wrap my arms around the person I find myself to be today and offer myself self compassion. There is a future without my past self, I can let her go in peace. I can stop trying to be something I am not. I am enough.
The therapist and I looked at 'What if's'
Our brains need to ponder, to pull thoughts apart. To mull things over. If left unattended it will mull over the negatives. What if I die. What if I cannot be a police officer ever again' What if I have a terminal illness being masked by Fibromyalgia's symptoms. However we can give our brains positive 'What if's' instead. Debbie called them juicy fodder for the brain. So we worked on finding positive 'what if's' for me. They are listed on the board photographed below.
Debbie identified that I have been feeling like a bird in a cage being stalked by a cat. She wants me to get to a position whereby I feel like that cat. A cat that always lands on it's feet as opposed to the trapped bird who is fearful of the world and life itself.
I am enough.
I have for years kept a written diary that recorded my thoughts and feelings as time went by. Up until this juncture in regards this blog I have found a topic that is bothering me or that I wanted to explore, then sat down and let my fingers do the talking. However of late I have found that style has been hampering my ability to write effectively as I have felt I had covered 'all' the topics that would interest a stranger, so have written less and less blogs.
As of today I intend to sit and write a lot more regularly using all the detritus that is floating about my vacant head space at any given point in time.
As I sit writing this I am watching the horrors of the Grenfell Tower fire, the tower block in London, still unfolding to the nation via Good Morning Britain. I am not shamed to say that I have shed a tear or two watching the horrific images of people waving things at windows as they tried to attract the attention of the emergency services in what we now know was probably a vain attempt to attract rescue. I cannot help but look to the future and find myself considering the #mentalhealth of personnel who have and still are entering those 'houses of horror'.
Yesterday I had another day's worth of help from Save Our Soldier the charity that to date have already provided me with upwards of thirty hours of therapy to tackle what they believe to be my PTSD symptoms from 28 years worth of police service. In my last blog I looked at my feelings of negativity and the belief that I was not making any progress towards recovery, so yesterday we looked in depth at cultivating emotional resilience to allow me to find a life of wellbeing. We spent time exploring the concept that we can all step back from ourselves and observe ourselves in almost the third person. I need to accept that life in my future may never ever be the same again and that I need to find a way of accepting that, a way of understanding that 'I am enough'.
Fibromyalgia is a long term condition that will not just go away. It creates extreme pain in various areas of my body all of which I can say without any doubt get a lot, lot worse when I am under psychological pressure. I have to come to an understanding whereby I almost have to allow myself the permission to plan ahead and take life a lot more carefully. I need to stop battling with myself. What became clear to me yesterday is that I have been beating myself up because I can get back to being my 'old' self. I cannot just plough on through anything and everything expecting my body and brain to keep up. I may never ever have those same abilities again but that does not make me the failure I thought it did. I do not have to feel guilty or ashamed because I fear never being able to don a uniform again, to be able to go about strenuous physical or psychological activities. There is no shame there. I am enough.
What I need to do is find my self esteem, locate the hope for my future, develop a curiosity for my life and discover a positive attitude towards my life. I need to develop psychological flexibility, an ability to accept who I am now, not what or who I have been, not who I thought I had to get back to being but who I am now and what I can achieve as the me of today. I felt shame. I felt guilt. I thought I had to get back to somebody I used to be. But my body is unwilling, my brain has been battling the notion for many months. Yesterday I realised that I can exist without my past self, I can wrap my arms around the person I find myself to be today and offer myself self compassion. There is a future without my past self, I can let her go in peace. I can stop trying to be something I am not. I am enough.
The therapist and I looked at 'What if's'
Our brains need to ponder, to pull thoughts apart. To mull things over. If left unattended it will mull over the negatives. What if I die. What if I cannot be a police officer ever again' What if I have a terminal illness being masked by Fibromyalgia's symptoms. However we can give our brains positive 'What if's' instead. Debbie called them juicy fodder for the brain. So we worked on finding positive 'what if's' for me. They are listed on the board photographed below.
Debbie identified that I have been feeling like a bird in a cage being stalked by a cat. She wants me to get to a position whereby I feel like that cat. A cat that always lands on it's feet as opposed to the trapped bird who is fearful of the world and life itself.
I am enough.
Wednesday, 7 June 2017
I can't be bothered!
Since returning from holiday last week I've been in one of those deep pits of despair that only fellow depression sufferers will know. Floods of tears about goodness knows what whereby anything and everything seem to trigger some snot or other.
The day before yesterday I had my first encounter with the NHS, chronic pain service and my first impressions weren't great but then they could be somewhat tainted by the embarrassment of having cried on and off for an hour or more in front of a complete stranger! I think I expected some 'expert' input into my #Fibromyalgia alongside some guidance on appropriate meds. However neither was forthcoming as the service concentrates on pain management through methods other than medication so I think I felt a little misguided by my GP.
Then yesterday I had another appointment with the GP. I took along suggestions from the pain clinic nurse for him having specifically asked her she'd relented and given me 'off the record' advice on meds! The GP ignored it all with a flippant comment 'those pain clinics have some odd ideas' remark. In fact he then proceeded to remove the only #Fibro medicine I was on (gabapentin) after I asked to be swapped over to another before lecturing me as to the fact that Duloxetine wasn't even registered for pain relief, despite it's widespread use for Fibro by other patients! He then also decided for the second time in as many months to change my antidepressants overnight. This time to Mirtazapine, casting aside Sertraline the same way as Citalopram went not so long ago!
As I sat crying in front of him I couldn't help reflecting how humiliating it is to be out of control, especially as that is the second time in two days I've blubbed in public. He must dread me darkening his door!
I have painful shoulder joints due to calcium build ups on the tendons and he wanted to refer me for steroid injections and physiotherapy, I declined which seemed to leave him perplexed, 'why not?' he asked and the only answer I could find was 'I can't be bothered'
Which pretty much sums up the way I am feeling about most things this week, 'I can't be bothered', God help the Occupational Health woman on Friday if she starts with me, assuming I can see through the snot and tears. I'm bloody miserable and moody!
The GP asked me what I was going to do about work as he categorically thinks I'm not fit for any form of duties and look unlikely to be for some time. What can I say? I shrugged my shoulders despondently and told him there was another work case conference looming next week where they'd be asking the same damn question. What do I say?
Then he signed me off again until the 8th July and packed me off. That will take me over the half pay marker that's been set for the 20th June 2017.
I do know I'm feeling disappointment in myself that I don't feel like I am making any progress towards being healthier. I'm feeling guilty for 'dragging' it out if that's what I'm doing. I also worry about peoples tolerance for my continuing low mood, compassion fatigue must be on the horizon. Goodness knows I'm bloody bored of it myself, let alone anyone else!
That overwhelming feeling that there is no point in anything is back leaving me wondering as to why bother in the first place! That dragging misery getting out of bed in the morning knowing you're just going to have to do all the same shite again and that equally miserable business of trying to get to sleep in the first place and that's before trying to stay asleep. One thing I can guarantee is that I'll be comfortably asleep around the time I need to get up though!
I was drinking a lot of spirits last week on holiday, alongside the odd beer and I'm missing the sense dulling warmth that Jack Daniels brought to me, I drank a litre bottle in a week and that's not good is it?
I feel guilty for feeling so down when there are so many people with 'real' problems out there in the world especially after the horrific terror attacks. How can I be wallowing in self pity when so many are being so strong?
The clawing, suffocating vacuum that is despair.
I stare into space unseeingly, unable to achieve an awful lot really. The days trundle by with me managing the bare minimum of household chores necessary, whilst I waste time doing god knows what? In fact I'm surprised I'm typing this really as I shouldn't really be bothered! I need a tattoo for my forehead 'can't be arsed' !
Hopefully next week I'll be walking on the sunny side of the street again hey?! It's odd though to still have a sense of humour alongside the heavy suffocating feelings of misery. You'd kind of expect that to evaporate but oddly it seems fairly stable.
School pick up in an hour so there's another day gone and what have I achieved? A dog walk! Wow! I'm a zombie, I look like me but the insides of my head must have been hollowed out like a Halloween pumpkin and filled with expanding foam instead. I expect even if someone ever does try to put my brains back into my skull now they won't all go will they?! Let's face it when you scrape out potato skins they never all fit back in do they?!!
Anyway I reckon I've reached my ultimate level of concentration for one day, like a Buckaroo game that's about to trigger I'm feeling enough is enough. I certainly don't want to kick anyone!
The day before yesterday I had my first encounter with the NHS, chronic pain service and my first impressions weren't great but then they could be somewhat tainted by the embarrassment of having cried on and off for an hour or more in front of a complete stranger! I think I expected some 'expert' input into my #Fibromyalgia alongside some guidance on appropriate meds. However neither was forthcoming as the service concentrates on pain management through methods other than medication so I think I felt a little misguided by my GP.
Then yesterday I had another appointment with the GP. I took along suggestions from the pain clinic nurse for him having specifically asked her she'd relented and given me 'off the record' advice on meds! The GP ignored it all with a flippant comment 'those pain clinics have some odd ideas' remark. In fact he then proceeded to remove the only #Fibro medicine I was on (gabapentin) after I asked to be swapped over to another before lecturing me as to the fact that Duloxetine wasn't even registered for pain relief, despite it's widespread use for Fibro by other patients! He then also decided for the second time in as many months to change my antidepressants overnight. This time to Mirtazapine, casting aside Sertraline the same way as Citalopram went not so long ago!
As I sat crying in front of him I couldn't help reflecting how humiliating it is to be out of control, especially as that is the second time in two days I've blubbed in public. He must dread me darkening his door!
I have painful shoulder joints due to calcium build ups on the tendons and he wanted to refer me for steroid injections and physiotherapy, I declined which seemed to leave him perplexed, 'why not?' he asked and the only answer I could find was 'I can't be bothered'
Which pretty much sums up the way I am feeling about most things this week, 'I can't be bothered', God help the Occupational Health woman on Friday if she starts with me, assuming I can see through the snot and tears. I'm bloody miserable and moody!
The GP asked me what I was going to do about work as he categorically thinks I'm not fit for any form of duties and look unlikely to be for some time. What can I say? I shrugged my shoulders despondently and told him there was another work case conference looming next week where they'd be asking the same damn question. What do I say?
Then he signed me off again until the 8th July and packed me off. That will take me over the half pay marker that's been set for the 20th June 2017.
I do know I'm feeling disappointment in myself that I don't feel like I am making any progress towards being healthier. I'm feeling guilty for 'dragging' it out if that's what I'm doing. I also worry about peoples tolerance for my continuing low mood, compassion fatigue must be on the horizon. Goodness knows I'm bloody bored of it myself, let alone anyone else!
That overwhelming feeling that there is no point in anything is back leaving me wondering as to why bother in the first place! That dragging misery getting out of bed in the morning knowing you're just going to have to do all the same shite again and that equally miserable business of trying to get to sleep in the first place and that's before trying to stay asleep. One thing I can guarantee is that I'll be comfortably asleep around the time I need to get up though!
I was drinking a lot of spirits last week on holiday, alongside the odd beer and I'm missing the sense dulling warmth that Jack Daniels brought to me, I drank a litre bottle in a week and that's not good is it?
I feel guilty for feeling so down when there are so many people with 'real' problems out there in the world especially after the horrific terror attacks. How can I be wallowing in self pity when so many are being so strong?
The clawing, suffocating vacuum that is despair.
I stare into space unseeingly, unable to achieve an awful lot really. The days trundle by with me managing the bare minimum of household chores necessary, whilst I waste time doing god knows what? In fact I'm surprised I'm typing this really as I shouldn't really be bothered! I need a tattoo for my forehead 'can't be arsed' !
Hopefully next week I'll be walking on the sunny side of the street again hey?! It's odd though to still have a sense of humour alongside the heavy suffocating feelings of misery. You'd kind of expect that to evaporate but oddly it seems fairly stable.
School pick up in an hour so there's another day gone and what have I achieved? A dog walk! Wow! I'm a zombie, I look like me but the insides of my head must have been hollowed out like a Halloween pumpkin and filled with expanding foam instead. I expect even if someone ever does try to put my brains back into my skull now they won't all go will they?! Let's face it when you scrape out potato skins they never all fit back in do they?!!
Anyway I reckon I've reached my ultimate level of concentration for one day, like a Buckaroo game that's about to trigger I'm feeling enough is enough. I certainly don't want to kick anyone!
Monday, 15 May 2017
My story to date....
I am a police officer with 28 years service although I had a five year career break so effectively I actually have 23 years served. I find myself on long term sick leave for the second time in three years. I've been diagnosed with Depression, Anxiety and Fibromyalgia and I am medicated for these things. I had a short period of sick leave with stress in 2002.
After I returned to work two years ago after a six month absence with depression nothing in my workplace really changed barring one risk assessment that was done, albeit half heartedly and with tongue in cheek. The same supervisor annoyingly expressed surprise that I still had depression and was taking tablets a few weeks before this my second breakdown at Christmas 2016.
After reporting sick this Christmas just gone I was immediately referred by the force to the Occupational Health Nurse, interestingly this does not happen with physical illnesses, yet within a week there I was crying uncontrollably. Forty Five minutes passed with questions about when I would be fit for work and what was I doing to help myself get back into the work place etc.. The nurse did tell me as I was wearing make-up which apparently was a good sign that I wasn't that depressed, she also said that everything I said would be reported back to my supervisors. I didn't say a lot after that.
A month later they sent me back to her again, this time the force had stated in their referral paperwork that I was being uncooperative and distrustful of force policies and sick procedures. She was bemused by this, as was I at the time, but it did upset me greatly.
In March 2017 I self referred to Safe Horizons UK who in turn passed me along to Save Our Soldier and Debbie Banks was thankfully sent my way.
At the beginning of April 2017, I was contacted for the first time by my welfare department, oddly enough this came two days before I was due to attend a case conference about my sickness absence at a police building! Call me cynical but....?!!
I went to the conference with my federation representative, there was a panel of my boss, a Human Resources representative and the welfare department guy. A further question and answer session went on for 45 minutes throughout which I again cried hysterically! I managed to answer some questions, I was quizzed about my use of social media and questioned as to why I had been spreading about that I was not getting any help from the force when it was me that had told them not to contact me?
I told them that I had approached a charity for help which seemed to unsettle them, they said they'd need to check how credible they were?!
I then asked them to explain their comments on the latest referral to the OH dept. I'll summarise their replies... apparently my use of social media had been picked up by them when monitoring my blog and twitter feed. The fact that I had asked that a certain 'bully boy' supervisor not to contact me for my statutory 'weekly' calls, was being taken as me asking them not to contact me, plus they said that I had not been wholly open in my first OH session, so taking all these things together equalled me being uncooperative and distrustful.
I managed through wracking sobs and hyper ventilation to explain my current phone phobia and dislike of answering or making calls as it tends to cause panic attacks. They agreed to email me in the future. The conference rounded up by deciding I should see a psychologist or a psychiatrist but they were not sure which.
The following day I had an email from the welfare department with the name of a psychologist and a telephone number to call to make myself an appointment! Oh how ironic I thought!
I have now had three whole days help from Debbie Banks via Save Our Soldier and the force have changed their minds about the psychologist referral, asking that I now see a psychiatrist instead but I've yet to get an appointment through the post.
I visited the FMO/OH again last week supposedly to top and tail the psych. referral but she apparently should have gotten my written consent and didn't. I have since done that.
I have now been off sick for 6 months. Luckily my half pay date of 20th June 2017 has been extended by the Chief by three months until 20th September 2017.
I have also had a letter through telling me my job has been abolished through restructuring and when I return I'll need to find a new role.
In 2002 I was in a DS post investigating Operation Ore and child abuse images, a CID post when my CI started sexually harassing me. As a result of 'Ore' we were having to spend a lot of time together and his harassment together with the material we were dealing with pushed me over the edge. I put in a complaint about the CI and the force settled outside of an IT accepting it had all happened. I received a financial pay out.
I would love to see the files on this and my statement etc as my memory of it all is pretty poor. I seemed to have erased a lot of it. Speaking up sabotaged my CID career and I never worked on the dept. again. I was side-lined into uniform briefly and then CID training.
In 2005 upon the birth of my daughter I took a five year career break returning in 2010 to a uniform post before being posted to HQ to work on Complaints & Misconduct from where I am now 'technically' sick.
In 2011 I attended my personal safety training whereby a 'new' technique was being trialled unofficially. The backwards fall manoeuvre led to me smashing my head on the floor and getting a whiplash injury that perpetuated in awful headaches for two years. The federation pursued the force for this incident as several officers were injured at the same time and we all received a pay-out for that too.
I want to leave on ill health but my fed rep thinks it too difficult to achieve before my possible 25 year retirement marker in May 2019. My 30 year marker would be May 2024.
Debbie and I concur that returning to the police would be utterly toxic to my mental health and the knock on to my Fibromyalgia cannot be underestimated.
So here I am as of 19/6/17 awaiting a psychiatrist appointment.
...to be continued...
After I returned to work two years ago after a six month absence with depression nothing in my workplace really changed barring one risk assessment that was done, albeit half heartedly and with tongue in cheek. The same supervisor annoyingly expressed surprise that I still had depression and was taking tablets a few weeks before this my second breakdown at Christmas 2016.
After reporting sick this Christmas just gone I was immediately referred by the force to the Occupational Health Nurse, interestingly this does not happen with physical illnesses, yet within a week there I was crying uncontrollably. Forty Five minutes passed with questions about when I would be fit for work and what was I doing to help myself get back into the work place etc.. The nurse did tell me as I was wearing make-up which apparently was a good sign that I wasn't that depressed, she also said that everything I said would be reported back to my supervisors. I didn't say a lot after that.
A month later they sent me back to her again, this time the force had stated in their referral paperwork that I was being uncooperative and distrustful of force policies and sick procedures. She was bemused by this, as was I at the time, but it did upset me greatly.
In March 2017 I self referred to Safe Horizons UK who in turn passed me along to Save Our Soldier and Debbie Banks was thankfully sent my way.
At the beginning of April 2017, I was contacted for the first time by my welfare department, oddly enough this came two days before I was due to attend a case conference about my sickness absence at a police building! Call me cynical but....?!!
I went to the conference with my federation representative, there was a panel of my boss, a Human Resources representative and the welfare department guy. A further question and answer session went on for 45 minutes throughout which I again cried hysterically! I managed to answer some questions, I was quizzed about my use of social media and questioned as to why I had been spreading about that I was not getting any help from the force when it was me that had told them not to contact me?
I told them that I had approached a charity for help which seemed to unsettle them, they said they'd need to check how credible they were?!
I then asked them to explain their comments on the latest referral to the OH dept. I'll summarise their replies... apparently my use of social media had been picked up by them when monitoring my blog and twitter feed. The fact that I had asked that a certain 'bully boy' supervisor not to contact me for my statutory 'weekly' calls, was being taken as me asking them not to contact me, plus they said that I had not been wholly open in my first OH session, so taking all these things together equalled me being uncooperative and distrustful.
"We've read your blog and it's obvious from that how mistrustful you are!! "
lostsouls24.blogspot.co.uk
lostsouls24.blogspot.co.uk
I managed through wracking sobs and hyper ventilation to explain my current phone phobia and dislike of answering or making calls as it tends to cause panic attacks. They agreed to email me in the future. The conference rounded up by deciding I should see a psychologist or a psychiatrist but they were not sure which.
The following day I had an email from the welfare department with the name of a psychologist and a telephone number to call to make myself an appointment! Oh how ironic I thought!
I have now had three whole days help from Debbie Banks via Save Our Soldier and the force have changed their minds about the psychologist referral, asking that I now see a psychiatrist instead but I've yet to get an appointment through the post.
I visited the FMO/OH again last week supposedly to top and tail the psych. referral but she apparently should have gotten my written consent and didn't. I have since done that.
I have now been off sick for 6 months. Luckily my half pay date of 20th June 2017 has been extended by the Chief by three months until 20th September 2017.
I have also had a letter through telling me my job has been abolished through restructuring and when I return I'll need to find a new role.
In 2002 I was in a DS post investigating Operation Ore and child abuse images, a CID post when my CI started sexually harassing me. As a result of 'Ore' we were having to spend a lot of time together and his harassment together with the material we were dealing with pushed me over the edge. I put in a complaint about the CI and the force settled outside of an IT accepting it had all happened. I received a financial pay out.
I would love to see the files on this and my statement etc as my memory of it all is pretty poor. I seemed to have erased a lot of it. Speaking up sabotaged my CID career and I never worked on the dept. again. I was side-lined into uniform briefly and then CID training.
In 2005 upon the birth of my daughter I took a five year career break returning in 2010 to a uniform post before being posted to HQ to work on Complaints & Misconduct from where I am now 'technically' sick.
In 2011 I attended my personal safety training whereby a 'new' technique was being trialled unofficially. The backwards fall manoeuvre led to me smashing my head on the floor and getting a whiplash injury that perpetuated in awful headaches for two years. The federation pursued the force for this incident as several officers were injured at the same time and we all received a pay-out for that too.
I want to leave on ill health but my fed rep thinks it too difficult to achieve before my possible 25 year retirement marker in May 2019. My 30 year marker would be May 2024.
Debbie and I concur that returning to the police would be utterly toxic to my mental health and the knock on to my Fibromyalgia cannot be underestimated.
So here I am as of 19/6/17 awaiting a psychiatrist appointment.
...to be continued...
Friday, 12 May 2017
Tuesday, 9 May 2017
'Compassion for Cops' - #MentalHealthAwarenessWeek
I'm actually quite shocked looking at how long ago it is since I last wrote a blog post.
Over a month?
I have been aware of a hesitation to sit and write, because I have been feeling a little lost, a little unsure what the point of my voice is, in such a loud over populated environment.
Mental Health is all of a sudden the buzz phrase, taking centre stage, in the spotlight and all power to that, but as a consequence I have felt a little disconnected. That combined with my therapy sessions (detailed previously) and a very close friend dying have all come together to result in me feeling just a bit numb, in fact I'm a little unsure what I am meant to be feeling right about now!
This morning I made a comment on another post that seemed to spark emotion in others so I am going to concentrate on that for today and who knows it may light a fire under my own backside!
PC Dave Wise @CopThatCooks posted:
'Chances are that one of your shift mates is struggling with mental health. Be there for them. Be a friend.'
He made the post under the hashtag of #MentalHealthAwarenessWeek
I responded,
'How very, very true. let's ditch the bullshite bravado fellow cops and find our compassion for one another'
This response to these posts seemed well received and it got me thinking that we really do need to make a huge push to empower our colleagues to understand that
'Compassion for Cops' is hugely important.
Yes we all have our own shite going on, yes we all have bad days, but is there someone close to you at work who is over reacting at jobs, maybe getting really angry really quickly. Losing their temper where once before they would have laughed. Or like me, permanently tearful, be nice to me I welled up, shout at me I welled up, leave me alone I cried from loneliness. Being overwhelmed by our emotions, unable to hide behind our normal level of camouflage is a danger sign for depression sufferers. Some of us higher functioning anxiety sufferers can keep on going, juggling life's detritus but it can often only take one or two extra things to knock us and unlike others with a degree of resilience we have none and our worlds come tumbling down super quickly.
I talk from experience, I used to drive to work in tears, compose myself to walk up to my office from the car, start crying again as my heart pounded and I approached the office. Compose my self again and then enter the office head pounding, eyesight blurring, feeling nauseous and so exhausted it felt like bed time. There I would sit doing what was quite a stressful job, plodding along keeping a heavy workload moving until someone would say or do the slightest silliest thing and all of a sudden I would feel overwhelmed, like a wave had engulfed me in a strong sea and instantly I would feel vulnerable and afraid.
It's at times like this that force's will come to know and appreciate the benefits of a peer support group. When I was suffering there was nothing, no port to hide in during my personal storms. The toilets were my respite, a cubicle was a good place to sit, regain ones composure knowing you're safe and not going to be disturbed.
The triggers for us depression and anxiety sufferers' may seem like the most inconsequential events to others however it's just as the saying goes 'the straw that broke the camel's back'
Often it's not about the particular event in question at all, it's often something else, something darker, more personal and the trigger event is just a sign of an overflowing emotional reservoir.
If you know your crew mates you'll know if their behaviour has changed and I'd ask you to show them compassion not cynicism. Love not logic. Support not sniping. You don't actually have to do much. Just show them support, trust someone who knows, just knowing someone is trying to 'get' it, trying to understand and has your back is a milestone enough.
You are not expected to solve this situation. Digest that statement fully!!
Cops expect to bring order where once before chaos reigned. We're programmed to sort things out, make decisions, mend situations. As such we shy away from colleagues with mental health problems for two reasons, one because we secretly see them as a weak link which breaks our unwritten mantra of 'I've got your back' and secondly because we don't know how to mend them, or bring about order, we feel the need to find a way to quieten their inner chaos.
Nobody is expecting you to know how to mend them though! You really do not have to solve this problem!
I'm five months into sick leave, working with therapy and I still don't know how to mend myself!!
But compassion does goes a very long way. Balls to bravado people, us cops need compassion for one another and ourselves.
Compassions counts on a personal level too you see. Once you accept we are all imperfect human beings who make mistakes and that there is not one person alive that has not ballsed up at some point from your Chief to the new probationer you will be in a better place to live a happy and healthy life. Humans are fallible. What sets people apart is how they deal with their adversities. Making mistakes is what life is all about.
I'm currently trying to learn that if I face my mistakes, accept them head on, live with them a while, process what's happened logically, no self blame, then choose to move on I'll be all the better for it. But burying crap, hiding it, carrying it around in your personal rucksack of burden for years becomes exhausting! This I do know from experience! If only we were all compassionate to ourselves and others the world would be a better place.
Listen people suffering with depression and anxiety look just like everybody else....that's because we are everybody else!! Seriously though we become experts at masking the pain that lurks just below the surface. we smile, we laugh, sometimes we even make ourselves the centre of attention for people to laugh at, because that way we get to affirm the feelings we feel inside that tell us people are laughing at us behind our backs. Trust me lots of sad very depressed people become/are clowns.
(Robin Williams was a classic incarnation of this as was Kenneth Williams, or even Peter Sellers)
I always used to try and put myself down before others did, gave me a feeling of control some how.
Anyway if a colleague approaches you or confides something in you feel proud, not panicked. Just feel good that they love and trust you enough to do so. Remember they are not looking for answers or solutions, they are looking for your compassion. A smile and an accepting nod will be a good start. A few kind words if you can find them. You could in time work with them to find help, but mostly they'll just want your support, that smile and your compassion and understanding.
So you cops trust me it's not rocket science, and it's not scary. It's also not the appropriate subject of parade room banter, and it's not unusual to be discussed in public. If you think the opposite then get with the times dude as you are sadly in the wrong decade.
The other little secret I'll leave you with, is that whenever the depression sufferer tells you was when they first realised they had a problem that will be a lie, double the time frame suggested and add another year!!
We try to minimise, we try to pretend it's a new phenomena! Partially we believe ourselves, but its a protective white lie to test the reactions we get, but when we start trusting people, we start being wholly honest and then you'll come to know when the black dog first made contact with us.
Over a month?
I have been aware of a hesitation to sit and write, because I have been feeling a little lost, a little unsure what the point of my voice is, in such a loud over populated environment.
Mental Health is all of a sudden the buzz phrase, taking centre stage, in the spotlight and all power to that, but as a consequence I have felt a little disconnected. That combined with my therapy sessions (detailed previously) and a very close friend dying have all come together to result in me feeling just a bit numb, in fact I'm a little unsure what I am meant to be feeling right about now!
This morning I made a comment on another post that seemed to spark emotion in others so I am going to concentrate on that for today and who knows it may light a fire under my own backside!
PC Dave Wise @CopThatCooks posted:
'Chances are that one of your shift mates is struggling with mental health. Be there for them. Be a friend.'
He made the post under the hashtag of #MentalHealthAwarenessWeek
I responded,
'How very, very true. let's ditch the bullshite bravado fellow cops and find our compassion for one another'
This response to these posts seemed well received and it got me thinking that we really do need to make a huge push to empower our colleagues to understand that
'Compassion for Cops' is hugely important.
Yes we all have our own shite going on, yes we all have bad days, but is there someone close to you at work who is over reacting at jobs, maybe getting really angry really quickly. Losing their temper where once before they would have laughed. Or like me, permanently tearful, be nice to me I welled up, shout at me I welled up, leave me alone I cried from loneliness. Being overwhelmed by our emotions, unable to hide behind our normal level of camouflage is a danger sign for depression sufferers. Some of us higher functioning anxiety sufferers can keep on going, juggling life's detritus but it can often only take one or two extra things to knock us and unlike others with a degree of resilience we have none and our worlds come tumbling down super quickly.
I talk from experience, I used to drive to work in tears, compose myself to walk up to my office from the car, start crying again as my heart pounded and I approached the office. Compose my self again and then enter the office head pounding, eyesight blurring, feeling nauseous and so exhausted it felt like bed time. There I would sit doing what was quite a stressful job, plodding along keeping a heavy workload moving until someone would say or do the slightest silliest thing and all of a sudden I would feel overwhelmed, like a wave had engulfed me in a strong sea and instantly I would feel vulnerable and afraid.
It's at times like this that force's will come to know and appreciate the benefits of a peer support group. When I was suffering there was nothing, no port to hide in during my personal storms. The toilets were my respite, a cubicle was a good place to sit, regain ones composure knowing you're safe and not going to be disturbed.
The triggers for us depression and anxiety sufferers' may seem like the most inconsequential events to others however it's just as the saying goes 'the straw that broke the camel's back'
Often it's not about the particular event in question at all, it's often something else, something darker, more personal and the trigger event is just a sign of an overflowing emotional reservoir.
If you know your crew mates you'll know if their behaviour has changed and I'd ask you to show them compassion not cynicism. Love not logic. Support not sniping. You don't actually have to do much. Just show them support, trust someone who knows, just knowing someone is trying to 'get' it, trying to understand and has your back is a milestone enough.
You are not expected to solve this situation. Digest that statement fully!!
Cops expect to bring order where once before chaos reigned. We're programmed to sort things out, make decisions, mend situations. As such we shy away from colleagues with mental health problems for two reasons, one because we secretly see them as a weak link which breaks our unwritten mantra of 'I've got your back' and secondly because we don't know how to mend them, or bring about order, we feel the need to find a way to quieten their inner chaos.
Nobody is expecting you to know how to mend them though! You really do not have to solve this problem!
I'm five months into sick leave, working with therapy and I still don't know how to mend myself!!
But compassion does goes a very long way. Balls to bravado people, us cops need compassion for one another and ourselves.
Compassions counts on a personal level too you see. Once you accept we are all imperfect human beings who make mistakes and that there is not one person alive that has not ballsed up at some point from your Chief to the new probationer you will be in a better place to live a happy and healthy life. Humans are fallible. What sets people apart is how they deal with their adversities. Making mistakes is what life is all about.
I'm currently trying to learn that if I face my mistakes, accept them head on, live with them a while, process what's happened logically, no self blame, then choose to move on I'll be all the better for it. But burying crap, hiding it, carrying it around in your personal rucksack of burden for years becomes exhausting! This I do know from experience! If only we were all compassionate to ourselves and others the world would be a better place.
Listen people suffering with depression and anxiety look just like everybody else....that's because we are everybody else!! Seriously though we become experts at masking the pain that lurks just below the surface. we smile, we laugh, sometimes we even make ourselves the centre of attention for people to laugh at, because that way we get to affirm the feelings we feel inside that tell us people are laughing at us behind our backs. Trust me lots of sad very depressed people become/are clowns.
(Robin Williams was a classic incarnation of this as was Kenneth Williams, or even Peter Sellers)
I always used to try and put myself down before others did, gave me a feeling of control some how.
Anyway if a colleague approaches you or confides something in you feel proud, not panicked. Just feel good that they love and trust you enough to do so. Remember they are not looking for answers or solutions, they are looking for your compassion. A smile and an accepting nod will be a good start. A few kind words if you can find them. You could in time work with them to find help, but mostly they'll just want your support, that smile and your compassion and understanding.
So you cops trust me it's not rocket science, and it's not scary. It's also not the appropriate subject of parade room banter, and it's not unusual to be discussed in public. If you think the opposite then get with the times dude as you are sadly in the wrong decade.
The other little secret I'll leave you with, is that whenever the depression sufferer tells you was when they first realised they had a problem that will be a lie, double the time frame suggested and add another year!!
We try to minimise, we try to pretend it's a new phenomena! Partially we believe ourselves, but its a protective white lie to test the reactions we get, but when we start trusting people, we start being wholly honest and then you'll come to know when the black dog first made contact with us.
Tuesday, 21 March 2017
Finding your own support for #MH
Enough campaigning blogs for now... so back to me.
I am feeling somewhat more useless than normal. The days are evaporating like quality street from the tin at Christmas and very little is changing. What am I supposed to be doing? How does one recover from a mental illness?
Despite the physical pain from my fibromyalgia I'm walking several miles a day. The physical pain seems to mask the psychological misery somewhat and I enjoy the thinking time too.
If my experience over the last two years has taught me anything though, it is that mental health is a little like having an addiction. What? Give over, you say...!! I can hear your confusion from here!
Let me explain my theory, addictions creep up on you but are often visible to loved ones long before yourself, the same thing occurs with mental illness and depression especially. Tackling the issue of your addiction/mental illness is nigh impossible until the sufferer looks in the mirror and sees themselves for what they have become. Especially true in relation to your mental health. Until you can look in that mirror and see the real you, not the fake you, then you cannot possibly hope to start working towards a better state of mind. I happen to think that once you have suffered from a mental illness then it will always be with you, you may learn coping strategies, use mindfulness, undergo counselling, yoga etc. but essentially in my opinion/experience you will still always have your mental illness wrapped away in your coping parcel, much like a pass the parcel gift, but this one is safely tucked away in the corner of your mind. How well your mental health is from day to day, month to month, may well depend on how many layers of paper get ripped off your parcel by any given set of circumstances.
Mental Health does fluctuate, it is not a rigid thing, some days are good, some are bad. Some days the sun shines and some days it does not. Sometimes there is root cause, sometimes there is no explanation for the darkness but the fluidity of mental health is perhaps one of the most difficult aspects to grasp, especially for those around us. When the black dog comes bounding our way, knocking us over before ripping off those last layers of paper from our coping parcels you have no choice but to accept it. There is no choice about mental health, I do not choose to me a miserable cow, the darkness descends, the world seems evil, there is no hope, everything is pointless and I'm instantly the biggest waste of space around. The following day however I can feel carefree, happy go lucky, talented, excited for the future and mildly content with my lot. There is no on and off button, the cards get dealt and you have to play the hand life gives you. Some days its a good hand, others its shockingly crap and can only mean defeat.
So perhaps if I look in the mirror what do I see at the moment..
Well I'm still broken, I accept I have depression, anxiety and have a Fibromyalgia diagnosis. The reality of that is being anxious continually, waiting for the inevitable bad thing to happen. I don't know what it is but if you live with anxiety there is always a prickle at the back of my neck warning me that danger is close. Anxiety means I live in a permanent state of crisis, the door gets knocked and my heart races, adrenaline starts to pump, I become breathless, my head spins, my neck stiffens and panic takes hold. Why you ask? Who knows?! Wish I did!
Telephone calls freak me right out, I've mentioned it before but dear lord they make me feel so ill. The phone rings and in that split second my heart feels like it is going to leap out of my chest, I feel like running and hiding. I don't of course but telephones currently make me cry.
So am I making any progress? Well I have got the diagnosis since being off sick, I have a referral to the pain clinic, and then my big news...
Last week whilst sat on my sofa crying again, (I need shares in a tissue company) I realised that no one was coming to help me. I think I had expected somebody to take charge and tell me what I needed to do but they hadn't arrived. With no partner to help, no family interested in helping I have to dig myself out of the pit and that's no mean feat let me tell you. It's taken nearly three months of psychological, and physiological pain to find the courage and mental stamina to ask for help. Thankfully it has all been done by email.
I had been recommended a charity that dealt with police officers suffering from PTSD. The founder's husband suffered with PTSD from his police service and Claire had helped him through it. She's an expert at police rules and regulations these days and offers support o any police officer and/or their families. So having been told about her by a twitter buddy (one of my make believe friends, in joke with my tweeps!) I went to her charities Safe Horizons UK web site and filled in their on line enquiry form and with a shaking hand and tears rolling down my face I hit the send key.
Within 30 minutes Claire McDowall herself had sent me a lovely email, the tears didn't stop running down my face but I knew I had made the right decision to ask for help. We emailed a little before she thought I needed help from a partner charity called Save Our Soldiers and she put me in touch with them. The Save Our Soldiers web site runs an online chat session with people asking for help, so I chatted to Daniel and he asked about my needs, requirements, problems. It was much like a Messenger conversation in format and speed. Daniel explained that they had counsellors and coaches nationwide who helped with PTSD and he told me he would source one for me locally and come back to me by email as I requested.
Now after that session I sat back feeling I had achieved a lot. I was quite stunned by people offering help so readily, but little did I know that my new coach would be in touch within another 30 minutes...wow!
Debbie Banks made contact offering me her services, asking me how she could help.
Well my gast was well and truly flabbered! All that amazing help and support within hours of asking for it. This is what the police service should be doing for its officers and staff. I have been off sick for nearly three months, in that time I have had a summons twice to attend an occupational health assessment, twice for a case conference to discuss how to get me back to work (well once I didn't attend the first one arranged), and the welfare department contacted me today asking what they could do to help.
Debbie has been in contact regularly since then and is actually coming up to Dorset for two whole days to help me...
Not an hour session every six weeks like Steps2Wellbeing or other counsellors I have encountered but she is travelling to Dorset for two whole days to work with me. No one has ever done that for me, not even family.
I'm scared to death of it, don't get me wrong, but despite wanting to cancel it, or run away from it, I do know my future depends on sorting out my head.
My last piece of current affairs information is that I have my works case conference on Thursday afternoon, 23/3/17, where they'll be discussing how to get me back to work. Looking forward to that one lots as you can imagine!
That's all for now my fellow black dog cops.
I am feeling somewhat more useless than normal. The days are evaporating like quality street from the tin at Christmas and very little is changing. What am I supposed to be doing? How does one recover from a mental illness?
Despite the physical pain from my fibromyalgia I'm walking several miles a day. The physical pain seems to mask the psychological misery somewhat and I enjoy the thinking time too.
If my experience over the last two years has taught me anything though, it is that mental health is a little like having an addiction. What? Give over, you say...!! I can hear your confusion from here!
Let me explain my theory, addictions creep up on you but are often visible to loved ones long before yourself, the same thing occurs with mental illness and depression especially. Tackling the issue of your addiction/mental illness is nigh impossible until the sufferer looks in the mirror and sees themselves for what they have become. Especially true in relation to your mental health. Until you can look in that mirror and see the real you, not the fake you, then you cannot possibly hope to start working towards a better state of mind. I happen to think that once you have suffered from a mental illness then it will always be with you, you may learn coping strategies, use mindfulness, undergo counselling, yoga etc. but essentially in my opinion/experience you will still always have your mental illness wrapped away in your coping parcel, much like a pass the parcel gift, but this one is safely tucked away in the corner of your mind. How well your mental health is from day to day, month to month, may well depend on how many layers of paper get ripped off your parcel by any given set of circumstances.
Mental Health does fluctuate, it is not a rigid thing, some days are good, some are bad. Some days the sun shines and some days it does not. Sometimes there is root cause, sometimes there is no explanation for the darkness but the fluidity of mental health is perhaps one of the most difficult aspects to grasp, especially for those around us. When the black dog comes bounding our way, knocking us over before ripping off those last layers of paper from our coping parcels you have no choice but to accept it. There is no choice about mental health, I do not choose to me a miserable cow, the darkness descends, the world seems evil, there is no hope, everything is pointless and I'm instantly the biggest waste of space around. The following day however I can feel carefree, happy go lucky, talented, excited for the future and mildly content with my lot. There is no on and off button, the cards get dealt and you have to play the hand life gives you. Some days its a good hand, others its shockingly crap and can only mean defeat.
So perhaps if I look in the mirror what do I see at the moment..
Well I'm still broken, I accept I have depression, anxiety and have a Fibromyalgia diagnosis. The reality of that is being anxious continually, waiting for the inevitable bad thing to happen. I don't know what it is but if you live with anxiety there is always a prickle at the back of my neck warning me that danger is close. Anxiety means I live in a permanent state of crisis, the door gets knocked and my heart races, adrenaline starts to pump, I become breathless, my head spins, my neck stiffens and panic takes hold. Why you ask? Who knows?! Wish I did!
Telephone calls freak me right out, I've mentioned it before but dear lord they make me feel so ill. The phone rings and in that split second my heart feels like it is going to leap out of my chest, I feel like running and hiding. I don't of course but telephones currently make me cry.
So am I making any progress? Well I have got the diagnosis since being off sick, I have a referral to the pain clinic, and then my big news...
Last week whilst sat on my sofa crying again, (I need shares in a tissue company) I realised that no one was coming to help me. I think I had expected somebody to take charge and tell me what I needed to do but they hadn't arrived. With no partner to help, no family interested in helping I have to dig myself out of the pit and that's no mean feat let me tell you. It's taken nearly three months of psychological, and physiological pain to find the courage and mental stamina to ask for help. Thankfully it has all been done by email.
I had been recommended a charity that dealt with police officers suffering from PTSD. The founder's husband suffered with PTSD from his police service and Claire had helped him through it. She's an expert at police rules and regulations these days and offers support o any police officer and/or their families. So having been told about her by a twitter buddy (one of my make believe friends, in joke with my tweeps!) I went to her charities Safe Horizons UK web site and filled in their on line enquiry form and with a shaking hand and tears rolling down my face I hit the send key.
Within 30 minutes Claire McDowall herself had sent me a lovely email, the tears didn't stop running down my face but I knew I had made the right decision to ask for help. We emailed a little before she thought I needed help from a partner charity called Save Our Soldiers and she put me in touch with them. The Save Our Soldiers web site runs an online chat session with people asking for help, so I chatted to Daniel and he asked about my needs, requirements, problems. It was much like a Messenger conversation in format and speed. Daniel explained that they had counsellors and coaches nationwide who helped with PTSD and he told me he would source one for me locally and come back to me by email as I requested.
Now after that session I sat back feeling I had achieved a lot. I was quite stunned by people offering help so readily, but little did I know that my new coach would be in touch within another 30 minutes...wow!
Debbie Banks made contact offering me her services, asking me how she could help.
Well my gast was well and truly flabbered! All that amazing help and support within hours of asking for it. This is what the police service should be doing for its officers and staff. I have been off sick for nearly three months, in that time I have had a summons twice to attend an occupational health assessment, twice for a case conference to discuss how to get me back to work (well once I didn't attend the first one arranged), and the welfare department contacted me today asking what they could do to help.
Debbie has been in contact regularly since then and is actually coming up to Dorset for two whole days to help me...
Not an hour session every six weeks like Steps2Wellbeing or other counsellors I have encountered but she is travelling to Dorset for two whole days to work with me. No one has ever done that for me, not even family.
I'm scared to death of it, don't get me wrong, but despite wanting to cancel it, or run away from it, I do know my future depends on sorting out my head.
My last piece of current affairs information is that I have my works case conference on Thursday afternoon, 23/3/17, where they'll be discussing how to get me back to work. Looking forward to that one lots as you can imagine!
That's all for now my fellow black dog cops.
Saturday, 18 March 2017
Attention all cops... please RT and read
Dear Colleague,
Do you suffer with depression and anxiety?
Do you have any mental illness that affects you on a day to day basis?
No you answer all too quickly?!
Who me?! You think, no of course not, how could I, I'm a cop, we deal with the nutters don't we? how could I possibly be one?!
BUT - Do you get angry unexpectedly? Or do things make you cry out of the blue? Perhaps you find yourself sat staring off in to space for no particular reason? Are you feeling frazzled, over loaded? Does your head ache more than most? Do you suffer from fatigue regardless of how much sleep you have had? Is your workload getting you down? Is it a psychological burden to you, something you're fretting about day in and day out. Do you wake up and immediately consider the outstanding jobs you have? Is your brain slower than normal, foggy, forgetful? Do you feel numb to things and spaced out? Do you question your ability and have low self esteem? Maybe you have unexplained aches and pains? And the future is bleak right?
If you answered yes to any of these things, then potentially you could have mental illnesses like depression and or anxiety and you need help because trust me it doesn't solve itself.
Have you declared any of these things to your supervision? I suspect the answer is no, but if you have what was the response?
Probably oh dear never mind, do the best you can!
Or sshhh... best to keep those thoughts to yourself, you don't want to sully your career with suggestions of instability or mental health issues do you?!
Or perhaps... you may have to move roles if you start talking like that!?
Or, that will affect your promotion chances you know...!
I know these things because officers responding to this blog have told me these exact stories.
I too have experienced all these things to some degree because I am a serving police officer too and I have depression, anxiety and fibromyalgia and I am currently off sick.
I have been off sick since Christmas 2016 and my force have been unable to offer me any real support. What I need is a psychiatric intervention, counselling, mental health support which is fairly obvious really! What I get though is referrals to occupational health, summonses to case conferences and silence.
There is a stigma currently attached to mental illness in the police service and it is high time this was changed. I understand why you keep quiet, why you hide your illness under your hats, why you hide behind your uniforms and bury your heads in your massive piles of paperwork... HOWEVER
There comes a time when people, cops, we have to stand up and be counted. Will you help with that?
Change will not start itself, it needs pushing along.
I can shout and shout but me in isolation will not change things,
I need you to be brave, grasp the nettle and shout very loudly about your mental health.
Do you suffer with depression and anxiety?
Do you have any mental illness that affects you on a day to day basis?
No you answer all too quickly?!
Who me?! You think, no of course not, how could I, I'm a cop, we deal with the nutters don't we? how could I possibly be one?!
BUT - Do you get angry unexpectedly? Or do things make you cry out of the blue? Perhaps you find yourself sat staring off in to space for no particular reason? Are you feeling frazzled, over loaded? Does your head ache more than most? Do you suffer from fatigue regardless of how much sleep you have had? Is your workload getting you down? Is it a psychological burden to you, something you're fretting about day in and day out. Do you wake up and immediately consider the outstanding jobs you have? Is your brain slower than normal, foggy, forgetful? Do you feel numb to things and spaced out? Do you question your ability and have low self esteem? Maybe you have unexplained aches and pains? And the future is bleak right?
If you answered yes to any of these things, then potentially you could have mental illnesses like depression and or anxiety and you need help because trust me it doesn't solve itself.
Have you declared any of these things to your supervision? I suspect the answer is no, but if you have what was the response?
Probably oh dear never mind, do the best you can!
Or sshhh... best to keep those thoughts to yourself, you don't want to sully your career with suggestions of instability or mental health issues do you?!
Or perhaps... you may have to move roles if you start talking like that!?
Or, that will affect your promotion chances you know...!
I know these things because officers responding to this blog have told me these exact stories.
I too have experienced all these things to some degree because I am a serving police officer too and I have depression, anxiety and fibromyalgia and I am currently off sick.
I have been off sick since Christmas 2016 and my force have been unable to offer me any real support. What I need is a psychiatric intervention, counselling, mental health support which is fairly obvious really! What I get though is referrals to occupational health, summonses to case conferences and silence.
There is a stigma currently attached to mental illness in the police service and it is high time this was changed. I understand why you keep quiet, why you hide your illness under your hats, why you hide behind your uniforms and bury your heads in your massive piles of paperwork... HOWEVER
There comes a time when people, cops, we have to stand up and be counted. Will you help with that?
Change will not start itself, it needs pushing along.
I can shout and shout but me in isolation will not change things,
I need you to be brave, grasp the nettle and shout very loudly about your mental health.
HONESTY IS THE KEY TO FIGHTING THE STIGMA
Not only will that help the cause but yourself too.
You need to be able to look in the mirror and see yourself, not the fake, puffed out chest, I can cope with anything cop version, but you the gentle caring person you were before stress and anxiety ravaged you.
Peer support groups in every force need to become the norm. Access to psychiatric help within days needs to be the norm. Let's break down the STIGMA....NOW...
Acceptance of mental illness without the stigma is vital to a modern police service surviving.
Without change the future is bleak,staffing numbers are falling and work loads are increasing so more and more officers will need support and guidance not the current wall of silence and ignorance.
Will you stand tall and join my Black Dog Cops Pack?
We can make a difference for ourselves and others.
#MENTAL HEALTH MATTERS
Tuesday, 14 March 2017
A tearfully bad day ...
'Shaking and blubbing like a baby'
Despite my blogging and shouting on social media I have yet to pluck up the courage to look for help. I had convinced myself that like the last time this happened two years ago that I could do this on my own but it's looking very much like I can't. Some days I can be quite balanced and strong, others just pathetically weak and weepy. Today is the later ...
I've been off sick since Christmas and haven't really been out much since then. Well I have ferried my daughter around, had a couple of meals out and tackled some medical appointments but what I like to do most is sit in the house with the curtains drawn so the world can't get to me. An old friend caught me out walking the dogs yesterday and suggested he pop around for a coffee, he drove off leaving me thinking he'd be around at my house soon. Well I panicked wholeheartedly and text him very quickly saying I had an appointment and could we do it some other time. I raced home, pulled the curtains, locked the doors and hid upstairs until he'd answered 'never mind'.
I do not want to face people, talking, noise, movement, just about anything really that isn't encapsulated inside my own little world inside these four walls.
I've lost what I thought were good friends because of my sociable ineptitude, well I guess they weren't worth worrying about if they got the hump about their damaged feelings because I hadn't been out recently or when they told me my mental health was irrelevant but it has still hurt me to know they weren't the people I thought they were. Needless to say my anxiety has risen its ugly head and blamed me for it, so I've been battering myself about it for two weeks, getting in a right state whenever I have to go near these silly people. I have to put myself first now though so I need to try and not be bothered about their hurt feelings and instead deal with my own.
This morning whilst answering a random tweet I suddenly realised as I burst in top tears yet again that I really don't have this 'episode' under control. I'm a wreck masquerading as an astute adult.
What I needed back at the start was someone to book me an appointment with a psychologist and just take me there! To assume a mentally ill person is capable of arranging their own treatment is a big ask if |I am any example to go by!
Plus I have a phobia of telephones, do not ask me why because I don't know - well I guess if I was to get all Freudian I would say it was probably because my Mother and I last spoke to each other 15 years ago over the telephone. On that occasion she was abusive, putrid and downright rude to me before disowning me for refusing to divorce my Father at the same time as she did! We've not spoken or seen each other since. She has only met my eleven year old daughter, baby bear, on one fluke occasion. Some Grandmother hey?!
So I suspect it is that, but knowing does not help me escape from the fear that grips me, or the tears that flow when the telephone rings or I know I have to make a call.
The other thing I have stupidly been forcing myself to do is walk endless miles. My poor little dogs are exhausted!! They've only little legs which are getting shorter every day!! Why is that a bad thing I hear you ask? The Fibromyalgia diagnosis means alongside my many symptoms I have significant joint pain daily and that's before any exercise, as such I have been advised to exercise little and often. But something inside me feels driven to try and walk it off, the #FunnyFibro that is or perhaps its my attempt drive out the depression? Maybe it is the later because if I'm hurting myself physically and I'm exhausted I won't have to face or deal with my feelings of hopelessness, being ugly or feeling like a waste of space will I? I did 5 miles yesterday and my right knee joint is now swollen so that it looks like the knee cap is actually a melon, plus the numbness is back and my foot keeps going dead! The dogs are still exhausted today, as am I to be honest!
The odd thing is when I meet someone out walking or have to face people I can still just about summon the cop genie! What an earth does she mean I hear you shout?! Those that suffer with depression or have done in the past know exactly what I am about to type don't you? The veil we can hide behind, the doppelganger we can swap with?
The cop genie fights off the black dog and brings me a professional face, an articulate voice and makes me sound like I know what I'm talking about!
I even have an invisible uniform and public order shield! I can jump back into that old skin and convince the world that I have this down and I'm coping absolutely fine! That time span however is dependant on how well you are feeling mentally... The genie can be summoned for varying time spans, for instance until I fell off the magic carpet at Christmas (went sick/got ill!) I could summon the cop genie for almost eight hour stints barring a little blubbing in the toilets here and there.
But the more poorly I get the less able I am to find the magic required to summon or sustain the cop genie and the black dog invades my mind. When the cop genie is beaten by the black dog I'm left with the hollow husk of a drained and broken human being flailing around unsure of herself ,wracked with anxiety and self doubt. Unable to cope, unable to do anything other than blunder around, shout at people, get cross, cry, sit staring into space, or typing a blog entry!
I managed to summon the cop genie this morning for a few minutes just to send an email to the charity Safe Horizons UK asking for help. I'm not sure what help I'm asking for, I'm not sure they can help me, but I have extended an arm, reached out to them anyways.
Plus I've written this today so all is not lost!
Despite all of this, or perhaps because of all this, I am still determined to bring together suffering cops into my Black Dog Pack. If only for you to feel united, not alone and that someone 'gets' what it is you are feeling. I know the trials of living with depression and anxiety in todays police service, which sadly, is still mostly riddled with stigma against mental illness.
I have been considering getting some Black Dog Cop bracelets made up, so that we can all wear them, then we could know each other show and share experiences and support one another. Non-sufferers have also shown an interest in that they would like to show support for our struggles and even indicate themselves as a 'safe' person with whom you could confide and talk.
Let me know your thoughts @BeachHutBabe24
Friday, 10 February 2017
Big Steps Taken?
Life bumbles on, it's passing me by very quickly at the moment but I guess I'm not really paying it much attention to be honest.
A school run here, a club run there, a date run today (for daughter not me)
I'm just ferrying my daughter about and that's about as far as I am getting. I am avoiding going to the shops, or the petrol station, the telephone is definitely poisonous and I've even avoided the chemist despite needing to fill a prescription! I even had to ask a dear friend to pay a bill for me over the telephone this week, as I just couldn't face the social interaction needed.
Last night my daughter came towards me holding her phone out towards me whilst uttering the most terrifying words...
Well you would have thought she had approached me with a grenade in her hand, pin pulled, if you'd seen my reaction. I barked at her to take it away from me just as if it was going to kill me. Her poor face was plastered with confusion and I made up some rubbish about needing to know what it was I was meant to be discussing with this other Mother before I speaking to her, but it was lame and she knew my reaction wasn't normal. (whatever normal is?!)
Undeterred though she tried again this morning but thankfully I managed to sway the conversation towards that of a text message exchange which thankfully sufficed in the end.
It leaves me feeling that inevitable pang of failure, that useless bundle of nerves that I often feel must equate to my sum total. She asked me before I took her to her club this evening,
A school run here, a club run there, a date run today (for daughter not me)
I'm just ferrying my daughter about and that's about as far as I am getting. I am avoiding going to the shops, or the petrol station, the telephone is definitely poisonous and I've even avoided the chemist despite needing to fill a prescription! I even had to ask a dear friend to pay a bill for me over the telephone this week, as I just couldn't face the social interaction needed.
Last night my daughter came towards me holding her phone out towards me whilst uttering the most terrifying words...
"can you speak to Max's mum?"
Well you would have thought she had approached me with a grenade in her hand, pin pulled, if you'd seen my reaction. I barked at her to take it away from me just as if it was going to kill me. Her poor face was plastered with confusion and I made up some rubbish about needing to know what it was I was meant to be discussing with this other Mother before I speaking to her, but it was lame and she knew my reaction wasn't normal. (whatever normal is?!)
It leaves me feeling that inevitable pang of failure, that useless bundle of nerves that I often feel must equate to my sum total. She asked me before I took her to her club this evening,
"why are you so tired?"
and yet again I found myself having to find a reasonable explanation for the fact I am feeling dog tired, again, washed out, again, and all from doing very little.
I wanted to say,
- Well the day started with you asking me to speak on the phone which burnt through 20% of my energy,
- I had to wash and put on clean clothes that was another 15% gone.
- Driving to town, then having to book your bowling session and paying for it before speaking to your beau that used up another 20%.
- Then the hour's dog walk along the beach used up another 10%,
- The dash to the toilet in the local theatre was another 5% as there were people in there staring at me thinking I was a weirdo (least that's what my head said at the time).
- Then there was the taxi service home, cooking that stew for dinner and
- This club run now, there's another 20% gone ...
which leaves me I think with 10% brain function for your pick up, seeing the other parents in three hours time plus any conversations that you hope to have with me this evening!!
However I made up yet another lame excuse about the sea air sapping my strength and that it must be all the fresh air that's exhausted me! Luckily she agreed beach walks were tiring and there I was off the hook!
Anxiety is like having naff batteries fitted, they don't recharge well at night, whatever charge they do take on dissipates quickly and when you need explosive energy bursts they don't give you the strength you want!
The demons roaming about my head spend their lives poisoning those few remaining active brain cells against me whilst every external stimuli proves utterly exhausting. The demons whisper their putrid mantras along my synapses, you're useless a parent, you're a pointless a person, you're fat and ugly, in fact anything and everything negative that they can conjure up to attack me with.
Anxiety uses my own brain against me, I'm literally turning on myself from the inside outwards. Beating myself up with never ending self loathing and despair. The voice in my head knows all my insecurities and uses them against me and it is so loud that it drowns out all the other voices to the point that it is the only one I can hear.
The tiredness envelopes me like that black cloud you so often see drawn so evocatively to demonstrate depression and anxiety.
The darkness clings to me like a strand of the sticky catchweed plant from the meadow.
The darkness permeates my clothes like the smoke from a bonfire,
the darkness is so tangible I feel like trying to shake it off like a dog does water.
And what is that despicable discomfort I feel when I am in public?
It's like I've messed myself and the entire world is staring straight at me, seeing my embarrassment, watching me walk with my legs a metre apart, smelling my shame.
They're laughing, pointing at me and I just wish I could fold myself in on myself and disappear.
That feeling of unease that the worst thing ever is about to happen or that it already did. The willpower it takes not to run away is ridiculous.
I'm definitely not to be trusted around people, I either cry or shout at them and truly there doesn't seem to be a middle ground! I say harsh things, I snap, I'm flippant and cutting... I have no filter at all and even when I'm angry I am still on the verge of crying.
I freak out even when there is no reason to but I just cannot seem to stop myself because my emotions are running riot.
The lunatics are running my asylum so to speak!
All in all anxiety is currently ravaging me and I find myself being stormy, weepy and down right unreasonable with a predisposition for being utterly spiteful!
A lovely twitter friend suggested tonight that I should give myself credit for what I have achieved today as opposed to beating myself up over the uselessness I feel and see in the mirror.
He said I should concentrate on the big steps taken ... mmm ...
sorry it's not working!!
Sunday, 5 February 2017
Depression's invasive numbness
I have been struggling over the past few days with the invasive numbness that comes with depression.
Its like the mist that creeps off the sea.
One minute you have a glorious sunny day on the beach and the next its overcast and chilly. Within the flip of a coin the mood changes from fun filled day to a depressing and chilly one. The fun goes and it couldn't feel any different a day and all in a split second.
There's a reason why they always use mist in films to betray creepy, scary, unnerving moments. they want you to feel disorientated, lost and confused.
That's how I feel at the moment, except it feels like I'm not feeling at all in some ways.
I can't raise a smile to be happy or shed a tear to be sad. I feel lost in no mans land betwixt the two.
My head feels fizzy and slow. Towards the back of my head it feels sore like someone cracked me around the back of the head with a baseball bat. When I try to focus on something its like there's a missing connection, something unplugged. Like putting your foot on a car's accelerator and getting no response. Its wearing and exhausting though, thinking nothing and looking into space or wandering around aimlessly. It's utterly sapping, your strength evaporates like a puddle under the burning hot sun. It makes no sense, sounds utterly pathetic when you need to say it out loud, but you'll know what I mean if you suffer. Limbs filled with lead, you feel like you've done ten exercise classes back to back and then taken the same amount of exams and all on the same day. Mentally and physically exhausted, devoid of the strength of mind or body to function. Like an upturned beetle, going nowhere, vulnerable, panicked, wriggling about using all your energy up but making no progress.
That's partly why I hate being with people at the moment, my brain just doesn't function. They want to make idle chit chat and my head just wants to look dumbly at a plain wall and say nothing at all.
I want to be invisible, I can't be bothered to wash or dress in clean clothes or brush my hair. I just want to be left alone to rot away.
They don't get it, whatever 'it' really is. I have some friends who either don't want to get it or just really cannot grasp it and what it entails when I try and tell them. I've been invited out next weekend and I've said no, but instead of saying okay we understand maybe next time they've got the hump. I'm used to their attitude because it is not the first time, but I'm getting to the point where I just can't be bothered with them anymore. I don't talk about what's affecting me because it falls on deaf ears and when I see them at clubs or school runs I have now snapped a couple of times and said some less than delicately phrased things! I should apologise really for snapping but its feeling the motivation to even be bothered with that these days too. I don't want to entirely sabotage my social life though if for no other reason than my daughters sake. She loves to see them away from school and play and have fun.
As you all know if you follow me on twitter I had a meeting with the police federation last week to talk about the way forward. I cried a lot, which left me feeling utterly humiliated, not his fault at all but exhausting nonetheless. He talked about the need for there to be a case conference with HR, my line management and the sooner the better. That was like a punch in the guts, made me feel sick and terrified all at the same time but I have to move forwards and he says that is the best way. He's hoping in doing that, the meeting may result in them agreeing that I need to see a psychiatrist who could then direct some treatment. It seems a bit like I'm being put in a shop window to prove to everyone how unwell I am, like a performing seal. Come look at the nutter she's a snot fest and a gibbering wreck. Roll up, roll up come and see the lamest woman you ever could clap eyes on. watch her blub, she'll make a fool of herself right there in front of your very eyes.
Ugh sorry, the logical side of my brain knows that's tosh but its the way part of me feels about it.
There is not one of us who likes being seen when we're weak, think about it. Have you ever felt vulnerable in public, what did you do? Stand and look weak or make excuses and disappear? If a friend wells up when you're out with them, they'll rush off to the toilet or walk away. Its wholly unnatural to have to bear yourself and your inherent weaknesses in front of others in what inevitably feels like a show to prove to them you are ill.
I have had periods of deep depression before but this is stronger, it's pulling me down more than I have had to fight against before. It's like I'm swimming in the sea in a strong current and I'm fighting against it yet I keep swimming, but somehow I'm drifting away from where I need to be.
Part of me is genuinely scared in case I completely lose control and I end up drowning or worse still being washed out to sea.
Let's hope this meeting doesn't sink me and that I manage to keep on treading water for the time being. I seem to have lost my little boat!! Yet my analogy remains around water?! Freudian though isn't it, as I'm a poor swimmer and quite scared of being out of my depth in the sea!
Its like the mist that creeps off the sea.
One minute you have a glorious sunny day on the beach and the next its overcast and chilly. Within the flip of a coin the mood changes from fun filled day to a depressing and chilly one. The fun goes and it couldn't feel any different a day and all in a split second.
That's how I feel at the moment, except it feels like I'm not feeling at all in some ways.
Numb, frozen, paused?
I can't raise a smile to be happy or shed a tear to be sad. I feel lost in no mans land betwixt the two.
My head feels fizzy and slow. Towards the back of my head it feels sore like someone cracked me around the back of the head with a baseball bat. When I try to focus on something its like there's a missing connection, something unplugged. Like putting your foot on a car's accelerator and getting no response. Its wearing and exhausting though, thinking nothing and looking into space or wandering around aimlessly. It's utterly sapping, your strength evaporates like a puddle under the burning hot sun. It makes no sense, sounds utterly pathetic when you need to say it out loud, but you'll know what I mean if you suffer. Limbs filled with lead, you feel like you've done ten exercise classes back to back and then taken the same amount of exams and all on the same day. Mentally and physically exhausted, devoid of the strength of mind or body to function. Like an upturned beetle, going nowhere, vulnerable, panicked, wriggling about using all your energy up but making no progress.
That's partly why I hate being with people at the moment, my brain just doesn't function. They want to make idle chit chat and my head just wants to look dumbly at a plain wall and say nothing at all.
I want to be invisible, I can't be bothered to wash or dress in clean clothes or brush my hair. I just want to be left alone to rot away.
They don't get it, whatever 'it' really is. I have some friends who either don't want to get it or just really cannot grasp it and what it entails when I try and tell them. I've been invited out next weekend and I've said no, but instead of saying okay we understand maybe next time they've got the hump. I'm used to their attitude because it is not the first time, but I'm getting to the point where I just can't be bothered with them anymore. I don't talk about what's affecting me because it falls on deaf ears and when I see them at clubs or school runs I have now snapped a couple of times and said some less than delicately phrased things! I should apologise really for snapping but its feeling the motivation to even be bothered with that these days too. I don't want to entirely sabotage my social life though if for no other reason than my daughters sake. She loves to see them away from school and play and have fun.
As you all know if you follow me on twitter I had a meeting with the police federation last week to talk about the way forward. I cried a lot, which left me feeling utterly humiliated, not his fault at all but exhausting nonetheless. He talked about the need for there to be a case conference with HR, my line management and the sooner the better. That was like a punch in the guts, made me feel sick and terrified all at the same time but I have to move forwards and he says that is the best way. He's hoping in doing that, the meeting may result in them agreeing that I need to see a psychiatrist who could then direct some treatment. It seems a bit like I'm being put in a shop window to prove to everyone how unwell I am, like a performing seal. Come look at the nutter she's a snot fest and a gibbering wreck. Roll up, roll up come and see the lamest woman you ever could clap eyes on. watch her blub, she'll make a fool of herself right there in front of your very eyes.
Ugh sorry, the logical side of my brain knows that's tosh but its the way part of me feels about it.
There is not one of us who likes being seen when we're weak, think about it. Have you ever felt vulnerable in public, what did you do? Stand and look weak or make excuses and disappear? If a friend wells up when you're out with them, they'll rush off to the toilet or walk away. Its wholly unnatural to have to bear yourself and your inherent weaknesses in front of others in what inevitably feels like a show to prove to them you are ill.
I have had periods of deep depression before but this is stronger, it's pulling me down more than I have had to fight against before. It's like I'm swimming in the sea in a strong current and I'm fighting against it yet I keep swimming, but somehow I'm drifting away from where I need to be.
Part of me is genuinely scared in case I completely lose control and I end up drowning or worse still being washed out to sea.
Let's hope this meeting doesn't sink me and that I manage to keep on treading water for the time being. I seem to have lost my little boat!! Yet my analogy remains around water?! Freudian though isn't it, as I'm a poor swimmer and quite scared of being out of my depth in the sea!
Monday, 30 January 2017
The journey to Mental Illness
I dreamt about writing this piece all night and in my dreams it was just right and I got my point across perfectly, so here's hoping the conscious self is as astute as the virtual one!!
I dreamt about a journey that I've been on from my childhood through to police service and the point at which I find myself now. I saw it as a journey and would like to try and put that into writing thus making sense of what I saw last night.
The way I see it at nineteen years old prior to joining the police service of the late 80's, I was a middle class child, and an only child at that, fairly protected from the worlds horrors. My Mother was a bit of a bully and my Dad a respected banker. The bullying had taken quite a toll already leaving me lacking in confidence and somewhat socially reticent.
I left school and worked in a bank where I realised I wasn't as useless as my Mother made out and when a co-worker was accepted as a police officer I also decided to join up, to embark upon the journey it represented. My Mother was adamant that I was making a big mistake but I forged ahead and was accepted starting my voyage aboard the good ship 'Police Service' in August 1989.
The first port the good ship police service visited was training school. The streets here were littered with sexual discrimination something I had never encountered up until this point. It never really made sense to me back then why I was treated differently because I was female. Of course there were the obvious uniform differences, skirts, tights, a handbag and no truncheon. The commandant demanding of me one parade if I was merely the 'course mascot missy' or are you 'a real police officer?!' The venom in some chaps faces just because I was there, others because I shared a self defence mat with them I was never really prepared for that. It scolded my young self and provided the wake up call I probably needed that this was not necessarily a holiday rather a voyage of self discovery.
The second port was my initial posting and another liberal dose of sexism. I was nicknamed 'the strumpet whore' for no other reason than I was a female. I was naïve sexually so I know for a fact it wasn't due to any promiscuity! I accepted this name willingly as I wanted to fit in and back then I think I even wore it as a badge of honour representing what I felt I had achieved so far. Along sexism street I was pinned against walls, called names, banned from attending certain incidents and touched up by the sergeant in charge of my probationary two year period. A baptism of fire. I recall very vividly watching a Detective Inspector balling very loudly at a shivering, cold, wet, rape victim in the enquiry office of the station interview room about how she had been asking for it, and what did she expect dressed like that. I think it was at this part in my journey that I started carrying a rucksack for those chips that got gouged out of my shoulders.
As time progressed I developed very chipped shoulders yet I saw them as well earned war wounds. Trophies as you will. I was succeeding where I had been told I would fail, I was proud to be a police officer. The service was the making of me I thought and despite the sexism I enjoyed the camaraderie, I felt like I belonged to something worthwhile and I knew I could be good at it.
The places I visited along the way have shown me the horrors of human nature, I have seen bodies broken beyond recognition, babies raped, and low lives willing to assault and thieve from the elderly. I have held the hands of parents whose children have been snatched, told people their loved ones will never be coming home again and given of myself to allow others a smoother passage.
As I have travelled this route like from all good journeys I have kept images of the things I have seen along the way. The horrors are all stored in my rucksack lest I forget. The sudden deaths, the road traffic casualties, the crashed helicopter pilot, the raped baby, and indeed the sounds of that baby being raped. Many, many memories.
That old adage that the police service deals with five per cent of the population ninety per cent of the time is very true but it was easy to lose sight of this fact along the way. The way I viewed the world and myself was shaped by these experiences and I never really knew what damage they were causing along the way.
The rucksack got heavier and heavier with the flotsam I collected until my first visit to Mental Illness in 2002.
I dreamt about a journey that I've been on from my childhood through to police service and the point at which I find myself now. I saw it as a journey and would like to try and put that into writing thus making sense of what I saw last night.
The Time prior to joining the Good Ship 'Police Service'!
The way I see it at nineteen years old prior to joining the police service of the late 80's, I was a middle class child, and an only child at that, fairly protected from the worlds horrors. My Mother was a bit of a bully and my Dad a respected banker. The bullying had taken quite a toll already leaving me lacking in confidence and somewhat socially reticent.
I left school and worked in a bank where I realised I wasn't as useless as my Mother made out and when a co-worker was accepted as a police officer I also decided to join up, to embark upon the journey it represented. My Mother was adamant that I was making a big mistake but I forged ahead and was accepted starting my voyage aboard the good ship 'Police Service' in August 1989.
The ports visited along the way!
The first port the good ship police service visited was training school. The streets here were littered with sexual discrimination something I had never encountered up until this point. It never really made sense to me back then why I was treated differently because I was female. Of course there were the obvious uniform differences, skirts, tights, a handbag and no truncheon. The commandant demanding of me one parade if I was merely the 'course mascot missy' or are you 'a real police officer?!' The venom in some chaps faces just because I was there, others because I shared a self defence mat with them I was never really prepared for that. It scolded my young self and provided the wake up call I probably needed that this was not necessarily a holiday rather a voyage of self discovery.
The second port was my initial posting and another liberal dose of sexism. I was nicknamed 'the strumpet whore' for no other reason than I was a female. I was naïve sexually so I know for a fact it wasn't due to any promiscuity! I accepted this name willingly as I wanted to fit in and back then I think I even wore it as a badge of honour representing what I felt I had achieved so far. Along sexism street I was pinned against walls, called names, banned from attending certain incidents and touched up by the sergeant in charge of my probationary two year period. A baptism of fire. I recall very vividly watching a Detective Inspector balling very loudly at a shivering, cold, wet, rape victim in the enquiry office of the station interview room about how she had been asking for it, and what did she expect dressed like that. I think it was at this part in my journey that I started carrying a rucksack for those chips that got gouged out of my shoulders.
As time progressed I developed very chipped shoulders yet I saw them as well earned war wounds. Trophies as you will. I was succeeding where I had been told I would fail, I was proud to be a police officer. The service was the making of me I thought and despite the sexism I enjoyed the camaraderie, I felt like I belonged to something worthwhile and I knew I could be good at it.
The places I visited along the way have shown me the horrors of human nature, I have seen bodies broken beyond recognition, babies raped, and low lives willing to assault and thieve from the elderly. I have held the hands of parents whose children have been snatched, told people their loved ones will never be coming home again and given of myself to allow others a smoother passage.
As I have travelled this route like from all good journeys I have kept images of the things I have seen along the way. The horrors are all stored in my rucksack lest I forget. The sudden deaths, the road traffic casualties, the crashed helicopter pilot, the raped baby, and indeed the sounds of that baby being raped. Many, many memories.
That old adage that the police service deals with five per cent of the population ninety per cent of the time is very true but it was easy to lose sight of this fact along the way. The way I viewed the world and myself was shaped by these experiences and I never really knew what damage they were causing along the way.
The rucksack got heavier and heavier with the flotsam I collected until my first visit to Mental Illness in 2002.
Mental Illness the first visit
In 2002 I split with my husband getting divorced. I was appointed Detective Sergeant on a Sex Offender Unit and was dealing with paedophiles, viewing their putrid child abuse images day in, day out. A warped perverse world that somehow became my normality. I didn't cope very well with my personal crisis, the new job, the subject matter and getting in to another relationship with step parenting duties all within a matter of months. In fact it all became too much and I fell ill and had some time off with stress. Now no one ever told me I was visiting mental illness, there were no road signs or maps. In fact it wasn't something I was even aware of until two years ago. The doctor gave me pills which I took for a while but after I was belittled and laughed at by my police officer partner for being a light weight I quickly agreed that I didn't need them, for I was a passenger on the good ship police service. I was therefore invincible.
Mentally Ill people were our 'clients' the people we dealt with, that person in the cells banging their head off the wall or the street wino who seemed to talk utter gibberish about their time in the military. Oh how we laughed about that. no it certainly wasn't us the invincible police officers.
Not very long after returning to work I took a five year career break. Deep down I knew why but I never let on, not even to myself. It's hard to explain, but I knew I wasn't coping, I knew my mind was weakening but I couldn't acknowledge it. I cast out depression refusing to accept that it was actually a part of me now. I left it on the dock and tried to sail away without it.
I had a baby, traumatic in itself with an emergency caesarean, near critical blood loss and a week in hospital being transfused. New baby and parenthood, plus starting a successful property business left me thinking it may just be possible to disembark from the good ship police service. My rucksack was really heavy with life's chattels and challenges, so we did plan that I would leave the service, run the business and bring up our daughter. However the good ship relationship then sank without a trace just as I was trying to board it, my rucksack proving far too heavy, that together with all our extra baggage it disappeared beneath the waves.
So I found myself a single parent facing an unwelcome return to the good ship police service as I needed to support us financially. I returned to a refurbished vessel, departments had changed, policies and procedures with them and it felt much like I was entering a parallel universe, everything the same yet completely different at the same time. New challenges now existed as I tried to balance parental responsibility with the demands of policing and that insatiable see saw between job and your child that can never possibly be balanced. The guilt that goes with that challenge just becomes an extra rock for the rucksack.
Mental Illness the second time around
Four years in to my return to the good ship police service I find myself two years into a posting on the Professional Standards Department. An unforgiving environment dealing with anger and discontent. Members of the public making complaints about police officers or the service in general, people you had to visit and sit and listen to whilst they spat putrid nastiness at you, in turn police officers feeling aggrieved and affronted by you asking them to account for their actions giving you the run around and / or the cold shoulder plus unsupportive line management heaping more muck in your direction regardless of the weight limits or you being obviously off balance. That's all before the IPCC cast their shadow in your direction. It was a hell hole, it is a hell hole.
This is when I visited mental illness again. This is was when I looked in the mirror and finally said hello to my old friend, acknowledging the black dogs reflection for the very first time. Even then it took me six months of physical symptoms, convinced I was dying of some mystery illness before I allowed myself to entertain the dark canine.
Oddly I thought that once I had greeted the black dog and given it a bone it would settle down in it's bed and go to sleep but how wrong I was. It had days when it hassled me non stop always there never silent, and others when it was perfectly happy to curl up in its basket and sleep. But once he's come to you, you have a pet for life. He'll demand attention at the most inopportune moments and sometimes you cannot make any headway through life but for its high jinx.
As I approached the half pay point of having been six months absent from the service and after the captain had commenced the sanctions against me known as UPP (Unsatisfactory performance procedures) for not being at work I forced myself to climb back aboard the good ship police service. Financially I had no choice but I knew it was more a case of when I'd be ill again as opposed to if. The black dog came too, he won't be left alone you see, not under any circumstances. he is very insistent that he stays in your company at all times.
This time I found acknowledging my illness out loud to people very cathartic, it seems to make people very uncomfortable I can see that and honestly part of me enjoys watching them wriggle about when I discuss it. But the captain had the last laugh ultimately as the accommodation was never adapted for keeping a pet nor was the workload or type. Nothing ever changed from before I was ill to when I returned. I even found a good proportion of the work I'd left in my tray was still sat there waiting for me six months down the line.
I battled on for a further two years. Despite my dislike of the work I knew it was a guaranteed desk job, with 9-5 week day shifts and this suited my ever present battle with balancing that damned see saw. I knew I was selling my soul to the devil in some respects but it felt like a necessary evil.
Just before Christmas 2016 I knew I was wobbling, I started getting very tearful at work. I found myself dog tired the minute I sat down at my desk, to the point that I could barely keep my eyes open at nine in the morning. I would get so angry at silly things and I felt a burning hatred for the environment and people around me. Completely paranoid, watching people automatically assuming they were talking about me and burning with resentment. It's like an allergy to work, I could feel myself welling up with tears as I approached the building daily, the hyper ventilation as I approached the office, the nausea as I entered. It repulsed me, I feared it and I'm terrified of returning to it.
Mental Illness revisited
So here I am again. Revisiting my old stomping ground. Sick. Ill. Unwell. Mad. Zombie like. Slightly agro phobic. Battling demon headaches and constant nausea. Joints aching and swollen. Fearful of the telephone ringing, panicked by work emails and sorely tempted to move to the outer Hebrides and an uninhabited island away from people, policing and myself. Except I guess I would sort of have to be there wouldn't I!
My rucksack is overflowing and it feels like I've been cast adrift in a small rowing boat away. Pushed away from the master vessel I'm bobbing around without direction. I'm out of my depth when I look over the side yet I feel too weak to row anywhere. If I stand up the weight of my rucksack rocks the boat. I have a map but cannot seem to make head nor tail of it and instead I find myself staring at it bemused. I sort of know how I might be able to get this boat to the shore, I might even be able to tether it when I got there but I truly cannot be bothered. The captain of the master vessel, police service, hasn't transmitted an SOS message for me and it seems that their expectation is of me saving myself as they have no responsibility or jurisdiction over my predicament.
I am lost on the sea of Mental Illness, my only apparent grid reference is ST1 GMA.
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