Am I Still Ill?

Dammit folks I’ll break my recent habit of passively reading and lurking around other people’s words and write something myself.

Still chirpier than of late. Well that’s a low bar to set. I wanted to die so badly folks. I really wanted to die. Not so much cause death sounds like a piece of piss or even something I wanna experience NOWWW. No, for the more humdrum, common and understandable reason. I just didn’t want to face the daily pain of Being Zoe any more.

What has actually helped me? Well, dozens of things now I think about it. Among them cups of tea, the kindness of strangers, kittens (my Mum’s newly acquired pair) cuddles from my partner, taking meds (well, I’ll have to take that one largely on faith), caring professionals, my loving Mum, the day’s regular tendency to turn into night and the promise of a few blessed hours of oblivion…you know the score folks.

But one of the things that has helped me most in this grim struggle with my own mind is actually a kind of reality check thang that I do. This consists of regular exposure to Other People who are Also Going Through Stuff. This can be real life, person to person/group contact. I don’t tend to do quite as much of that when I’m as deeply stuck in the mental mire as happened lately, but I still do put myself out there quite a lot. I go to Dual Recovery Anonymous (see the links at the side of this blog), to group therapy midweek, to a Peer Support Group for recovering addicts on a Tuesday morning, and to a Poetry Workshop once a fortnight.

I’m also a keen Interwebber and I discovered through one of my many googlings containing the word suicide, something called The Suicide Project. Well I know I already mentioned it in my last post but I’m not gonna put you a link here cause this is where I write and if you just type Suicide Project into google you will get it up right away.

This, along with something called The Experience Project has helped keep me going. Why? Because I sometimes need constant reminders that far from being most alone when we are suffering we are really not…that it is the most universal human experience there can be.

For the longest time I would just read and lurk. Then I would summon up all the strength and courage I could and actually write something and post it. Maybe even risk a comment or two on someone else’s story. Next I would begin to be a part of an online community of sorts. And community is what it’s really all about.

We’re social animals guys. I don’t need to point this out to my intelligent and informed readership. Maybe I need to keep pointing it out to myself though. And I often starve myself of that simple human contact that we all need.

The gifted-to-the- point-of-genius psychologist who runs my therapy group which I attended today said something (many things) which resounded profoundly for me. Something to this effect. That no one  human being is worth more than another. He wasn’t paying lip service. He really meant it and was totally sincere. This is how he lives and does his work. I have enormous respect for him, but, I realised today and spoke up and said so, I actually respect and admire all the other people in my therapy group. I too, was sincere and meant it from the bottom of my heart. The group is the indisputed highlight of my week. And when I started out I had doubts and wondered how it would work if people were too shy/ tongue tied/medicated to talk, and whether I really wanted to be in a group with others diagnosed as having mental health problems.

This has got to be a very important key, for me. Because, see here. If no one is intrinsically worth more than someone else folks…you’ve guessed it, THAT INCLUDES ME!

My Eureka moment of the day, week, month year or quite possibly lifetime.

Love you folks. Bear with my slowness on the uptake. I’m quite sure many of you already knew that, but there may be others who will benefit from a little reminder. XXX