Motherhood, mental illness and beyond

Posts tagged ‘guilt’

To my children

I know that you may never see this, but I need to write it even so. Because you are my wonderful, funny, loving children and I feel that I owe you this.

At the time of writing you, DD, are just a couple of weeks away from your fifth birthday; you, DS, are two and a half. You’re both loud, boisterous, confident and happy children and I love watching you play together. Your peals of laughter and the tenderness you show each other melt my heart; so too does the way you snuggle up together with a storybook. I love you both more than I can ever say, and more than you can ever imagine (and yes DD, even further than the edge of space).

At the moment Daddy and I are having a tough time because we’re both a bit poorly. We’re both a bit grumpy at times, Daddy often can’t play with you as much as you would like and I’m not as good at funny games as I used to be. You’re both very accepting of this but I know you don’t really understand. And why should you? You know that I always have a sore back but how could you possibly understand the vagaries of mental illness?

I can’t figure out a way to explain to you what bipolar means, or that Daddy’s medicines keep changing because his psychiatrist is trying to find the right balance to bring him back to himself. I don’t want to tell you that sometimes medicines can make you feel worse and not better, and that that’s why Daddy has barely left the house for the last fortnight. You don’t yet need to know about anxiety, or panic attacks that are sometimes so bad that Daddy has to shut himself in the bedroom for a while so you don’t see him shaking and crying for no apparent reason.

If this was all that was wrong, if you had a mentally healthy mother, perhaps I wouldn’t feel so bad. But having to look after Daddy all the time as well as trying to stay bright and cheerful for you is taking its toll.  My cyclothymia, usually fairly well controlled by anti-depressants, is flaring and my moods are all over the place. I can be happy one day, one hour, one moment, and cast into the depths of despair the next. It makes taking care of two lively children very difficult at times and I hope you never realise just how much I sometimes want to scream at you to leave me alone because your questions, bickering and noisy games make me want to claw off my own skin. I’m deeply ashamed of feeling this way and I worry that occasionally you might have an inkling of what I’m thinking, that you might catch a glimpse of the distress I’m trying so hard to hide from you.

I know that I’m not a dreadful mother and that you could be in a far worse situation (and that many children are). On the whole you’re happy, bright and playful children who are capable of making me laugh until the tears roll down my face. I know you love each other (even when you’re arguing) and that you know that Daddy and I love you very much. I just can’t help wishing that things were different, and feeling guilty because they’re not.

The day’s not far off when “Daddy’s just not feeling well” and “I’m a bit poorly today” won’t be enough of an excuse. DD, already you’re questioning why Daddy is ill so often and soon I’m going to have to work out how to explain a little bit more of what’s really happening. But I want you both to stay ignorant of this reality a little while longer. I don’t want you to know that there are some things that can’t be fixed, and that having a kiss and a cuddle doesn’t always make everything better. I want to protect you from this difficult truth, because once you learn it your innocent trust and faith in the omnipotence of your parents will be forever tarnished. And I’m not ready for that just yet, so please let us carry on this deception a while longer. I love you both, always.

Mummy.

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Verdict: guilty

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we are here today to consider the case against Sam Candour. The charges are as follows:

1) That she often lets down friends because she cannot face leaving the flat or seeing people – this makes her feel guilty.

2) That sometimes she really doesn’t want to play with the children – this makes her feel guilty.

3) That she struggles with anxiety and finds it hard to talk to people offline, which is beginning to impact on her daughter’s social life – this makes her feel guilty.

4) That she isn’t the kind of mother she wants to be – this makes her feel guilty.

5) That she has a flat far more cluttered than it should be but rarely has the energy to tidy – this makes her feel guilty.

6) That her anxiety makes it impossible to work at the moment, meaning that money is very tight while her husband is unemployed – this makes her feel guilty.

7) That she is rarely unable to cope with any kind of stress without binging – this makes her feel guilty.

8) That her husband always has to pick up the parenting slack when she is too depressed, tired or overwhelmed to cope as a partnership – this makes her feel guilty.

9) That her children deserve a far better mother but won’t get one – this makes her feel guilty.

10) That she fights against the stigma surrounding mental illness but nonetheless feels that her own illness is a sign of weakness and a character flaw – this makes her feel guilty.

Evidence to support and prove these charges is contained both within the defendant’s own chaotic mind and her blog. The defendant has chosen to enter the only plea possible under the circumstances.

Sam Candour is GUILTY.

(This post was written as a contribution to a blog hop about guilt, hosted by PremMeditations).

Food glorious food…?

This post follows on from My big fat problem.

I have had issues with food for almost as long as I can remember. When I was a young child my mum kept a large tupperware box of chocolate biscuits (Club, Viscount, that kind of thing) on top of one of the kitchen cupboards. I used to wait until I was the only person downstairs then drag a chair into the kitchen, clamber up and get down the box. I would rummage through to find my favourites; sometimes one or two, sometimes half a dozen. It was a fairly big box so I knew I was unlikely to be discovered. At the first opportunity I would sneak my pilfered biscuits upstairs and hide them under my bed. Then after bedtime, when I should have been sleeping, I would sneak them out again and scoff them; I can vividly recall the glee, delight and guilty pleasure I felt. Then I would hide the wrappers in my shoes, and bury them at the bottom of the kitchen bin at the first opportunity.

I don’t know how old I was when I began doing this. I suspect it began around the same time as my self-harming so I would have been about 7. It makes sense to me that these behaviours probably began together as I have long suspected that my binge-eating is merely another manifestation of my urge to self-harm. Certainly the urge to binge and the urge to cut are both triggered by strongly negative emotions such as anger, despair, grief, unhappiness, frustration etc. Since I finally managed to stop cutting in early 2011 my binging has become more and more of a problem.

I’ve mentioned before that the psychiatrist I saw a while ago told me I was a compulsive binge-eater. After talking with some very kind and knowledgeable Twitter friends recently I found myself googling binge-eating today and was directed to this page on the NHS Choices website. It’s extremely informative and eerily familiar – every aspect of binge-eating that it describes applies to me. Eating excessively quickly, eating large amounts when not hungry, eating alone or secretly, feeling out of control, experiencing feelings of shame, guilt and disgust after a binge… This is what I do. This is me.

Despite having been given a good (and kind and helpful) talking-to by my knowledgeable friends on Twitter (you know who you are!) I still don’t feel that I have an eating disorder. Eating disorders are serious illnesses, while I just have no willpower. No self-control. I am greedy. I don’t have an eating disorder. Except… These experienced, knowledgeable, lovely people say that I do. The NHS website says that I do. The psychiatrist said that I do.

So. I may not be ready to admit that I have an eating disorder but I know that my eating is disordered. The difference just be semantics but for now that’s as much as I’m comfortable with. I’m waiting for a referral to a Cognitive Behavioural Therapist for my anxiety and I will definitely be mentioning my problems with food.

In the meantime I am not going to follow any faddy diets, no Atkins or Slimming World or 5:2 or anything like that. Partly because I can’t afford to but mostly because I know that they will not help me stop binging. I need to focus on my binging, not my diet as a whole. I need to arrest the impulse to binge before I act on it and I need to get into the habit of examining why I want to binge each time.

I’m not going to set myself any big scary weight-loss targets, even though that is a major part of why I need to get my eating under control – I am 5 stone overweight and that’s affecting my health as well as my happiness. For now though my only goal involving scales is to weigh less each week than I did before, even if it’s just a few ounces less.

I expect I shall blog about this again in the future but for now this is it. I know what I need to do. I know why I need to do it. I think I know how to begin doing it. So here I go…

My inner critic

I’ve written before about the stigma surrounding mental illness and how the mentally ill are perceived, approached and treated differently to the physically ill. I am a strong and vocal believer that this needs to change, that we need to be more open and accepting when it comes to mental illness. I am always open about my problems when I write online, whether here or on social media.

However it was brought home to me today that although I deplore the misconceptions and judgements that are made about those with mental illnesses, I am nonetheless guilty of having an unacceptably unforgiving attitude. Not towards others who are ill but towards myself.

I encourage others to recognise that having a mental illness is nothing to do with mental strength or attitude; yet I despise myself for being weak. I encourage others to be open and yet I am ashamed of my illness. I am honest online but I shrink away from admitting my illness to real life acquaintances. I explain to others that mental illnesses often have a physical cause and yet I berate myself for being unable to just pull myself together.

Why this division? Why can I be kind and supportive towards others and yet so harsh and judgmental about my own illness? Why am I unable to make the same allowances for myself that I make for others? Why do I acknowledge with one breath that mental illness is not my fault, and yet with the next admit my guilt for being so weak?

Any thoughts gratefully received…

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