Month: January 2020

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People need support for mental health and not a magic potion

Its hard opening up to friends and family about your mental health or general health issues out of fear of being judged.

No matter how much we talk about our mental health there is still so much stigma attached to it in some communities.

On my recovery journey, I have encountered a lot of different people with different views on mental health.

The religious say that if you turn to God all, your health problems will go away.

If you say you are a believer, you get accused of possibly living in sin, so the depression comes from the guilt of your sins.

Then theres the ones that sell supplements and will not take no for an answer.

I am sure if someone offered me to have a trial of something and see how I felt, I would probably try and possibly buy if I liked the product.

But the persistence and the negative talk of antidepressants in their quest to make a sale is enough to trigger my anxiety when I have to be in the same place with them.

Don’t even get me started on the constant follow ups and links to testimonials where some people were cured by these supplements.

I have come to realise that we are all different, there is not a one size fits all approach in the  management and recovery of any mental health condition.

What works for one person may not work for the next.

How good would it be to drink a sachet of syrup and all my illnesses disappear?

The only downside is that you will be set back at least a couple of hundred pounds each month for some things in the name of ‘your health is your wealth” and you will be encouraged to sign up to sell the products so that you can get them cheaper for yourself, which may not be helpful to your health if you don’t sell and are help responsible not pulling your weight to meet enough people.

The digital age has made us live in a fast paced world with access to information on the internet and everyone tends to be a google doctor.

It’s important not to self diagnose when you have symptoms and see your medical practitioners to get help.

There are supportive networks that you can join ; where most people have experience with mental health from personal experience or being care givers.

There are people who will be there for you and some who will not want to hear about your mental health, it  is important to choose your company wisely.

 

 

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Please Hear What I Am Not Saying

Don’t be fooled by me.
Don’t be fooled by the face I wear
for I wear a mask, a thousand masks,
masks that I’m afraid to take off,
and none of them is me.

Pretending is an art that’s second nature with me,
but don’t be fooled,
for God’s sake don’t be fooled.
I give you the impression that I’m secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness my game,
that the water’s calm and I’m in command
and that I need no one,
but don’t believe me.
My surface may seem smooth but my surface is my mask,
ever-varying and ever-concealing.
Beneath lies no complacence.
Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.
But I hide this. I don’t want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.
That’s why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant sophisticated facade,
to help me pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation, my only hope,
and I know it.
That is, if it’s followed by acceptance,
if it’s followed by love.
It’s the only thing that can liberate me from myself,
from my own self-built prison walls,
from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.
It’s the only thing that will assure me
of what I can’t assure myself,
that I’m really worth something.
But I don’t tell you this. I don’t dare to, I’m afraid to.
I’m afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance,
will not be followed by love.
I’m afraid you’ll think less of me,
that you’ll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.
I’m afraid that deep-down I’m nothing
and that you will see this and reject me.

So I play my game, my desperate pretending game,
with a facade of assurance without
and a trembling child within.
So begins the glittering but empty parade of masks,
and my life becomes a front.
I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk.
I tell you everything that’s really nothing,
and nothing of what’s everything,
of what’s crying within me.
So when I’m going through my routine
do not be fooled by what I’m saying.
Please listen carefully and try to hear what I’m not saying,
what I’d like to be able to say,
what for survival I need to say,
but what I can’t say.

I don’t like hiding.
I don’t like playing superficial phoney games.
I want to stop playing them.
I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me
but you’ve got to help me.
You’ve got to hold out your hand
even when that’s the last thing I seem to want.
Only you can wipe away from my eyes
the blank stare of the breathing dead.
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you’re kind, and gentle, and encouraging,
each time you try to understand because you really care,
my heart begins to grow wings–
very small wings,
very feeble wings,
but wings!

With your power to touch me into feeling
you can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me,
how you can be a creator–an honest-to-God creator–
of the person that is me
if you choose to.
You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,
you alone can remove my mask,
you alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic,
from my lonely prison,
if you choose to.
Please choose to.

Do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach to me the blinder I may strike back.
It’s irrational, but despite what the books say about man
often I am irrational.
I fight against the very thing I cry out for.
But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls
and in this lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls
with firm hands but with gentle hands
for a child is very sensitive.

Who am I, you may wonder?
I am someone you know very well.
For I am every man you meet
and I am every woman you meet.

Charles C. Finn
September 1966