enthusiastically me

There seems to be no end of ideas for today's blog post but they seem to evaporate upon opening the laptop. Some of them even seemed interesting but life inexorably moves on. The flavour would probably be mental health. I've just finished Chris Eccleston's book, 'I love the bones of you'. Which contains plenty of food for thought.


Teeming with ideas is a warning sign, the 'up' is starting. Funnily I can look back on it now and see when it began (I can trace is back at least two weeks). I started saying 'yes' and making plans. Being motivated isn't a bad thing at all but anyone who is prone to routine changes of mood often experiences both up and down to a more extreme level than the average bear. In context I am saying yes to everything which is dangerous psychologically as I will leave myself no time for respite when my moods change. I also run the risk of burning out over a "break" period before I have to go back to the much more mentally taxing times at work.


People tend to think, or at least I think that people tend to think that someones mental health is only at risk when they are depressed. We only hear about those who "suffer depression" (must look up the convention for quotation marks). I seldom thought of people who 'suffer' from positive moods but these are the times when I am feeling great and can over commit myself and my time to projects that will take a huge mental toll later on. These are commonly referred to as 'manias' and where the 'manic' in 'Manic Depression' comes from.


So far in this six weeks I have committed to: insulating the shed, repairing and casting a large fibreglass mould, regularly meeting for coffee, days in work to prepare my rooms for 2019, a trip to the state capital for Mrs I.M's Christmas (perfectly fair and reasonable) bowling, driving lessons, outfitting the new van, making multiple paper trays, selling things on eBay, clearing junk to make way for the new windows, returning the bottles and cans for the 10c refunds, advertising and selling the car, submit the claims for psych sessions with the health fund,submitting my professional re-registration (very important)....is the picture becoming clearer?


I was standing in the shed (job I've wanted to do for months) staring into space while Mrs I.M was asking when/if she should ask for her Dad to come help. The alarm bells were ringing in my head and I couldn't hear them. The last few weeks have been like that; I am creating a lot of the stress that I'll later resent, in the times when I feel fine.


How does someone filter through which jobs are important? I'm not sure.


2019 has been one of the hardest times in my life mentally. I've wanted to walk away from my job more this year than at any other. On the advice of Kate, my psychologist, I have tried to shelter myself from being involved in too many things.I don't recall if Kate spells her name with a "k" or a 'C' and I wont look it up now as it would then seem like I've always known and I haven't. I came to realise that my life was very complicated and that complication leads to stress.


Where does simplification become selfishness? Again, not sure.


In all the list above there wasn't a de-stress time and there hasn't been for around a month. We all relax differently, the mode of triggering the right combination of endorphin, oxytocin, serotonin, and dopamine is not the same in all people. It's a pity that drinking beer and fishing, or watching cricket doesn't do it with me. Neither does building/making. It's something to do because I cant sit still. I haven't been able to since 2009, it's a side-effect of nearly dying. Yes, making/building is enjoyable because it communicates to my subconscious that I'm not a talentless arse (when it goes right) but it isn't relaxing.


I haven't been able to sleep properly. Yes I can add up the hours each night to 4-5 but (more alarm bells) I cant relax. The final Tuesday of work people were worried about me at work. Middle stages of a cold and a 22 hour day preceding on the Monday did get people asking if I was OK. If I hadn't been in a good place mentally I'd have gone home and rested, but I am and I can't even though I'm sick.

I love the bones of you, is available here

Dramatically Me

Series 11 of Doctor Who has been heralded a triumph by most mainstream media with the episode, 'Rosa'the jewel in the crown of the nu who nu era. 

I am not a fan of Series 11 (which makes me a mysoginist and a "hater"....apparently) I have no qualm about the 13th Doctor being female but after 12 straight male incarnations it seems a tad pointless.  What I dont like the clique casting that goes on in television. Chris Chibnall originally wanted Olivia Coleman to be the doctor (good choice as she can act well). He knew her from Broadchurch. She turned the role down so he seemingly went to the next best famale from Broadchurch in Jodie Whitaker?

I clearly have no sway in the casting but I think if the BBC is keen to keep one of its mainstay money earning shows.....earning money then cast the bast actor (and I say actor for male and female because once Jodie took over we didnt start calling the show Doctress Who). If they dont want it cast the next best actor and so on.  If the best actor is male and wants the job, cast them.  Same goes if they're female. Please Chibbers, step outside Broadchurch for your performers. I know this is commonplace in all performing where producers, writers and driectors work with actors and the afroementioned that they are fimilliar with and have a good relationship with. For something to be a success the best ideas and performers have to win and I don't think they have here.  I hope Jodie can be her own doctor in series 12 instead of mimmicking her Broadchurch co-star David Tennant.

Onto Rosa. The story of Rosa Parks not giving up her seat on the bus which kickstarted the civil rights movement is quite well known and a very important one to be told.  Chibnall's scrip centers on a racist descendant of earth from the distant future trying to prevent these events from taking place and preventing the civil rights movement.

Sounds compelling and the story had moments of dramatic strength. It was visually well executed and the acting apart from Jodie and the future space racist man, was decent. My issue is the main idea behind this. Chibnall has created a world where, even thousands of years into the future, racism still exists. What a hopeless world that is. I cant tell honestly if he meant to highlight the importance of Rosa Parks actions or to illustrate their futility as they ultimately (in his world) dont amount to the beginning of the end of racism.

Thats my point. Oh and someone tell Jodie the costume was great until they got the Bay City Rollers pants.

I.M

Regressive Me

This down has lasted longer than normal. I believe some life circumstances intervened to bring me back down while I was travelling in the other direction. My plans for next year are in utter disarray. I feel like time is running out to make decisions and I can’t win with any decision I’d make now. I’m surrounded by well meaning people trying to make me happy while my finger hovers over the reset button of my life. Just change everything, throw all that makes you comfortable and individual out and start again with something more palatable to others. 

I caught myself suggesting I sell or part exchange my dream car (partly because it’s plenty of work and partly because my plans to buy a van were scuttled by: surprising news and a subsequent case of fear from the “what if’s”. 

I’m not in a talking mood. At work I put on my bravest face but I have no energy to maintain this at home. Breathing and talking is a chore and I think I’ll have an aneurism if someone else tells me “you know you mean a lot....” or trues to hug me. 

Trouble sleeping so medication to the rescue. I’m waking up feeling hung over and nauseated but getting up is still a chore. I’m not sure if it’s a combo of the depression and meds and lack of sleep but I’m forgetting things, lunch, keys, drink bottle, wallet etc every day. 

Truly tiring. 

Depressive Me

With 1 in 8 men experiencing depression its not surprising that I am one of them.  Im also one of the lucky ones in many respects.  I have a mild variety and I have the financial stability to get help.  Depression comes in different strengths that last for different periods, so its like beer.

Mine essentially means fluctuating moods that sit within a predictable pattern (for me 2-4 weeks at a time) I can be very upbeat, almost hypomanic and within 24 hours think of myself in the best possible light as an utter c**t.  Please no fawning over "oh I really think you're terrific" because my head doesnt read those as being genuine.  In my head people say nice things out of pity on account of me being a c**t (see how this works).

During my "up" time Im quite indifferent to myself (have never been positive about me).  The "downs" can come on quite quickly or can be managed quite well until something brings the whole show down.  Stress and conflict arent good for anyone with mental health issues.  Teaching is not a wise career choice (guess at some point I was a dumn c**t).

Treatment is available and my psychologist (Cate) is wonderfully helpful. She is 400km away though.  Consults over the phone are available but at $170 per pop I really need to be at a crisis point to have one, plus there aren't many private spaces to have that kind of ohone call in my life.

Its quite hard to pick when the "down" starts.  Normally its easier to see after coming out of such an experience and counting back the events which are always clearer in hindsight. As far as treating it goes, its bad enough that people notice it, but not bad enough that I consider self harming at all.  As I said I just feel like a c**t. 

My reaction usually involves two options:

1. Distraction: do something, anything, engaging enough to ride it out while interacting with as few people as possible. Shop on ebay, build something, paint something, get work done, organise drawers, detail the car, mow lawns.

2. Change: do whatever convluted thing I can think of to make myself into a better person (less of a c**t) or to be someone else, give posessions away, buy new clothes, cut hair off, distabce myself from activities I enjoy, skip meals or engage in activities that will stress my body out to the point of braking: saying 'yes' to extra yard duty, volunteering to do things, work through breaks, drink too much coffee. Anything that can be seen as punishing myself foe being a total c**t and hopefully make me less of one.

When I read about people who've died from mental illness Im not scared Ill do that same at all.  I can empathise with the mask.  I only have to do it in 14-28 day increments.  Imagine doing that for years at a time. It's exhausting.  Since my bowel resection I have not selpt properly in 10 years. I think I bottomed ut today so I must have anywhere from a week to two weeks before I'll be very happy.

The only advice I can give is what I'd like others to do in regard to my state and I've already mentioned it.  Don't fawn over someone depressed, it can come acress (granted unintentionally, but they're doubtful in a place to make that distinction) as patronising and false.  Ask them how they're doing and have a regular conversation.  I dont strive to feel "special". My aim is "normal, average, proficient" (one for the teachers).

I.M

Twonky Me

I wanted to write about how the internet should be our saviour from the throw-away economy but I'm pissed off.

I'm at a new level of pissed off. I'm pissed off to the point I cant even stay on topic. I'm vain, well not vain but I'm extremely insecure about how I look.  I own one pair of trackies I can wear to work (one day per week) that are (were) a uniform colour, comfortable and neat.  I don't anymore and will have to be wearing them tomorrow. 

The other casualty of this is my (relatively) new jumper that I got as a birthday gift.  its now no longer very warm, overstretched and more pilled than Keith fucking Richards.  The pants are a mottled black thanks to the pilling on them from being put in the wash with things that shouldn't go in the wash with them.  The jumper (no longer fit for anything but the shed, but no good for the shed because inside the shed is fucking freezing) in only three months old and cost a bomb, mostly in freight.  The pants are three weeks old.

Who doesn't like nice things? I cant well expect that I'll just replace either item and it'll result in me begrudgingly sulking around in them feeling like a twonk.  Trying to be Mr rational and keep on keeping on but it's had when the 3 month old clothes (that I really like) now resemble the daggy ones that are a decade old.

Rant ends, I'm sitting up watching the laundry so that Mrs I.M will have clean clothes for work.  And making soup.

I.M

Mortally Me

Interesting that the thoughts I'm trying to get out have been rattling around in my head for a few weeks but Im struggling.

It began with being unwell, being unwell is a pain under any circumstances.  Being unwell while having a chronic autoimmune disease is pain..ier?  The first and probably most embarrassing sign of being unwell is waking up in a puddle of one's own faeces (Think Spud from Trainspotting).  Why is that important? Every sickness that I seem to experience involves my gut, its getting harder to tell if its a cold, gastro, flu, or that my IBD is back.  There are few things that I've experienced that are now as humbling as the early stages of being unwell.  Something to really take the wind from one's sails.

So there's the being unwell, and not knowing what is wrong but then there's the dying part.  Having had an attack bad enough to have had my large intestine removed gives me a new and slightly deeper level of paranoia about this.  I am more likely to develop cancer than the normal person but in understanding probability and large numbers, I know it's not a given.

On Friday a workmate died.  Its the second person whom I've worked with in two years to lose the fight with cancer.  It reinforces the knowledge that I will only orbit the Sun a finite number of times and that my number is likely to be less than the average.  Aside from all of the feeling crap and the implications that; it's a cold with lots of added features thanks to my altered body it introduces that period of doubt.  That point when you know "I'm not sick by I'm not well".  Being on the way down with lots of silly and generic symptoms.  Difficulty sleeping, headaches, dizzyness.  I don't for a moment think I'm terminally ill but I also remember that neither did these people.  

The pessimism, worry and stress are all extremely tiring.  The hurt and loss only make that worse too.  Things will get better and I'm sure that at some point I'll be able to confidently fall asleep again.  I just with I knew when that would be.

Maybe they were the thoughts I needed to get down somewhere.

Insecure Me

Insecurities abound in our lives (they certainly do in mine), but where do they come from? How do they develop and how do we deal with them?  Not everything I write in this blog is necessarily a factual recount of my life but an attempt at a stream of consciousness about things I find interesting.  Electronic self indulgence.

I think everyone is insecure about something.  Society changes and for some the perception of someone's insecurity falls away due to change in attitude by the populous but that may not be the case for the individuals.  Take being LGBTQI.  Marriage equality laws have passed, you have been considered equals (well overdue in my opinion) yet there are still a huge number of people who suffer mental illness and commit acts of self harm and suicide because they fear the reaction of others if the come out.  Just because something is legalised doesn't magically take away the insecurity felt by the individual.

Some people face their insecurity head on and make fantastic strides toward self empowerment and actively choose to make their lives if not exceptional, at least different.  Some people choose to share their insecurities with loved ones and find those extremely private, intimate thoughts and worries will be used against them.  Some make jokes about their insecurities.  Eddie Izzard was extremely nervous about coming out about being Transgender to his father and then went on stage in what he calls "girl mode" and it's become his thing. I've made mine known for a long time and for anyone who doesn't know its my body.  In a time before "fat shaming" I lived the lifestyle of being ridiculed and feeling humiliated at (seemingly) every turn.  I make it clear with little jokes and asides "this body is built for drapery" or "You're all so lucky you don't have to live in here".

So how do they start? I really don't know but in following a stream of consciousness lets see where it can take us.  I have felt ashamed and embarrassed about my body since school.  I know when I look back at photos that I was the class "fat kid".  The Chris Griffin pool scene resonates well in my mind to encompass how I was treated by others including my friends and occasionally my family.  I can still remember finding a card in my mother's purse that was called an "identi-kid" see meaningless overprotective parent niche marketing was taking place in the 1980s too.  Anyway, it was a card to show police, security guards and centre management if you went missing at the shops.  It contained your name, date of birth, eye colour, hair colour and build.  Stocky (fat) I had been formally identified for the police to be looking out for a fat five year old if I'd gone missing.

Not my parents fault, the oft sick child who enjoyed cadbury chocolate, Smiths chips and Aero bars wasn't normally very active and spent a lot of time in bed.  Not an athlete at all I routinely came in last in all events at sports days up until events were called off before I had even finished in high school.  I think I might be the only student who nominated for the 1500m casual stroll only to have the next race begin while I still had 750m to go.

I guess I am insecure because I don't want to feel less than anyone else and that's what being picked on does.  The casual barb might seem to one person to be well mannered banter but to someone whose big insecurity you've hit on can be relationship changing.  To this end I've never taken my shirt off while in view of others at basketball.  I don't go swimming because even wearing a shirt in the water doesn't work because it clings.  I've hunched forward for the best part of 25 years to hide the "man cans".  All this for something that's in my head.  I'm not sure of the best way to meet this insecurity head on is.  Do I punch the "banter" provider in the face? Do I wear unnecessarily tight clothes and listen to loud music so I don't hear the comments?

People may read this and then want to tell me that I look fine.  That's a problem with insecurity.  It's an irrational misbalance of evidence.  I have thousands of incidences where my shape/weight was characterised as being a net negative to me as a person.  One person saying you're okay won't undo that, it needs to be reinforced until the balance shifts the other way.  turn the irrational into the rational.  I think that's why so many people have mid-life crises.  They are facing their insecurity about being old.  They grow pony tails, beards, get tattoos and buy motorbikes or sports cars, expensive clothes and awful popular music.  They dress like their teenage children and let them drink/smoke at home to befriend them as a peer.

People might dress up "cosplayers" are often very nervous about how they are perceived by others that they decide to become someone else.  Some just wear beads, and dance through shopping malls.  I take my hat off to those people for embracing the nervousness and re-channelling the energy into something good for themselves.

So whatever your insecurity is, don't think its better to be dishonest about it to save face for others.  You aren't living for other people.  You're living your life.  My favourite quote from Steve Jobs is "Your time is limited.  Don't waste it by living somebody else's life".  Thats the message, get out from the shadow of your insecurities and bask in the light of who you really are.  Meanwhile I'll be getting changed in the loo, because nobody needs to see that.
I.M