Schizophrenia, the Pink Elephant and Imagination

If someone says to you “don’t think about a pink elephant”, it’s naturally difficult not to have an image of one spring into your head (unless, of course, you've never seen an elephant).

The same idea applies certainly when it comes to my experience of what some may term 'hearing voices' and maybe to the experience of others too.

However, in place of someone telling me not to think of a pink elephant (in order to conjure up the image of one), you’ll find worry there.

The worry can be about many things, but they all gravitate about the same point, which is that I am really a bad person who wants to do horrible things.

Where it gets tricky is that this worry isn’t voiced internally – so, for example, I’m not consciously going around with the thought in my head: “I don’t want to hurt him (or her)!”

The unfortunate effect of this lack of internally voiced worry is that it is me who seems to be directly generating the 'voices'. 

It seems as though my mind jumps straight in with, for example, the thought of “punch him/her!” (or the equivalent visualisation of such) in response to a situation. It does this with no apparent stimulation other than what one would naturally assume (and I have done) must be the desire to punch random men and women.

When it came along, the idea of hearing voices really appealed to me simply because it instantly absolved me of all the guilt that I had charged myself with over the years. 

I welcomed it with open arms because the content of the 'voices' didn't sit at all well with my character. By defining them as voices meant that I could separate these bad, foreign feeling thoughts from my own good thoughts.

Interestingly, although for a long time I felt as though I had no imagination, now I see that my imagination was always there, I just didn’t recognise it as what it actually was, which, as it turns out is these voices in my head.

It’s only since happening upon the idea of the pink elephant, that I have been able to reach this conclusion. The pink elephant - or rather, the general worry - stimulates my imagination into thinking of horrible things; just like how it’s difficult to stop yourself thinking of a pink elephant when you are told not to think of one.

Unfortunately the horrible things are easily misconstrued as negative due to their content - whereas in reality this is not the case at all.

I now no longer berate myself for hearing these voices. Instead I give myself a big pat on the back when they spring into my mind because they show that I am a very caring person (after all the sole reason for their existence is my desire not to think them). 

I then give myself a second pat on the back in congratulations for having an imagination which can come up with such a creative - albeit terrible - idea; and also picture it so vividly that, at one point, it proved so paralysing to my existence.

I now no longer think of myself a ‘voice hearer’ but instead I think that perhaps the description: 'voice imaginer' is more apt.

Because I had suppressed it out of fear for so many years, I am still in the process of re-engaging with my imagination. I have found that mindfulness meditation has helped, and continue to help me enormously along this path (I often take time to sit back and mindfully listen to and watch my imagination).

Since seeing the voices this way I have noticed a huge difference. It's as though, now that I have owned them using the idea of the pink elephant, they have literally given up their bombardment of my mind.

Delusional

When I was younger I was delusional and believed that everything – the whole world and everyone in it – was just a creation of my mind. Hence I felt unable to trust people; including my friends and family.

I believed myself to be in some kind of coma and making up this world as one would a dream. I knew that there were scientists watching me, and they were doing so via a TV that was hooked up to my brain, providing them with a live feed of the world I was creating inside my head.

The thing was, although they could see my world, they were not privy to what I was thinking to myself. I therefore spent every hour of every day trying to act in such a way that they wouldn’t be able to tell that I knew what they were up to.

I never knew why such a need for secrecy though..

Ignorance and discrimination

A few weeks ago my freedom pass stopped working so I ordered a replacement. The bus drivers were all kind and allowed me to travel despite it not scanning (the pass has a picture of me and the date of expiry on it).

Unfortunately when I ordered the replacement the payment was taken but - unknown to me - the order not put through. I waited the ten working days that it could take but it never arrived.

My wife had a hospital appointment so we hopped on the bus to get there and I asked the driver if I could get on though my pass had stopped working.

It turned out I the same driver had allowed me onboard with my broken pass two weeks ago.

I have a freedom pass because I suffer with mental illness so need the support where I am unable to afford things like travel due to not being fit for work. 

You'd have thought a bus driver would understand the vulnerability of someone needing a freedom pass but this one obviously didn't.

He accused me of not ordering a new pass and then told me to surrender the faulty one so that I'd have the motivation to order a replacement.

He then went on to tell me I'd be breaking the law if I refused to hand the faulty pass over.

I became very distressed at this point and didn't know what to do. I ended up getting off the bus but was in such a state that the voices in my head were yelling at me to hurt myself.

I didn't do so but ended up breaking down in the high street in an effort to try and contain myself.

Of course the driver wasn't aware of the administrative error that delayed my new pass getting to me; but to treat someone who is clearly vulnerable (a young person with a freedom pass is bound to be) like that  is plain ignorant in my book. 

Panic attacked

Most situations we find ourselves in are generally predictable: chatting with the check out lady at Sainsbury's for example; or being on the receiving end of some banter when it comes to light that you're a Chelsea fan.

But what about when faced with mental health stigma? 

In the past I've experienced anxiety and panic attacks because I simply didn't know how to be in certain situations. I didn't understand myself personally so how could I go about explaining what was going on inside me to another person so that they could understand? 

I found myself again and again in such situations, paralysed and in a state. Gradually though I have grown to understand more about myself, and even found a comfort and confidence along the way. 

I haven't experienced anxiety or panic attacks in a long time, which I put down to this development of character. 

I still don't know how each person will react when I tell them that I have been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia of course, but I don't care so much now because I understand it a lot more myself.

I am confident being open about my diagnosis and about the difficulties I may have in a situation. This may be detrimental to whether people feel comfortable with me but if I were to hide that part of me, I would have no safety net to fall back on were things to take a turn for the worse.

Dark Days - complete flip of personality

I'd been going out with this lady and it was all going well until one day I just flipped and lost all feeling for her. I didn't question why the sudden change had occurred - after all it was how I felt so why would I?

She came over and we broke up, but only a couple of hours later I suddenly flipped back and all of a sudden loved her once again. Deeply regretting my mistake I immediately called her and three years later we are married and living together.

Every so often this same flipping of feeling towards her will occur; we call them 'dark days'. I know that they'll pass so now I just ride them out, but they're still deeply unpleasant and distressing.

Whether it's another part of the schizophrenia I don't know. There haven't been many dark days recently which is of course really nice for both of us but then there hasn't been as much stress in my life - due to taking special care not to overdo it or push myself too far.

I found mine!

There can be times where you have so many things going on that you are unable to hold onto them all at once. It’s at times like these that I wish I could just ‘switch off’.

The funny thing is it is surprisingly easy to do so.

I’ve been practicing Mindfulness meditation for two years now and use when the above kind of scenario arises.

I sit in a chair and take time to just stand back, allowing myself to become transparent and to observe all of these thoughts, stresses and worries as they flow through me.

State Benefit Stigma

Why am I so embarrassed for people to know that I am on benefits because of a mental health condition and why do I constantly feel like a cheat whenever I think about claiming?

I don’t work at the moment because I am physically unable to do so - I know, this sounds like a cop out even to me; as though I am just making excuses and I could actually work if I were to simply put in the effort.

But I shouldn’t feel that I am being stigmatised (even if it is all in my head).

Yet I still don’t want people to know that I claim benefits because somehow it feels like I’m doing nothing for something whereas they are working bloody hard for their paycheque.

I have a freedom pass (which lets me travel, as you guessed, for free) however the fact is that it isn’t really for free because I have to pay, not by money, but by the torment of not being able to earn my own way like other people and also by struggling in everyday life.

An interesting article:

http://www.wildmind.org/blogs/quote-of-the-month/krishnamurti-measure-of-health

So, so tired

It doesn't seem to take much to wipe me out completely, and although there seems to be no discernible cause, as Jaffar says: things aren't always what they seem.

It's not something that I can reach out and touch, but I have my suspicions that a lot of what causes the tiredness lies beneath the surface.

Although I am not consciously stressing or worrying, somewhere in me there is a part that is doing so, and it is that which is being a huge drain on my energy levels.

Why I am oblivious to this process I'm not sure; I could have even locked myself out as a form of self defence.

Either way becoming completely wiped out is a frequently reoccurring problem for me. The question is how do you stop being stressed if it isn't something that's happening consciously?

Life is stressful at the end of the day and because I am mentally ill I must be extra cautious. This might mean not being able to work in general or having to not leave the house for periods of time and so being unreliable.

That is why I need support, which could come in the form of state benefits and the community mental health services amongst other things. 

It's hard to admit it but people like me are vulnerable individuals and need help to survive and ideally to thrive.

Intrusive thoughts explained

It happens in a sudden flash so real that I react bodily. It feels as though I'm actually experiencing the normally violent or sexual intrusive thought in that split second. It is horrible and I still find it very distressing even though it has been going on for a long time. 

Then there's the voices. Sometimes they speak in my head as though it is me thinking, although I know that it isn't me who is articulating them. They don't tell me to do things, but because they pretend to be me and go on and on for months and years they almost become second nature.

It may sound odd but because they are so frequent and ongoing I get used to them and although I can usually fight them off, when I am tired or not feeling myself, I struggle to counter them and they end up overpowering me. 

Welfare

When I was first diagnosed with clinical psychosis my dad was keen to impress on me the importance of not giving in. He was concerned that the mental health professionals were going to wrap me up in cotton wool and be over cautious to the point that I was hardly moving forward at all. His advice remained with me in a way whilst I fought to get better - even if only in a subconscious form.

It’s strange being mentally ill because it’s very easy to forget that you are unwell. Or rather you don’t like to admit it to be true and so every time you have a panic attack or a dark day where the voices overwhelm you, you are quite taken aback. So, as you can imagine, when it comes to benefits it is very easy to feel like a thief or a cheat.

At times I believed I’d get better and be able to have a full time job with all the trimmings (I guess my dad’s words were still resounding in the back of my mind somewhere), but recently I stopped thinking about working. There are a lot of big changes happening in my life at the moment and the stress is proving to be very disrupting.

(I wouldn’t call it admitting defeat because it is definitely not that; I just had my sights set unrealistically high this time and actually it is an achievement to be able to come to terms with my own limits).

Now I rely on the welfare state because I am ill – or it could be that our world is ill, either way I am struggling to live day to day so something must be up! Everyday things seem to take more of a toll on me when compared with most of the other people in my life. I become worn out very quickly – although it’s rarely easy to pinpoint why this is.

Naturally I guess I’d have flown the nest by now; but unfortunately our world is far from natural. Maybe it is me who is ill; I may have a malformed brain – but what caused it to be so? It seems to me that the unnaturalness of our world may have had a part to play. If so then the natural process of child rearing simply goes out the window; which means that another system of support must take its place. Enter welfare.

But am I giving in too easily? I will keep on pushing of course but for the minute I must be sensible and embrace my limits and play the hand that I have been dealt. I guess that it’s disheartening but luckily I have the state to support me whilst I figure out a different route through this life.

Am I still ill?

They labelled me; first with OCD and later as a paranoid schizophrenic. Now I wonder what it’d be like living without a label.

Back in school when my problems started I thought that everyone was going through the same difficulties as me but somehow, where I wasn’t able to deal with them, they were. Then came the diagnosis and with it everything suddenly made sense.

(There’s no use speculating as to whether my problems had something to do with my head injury or whether they were there from the beginning - I just don’t know. There is also the possibility that the world is just too fucked up for my poor human brain to cope with!)

A lot of people aren’t very receptive when receiving a diagnosis of mental illness, but I was. There was something romantic about being diagnosed and having treatment and being prescribed medication. It made me feel special.

I felt like I was out of the TV program Six Feet Under, being put on meds; and that made me feel even more special. I used to try and meld myself to the personalities of the characters I’d see on TV and in movies instead of simply recognising portions of myself that resonated with them.

I remember sitting in with the psychiatrist and saying that the world doesn’t seem real to me. I didn’t know if my parents were really my parents; I didn’t even know which thoughts were my own.

I’m always trying to find a reason. Why can’t I work while at the same time I am ok doing other things? Is it weird not knowing why you’re unable to do something? Maybe it’s like with science in that some things just haven’t been proved yet.

I am this way and there is a reason behind it but it just hasn’t been understood yet. That’s interesting though because even with a reason to validate it, it doesn’t change anything. Giving something a name doesn’t mean it’s resolved like with the discovery of a new element.

Is understanding fundamental to overcoming your problems? “Knowledge is power”, right? Or is it? Maybe living by your instincts is the key to happiness. But who can do that? The world is a lie that has grown out of control. We are all fucked up pieces of meat who don’t have a clue! Born into a world that doesn’t make sense, that isn’t natural. Trying to live instinctively because that is natural but then this man made thing comes along and it all goes Pete Tong!

Nobody fits into a box. We all live in the grey areas and that is what makes us fantastic. You can’t say I’m a paranoid schizophrenic because that is an empty statement. I am a human; there is nothing wrong with me. I am not ill; I am just grey.

You can diagnose someone with a physical problem like diabetes but mental illness is totally different; there’s no evidence that for everyone it is a problem in the brain. I think it’s a problem with the world we live in.

So what to do?

Lowering My Antipsychotic Dose

When I was transferred to a different Community Mental Health Team a couple of years ago, the first thing my new Psychiatrist decided to do was lower my dose of Olanzapine. Unfortunately I had an immediate adverse reaction and my original dose was quickly reinstated.

I wonder now if that kind of reaction didn’t have something to do with my mind set at that particular time in my recovery. Did I see myself as heavily reliant on the medication? Was I scared that I would go back to the person I was without it? Or did I believe it validated my condition?

Two years later I decided voluntarily that I wanted to lower my dose. I told myself that I was in a much better place than before and I was ready to do without that crutch in my life.

At the time I had been studying Japanese for about five years. This was largely to enable me to focus day to day on something that was external to the confused mess of my mind. As I improved I became less reliant on the Japanese and came to see the medication in the same light; it acted as scaffolding, and I wanted to see if I could stay standing were it to be gradually taken away.

When I was first prescribed the antipsychotic medication I didn’t want to take it because I was worried about how it might change who I was. In the end what made me decide to start taking it was seeing how much pain I was bringing to the lives of the people I love. Basically, I was willing to try anything that’d put a stop to that.

I was also paranoid that what I was taking might be a placebo and that everyone – my doctor, the pharmacist, and even my parents were conspiring to trick me; so that if I got better just by taking sugar pills they’d know that there was really nothing wrong with me. I wished there wasn’t something wrong but at the same time I found solace in the knowledge that I was ill and I wasn’t just weak.

As the medication began working the paranoia subsided and those worries quickly evaporated leaving increased appetite and drowsiness in their wake. When I was first prescribed the Olanzapine I was put on the highest safe dose (20mg). It felt as though the Psychiatrist was eager to throw everything she could at me because the more I disclosed to her about my thoughts the higher she ranked up the level of medication.

I found the Olanzapine to be the most appropriate choice of medication and have been on it for about four years now. There were several reasons why I chose to lower my dosage. Firstly, I had done some research and didn’t like the sound of the long term side effects such as Tardive Dyskinesia and high cholesterol; so I was eager to avoid them if possible.

Secondly, I wanted to see what kind of person I was with the medication as low as possible. I was repeatedly told that my illness was no different from a broken leg; it was just not visible to the naked eye. I accepted this but I now doubt its validity. While reading up on my particular medication I came across the analogy of a car engine. Say a car needs its engine oil topping up; taking antipsychotic medication is basically the same as pouring oil over the entire engine so that some of it gets into the right place.

As I understand it antipsychotic medications work but it is not fully understood how they do so.

My psychiatrist told me at one of our meetings that I will be on these medications for the rest of my life. Maybe he is right; there is only one way to find out. I have been on a lower dose for over two months now and it has been an interesting and at times a terrible experience.

The first thing I noticed on the lower dose was the heightened emotional range I was capable of experiencing. Both the positive and negative emotions became more intense. You’d think it would be great to experience more intense positive emotions but at times I was so overwhelmed with excitement that I had to stop doing the things I enjoy.

The next change I noticed was the reduction of the anxiety that had been plaguing me for so long. That was a pleasant and unexpected bonus. Of course I found myself to be less drowsy and consequently less reliant on coffee to fuel my day. However over the past weeks I have been experiencing some negative symptoms.

I’ve been having feelings of distress. I’ve been feeling out of control. The noise in my head is sometimes unbearable. Seemingly insignificant things such as accidentally breaking a cup can throw me completely. I have been told that my body just needs to get used to it, which I sincerely hope is true.

For a long time I had been going along under the assumption that my brain is broken and that something isn’t right up there. But is this the case? Of course it could be but I’d rather believe that I am not damaged and that instead maybe it’s my environment that is.

That could just be wishful thinking on my part. I have now come to see that I live in an imperfect civilisation and that my brain hasn’t evolved to deal with the modern world so it’s not surprising that it struggles.

I recognise the intrusive images and words that I experience (as though they are injected into me) as part of my makeup. They can be distressing and at times I wonder if they really are my thoughts, feelings and desires. Over time I have come to realise that they are all mine – although that doesn’t mean for one second that I have to agree with them (that’s not as easy as it sounds).

I have been told not to look too far ahead; just to concentrate on the next few footsteps. I am still unable to work (even voluntarily for two hours a week) – especially now that I am dealing with my lower dose, which, as you can imagine is very frustrating. I see the people around me progressing whilst I stagnate. I have to remind myself that I am also progressing and that I shouldn’t measure myself by the rule of others.

I have been on a very long and difficult journey and it is important to keep telling myself that I have done well to get this far. I don’t know where my path will lead from now but I am hoping that the lower dose works out.

As for who I am that remains to be seen.­­­

Living with Schizophrenia: A Collection of Journal Excerpts from 1987 to Present

Today our baby boy was born. He was late but worth the wait as it was the most amazing, life altering, perspective solidifying moment when he came out and took his first breath into his tiny lungs with a cry of cold realisation. From that moment he was no longer receiving his oxygen from his mother – he had taken his first step on the path to maturity.

What has life got in store for this helpless little boy? He is a person – of course we can nurture him and bring him up as best we can but ultimately he has his own mind and will make his own choices and decisions - be they good or bad - and we will respect him for that.

TEMPOK is shy around others. He sits on my lap a lot whilst the other children are beginning to strike out on their own. He is a definite mummy’s boy and as much as I value the closeness, I do hope that he too begins to strike out on his own soon and become more independent.

The funny thing is TEMPOK will wear fancy dress when we go out sometimes and on those occasions the effect is nothing short of dramatic. He is no longer this shy, quiet boy; he takes on a whole new confident, chatty persona. At home he is quite happy to play by himself for hours on end – using his imagination. He is good at drawing and says he wants to be an artist when he grows up.

TEMPOK is enjoying school; he has made friends and seems to be getting on very well. We get good reports from his teacher saying he is very hard working if a little bit on the shy side. We take him and his sister to church every Sunday with us and have done so since they were born. I think Catholicism is a good grounding for morals although TEMPOK and his sister sometimes mess about and we have to sit in between them to restore order.

TEMPOK cares a lot for his baby sister although she has made a habit of occasionally winding him up to the point that he punches her and makes her cry. I tell him that he had better stop losing his temper or one day when he’s older it might land him in real trouble if he’s not careful.

TEMPOK is now in a senior all-boys Catholic school and he has managed to retain a handful of his friends from his junior school. He seems happy and confident with this new beginning. We still sit down as a family every night to have dinner and discuss how things are going for our children; we try and sort through problems by getting them out in the open and discussing them together

TEMPOK is now the Captain of a little league football team and I have never heard him shout so loudly and confidently; bellowing out orders from his position back in defence. It’s wonderful to see him coming into his own as he grows.

TEMPOK is having trouble at school. He is fifteen now and has started making regular excuses not to go in and becoming very worked up when we push him to do so. He got so worked up that he threatened to throw himself out of his window if he had to go. We feel so powerless in the face of his problems. Nobody prepares you for this kind of thing.

Ever since he fell off the scaffolding and broke his jaw he has struggled. This may be because of the school he missed as a result of his accident; and the subsequent months of not being able to go into the playground at break time to socialise with his peers as they travel through the important transition of puberty, leaving him behind.

It all got too much for TEMPOK today and he ended up breaking down in tears. It seems he has been bottling everything up inside – is he embarrassed? Maybe he just doesn’t know how to explain what is going on inside him. He said he doesn’t understand why everyone else he knows can cope and he can’t.

TEMPOK was accepted into University today despite his trouble over the past few years. He paid the University a visit on an open day – taking the train up to Stoke-on-Trent by himself which really impressed us and showed his determination – and must have made a good impression. He was so thrilled to get the call informing him of his acceptance; we’re so happy that he is beginning to strike out and become more independent.

We have had to bring TEMPOK home from University. He isn’t very well at all and needs help. He smashed up his room but we can’t get out of him why he did so. He doesn’t seem to know this himself so we are going to take him to see a professional.

TEMPOK cut himself today. He came straight to me to confess to what he had done. He sliced the back of his hand open and says it clears his mind to do so. He is definitely not right at the moment. It was devastating to see that he’d done that to himself.

TEMPOK seems a lot better. We dropped him off at University for his second try today. He has much better support this time around as well as medication to help his mood and therapy to help him cope. He was reluctant to take medication at first, fearing it would change who he is fundamentally but he is acclimatising to the idea now. It was nice to see him so confident; after making sure he was settled we walked away hand in hand, pride and hope filling our hearts.

Everything changes from now. TEMPOK has decided he would like to die. He believes it is the only way he can put a stop to the doubt that is tormenting his mind; he believes that if he dies either nothing will happen or something, thereby putting an end to the doubt. How can he not want to experience everything life has to offer?

Now I see that his wish to die was merely a development of the psychosis he was diagnosed with. In a way it is a relief but it also means that he is mentally ill – our son is mentally ill; I can’t cope with that – this cold realisation brought me to tears during our ski trip together. I felt so powerless and realised how much I need my wife by my side in order to deal with TEMPOK.

TEMPOK confided in us today that he doesn’t believe we are his real parents. This was shocking but not surprising as he is struggling a lot at the moment. I go along with him to his appointments with the Early Intervention Team. It can take him a while to answer their – what I would think to be relatively simple – questions, although most of the time we have to settle with “I don’t know” for an answer.

It is very concerning to hear some of the things TEMPOK comes out with at these sessions. For example he believes people can see into his mind. I myself hear voices so that isn’t so surprising but for some reason the voices he hears really unsettle and disturb him. He has been prescribed anti-psychotic medication in the highest safe dose possible.

I don’t think that the health professionals know what they’re talking about. They tend to molly-coddle him; my fear is he’ll end up a recluse or worse. He spends all day studying his Chinese – or is it Japanese? I wish he could get a job and flourish.

We have all grown over the past years and come to much better terms with TEMPOK's situation. 

TEMPOK now has a girlfriend and is doing so much better – just think, he used to struggle even to make a simple phone call! He is doing karate and helping out in the class which is a sure sign of how much better he is.

TEMPOK is still struggling to work but you can’t just snap out of a mental illness. I am very proud of how he is dealing with everything and the independence he has developed. He is not just sitting back and taking it, he is constantly pushing to get better even though from time to time that may mean he has a crash.

It will be nice when he is able to move out with his fiancee and start their life together. They are getting married in 2014 and we’re eagerly anticipating the day they announce that our grandchildren are on the way! TEMPOK still has bad spells but he is very stable and moving away from us day by day which is absolutely fantastic from a parents perspective. We always tell him that we are very proud of him and his resilience – he is forging his own destiny now.

TEMPOK is lowering his dose of Olanzapine.  I was worried at first but he says he is feeling much sharper now and he reassures me that it is being done in a very controlled way. We have a lot less involvement in TEMPOK's care nowadays which I view as very positive. He is living inside his own head now whereas before he felt shut-down and couldn’t access his thoughts. He is a joy to be around and very cheeky which I love.

I try to push TEMPOK to progress into work, for example with his translation. He is very good at Japanese but something is holding him back. I see lots of small improvements but one day soon he will have to take a big step – a leap of faith. That’s the thing about life, there is no surety and it isn’t fair so you’ve got to work very hard. It would be wonderful if TEMPOK could make a living from selling paintings but I don’t think that is a very stable way to live. 

Understanding Self Harm

A couple of weeks ago I leafed through the Recovery College’s prospectus, picking out the courses that I thought appropriate to me. One of them was the title of this prose. At the time I signed up for it I wasn’t thinking too much and when the big day rolled around I began to consider my choice. At the beginning of each session you will find yourself put under the spotlight of the question: “what expectations do you have about this course?”

In the past I’ve played it by ear and said what came off the top of my head, but for some reason this time was different. During the bus journey there I played out this question’s scenario eventually settling on: “I have experienced self-harm in the past and wanted to understand more about what drove me to it”.

When actually put in that spotlight I managed to piece some fragmented speech together, drawing not only on my bus journey preparation but also winging it. I started my retrospection by happening on the metaphor of a box. I had never spent time dwelling on my experiences of self-harm; instead I shoved it all into a box, locked it up tight and stowed it away out of sight.

“That’s very common”, the peer trainer said with a comforting smile.

After a bit of housekeeping we split into pairs to brainstorm what goes on in your mind and body before and after you have harmed yourself. The course facilitator later commented positively on my assertion that the mind isn’t a separate entity to the body, and that they are one and the same, although this is beside the point.

When we had done writing we re-joined the others and discussed our ideas. The most dramatic for me was that physical pain – self-inflicted in this case – reconnects you with your physical body when you are so trapped in your head; buried under frustration and, in my case psychosis. You can become so numb that self-harm can release you from that as though drawing you out of your own head like poison from a wound.

Although when I had cut my hand open I was too embarrassed to show it to anyone, I felt like I had made a physical token of the invisible torment that was going on inside me, that I myself couldn’t put into words. There was a perverse sense of achievement that went along with this and I can well imagine how that would become addictive just like making a work of art.

Fortunately my mum spotted the bloody mess and it distressed her so much that I was able to unconsciously leave it all locked away in that box for ten years until this day. Boy am I happy that my box wasn’t akin to Pandora’s and that when I had a peek all hell didn’t break loose!

This course had come along at the right time when I was in the right place - I had control. I fondly pulled out the contents of my box like they were childhood memories, allowing the sensations that accompanied them to wash through me.

As the session continued I became aware of the novel feeling that I am – or was, depending on your stance – a self-harmer. I began remembering all those times when I was alone and things got so intense and frustrating that I would hit myself in the head or, if I had a wall nearby, hit my head against that. It makes me wonder if it is the medication that helps prevent me from getting into that kind of state again.

Now that I am lowering the dose of my meds I may find the answer to that question. I hope for the sake of the people I love that it turns out the meds have acted as a support while I become strong enough to walk unaided again and I am not going to collapse. I certainly feel much more in touch with the physical world, in fact I only believe in the physical world and that I am part of it and not subjective to it.

Everyone’s case is unique; there is no absolute knowledge of where your path will take you.

I’m glad that I came to this course at this time in my recovery.

I found this an interesting read:

http://rockland92.blogspot.co.uk/2013/11/understanding-self-harm.html

Have you heard of the Butterfly Project too?

http://fav.me/d764p36