Hopezine #3

hopezine

Contents Page 3 In ‘Talking in dreams’ writer Nutan Modha takes a glance in the mirror of her soul and finds comfort in her dreams and the visions that once caused her trouble Page 5 An ode to spring and Auntie Heather, this issues chief funder, by Editor Erica Crompton Page 6 Writer Rachel Melinek gets to grips with her sleep and finds her own recovery journey in a restful night’s slumber Page 9 Maria Llewellyn finds her very own treasure trove of ‘self-love’ and learns that sometimes loving ourselves is the greatest gift we can give to others

Editor’s letter Welcome to the third issue of Hopezine, written remotely during these strange times of lockdowns and isolation. In this issue I’ve written a poem in honour of my Auntie Heather who funded this issue, and also give props to the joys of spring that can still be enjoyed even during these times of crisis. We also have words from Nutan Modha, a Londoner exiled in Glasgow. In this issue Nutan reflects on her own cynicism towards mental health professionals and finds some resolve in her dreams and studies. We also have a piece from writer/filmmaker Rachel Melinek who shares her journey of sleepless nights and recovery from these. Finally we have Maria Llewellyn following in the footsteps of the great late Whitney Houston, as she learns that the greatest love of all can happen to all of us. I hope you’ll find some solace in these pages during hard times, or some inspiration on where to shift attention to when we’re all at home. So fling open your windows, hear the birdsong, see the spring sunshine, and dive in.

X Erica cromptonerica@hotmail.com

Talking in Dreams

By Nutan Modha There are cold facts about 'suffering' with mental illness in this age. It’s a cruel and silent isolator. However, here we are in 2020, with Corvonavirus and the external world is on the brink of a shrinking populous, and mass isolation. News sources from MSM to independents coming from two camps, claiming it to be real, and some not real. This uncertainty is almost certainly a royal attack on the psyche of a nation and this is a worldwide pandemic. I used to believe that the medication was toxic and anything connected to pills was unfounded and inhumane. I became a studious little thing after my first breakdown in 1993 - I did what a lot of us do. I read vociferously around the subject.

I needed the affirmation that provided me with the idea - that my treatment was ‘wrong’ and ‘the cure’ was wrong. Out came R D Laing - the divided self and a litany of books and research into various types of illnesses of the brain. The fact that I sought an affirmation of this ‘gross wrong doing’, was more about me and Edward Munch: an internal scream after the dust had settled. Little did I know that the journey was going to be the opening of so much compassion, that my heart & empathy grow in leaps and bounds. I gleaned that there were two sides to the equation and believed that my illness and it's delusions had its roots in the unconscious surfacing and the muddle that became my mind was basically talking in dreams. I read Freud, Jung and even did a Jungian Analytical course - for one more feather in my tiny hat. I was determined to increase my cognitive functions to allow me an anchor to ‘get grounded’ - when in need.

The answers to my recovery took shape in mixed blessings as I analysed the wheres and wherefores in a relentless attempt to find the real answers.I looked to the shamans in indigenous tribes, the recovery rate in the third world and compared the treatment cycle with western nations - where despite all the campaigns any charity could muster, I still felt very much like the local leper. Third world recovery rates are better by the way.

Looking back, my family (three sisters and no family history of mental health problems) had no idea how to treat their daughter who was set to be a high flyer. It was grasping at straws and I gave as good as I got.

Jack Nicholson in ‘One flew over the cuckoo’s nest’ style in hospital settings. I did not appreciate the authority over me and subjugations of a personal nature. I soon earned a reputation as walking in after several admissions the nurse's eyes rolled upwards as I came in through the double doors.

It’s been seven years since Glasgow MH last saw me and the average MH outpatient does not seek being incarcerated - as the laws can lead to indefinite stays. Which would deprive me of my solace at a desk, beavering away with headphones, the internet and words. The stay can drive you nuts with being forced to sit, eat and smoke at the command of the charge nurse. Hope in my darkest hour is knowing how to manage my illness, rather than waiting for the Damocles sword to drop. A psychosis has no firewall and there is no reign on this horse that can stop the surge of thoughts.

Hence sleep, food, rest and routine has been paramount in my daily dealings. I'm a natural introvert. The fact I have chosen not to go back to work and have chosen to pursue my passion for writing. Being occupied with small validations, such as writing, sewing, painting should be applauded. To add the fact that we, as the vulnerable in the UK are allowed monies to survive is positive.

Back now to the present day and a pandemic hovering over us in 2020. I have a creeping suspicion that 'us mentals' who have won the battle over cabin fever will be survivors & healers of many kinds.

An open palm that says come with me. If you want to live. I'm proof.

Heather

By Erica Crompton A very strange time for the whole of the world Testing times ahead!

An ill-fated holiday yesterday evening And we could finally return to our beds But today has been quite wonderful Compared with recent times A bright spring day with fresh new growth On the trees and hedges and flowerbeds Our garden filled with bird song

Some new born lambs nearby Beginnings and everything new I love spring and everything that it promises The sun shine, the skies are blue Nature and being outside is good for my health I’m sorting out all my veg seeds, too I’m ready for spring’s wealth Lots of fresh produce in the coming months!

Breathe, breathe in the air!

That’s an insight into what goes on in my mind!

Stay safe and take good care.

Sleep and psychosis

By Rachel Melinek I watch on terrified. I can see a woman in white in the doorway holding a baby. The figure stands there looking at me, I’m so scared I run back to bed and put my head underneath the covers. Seeing the vision makes my ability to sleep worse as I wonder about that lady. I cycle sleep-wise. I can be awake for maybe three nights in a row, then I’ll sleep due to exhaustion, then I wake again.

This happened during my teenage years when I’m having a difficult time at school. I’m different from the other kids. Many years later, I would describe it as like other people had ‘directors,’ but I was playing a part with neither a director nor a complete version of the script. People just seem to know how to react in social situations, for example, when to talk turns speaking in groups and what kind of things they should talk about. Years later, I was diagnosed as autistic. At first, the other kids just used to call me names, then they started to ignore me.

As well as issues at school, my grandmother also died when I was 12. I wasn’t particularly close to my grandmother. However, I had some questions about death, and I feel that my grandmother’s death might have, in part, contributed to the nature of my delusions. That’s when I saw the woman in the doorway. During the next few years I had strange experiences. These ranged from ‘sensing’ presences and believing I could foretell the future to seeing and hearing things that other people didn’t experience. I was exhausted a lot of the time and tried to catch up on sleep during the weekend. It all came to a head when I was in my last year of school. I was walking through the quad at school, and I heard the voices shouting: “stupid!” “ugly,” and “boring!”

I ran across the quad but then felt silly; it was evident to me that there was no one around. Those words were the words that people in my year said to me. It was at that moment that I realised that the voices weren’t as I first thought communication from beyond the grave; they were, in fact, something that I myself had manufactured. I could no longer view myself as having special abilities. A few days later, I went home and took several painkillers. I was going to take the whole packet however, I got scared and stopped. When my mum found out she took me to hospital, I stayed there overnight under observation but was ok and needed no treatment. There weren’t enough beds in the mental health ward, so I ended up in the children’s ward. I was asked what was wrong with me by this point I was feeling like I’d made a mistake with regards to the overdose so I replied ‘they’re not sure I am kind of here as a precaution.’ The next day in the afternoon I went to see the psychiatrist or maybe it was the psychologist. I was asked are you going to do this again I said ‘No’ I was released into the community with no after care or referral. It was my GP who, after my parents talked to him, referred me for psychotherapy.

I was in psychotherapy for years. With psychotherapy, my sleep improved as I was able to talk things out. I’ve also read up on sleep and taken certain measures to increase the chance that I have a good night’s sleep. Some measures to get a good night’s sleep include: Today, when I come across articles on sleep deprivation and psychosis, it all makes sense. I now appreciate how important a good night’s sleep is when it comes to maintaining your mental health.

Rachel’s top tips for getting sleep!  Trying to get some fresh air everyday  I have an app on my phone and try to walk 10,000 steps and exercise by jogging yes at the time of writing you can go out and social distance at the same time (sorry for the corona reference) finally, I’ve also improved my eating habits by eating less processed food.

Educating María

By María Llewellyn Self-education has always been my saving grace. Whether it´s learning a second language, teaching myself yoga or learning how to write a book. More recently I’ve been learning to love myself just as I am. I have always struggled with low self-esteem and most recently with bouts of night-time anxiety where I battle with everyday concerns like my dog destroying my sofa or jumping on strangers, getting older, failing to achieve anything or how I can feel free but maintain a balanced and happy relationship. After many years of striving and feeling like I was getting nowhere I began to have very dark thoughts, often suicidal but wouldn't act upon them as I was confident that I would be greatly missed. I knew something was wrong with this and searched high and low for someone who counselled in English. Living abroad has made it difficult to access such things so I gave up on the idea and just swallowed all my anxieties and suffered silently at night, brushing it all off the next day. My life choices felt bleak and I began to feel like the walls of my existence were closing in on me. Death was feeling like the only way out from this mental trap, but even that wasn't an option due to my resolve to exist for others only. So I was trapped in a mental horror story being abused my own subconscious. All this time I had thrown myself into educating myself and others but something was missing; I didn't really like myself, my inner voice was harsh and never satisfied with my day to day efforts and I felt like a slave to my impossible demands. The only real happiness I felt was when others validated me or I made them happy. But I was incapable of doing that myself. Then this happened. I was contacted out of the blue by a distant relative who asked me to help get a friend ́s daughter settled in my town during her gap year. The young student came to visit me along with her mother and boyfriend. Her mother told me that my relatives had not really recovered from the loss of their mother, my great aunt and godmother. I said that was understandable and that I greatly missed her too. As I talked on, the student ́s mother clocked that there was a gap in my knowledge of the circumstances of how my aunt died. It turned out that she had taken her own life and I was non-the-wiser. There had been crossed wires, since being distant family and all this time I thought she died because of an accidental overdose. The truth was much worse, she died by her own hand and it certainly wasn't an accident. I froze, forced a reassuring smile, thanked her for informing me and steered the conversation to a more palpable one. When they left, the news hit me hard! Over the coming weeks I sunk into a depression but more about how I felt stupid that I didn´t know. I contacted my family, had reassuring conversations with everyone and decided enough was enough. If I couldn't do anything for Sue, I could do something for myself. It wasn't too late, and I did indeed have a choice.

I chose life. I spent hours looking for someone to help me and I found her. I didn't care about the cost, because the cost of my happiness has no price. The first session which started a few months ago, was cathartic, a huge cloud lifted from my shoulders and I was 100% committed to learning to love myself as I truly deserved. Since I started the sessions, I have seen massive improvements, such as being kinder to myself, giving myself cuddles and taking time every day to check in and listen intently to my personal needs and acting on them. The bouts of sleepless nights were happening because I was failing to listen to myself and so the voices were getting louder and more insistent. Now, since facing them, I have unlocked just as many good thoughts, new energy and fresh ideas. I lost an amazing woman but she taught me the greatest lesson of my life. We can dedicate our lives to helping others but we really must take care of ourselves just as much. I ́m still the educator but now I'm a student learning self-love. One day, I hope to share what I'm discovering and that this time makes a long lasting difference in me and others in need. I’ve never suffered with a long term mental illness like my Aunt but everyone is susceptible to stress in all its forms, if you can ́t help yourself, find someone that can! Just as I did and now I´ve learnt reaching out to a professional has given me the confidence to believe in myself and my decisions.

Nothing is good or bad; but thinking makes it so —Shakespeare