It's #WorldMentalHealthDay. I have lived with depression since my teens, and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder almost 12 years ago now. Recovery is about living well in the presence or absence of symptoms, and it is possible. It's not easy, but it is possible. 🧵
I'm well medicated. That took a long time. But, I will take meds for the rest of my life. I don't know how to sleep without drugs now because I'm sedated at night. I wake up with a chemical hangover every day.
I fight my weight continually these days because the drugs screw with my metabolism and eating patterns and will-power. I laugh it off, but it messes with my confidence something chronic. It's the biggest side effect of staying relatively sane most of the time.
I do far too much. It's deliberate. If I stop then I start thinking, and not in a good way. Being overcommitted works until I have a meltdown. I've had one terrifying one this year. I'm incapable of stopping and not sure how to relax.
I have good friends who get it. I intentionally speak about it openly. That works until I get really depressed and then I stop talking about it, which should be a sign to myself but it happens every time.
Being well medicated doesn't mean I'm fine. It just removes the worst of the highs and lows and evens me out somewhere in the lower middle range of emotions. I don't get happy or excited much. I'm not sure I know how to anymore.
I have more animals than sense. If I don't want to get out of bed for me, I have to for them. I hyperfocus for hours. Dogs are good at breaking that. My brain wanders off, but the cats will always let me know that I'm shirking my duties. My animals keep me alive.
I'm fortunate to live somewhere that reminds me that I am only a tiny cog in an enormous wheel. I am pleasingly insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The tide, the wind, the sky - they will always be there. Life will always go on and in 12 hours it will look different.
I'm not sure why I'm telling you all this. Except to say that life after a diagnosis continues. It takes a different form and takes time to get used to. Recovery isn't about "getting fixed". It's a journey towards learning to live with myself. I'm the better for it.
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I'm getting increasingly concerned about this new "the islands are unwelcoming", "the islands are hostile" narrative in relation to easing lock down. And I have to say, how dare you? [thread]
There is a tension present all the time between beautiful vulnerable "empty" places being seen as destinations first and communities second. That tension has come ever more to the fore with Covid.
For me there is no question that communities should come first. Without them there is no destination. Every season locals deal with lack of food supplies, no space on boats, incessant cleaning and a raft of other inconveniences.
Being called racist, unwelcoming, sad, horrible and "epitomising everything wrong with these islands" earlier this week really ground my gears. Actually, as Gaels, we are a long oppressed minority, who have a right to some cultural respect. [thread]
Disclaimer: I include myself under the umbrella of "Gael" under advisement, having been born and brought in Edinburgh. However, Gàidhlig is my first language, and crofting, the sea and islands run in my blood courtesy of my Tirisdeach father. I am hefted to that culture.
Our ancestors had their houses burnt down - often whilst they were in them - because their landlords decided sheep were a better financial bet.
So you've moved to the Scottish Islands and are contemplating your first Instagram post congratulating yourselves on living the good life. Here's a handy guide to living in the islands.
Those sunny summer days that convinced you to move were just that, summer. Summer doesn't last long. The rest of us manage just fine in the winter. Put on some weight, get a good waterproof and wheesht.
Related: if you spend your winter in warmer climes, don't expect to be taken seriously by those who spent it up to their armpits in mud ensuring that the landscape remains instagrammable for you in the summer.