Every Mind Matters.. but not really

On World Mental Health Day this year (2019, in case you're reading this from the future), the NHS have created a campaign called Every Mind Matters. And it's great... in some ways.

First and foremost, they're right. Every mind matters and it brings to light the fact that we all have mental health. Not everybody has a mental illness, but everybody has mental health and this campaign is doing a great job of reaching out to people to ensure that they're doing what they can to take care of their own: checking in on friends, exercising, spending less time on social media, eating healthy, getting a good nights sleep, practising mindfulness.

Yet on World Mental Health Day, in this day and age, I don't want to hear about the importance of learning a new hobby or quitting caffeine. I want to hear about how actual mental illnesses are being tackled, head on. We all know that plenty is being done to raise awareness, but what is being done to tackle the illnesses themselves?

Don't get me wrong, I love the NHS. The NHS has saved my life numerous times and every single one of us has been helped by them in some way - unless you are stupid rich and have forever and always had private healthcare. And I get it, on World Mental Health Day, this sort of campaign is universally applicable so everybody can take something from it. But with government funding disappearing into thin air - like my bank balance on a night out in London -  not every mind can matter.

I'm bored of the approach to treating mental illness being lifestyle and habit changes. The umbrella of mental illness is so big, which is ironic because I don't feel like we're being covered.

Waiting lists for therapy are getting longer and longer. Beds in hospitals are always full.

Self harm, eating disorders and addiction (drugs, gambling) amongst children is rising. Hospitals are falling apart. Staff are overworked.

My friend died of suicide whilst in a psychiatric hospital last year. My amazing, beautiful friend died in an environment where she should have been most safe. Because of so many contributing factors within in an NHS hospital, my deserving friend Claire was failed. Her treatment was awful and if you knew Claire, you knew she wanted to get better. She was extremely poorly, but she spent her adult life campaigning for better treatment for those with mental illnesses. If you would like to listen her talk  about her experiences and learn about different illnesses (I  just tried but got 5 minutes in and was a blubbery mess), then click here. 

If there is something that can come from Claire's tragic death, it is the importance of standards desperately needing to be raised for the care and treatment for mental health patients.

We're working to break taboo of mental illnesses, and I think it's fantastic that high profile people are getting involved speaking out about this, raising awareness and using their platform to demonstrate that there is nothing to be ashamed of. Yet I can't help but feel like this is all being glossed over like a 2006 Miss Sporty plumping lipgloss.

So, I took this Every Mind Matters 'quiz,' and what did it tell me? (Me, a severe depressive, with anxiety and an eating disorder)...

1. Relax my muscles and mind
   Basically do meditation on the toilet?
2. Do more feel good things
   Nothing makes me feel good because I am depressed.
3. Move more every day
   I work in a demanding job in an office in central London. I'm exhausted all the time. Plus I go on a run 2 or 3 runs a week (and I still hate it).
4. Get active
   Okay, you don't need tell me twice to move my fat arse!!!
5. Get walking every day with Active 10
   WOW.  THREE TIMES.

You may dismiss my blog post because this campaign is more about 'well-being' and well... good for you. But it's World Mental Health Day. If we can't scream about the actual fractures within our health system, then when can we? When are the government going to ACTUALLY step up and sort out the treatment of the mentally unwell?

When will the treatment of anorexia  be entirely reworked? 

Realise that one treatment doesn't fit all?

Listen to all the mothers and fathers who are suicidal postpartum?

Provide more treatment options, and psychiatrists for those with schizophrenia, OCD, bipolar, psychosis, Borderline Personality Disorder?

Help those struggling with addiction and preventing the ongoing homelessness crisis?

Stop using anti-depressants as a band aid solution?

When are they going to stop people like Claire dying?

When are we going to notice that all of our minds actually matter? And not just because Prince Harry said so.

On a final note, speak to your friends today. Check they're okay. Double check they're okay. Check that you are okay (perhaps not through the medium of a quiz though).

Being a Virgin at University

My column for Quench Magazine in 2016.

How Can I Make You Happy?

Things That Will Make Me Happy:

• Being cuddled by 10 puppies
• Eloping with Lewis 
• People stop telling me how healthy or well I look
• Being cuddled by 50 puppies
• Being cuddled by all the puppies.

@tomfoleyart

The question I get asked so often; “what can I do to make you happy?” – Mostly asked by my mum. Mostly after I've sent a crying face emoji to her.

I am a twenty-four-year-old straight, white woman, who is in happy relationship and from a (somewhat) loving family of seven. I aced all my exams at school and got a 1st Class Honours in Journalism at university. I got an incredible internship at Universal straight out of my degree and have recently started working at another big film and TV company as publicity assistant earning a decent wage. 

This all sounds good (and like a weird Linkedin profile) right? There is no doubt that I have grown up very fortunate and am very lucky to have many privileges other people don't have. (By the way, I'm talking jobs/a place to live - not a fucking Soho House membership).

So, why the heck do I have depression?

What do I have to be sad about?

Why do I need to take (but stupidly rarely do) green and white pills to regulate my serotonin levels? 

First and foremost, depression is an illness. More often than not, it is an illness that will spread itself - like room temperature Lurpak on hot toast - across a long duration of time – we’re talking years here, sometimes even decades. Some people may experience depression following an emotional circumstance or trauma – perhaps stress at work, the death of a loved one, or a break-up. For some, there is no clear cause and effect. 

I sort of wish it was black and white for me, just like my anorexia (MY anorexia? Ha!) I wish there was a direct reason for why I became ill. Did I piss God off? Did I not give enough money to charity? Was it those white lies I told in Science GCSE about losing my coursework? 

My upbringing was fine and then I got ill. That’s it. Now here I am, a sometimes happy, tries to be funny-ish girl, but mostly miserable and anti-social, feeling like she wants to die a lot of the time.


Sorry that got dark very quick. 

But that’s what depression does to your brain. Depression can consume every thought you have and conclude it with “hmm if you just died you wouldn’t have to worry about that.” Obviously, that’s not the answer.

… As I write this I am realising more than ever that I need to go back in therapy which BY THE WAY is both fucking fantastic (you just have to find the right therapist) but also a fucking ball ache. HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED TELL A THERAPIST ABOUT EACH AND EVERY ONE OF MY SIBLINGS LIVES????????

My depression stems from my anorexia which has sort of merged itself into this big, fucking angry monster who likes to throw shit at me and piss on me when I begin to feel slightly happy or confident in myself. Living in a body which appears healthy, but still struggling with my eating loads has hit on my depression recently, and no amount of money or sex or success can change this inner turmoil. 

@tomfoleyart

In case you’re one of the very few who don’t already know: I hate my body. So much. I cry about it about 5 times a week (mainly on Facetime to my boyfriend – sorry Lewis). Yet what people don’t understand with illnesses is that by commenting on ‘how well I look’ or ‘how far I have come’ before even asking how I am actually doing, can be crippling. For me, my depression has been mixed in with my anorexia, and with my now fucked up metabolism has truly fucked me (the anorexia) over. Depression + body loathing = major shit storm. 

I could keep typing for hours about anorexia/hating my body, but I will stop now – you’ve heard it all before, sorry. 

What a lovely little detour down anorexia lane, so yes, I am not okay. But I AM okay. And I have so much to be grateful for. My new fancy pants job, my beautiful nieces, my new glowing tan I worked ever so hard for in Turkey, my housemate buying me an “I <3 Tooting” mug after just moving in. 

These instantaneous, short-lived moments of happiness are something to hold on to, but they are just that: short-lived. A moment of escape from feeling suicidal. Depression latches onto the negative things in life. A troll on twitter, arguing over the fact I don’t eat meat; feeling like I have left it too late to write for a living ;my friends having other plans on my birthday; an ant infestation at my new house (please, God save me). 

Yet sometimes, I am just sad. Not even sad, just numb. Can’t talk, won’t talk, please let me just pretend to watch Come Dine With Me, leave me alone, I’ve not moved for three days, I’m sinking into my bed, I probably won’t come back out, I’m falling into the centre of the earth, but I can’t be bothered to ask anybody for help… 

Sorry, I got carried away there. Well, I don’t know about you but this all felt VERY bleak. And that is because depression is. Sure, I can have a laugh (just because I have depression doesn’t mean I’m not fucking hilarious anymore) and converse like a normal human being about Brexit or Love Island, and MAYBE even still have the odd night out or three. I’m what you may call a high-functioning depressive. But please, call me Molly. I can put all my energy into acting all happy-lardy dar, make conversation, crack some banging jokes, compliment your eyebrows, smile smile smile (this is only usually with people I don’t care about seeing me be a miserable bitch) but then my batteries stop working and no amount of coffee will help.

I become a depresso. 

@tomfoleyart

Depression is hard work and when you have to leave the comfort of your bed, you work tirelessly to put on a façade, so you don’t get the nickname ‘Miserably Molly.’  Yet, excuses don’t need to be made as to why you are a depressed. 

@tomfoleyart

You don’t need to keep it to yourself because you are the person who 'has it all' or 'is the joker of the friendship group'. You don’t need to justify your depression to people. It’s an illness – but one that can for-freaking-sure be cured. And it’s writing down all this gobbledeegoop that helps me – or makes me realise I need help. 

Depression doesn’t discriminate. As Matt Haig (the man, the legend) once quoted: 

“You are no less or more of a man or woman or a human for having depression than you would be for having cancer or cardiovascular disease a car accident.” 

*

Huge thank you to Tom Foley who drew some awesome illustrations for this blog post. If you like his doodles (which I'm sure you do) please check out his Instagram @tomfoleyart for more of his work. 

Why Diets Are A Toxic Waste of Space

Let me start with this: self-love is the biggest middle finger of all time.

 The woman next to me is currently on My Fitness Pal scanning the barcode of a pot of nuts to log into her food diary. My insides flip – both from bad memories, anger and jealousy… that she has snacks with her and I don’t.

As I write this, it’s only been six days into the new year and already I have the words ‘detox’ ‘diet’ and ‘lose weight’ ringing in my ears. Everywhere I go I am bombarded with adverts for gym memberships, slimming world, detox teas (aka laxatives) and meal replacement tablets. I switch on the news in the morning and they’re talking about putting a tax on pudding (God forbid) and how children consume too much sugar. I scroll through Instagram and I see Kim Kardashian promoting some flat tummy shake that will give her the runs (no doubt that her bum hole will be the next thing needing surgery).

 

It’s 2019. When will we learn that diets are stupid? Literally… stupid. There’s a difference from ‘being on a diet’ and ‘have a good diet.’ But both are pretty annoying. Before I sound like a hypocrite by advocating to ‘eat what you want’, when I myself have had a big FAT fear of food for the past six years, I just want to say I’m doing this because I have experienced and witnessed the damaging effect the diet industry can have. This week, that Michael Mosley idiot has been back on our screens promoting the utter ridiculous 5:2 diet. I THOUGHT THIS HAD DIED ITS PATHETIC DEATH 7 YEARS AGO?!? Nope, apparently people are still buying into it. No surprise though, because it’s everywhere. There is nothing healthy about fasting. Of course you will see results on this diet; you’ll be losing so much water weight, because you are basically starving yourself. But is this really a life long way to live? Are any ‘diets’ a way to live? No. They make you lose weight and then you’re back at square one – because you can’t sustain a life by living off of egg whites and spinach for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

(Can you tell I’m angry?)

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be a bit healthier, or if you are overweight, making sensible changes. However, there are two messages that are still being drilled into us, and which need addressing ASAP. These being:

• Women (and men) should hate their bodies.
• Food is the enemy.

Imagine for a moment that we lived in a world where we all loved our beautiful bodies, and we enjoyed food?! Wishful thinking.

Having an unhealthy relationship with both food and my body has been hell for me. Fortunately, I have been able to begin to rationalise it and not be too affected by adverts, social media and celebrities. Nonetheless, it’s hard to escape the messages that we are being infiltrated with.

Scroll through the majority of female media influencers photos’ on Instagram and nearly all of them will have photos of them on a white sandy beach flaunting their ‘perfect’ flat stomachs and long thin legs. How do they have such flat stomachs when they supposedly live their best life eating at fancy restaurants and lazing on the beach all day? This is not reality.

With the diet industry capitalising on this fantasy body, the tummy is an easy area to target. Stomachs change shape throughout the day; you may wake up and it be somewhat deflated or ‘flat’ and come lunch time it’s probably a little rounder as it is holding all the drinks and food you have so far consumed that day. There seems to be some ideology that if your tummy is flat then your life is complete; you have achieved what all women want to, you will be satisfied and proud of your body. Now let me tell you, as somebody who has once had a flat stomach… it really isn’t that great. In those days I was unhappier than ever, knowing that I ‘had’ to work hard to maintain this shape. Analysing everything that I consumed to ensure there was no way of adding any fat to my stomach became my entire focus and it sooner or later spiralled out of control – full blown eating disorder madness. Of course, this is an extreme example and not all men and women will develop an eating disorder by dieting, but the industry no doubt can tarnish anybody’s relationship with both food and their body.

Was I happy when I had a flat stomach?

Did I love my body when I had a flat stomach?

Did I enjoy food when I had a flat stomach?

Was I confident when I had a flat stomach?

Did having a flat stomach get me the career I wanted?

Did having a flat stomach determine graduating from university?

Did my boyfriend love me more for having a flat stomach?

How about, did I waste too much time obsessing over avoiding food and staying skinny? Yes. Yes yes yes.

It is so life consuming that it really does overtake your day to day life, your relationships and your entire being.  The media is constantly telling us that we are a ‘fat’ nation, they we consume too much fast food, that we don’t exercise enough. But where are the reports on the millions of women who are victim of low self-esteem and disgust at their own body? No doubt heightened by the constant diet adverts that are everywhere, especially in January and the run up to summer.

Christmas always used to be the worst day of the year for me, fearful of food and any chance of over indulging or eating more than I used to. However, now that my eating disorder is much more under control, it was much easier than previous years because I knew that I wouldn’t be forced to eat anything I didn’t want to. I am now strong enough to eat what I want to.

Nonetheless, this year, it was the post-Christmas period that hit me like a tonne of lard. Everywhere I looked we were being told off for what we had eaten. We were being told off for foods that the same companies had been selling us.

Being in recovery from an eating disorder during this period is excruciating. As we are learning to accept our new bodies, everywhere we turn we are told that our body shapes are ‘not perfect.’ Your thighs aren’t meant to touch, your stomach should never be round, your ribs are supposed to be visible. It’s all such rubbish. Moreover, for those who have been in hospital or received therapy will have fought through the understanding that food is not the enemy, and that our bodies need a lot of fuel to run.

This whole ‘New Year, New Me’ ‘I’m Going to Lose Eight Stone This Year’ thing is more often derived from the idea that food is bad. There are good foods and bad foods… apparently. This is utter bull shite (unless you have an allergy of course). Whether it be carbs or sugar, there is always a trend of which food is going to be the devil this year. Sure, if you ate solely a diet of Haribo Tangfastics for every meal, every day of the week, then we have reason to be worried… but it’s like that with any food. If you eat the same food, and lots of it, then sure – that’s not healthy. But it doesn’t have to be loads of crisps to deem this an unhealthy lifestyle, I survived for a few months on a diet of boiled cabbage – to some a ‘healthy’ food, but for me it was what nearly killed me (and my bowels).

What I’m trying to say is, that it is so easy to demonise food and become fearful of it, but cake isn’t going to kill you. (What a way to die though!) As Cringey McCringe as it is, we only live once -  and if I were to be hit by a bus tomorrow - *touch wood* - I want to die knowing I hadn’t wasted years avoiding foods that I actually enjoyed and loved my body just the way it was.

Right then diet industry, supermarkets, self-titled nutritionists and Instagram influencers, do yourself a favour and shove your diet fads up your bum and poo it out once those laxative detox do their dirty work.

If you want to follow some more realistic, relatable but still wonderful Instagram accounts, I’d highly suggest: 

·       @I_Weigh

·       @ChessieKingg

·       @JameelaJamilOfficial (my hero)

·       @SofieHagandk

·       @BodiPosiPanda

·       @NotPlantBased

·       @antidietriotclub

·       @notoriouslydapper [body issues aren’t just a women thing]