Broadcasting the Word

*raps* Guess who’s back, back again…

Yes, she’s back, she’s still alive (just about), and she’s having some pony therapy with her extended family down south. Just got back from a brief but lovely hack around the local farm; for those wondering, Josh is fine, but currently sporting the World’s Worst Haircut. Picture will not be forthcoming (yet, muahahaha…)

I’m still busy as hell, but I have got some good stuff stewing for when I have some more spare brain-space. So, what can we expect from the next few weeks? Well, I recently finished a book called “A Boy Made of Blocks,” about a boy with autism who learns to communicate with his family through playing Minecraft. As a borderline Aspie and a fellow player of Minecraft, I would highly recommend it, full review to come, probably later in the week. Still chipping away at that ‘Theory of Knowledge’ essay – I should not be complaining, I chose the title, I have nobody to blame but myself. Like I said in my last post, I’m not so good at abstract concepts, so there’ll be a bit on that, and why it’s so important for me to be able to fit things into boxes.

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But first things first – my stepmother listens to Radio 2 a lot, and I happened to catch the lunchtime’ Jeremy Vine’ show today while I was doing some work in the kitchen. It’s a show which covers relevant issues in the headlines, and invites both professional and viewer discussion, and it caught my ear this week because Paddy O’Connell (covering for Mr Vine) announced a special medical section on ‘dyspraxia.’

BBC iPlayer link (begins at 1:08:05)

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Paddy was talking to a medical professional, Dr Sarah Jarvis, and a woman called Charlotte who has dyspraxia herself (for the first section). On the whole, it was really lovely and quite respectful (aside from some unfortunate language use…’This dreadful condition of dyspraxia.’ Honestly, Paddy). I did also think Dr Jarvis took a bit of a patronising tone at times, but I’m looking at this from an informed insider’s perspective rather than a layperson who might know absolutely nothing, and she’s actually doing a very good job of explaining it in terms of someone who might never have heard of such a diagnosis. Let’s be fair here.

They focus a lot on the motor aspects of the condition, but I was very pleased that they included a section on how tough exams can be for us, because we have so much trouble organising our thoughts as well as ourselves. Charlotte told quite a humorous story about not being allowed to climb ladders because she couldn’t get down them again; I hate climbing on stepladders, I simply do not feel I can balance. Eating soup as well; Good Lord, it can be a struggle. Bread is such a saving grace when it comes to mopping up spills. She also spoke at length about always being picked last for sports teams. I never really cared all that much about sports, but I always thought that was because everyone thought I was weird, and it was quite distressing, on a personal level.

It’s so nice, so so nice, to know that these experiences are basically universal. We are a small but interesting community.

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We’re still focusing on the negative though; plenty of the people calling in were talking about losing jobs, being considered weird, never learning to drive a car or ride a bike. What happened to the rest of it? The differences in how we see people, and the world, the creativity and diversity of our voices? The doctor, the presenter, even some of the guest callers took a very negative view of the condition, focusing on its limitations and the negative impact it can have on children and adults, how hard it can be for us.

This isn’t to do down the people who do find it very difficult – there are people out there who are more profoundly affected than I am. I was lucky in that I was a very physical child and did a lot of physical activities including bike-riding and horse-riding, which let me practice co-ordination. Horse-riding is used as a therapy technique for children with conditions such as cerebral palsy, it’s amazing for co-ordination skills. But I recall saying to someone, long before I even knew dyspraxia was a word, that while I could balance perfectly on a horse (I have a very good seat and I’m very hard to dislodge, even when the horse is corkscrew-bucking), I could not do the same on the ground. Slow, careful, and fumbling on the ground, absolutely unstoppable in the saddle. Funny, that.

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 I suppose the point Dr Jarvis is trying to make is, it’s a lot easier with a diagnosis. Dyspraxia is one of the most underdiagnosed developmental conditions there is, and being teased for just being ‘clumsy,’ or ‘weird’ or ‘disorganised’ or ‘stupid’ (I heard that one a lot) can make it a very negative experience. As a young and confused child, it is very distressing and can very much colour your view of your condition. I was diagnosed at 21, some people aren’t diagnosed until 35, some get lucky and are diagnosed at 5. With a diagnosis, one has a new awareness of why this is happening, and we can start developing coping strategies for dealing with these difficulties, no matter what age we are. And this is true of any condition; dyslexia, autism, dyscalculia, even things like depression and anxiety as well.

Of course, if we don’t have an awareness, we can’t give the diagnosis.

“Aren’t I lucky that I don’t [have dyspraxia]?” is also a really unhelpful phrase, doctor. Let’s try and promote understanding, rather than creating an ‘us and them’ mentality, yeah?

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So, we’ll finish with a word from Mr O’Connell himself:

“Dyspraxia; learn what it is, and stop taking the mickey!”

Stay awesome, Internet!

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Moments in Time

Happy Friday, everyone! And Happy St Patrick’s Day, to those of you so inclined!

I’ve always enjoyed St Patrick’s Day for one reason or another. One, it’s one of the biggest drinking holidays in the calendar, excluding Christmas and New Year, and I do like a pint with (or without) my friends every now and again. The other is, being an Irish dancer means plenty of opportunities for showing off your footwork (expended on more in a previous post). I think this year is going to be the first in about four years that I’ve not been doing some performance or another for St Patrick’s Day. Unless I get reeeeally drunk tonight, at which point all bets are off.

But, I’m still spending it in Sheffield, which kinda makes it all worth it.

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I spent five years in Sheffield; my undergrad years, and then two years after that. I got off the train this morning and felt like I’d never left. I’ve always felt very at home in Sheffield, and I never realised until I went for a walk around it this afternoon just how much I’d missed it. (And the bus prices. Oh hell yeah, the bus prices). It’s not just the big things, like the poem above Sheaf Square or the Winter Gardens, or the Clock Tower on the City Hall. I went from Crookes around the Student Union, down through town and out towards Kelham Island and Hillsborough, and it’s funny how many tiny memories get activated just by revisiting some of these places after a long time. So many long minutes spent waiting at the lights at the Millsands roundabout on my bicycle – and avoiding all the tramlines on Infirmary Road (occasionally unsuccessfully). Wondering if I had the courage to go into the sex shop on Division Street (I never did haha). Salads from New Leaf. The office where I used to work. The best spot to cross the road on Crookes Road (which is a bitch, by the way). My old run route. The little spots on the pavement which mean nothing to anyone else and everything to you. All the tiny moments that make a life, not just an experience.

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It’s funny, sometimes, how you don’t appreciate something until you’ve been away from it for a while. There were times, living in Sheffield, I felt like I was living in a straightjacket. It’s such a small city, and so centralised as well, which means that I spent so much time in certain times in certain areas they got too familiar. I don’t know. It was fun going around most of my old stomping grounds again though. Some things have changed – a coat of paint here, a resurfaced road there – but most things are still the same. Including the rain. But hey, it’s the north of England, if it isn’t raining something’s wrong. If you’re ever seen that British meme about Northerners ‘needing your big coat,’ they’re not wrong.

I wish I’d been able to take some pictures, but my phone died and I didn’t take my camera with me, so sorry; pictorial evidence will have to wait for some other time – not to mention it was pissing with rain.

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I suppose the point is, you can be born somewhere, but it’s what you do with your everyday that makes your life. I was born in East Essex, and did nothing but schoolwork and horses. I was made in Sheffield, and did so much more than that. I call myself a Girl of Steel, not because I’m from Sheffield by birth, but I feel like I began there – that’s where the person who is me was born. It took a long time for me to start allowing myself to love myself, and it all started in Sheffield.

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Two big decisions need to be made – every single day. What to do with your days, and who to come home to at night. Life is what happens in between those times. Tonight, for me, it’s ceilidh-time and then my best friend, who’s putting up with me – sorry, putting me up – for the weekend. Tomorrow, I have no idea. I’m planning for violins and oaty shit to be involved. More life moments.

Stay awesome, everyone.

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Shamrock

Winter Gardens

Scan Initiated

Good evening, one and all!

First up, a couple of announcements. The first is due a change in schedule, I’ll be changing the update day of this from Thursday to Friday – reason being we’ve just been slammed with a compulsory three-hour stats lab on Thursday afternoons, which is fine, but leaves me mentally a bit wiped out. Therefore, happy Friday!

Might also mean I get it out a bit more regularly than I have been for the last couple of weeks! I’ll confess half of that is fatigue and half of that is my piece of crap laptop screwing me around again. The fix was, weirdly, removing my anti-virus software, so I’m feeling a bit virtually vulnerable right now. Is it going to stop me illegally streaming Yuri on Ice? Absolutely not.

But anyway, after the angst of a couple of weeks ago, and with blowing all your minds with cute on mindfulness, I want to talk about something cool that happened last week – namely, that I got to have a go in an fMRI scanner.

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For anyone who’s not familiar with MRI (or Magnetic Resonance Imaging) technology, what a normal MRI scan does is take a picture of your brain or body in the state it’s in at a given moment, by aligning all the water cells in your body to a strong magnetic field and measuring the time it takes for them to realign themselves back into their natural state. Different tissues have different amounts of water in them, hence the multi-layered image. An fMRI (Functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging) takes it one step further and, as the name would suggest, scans the brain as it functions, using the level of oxygen in the blood – the BOLD signal. Not in real-time, unfortunately, we’re not that good yet, but with enough spatial accuracy that we can pinpoint the areas which are active when performing a cognitive task. It’s not something many people will get to do outside of research or a clinical procedure – and even then it’s so expensive to run that even within research it’s not something which gets used a lot – and I consider myself quite lucky that I got to take part.

The scanner itself is, in its purest form, a huge spinning magnet, so before entering the scanner I had to take my hoodie off (metal eyelets), all my piercings out (for obvious reasons) and answer a bunch of questions about my dental history (though it turns out normal fillings are just fine). Getting stuck to the inside of this thing is, I imagine, not fun. There are some really funny videos somewhere of a bunch of research scientists mucking around with the magnetic field (because we’re serious academics doing serious academic things), and this thing is seriously strong. Like, 30,000 times the magnetic field of Earth kind of strong.

Not that I was worried about this, or anything.

Nah, that was fine. I was more worried about the fact that the hole my body was being inserted into was no more than a couple of feet across, if that. Which makes sense if you’re trying to take an image through someone’s skull. It’s the same principle as X-Rays – you have to get up close and personal before they can get a decent image. And two sets of ear plugs. Think of a pneumatic drill being used right outside your window and then turn the volume up a bit – that was what it would have sounded like without them. It was still loud as hell even with them in. So as I’m sitting on the ‘bed,’ if you like, the researcher makes me plug my ears with those soft foam plugs you get in nightclubs and on shooting ranges, and then put a pair of ear defenders over my ears as well. I had to yell “What?” a few times before I could hear whatever else he was trying to say; which was a good thing. Then I lay back into the headrest, which was like a scoop with a cushion inside, had my knees propped up by a triangular cushion, and was handed a button box and told, ‘Just relax.’

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And then the scary part. So the hole through the scanner is a bit like a classic doughnut – it goes all the way through and out the other side. The screen where the task I’ll be doing is on the other side, but to see it, they had to fit a kind of mask or clamp over my head which had a mirror attached to it. It wasn’t flush with my head but it was close enough to be weird. It took a couple of tries to get it right – for some reason the attachment wouldn’t fit on the headrest – but a few minutes later it was fixed and I had a front seat view of the approaching back of the scanner as they rolled me into the tube. Remember how I said it was only a couple of feet across? I moved my arm to try and get comfortable and instantly whacked the side of it. Big incentive to keep still. (And you need to keep deathly still or the images come out fuzzy). I’m actually okay in confined spaces – at least, I prefer them over wide expanses, definitely – so once I was in there it wasn’t a big deal. The big deal comes next.

As with basically anyone who has autism or autistic traits, I have an absolute horror of sudden loud noises. If there’s one thing guaranteed about fMRI scanners, it’s sudden, loud noises. So the starting of the scanner was the most terrifying part. The headphones muffled the worst of it but there was a series of dull clicks and then a sudden, huge mechanical whirr, and I felt the thing shudder to life. But then, once that was over, I started to relax. It made a rhythmic series of loud clicks – and rhythmic is the key word here. I like rhythmic. It’s predictable and I can deal with it. That was the initial anatomical scan. The researcher can talk to you by intercom, so he comes over the airwaves and he says, “Okay, we’re gonna start the real scan now.”

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I was expecting more of the same. Oh no. Louder and bleep-ier. But still rhythmic, so once I’d gotten used to it, it was easy to tune out. But this point was when I started to feel the magnet. Like weird sort of pulling pressure that started on my right and moved around me slowly as the scan kicked into life. Suddenly I was glad they made me take my piercings out.

Another thing I never expected was the warmth. It’s a huge piece of electrical equipment, not to mention the magnet inside is spinning at stupid-RPM and kicking off a vast amount of heat. Never heard the air-con come on though, even though it must have because I never broke a sweat. The task itself wasn’t all that interesting – just looking for duplicates of pictures and whacking a button on the button box – so between the two of them I almost dozed off. Four blocks of that separated by another anatomical scan – by which point the cushion on the headrest had developed a ridge that was digging into the back of my skull. Never moved my head though – ‘remarkably still,’ he said afterwards, so score one for my pain tolerance!

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Just goes to show, I suppose – there are some situations where you just gotta relax and let it all happen. This does not ring true for 95% of my life, but for the moments it does, I do cherish them.

Though maybe not so much when I got out of the scanner and my head refused to stop spinning, from being lying down for so long. You win some, you lose some. At least I didn’t actually faint.

So, yes, an experience. One I would recommend to anyone who is neither claustrophobic nor scared of loud noises. But they all do their best to make sure you’re comfortable, and the panic button is always there if you need it.

And I get a cool picture of my brain to yell at whenever it starts messing me around.

Stay awesome, everybody.

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Examine This!

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Happy New Year! So Rafferty and I have finally quit country-hopping and are safely back at Uni. And that means we’re gearing up for exam season. Again.

The one thing I didn’t miss during two years in work was university exams. Before anyone starts jumping down my throat, I am deeply aware it is one of the biggest cliches in education – the age old student of adage of ‘F*ck My Exams.’

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Thing is, it never used to be like that. Up until the age of around 17 I was completely neutral about exams, to the point where I would just not study and still come top of the class. I only revised for my GCSEs because my mum would have strung me up otherwise.

Then I failed a couple of A-Levels because Holy Hell, I was not expecting that jump. And After that very rude wake-up call, I joined the ranks of the other students, filing into the exam hall with the sharp tang of terror in my mouth.

Hands up who out there was considered ‘Gifted and Talented’ at school? Hands up who then also failed to make that big jump/a similar big jump and ever since then has been struggling with academic self-esteem issues? Yeah.

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It’s not a knowledge thing; I could spit out any amount of facts for these exams just off the top of my head. It’s a technique thing. I know that I know it, it’s just proving that I know it. Whether that’s a dyspraxia thing or just a me thing, I don’t know, I just know that even when I plan an answer out, what comes out onto the paper bears no resemblance to the answer in my head. I recently did a 48-hour take-home exam (which was awesome by the way) but I took one look at the first draft of my answer and just went, ‘Well, sh*t. Is that how all my exam answers read? Now I understand why I nearly failed my second year…’

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The thing about uni is, most of the support systems that eventually pulled my grades up and got me in the door in the first place got pulled away. I couldn’t get my lecturers to look at my practice exam questions (trust me, I asked, the answer was an unequivocal no). Even with an official diagnosis of a learning disability, I found it really difficult to access the support I needed. All I got was extra time in exams, and general help with the rest of my coursework, which I really felt I didn’t need. Fortunately I have a much better idea of what is supposed to be happening in exam answers now (I read a book about Critical Thinking and constructing arguments and a lightbulb came on), but for a while I was absolutely lost at sea. At 23 I’ve had to learn how to revise, because I never bothered all the way through school.

A word to the wise – bother. Don’t get complacent, sat on your intelligence, because A-Level and undergraduate level truly screwed with me, is still truly screwing with me, and it will truly screw with you as well. I’d love to know if I could have come top of the year every year if I’d put a bit of effort in, or at least felt like I needed to.

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I can’t change the past, and I can’t stop it screwing up my future, but I think that a lesson learned late is still a lesson learned. And with any luck, I can used this degree as a springboard to get into my chosen field. It might take me a bit more time, but I’ll get there.

Stay awesome, everyone.

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Books

The picture of Rafferty is mine, please don’t reuse without permission.

Borderline Blues

It’s getting cold again. It’s definitely hat weather up here – even Rafferty, my adorable giraffe, is getting in on the action.

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Hello, Rafferty.

 

But I’ve had something of a rough day today and I wanted to talk about something.

Being borderline is painful.

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I should explain I’m dyspraxic. I may have mentioned this before. A few facts here. Dyspraxia, also known as Developmental Co-ordination Disorder, is at it’s heart a motor development disorder, which often goes hand in hand with mental difficulties as well, like organisation difficulties, speech and perception, and planning; I call it a lack of processing power. There are days a person will say a simple sentence to me, in perfect English. I will hear that sentence, and will have to spend a good couple of minutes to work out what the hell that person meant. I am no less intelligent than anyone else on a Masters Course, but I look at things differently and sometimes more slowly than the rest.

I am also borderline autistic. Borderline meaning I have all the major traits; delayed speech, delayed social development, stereotypic hand movements and a real aversion to eye contact and intense stimuli like bright lights and sudden loud noises – just not enough of them to warrant the full diagnosis. The way they teach it, and the way that a lot of publications write (academic and otherwise) focus a lot on early development and autism in young children, because this is when it’s most salient. It’s pervasive, though, and continues into adulthood. But I don’t get why every autistic person portrayed in the media, especially documentaries and the like, is either a genius, or in need of permanent home care. It is a spectrum, and a long one at that.

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The nice part of it is that I’m seeing more and more news crop about about shops and airports and cinemas becoming more autism-friendly. Autism friendly cinema viewings, for examples, have lowered lights and loud noises to stop sensory overload. The music and announcements are turned off in certain Asda and Toys R Us stores to allow children and adults with autism to shop in comfort. And I’m happy for them, if that’s the right phrase. Delirious, in fact. I’m only borderline, and every time the fire alarm goes off, I have a little panic attack (especially in the case of our halls fire alarm, which includes not only a siren, but flashing lights and an announcement declaring there is a fire in the building. Well no shit). It’s like a stimulus sensitive person’s nightmare. I can’t imagine what it must be like for those further along the spectrum.

It’s irritating as all-get-out, because as much as the dyspraxia diagnosis felt like it fit me (and it does, it fits me like a glove), every time someone talks about autism as a condition or their personal experiences of high-functioning autism, I feel like that fits me too, especially when I was younger. I’m autistic but I’m not. I’m dyspraxic, but sometimes I don’t know where the line is.

About this time last year, there was a fantastic blog post (which you can read here) which cropped up on my Facebook about having mild autism/Asperger’s Syndrome. This is essentially how I feel a lot of the time, diagnosis or otherwise. And there’s a lot of hate out there about it being ‘just an excuse for shitty parenting’ and a fake diagnosis. It isn’t. I made the massive mistake of clicking that option on a Google search earlier, and now I honestly feel physically sick. Later ranty blog post alert. Blogs like the one above, and a hundred thousand others will tell you it’s not like that. These are real people with real experiences.

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In some ways, I’m not really qualified to talk. I’m sort-of autistic, not absolutely autistic, and either way I’d be high-functioning. High-functioning autism is defined as having an IQ of over 70 (which is the average for people on the spectrum). This basically means that people with HFA have a greater capacity to learn things like social skills and ‘scripts’ (even if I’m still reeeeally bad at new situations. Seriously, new situations; I lurk like a creepy lurker). Still autistic. And dyspraxic. And a trainee psychologist, and a horse lover and a knitter and a walker and a consummate nerd who like Rooster Teeth way more than she should, who is head over heels for her boyfriend and want to go inter-railing next summer.

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Not being Aspie enough for the full diagnosis, and yet experiencing everything a person with Aspergers does, is not easy. Plus dyspraxia means I spend most of my days walking into doors. It’s a crazy-weird thing. And I’m not sure I’d change the way I think. I just want to be able to manage it right.

I am capable. But sometimes I feel no-one seems to think I am.

Stay awesome!

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For more about dyspraxia: The Dyspraxia Foundation

For more about Autism and Aspeger’s Syndrome: The National Autistic Society

A short note here; for the love of God, don’t go via Autism Speaks. They do not speak for us. Trust me.

Also a brilliant friend of mine works for the NAS and she’s quite frankly amazing, so; cheeky plug.

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Mental Health Top Tips – What’s Top and What’s Not

NEWSFLASH: Today (10/10/2016) is World Mental Health Day. I’m ashamed to say that Facebook had to inform me and it almost completely blew past me.

You may have noticed the mental health is very close to my heart. Today, 1 in 4 people in the UK have been diagnosed with some kind of mental health problem.  I personally have never been shy or retiring about the fact that I am one of those people. I have been through CBT, I feel far more in control of my low moments; but from personal experience, the truly bad days never really go away.

This is not the case for everyone. I know people who have been in therapy for years and it has done nothing for them. I know people who believe there is no help for them and therefore refuse to seek help altogether. Around a year ago I wrote an article regarding the crash of Germanwings flight 4U9525 and the stigma surrounding depression (to be found here), so I won’t return to those issues in as much detail here.

The other thing that cropped up on my Facebook was The World Mental Health Foundation (who sponsor World Mental Health Day) stating 10 Top Tips for looking after your mental health. These tips appear to be ubiquitous; most of them are listed in every single self help book, mental health leaflet, motivational poster and God knows what else that one can find in any relevant charity or GP office. However, this doesn’t mean they should be discounted.

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Because I can rattle for England and in the interests of keeping this post both readable and digestible, I’ll post five tonight and five tomorrow.So, let’s have a look at the first five:

  1. Talk about your feelings

The oldest one in the book, but nonetheless a goodie. Talking can be massively cathartic, and ‘guided talking’ (which is how I like to think of counselling) can lead you down mental pathways which are very illuminating.

Unfortunately, it isn’t that simple. There is no such thing as ‘one size fits all’ in mental health therapy – which is a good thing – but not everyone responds to them, not to mention that a significant proportion of people relapse following completion of treatment. Add this to the fact that most people don’t want to talk about their feelings. In spite of the advent of the internet,(where any idiot can post their opinion – case in point; me), we live in a very insular society.

Do not get me wrong: talking about your feelings is healthy, particularly in those feeling isolated and scared. It’s up to the individual, however, to decide whether, and indeed when, to talk and when to stay silent. You shouldn’t push someone into talking if they don’t want to; it helps nobody.

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      2. Keep Active

This is one I am a big fan of. I know not everyone is into fitness, but I love going for a run or a cycle if I’m feeling down or stressed. There is a literal stack of evidence that exercise improves mental health; it releases endorphins (the brain’s internal pleasure hormone) which promote general wellbeing, not to mention the physical health benefits. I could sit here spouting them all day (but I won’t, because that’s not why I’m here).

It’s not an alternative to therapy, mark you. At the height of my depression I was cycling and riding almost every day and I still felt like hell – in fact, it shut my background noise up so that I had more time to focus on the crappy thoughts – which arguably made it a lot worse. However, walks can help on a down day (or night, but if you’re going to go out walking at night, please be careful). Runs as well, if you are that way inclined. But for serious mental health issues, therapies (both pharmaceutical and psychological) are recommended. Exercise is not a cure-all.

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      3. Eat Well

I think this one is a little bit nebulous, to be honest. Laying aside the fact that people on special diets such as coeliacs or lactose-free are perfectly capable of living on these diets and being perfectly fancy-free, it’s a very under-researched area. This doesn’t mean it doesn’t have some merit – logically speaking, if eating the right diet is an aid to weight loss/gain, healthy skin, the improvement of general body functioning – why not improved brain function as well? An article written by Nutritionist Resource (here) links food consumption habits to conditions such as depression, schizophrenia, and Alzheimer’s disease. As with all mental health issues, however, it is never this simple; for example, there is evidence to suggest that most psychological disorders have some kind of genetic component. Don’t panic – these gene variations are small and not particular heritable, but their presence alone is enough to complicate matters when it comes to predicting and managing mental health issues.

I think that eating the right diet is important anyway, but when it comes to staving off or preventing mental disorders, I think that there is too much going on in the brain to ascribe a major significance to this approach – yet. As for the future…who knows?

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      4. Drink Sensibly

The World Mental Health Foundation classes this particular tip under ‘Don’t drown your sorrows in alcohol.’ Not arguing with this at all. They’re right – alcohol is a depressant, not a stimulant, no matter how crazy and alive it might make you feel when you’re out with your friends, dancing on the table with your shoes on your head or something equally odd (I maintain to this day, the video does not exist). Alcohol dependence is not a fantastic coping mechanism and adds a whole new dimension to treatment. Unfortunately, it does tend to co-occur with issues such as depression – keep a sharp eye.

I’d like to add a another dimension to this tip myself however – drink enough water. The average human needs up to 2.5 litres per day to maintain a good level of functionality (link and link). This is surprisingly hard to achieve (or maybe I’m just lazy), but it does make a difference – it aids digestion, brain function, cell function…it’s an all around good idea. Personally, I feel much better in the morning if I’ve drunk enough the day before, and like sh*t if I haven’t.

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      5. Keep in Touch

I would really like to class this under ‘talk about your feelings,’ but I feel this pertains more to having a social life than to talking to a professional or having good ol’ rant to your best friend. It’s also about maintaining good relationships, and being able to recognise if someone is toxic for your mental health. I’ve had to back away from friends sometimes for a good long while because they’re simply not good for my state of mind at a given point in time. There is nothing wrong with this. If they care, they should understand. If they don’t, they’re not worth your time.

Humans are inherently social animals; no matter how much of a misanthrope you might make yourself out to be, as a species we don’t react well to being alone. There have been studies which have shown that social isolation (real and perceived) activates the same region of the brain that processes physical pain; the cortex begins producing a painkiller. Being left out literally hurts. It therefore makes sense that keeping in touch with friends should help with mental health issues. It’s often not easy, however; on a bad day, the idea of being in the same room as someone else can be the worst thing in the world. It’s made worse if you live alone or with people who you don’t know terribly well (like a house-share or a student flat), or if you have to go into work when the last thing you want to do is be social. Having the support network certainly helps, but that same support network should understand if you need some alone time as well.

Okay, that’s it for this half. I hope that’s been at least partly interesting an informative, and I’ll see you tomorrow for the rest.

Stay awesome!

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Note; if anything discussed above has affected you, or you feel like you need to talk to someone, below are some links to sites which can take you further or give you more information. These will be specific to the UK (as I know most about this system) but there will be similar sites for people living in different countries and continents. Help is out there somewhere, promise. 

http://www.iapt.nhs.uk/about-iapt/

http://www.mind.org.uk/

Brain and heart picture source

 Yin-Yang picture source