Mental Health and Tattoos Vol.1

Tattoo's are probably not something you would associate in any way with Mental Health. Most people can be forgiven for not seeing the link, because in all honesty, the link is only there for the people in the intersection of the Venn diagram representing both MH and Tattoos. I know that for a lot of people out there this is a strange topic but bear with me. I am going to talk you through the struggles I have faced with reference to my Mental Health and how my tattoos fit in among them. 

With regard to the different areas of my life, I have struggled with intense crowd-phobia, panic attacks which were both trigger-driven and un-triggered, depression, anxiety (both general and social) and self-loathing... I wont lie and say that I used tattoos as a way to close off chapters in my life, because I didn't. What are tattoos for me? They serve as a permanent reminder of where I've come from, where I'm headed and represent intense gratitude in two instances.

Now I know I'm not the only one who has a tattoo or two that represents some part of their past (or even current). Kayliegh, the co-creator of this blog has a beautiful script tattoo, which says "lose your clothes and show your scars", a pretty simple but powerful motto to remember. Perhaps she might touch on this topic another time from her own perspective, but for now, I'm going to discuss mine and what they have come to mean in my life.

Looking at my tattoos objectively allows me to talk about their meanings more succinctly.

My first tattoo represented a part of myself that I recognized in a man I hold in high regard, and respect dearly: Ville Valo. Anyone who knows me personally knows how much I think of him. He has a small heart on his right wrist, and I have one similar, though not the same! The meaning has grown since I've had it, though the original meaning has never been lost; "When I love, I love..". It's always been a part of who I am to love intensely, not just partners, but friends, family etc. I find myself physically upset when someone I care about is down or unwell. No matter what has happened in the last six years, I have always and will always love those around me. I wear my heart on my sleeve, as it were. I would also like to think that it represents myself in that it's a bit warped, but still alright, just like me!

My ambigram, atop my left shoulder which reads the same when you stand either in front of me, or behind me has a pretty simple meaning: Whatever way you look at me, however you perceive me, I am still Amy, and I am still beautiful. There's really nothing I can say for this one except that it took me a while to live by this. Public opinion meant a lot to me and there was nothing worse to me than people not liking me (social anxiety creeping in). I spent a long time learning that people will either love you or hate you, but you need to focus on those who love you and treat you right, rather than wasting your time trying to make the haters change their minds. I'll always be me, and that's the important thing.

The first big piece I ever got was a LOTR quote, in Elvish, mind you! The quote translates in English as "Few can foresee wither the road will lead them til they come to its end". Having exacerbated my anxiety for at least a year worrying over where I was going in life, feeling awful for being unemployed, generally wondering why I was bothering, this quote has helped me though many bad patches. I worry a lot about my future but this reminds me to be a bit less of a worry-wart. Life is going to lead me where it leads me and while I may have all these ideas and plans, it's not a big deal if they don't come true or they go pear-shaped because I'll find my way to where I'm supposed to be, no matter what. 

It had been 3 years since I had any work done but then last August I took the plunge and got a really important piece. The album that was the catalyst for everything I have since become, the person I have grown into was Venus Doom, by the Finnish metal band HIM. The limited edition album had these glyph-type symbols and I swore to myself that one day I would have them tattooed on me. That band pretty much kept me from the knife edge and I knew having a reminder of them on my body would never come close to the gratitude Ville Valo and his band-mates deserve. I think I identified with it more strongly from knowing that Ville was going through his own personal hell, and that reminded me how I was not alone. I've never been alone since then. 16 year old me had enough sense at the time though to know that tattooing a band on you is a risky business. Five years later it was still as good an idea as it was when I first thought of it, so I went for it! I love it so so much and you can actually find a full review of the whole process on my personal blog HERE. 

Most recently, I decided that it was high time to commemorate something that brought me out of myself... Archery. If it wasn't for archery being offered as an extra curricular activity in school, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to keep it on, and during the darkest days, I may never have left the house. I used to perform quite well in my bracket. I've made the most amazing friends and had the best weekends of my life because of archery. Though right now I cannot shoot due to a long standing injury, coupled with collegiate commitments, there is always the future. Nothing could tear me from a sport that kept me smiling even when my dad was in hospital, when I wanted to drop off the face of the planet, when I was miserable... Even the fear I'm currently experiencing wont keep me from getting back to it. 

Gone are the days when I would weep from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to sleep. My tattoos are a reminder of my trials and my strength in the face of great hardships. I am proud not only of my ink, but of the person I have become. Life used to be a miserable sequence of crap days and negative thoughts, but I've come through the worst of it, and I find comfort and solace in the significance of my tattooed story. 

Hopefully we will have more posts on this topic in the next couple of weeks so we can see all the different perspectives... 

Drop a comment below if you have any input, and if you would like to get in contact with us here at Mental Health Monday, be it feedback or sending us a guest post you would like published, you can drop us a mail - our email is in the Contact Us tab. 

As always, if you need any assistance with any struggles, you can find a list of useful organizations in the tabs above. 

Amy
xx

Do You Really Know Me, Really?

Hey guys,

First just let me quickly apologize for my absence last week, I was snowed under all weekend. I'm back now though, and hopefully you can forgive the gap I left in our posting two by two! Secondly, this following post is going to be a bit of a personal one, so as to balance out the POV's we have on here. Kayliegh has posted two absolutely brilliant blogs on here about eating disorders, today, and last Monday! Here is my personal ramblings on the topic...

Now.

Do you really know me? If you saw me on the street would you know that I used to starve myself on purpose? Would you be able to tell? I bet you wouldn't. I wouldn't be on for advertising the fact. But its the truth.

People in my life, all of whom know me pretty well, will know that I am a big fan of my food. As a kid, I was the only person I knew, of my age, who would willingly eat a salad. My mother has even told me the stories of when I was maybe four, sitting on her knee in a cafe with her friend, helping her eat a giant plate of salad. We used to share salads when we went shopping, I remember them vividly. One plate, two sets of forks.

I don't know how or when I started skipping meals, but it certainly wasn't to be thin. I only say this because it will aid me getting my point across: I have been stick-thin since my puppy fat dropped off, around the age of 3 or 4. My family found it an unmitigated nightmare to get me clothes that fit. Being tall and thin as a child helps nobody, especially when the clothes are sold by age, rather than size!

I have never skipped a meal to aid in weight-loss, that much is true. I did so because I thought I deserved to be punished for the bad things I did, the bad person I was. If I had a fight with my boyfriend, I wouldn't eat til maybe, dinner the next day to punish myself for "being a shit person", as I rationalized it.

I hated myself for being weak (and to me being weak was my anxiety, my panic attacks, my constant battles with depression), for making people miserable, and so, I would deliberately skip meals to atone. I have lied to everyone at some point, maybe even you, the person reading this. "Yes, I had breakfast!" was the most common lie. Breakfast is the most important meal, so the old adage goes, but to me, it was the meal that I would deliberately skip, because it was easy to. When lunch came around, it was again, very easy to be really busy until the hunger went away.

At the worst of my self-inflicted punishment, I was working off maybe one slice of toast for a whole day, plus coffee or tea and my anti-depressant medication.

I ate alone, or I didn't eat at all. There was no middle ground. My family are well used to me disappearing with a plate of something to my room. It's never questioned. I can't abide eating with people, though. I make an exception when I'm out with people, but generally, if you pay attention, you may notice (at shoots, for example) that I will eat my lunch before everyone else, and then wander off to do something while everyone else is laying into their food.

In my head at the time, starving was the only way I could be punished for being the awful person that I felt I was. If I made someone feel bad, I would make myself feel ten times worse to, as I saw it, even things out.

Passing out in my back yard was the last straw, or the second to last, as you'll understand in a moment. I gave my mother the fright of her life, after I skipped two days worth of meals, on the third I got up to make something, because I felt ill and that was a warning sign, only to feel dizzy and go out for air. I don't remember anything after that until I was being rushed to the GP for an emergency appointment. It was brushed off as a drop in blood sugars. I had to have my blood pressure monitored every day for a week but nothing more. I went home and had a salad.

The next time I passed out, I did it in the kitchen, after another "punishment" session. I remember eating soup, sitting on my kitchen floor, when I came around. I think my mother was less fazed by the second collapse than the first because I wasn't hauled off to the GP, this time around. But two faints were enough to tell me to get my shit together. Mam was scared the first time. I was scared the second time.

Its only been in the past few months I've been eating properly again. It's been oddly tough, and I do slip into old ways on occasion, but mostly its been a conscious effort on my part. I still eat irregularly, but the irregularity is usually based off genuinely not feeling hungry at that moment. As someone who lied about food, day in, day out, I can admit right here that I was good at looking like I was eating, but when I was alone, I was doing everything possible to avoid food. These days, I make a mission of having food. If I do skip breakfast, I will pointedly eat a big lunch, and I love a good dinner now. Chris and I talk about this from time to time and he will usually be the voice of reason, my conscience on the outside.

To this day, I don't believe I have, or have had an eating disorder, though, I'm sure there are plenty who would disagree because I always try to eat alone. People may not even believe me when they read this as they may have seen me hoovering down a bowl of pasta, or chomping down a wrap.

I still eat alone.

Let me know if you have had any similar experiences, and if you have, have you overcome them? If you are struggling, I am here to talk to you.

All my love,
Amy
xo

Week 2: Depression

       If you look in the dictionary, Depression is defined as:

de·pres·sion

  [dih-presh-uhn]
noun

1.  the act of depressing.
2. the state of being depressed.
3. a depressed or sunken place or part; an area lower than the surrounding surface.
4. sadness; gloom; dejection.
5. Psychiatry. a condition of general emotional dejection and withdrawal;sadness greater and more prolonged than that warranted by any objective reason. Compare clinical depression.

But, though the definition may be technically correct, it doesn't explain the feelings associated with it, or the various types of depression there are. So I decided to look it up in a Medical Dictionary. Again, I don't really think it does it the justice it deserves... 

1. "The act of depressing or the state of being depressed.
2.  A reduction in physiological vigor or activity.
3.  A lowering in amount, degree, or position.
4.  An inward displacement of a body part.
5.  A hollow or sunken area.
6.  The condition of feeling sad or despondent.

 A psychotic or neurotic condition characterized by an inability to concentrate, insomnia, and feelings of extreme sadness, dejection, and hopelessness."

This definition isn't much cop either if you ask me! I firmly believe Depression to be unique to each sufferer. 

During my struggle with GAD which often can be connected with depression, there were days where I refused to get out of bed, not even to eat. I just wasn't bothered, it seemed like too much effort and I wanted to do nothing but sleep, which is characteristic of depression. I also lost all interest in going out, being with people, and I just holed myself up in my house refusing to see my friends or shoot. 

I coped with my depressive state in both seriously negative ways (being withdrawn from people, deliberately not eating etc) to pretty good, constructive ways (distraction techniques, reaching out to friends etc) and pushing myself to do the things I didn't want to (getting help, getting back into sport). Though it was hard at first it got easier, and though sometimes I still revert to the bad ways of coping, like not eating or hiding out from people, I can identify them as negative and I make a conscious effort to change my ways. 

Depression cannot magically be cured, and that, at least for me, is the worst bit. There are days I just cant find a reason to get up, there are days when I just want to sleep. But every day, I try to get up and when I have some kind of work to do I know I have to make the effort. This week I've been so unbelievably busy, and its been a fantastic distraction. 

I know that to many people, it seems like their whole lives are ruled by their depression, be it Manic, Atypical, Psychotic or Dysthymia, and it may seem like life is just too hard to cope with, but I would ask everyone who reads this, to find a reason tomorrow to get up, have something to eat, if you're on them, take your meds, and do something you've stopped doing, like going out with friends, or walking the dog. 

As my doctors told me "You have to work to get better, medication won't get you all the way..."

All my love, 

Amy

xx