I've always coped by pondering pointless fantastical projects and playing a lot of retro games and researching various tin foil hat topics, I have always done this outside of my staccato pattern of functioning somewhat then not functioning. I used to be utterly ignorant and ashamed of my mental maladies but that only bit me hard as I puttered along trynna exist within forced expectations. A wonderful volunteer counselor explained many things to me some years back then I got too ashamed again and ran off, the last few years the staccato has become a kind of water slide but I summoned up the courage to pester my doc who is sending me to a highly regarded psyche so that will be intriguing! Hope everyone finds some peace within the week, it is very humbling and beautiful to read each person's experience in this thread.
So they've started making coloring books for adults now: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/i-use-adult-coloring-books-and-im-not-ashamed_56423dade4b0411d3072c1d0 I printed out a free one and personally I've found it to be both relaxing and irritating — I am a perfectionist, so I get caught up in trying to make everything exactly-just-so. But for like, five precious minutes, it's actually quite nice.
My mother mentioned those not too long ago and picked one up. I'll have to ask her if she finds it effective. I can imagine, as you said, that it might be counterproductive if someone is very conscious about getting the colors right and staying in the lines!
I'm too anal and OCD about details that it'll not work for me. :[ The grass is always green, never any other color for example. No purple grass with red trees that has black leaves, and the sky is mahogany and the sun is a glowing grey ball. But I can imagine it must be powering to push through that initial block and give them whatever color you want.
This is a very interesting thread. First of all, well done, all of you, for contributing with fascinating stories about your own mental problems and your ways of dealing with them. All that is left for me to do is to add my experiences to the mix; perhaps one or another of you will find it in interesting read, or, God forbid, even helpful, although I’m not really sure one person’s problems are applicable to another’s. To me, depressions are the greatest things that have happened to me. Living a privileged life in the Western world, despite not being of the upper class, often gives one a false sense of security. Suffering from depressions gives me an entire new outlook. I value people’s suffering more. I know where I stand. I can understand some of the problems other people suffering from such problems are going through. Depressions remind me that not all is well, that there are people tackling severe tribulations, even in our society. They allow me to value tragedy, depressing art forms, they allow me to experience catharsis, and yet to appreciate the privileges I am allowed to enjoy. Depressions allow me to open my eyes to the problems of the world, and value the good sides of life. Depressions are the worst things that have happened to me. Anyone who suffers from them can understand that. In moments of depression, one feels a great emphasis of the dark sides of life. All seems grim. There is no apparent rhyme or reason to life, just a never-ending darkness at the end of it all. Surely, if we all end up dying, and in just a couple of years nobody will remember what we’ve gone through, there is no point to life? The modern world has grown cold, everything is just driven by commercialism. There is no deeper meaning to anything. Even if you do overcome your depressions, you are often just left with a deep and dull emptiness, yearning to be filled with life. But how can one fill that emptiness? With superficial nothingness which is advertised so much in our day and age? My depressions have lead me to question everything worth living for. My depressions have made me hate life. My depressions have made me consider myself an alien in our world, like a beast struggling to fit in. They have forced me to lay a stark emphasis on the tragedy that is human life. My depressions have had a profound effect on my creative output. Being able to see in so much detail the negative sides of our world, as well as appreciating the good sides, has allowed me to focus on them. I can use the contrasts to put an interesting twist on my work. I have a great source of ideas to draw upon. All the dark and depressing imagery going through one’s mind while suffering from depression allows one to potentially create really dark and depressing art, no matter which art form. It is a source of inspiration. It is a valued research method. It is a way to transform something horrible into something of worth. My depressions have had a disastrous effect on my creative output. Considering the pointlessness and emptiness of all, my depressions really put a strain on my working habits. Why should I write poetry, prose or music at all if I consider myself a pretentious prick at the end of it? Surely nobody cares, nobody understands. And even if my work is valued, which, as my depressions force me to believe, will never be the case anyway, what is the point? In a couple of years I will die, and then an eternity of nothing. I have ideas when I am depressed, but I do not write. I cannot write while I’m depressed. It seems an idle task. Wouldn’t my time be better spent just contemplating and musing while listening to music to fill in the emptiness, to give me some sense of life to get a grip on? My depressions have a severe impact on my actual output of creative work. Depressions have made me a self-confident man. I believe living with the depressions, and yet leading a somewhat ‘normal’ life (those who know me, know that I am everything but normal, but at least I get along), is a good sign of an inner strength I am rather proud of. Despite three suicide attempts when I was younger, I still live, and I have not considered trying it again since. I am able to overcome the depressions when they haunt me again, and I have still managed to do my A-levels with satisfactory results, and I am studying a subject I love above everything else at a wonderful university in a wonderful city. And I have never sought out a psychologist, and I do not take drugs to tackle the depressions. Yes, it is difficult at times, but I am glad I have made it this far, and I believe I can keep going on as I have been. My depressions are a part of me, but I am not reduced to them. I have a life outside of depressions, and despite them I can enjoy it to some extent. They are not problems that cannot be solved, but trials I need to overcome. Depressions have turned me into a self-conscious wreck. All that I do, I do with a sense of being afraid of offending others, or being considered inferior in some way. I can lead a conversation about any given topic which I find interesting, whether it be music, literature, politics, history or whatever, but I cannot for the love of God do small-talk. It is a skill I have never learned, because when I had really severe depressions back in the day when I attempted to commit suicide, I also distanced myself from my friends. Hence, people find me strange and often not easy to talk to. It isn’t shyness in the slightest – just self-consciousness and a lack of ability in leading such every-day-conversations. I hate being disliked, and misjudging the gestures and words of others often lead me to believe they do dislike me for my eccentricities. But it becomes even worse when my depressions start to force my grotesque mind to believe in the insincerity of other people, when I start believing other people are slanderous hypocrites, and nobody can truly like me for who I am. And that is where my pride gets in my way – I distance myself from others, I do not seek out help, and it seems to be a downward spiral. As already stated, it is slightly bizarre. I am not shy, which one would immediately notice when talking about, say, Oscar Wilde. I appear shy, though, if I start talking about my personal life with others. Between my dreams and my reality, between action and my contemplation, fall my depressions. They are the shadows of my life, but they throw a light upon my life. They are the method of creation, as well as the method of destruction. Between the deep, dark emotions, and the uplifting, prosperous emotions, lie the depressions. They are a part of who I am, but they are not who I am. How do I cope? I try to take what they give me and use it for good. I value the good things I’ve got when I’m not depressed, and I try not to concentrate too much when I am. All the best Reprove
I'm sorry to pick out a small part of that excellent post (though I feel the rest speaks for itself) and challenge it. But I do find this attitude of "taking medication or seeking therapy is a weakness" very dangerous. You're well within your rights to choose your own ways of coping but just for others who are reading, please know that it is NOT weakness to get treatment. Mental illness is illness, and you wouldn't feel you'd let yourself down if you sought chemotherapy for cancer, would you? Or antibiotics for a dangerous infection? Many mental illnesses are down to chemical imbalances in the brain. These can be re-balanced and it isn't changing your fundamental personality, or "you" to do that. It's correcting a problem in the body, just like antibiotics correct a bacterial infection. My anxiety is a part of me, but that doesn't mean I have to live with its symptoms when I can live symptom-free and be happier. Just to reiterate, I'm not saying what Reprove is doing is wrong, just that it's not the only right way. There is a huge stigma around mental illness and I think it should be challenged and opposing viewpoints balanced so people who are vulnerable and suffering can make an informed choice.
Hi Tenderiser, thanks for pointing out that vital point! No, I totally agree, I didn't mean to imply it is a weakness seeking out professional help. On the contrary, it is probably a much wiser way to go about it - I was merely stating how I've coped with it so far. In other words: It is possible to do without medication and psychiatrists, but certainly not the only way. In my case it is probably just due to my annoying and stubborn pride. Take care!
Does anybody else with anxiety get this type of thing... a company screws up an order, so you call them to ask for it to be fixed, and customer service is less than ideal. So you send an email or Tweet or Facebook or whatever and then they fall over themselves to do what they should have done in the first place. Then you feel like you've done something AWFUL and are going to burn in hell forever. One of the steps in that sequence doesn't quite follow, does it...?
Luckily I don't get that one. I tend to absolve myself when the other party messes up. But I do often fear that I'm putting people out by following up with questions, calling back for more information, or things like that. Well, that plus the whole talking on the phone thing to begin with...I mean, who actually likes talking on the phone??? Weirdos.
I'm an asshole, so I don't feel guilty for retaliating when a company wrongs me. If I end up getting my way for it, I just thank them semi-sincerely through my teeth. Why should I have to feel bad for someone else's mistake?
Oh I can't tell you the number of times I have went to management when someone is extremely rude or they mess up royally. In fact that is what companies want, they need to know when they have employees that are affecting their business.
Oh God, yes, my phone anxiety is so strong. I'm literally the only person I know who doesn't have a mobile/cell phone. Nobody ever believes me when I say that. I sometimes pretend I don't hear the phone ringing at work, if nobody else is around to see me being weird... but then I just get a message from switchboard saying "please call X" so it only delays the agony. WHY CAN'T EVERYONE EMAIL?
Unfortunately I can only 'like' this once. Work is tough when you have phone anxiety and have to talk to clients. Or, you know, train them on a software platform during an hour-long conference call. It's even better since I don't even have a desk phone--it's all on my personal cell. Which means, even if it's a number I don't recognize calling, I usually have to pick up just in case it's a work call. Fuck that shit.
I have that. Not so bad, as I have a mobile phone, and I've improved over the years by constantly forcing myself to make calls for work. However, about ten years ago I was a lot worse. I used to travel hours on the train to meet strangers in person to ask something or whatever, instead of using the phone. At the time I was working at a company that was shutting down and getting sold off. It was a service based company and I worked in the dispatch area. As we shrank and our service levels suffered, complaints soared, but they cut the entire customer service team except for the manager. There were five of us left at the end, one person in each department. She was a heavy smoker, so every time she went for a smoke, the bathroom, or lunch, I had to get on the phone and field complaints from irate customers that I had no training to handle. I had to because I was the least 'senior' person. That was literally one of the worst periods of my life. For about six months I'd panic all day waiting for her to get up. I couldn't admit how absolutely terrifying it was. I have too much pride for that. Fucking asshats.
I ordered a fancy-pants animal search-and-find grown-up coloring book from the interwebs, and holy crap this is much more enjoyable than the free PDF thingy I downloaded. Here's a peek at it: I started chipping away at the easy-looking bits in most of the drawings, and immediately the doodle-bug in me wanted to get all fancy and blendy with colors... so I'm letting it drive. I've got a 24-pack of colored pencils, but it's sorely unbalanced. I have like 3 shades of green, 3 of blue, and like 45 shades of red. In a 24-pack. Ahem. So far this version of grown-up coloring has been really fun and relaxing. I highly recommend it. And it's CHEAP! It's called "Animorphia: An Extreme Colouring and Search Challenge" and you can get it on Amazon.
Please forgive me for intruding on this thread? I'm lucky enough not to suffer mental illness myself, but I know lots of people who do, and I am always trying to learn about it. What strikes me, after reading this entire thread, is how strong you guys actually are. You all HAVE worked out coping strategies. Some are just general, some more specific. But the thing is, you all do cope. It must be a never-ending struggle to appear to be symptom-free, to interact with everybody in your world, to hold down jobs, to be in relationships, have families, etc. And yet, you do it. And then to suffer from people who throw platitudes at you? A hangover from the days where mental illness was seen to be something that 'just get a grip' would cure. Must be such a bloody grind to hear that, over and over, from people who don't have a clue. I hope you all take courage from reading each other's stories here, and realise that you are much stronger in many ways than those of us, who don't need to engage in this struggle. I'm in awe. .... btw, @OurJud - Harold Shipman! !!! Holy shit. Mind you, there must be others out there like you, who used to trust him as their GP. What a strange experience.
Yesterday, or maybe the day before, while I was scrolling Facebook I came across one of those motivational squares and it said something to the effect of, Remember when you feel most in love with yourself, and try to recreate those moments. Part of what I love about myself is ornamentation. My ears are pierced a total of ten times, but seeing the silver glint in the mirror every day just wasn't enough lately. So I added my rings and necklace back into the mix. I've been forcing myself to wear them all day, and I feel a little better.
One of the owners of the company I work for has asked me for lunch. I am always SO awkward on these lunches, giving answers as short as possible to his questions then immediately asking him something and hoping he talks for a long time. He's one of the kindest men you could ever meet but we have different senses of humour and I don't work directly for him anymore so I struggle to keep the conversation going. TBH there are only a few people in the world I'd be comfortable having a 1:1 lunch with. I'm aware a man and a woman going to lunch together is seen as odd by some people, but it's nothing like that. He relied on me for everything, workwise, for two years, and this lunch is a thank you for a project I helped him with recently even though I'm in a different role now. He's just being kind and we are both married. I would have to find ANY excuse to get out of the lunches if they were about anything other than work
I am sure you would be fine having a lunch with me, you sit there looking shell-shocked while I spoke crap at you. Believe me, I can fill a lot of silence with crap. Around the time of the recession I was doing five nights a week of piss-ups, with people I would rather not be with... but the devil is as Noah swims, or whatever. You live and you learn in the words of Pete Andre, or something.
Yep I would be fine with someone who didn't require me to talk. Unfortunately this guy is genuinely interested in other people (the weirdo!) and will be asking how I am and how work is going and if he can help with anything and I will be soooo awkward...
haha Falsh, you have the fear of being uninteresting. What you missed is the obnoxious shit who wants to be heard is far more scared of it than you.
