Author: Nicci

I am a person who has no idea what she is doing. Having said that I’m current doing a masters degree in theatre. I have borderline personality disorder, ADHD, depression, anxiety and complex PTSD. While I know labels aren’t always helpful they do help me to understand myself a bit better. I am trying to make sense of what I am doing, what I have done and where it all could lead me in the exciting and frantic world of theatre and life in general. It's been a bumpy, exciting journey so far. What with the living in different countries, battling with mental illness choosing a "career" as a "writer" and many other things... every now and then... my sneakers may leak... This is me, feeling the fail.

Labels are not judgements

Guess what. I like labels. I do. Labels exist for a reason. So we know what things are and when we know what things are we are more likely to know how they work and I have just a few labels fixated to my name. These labels represent who I am to a degree and I am okay with that. Labels help me to understand my environment and how to exist in the environment. And that’s not just me. That is what a label is, its an identification tag. So… when someone tells me that I am not my labels. E.g. “Your diagnosis does not define you.” YES IT DOES! It’s not my entirety, no. My entirety is made up of many labels.

Here, in no particular order, are my labels

Person
Bisexual
Woman
ADHD
Depression
Anxiety
ANXIETY
Borderline Personality Disorder
Sensory Processing Disorder
Creative
Weird
Emotional
Fun

I could go on but that’s pretty good compilation, I do also have Complex PTSD but that does not define me as it is a transient malaise. I won’t have it forever. Now I would like to make this as clear as I can. I DO NOT HAVE A PROBLEM WITH A SINGLE ONE OF THOSE LABELS. I have done the soul searching, and the speaking to the psychiatric professionals, cross referenced with my own research and personal experience and have come out with the conclusion that these labels are fairly accurate.
HOWEVER, no matter how comfortable I am in my neatly labelled skin people love to tell me not to get hooked on labels, that these things don’t define me. YES THEY DO!

ADHD – I’m scatter brained, I am creative and spontaneous, I am thoughtful and impulsive. I am emotional. I think differently to other people and I learn differently to other people. I have a lot of thoughts, A LOT of thoughts, I have thoughts about my thoughts and they run in tangent with my first thoughts and in the background there’s a thought galloping around like a llama strayed from the heard. I’m also taking in all the information all the time. My filter does not do the filtering. I can’t focus on a conversation if there’s a song I know in the background, I can’t block it out.

The Anxiety, Depression and sensory processing disorder are all comorbid conditions. Which just means that because I have the ADHD I’m a lot more likely to have these conditions too.
Now I was worrying about how I was going to cope with being an adult when I was 8 years old. I have experienced anxiety for as long as I can remember. It is a part of me, it has shaped how I interact with my environment. Now depression, fair enough that happened a little latter but hell, it rears its ugly head often enough that its one an honour art seat at my table although I reserve the right to ignore it.

Sensory Processing Disorder – This label explains my high pain threshold, my love of ice, specifically ice lollies or crushed ice or frozen grapes. It also explains my absolute love of water. Water calms me, it fascinates me, its where I feel most comfortable. It explains why I hate sudden loud noises (I’m looking at you balloons). Why the skin around orange segments makes me gag, why the touch of velvet (the fabric not the novel) makes me want to hit myself or the velvet wearing culprit and why wearing tight uncomfortable clothing in a supermarket full of people, noise fluorescent lighting is enough to give me a sensory meltdown.

BPD – I’ve covered this before, I’m not going to go into it again. It explains… a lot. A whole lot. And that explanation has meant that I have learnt how to exist in the world more peacefully. That label has meant that I have been able to understand myself better and to communicate my needs to others better. This diagnosis could also possibly be something else, it could be a different label but the outcome would be the same thing. It. Helps. Me.

So please tell me how and why I should separate these things and say that they do not define me, when they do. All these labels help paint a picture that is me and that’s not a bad thing. What is a bad thing, is assuming that those labels are negative. Because I do not see it that way. All those labels do is explain. The Judgements that people place on those labels are bad. ADHD isn’t bad. It just is. Anxiety isn’t great but fuck it, its there and everyone and their cat has varying degrees of it so what? Bisexual? People need to know when I am hitting on them! It’s not always that clear.

Now when someone gives me some of their labels it helps me understand them better but I should always be aware of my own bias, my own judgements and when in doubt, ask.

The important bit here is the autonomy. We get to choose our labels. Other people may try to label us but its down to us to decide on whether that label really belongs there. It is my body. My brain. I get to decide on what authentically represents me. It’s also not my place to tell someone that a label doesn’t fit them. I do not know others well enough to tell them who they are. That is not my place.

I know myself. I like myself, I am still learning about myself and those labels may change, grow or diminish but that’s my problem, not yours.

Also I am aware that my labels may affect the way others see me and their perspective may not be accurate or without prejudice but that shouldn’t mean that I don’t get to choose.

*flies off into the sunset*

Why I dyed my armpit hair blue

And why I have armpit hair in the first place.

Do you remember when you first started shaving your armpits? Do you remember why you started shaving your armpits??
Personally, I started shaving my armpits when I realised that I was supposed to be shaving my armpits. I likely overheard some girls talking about shaving their legs, armpits etc. I probably cottoned onto that. It’s possible that when someone pointed out that I had armpit hair and made fun of me hat I sought to rectify that particular error asap. It’s not often that a bullying problem can be so easily solved. Lucky me.

Why did I start shaving my armpits? Because otherwise I’d be mocked, I’d be considered unfeminine. Never mind that nobody asked me if I wanted to be feminine and shave my armpits. It’s just one of those natural coming of age things. You know how it goes/ You reach puberty, your hormones are firing so you’re miserable, your hips are widening so none of your trousers or skirts fit anymore. You’re bleeding in new and uncomfortable ways and to top it off you have to start combating the very natural and normal process of hair growth. The social repercussions of not conforming to this western society norm meant turning yourself into a target for ridicule and I certainly did not need help in that department. So, to reduce the merry-go-round of mortification that was adolescence, I got on board the hair removal train.

Speaking of things that are mortifying… does anyone else find it exceptionally gross that the basic principle of hair removal is to reduce the evidence of female maturity?

I’ve been riding the hairless train since I was 13 and for the most part I never stopped to question why I was really on that train or if I’d ever want to get off at some point. Now as a nearly 30 year old “adult” it’s only a pandemic and Amanda Palmers sexy “patriarchy can kiss my ass” influence to make me really look and my pits and wonder “what would they look like if they were left to fend for themselves. Since I wasn’t going anywhere, now was the perfect time to find out.

This is what I discovered.

My armpit hair is downy soft. Truly I expected it to be course, curly and generally ‘pubic’ in appearance. But this is not the case. The strands are smooth and soft and the flow is not quite curly but more just linearly challenged.

My pits smell more. Not massively so but my nose is sensitive and I can detect it. I don’t find the odour off putting but if anything were to push me to giving my pit locks the chop it would be this.

It’s sexy. – This one is a controversial thought but hey, it comes following a controversial act of letting nature take its course. I first saw armpit hair on Amanda Palmer and I thought “wow, she’s brave.” But it’s not just brave, it’s jaw droppingly defiant, and for someone who has spent most of their life being a people pleaser I found this act… awe inspiring, self secure and sexy. But its not just what the furry arm pockets signify, it’s also their presentation, its intimate to see something that is usually hidden from the world.

…..

I’ve been growing out the fuzzy pit pets for 3 months now. In that time I have experimented with using deodorant, not using deodorant, moisturising and dying it to match my hair. My next project will be to see if I can grow it to a length where I can use straighteners on it without getting third degree burns.

If I ever do shave my armpits again it will be because I want to, because I’ve chosen to change my aesthetic. It won’t be down to societal pressure. It won’t be because I’ve been shamed into conforming to an unnatural standard of beauty. It will simply just be because I felt like it.

In summation: Why am I growing my armpit hair?
– because its my body and I’ll do what I want with it.

Why did I dye it blue?
– see response above.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

A self indulgent poem about depression

Help

It’s choking me

A thick black gas

Invading my lungs

Filling my heart

It cuts like glass

Help

it’s back again

I’m still battle weary

I need time to mend

Don’t make me do this

Not again

How many times must I fight

The same fight

The same war

Night after night

Help

It’s back again

And I’m already in doubt

That I’ll survive this

That I’ll find my way out

If you only ever keep one promise…

If you only ever keep one promise…

TW content: References to suicidal ideation and awkward train metaphors

Today is one of the bad days

You may not know I have good days because I only tend to write when I’m low, it’s a form of self care. It’s something I can do that makes me feel as though something positive and productive can come out of something that’s painful.

When I have my good days I’m usually too busy doing important life things and taking advantage of all the energy and positivity I have because on my bad days, I can do very little. Days like today are spent just toughing it out, trying to use all the skills that DBT gave me.

Anyone who struggles with mental health difficulties will know about the negative thoughts that come into their head. “My head tells me lies” is one of my favourite mantras, it reminds me that the thoughts occurring are not true. I am loveable, I am not useless, my life is worth living. Luckily, my bad days have become less frequent and severe thanks to medication, therapy and hard work. But still, I have bad days and these bad days will probably always happen, I will always struggle with my BPD to varying degrees throughout my life… and this is the hardest thought to have because it is not a lie. When I was growing up I thought I would grow out of the crippling anxiety and crushing phases of depression. That I’d eventually stop feeling disconnected from others, that I’d feel less empty and isolated. I thought my mood swings would get less, that my ADHD would miraculously disappear when I hit 20… and since then I have become increasingly despaired and frustrated that it hasn’t gone away, in fact in many respects it got worse. I won’t grow out of it… because this is who I am. That thought always makes the pain harder to tolerate on the bad days because what immediately follows that thought is… “is it worth it?”

How much more money will my parents have to pour into my healthcare? How long will they have to support me? How long before my friends and family cannot further tolerate me and my issues? How much am I considered a burden to the people I love?

Oops. There I go again. My head tells me lies.

This thought train leads me down the same track every time and it terminates at Kill Yourself Land! – not a very creative name but hey, at least it’s direct. Choo! Choo! All aboard!

STOP. Do not let this runaway train take you to your termination.

The one thing that consistently prevents me from getting too close to purchasing the one way ticket is my promise. The promise that I make to myself, to my friends, to my family, to my therapist and most especially… to my dog.

I’ve promised that I will not hurt them in that way. I’ve promised them that I will not be the cause of someone else’s trauma.

The one caveat to this is that in order for this promise to remain effective you have to remember that you are loved, that you are not just a burden and that you will most certainly be missed.

This is why the number one weapon in my armoury against suicidal thoughts is pictures and messages. I print and keep my favourite pictures of friends and family close to me, pictures where we’re all smiling, memories that prove to me that I matter too much to give up. I’ve also asked friends to send me letters or messages telling me why they are my friend.

I highly recommend doing this. Reading the messages I have from the people I love is a way for them to be there for me and support me even if they cannot come to the phone at that very moment (or more likely, if I feel unable to contact them when I’m feeling this way). Those messages interrupt that negative train of thought that is trying so hard to take me to Kill Yourself Land.

Finally, I recommend getting a pet, a furry unconditionally loving dependent that will be so lost and confused without you. Who’s going to care for them when you’re gone and how will you know that they’re doing right by your fur child?! It’s best to stick around and do it yourself.

So if there is only one promise you decide to keep in your life… keep this one. Keep making and reaffirming this promise to yourself and to your loved ones, on your good days as well as your bad. Eventually you’ll find that your promise will interrupt every suicidal thought you have and although you may never fully escape those thoughts, they will be less powerful and that’s something.

There are many other methods that can be used if you are struggling with suicidal thoughts, these are just the ones that I find the most helpful. If you are currently struggling with such thoughts please know that you are not alone and although I cannot guarantee that you will never feel like this again I can tell you that emotions are temporary and this feeling will pass. Don’t be afraid to go to your local A&E if you feel at risk of hurting yourself.

 

SUPPORT

If you find it difficult to talk to someone you know, you could:

  • call your GP – ask for an emergency appointment
  • call 111 out of hours – they will help you find the support and help you need 
  • contact your mental health crisis team – if you have one

Another option is to contact one of these support lines.

Samaritans – for everyone 
Call 116 123 
Email jo@samaritans.org

Papyrus – for people under 35 
Call 0800 068 41 41 – Monday to Friday 10am to 10pm, weekends 2pm to 10pm, bank holidays 2pm to 5pm 
Text 07786 209697 
Email pat@papyrus-uk.org

Childline – for children and young people under 19 
Call 0800 1111 – the number won’t show up on your phone bill

The Silver Line – for older people 
Call 0800 4 70 80 90

Campaign Against Living Miserably (CALM) – for men 
Call 0800 58 58 58 – 5pm to midnight every day 
Visit the webchat page

*I’d like to take a moment to be thankful to my wonderful family and friends for being my anchor that keeps me from being lost to the darkness forever. I owe you my life. I love you. I promise I will not give up.*

Tale as old as time

Song as old as rhyme…

Is there a sweeter romance than that of the brave, intelligent young maiden who broke the curse by seeing past the Beast’s terrifying temper tantrums, his bad manners, his possessiveness to the beautiful soul buried within. Isn’t wonderful to think that by loving someone enough you can change them for the better. Love harder. Don’t give up.

Sure you may suffer a little along the way, he may lock you up, threaten to hurt you or the ones you love but its all par for the course in this narrative.

Ironically, I always found the beast more attractive than the prince he eventually became.

I couldn’t exactly tell you why though. My closest hunch is that the Beast is exciting in his danger, his complexity engages you but most of all… the Beast needs you. Princes don’t need you, they save you and I’ve never been fond of the idea of being a damsel in distress.

Out of all the princess stories I had growing up she was the one that did the saving, she saved him from himself. Now that is powerful and romantic. Also it feels so good to be needed doesn’t it?

I can tell you right now this is the perfect mentality to find yourself an abusive relationship. It is a recipe for toxicity. The Beast will cross your boundaries, the Beast will hurt your mind, your body, your soul and still you won’t leave because they need you, and they will get better… that’s how the story goes.

The thing is I still love the story of Beauty and the Beast, I still love Belle who is quirky, headstrong, intelligent, beautiful and ambitious. She’s also compassionate and caring and…. OH MY GOD I should be dating Belle!

Seriously though. If you meet a Beast, someone who is stormy, dangerous, exciting but makes you feel needed… don’t be a Belle. If someone has a tortured soul and anger issues then the only person who can save them is themselves… and a good therapist.

Tinder doesn’t help

So if you read my blog you probably know that I have Borderline Personality Disorder – or Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder as it’s now being called. I’m not a fan, personally. If you know anything about BPD you might know that one of the symptoms is feelings of loneliness/isolation and emptiness. Now I don’t know about the other BPD peeps but I like to have my episodes of crushing loneliness either when I’m at a social event or when I’m about to go to sleep (like right now). These episodes happen about 2-5 times a week on average. Usually the feeling only lasts for an hour or until I cry myself to sleep. In these moments I either further isolate myself from others in attempt to hide from them how pathetically needy I am or I seek out attention/affection/validation from others. In such a circumstance it would make sense to contact a close friend or a family member but I don’t because I am afraid of rejection (another BPD symptom) and when I say rejection you might imagine that I am afraid that someone I care about will tell me I’m awful and to go away… I mean I am afraid of that but it doesn’t take such an extreme response to trigger an emotional spiral.

Often I will find myself sobbing on my bed, holding my phone and staring at the screen, willing myself to reach out to someone… but what if they read the message and don’t respond? What if they tell me they’re busy? To me that counts as rejection because my brain translates I’m busy as: I’m too busy for your emotional drama and find you a drain on my will to live. Okay, so maybe that’s an exaggeration but only slightly. So in order to avoid the risk of any rejection, imaginary or real…

I go onto Tinder. Obviously.

I open the app to browse through all the other attention hungry individuals looking for love or an ego stroking… some may even be looking for a genuine connection.

I don’t know why I do this as Tinder is a graveyard of unanswered messages, but I do and I start swiping, mostly I’m looking for a bio that sounds like anything like mine does, anything that may suggest that we may be kindred spirits and then I swipe right and then, usually, we match and I feel excited and validated and then I send them an enthusiastic message for it to be left unread. Of course there are a few exceptions and those people deserve a doughnut, but it’s impossible to fill the void with Tinder matches no matter how equally quirky they may appear because in the end these people are strangers and they don’t know you. It may help a little, it may be a quick fix… but maybe, just maybe it might be better to reach out to someone you love and trust. I’ve only managed this a handful of times so far and it was terrifying. Yes it’s risky, the one time no one responded and I was a complete wreck for it, but when it works out it’s fucking magical. The love and support of my friends and family who reassured me that I wasn’t alone, or a burden or a chore or any of the things that my head convinces me I am was such a gift in those dark moments. I cannot even begin to express the amount of comfort those conversations brought me.

So next time you find yourself having an episode of soul crushing loneliness, be brave, tell a friend you trust how you feel… or you could always try Tinder.

What does eerily good weather and radical acceptance have in common? Me.

It was a pretty average day. I woke up when my alarm went off, I joined my Flatmate for coffee. The weather was beautiful. I took my dog for a walk in the park. I enjoyed the feeling of the sun on my skin and did my best to ignore the little voices screaming at the back of my head that this isn’t normal. And for once the little voices were right. It is really not normal for the UK to be experiencing this glorious balmy weather when it’s supposed to be experiencing frosty mornings and lots of rain… however this post is not about global warming and climate change. Maybe it should be… but it’s not. The weather however is a perfect metaphor for my emotions.

Nicci’s mood forecast for today is positivity and sunshine in the morning with just a slight breeze of ominous foreboding coming in from the north. In the afternoon we can expect those anxiety levels to rise with some boredom, apathy and mild anger to accompany it. In the evening some salty showers are predicted along with feelings of despair, crippling loneliness and self hatred. This depression front will likely stay for the night and may continue well into the week… or the fog may lift by morning and we’ll have more sunshine tinged with fear.

I should currently be grateful that all the emotions experienced today were in the realms of normalcy. I didn’t allow myself to get overly swept up in the feel goodiness of the morning and nor am I currently allowing the misery to swallow me whole. Today I am in control of my emotions and I am thankful for that. I’ve only cried a little.

My moods change a lot and can sometimes be quite extreme… sometimes I am able to control them… mostly though they control me and all I can do is tough it out.

I frequently wish I had more control over my emotional weather than I do. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do to hold back the storm… sometimes you just have to curl up in a ball and wait for the storm to pass.

I have to learn to accept that this is who I am and to love who I am despite my disruptive weather patterns.

The end.

My Furry Anchor

Disclaimer: I apologise if there are typo’s and my tenses jump around. I will fix it at a later date when my brain decides to function… and if I remember.

I don’t get heavy depression days as often as I used to. Thank goodness, and even when I do I have become quite adapt at pulling myself out of them using my skills. Still, there are days where the depression settles over me like dense fog. It presses itself into me, it fills my lungs and makes it harder to breathe, my chest aches, my whole body feels heavy, my own useless lump of flesh that I am forced to move around in. My mind feels separated from my body and indeed from everything else around it, trapped in its own void, I can focus on nothing but the weight of my existence. Days like that. Days like today are usually spent in bed, in the bath, or on the couch…

Earlier I was lying in the bath, tears streaming down my face while I breathe slowly, feeling the pain of each breath and feeling stupid that I could have ever thought that I wouldn’t feel like this again.

Eventually I pulled myself from the bath because the guilt that I have yet to take my dog outside and it’s 3.30pm has managed to penetrate my fog of numbness and sadness. I leave the bathroom, only half bothering to properly dry myself before pulling on the clothes I was wearing before climbing in. I promise myself that I’ll take her out but still, I feel too exhausted. I open the door and I’m greeted by a wagging tail and a happy whine that momentarily breaks through fog and into my mind void. I move to my bed and lie down, still guilty that I’m not seeing to her needs… but as if she knows… she had yet asked to go out yet, instead she seems to have engaged camel mode in order to stay indoors.

I lie on the bed. In my fog. She jumps up and sits in-front of me, perfect petting distance away so I can stroke her fur and mumble apologies through my tears. Next… she flops, like a dead weight, onto me, lying on my arm and tucking her head just under my chin.

I smile.

A few moments pass and she squirms onto her back so I can rub her belly. She wags her tail and licks my face.

I chuckle at her cuteness and wipe my tears away. I decide to sit up.

In the time it took for me to pull the weight of myself into sitting she’s rolled back onto all fours, leaped of the bed and is wagging and smiling at me. Yes, dogs smile. Look it up.

I feel less heavy, and I remember the responsibility I have for this furry mound that has foolishly decided to love me unconditionally.

“I’ll just take her out to for her to do her business and then I can return to my hole . to resume my misery”, I thought to myself. But once we were out she seemed so happy to just be out.

Round the block then… even though the wind is howling and I am freezing. The cold distracts me from the pain.

…. Fine! The park’s not that far away.

She runs circles around me, seemingly happy just to be alive and it’s infectious. Other people notice her joy and they smile, I see them smile and I smile.

The smiling reduces the pressure in my chest, My head is still foggy but so long as I focus on her I have a little clarity.

We’re home now and she’s dozing by my feet. Before she was in my life, I had no reason not to succumb to the depression fog. Nothing was distracting enough to pull me away from the misery that held me so tight.

My dog is my furry anchor. She tethers me to reality and with her… I’ll never truly lose myself in the fog again.

SWING!!

Yesterday I was drowning.

Today I’m flying.

Yesterday I felt pathetic, weak and scared.

Today I feel strong, resilient and brave.

Yesterday I felt mute, unable to connect to the world around me, drowned out by the slightest sound.

Today I have a voice. Today that voice feels valid. Today I spoke up and I was heard.

Yesterday I hated myself.

Today I love myself.

Who knows what tomorrow will hold…

Free Falling

First thought: I am a hypocrite. On my Instagram and blog, I call myself a mental health advocate. I also call myself a feminist. Yet I cannot help but loathe myself a little for not speaking up in the #metoo movement. Even though logically I know that it’s my story and I have a right to choose when and where to tell it and if I’m not comfortable telling my story then that’s ok. Well… that’s what I would say to someone who is not me. but since it is me… this is no excuse.

Second thought… I’m a yo-yo, I both manage to overshare and under share information about myself. I will tell anyone who will listen that I have ADHD in fact, at this point, it’s more like a general disclaimer when I meet anyone new… I also feel the urge to disclaim my borderline personality disorder… it’s my way of apologizing in advance for being me. However, asking for help from a friend, telling someone that I am currently not coping… that I couldn’t possibly imagine sharing with someone. I’d rather just avoid people altogether… and then I get lonely. oh yes! I swing from pushing people away to being desperate for company. I look on at groups of friends talking and all I want is to be a part of it… until I am and then I’m panicking and searching for a way to escape it because people are generally terrifying… what with their words and their perceptions. Apparently, nothing is more terrifying to my anxious mind than being judged by others, whether I know them or not.

Third thought… step back and breathe.

actually, I lie, this is most likely my 10025th thought.  I have so many thoughts at one time that most of the time its impossible to distinguish which thought is which and in what order they arrive. It’s mostly just a hot mess of words and emotion in my head.

See tonight my colleagues will be panicking and burning the midnight oil to be able to submit their essays tomorrow. I won’t be doing that because I have an extension. (because of the ADHD) And never have I felt more stupid, pathetic and worthless than right now (ok that’s an exaggeration but IT REALLY FEELS THAT WAY IN THE MOMENT!).

 

… why am I writing this again?

oh yes.. the third thought.

STEP BACK AND BREATHE.

So simple yet so. fucking. difficult.

I can feel myself wanting to spiral down through negative thoughts, through doubt and anxiety. I can feel myself wanting to run away from my problems anyway I can. I can feel myself wanting to resort to problem behaviors, but I also don’t want to resort to those behaviors because I have worked so hard at my recovery and I don’t want to backslide again.

So I’m here, writing my feelings down as a way of processing and as a way of feeling heard. It’s my way of stopping and noticing that I might just be slipping down the rabbit hole. (This is actually a far too gentle a metaphor for my head but “slipping down Satan’s arsehole” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.)

I apologize for the slightly nonsensical tangent, and this post will most likely be gone by the morning. But for now, this is my way of expressing my feelings to everyone and no one at the same time.

I have a lot of emotions and expressing them is one of my greatest challenges. Especially when it’s in the moment. So this is a new experiment, writing in the moment, while the feelings are ugly and raw… fresh out of Satan’s arsehole as it were.

Enjoy.