I am a christian and sometimes I like to call myself a princess because my dad (God) is the King. But contrary to popular belief life isn't a fairy tale.
Somebody said to me how they don't get how people can be dumb enough to believe in God and the bible, it's just another fairy tale storybook. So, here I am thinking of ways anybody could compare the two... Jesus had 12 disciples, 3 of which are named John, Andrew and James. They weren't quite the same as the 7 dwarfs, 3 of which are names Happy, Grumpy and Sleepy. Jesus washed the Disciples feet, Cinderella washed the floor. The beast in beauty and the beast was cursed for selfishness, Jesus was on the other-hand selfless, a sinless man who died to save others.
The Bible isn't an airy-fairy happy-clappy book about princesses and castles and happy endings. It involves Jesus being tortured and nailed to a cross. A flood that covered the earth. A Man who's brothers sold him into slavery because they were jealous of his coat. First born son's being killed. And I can't think of anything worse than travelling on a donkey. Jesus was born in a stable and not bought up in a castle. The bible isn't full of glittery pictures and fairy-god mothers.
It's hard to explain to someone exactly why I don't just believe in God as if I'm six and believing in the tooth-fairy. I believe he exists, I know he exists. No, I don't have proof and maybe things that happen are coincidence but without him I am nothing. God has done amazing things in the lives of my loved ones and there's no other explanation. Knowing God is what keeps me sane, knowing God is knowing that I am loves and that my life has a purpose. A belief in God isn't like a childs belief in the easter bunny, the bible isn't simply a storybook like Cinderella.
The only way you can compare the two are the happy endings.
For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16
Saturday, 29 November 2014
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
Take me back to Africa
I spend a good 99% of my timing wanting to be back in South Africa. It's all I talk about and the only place I want to be. Things were better there, it's hard to explain why but i'm going to give it ago anyway.
I was me, Nobody who met me knew anything about me, my past or my mental health. The one's who did find out how weird I am weren't scared by it, they accepted me. I walked around in short sleeves nobody commented on my scars there was no 'Whatthefuckdidyoudo? Thatsdisgusting' They were just part of me. Nobody drew attention to them, nobody questioned, nobody stared. It was nice to be me.
The sun was shining pretty much all the time, it was beautiful. Not like England where it's dark and miserable and raining all the time, the sun makes everything better.
People are kinder. Nobody ever pointed out somebody elses oddly-shaped nose or the fact someone was bigger than a size 6. People walked around with bin-bags on their head and clothes that clashed but that's okay. People actually talk to one another, not like here where even if you see someone you know you put your head down, walk faster and pretend you didn't see them and pray that they didn't see you!
Everyone I met had a story and they weren't ashamed to share it. Everyone who I met had such an obvious faith in and love for God. If I was having a bad day people weren't like 'Lets go for a fag and drink some vodka' (typical English solution to everything) instead they prayed. (The best solution to everything).
Then don't even get me started on the little things like Vogue fags, Dis-chem, Mr Price, and Topdeck! Or the fact that their woolworths (good ol' woolies) is the equivalent to our Marks and Spencers. Romans Pizza, Pap and vetkoek.
I didn't have scales to stand on and being skinny wasn't a priority. If I was having a bad day I was never left to just struggle, nearly every day was a good day and thats never happened before.
I miss South Africa, the amazing people and the sunshine. I miss the church and the chocolate. I miss being myself. Oh take me back...
I was me, Nobody who met me knew anything about me, my past or my mental health. The one's who did find out how weird I am weren't scared by it, they accepted me. I walked around in short sleeves nobody commented on my scars there was no 'Whatthefuckdidyoudo? Thatsdisgusting' They were just part of me. Nobody drew attention to them, nobody questioned, nobody stared. It was nice to be me.
The sun was shining pretty much all the time, it was beautiful. Not like England where it's dark and miserable and raining all the time, the sun makes everything better.
People are kinder. Nobody ever pointed out somebody elses oddly-shaped nose or the fact someone was bigger than a size 6. People walked around with bin-bags on their head and clothes that clashed but that's okay. People actually talk to one another, not like here where even if you see someone you know you put your head down, walk faster and pretend you didn't see them and pray that they didn't see you!
Everyone I met had a story and they weren't ashamed to share it. Everyone who I met had such an obvious faith in and love for God. If I was having a bad day people weren't like 'Lets go for a fag and drink some vodka' (typical English solution to everything) instead they prayed. (The best solution to everything).
Then don't even get me started on the little things like Vogue fags, Dis-chem, Mr Price, and Topdeck! Or the fact that their woolworths (good ol' woolies) is the equivalent to our Marks and Spencers. Romans Pizza, Pap and vetkoek.
I didn't have scales to stand on and being skinny wasn't a priority. If I was having a bad day I was never left to just struggle, nearly every day was a good day and thats never happened before.
I miss South Africa, the amazing people and the sunshine. I miss the church and the chocolate. I miss being myself. Oh take me back...
Saturday, 15 November 2014
Too fat
This week I received a letter from my Doctor. This Doctor told me my referral to the aspen center was rejected because I need to lose a significant amount of weight. This letter told me the aspen center suggested my help should continue to come from the psychiatrists that work for the adult mental health services. This letter then went on to tell me that I no longer ill be having appointments with the psychiatrists.
This letter made my heart sink and tears dribble down my face. I don't know what to do, where do I even go from here?
My life and thoughts are constantly consumed by the thought of what I have or what I'm going to consume. I don't eat food, I eat numbers. The 89kcal banana for breakfast was okay. The 98Kcal crumpet I had wasn't. I felt guilty for eating it, I still do now. I'm not skinny, no where near. But I'm sick. And shouldn't that be enough for me to get help. My weight fluctuates on a daily basis and if it goes above a certain number I have a complete meltdown.
It fluctuates to the point of my jeans being too big to suddenly being too small. Some days I don't eat. Some days I eat everything I can. Everyday is a battle one that I can not win on my own. One that I need help to win but nobody is on my team.
I'm not as skinny as I was a few years ago when they told me I'd end up in hospital or worse - dead. But mentally I am worse a lot worse, so why won't they help me when I need it most? Why should I have to make my physical health as damaged as my mental health?
I'm so upset and confused and I don't even know anymore.
This letter made my heart sink and tears dribble down my face. I don't know what to do, where do I even go from here?
My life and thoughts are constantly consumed by the thought of what I have or what I'm going to consume. I don't eat food, I eat numbers. The 89kcal banana for breakfast was okay. The 98Kcal crumpet I had wasn't. I felt guilty for eating it, I still do now. I'm not skinny, no where near. But I'm sick. And shouldn't that be enough for me to get help. My weight fluctuates on a daily basis and if it goes above a certain number I have a complete meltdown.
It fluctuates to the point of my jeans being too big to suddenly being too small. Some days I don't eat. Some days I eat everything I can. Everyday is a battle one that I can not win on my own. One that I need help to win but nobody is on my team.
I'm not as skinny as I was a few years ago when they told me I'd end up in hospital or worse - dead. But mentally I am worse a lot worse, so why won't they help me when I need it most? Why should I have to make my physical health as damaged as my mental health?
I'm so upset and confused and I don't even know anymore.
Tuesday, 4 November 2014
Learn how to swim
Looking through old Camhs letters is both the funniest and the saddest thing I have done. I was first seen by Camhs in september 2010. I was 14. I don't remember the initial assessment, I remember not wanting to be there and being adamant that I wasn't going to let them in.
On this date I weighed 49.7kilos and had been suffering with disordered eating for 2-3 years already. I showed no signs of an eating disorder and convinced them all I did not have one. I did however have low self-esteem and they knew I had been self-harming. I was offered another appointment.
I remember this appointment well, I sat in the room with the woman and did not make eye contact. I looked down, I looked at the clock and for the most part I was silent. I was told "Even if you don't talk I still get paid for the hour." (Unhelpful. Everything inside me screamed she doesn't even care as long as she still gets the money, don't bother talking).
We saw a family therapist after this woman. I never called her by name, if I was talking about her to someone she was 'The fat greasy lesbian woman'. I hated her and her crowd of followers that hid behind the one-way mirror. If I wasn't going to talk to one person I certainly wasn't going to talk to her and the 2 others hiding behind the screen. I remember screaming and shouting and being flat out rude to this woman. I didn't want her to help me. I didn't need it.
I was passed onto the Doctor there. Put on anti-depressants, taken off them and discharged. My discharged letter mentioned her seeing some 'old scars'. Which made me chuckle because I was wearing my pink jumper, sleeves pulled down. I convinced them I was fine and didn't need their help. When I did talk to them, I lied.
Here I am now, 4 years on having spent almost a year trying to get help just to be told time and time again they can't help me or that I don't meet certain criteria. I've been referred from place to place and been rejected. My anti-depressants aren't being changed, stopped or upped despite them not working.
4 years ago I didn't want help, I was in a river and convinced I was a strong swimmer screaming at them that I didn't need them yet they jumped into the river and invaded my space. Now I'm in the river drowning, they are stood on the bank with life buoy in hand and instead of throwing it screaming 'learn how to swim'.
I wish I had accepted the help all those years ago. I wish I could swim.
On this date I weighed 49.7kilos and had been suffering with disordered eating for 2-3 years already. I showed no signs of an eating disorder and convinced them all I did not have one. I did however have low self-esteem and they knew I had been self-harming. I was offered another appointment.
I remember this appointment well, I sat in the room with the woman and did not make eye contact. I looked down, I looked at the clock and for the most part I was silent. I was told "Even if you don't talk I still get paid for the hour." (Unhelpful. Everything inside me screamed she doesn't even care as long as she still gets the money, don't bother talking).
We saw a family therapist after this woman. I never called her by name, if I was talking about her to someone she was 'The fat greasy lesbian woman'. I hated her and her crowd of followers that hid behind the one-way mirror. If I wasn't going to talk to one person I certainly wasn't going to talk to her and the 2 others hiding behind the screen. I remember screaming and shouting and being flat out rude to this woman. I didn't want her to help me. I didn't need it.
I was passed onto the Doctor there. Put on anti-depressants, taken off them and discharged. My discharged letter mentioned her seeing some 'old scars'. Which made me chuckle because I was wearing my pink jumper, sleeves pulled down. I convinced them I was fine and didn't need their help. When I did talk to them, I lied.
Here I am now, 4 years on having spent almost a year trying to get help just to be told time and time again they can't help me or that I don't meet certain criteria. I've been referred from place to place and been rejected. My anti-depressants aren't being changed, stopped or upped despite them not working.
4 years ago I didn't want help, I was in a river and convinced I was a strong swimmer screaming at them that I didn't need them yet they jumped into the river and invaded my space. Now I'm in the river drowning, they are stood on the bank with life buoy in hand and instead of throwing it screaming 'learn how to swim'.
I wish I had accepted the help all those years ago. I wish I could swim.
Tuesday, 28 October 2014
Slave to skinny
The Slavery Abolition Act 1833 was put in place by parliament to abolish slavery throughout the british empire. I don't know much about slavery in this way, but I know that slavery itself still exists.
I was a slave to anorexia. You could argue that doesn't count because Anorexia is not a person and I was not forced to obey it, you could argue that you don't have to work excessively hard to be anorexic, all you do is not eat.. right?
Yes, anorexia isnt a person but it's a voice. At least for me it was, it was like a voice that wasn't my own. It controlled my every move my every thought I had no choice but to obey it or it would make things worse. It would force me to stand up while watching tv because it burns more calories than sitting. It would force me to open my windows on cold winter nights because 'being cold burns calories'. It wouldn't let me have friends "They'll make you eat, they want you to get fat to make them look skinnier" it would whisper.
And as for not having to work hard... I'd spend hours a day thinking about food and would have to spend hours distracting myself, putting myself off. I'd work hard at pretending i'm okay, hiding the weightloss, making it look like I ate. Hiding food was a challenge and I'd work hard at making sure that I wasn't going to pass out despite not having eaten for days. It was physically and mentally draining. It wasn't a case of just not eating.
I was a Slave. I am a slave. We are a slave to society. A slave to skinny. A slave to the scales.
We want to be skinny because it's more socially acceptable than being 'Fat'. We want to be skinny because we're told 'nothing tastes as good as skinny feels' we want to be skinny because it's portrayed to be the best thing we can be and fat is the worst.
In an american survey 80% of ten year olds had been on a diet. (10. Year. Olds. Think about a ten year old you know, if you knew they were dieting you'd be shocked they are just children!). And the most wished for thing among 11-17 year olds was to be thinner. 53% of 13 year olds are unhappy with their body. Only 22% of 17 year olds are happy with theirs. There is over 1.2million members at slimming world and 1 million at weight watchers. Those 2.2million people step on and off a scale every single week and are either happy because the scale show's a smaller number than last week or disappointed because it's bigger, they are slaves to the scale.
While I was in Africa my access to a scale was limited. I was so much happier not having to worry about what the number would show. I didn't care. Yes I gained weight, yes some of my clothes didn't fit but it didn't matter. It shouldn't matter now either. It shouldn't matter to you. Your worth is not determined by the number on the scale or the size of your jeans.
slave
sleɪv/
noun
- 1.(especially in the past) a person who is the legal property of another and is forced to obey them."he killed the natives or turned them into slaves"
verb
- 1.work excessively hard."after slaving away for fourteen years all he gets is two thousand"
I was a slave to anorexia. You could argue that doesn't count because Anorexia is not a person and I was not forced to obey it, you could argue that you don't have to work excessively hard to be anorexic, all you do is not eat.. right?
Yes, anorexia isnt a person but it's a voice. At least for me it was, it was like a voice that wasn't my own. It controlled my every move my every thought I had no choice but to obey it or it would make things worse. It would force me to stand up while watching tv because it burns more calories than sitting. It would force me to open my windows on cold winter nights because 'being cold burns calories'. It wouldn't let me have friends "They'll make you eat, they want you to get fat to make them look skinnier" it would whisper.
And as for not having to work hard... I'd spend hours a day thinking about food and would have to spend hours distracting myself, putting myself off. I'd work hard at pretending i'm okay, hiding the weightloss, making it look like I ate. Hiding food was a challenge and I'd work hard at making sure that I wasn't going to pass out despite not having eaten for days. It was physically and mentally draining. It wasn't a case of just not eating.
I was a Slave. I am a slave. We are a slave to society. A slave to skinny. A slave to the scales.
We want to be skinny because it's more socially acceptable than being 'Fat'. We want to be skinny because we're told 'nothing tastes as good as skinny feels' we want to be skinny because it's portrayed to be the best thing we can be and fat is the worst.
In an american survey 80% of ten year olds had been on a diet. (10. Year. Olds. Think about a ten year old you know, if you knew they were dieting you'd be shocked they are just children!). And the most wished for thing among 11-17 year olds was to be thinner. 53% of 13 year olds are unhappy with their body. Only 22% of 17 year olds are happy with theirs. There is over 1.2million members at slimming world and 1 million at weight watchers. Those 2.2million people step on and off a scale every single week and are either happy because the scale show's a smaller number than last week or disappointed because it's bigger, they are slaves to the scale.
While I was in Africa my access to a scale was limited. I was so much happier not having to worry about what the number would show. I didn't care. Yes I gained weight, yes some of my clothes didn't fit but it didn't matter. It shouldn't matter now either. It shouldn't matter to you. Your worth is not determined by the number on the scale or the size of your jeans.
Sunday, 26 October 2014
Words fail me
Contrary to popular belief, words aren't my thing. I guess I understand why people think they are, I write a blog and my head can usually be found in a book. But i'm terrible with words.
I can never find the right ones and when I do know what I want to say it's usually sarcastic or rude ('Fuck' springs to mind...). If someone asks me how I am I could be absolutely fantastic or I could be have some sort of internal breakdown but 'fine' will be my word of choice. If someone tells me something bad 'Oh shit' or 'I'm so sorry to hear that' are usually the words that spill out my mouth. I never know what to say when I'm supposed to say it.
I am rubbish at conversation and being silent in a room full of people is probably my only talent. I get scared of saying the wrong words, sounding stupid. My heart might have the words but when it comes to speaking them sometimes I physically can not. There's been times when I have opened my mouth and no sound has come out, I get asked if I was about to say something and while I might want to say 'Yes, urm......' I usually shake my head.
Words fail me. But I have Gods word and actually that's the only word I need. I don't need to give answers it does that for me, I don't need to speak I just need to listen. Gods word is powerful while I am weak.
I can never find the right ones and when I do know what I want to say it's usually sarcastic or rude ('Fuck' springs to mind...). If someone asks me how I am I could be absolutely fantastic or I could be have some sort of internal breakdown but 'fine' will be my word of choice. If someone tells me something bad 'Oh shit' or 'I'm so sorry to hear that' are usually the words that spill out my mouth. I never know what to say when I'm supposed to say it.
I am rubbish at conversation and being silent in a room full of people is probably my only talent. I get scared of saying the wrong words, sounding stupid. My heart might have the words but when it comes to speaking them sometimes I physically can not. There's been times when I have opened my mouth and no sound has come out, I get asked if I was about to say something and while I might want to say 'Yes, urm......' I usually shake my head.
Words fail me. But I have Gods word and actually that's the only word I need. I don't need to give answers it does that for me, I don't need to speak I just need to listen. Gods word is powerful while I am weak.
Saturday, 25 October 2014
bad day
Some days (weeks... maybe months) are hard and sometimes it seems like things will never change. Today has been one of those hard days. Days like this for me seem unbearable and it seems like everything goes wrong.
I woke up at 7am, and didn't get up until 1.30, moving wasn't something I wanted to do. I managed to get up in fear that my bladder might pop. I looked in the mirror and instantly burst into tears. I hate my body, I hate my face and my scars although they dont usually bother me made me feel sick. The scale said a smaller number than yesterday but I feel 3 times bigger. I eventually managed to go and have 'Breakfast'. Half of a small banana, less calories than my usual bowl of porridge but today it seemed too much. I sat on the floor in the corner for what seemed like an eternity before finally finding the motivation to go upstairs and shower.
I stood in the shower and stared blankly at the wall, I think I washed my hair 3 times but I just kept forgetting whether I had or hadn't already washed it. The shampoo went in my eye and the sting didn't bother me like normal, I was grateful that I was actually feeling something other than emptiness. Pain isn't a brilliant feeling but its certainly better than numbness. I dryed my hair and returned to the scale. Weighing myself more than once a day is never a good thing and today i've got on and off the scale a whopping 10 times. Then I returned to bed.
A had a few hours in which I was occupied, so things didn't seem too bad. But now I'm home alone and I'm anxious. It's been a while since my anxiety has been this overwhelming, I've convinced myself 6 times that I've left the oven on and the house will surely set on fire (I haven't turned the oven at all today) I'm worrying about everything.
Today I havent done anything productive all I've done is breathe. Some days (weeks, or maybe even months) it is okay if breathing is all you can bring yourself to do.
I just pray that tomorrow will be better.
I woke up at 7am, and didn't get up until 1.30, moving wasn't something I wanted to do. I managed to get up in fear that my bladder might pop. I looked in the mirror and instantly burst into tears. I hate my body, I hate my face and my scars although they dont usually bother me made me feel sick. The scale said a smaller number than yesterday but I feel 3 times bigger. I eventually managed to go and have 'Breakfast'. Half of a small banana, less calories than my usual bowl of porridge but today it seemed too much. I sat on the floor in the corner for what seemed like an eternity before finally finding the motivation to go upstairs and shower.
I stood in the shower and stared blankly at the wall, I think I washed my hair 3 times but I just kept forgetting whether I had or hadn't already washed it. The shampoo went in my eye and the sting didn't bother me like normal, I was grateful that I was actually feeling something other than emptiness. Pain isn't a brilliant feeling but its certainly better than numbness. I dryed my hair and returned to the scale. Weighing myself more than once a day is never a good thing and today i've got on and off the scale a whopping 10 times. Then I returned to bed.
A had a few hours in which I was occupied, so things didn't seem too bad. But now I'm home alone and I'm anxious. It's been a while since my anxiety has been this overwhelming, I've convinced myself 6 times that I've left the oven on and the house will surely set on fire (I haven't turned the oven at all today) I'm worrying about everything.
Today I havent done anything productive all I've done is breathe. Some days (weeks, or maybe even months) it is okay if breathing is all you can bring yourself to do.
I just pray that tomorrow will be better.
Wednesday, 22 October 2014
Rubbish Christian
Sometimes when I sit in the congregation at church or even on the odd occasions when i'm stood at the front of church singing or perhaps it's when i'm at the alpha course it feels like I am different, like I don't belong (okay, I am different). It feels like I am less important, less of a christian.
Everyone else know's what to pray and talks about how they've read the whole bible from cover to cover not once, not twice but more times than they can count. The talk about how God has healed them and portray this image that their life is perfect and that, well, their some sort of business class christian while I'm more economy class.
Sometime's it feels like I am in the wrong place, i'm supposed to be in a hospital for the broken and it seem's like i'm in a museum for the good. The sin-free the Icanmakeperfectcakesandquotethebiblewordforwordandicanprayfor10minutesstraightwithouttakingasinglebreath. Sometimes it feels like I don't belong.
I am different. Everyone else sticks to 1 corinthians 6:19-20 and treats their body as a temple, while my temple has both exterior and interior damage, it has been treated more like a Mcdonalds than a temple. Everyone else sticks to 1 Peter 5:7 while I have anxiety attacks. Everyone else calls God their Father and seems to have some amazing bond with him( 2 corinthians 6:18) while I struggle to imagine God as this father figure, I love him but I'm not ready to call him Father, I know he made me but all I can think about is my earthly father, Can't I call him God the Granddad instead? (I have no link to word granddad so that'd be so much easier!). And don't even get me started on Exodus 20:13 that one I just can't seem to get the hang of (That was a joke...)
I am a sinner. I fight daily battles with Satan. I get tempted and 90% of the time I do or say something that other christians find shocking, even when I'm just being honest about how I find it hard to concentrate when I pray, I get looks of disgust as if to say "Well aren't you just a terrible christian then" (I understand them doing this when I'm swearing or rolling a cigarette mid-hymn but whatever). I am not perfect, neither are they.
Romans 3:23 says "For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God" and I can't and nor should anybody else judge somebody just because they sin differently to me (or you)
and Romans 5:8 reminds us that "God show's his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us."
So despite the fact I don't know the bible inside out and despite the fact I sin God still loves me and even if I were the only person to ever walk the earth Christ would have died for me, and he'd of done the same for you.
Everyone else know's what to pray and talks about how they've read the whole bible from cover to cover not once, not twice but more times than they can count. The talk about how God has healed them and portray this image that their life is perfect and that, well, their some sort of business class christian while I'm more economy class.
Sometime's it feels like I am in the wrong place, i'm supposed to be in a hospital for the broken and it seem's like i'm in a museum for the good. The sin-free the Icanmakeperfectcakesandquotethebiblewordforwordandicanprayfor10minutesstraightwithouttakingasinglebreath. Sometimes it feels like I don't belong.
I am different. Everyone else sticks to 1 corinthians 6:19-20 and treats their body as a temple, while my temple has both exterior and interior damage, it has been treated more like a Mcdonalds than a temple. Everyone else sticks to 1 Peter 5:7 while I have anxiety attacks. Everyone else calls God their Father and seems to have some amazing bond with him( 2 corinthians 6:18) while I struggle to imagine God as this father figure, I love him but I'm not ready to call him Father, I know he made me but all I can think about is my earthly father, Can't I call him God the Granddad instead? (I have no link to word granddad so that'd be so much easier!). And don't even get me started on Exodus 20:13 that one I just can't seem to get the hang of (That was a joke...)
I am a sinner. I fight daily battles with Satan. I get tempted and 90% of the time I do or say something that other christians find shocking, even when I'm just being honest about how I find it hard to concentrate when I pray, I get looks of disgust as if to say "Well aren't you just a terrible christian then" (I understand them doing this when I'm swearing or rolling a cigarette mid-hymn but whatever). I am not perfect, neither are they.
Romans 3:23 says "For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God" and I can't and nor should anybody else judge somebody just because they sin differently to me (or you)
and Romans 5:8 reminds us that "God show's his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us."
So despite the fact I don't know the bible inside out and despite the fact I sin God still loves me and even if I were the only person to ever walk the earth Christ would have died for me, and he'd of done the same for you.
Tuesday, 21 October 2014
Winter Blues
There's so many reasons to like the winter months (In England we get like 6 months of winter, we should of learned to love them by now...) Stepping on crunchy leaves and the colours of the trees, hot chocolate and bonfires, snowmen and pretty scarves, christmas carols and christingles, presents and parties, sweater weather is better weather and let's be honest girls shaving our legs doesn't need to happen as often but for some winter can be hard.
I don't mean because they're full of flu, they have expensive heating bills or because they struggle to keep warm. I mean it's mentally hard for the 2 million people in the UK who suffer with 'Seasonal Affective Disorder' (SAD) commonly known as 'Winter depression'.
SAD shares the same symptoms as normal depression but usually only occurs at a particular time of year and for most this is winter. (it's no surprise really, it's dark all the time which effects hormone production). Symptoms usually begin in autumn and get progressively worse throughout the winter before improving again in spring and summer.
So what are the signs?
So to anybody who feels like they want to hibernate this winter and doesn't usually feel this depressed for the rest of the year perhaps pay a visit to your GP and know that it's okay to have a mental illness and that summer will soon be here!
If depression is causing you to have disturbing thoughts or you just need somebody to talk to please call any of these numbers or speak to a trusted friend
Samaritans: 08457 909090
Child line: 0800 1111
NHS Direct: 0845 4647
I don't mean because they're full of flu, they have expensive heating bills or because they struggle to keep warm. I mean it's mentally hard for the 2 million people in the UK who suffer with 'Seasonal Affective Disorder' (SAD) commonly known as 'Winter depression'.
SAD shares the same symptoms as normal depression but usually only occurs at a particular time of year and for most this is winter. (it's no surprise really, it's dark all the time which effects hormone production). Symptoms usually begin in autumn and get progressively worse throughout the winter before improving again in spring and summer.
So what are the signs?
- Low mood
- Low self esteem
- Either an increase or decrease in weight
- Wanting to sleep more than usual / feeling lethargic
- Feelings of despair/ guilt/ worthlessness/ anxiety/ stress.
- Tearfulness
- Reduced Libido
- Indecisiveness
- Lack of concentration
- Showing little interest in activities
So to anybody who feels like they want to hibernate this winter and doesn't usually feel this depressed for the rest of the year perhaps pay a visit to your GP and know that it's okay to have a mental illness and that summer will soon be here!
If depression is causing you to have disturbing thoughts or you just need somebody to talk to please call any of these numbers or speak to a trusted friend
Samaritans: 08457 909090
Child line: 0800 1111
NHS Direct: 0845 4647
Monday, 13 October 2014
God is good.
God is good, really good and I've watched him transform peoples lives, heard of the things he's done for others and even known him to heal people, it amazes me every time.
I know people who God has healed, or performed miracles on. For example a friend a couple of weeks ago was pretty much in a life or death situation when a brain op didn't go according to plan, days were spent in intensive care with little signs of improvement. We got so many people to pray, from different churches and even from different parts of the world. Now, she's not in intensive care and has taken a real turn and is apparently sending snapchats...
My dad had quite a serious 'suspected stroke' when I was six, Mum and the boys went to visit him after he'd been in for a few days, apparently he looked like he was going to die. Mum took the boys into the chapel in the hospital and they prayed. That night there was a knock on our front door, it was dad. A doctor had told him he wasn't breathing properly and told him what to do after doing it for a but he was back to normal. The other doctors didn't see this 'doctor' that spoke to dad and there was no record that this 'doctor' even existed.
But God doesn't just heal people, he answers prayers too.. A couple examples my parents have told me are:
When mum was pregnant with Anna they lived on a top floor flat, they'd put the flat up for sale because carrying a pushchair up flights of stairs wasn't going to be much fun for mum. It'd been on the market for a while and nobody had even showed an interest. After a while mum and dad prayed about it and heard God say 'trust Me' - The next day they had a phonecall and the flat got sold.
Then there was the time when mum and dad couldn't afford our school uniforms, 4 of us in 4 different sizes was going to cost a lot. They prayed about it and the following morning received a cheque in the post for £200 which paid for the uniforms.
(ive done it again, ive forgotten where I was going with this...) But these things are not a coincidence, God is good.
For the LORD is good. His unfailing love continues forever, and his faithfulness continues to each generation. - Psalm 100:5
I know people who God has healed, or performed miracles on. For example a friend a couple of weeks ago was pretty much in a life or death situation when a brain op didn't go according to plan, days were spent in intensive care with little signs of improvement. We got so many people to pray, from different churches and even from different parts of the world. Now, she's not in intensive care and has taken a real turn and is apparently sending snapchats...
My dad had quite a serious 'suspected stroke' when I was six, Mum and the boys went to visit him after he'd been in for a few days, apparently he looked like he was going to die. Mum took the boys into the chapel in the hospital and they prayed. That night there was a knock on our front door, it was dad. A doctor had told him he wasn't breathing properly and told him what to do after doing it for a but he was back to normal. The other doctors didn't see this 'doctor' that spoke to dad and there was no record that this 'doctor' even existed.
But God doesn't just heal people, he answers prayers too.. A couple examples my parents have told me are:
When mum was pregnant with Anna they lived on a top floor flat, they'd put the flat up for sale because carrying a pushchair up flights of stairs wasn't going to be much fun for mum. It'd been on the market for a while and nobody had even showed an interest. After a while mum and dad prayed about it and heard God say 'trust Me' - The next day they had a phonecall and the flat got sold.
Then there was the time when mum and dad couldn't afford our school uniforms, 4 of us in 4 different sizes was going to cost a lot. They prayed about it and the following morning received a cheque in the post for £200 which paid for the uniforms.
(ive done it again, ive forgotten where I was going with this...) But these things are not a coincidence, God is good.
For the LORD is good. His unfailing love continues forever, and his faithfulness continues to each generation. - Psalm 100:5
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