Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts

Thursday, 12 July 2012

The Great Depression Shield

It's the taboo subject that isn't really a taboo subject yet still has an enormous stigma attached to it. I am, of course, talking about mental illness. 

As children, we're never really told about depression, or schizophrenia, or psychosis in the same way that we're told about asthma, eczema, or the common cold. So when we grow up to be faced with these issues, we simply don't know how to handle them. There is no education about mental illness, yet it's something we're all expected to know about. We should know how to assist a friend suffering from depression and we should know how to handle a schizophrenic individual but we just don't. And it's incredibly terrifying.

In the UK, 1 in 4 people will experience some kind of mental health problem in the course of a year. I know that it's affected me, and plenty of people in my life. I've suffered with depression on and off for seven years now. I don't mean that I feel a little sad from time to time and get a bit teary. When I'm struck with an episode, it is catastrophic. I go from being quite an outgoing individual to a shielded introvert who suffers from chronic panic attacks and can't sleep for days on end. 

Luckily - or unluckily, depending on how you view it - I have a mother who has also suffered from extenuous mental health issues over the years so I grew up knowing that you don't have to suffer in silence and there is no shame in seeking help for it. But how many others are out there blighted by depression who just don't have the information or support system to seek help? I would wager that the number is dangerously high.

My anxiety and related panic attacks have been a burden for an extremely long time. At my previous job, my employers didn't want to handle my rare panic attacks which would leave me needing just ten or fifteen minutes breathing space. It got to a stage where I felt like the best possible solution would be for me to leave. I wasn't expecting to receive special treatment, but a bit of understanding wouldn't go amiss.

Unfortunately, during my research for this article, I discovered that I'm not the only person who has been made to feel like a burden on their employer. One girl I spoke to - who has asked to not be identified - returned to work after a month off, due to a breakdown. Upon her return, she was subjected to colleagues making jokes about her being a 'nutjob' or 'special case' and an employer who was reluctant to allow her to leave early one day to make it to an appointment with a psychiatrist. 

After just three weeks back at work, she found herself facing a dilemma. Should she stay at work, knowing it's the best thing for her, and be subjected to cruel comments, or should she leave her job and begin freelancing? Sadly, she left her job and is now struggling to find anything in her field.

Another individual I spoke to made a bold move that not many others would make when he started a new job: He informed his employers from the very beginning that he was a sufferer of a variety of mental illnesses, hoping that the clarity would make things easier. He had been diagnosed as schizophrenic whilst at university, and was also on medication for anxiety.

Instead of finding himself with compassionate employers who offered their sympathy, he found himself in an office full of reluctant colleagues, each one afraid to communicate with him because he was a 'psycho.' Eventually, his employer asked him to leave as he had created an 'unwelcome atmosphere' within the working environment.

Hearing those stories made me absolutely furious. Can you imagine an employer asking a physically disabled employee to leave because them being in a wheelchair made everyone else uncomfortable? Can you imagine the outrage if a pregnant woman found herself subjected to insults whilst in the workplace? It would just simply not be acceptable. So why is mental illness any different?

Legally, employers are required to make any necessary adaptations when they hire a person who is physically disabled. There are currently no laws protecting those who have mental illnesses. An employer doesn't have to make provisions to allow someone time off to see their psychiatrist, yet they have to for a pregnant employee.

I know there are some wonderful employers out there who bend over backwards for their employees and try their utmost to provide them with a safe, welcoming work environment. However, there are far too many who do little to nothing to assist their employees who suffer from a form of mental illness. Insulting the physically disabled used to be the norm and is now, rightly, incredibly prohibited. Why can't the same be said for those who have a hidden disability?

Twitter: @AmyWhitear

Thursday, 29 December 2011

Lemsip made me do this

Hi, I'm Amy (I'll step back and imagine you all saying "Hello, Amy" in return) and I have zero self confidence. I feel that the time is right to finally admit to this in order to break free from the shackles of an incredibly high level of low self esteem. Maybe it's the never-ending stream of Lemsip sending me into a drowsy state of revelations, or perhaps it's watching the horrifyingly realistic Never Been Kissed. Either way, I am about to bore you mercilessly about my consistent struggles to overcome this intense anxiety.

As a kid, I wouldn't shut up. I sang, I danced, I acted. I was the obnoxious, stage school-esque kid who annoys you at family parties by singing along to the standards loudly and proudly showing off my beautiful and graceful arabesque. Then something strange happened - adolescence, to be precise. Something inside of me decided that I had to hang up the ballet/Thespian shoes, stop dreaming of The Great White Way, and become a recluse. Whereas the 12-year-old me would jump at the chance to show up the pretty girls at school by forcefully claiming the lead roles in the crap school musical productions, the 14-year-old me bunked drama lessons, paralysed by a fear of having to do stuff in front of people that I didn't like, yet desperately wanted to like me. I abandoned my dreams and hopes of being Totally Awesome Amy in favour of Jane Austen novels, Morrissey lyrics and paranoia. (How I never turned to drugs, I'll never know. Maybe because drug addicts seem like social creatures, and there was no way in hell I'd be able to connect with people like that).

I used to make up lame excuses about having a curfew (which I didn't) or needing to do a Really Important Piece of Homework (which I didn't, because I always did homework the day it was assigned, like the geek I am) to avoid having to participate in social situations. I never went to parties, or got drunk with the other ugly kids, or even slagged off the teachers behind their backs. Because, you know, teachers totally have our backs. The stuff they're teaching us will totally come in handy one day, even algebra. Even when I became a social pariah and took up smoking, I didn't even join in with the other bad kids who smoked behind the sixth form block in case they criticised my smoking skills. The crippling fear of being uncool and unimportant led to me becoming the most uncool and unimportant teenager in the whole of South London. And that includes the kids who outwardly expressed their love for all things Star Wars/Star Trek/dinosaurs/space. My love for those things remained an awkward secret from anyone who wasn't my immediate family until I discovered blogging/Twitter.

And so it's led me to this. Talking incessantly to a blog audience that barely exists, doing a job I hate (that ends next week, leaving me unemployed yet again) and having to awkwardly come up with excuses to explain to my boyfriend that I don't really have any friends due to me hating it when people talk to me. I'm 20 years old and have finally decided that enough is enough. I don't want to be the socially awkward geek who has serious anxiety and depression. I'll be 21 in six months time and am really wishing I'd had this conversation with myself six years ago. I wish I had told myself back then that things WOULD get better. I wouldn't care what the prats at school thought of me. I would surpass my teachers' expectations by not having a kid at 16. I wouldn't become a drug addict. I would get a real-life boyfriend and not spend forever daydreaming at photos of Ryan Gosling. Yes, Morrissey would remain my god and "Please, Please, Please" would become the soundtrack to my life. But I would also be pretty damn cool. I would discover and fall in love with John Mayer long before Jennifer Aniston (take that, bitch) and I would totally fall in love with Zooey Deschanel before (500) Days of Summer.

2012 is rapidly approaching and I will finally break free from this horrible routine. I will get a full time job (wishful thinking never hurt anyone) and people will finally care about what I have to say. I won't celebrate sickness because it means a day off from work and the awful people who populate that shop. Instead, I'll like my job for once. I won't drag my boyfriend down by feeling too self-concious to step into a place at night filled with real-life pretty people. I won't be afraid of letting people know what I think of them. I will absolutely be the Boss Bitch of 2012. You read it here first.