The heroism of people with mental illness

Another day, another extreme sportsperson bites the dust. Or snow. Reading about the latest poor adventurer to snuff it got me thinking about one of my favourite topics – how people with mental illnesses are just as heroic as the bravest mountain climber, tramper or heliskier. Let’s face it – no one holds a gun to their heads and says ‘go and climb up that icy, dangerous mountain or I will blow your brains out’. (I could argue that someone who would climb such a mountain knowing how many people have been killed on it does not have many brains to blow out, but that would be unkind.) No, these heroes volunteer to undertake jeopardy and hardship.

And don’t even get me started on the ones who go out without a compass, cell phone, wet weather gear, telling anyone where they are, etc, etc…and then expect to have thousands spent on being rescued.

But those of us who suffer a mental illness didn’t volunteer. Through a combination of unlucky genes and life circumstances we’ve ended up drawing the short straw. Every day we deal with symptoms that are bewildering, stressful, miserable and difficult. It makes climbing a mountain look easy. Not only that but we often have to cope with the attitudes of people who seem to blame us for our symptoms, as if we do it all on purpose just to make life difficult for them or lack will power. Whereas those who willingly ski down rocky, steep slopes, or jump off high peaks, or set off into the thick bush and get lost, buried in an avalanche, or fall off the mountain are treated as heroes.

Well here’s what I think. Those of us who every day deal with the symptoms of mental illness that we did not choose, who battle through each day, who persist in looking for ways to feel better and have a satisfying life, are greater heroes than any extreme sportsperson. We deserve applause and a HUUUGE medal.

What would life be like if I hadn’t tried my hardest to be happy?

A fat yellow moon is rising in the violet sky. Jazz is on the stereo, the fire is snapping and I’m sipping vanilla tea and munching a cookie still warm from the oven. I am so proud of myself. Today I woke up happy again despite a week of illness. Saturday a week ago I’d had a wonderful day. The dog and I had driven out through the sunshine (the dog wisely leaving the driving to me) to a reserve on the banks of the Waikato River. We’d parked among massive, leafless trees glowing in the sunlight. The dog had acted like a real dog, chasing sticks, retrieving balls, cavorting among the dead leaves and I’d done way too much exercise. After coffee with a friend I’d taken him for another big walk at Hamilton Gardens and by the time I got home I was exhausted. As a result I was ill last week, with two full day in bed.

Which is why I’m so proud of myself. Despite being ill and house bound much of last week I woke up happy every. Partly it was having such a great Saturday. But I also did a good job of talking back to my anxious, catastrophizing thoughts about money, health and the future. So not only have I felt happy but I’ve achieved a fair bit, despite being sick.

This is the payoff for all my work building new behaviours and thinking patterns, learning how to reduce my depression and increase my happiness. Even when I have a bad day I have so many ways to make myself feel better that I know sure it’s not going to last. And the good days outweigh the bad by a large ratio. Sometimes I think about how many minutes, hours, days, weeks and months of happiness I would have missed if I hadn’t gone down this track, picking myself up every time I fell over, determined to master the happiness habit. Life wouldn’t have been much fun. In fact I doubt I would be here at all.

Heading off a relapse

If I don’t watch it I’m going to crash. I can see the signs. Things like:
• Waking up in the early hours of the morning and lying awake worrying and fretting about things that have gone wrong or may go wrong
• Shaky mood some days, with moments of depression at times
• Feeling that life is too much and I can’t cope
• Getting angry and frustrated.

My happiness is like a precious metal in a vault. I need to monitor it, keep guard, watch for the alarm signals that tell me it’s at risk. If I don’t guard it zealously I will lose it – again. Not for a long time this time, but I’ve had enough depression in my life that I don’t want a moment more if I can avoid it. And I can.

So here’s what I’m doing to make sure my mood doesn’t crash:
• Reducing my stress levels, not taking on tasks that would be too much, avoiding stressful meetings
• Organising regular social contact, visiting and ringing friends, having people round for dinner
• Making a note of good things, what I’ve achieved and what I’m looking forward to each morning
• Talking to my counsellor
• Sticking to my routine so I don’t get exhausted
• Getting more time outside for bright light.

If I catch it in time I should be fine. What I’ve learned over the years is that keeping watch over my precious happiness and taking quick action to protect it avoids hours of heartache.

The happiness of small things

The other day I was browsing through the pet shop, horrified by the cost of the toys. ‘I could buy one of these and my dog probably wouldn’t even play with it,’ I thought. Barney’s favourite game is tennis ball soccer. He gets great pleasure from chewing on the discs of ice that form in the water bowls outside on a frosty night, or on a piece of kindling (or my shoe, or my backpack, or my…pretty much anything really), things that are completely free. (Except for the cost of new shoes and backpack.) Watching Barney joyfully dig in the river bank the other day got me thinking about how much pleasure is bound up in really quite small things.

I first learned about this from the book The Pursuit of Happiness by one of the first ‘happyologists’, David Myers. He noted that people get more happiness from the small things that happen regularly than big things, like getting married. Later research showed that the pleasure of big events like winning a lottery tends to wear off within months, leaving people feeling about as good or bad as they did to start with. Learning this encouraged me to build more small pleasures and joys into my life.

Like my favourite tea each morning. No matter how many times I have it, I love the sweet, spicy smell and taste, the way it warms me up. The feeling every night when the day is done and I can sink into bed with nothing I have to do, free to read. The thrill of coming home from the library, loaded down with new books, each of them a universe of unexplored pleasure in itself. The phone call each Saturday with a close friend to talk about good things in our week. Driving the car – I love the feeling of speed and power, the competence I feel as a driver. Listening to a favourite song. Looking at the frost sparkling in the sun on the branches and buds of the japonica. All free (or pretty cheap). All small. All adding to the cumulative weight of joy in my life each day.

Good things for the last week

• • Almost perfect afternoon tea at the Boatshed café where they not only served superb cheese scones but also let the dog run round with their resident dogs leaving me free to sit in the sun overlooking the river and read the Sunday paper in peace – bliss! (the brown lump in the picture is their chocolate lab Lola having a rest after tiring herself out begging for tidbits)
  
• • I got half the gate mended so it’s much easier to open and close
• • Discovered a couple of lovely reserves and had fun pottering round them with the dog
• • Paddling in the river and confusing the dog by throwing stones in the water beside him
• • A wonderful hot fire that warmed up the whole room on a frosty, bitter night
• • Warm bed on a frosty morning
• • Catching up with a friend while he fed the calves
• Great talks with two close friends from my hometown
• • Crunching round the garden in the frost enjoying the morning quiet and stillness
• • The pleasure of a fresh sheets on the bed
• • Reading books by two of my favourite authors, John Sandford and Scott Turow, both masters of their art
• • Feeling better after two days of being bedridden in the past week

The reasons for my absence

Apologies to those who read my blog daily (all three of you!) I realise I’ve posted only three days out of the last seven. This is due in part to the yo yo effect of ME. If I do too much, I then crash out and can do nothing. So Tuesday and Friday I spent completely bedridden. Saturday and Sunday I meant to post but I got beguiled by the beautiful weather and ended up spending most of my time outside, pottering round the garden and taking the dog out to the park. But I do intend to post every day this week! I just have to stick to my routine and remember not to do too much.

The best little dog in the world

My very good little (well, more medium-sized now) dog lies snoring on the armchair. What a different dog he is from a few weeks ago. Today I was so exhausted I gave him the run of the house with my disabled cat while I rested. I had no fear the dog would hurt or even threaten the cat. In my up moments the dog and I played tennis ball soccer in the hall and he was perfectly behaved – no biting or jumping. I can now go out into the yard with him and he doesn’t bite or jump up 95% of the time. When he does it takes only a short application of my new techniques before he reverts to a perfect gentleman, trotting calmly at my heels. I can sit on the couch with him and have a cuddle without being bitten or harassed.

I’m so proud. Not only of him, but of myself. Had I given up on him when he first started playing up, decided he was a problem dog or that the situation was beyond me, I would have missed out on all this fun and closeness. I feel a huge sense of accomplishment and pleasure at my success. It also reinforces for me that my general approach to problems works – keeping an open mind, believing they are solvable, gathering information, assessing pros and cons, forming action plans.

But the most important thing of all is that I didn't give up. Whether it’s dog problems or depression, I’ve learned that simply persisting in trying to find a solution is the key to succeeding. I know that just as with a badly behaved dog, depression can be tamed – there are more effective therapies out there than you can shake a stick at. It’s just a matter of trying different things until something(s) works. Then keeping on with it until it becomes a habit, just as coming when I say ‘come’ is becoming a habit with my sweet, well-behaved little, sorry, medium-sized dog.

Feel good, think better: Using positive experiences to aid cognitive work

A couple of days ago I posted about how positive experiences, including watching DVDs or performances, can lift your mood and help your thinking. Apart from helping you feel good this approach also has another use. Some people I’ve talked to avoid challenging their depressing thinking because focusing on it makes them feel bad. I’ve found one way to get round this is to watch a funny or uplifting movie first or see a friend. Then when I’m feeling better, I’m more able to cope with looking at thoughts I might find distressing, like ‘my life is a mess’ or ‘I can’t get on with other people’. Not only that, but because feeling positive emotions increases the ability to think clearly and creatively, I’m more able to see the holes in my thoughts and challenge them.

‘Why bother looking at your thoughts at all?’ I can hear you asking. ‘If watching a DVD or doing something fun makes you feel better, why not leave it at that?’ My personal reason for continuing to challenge and change my depressing thoughts is that it protects me against future depression. While it’s great that I can feel good when I watch a DVD or live performance, I can’t spend every waking hour doing that. What I know from experience is that if I learn to identify the thoughts that get me down and change them for something that makes me feel better I’m more able to enjoy life even when I’m not able to watch a movie. Working on my thoughts gets at the cause of my bad feelings and helps protect my happiness in times when positive experiences are scarce.

Good things for the last week

• Little girls from over the road came to visit and had a lovely time giving the dog ice cubes to crunch, throwing the ball for him, making chocolate milkshakes and drawing
• I finally got a mouse that works after the dog chewed my old one up and the replacement didn’t work
• Nice dinner and chat with a friend
• The inaugural meeting of the Waikato Bisexuals Group finally happened – a new era is born!
• Caught up with most of my emails
• Had a nice chat with my cousin
• Had coffee and delicious white chocolate raspberry ripple cheesecake with friends in Hamilton
- playing tennis ball soccer round the living room with the dog
• Found my best trousers! I thought I must have lost them for good

How to feel good quickly

I was recently sent a video clip by email. The friend who sent it said it brought tears to her eyes. Having been sent many such inspiring clips and pictures over the years and found most of them saccharine and sentimental, I was sceptical. The title ‘The Juggler’ didn’t reassure me. I didn’t see how a juggler could make me tearful, unless s/he dropped the balls, which would probably just make me cringe. To my surprise when I played it I was extraordinarily moved. A man ( whom I later learned is Chris Bliss) juggled three very ordinary looking tennis balls to the Beatles’ song ‘Golden Slumbers’. His timing and moves perfectly reflected the rhythm and moods of the music. I have heard of poetry in motion but this was music in motion. Despite myself I felt my own eyes pricking. More than that, I felt lifted onto a higher emotional plane. (To see the video click on this link.)

This is not an uncommon reaction to a movie, picture, performance or other positive experience. Researcher Barbara Frederickson has investigated the impact of positive experiences on emotions and thinking and found that not only do they make people feel better, but they improve their ability to think clearly and creatively. One of my most powerful experiences of this was when I was recovering from a serious suicide attempt. I was meeting a friend downtown to see a movie called Window on Paris. On my way there I felt so downhearted and emotionally pained I wished that the suicide attempt had succeeded. The film started in a poor apartment in Russia and didn’t seem likely to lift my spirits. But it took off in a whimsical and inspiring direction. By the time I left the theatre I was a different person. I felt in love with life, full of hope and joy, like life was really worth living.

I now know that when I feel down one of the easiest and most effective ways to lift my mood is to get out a bunch of funny or uplifting DVDs. Music and Lyrics, Zoolander, Blades of Glory, Step into Liquid and This is Spinal Tap are a few of the titles that will change my mood by the time they’re over. (In fact even looking at stills from Zoolander for this post got me smiling and intensified my already good mood as I remembered how funny and silly it was.) While it’s nice to know there’s a scientific basis for this the most important thing to my mind is that it works. Once I’ve watched the movie(s) I can see life with more hope and perspective. Problems seem smaller and joys are more obvious. It’s a winner.

Doing something nice for my future self

The other night I came home late after seeing a friend and found someone had laid the fire ready to light and filled up the water bottle I keep by my bed. Not big things, but not having to do them when I was tired made me feel cared for and special. Knowing that someone had been thoughtful enough to come in and do these things for me gave me a warm feeling.

In fact it wasn’t a big mystery who had done them. I had felt well enough to lay the fire and fill the water bottle before I left home. But that didn’t matter. I felt as cared for and nurtured as if a friend or my mother had come in and done it for me.

This reminded me about a technique I’ve used in the past to motivate myself to do things. Instead of thinking ‘I should…’ or ‘I ought to…’ do x, y or z I think of it as doing a favour for myself. I project myself into the future and think how pleased I’ll feel when I wake up tomorrow and find the dishes are done or I’ve paid those bills. When I reframe it as something I’m doing for myself, rather than something I’m making myself do because of some external pressure or standard, my feelings about the task change completely. And when my future self realises that the task is done I feel nurtured and cared about, just as much as if someone else had done it for me.

Why don’t more depressed people write about getting happy?

Yesterday’s post about books that have helped me feel better got me thinking about why there aren’t more books by people who’ve transformed their depression into happiness. In fact, counting them up on my fingers there are exactly…none. Actually that's not completely true. On the Edge of Darkness edited by Kathy Cronkite has at least one story of someone who found happiness. But as someone with a long and serious history of depression who is now happy for most hours of most days I find the lack of such books amazing. Why are the shelves not full of them?

It’s not as if there are not a lot of effective therapies about. Cognitive, behavioural, TLC (that’s therapeutic lifestyle changes for the uninitiated), ACT (acceptance and commitment therapy), omega 3 fatty acids, interpersonal therapy, exercise (both aerobic and anaerobic), bright light, positive psychology…there are more effective therapies for depression than you can shake a stick at. So where are all the books by people who have found happiness as a result of doing these therapies? This is a message that people suffering from depression desperately need to hear – that it is possible to be happy if you do proven effective things. That's my experience anyway.

Books that have helped me feel better

A lot of books have helped me feel happier and/or less depressed. The ones that come top of my list are:

1/ Feeling Good: The New Mood Therapy/ The Feeling Good Handbook by David Burns

It’s an interesting point whether less depression equals more happiness. I can say without hesitation that Feeling Good helped me feel less depressed, many times. I think it also helped me feel happier, although it wasn’t the total answer. I had a to look a lot further than the techniques Dr Burns teaches to achieve happiness. But these techniques helped me reduce my bad feelings and increase my good feelings, and helped me climb out of many a relapse. The Feeling Good Handbook helped me recover from a serious suicide attempt. Feeling Good has sold 3 million copies and I feel awed and humbled when I consider the number of people David Burns has helped, as well as profoundly grateful he wrote it. I wouldn’t want to be living today (and very possibly would not be) without the things I learned from his books.

2/ Learned Optimism by Martin Seligman

I cam across this book fairly late in the piece. Whereas I first encountered cognitive and behavioural techniques in 1982 after an episode of major depression, I didn’t find this landmark work until the late 90’s, when I largely had my depression under control. But it blew me away nonetheless. This book is about how thinking optimistically can not only make you feel better but help you be more successful in work and other areas of life. Research has since shown that optimistic thinking increases good health and life span. I found the book mind blowing and use the techniques it outlines to this day.

Finding opportunity in loss OR The dog ate my mouse

The reason I posted yesterday's blog entry today is that on Sunday night the dog ate my mouse. I left the living room to have a nap and just once - once! - forgot to put the mouse, keyboard and leads up high where the dog couldn't get them. When I came back to the room he was sitting on the sofa with the mouse between his paws.
'That's odd,' I thought. 'The mouse cord doesn't reach that far.'
Then I realised that Barney had improved the mouse so that it could be taken as far as he wanted - by chewing off the cord. Of course he did this right at the base so I couldn't mend it. My next thought was 'good - now I can get a wireless mouse'. That's when I started thinking about the doors that open when a door closes, and how each loss can bring with it opportunity.

The next day I went out on an unplanned trip to buy a new mouse. On my way out yelling next door alerted me that stress levels were high with kids home for holidays so I offered to take the oldest boy with me. He repaid me by running round the park with my dog so that I could sit and rest, since I was having a low energy day. We had a great outing and his mother got a break - another door that opened when Barney ate the mouse! Here are a few more examples of doors that opened when one closed in my life.

• I had to sell my house to pay my debts and move to a small country town, where I got the opportunity to meet a lot of new friends and get involved in some interesting new activities
• I was just about to take up a new permanent job when I had a relapse of ME, so instead I took on a research contract which led into a successful career as a secondary researcher, writer, public speaker and trainer that allowed me time to work flexible hours and rest more
• I missed out on my dream job once but got an even better one that I was much more suited
• I had to leave behind the Wellington Bisexual Women’s Group, which I so enjoyed being part of for over a decade. But in my new home I got involved with the Hamilton Pride committee and through them the wider rainbow community, which I really enjoy, and set up a new support/social group for bisexuals.

Good things for the last week

• I found my other glove!
• Lovely talks with two of my closest friends
• Neighbourhood kids came over for chocolate milkshakes and to play with dog, read and draw
• Unexpected positive feedback on something I wrote gave me a real boost in confidence
• Fun time gossiping with mates after the Hamilton Pride committee meeting and yummy supper
• Drive with a friend even though we couldn’t find the nature reserve we were looking for and it rained and was cold and grey, we had great talks and a great time and the dog enjoyed the ride and walks
• Apricot and apple strudel with icecream!
• I met another one of my neighbours and her dog and had a nice chat with her
  
• I walked Barney off the leash three times in unfamiliar places and he came when called most of the time – good boy!
• Sinking into a hot bath on a cold day
• I enjoyed lying in bed on Saturday night and Sunday morning reading the weekend paper
• Luxurious nap on Sunday when I felt really tired

Is perfect happiness the goal?

My friends are pretty frank with me, in a loving way. That’s they way I like them. When I showed the story of how I transformed my depression into happiness to my closest friend he said ‘it seems to me that as soon as you have another failed relationship, you’ll get depressed again.’ It's true that rejection is my weakest point, although he seemed to forget that not every break up has been followed by a depression. My break up with him, for instance. But it reminded me that I’m not always happy. I have my down hours, sometimes days. Occasionally I’m up and down for a week or two.

I called another close friend and asked her ‘Is there any point in writing my personal story if I’m not always happy?’
‘People are turned off by someone who’s perfectly happy,’ she said. Instantly I realised that she was right. Someone who’s struggling with depression is going to feel resentful of some Sally Sunshine who claims to be constantly happy. It’s just too high a standard to aim for – it almost sets you up to fail. It’s hard to be accepting of one’s ups and downs if perfect happiness is the goal, let alone feel safe revealing them to others.

After I hung up I asked myself ‘what have I got to say if I’m not always happy?’ I thought about what my life would be like if I had not made the decision, time after time, to pick myself up after each relapse, each bad day, and try again to find happiness. I very likely wouldn’t still be here. But if I was, I certainly wouldn’t have experienced as many moments, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years of happiness as I have. Happiness would not be my default position, something I notice mainly when it disappears. This then is what I have to say. It’s possible to be a lot happier if you try the things that work and keep on trying even when your mood falls over for a while. And that’s worth the effort.

Writings on the wall - anti-catastrophisation

I’m not sure if ‘anti-catastrophisation’ is actually a word but what I mean is talking back to thoughts of imminent disaster with more rational, realistic and calming thoughts. I’ve called this post ‘Writings on the wall’ because something I find helpful in countering my automatic thoughts is to write posters in big letters and bright colours and pin them on the wall. Each poster lists the best answers I’ve found to my most common upsetting thoughts. One of these is catastrophising. It’s something I learned from my Mum – she could make a major disaster out of losing a sock! But I’ve become an expert at it in my own right. Here are my writings on the wall about it.

Am I thinking gloomy thoughts? Assuming things will go wrong?

• I can assume it will turn out well and feel better
• I have no evidence that it will turn out badly
• Lots of things in my life have turned out well, even when it’s looked like they wouldn’t e.g. getting Barney, training him, moving to a small town, Bowie not being missing
• I don’t know how it will turn out. But given that it might turn out well (and that assuming it will turn out well makes life more enjoyable) I might as well assume it will all be OK and enjoy life more. My present moment is my only reality.

I find that when I start to panic about something or assume the worst, these thoughts make me feel a lot better.

N.B. The picture above is not of my actual mother, although this woman does look very distressed about the loss of a sock!

The Joy of Cat-astrophising

I arrive home from a trip to the beach and – as usual – the first thing I do is check the house and yard for my disabled cat to make sure he hasn’t found a way through the fence to the outside world. He is the Mr Magoo of the cat world – deaf, brain damaged, with erratic vision (he sees cats where there is only paper blowing in the wind and misses actual cats that walk right by him). But like Mr Magoo, he is supremely confident of his ability to negotiate the world despite this. He would go out onto the road in a minute, unaware that a cat who can’t hear a car coming and has a very slow reaction time is road kill about to happen. I’m more concerned than usual tonight because our new neighbours have two huuuge dogs that look very capable of jumping my fence and have no fence at their place to keep them in.

Bowie the cat is not on the bed where I usually find him. Neither is he anywhere in the house. I check the yard but there is no sign, and a white cat is fairly easy to see in the dark. I feel the symptoms of rising panic – acid in my throat, heart beating faster, a faint sick feeling. I return to the house for another look, wondering what I’ll do if I can’t find him. He could be anywhere. Then I hear his distinctive rusty gate meow. Goodness knows where he was hiding. He looks annoyed, as usual, as if he is tut-tutting about the age I’ve been away and suggesting that his jelly meat could do with refreshing. No wagging tail and ecstatic dog-like welcome here.

I feel a familiar sensation of relief – huge, all-consuming and intensely pleasurable. ‘This,’ I think with a sudden insight, ‘is the reward of catastrophizing – this wonderful feeling when the disaster doesn’t happen.’ No wonder I’m so addicted to it. The payoff is enormous. I’m not really sure how you counter this. But tomorrow I outline how I talk back to my catastrophising thoughts.

Things I'm looking forward to

There have been times in my life when I’ve felt that there was nothing to look forward to, that the future held only suffering and disaster. I’ve always been proved wrong. Now I know that the future always holds good things, however bleak my view of it may be. I reinforce this knowledge by keeping a list of things I’m looking forward to. I add to it every few days. Hope, I’ve found, is the antidote to despair. Here is my list for today.

• Making the recipe I found for savoury pinwheel scones – yum!
• Finding pictures for my posts – yay!
• Seeing Barney barndog when he comes home from his OM (original mother’s) place and seeing how excited he is to be home and see me (of course)
• Talking to my niece on the phone
• A nap today
• Sitting in the sun
• My feet warming up
• Making some more of the delicious Macau soup with potato, garlic, chorizo sausage and winter greens
• Getting the gate fixed so it’s easy to open and close
• Going for a drive with a friend and the dog this weekend to a nature reserve I’ve wanted to visit for ages if I feel well enough
  
• Bubble bath tonight
• Sinking into sleep

Unless I control the dog the dog controls my moods - or does he?

I have discovered the secret to controlling Barney barndog. It is by doling out miniscule portions of wet cat food (known in the vernacular as ‘jelly meat’) whenever he behaves as I desire. World domination is mine, provided I keep up stocks of Gourmet cat food. (Manufacturers please note, I’m ripe for a sponsorship deal here.) It occurred to me last night that I write about my dog so much in this blog that it’s a dog blog more a happiness blog. Maybe I should retitle it Bringing up Barney? Authentic Obedience? The How of Dog Training? Hmmm. It’s a thought. (I didn’t say a good one.)

The reality is that Barney’s behavior has a huge impact on my moods. When he is bitey, on days when walking round the yard is made difficult by having to drag behind me the creature attached by the teeth to my trousers or boots, when my hands are bleeding and sore from his nips – I really experience a lot of negative emotions. Anger, hatred, frustration, shame, rage, misery, despair. All my old feelings of failure and inferiority come rushing back. I have to work extra hard not to take it personally, not to project it into the future as a never-ending failure, not to feel my whole life is crappy. In fact as I write I realise it’s about the three p’s of learned optimism – personalization, permanence and pervasiveness. The four p’s when you add in Barney’s accidents on the carpet. (Not the kind of p Martin Seligman had in mind I suspect.)

Now that I’m fully implementing the Dog Listener method life is much happier, and so am I. Today we’ve only had a couple of bitey episodes, strictly confined to the blanket, which soon ceased when I ignored him. Other than that he has been a sweet, playful, loving little dog. Right now he’s sound asleep on one side of the fire while my white cat sleeps on his blanket on the other side. Even Barney’s attempts to take over Bowie’s blanket have been so half-hearted that a look and a raised eyebrow on my part put an end to them. (Barney has a bad case of blanket envy.) Today I feel happy, even light hearted, playful and elated (it’s good to get full value from my thesaurus). It’s easy for me to assume this is because Barney is good. But I know it’s much more to do with how I’m thinking. While it’s tempting to believe that good dog = good mood, I have a lot more control over it than that. It is situations like this that make me glad I know so much about identifying the thoughts that make me feel bad and modifying them. And that I have a copy of The Dog Listener!

Count what counts - noticing achievements

Just now I found myself thinking ‘I did nothing yesterday – what a slack day I had.’ Long experience of how my thoughts quietly lie to me alerted me to a wrongful assumption about to slip past the internal radar.
‘Hang on,’ I said to myself. ‘Is that really true? What did I actually do yesterday?’

The list went something like this:

• brought firewood in
• tidied the bedroom
• did my asthma breathing exercises
• put a wash through
• dried firewood
• made a fire
• hung out the wash
• did some dishes
• spent time playing with the dog and training him
• put out the ingredients for the soup I’m planning to make
• finished my tax calculations and filled in the form
• typed up ideas for future blog entries
• posted a blog entry
• found pictures for it.

When I stopped and looked at it this was hardly ‘nothing’, especially for someone with a chronic illness having a bad day. The mistake I was making was focusing on what I’d planned to do and hadn’t got done (yet). Like: make the new soup recipe, cook a roast, make spaghetti Bolognese, make cottage pies, write new blog entries, add pictures to old blog entries, do some writing. When I looked at it I realised this was quite a daunting list, even for someone with good health. In paying attention to all the things I hadn’t done I’d overlooked all the things I had done and ended up thinking I’d done ‘nothing’.

I know why I do this – I was brought up by adults who pointed out to me what I hadn’t done, or what I could have done better. I don’t think they meant to be cruel or destructive (although there was a certain amount of, shall we say, ego enhancement in it for them). It was more how they saw the world. So my job is to overcome this childhood conditioning and remember to notice all the things I achieved, rather than getting fixated on everything I didn’t manage to do today.

Good things for the last week

• I really enjoyed watching the film ‘For the Bible Tells us So” about the (bogus) Biblical basis for homophobia and the effect it has had on five families
• It was nice to see my buddies from the Hamilton Pride committee there
• my interview on the Bisexuals Group that I’m setting up finally recorded for Flat Out Queer radio after one failed attempt, and it was fun doing it
• delicious savoury pinwheel scones from the Tokoroa New World bakery – so huge and full of cream cheese, ham, and other good things
• One of my best friends rang from Wellington and we had a great chat
• Barney went to play with the older Staffy cross next door and they both had a wonderful time romping in the back yard
• Lovely drive past green fields bathed in afternoon sun, trees casting long shadows, some still covered with orange and rust coloured leaves
• Road works meant I could drive slowly past a thin waterfall that starts as a stream running across a paddock then falls over a rock slip into a gully surrounded by leafless poplars – if I was going normal speed I would have missed it
• I finally finished my GST return!
• I made good inroads on my backlog of emails

Success (sort of) using problem solving techniques

Today I went and sat in the sun with Barney on his duvet and we had an almost bite-free pleasant time. He snuggled into my side, biting on his chew toy instead of me or my clothes. This is such a contrast to even two days ago when sitting on the duvet with him outside would lead to a vicious wrestling match ending with me angry and nursing sore, bleeding hands, almost hating him. Now Barney is snoozing by the wood burner on his blanket, looking like a placid puppy who wouldn’t dream of biting anyone.

This seems like a miracle, and I hope it lasts. I achieved it the way I’ve achieved every improvement in my mood, every conquest of a relapse of depression – by trial and error, researching the evidence, reviewing what I’ve tried so far – what worked, what didn’t – and brainstorming new ways around the problem. My father taught me problem solving techniques when I’d had a fight with my best friend at 16. Despite initial scepticism I found them marvellous and have used them ever since. They’ve been reinforced by the problem solving approach inherent in cognitive therapy, which I’ve been using for over quarter of a century.

So it is natural to apply a problem solving approach to the Barney situation. I know I’m doing something that is accidentally rewarding his biting. Somehow I need to get the message into his little doggie head that biting results in no fun. I’ll keep trying, reviewing, revising until I get back the non-bitey dog I first knew and liked. I just went outside and got nipped again so it’s back to the drawing board, but I know I’ll get there in the end if I just keep trying and don’t give up.

Strangely happy

For F who loves lyricism and D who loves choosing to be happy

Yesterday was not a day I’d expect to feel happy. I was ill, so weak that it was an effort to walk to the kitchen. Back in bed I enjoyed the sunshine coming through the open window, then sank into delicious sleep. When I woke it was early evening. The color was washing out of the sky, leaving it a pale pastel blue, fading into white, then soft orange. Wispy grey clouds were smudged against the sunset and higher up, where a faint blue remained like a water color, there was a white cloud, so faint that it was only just possible to see its tracery. Gradually it dissolved into the blue. The day was warm. As I lay there I enjoyed the faint touch of a cool breeze against my skin. I drank it in as it lapped around me, as if my pores were sipping at a cool drink. As I cooled I let my attention drift out the window.

My mind mused idly about the problems in my life – health, finances, relationships. But strangely, rather than feeling depressed or even sad, I felt gently, peacefully joyful, as if I were floating on top of the problems, untouched. These things just were. I recognised them but at that moment they were not a burden. As I gazed out the window I felt a sense of pleasant anticipation, as if I was on the verge of something very nice happening, instead of stranded in a strange town, bedridden and unsure of my future. It was quite inexplicable. My feelings soared into joy, as if my soul was about to fly out the window. I watched myself feeling these things with wonderment – the emotions didn’t seem to fit the circumstances. But nonetheless they were the feelings I had, so I enjoyed them.

My mind wandered off to doodle among some technical problems in my writing. I thought with pleasure about how much I love writing, love becoming absorbed in creating until the world and its concerns fade into silence. I thought about how lucky I am to be able to get out as often as I do, to have a brother who provides a home for me in my illness. Even on this day I seemed surrounded by joy, by goodness. I found it a little strange. But why should my happiness be anchored to circumstance? I deserve to feel happy whatever my circumstances.

Planning to have fun

For K – who likes me to cut to the chase and be practical!

One of the things I’ve found most useful in building good feelings is planning ahead to have good times. I know this sounds a bit anal (as a friend once told me ‘think of the first four letters of the word analytical Kaye – that describes your personality’.) ‘Planning to have fun? Shouldn’t you just have fun, like…spontaneously? Dude?’

I’ve found it’s easier to have fun if I plan activities I'll probably enjoy. If I don’t plan one of two things can happen:

1. I take on too much and get exhausted and stressed, or
2. I plan too little and get bored, lonely and depressed.

Experience tells me the things I’m most likely to enjoy. Almost any social activity will probably boost my mood, although I’m not a huge sports fan. I have been known to appreciate a good game of netball or even the All Blacks when they pass the ball and don’t constantly drop it and jump on top of each other. But I’d rather go to a writing group or church, spend time with friends, take the dog for a walk or romp with a friend who has dogs (the dog romps – I sit sedately on the sofa), or go to a café.

On my own I like to do things like write, find pictures for my blog, talk on the phone, read, listen to music, go to the library, google stuff, cook or watch a funny DVD. I also like to go for drives through places of natural beauty – that almost always makes me feel good.

A good week for me will include social time and alone time, chores and things I like doing. I try to make Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays time to do admin work, finances, rest, stay at home and write. Wednesday is my ‘day off’ when I tend to end up going to appointments, library, vet etc.
Weekends really are time off. This Saturday I’ll spend at home, writing, resting, and cooking. I’ll visit the library and DVD shop if I’m up to it. Sunday I’ll head to Tauranga to visit my Mum, take Barney barndog to the beach and have coffee with my friend. It'll be fun - I can’t wait!

Control what you can and forget the rest

In room 19 my friend lay hooked up to the machine that pushed air into his lungs and sucked it out again, aiding the muscles that were too wasted to do it themselves. A few minutes off this and he would start to suffocate. His skin was pasty and scaly, and inside his smart stripey pajamas he was starting to look like someone rescued from a concentration camp. Despite the sun I could see shining on the grass and roses outside his window the bed was piled high with blankets because his wasted body meant he was always cold.

‘There was a lot of excitement here yesterday,’ he told me painfully slowly, his eyes shining with the news. I had learned to understand him when he talked through the mask, although it was hard at first.
‘What happened?’
‘One of the ladies with Alzheimer’s went for a walk and they couldn’t find her. She hid in my room.’
‘Bloody hell,’ I laughed. ‘Did they find her in the end?’
‘I had to ring for the nurses and tell them where she was.’

That was about as exciting as it got in there. I fell quiet then asked him ‘How are you?’
‘As well as can be expected,’ he replied, as usual, but I wanted more.
‘Are you feeling sad?’
‘What’s the point?’ His thin shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. ‘I can’t change it. I can either focus on the things I can’t do or on the things I can, so I focus on the things I can.’

This was an amazing change for a man who formerly rivalled Chicken Little with his capacity to worry about every little thing that might go wrong. In some ways he was happier now than before he got sick. Part of that was because of the high level of female attention he was getting, which he thrived on. But a big part of it was his new philosophy of focusing only on what he could control and not fretting about all the rest. To my surprise, as the one who had always been more positive, I found him inspiring.

Resilience - picking yourself up when life knocks you down

Not every day is easy even when you’re habitually happy. Today did not have a good start. While I was practising being a good alpha bitch and ignoring the dog he proceeded to tear the stuffing out of one of my good cushions. When I saw it I pulled him off the couch onto the floor, screaming ‘I don’t have many nice things and you’re not gonna destroy them’. Then I sat down and burst into tears. Not the procedure recommended by The Dog Listener, although it did have the positive effect of stopping the dog in his tracks.

The truth is some days it all seems too much. While I am truly grateful to my brother for providing a home I can (almost) afford to live in, I miss my lovely house and my sea views. I miss my friends. I’m excited about the possibility of a new career but it’s a huge effort to try and write regularly when I’m often lacking energy for even simple household tasks. And I miss the perks of working – not only the income, but the status, the socialising, the feeling of being a useful member of society.

Which leads me to ask – how do we cope when life knocks us down, whether through illness, bereavement or recession? For myself it’s always been a matter of picking myself up and looking for the next opportunity. In my experience even when all doors seem closed, there will be one that is open. I say to myself ‘phoenix from the ashes’, which reminds me that that’s my nature. No matter how low life has taken me, I’ve always risen again, bigger and better than ever. And I look for role models, in my case people with ME who have developed successful careers as writers. All of this gives me hope, and motivates me to keep trying. I can’t completely stop bad things from happening but I can control how I react to them – to at least some extent – so that’s what I focus on doing.