Read, Pray, Love: Part Two

Following on from my post Read, Pray, Love I wanted to write something more. Since writing that post, though it wasn't actually all that long ago, I have had time to think about a great many things. I went to Brighton for a few days last week to visit some friends and my baby goddaughter. Being away from York was exactly what I needed. I spent most of my time with friends but I also took some time for me. I went running along the sea front, I read a fair bit, I read my Bible and I prayed. I feel so much better physically, mentally and emotionally for having had that time to rest and to look after myself. Starting back at Uni this week after the Christmas break and after spending that much-needed time in Brighton I feel, not only prepared, but almost buzzing for what this term and my future hold. I have rediscovered my passion and enthusiasm for life and I cannot wait to get on and do things; to live life. To love life.

My new year's resolutions include to read more, to pray more and to love more. And I have decided that as a way of keeping these particular resolutions, I am going to do a kind of series of blog posts under the umbrella title Read, Pray, Love. I've not worked out any kind of schedule for the posts or even what most of the content will be. Some, if not most, of the posts are going to be based on the books that I read. Mostly Christian or psychology books. The posts may take a kind of book review format or they may take a different form completely.

Other posts are going to be about my prayer life. I am going to try and be as honest as possible in these posts, because I don't feel that enough Christians reveal how truly vulnerable and messed up they are and I am as guilty of this as the next person. So I want to express just how messed up I can be but also to show that, I may be vulnerable, but I am no more vulnerable than anyone else; I am just, simply human.

As for the final part of the Read, Pray, Love. I'm not sure how I will reflect this part in blog posts. It's going to take time for me to work out what I'll write and it could take any form or style. But I am going to try, again, to be as honest as possible in these posts. As I wrote in the first Read, Pray, Love post, I find it difficult to trust people and to love people, so I think that this is going to be the most difficult part for me. But it's going to be an interesting journey.

You will be able to find all future Read, Pray, Love posts on the Read, Pray, Love page by clicking on the tab at the top of the blog page or by following this link: Read, Pray, Love Page.

Read, Pray, Love

I've always loved to read; it's my safe place. Somewhere I can just escape to, through the pages of a book. It is the very reason I study literature. But, even though I get to read all the time whilst studying, and I really love what I do, I miss simply reading for pleasure. I miss getting to pick up a new book, a book I have chosen to read, and going wherever my mood takes me. I've received a lot of encouragement recently to take more time out; to try not to stress about work too much, and to spend time for myself. So, in my time off, I've been taking time to read more, for pleasure. I was also challenged recently by a good friend who had been praying for me, especially about my Uni work, to spend more time with God. Even more time than I think I can spend, just reading and praying and being with God. I really felt this challenge. All last term I struggled to make it to small group due to my University timetable. I struggled to make it to church due to my lack of motivation. And I struggled to consistently spend time with God because I had so much work to do. Recently, my head has been a bit of a mess. There are a few reasons for this. The stress I put myself under with regards to Uni work does not help. But my lack of time with God is the greatest issue. I am going to be scarily honest here and admit that I have not actually sat down and read my Bible in quite a while. Nor have I even read any Christian books. And this scares me. The Bible should be the one book I read consistently and continually. It is the first book I should turn to when I need to rest. The first book I should turn to when I am struggling. And the first book I should turn to when I sit down to begin my work. But not only is it the first book I should turn to, it is also the last book. When the day is over; when my struggles have been overcome; when that essay has finally been submitted only ten minutes before the deadline. Then, also, I should turn to the Bible and thank God for the blessings He has poured out on my life; for fighting my battles for me; for helping me get that essay done and submitted in time.

I once heard someone say, during a preach, that he spent an hour everyday with God, except when he was busy. Then he spent two hours with God. My friend was right when she challenged me to spend more time than I think I can with God, especially when I am so busy with work. Because it is in the times when we are busy, or struggling, or stressed, or just consumed by work that we need God most. Sure, He is our rest and we should make sure to rest in Him often. But He is also our strength and so we need to rely on Him when we are tired and stressed and working too hard.

I've never been very good at relying on other people. Years of hurt and abuse and betrayal taught me not to trust anyone and I'm very independent and self-reliant, so I still find it extremely difficult to trust or rely on anyone, including God. I know that I need to learn to rely on God more and that to do that I need to read the Bible and pray more. Spending time with God - finding strength in Him, resting in Him - isn't just about reading the Bible, it's praying; being in conversation with God. My friend's challenge to me to spend more time with God wasn't just about reading my Bible more, though of course that's part of it, but it was about praying more and learning to rely on God, especially in hard times.

Learning to rely on God means learning to love God. I am not exactly a faithful person. I don't so much 'believe in' God as simply cannot deny His existence. For me, I know that God exists, I've always known that He exists, I can't even try to deny this. But that doesn't mean that I've always loved Him. In fact, I've always struggled to love Him and for a long time I was very angry with Him. Still am sometimes. It has taken a long time for me to even begin to learn to rely on God. I'm not there yet. And I'm not quite there yet when it comes to loving Him either. But I am getting there. Slowly. I don't think He blames me though, I have a lot of issues to work on here.

It is because God loves us that we are able to love Him and through loving Him, we can learn to love others and are instructed to do so. Sometimes I feel like I'm not a very loving person. I try. But I really struggle to even be around people sometimes, let alone to love them. It's something I constantly battle with. Not being able to trust people makes loving them rather difficult. It is the people I have loved who have hurt me most. Perhaps I have not loved very wisely in the past and so have hardened my heart. The Bible tells us to guard our hearts and perhaps I have guarded mine a little too fiercely, but I think I am beginning to feel again. It's terrifying. And I've still got a long way to go. But I am learning to spend time with God; to trust in Him and rely on Him, and to love Him.

***

I had initially finished the post there but I wanted to share one extra thing:

My biggest fear in posting this is that people are going to think that I'm going through a period of doubt or that I'm in a really bad place either spiritually or mentally But I'm not. I'm just being honest. And, honestly, I've been in much worse places than this. And I got out of them. My head actually feels clearer than it has done in a long time. I will be fine. I always am. And right now, that's good enough for me.

difficult decisions and admitting that i *may* have been wrong

So, as those of you who know me personally will know, I was pretty damn certain that once I finished at therapy I would return to Brighton to finish my degree in Philosophy and English Literature. As you will also know, I am really stubborn. In fact that is an understatement. I am ridiculously stubborn. And I hate admitting that I am wrong. For a long while, I avoided even thinking about University; stuck in this little part of my brain that was stubbornly convinced that I would return to Brighton and everything would be great. I wouldn't even let myself admit that I was scared that actually it wouldn't be all that great; because last time I thought that it would be great and... well... look what happened there. Then, just after Christmas, my mother brought up the subject of University. It's hard for me to realise this, let alone accept it, but she's scared too. She's scared of how ill I was and of what might happen if I go back to Brighton. She may not have put it in the best way and it may have turned into an argument, but what she said basically amounted to her telling me she's scared for me, she doesn't think I'll be ready to go back to Brighton and she doesn't want to have to go through what she went through last time if it doesn't work out again. She wanted me to transfer to York St John. I didn't want to listen at first. There's a whole bunch of issues that goes along with this, like feeling stupid for failing Uni; feeling like I'm going backwards; feeling like a child, unable to look after myself; not wanting to end up like some people I know who are in their 40s and still live at home... the list goes on, and on, and on. I was also scared that York St John wouldn't accept me and then I'd never be able to finish my degree. (That may seem like a silly fear, but it's not for me. I have a very low opinion of myself and I genuinely cannot see why they would accept me.) Eventually, I realised I had to think about this stuff. In fact, after that conversation, I couldn't stop thinking about stuff. Getting my degree is what's most important to me now. I was lazy in my GCSEs and ALevels. And in my first year of my degree to an extent. And then my damned psycho brain decided to screw it all up even more. It was bound to happen eventually. Anyway... I've realised that what I really want is to get my degree, do a PGCE and become an English teacher. And whether I do those things in Brighton or in York, or even on the moon, doesn't matter. The important thing is to do them. Sure I don't want to live at home forever, and I won't, but right now, it's my best shot of getting a degree. And if therapy has taught me anything - actually, it's taught me a lot - it's taught me that sometimes, just *sometimes* mind, I can be wrong and I am too stubborn for my own good. So I decided to do something that I have never done in the history of ever, and I listened to my mother. *Pause for the shocked horror of my friends* I looked at the English Literature and Creative Writing course at York St John - they don't do Philosophy and actually I love writing so this course makes a lot of sense - and I emailed them about transferring. I had a lot of support and prayer from my friends in York. I've settled into a church here now - York City Church - and everyone has been so loving and welcoming and I have met so many people and made so many friends, the idea of leaving actually would make me incredibly sad. I would miss everyone, A LOT. So maybe staying in York could work out. Finally, after various emails and the University looking over my grades and everything, just over a week ago now, they said they would be happy to accept me as a transfer. I still have to do a UCAS form - I MUST be masochistic! - but I'm basically in. I wasn't expecting quite how happy this actually made me. I got in. And I get to stay in York, at my wonderful church, with all my wonderful friends. And my family, however much I argue with my mother at times, will be close by if I need them. So I've almost completed the dreaded UCAS form. I even made the daring step of contacting my academic advisor from Sussex to request a reference, which he agreed to do. I just have to do the personal statement. The worst part. The part that I tried to do last weekend and just ended up with hundreds of screwed up balls of paper all over my bedroom floor, and then have just avoided doing for the rest of the week. Funny how I can sit at my laptop and write this so easily and without a second's thought, but not write a personal statement - which is what I had originally intended to do when I sat down to my laptop earlier this evening. My skills of avoidance and procrastination know no bounds! - just don't tell my therapists... especially PHIL! Who wants me to write and draft and then take it into therapy for people to read and tell me if it's good and what else I can include, because apparently I'm too harsh a critic to myself and I just *think* it's crap but actually other people will be able to tell me it's not. Well this is just another of my many millions of issues... I cannot write about myself, especially not favourably, and I really think that most of what I write is a load of crap anyway so writing a personal statement is hell for me! As for letting other people at therapy see it?! No thank you! I don't want them realising that actually I'm really thick. And I'm really bad at taking criticism and practical advice so this is really just going to end badly. I did mention that I'm stubborn, right? I have this feeling that I'm going to just write it and send it and then make excuses next week, but I know that I really really shouldn't do that... So now I'm stuck. Because I know that the right thing for me therapeutically would be to do as Phil suggested and write a draft and let people at therapy help me, but I'm really so stubborn - and actually really fragile - that I don't know if I can do it... I wonder how this one is going to play out. Anyway... I have successfully avoided actually writing this damned personal statement for a good hour or so now... and I really should quit with the procrastination and just get on with it... Oh well, this was fun while it lasted. I'll post again sometime... not sure when. I'm pretty crappy when it comes to this blogging thing; I have no self-discipline - yet another issue I need to deal with, no wonder I'm in therapy!

Honesty, Fears and Infertility

On Friday September 14^th 2012 I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome or PCOS. I had heard of PCOS but didn’t know much about it until I watched a television programme on which there was a woman who suffered from the syndrome. Some of the symptoms sounded similar to symptoms that I had been experiencing for years so I looked up the syndrome online. The symptoms include: irregular or absent periods; excessive hair growth; excessive weight gain or difficulty losing weight; severe acne, not just limited to the face, and cysts on the ovaries. Depression can also be a symptom of PCOS. I went to my GP and described the symptoms to him, asking him if it was possible that I had PCOS. My doctor said it was highly likely that I did have it and so he took some blood to test for it. The first lot of tests were inconclusive but my GP was fairly certain that I had the syndrome and so he referred me to an Endocrinologist; a specialist who deals with hormone disorders including diabetes and PCOS. I saw the Endocrinologist on the 14^th September and he did several tests, as well as a physical examination, before officially diagnosing me with PCOS.

            PCOS is caused mostly by a hormonal imbalance. The ovaries produce more male hormones than they should which affects the production of eggs and leads to the production of lots of little cysts all over the ovaries. PCOS also has an element of insulin resistance. Women who have the syndrome have an excess of insulin which increases the production of the male hormones, causing all of the symptoms. This is also what makes it difficult for women with PCOS to lose weight because their bodies cannot process sugars and starches properly. The increased weight, however, also makes the symptoms worse creating a kind of vicious cycle which is difficult to get out of.

            There are a couple of different treatments for PCOS. The usual treatment is just to take the contraceptive pill, which increases the levels of female hormone thus reducing some of the symptoms, however, this doesn’t always work especially for women with a high insulin resistance factor. A treatment that has become more frequently offered to women with insulin resistance is a drug called Metformin. Metformin is traditionally a Diabetes medication, which is why it helps with the insulin resistance. For women who receive the Metformin treatment, they are also required to dramatically alter their diets in order to help them lose weight and to allow the drug to work more effectively.

            When I saw the Endocrinologist in September he decided that the best treatment for me was the Metformin treatment. Since I saw him, I have been trying to follow the diet advice I was given, have lost some weight and have noticed some improvement in a couple of the symptoms. I saw the Endocrinologist again in December and he seemed pleased enough with the progress I had made, so he said that I wouldn’t need to see him again until next September, a year after I was first diagnosed. The diet is sometimes difficult to manage and I’m hoping to see a dietician at some point to help me get it more under control.

            So far all I’ve written about in this post is factual stuff about Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, but one fact I’ve not directly mentioned, the one that scares me most, is that PCOS can cause infertility. I’ve not written at all about how being diagnosed with PCOS has made me feel. I have always wanted children. I have never wanted anything more than to have children one day; a family of my own. And I have always had this fear, this immense, awful fear, that I won’t be able to. I used to think that I would never have children, just because I never thought that any man would want me enough to marry me and have children with me. But I let myself hope, dream, that maybe actually God would give me a husband. And then I get told that because of my PCOS I might be infertile; might never be able to have children. And that thought is almost destroying me. People keep telling me to try not to worry about it. That I can’t know for certain that I am infertile until I try for a family and get tested. That I’m just catastrophising it in my head; creating a problem that may not exist. But when your life’s hopes and dreams have been almost entirely built on something, to have even the slightest uncertainty that you will get it… it feels like the whole world has been ripped out from under you. I feel like my future has been destroyed and though I’ve been trying not to think like that and to think about other things I could do in my future, but it feels like there is this massive black hole in my life that is never going to close. And I can’t help but think that my life has no purpose, if I’m not able to have children.

            Call me melodramatic. Say I’m over-reacting. But this thing is killing me. And I just needed to tell the truth. To someone. Anyone. Everyone. I’m scared. Terrified. I just want to have children.

An Exercise in Pointlessness

            So today began the third week in the mad house and this afternoon we had art therapy. As I mentioned in my post ‘Week Two in the Mad House’, I really struggle with the art therapy sessions as I just don’t get it. Today, at the beginning of the session people started to have a go at me about the fact that I prefer to write rather than draw or paint. Well, perhaps saying they were ‘having a go at me’ is a little immature, but I felt persecuted by everyone in the room. I know that the point of therapy is to make the things that are uncomfortable, comfortable, but people pressing me just makes the urge to fight or run away, even stronger. I also felt like people weren’t listening to what I was saying. Everyone kept telling me to just do whatever came to mind; to follow my instinct, but I do that through writing. Art doesn’t come naturally to me, words do, and so telling me to do what comes naturally, inspires me to write. I express myself through words; this blog is evidence of that. But no one would listen when I tried to explain this.

            Because of this I was frustrated and angry, so when it came to actually making the art I admit that I was stubborn and rebelled slightly. I spent ages looking through the art supplies for inspiration and just got more and more annoyed, but I was convinced that the therapist was making note of my stubbornness and so eventually decided to do something random just to prove how pointless it was. Pointless making me do something without feeling or meaning. I found a picture in a tattoo magazine of a tattoo of an eye. The image meant nothing to me; it was just the nicest one I saw. I cut it out and stuck it to a piece of card and then just left it at that. I called it ‘An Exercise in Pointlessness’ because I felt no connection to it; it held no meaning for me; it just felt completely pointless. After that there was still loads of time left and I still felt angry and frustrated, so I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and scrawled in large letters, taking up the entire A3 page, the question ‘WHY?’ I have felt so disillusioned with a number of things recently, the therapy being just one of them. By writing ‘why’ I was not only questioning being made to do something I didn’t want to, and thought was pointless, but I was voicing my doubts about a number of things. One might argue that by doing this I found purpose in the art therapy but I did so by using words; or at least a word. I didn’t use paint. I didn’t draw something. I wrote something. Which just proves my point that words can be ‘art’ and you don’t have to make an image.

            By this point the anger had receded slightly but I still felt like being stubborn and so, as there was still some time left, I grabbed another piece of paper. This time I just signed it and then left the rest of the page blank. My point in doing this was to express exactly what came to my mind when I entered art therapy on a Monday afternoon, NOTHING. Finally the time for creating the art was up and we had to sit and give feedback on each other’s work. Obviously people commented on mine, saying that they found it provocative and aggressive. I said that I felt apathetic towards my pieces of work but that may have been a slight lie. I did feel little towards the first piece that I did, but I was being stubborn when I said that they all meant nothing. Truthfully, I felt, and still feel, angry and upset and frustrated about the whole art therapy session and about the work I created.

            I’m still annoyed because, however childish it may be, I feel like I gave in to the pressure to create art. I was stubborn and deliberately made a point, through my work, of trying to rebel, by still using words and refusing to create something; leaving a blank page. But I gave in and produced something. And now I find myself questioning my work and the purpose and meaning that I placed upon it. I also find myself wondering why it is, exactly, that I dislike art so much. If therapy is going to make me think this much, I’m not sure I like it – and now I really am being stubborn and childish.

            I will write again soon I am sure.

God bless

KV

Week Two in the Mad House

            So I did actually go back to the group therapy thing this week. It was a difficult decision to make myself return because I really didn’t want to. But I forced myself to persevere. I realised that not to go back would only serve to spite myself. Last week, when those two community members walked out, I became upset because of my own history of storming out of therapy. I realised that if I were to not return, especially after so short a period of time, I would just be doing what I always do when I don’t like something or it becomes too difficult – running away. And if I really want to recover, I have to overcome my fears and my constant urge to run away from them.

            So as I said, I went back. Monday morning was rather uneventful but art therapy that afternoon was a struggle. I have issues with art. I am not artistic person and sometimes I just don’t get it, but my biggest problem is what is counted as ‘art’ and what is not. I work in words. I love words and I see them as art but, in the art therapy sessions, we are expected to produce an image of some kind; a drawing, a painting or even a sculpture. But not words. Or at least not just words. Both of my pieces of work that I have done in the art therapy sessions so far have been composed of just words. My first piece was just a page full of random quotes that popped into my head – I didn’t give a great deal of thought to it, I just can’t do art. But my second piece was more considered. I spent what felt like an eternity staring blankly at all of the art supplies trying to think of something to draw or paint. It was too stressful though, so I just ended up grabbing a piece of paper and a pencil and wrote a great long rant about ‘art’ and what it really is; what really constitutes ‘art’.

            Obviously people have already noticed my aversion to art and the fact that my two pieces of work thus far have been pieces of writing, and there has been discussion about it over the course of the week. On Tuesday, because another member of the community was leaving this week, there was a review of his artwork from his year on the programme. I looked at his art with everyone else but I felt a little awkward doing so as the art from the programme is a very intimate, personal thing and I had only known the guy a short while. At the review, two of the therapists asked me what I felt about the artwork and if any piece in particular affected me. Whilst talking to one of these two therapists about art and my difficulties with it, he said he found it interesting that I do not much like art because people are usually very visual. He also asked about my preoccupation with words and writing, and he made me think about why I love words so much and why I don’t like art very much. It was a difficult conversation and I still haven’t quite worked out the answers to the questions it raised.

            On Tuesday afternoon we had a session called awareness. It’s difficult to explain exactly what ‘awareness’ is about. This week we did something known as ‘empty chair’. ‘Empty chair’ is an exercise in direct communication. People took turns to sit in front of other members of the community and say something to them directly, without receiving a response, about something that has been bothering them. The subjects of the direct communications were not always grievances, but the point of the exercise was to help people with issues regarding talking to people directly, especially about difficult subjects. It also helps people listen to and accept confrontation without responding directly and immediately. I felt very uncomfortable during the session as I really struggle with confrontation. I also have problems with paranoia and rejection which mean I worry about what people think of me. This made me really anxious during the ‘empty chair’ exercise as I was terrified of the thought that someone would say something horrible to me and that they didn’t like me. No one did say anything horrible to me. In fact, the one person who did say anything to me, was very kind and said that I had done very well in the therapy so far and that I fit into the group easily. I was very grateful for what she said and she had been really encouraging. I’m still terrified that someone will say that they hate me, and I hate the thought of having to do the ‘empty chair’ exercise again, but I guess that therapy is about dealing with difficult things and the things we don’t like and are scared of.

            Wednesday mornings we have small group therapy which is when the community splits into two groups and then sit around and discuss issues within each group. In my group the discussion got around to the topic of relationships which is a difficult subject for many people, including me. During the discussion, a few people mentioned that they had put on weight almost in attempts to make themselves unattractive to people because they couldn’t deal with relationships or even attention from prospective partners. This raised an issue for me. I decided a few years ago that I no longer wanted to engage in casual relationships as I want to wait for my husband, which is very important to me, especially given my faith. I have also since realised that God wants me to remain single in order to concentrate on my recovery, and to truly find my identity in Him before growing into an identity in a relationship with someone. Around the same time as I made the decision to be single, I started to put on a lot of weight. I had believed that my weight-gain was due to the fact that I have always had problems with my weight and it has always fluctuated, a lot. I had never thought that perhaps my weight-gain was related to my decision to enter singleness but, during the discussion in small group therapy, I began to wonder if perhaps the two were actually linked. I’m still not certain of a connection, but it has made me wonder and start to examine more closely the reasons behind my current weight problem, and even my persistent issues with my weight.

            Thursday mornings consist of reviews in which two community members talk about their therapy and their goals, and receive feedback from the rest of the community and the therapists. The reviews occur for each community member once every six to eight weeks, so I will not have my first one for another few weeks yet (the thought of which terrifies me). Obviously, due to confidentiality issues, I cannot write about what is said in the reviews of other community members. After the reviews, there is check-out which involves each community member talking about how the week was for them and what they would be doing over the weekend. When it was my turn to talk about my plans for the weekend, someone suggested that I take some time to plan what I would do in art therapy the next Monday, as it had been noticed that my last two pieces had been writing. This brought laughs, especially from the therapist who had been asking me about my aversion to art on the Tuesday. I admit I pulled a face, partly because I had been caught out and partly because I really don’t like art.

            This week has brought up a lot of issues for me which I told the community I would bring into the group next week – including my dislike of art. Another issue that arose this week came from the discussion on Wednesday about relationships. I had mentioned God when talking about my decisions with regards to relationships and had explained that my faith had a lot of bearing upon my relationship choices. Everyone in the community is aware of my faith but the talk of it, especially with regards to relationships, brought up issues within the group especially for a couple of the community members who are gay. I think that these issues need exploring further and not just for the benefit of those with objections to my faith, but also because I took issue with some of the things that were said in response to my beliefs.

            I guess this suggests that I will be returning next week. I still have the same doubts about this therapy as I did before, and I still want to just run away and not go back, but I know that I need to persevere. I am already feeling some benefit from the programme, and I know that any further benefit will take time and hard work, so I will go back. And I will continue to do so for as long as it is right for me to do so. I know that this is what God wants for me and so I need to trust in that and in Him; which is a rather difficult thing for me to do.

            Prayer for the therapy and for the things it raises would be greatly appreciated and I will update again next week.

Thanks and God bless

KV

Week One in the Mad House

            Things have been moving rather quickly recently with regards to the Intensive Group Therapy Programme (IGTP) that I was referred to. When I last posted about it, just over a week ago, I was attending the Progress and Assessment Group (PAG) once a week, on a Wednesday afternoon. Since then I have actually joined the programme full-time and have completed my first week in the community.

            Before I started I was really nervous and anxious. I’ve never done group therapy before as the thought has always terrified me, and so when I arrived first thing on Monday morning I just wanted to turn around and run in the other direction. Despite feeling scared and sick, I made myself go in. I was met by two community members who I had met at PAG on Wednesday afternoons. They gave me a quick tour of the building and then explained a little about the structure of the programme and the day-to-day activities.

            Throughout the day I attended various therapy groups (including art therapy) and met most of the other members of the community. The first day was not difficult in terms of what was talked about in the therapy sessions but by the end of the day I was absolutely knackered. I had rather worn myself out with anxiety, and just doing so much in one day really sapped my energy. At the end of the day I went home and just ended up falling asleep as I was so tired.

            The following day was harder. I really struggled with the therapy groups and in the last session of the day, a community member walked out, which actually really affected me. I’ve had lots of therapy in the past, but every time I have just walked out and not gone back. Now I’m really trying to make a go of recovery but I still find it hard to fight my usual response of running away. The fact that someone else had walked out made me really anxious, especially because it disrupted the group and the structure of the rest of the session. The person who walked out did actually return after only a few minutes, which surprised me in a way, because, as I said, I usually left and never returned. It was really brave of them to come back; I know I would have been terrified of going back. It would be fair to say that the second day was interesting and again, I was absolutely worn out by the end of the day.

            By Wednesday I was already tired out with the therapy and being out of the house for two days running. I managed to make myself go to the group but I felt like crap and was rather spaced out. Within the first hour and a half another community member had walked out; the second in as many days. Like on the Tuesday, this made me very upset and anxious and the rest of the day was completely disrupted. We were in and out of Emergency General Meetings (EGMs) all day discussing how people felt and what we should do about the walk-out. The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings and chamomile and spiced apple tea. I was tired and felt really zoned out and disillusioned with the programme. I left feeling like crap still, but with the added bonus of a pounding headache. Unfortunately I couldn’t even go home and just sleep as I was supposed to be going out for dinner with the family for my brother’s birthday. When I did finally get to bed I fell asleep almost immediately; I was just wiped out.

            On the Thursday morning I really did not want to go back but I forced myself to. I was only there in the morning (as Thursday is a half day) and was looking forward to meeting a friend for coffee in town afterwards. The morning was difficult for a lot of reasons and I was so glad when I could leave. Thursday was actually the last day for one of the community members. It was strange having my first week there, knowing that it was someone else’s final week. It was also encouraging in a way; to know that it can happen, that you can come out the other side. Also, the person who left was very kind and supportive and said that they really wished me all the best with the programme.

            I left on Thursday afternoon knackered and glad to have the rest of the week off. I had a cup of tea and a catch-up with my best friend that afternoon and ranted at her about how the week had gone on the programme; she’s always good for a rant. And I did feel a little better after talking to her, though I was still exhausted and went home and fell asleep.

            I haven’t completely decided to go in next week. I had been planning to. I do really want to recover but I am having doubts. I guess everyone does. I’m going to try and make myself go. But part of me is fighting; wanting to run away. Again. I had to force myself not to run out of the building so many times over the course of the week.

            I’ll update at some point about whether I do decide to go back or not, and how it goes if I do. Prayers would be much appreciated for this as I really want to keep God’s plans for me in this in my sight, in my mind and on my heart.

Thanks and God bless

KV

Race for Life

I said I would update people on how the Race for Life went but I have been so tired and busy that I haven't had the chance to do so; until now. So here it is:

I did the Race for Life last Wednesday evening (27th June). I am sure many are aware that the Race for Life is an event held every year, all around the country, for women to walk, jog or run 5Km in order to raise money for Cancer Research UK (CR UK). This year I signed up to do the Race for Life in York. My last post 'Running' was about my reasons for doing the run. I also mentioned in that post that, at that point, I had managed to raise £165 for CR UK, which was amazing.

Well a week and two days on from the event and I have recovered - I actually recovered a week ago, but as I said earlier, this post has been a while in coming. I completed the 5Km in under 50 minutes. I didn't run the whole thing but walked and jogged alternately - which had actually been my intention - so I succeeded in doing what I had set out to do. I started off in the walking section which I regretted slightly as it took a while to get past the start point and to break away from the rest of the walkers in order to start jogging.

Aside from this, the event was rather enjoyable. Around 3,000 women were doing the Race for Life and it was amazing to be a part of it and to see that number of people supporting CR UK. On the weather front, it didn't rain (fortunately) but it was very hot and humid which made it very hard work. But despite that, moods were high as people completed the race.

I was so pleased and proud of myself for completing it and I really hope that my Grandad and Grandma (in memory of whom I was doing the race) would have been proud of me also. As well as my joy at completing it, I am over-whelmed at the support I received from friends and family. I have now managed to raise over £200 for CR UK which will go to do some amazing work to help people who suffer from cancer and their families. So I just want to say thank you to everyone who supported me in doing the Race for Life.

Thanks and God bless.

KV

Stationary or Stationery

So as I fleetingly mentioned in my post ‘Fresh Start’ it has taken over nine months to get where I am today with regards to treatment for my depression and anxiety. Where I am now, is starting a process of assessment before undertaking a year of intensive therapy which will involve three and a half days a week of different group therapies. Where I was nine months ago, was waiting for a referral to the York Primary Mental Health Team. The last nine months have involved numerous journeys to different places for assessments and odd counselling appointments and a great deal of frustration. For all of that time I felt like I was just waiting around for other people to make decisions about my life. I felt like my entire life was on pause; like I was just at a complete standstill. Motionless.

            As I’m still in the ‘assessment phase’ for this therapeutic community things aren’t exactly speeding along, but compared to the snail’s pace of the last year it feels very sudden and very fast. I had been led to believe that there would be up to an eight month wait to even begin the ‘assessment phase’ and so when I discovered, just a couple of weeks ago, that I would be starting it so soon I began to wonder if I was ready. I’ve prayed a lot about this in the last few weeks and from the fact that I have actually started the assessment now, you can probably guess the outcome of those prayers. I know that God has been preparing me for this and that He has blessed me by bringing me to this place. I know that by trusting in Him, even when faced with the prospect of another eight months of waiting, I have grown in strength through Him. I am still anxious about things; it would be weird if I wasn’t. But I want this and I am not going to throw away such an amazing chance at recovery.

            Plans for University and leaving home to live independently may still be on stand-by for the next year or so but that doesn’t mean that my life has completely ground to a halt. In fact I have been given a chance to really live life, away from the ties that bind most people my age, like University or work. I continue to pray for the patience to follow the path God has laid down for me and to live through another year of waiting to get back to ‘normalcy’. I may have to delay some things but life continues and should be eagerly anticipating the things to come.

            As well as the group therapy, I am undertaking a kind of therapy of my own. I have always found writing to be rather cathartic. I love the ways in which I can express myself through words. And recently I have found myself rather excited about an idea I have for a novel. I won’t share my idea here, and have many reasons for not doing so. One of which is that it is still very much in the planning stage. I have the bare bones of the novel but they aren’t even connected in the right places and nowhere near being covered in flesh. This is the point at which planning comes in. The planning is vital – something I discovered when attempting to do National Novel Writing Month last year. I am now stupidly and unbelievably excited just about planning this novel. And it seems that my excitement is running away from me somewhat.

            This over-flowing excitement has somehow evolved into an excited desire to purchase lots of stationery. This obscure evolution has come about through my realisation that the planning for my novel is lacking any semblance of organisation or even sense. What began as excitement for planning my novel, soon turned into an intense excitement over the planning and organising of said planning – you can see how it got away from me slightly. Obviously this level of organisation requires much stationery; hence the monumental leap from novel planning to stationery.

            Now it has occurred to me that this post has also gotten away from me somewhat. My initial aim had been to talk about how my life had gone from stationary to stationery, in the sense that I am no longer feeling at a standstill but am rather attempting to do things with my life. It would appear that blog posts, much like novels, require planning. I did mention that this blog was going to be real; with thoughts streaming from my brain to my fingertips and onto the screen in front of me. Well this is what I think: I am not stationary.

If you managed to make any sense of this post, congratulations.

God bless

KV

Writing

So I haven't written any poetry in a while but there a few that I decided I wanted to post in a blog, so I've made another blog just for my writing. It's http://of-ravens-and-writingdesks.blogspot.co.uk/.

God bless
KV