NaNoWriMo 2016 Day 16: in which I hardly mention NaNo at all

So, NaNo, hey?

35,928/50,000 words at the start of Day 16. Like, how?!

In previous years I would’ve been lucky to be 19,000+ words into writing by this stage. Maybe practice makes perfect. The more terrible novels I write, the slightly less terrible they become each time. But I’ve been drifting a bit and getting bored and yesterday spent too much time on MBTI introvert memes on Instagram. And I realised that a lot of the time, Introvert memes aimed at ISTPs tick me off. They often have this controlling tone about them, like one I read and reshared yesterday said, “ISTP: you will likely do something for someone rather than give compliments. Give praise. Some people need to hear your appreciation.”


NaNoWriMo 2016: Days 11-15


NaNoWriMo progress screenshot, as at the beginning of 15 November’s writing session. (Source)

Friday, 11 November


Celebrating the Small Victories

As a person with the double whammy of anxiety disorder and depression, my natural tendency is to ruminate on the negatives in life. Though, hilariously enough (to me) since undergoing psychotherapy and medical treatment for these conditions for over three years now I have discovered that I’m quite the optimist. Dark, somewhat gothic in my creative expressions, a little bit morbid, and with a raging thirst for heavy metal music, to be sure, but it’s a revelation to discover that under the gloomy layers I am, generally,  an assume-the-best, hopeful, upbeat kind of person who loves art and flowers and kittens and classical music. Don’t let the wardrobe of black clothes fool you; when my mental health is going well, I’m very laid back and really quite capable of being friendly. To look back on years of being told by the powers-that-be that I was lazy, disorganised, unmotivated, had a “bad attitude” with an attendant “lack of gratitude,” there’s a vague satisfaction that I can now look at those past conversations and realise that what they were seeing was a manifestation of my mental illness, and not intrinsic to my personality. It turns out that despite years of contradictory evidence, I’m a fairly neat and tidy person when I’m not weighed down by the persistent ennui of a despairing, depression-riddled existence. It makes me realise that I basically wasn’t a fully alive and happy human being from roughly 1991 to 2013 inclusive, up until the anxiety-induced physical breakdown landed me in the doctor’s office begging to know what was wrong with me. What seemed a terrible drama at the time became the doorway into learning how to live well with my mental condition. Add to that the freedom borne by discovering personality typing systems – critiques of their scientific veractiy notwithstanding – and realising that I’m actually really normal for a specific but relatively common subset of human being-ness (ISTP, Enneagram 5w6), and life starts to look a whole lot less bleak than it used to. I can now embrace the fact that like roughly one third of the human species, I’m an introvert – not “shy,” not “too quiet,” and not, as my primary school reports attest, “terrible at making friends.” An introvert with a physiological and psychological need for lower levels of external and environmental stimuli in comparison to my extroverted acquaintances (another argument in favour of going back to living in rural areas). (more…)

NaNoWriMo Journal 2015: 11

Wednesday, 18 November 2015

I’ve got a busy few days coming up so I need to get my word count as high as possible today. Ideally that would be about 4,000-5,000 words, which is doable… provided my imagination keeps going and I don’t hurt my wrists. I’m using a new computer and keyboard this year. The keyboard has a mechanistic quality that operates similarly to a typewriter, and the physical feedback of feeling and hearing the clicking of the keys as I type has been really helpful. I think it’s improved the accuracy and speed of my touch-typing.

Yesterday, I had one of those awkward and unexpected conversations at the shops with an old church acquaintance I hadn’t seen in years. We bumped into each other and had a brief chat. They recalled our conversations when I was first diagnosed as mentally ill, about three years ago. This person immediately reminded me that in their opinion, my being clinically depressed is somehow down to me “not being happy enough.” (At least they didn’t bring out the “joy of the Lord” phrase…) They said that while they thought psychologists could be helpful, I needed to hurry up and be cured.

I don’t want to judge this person because I know they mean well and come from a cultural and religious background that would prefer to find spiritual answers for every question. It’s also a sign to me that I’ve progressed far enough in my treatment that instead of becoming anxious by feeling pressured to “get better,” I was able to calmly explain that depression is a medical disorder. As it’s the “family disease,” in my case, it’s more like learning to manage a permanent genetic disorder than magically curing myself through more gratitude and more prayer. People don’t like being told that for my variant of psychological disease, there isn’t really a permanent cure. I imagine it makes them feel uncomfortable.

The conversation was a reminder to me that as much as I like the vast majority of people I met over the years through that church, who are all just trying to find and understand God the best way they know how, the social environment is not a safe one for those of us who deviate from the socially prescribed normative behaviours of perpetual and expressive joy. Even just being an introvert is enough for people to question one’s spiritual seriousness in the loud and more expressive forms of church – for example, see here, here, here, here, here, and here  for a brief overview of the discussions going on with introverts struggling to find a place of acceptance in expressive forms of Christian religion. Not to mention the perceived problem that there are those of us who get worse while in the church context (rather than being on a continually upwards self-improvement journey). I’m currently reading the fascinating book The Failure of Evangelical Mental Health Care and it’s really helped me to better understand how these beliefs regarding the supposedly true causes of mental illness arise in some Christian circles. It is a terrible drain having those conversations, though.

It seems that simply by turning to a doctor and a clinical psychologist outside of the church-sanctioned counselling centre for help, I am branded as a heretic. It’s absurd. If it were any other kind of disease then seeing a specialist doctor wouldn’t raise any concerns about my religious credentials. About six years ago I had all four of my horribly painful wisdom teeth extracted in a tricky operation by a facial reconstruction specialist whose day job was rebuilding people’s faces after serious car accidents. The teeth were in such odd positions that the dentist was worried he’d possibly paralyse my face if he attempted it himself (!). No church acquaintances at any point, upon hearing that I was having the operation, asked if the surgeon was a faithful born-again Bible believer. Why? Presumably part of it was that his spiritual journey had no bearing whatsoever on his ability to remove my problem teeth without slicing through the facial nerves (as it is, the nerves were bruised enough that I never have recovered full feeling in the lower left side of my face).

Yet somehow the fact I see a highly qualified mental health specialist to help me with a complex disease mostly centred in my brain and that severely affects my quality-of-life is considered evidence of a spiritual downward spiral. Atheist surgeons, okay. Atheist mental health experts, bad. That seems to be the attitude.

And so, for all the good I’ve experienced in that church community, it is not a healthy nor adequately supportive space for someone facing my particular set of circumstances. I’m sure they would like to be supportive, and even try as far as they can to be aware that sometimes congregants do it tough, but until they actively start speaking out against the myth that mental illness is a form of demonic oppression, they will not be a safe community for those of us with these types of diseases.

I cannot trust that they won’t try to force me to quit my doctor’s health plan and send me off to “deliverance ministry” – which is basically Pentecostal exorcism – and yes, I was instructed by some former pastors there that deliverance ministry would cure me. They gave me the contact details for a para-ministry specialising in deliverance, they diagnosed my anxiety attacks as the result of Eastern mysticism, martial arts and paganism that had leeched into me via my ancestors, not to mention the spiritual baggage I supposedly had after a lifetime of Catholicism, and my husband’s long-deceased grandfather’s involvement in Freemasonry. They peddled easy answers – “if this person prays for you and you confess your sins you’ll be healed.” And of course it would cost hundreds of dollars, and despite those pastors being fully aware that I was doing it tough financially at the time, they pushed me to go down the deliverance path. I now see that as like preying on the vulnerable, the sick and the poor. In Australia, treatment for medically diagnosed mental health disorders is subsidised by the government. I think it would be so helpful if those pastors, instead of trying to develop some complex conspiracy regarding my perpetually melancholy moods which would necessitate extremely high-priced treatment, could have admitted that they didn’t know what was wrong and suggested that I see my doctor. Not that it’s their responsibility, I guess, but I’ll be honest: I have a problem with the fact that someone with, at best, a theology degree (or in this nondenominational church, no qualification whatsoever) is able to make a career out of offering life advice to people at every possible level, and even promote themselves as having the answers, without a really basic grasp of the idea that they are not actually expert in, say, diagnosing and treating diseases. Sure, pray for the sick – I’ve done that, and received that and it is comforting and sometimes really helpful and can give people the emotional strength to keep fighting and who knows, maybe God actually heals people, I can’t discount that possibility – but to put someone else’s health and well-being at risk out of a misguided sense of spiritual authority is outright irresponsible – to say the least.

I thank God, literally, that I ignored His servants on deliverance. In fact, in true Pente fashion, at the time I felt that God told me very explicitly, “You don’t need a certificate from any deliverance ministry to prove that you are saved by Me. I have enough grace for you.” And I’ll be honest, that’s one of the only times in my 14 years of Pentecostalism that I was utterly convinced God spoke to me, and which was later confirmed by other “prophetic” believers. I know, it’s crazy. I won’t try to defend it nor explain it away. I am convinced that however that message came to me, it was the truth I needed to hear at the time and it protected me from a potentially dangerous situation. I shudder to think how much damage the pastors would have caused if I had followed their advice. I’d quite likely be in a psychiatric ward somewhere.

Back to Nanowrimo. The other things that have helped my writing have included:

  • exercising more. Part of the mental health plan my doctor helped me develop includes aiming for a minimum of half an hour of exercise 3-4 days a week. The more diligent I am in exercising, the better I feel and the clearer my mind becomes. I’m also weighing myself about once a fortnight to track my weight. I wouldn’t normally but I gained a heck of a lot of weight in the last two years thanks to an increasingly sedentary lifestyle and my depression pushing me to self-medicate with junk food and alcohol (never a good idea).
  • doing an hour or so of housework each day. Having a cleaner writing space and knowing that the work and school uniforms are washed is a weight off my mind.
  • deactivating my facebook. That alone has prevented me from losing precious hours of my existence that may otherwise have been poured into the hostile abyss that is essentially just a forum for dichotomous political ranting and maybe it’s just my early forays into nondualist philosophy speaking, but I find it a huge jolt to re-encounter perspectives that operate out of a “if you’re not 100% in agreement with me then you’re 100% wrong” ideology. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no Thomas Keating or Richard Rohr, so I am guilty of that kind of thinking, too. But I find facebook really just feeds the worst aspects of who I am, inciting me to defensiveness, impatience and useless anger.
  • mindfulness. I’m using a guided mindfulness meditation series on iTunes U. It’s been genuinely helpful in improving the quality of my sleep. I also let the kids listen to the guided ‘body scan’ meditation before bedtime and they really like it.
  • prayer and contemplation. I know, I know. As my friends and family watch my slide into seeming-heresy and de-conversion, depending on who I talk to that’s a sign of my progress or a sign of my abject sinful nature rising up in a wild rebellion against the Creator. However, the reality is that my prayer life is a central aspect to my existence. I’ll write more on that another time. For now I’ll just leave it at the sense of gratitude that the more I travel through life, the more I see God (or love or life or force or a sense of meaning and purpose, choose your preferred term) in everyone and everything.

Current word count: 28,594 / 50,000 words

Today’s writing soundtrack: Polaris by Tesseract. Again. I just really like their music. It reminds me of all the reasons I first picked up bass guitar as a teenager.