Four years

It is often said the first two years of grief are the worst. This is very much my experience.

I’ve just turned 31 and at this point, don’t know whether many of the things society associates with being in your 30s will ever happen to me. I effectively lost a huge chunk of 2011 and ’12 to grief and related problems, and have never quite yet recovered from that. The amount of rejection I’ve had in my work often seems to have become inversely proportional to my ability to deal with it.

But, four years on from the death of my first friend to suicide, I take some comfort that this anniversary has got a bit easier each year. When a second friend died by suicide late last year the sheer unfathomable awfulness of that (and being under-employed, and variously messed about with professionally) forced me into being more proactive than the last time. Hence this blog; hence all the running, and a really great counsellor; much better than any of the previous.

This year is the first that I’ve started to develop a sense of the first friend belonging “to another time.” People and things that were a huge part of my life before 2011 are less relevant now. Things that seemed as remote as old age a year ago are now a daily reality. I’ve wondered lately with a wobbly smile what the daft bugger would have made of me becoming a runner, and tweeting/blogging about it. Though he was always the greatest cheerleader for my writing, and a wonderfully kind, compassionate man in many respects, he loathed exercise and could be pretty cantankerous about people posting things on social media that didn’t interest him, or that he couldn’t relate to. I like to think that on balance he would have been pleased, especially with me doing it for mental health causes. (And I like to think I’m a pretty considerate runner-tweeter – I turn off all those settings on apps which auto-spew tonnes of data no-one gives a hoot about). 

I am currently – tensely – waiting on some very important (writing) news which I don’t want to share in case I jinx it. But such good news would barely even have been a possibility three years ago. The writer Julian Barnes, who has written about grief, describes year five as a turning point. And I can, just about, see how he might be right…

How bereavement counselling can help you (even if you think it won’t)

Bereavement counselling’s pretty near the top of the list of things you don’t want to need twice in four years. My two experiences-  both after the suicide of a friend, both with Cruse Bereavement Care, both in the same town – were pretty different. But having had the second, I can comfortably recommend it to anyone…

The first time I had it, four years ago, it turned slightly awkward when, after a few sessions, I started bringing in other concerns. My counsellor was fairly insistent on sticking directly to bereavement matters, which is understandable but tricky when you have a knot of problems and it seems impossible to entangle the bereavement from the rest.

I was getting CBT for anxiety last year, and on the cusp of a decision on how and whether to be referred for the next stage of the slow snakes and ladders game that is NHS therapy, when I learned of another friend’s suicide. When I told the referral team, and that he was the second person I knew who’d done it, they said they wouldn’t see me until I’d been to bereavement counselling, so, not too hopefully but supposing it wouldn’t harm, I agreed to it.

This time I knew immediately without a doubt it was utterly the right thing to do. I’ve had short-term therapy throughout my adult life and although it was rarely actively unhelpful, if I’m honest, I’ve rarely found it as truly helpful as this before. As this great, thoughtful blog post on choosing a therapist hints at, the success rate for therapy is about the same as for dating and the reasons for it not working can be similar in both. As with relationships, some of the more promising therapists I’ve seen were non-starters or cut short for practical reasons (money; availability; logistics…). But, as with relationships, a good one feels worth the wait.

My final session is next week. I’ve never understood why people talked about “missing” a therapist. I was never particularly attached to any of mine and in the past, when therapy ended it felt little different than saying goodbye to my dentist, or builder, or any other service provider. They’d done what they could, to their best of their ability, and I felt a bit better, and there was nothing more to be said. But now I know – and I really will miss this one…

Below – without getting into things best kept within the room – I’ve put together a brief summary of how counselling has been helping me, and how it can do the same for you.

It can help you…

  • If your grief is disenfranchised. Disenfranchised grief is the academic term for grief that has less status than losing a partner or relative, especially if your relationship wasn’t widely known or recognised by others. It also covers any bereavement where the cause of death carries a social stigma, such as suicide, or addiction. This article on disenfranchised grief has changed my life.
  • To confront difficult feelings, positive or negative, around the person who died honestly without being judged.
  • To understand why bereavement might have hit you particularly hard e.g if you have been bereaved before, especially in a similar way, or if you are in a job where there is lots of instability and rejection.
  • To deal with feelings, conflicts and questions which are specific to suicide bereavement and not covered by the general received wisdom around grief and loss.
  • To work towards acceptance Giving yourself permission to look for answers but also knowing when to stop.
  • Not to take it personally if someone else affected by suicide seems reluctant to talk about it. People open up at different speeds. Even very confident, outgoing people may find complicated feelings hard to express. They may not want to upset themselves, or you, not want to open up old wounds, or just not know what to say.
  • To talk through anniversaries and decide when and how to mark them.
  • To talk about how the bereavement might be affecting your friendships and relationships.
  • To be clear on how to safely express your feelings without impinging on anyone else’s privacy or wellbeing.
  • To realise grief is a constantly evolving process, and think about how you might cope with reminders, such as news stories, anniversaries, or approaches from mutual friends/acquaintances (or, especially, from the person’s relatives if you aren’t related and they don’t know you well). All these things are likely due to the nature of the mass-media and internet.
  • Related to the above, tcontrol your worrying about things you can’t control I’m going to work on a rough plan of action for this, using some CBT strategies.

If anyone’s interested in sharing their experiences of bereavement counselling – helpful, unhelpful or anywhere in between – I’d be very interested to read them in the comments.

Running and writing: A quick update

I haven’t blogged much recently as I have been busy preparing for the London 10K, as well as trying to grow my business, and coming to the end of bereavement counselling (separate blog post on that to follow here shortly). 

For those who haven’t already seen it, I wrote about running the London 10K over at my personal blog. It was a wonderful day. I raised a superb £650 for Mind, and have entered the ballot for next year’s London Marathon. Thank you to all my sponsors, and watch this space!

Somewhere around the 8K mark...

Somewhere around the 8K mark…

Obligatory UK General Election post

Politics is pretty unavoidable when you’re a Cold War baby…

My mum grew up in East Germany and has a fairly“plague on all your houses” view of politicians, but broadly on the left. My dad was a plakard-waving socialist. He was in the anti-Apartheid campaign, the Chilean solidarity campaign and the pretty-much-everything-you-can-think-of campaign. If you go to Central London with him he’ll tell you all about demos he went on in the ’60s and ’70s and show you the spot where an undercover cop smashed someone an inch away from him. I don’t like talking about his activism too loudly on record because he’s modest and some clod will probably use it to say I shouldn’t be allowed to do something or work somewhere but that’s how I was raised (in Bucks – yeah, that was fun.) I stood as a lefty independent candidate in my sixth-form’s mock election and got about five votes; one from my teacher. For a while, I was a bit of a firebrand. Depression (and Durham University, a pretty insular, apolitical sort of place) mostly got rid of that.

They say you get more right-wing as you get older. If my VoteForPolicies results are anything to go by, my politics haven’t changed all that much since I was old enough to have any. “Everyone I disagree with only disagrees with me because they’re a different age/background” is a rubbish argument anyway. I don’t think most people’s major priorities actually change a great deal unless something particularly drastic happens in their life to force that change. Certain things you are, you will always be, and policies relating to those things will probably always matter to you. What does change as you get older (at least, if you’re not an insufferable arse) is how you express your opinions, your tendency to be swayed by detail not just bluster, and your ability to see the most approachable of your opponents as human beings.

Another thing you do as you get older is separate personality traits from beliefs. To a degree, people can be just as nasty, rude, petty and vain while believing opposite things. I don’t care how nice and gifted with the gab you are if your views are revolting. Likewise, some vehemently progressive people are pains in the bum. If you want an epic example of “There is no cause so noble one cannot find fools following it”, Twitter is a good one. And saying people who went to boarding school are all emotionally-stunted sociopaths, or that well-off people can’t be depressed are two offensive and ignorant generalisations I hear too often from people who call themselves compassionate…

I think most of us have a “pet issue” which sways our vote – or would sway it if a particular party could convince us. I’ve posted this in here because mine’s currently mental health, and I’m an undecided voter (I know who I’ll vote against, but not for). I have secondary anxiety which is too complicated for the basic CBT but not severe enough for the higher-level NHS mental health services mostly (understandably) geared towards more severe conditions like bipolar, schizophrenia and psychosis. In my dream world, there would be a friendly local head-mender I could see as and when necessary, the same way as a hairdresser, baker, solicitor, plumber or mechanic. Or GP (well, I used to have a consistent GP – she retired…). Currently, NHS provision is basically a video game where I have to go through the motions and get help that isn’t useful to stand a chance of getting help which is. I’m currently waiting to see if I can be referred to a private centre in London which specialises in adults with dyspraxia and dyslexia, and actually seems as though it could address the root of my problems and how they interrelate, rather than deal with different ones in isolation.

I’d be interested to hear what matters to others in the mental health “world,” and why. Do you know who you’re voting for and if so, what persuaded you?