My head, my prison

You might be wondering, "What's happened to Grace?" "Why don't we have regular blog posts anymore?" "What is she doing, where has she been?"

While my physical body has been frolicking about with friends, learning what it is to be a Thermomix consultant and hosting Patrick's grandmother for a week, my mental self has been in a dark, self-imposed prison.

Since writing 'The Blues Strike Back' over a month ago, I haven't managed to shake them off. There have been moments of glee, but mostly it's been very unpleasant living with the contents of my head.

This morning I woke up and asked myself "Why am I like this again?" What happened on the 10th of October that has taken me from feeling happy for weeks on end, to feeling chronically anxious and despondent?

My first answer: I do not know.

Then I took time to reflect...

I noticed how my hectic schedule with two trips to Adelaide, a trip to Bali, a wedding, 3 significant birthdays and my upcoming 40th translated to blog posts becoming increasingly shallow. This has happened before, but I've been slow to recognise the pattern... and the impact.

The initial plan for Project Grace 2010 was that November 3rd (my 40th birthday) would mark the completion of the project. Yet it has been and gone and I feel completely incomplete. I've been hovering in shallow conversations and uncertainty for weeks, and it's only making matters worse.

Then last week, I had a meltdown. My anxiety levels had redlined and I rang a girlfriend in desperation. She called back when the household was asleep, so I tiptoed to the bathroom and spent over an hour atop of the toilet seat talking at low volume so Pat and Gran couldn't hear.

Releasing rancid thoughts had an instant calming effect. Though I'd been harbouring so many for so long that it took several conversations with a number of friends over a few days to liberate me (thank you Marsie, Special K, Tarls and mon Cherie).

This morning I felt lighter and more optimistic. As I roused from bed I had the biggest 'aha' moment...

Remember the post titled 'Virtual Shrink's Couch'? Well that's essentially what my blog is for me. Sure it's had a fair share of being a quiz corner, travel diary and fun house, but essentially it's a place where I can 'talk' about things as they occur, thus releasing it from the confines of my torturous head.

What an incredible insight.

I recall many moments of feeling instantly and permanently better after having written things that had plagued me for years, like:

• When 100% Equals FAIL
• Rising Star
• The 5 Stages of Grief

As soon as I had externalised what I was feeling, I was free. Amazing. I've learned that keeping poisonous thoughts in our heads is toxic and can cause self harm - which can be in the form of drinking to excess, eating illicit foods, taking mood altering substances and even go as far as self mutilation and suicide.

So in order to maintain my sanity, I am back.

When marvellous Mikey McCorry (who has been blogging for over 10 years) responded to 'I am Revolting' by saying "the only really important stakeholder is you", I now concur.

Having once thought it was self indulgent to dedicate time into making myself a happier 'me', I realise that other people benefit from my state of being. When I am happy and in a balanced state, I am a significantly better wife, daughter, sister, aunty, niece, friend and colleague. In order for me to be that way, I need to continually invest time into 'me'... and Project Grace 2010 is that investment.

Society is quick to slap the term 'self indulgent' on anyone bold enough to take time out for themselves. Yet the same society is bewildered over people abusing themselves and, or, taking their own lives. The fact of the matter is that we are humans and we need connection. Sharing ourselves - good and bad - is not only for our well being, but for others. When we share, we not only provide opportunities for insight, but we encourage and inspire others to do the same.

For me, my blog is my life saver. I make no apologies for being 'indulgent'. I am, at the end of each day, the most important stakeholder.

Until tomorrow, take stock of your life, be indulgent and set yourself free.

Grace xx

My Light at the End of My Tunnel

Sounds like a classic book-come-movie title doesn't it? The looming sense of drama made only bearable by the glimmering hope of it all ending well.

Are we driven by the prospect of a happy ending? Is that what keeps us going, despite the crap that keeps flying at us? Is this an intrinsic human survival mechanism that keeps us from being extinct?

In 1997, I resembled Jamal in 'Slumdog Millionaire' after he took a dive in the sewer in order to get his Bollywood idol's autograph - I was covered in sh*t. Not literally, but metaphorically, I was up to my eyeballs in it.

I was studying wine marketing full time at university (fun but fraught with danger of 'overdoing it' in the tasting department). I held three jobs. I was learning to be an announcer and disc jockey (I love that word) at a local community radio station. I was hosting professional wine master classes twice a month. I partied every weekend operating on two hours sleep. I had recently separated from a five year relationship and in the shaky beginnings of a new one. And to top it all off, a very close and beloved family member was diagnosed with terminal, inoperable cancer.

I collapsed.

After several visits to my doctor complaining of extended PMS (pre menstrual syndrome for readers who haven't come into contact with it - lucky you) I was given the diagnosis: clinical depression.

What followed was months and months (and months) of a terrible battle, which took place at the bottom of my emotional cesspit. I refer to this period as my 'Dark Ages'. Even now those days merge into one murky memory that's best described as sludge. While I cannot be clear on what happened when or with whom, I do remember one thing - my light at the end of my tunnel.

My light was someone very close to me and my family who suffered a mental illness. I have vague memories of this jolly giant whom I looked up to with awe and pure love. I was always greeted with surprise lollies (candy), which my little hands would dig out of a deep pocket.

When I was five, something horrible happened; that beautiful light was extinguished. What's worse, is that their warming glow was taken from us by their own hand. Even at such a young age I could feel the tragic sense of loss. The impact and devastation was clear, it was palpable.

In my darkest hours (there were many of them), I would remember my wonderful jolly giant - my light at the end of my tunnel. If I couldn't go on for me, then I had to go on for someone other than me. I had to create a purpose greater than myself that made it worth the effort to keep going. I could not allow my loved one's flame to be extinguished in vain. And so, despite my compromised mental state, I deemed that my life was worth saving for theirs.

Whether we care to admit it or not, most of us like real-life happy endings. Perhaps it's a reminder to us all that no matter what challenges we face, we can rise above adversity. Searching for a light at the end of the tunnel is the hope we seek to make our trials and tribulations endurable and worthwhile. So if you are (or someone you know is) having a dark moment - ask yourself, who is the light at the end your tunnel?

Until tomorrow, may your light continue to shine.

Grace xx