Mental Illness

Below are some song lyrics that I wrote recently and posted up on my MySpace site. I wrote this song because of my dad. He is mentally ill and having a bad turn at the moment. Manic depression is very difficult to understand, even those who are close to someone who suffers with mental illness find it difficult to accept that the sufferer's behaviour is a direct result of their condition and should never be taken personally. I have told my father that I want no contact with him until he seeks help. I choose to cut myself and my child off from him as I do not wish her to witness first hand his distressing mood swings and irrational behaviour, the sort that scarred my childhood. I find it too upsetting to be near him when he is so out of character. I have received vicious text messages usually in the middle of the night but for the most part he has stayed away. He has apologised a couple of times for things he has said but then a week later he is back to the psychotic monster I grew up with.

"the baby sitting service is closed, you owe me money from three years ago (a gift), you are so arrogant, you are a snob, you've cheated me, I'm glad I haven't seen you" and so on. He recently left my mum in Greece on holiday and when she returned a few days later half of her face was swollen and black.

My upbringing was a mix fun and trauma. At times we had some very happy experiences and my parents, for all their problems are still good people. Foreign holidays, music lessons, a large house and garden to run around in, always clean and well fed from the outside everything seemed fine. Sadly my dad's mood swings were pivotal to whether or not the rest of the household could be happy that day. His mania "highs", despite him being deliriously happy, full of energy and ready to embark on whimsical and often unrealistic ventures were almost as unnerving as his lows of anger, bitterness, aggression and rage. Not forgetting his lulls of flatness, lying in bed, unable to go to work because he couldn't muster the energy.


I have been criticized for my avoidance but this is my route to self preservation, my coping mechanism is to shut myself off from it all. When I was little I had nowhere to hide, now I do and it is my choice. There is little anyone can do to help when someone is suffering from this kind of illness other than to advise them to seek professional help. There is no reasoning.

I left home when I was very young, from the age of fifteen I avoided going there as much as possible. I would stay at friend's houses as often as I could to get away from him. I began hanging around with an older crowd, people with homes of their own where I could find sanctuary. I knew that I had to move out permanently so I broke up with my devoted boyfriend whom I was very much in love with and began a relationship with a man ten years my senior who I then moved in with. I smoked cannabis incessantly which blocked out the pain, it also became an addiction which thankfully I tackled when I found out I was pregnant at twenty.

The repercussions of the bipolar disorder have rippled through the family leaving a trail of problems. Three of my siblings also had mental health problems in varying forms and my mother is now an alcoholic, I am certain that the years of abuse have taken their toll and driven her to this. The stress of my mother's drinking is a factor as to why after such a long time he has fallen ill again. Living daily with a Jekyll and Hyde character now fuels her drinking. They point the blame to each other when surely the answer is to unite and help one another.


Valium helped mum cope but it also clouded her judgment. "Mother's little helper" also prevented my mother from dealing with other family issues. One of my siblings bullied me and beat me daily. I was constantly called a fat slag, ugly bitch, pathetic whore, after a while I began to believe her. I can see now that my sister's behaviour was likely to have derived from our upbringing but at the time her actions were validated by my parents lack of intervention.

Growing up, there were times when my father's mood was so bad, that he would smash the house up, eventually if we couldn't calm him down we would have to call the police. He would be arrested and locked in a cell. A few times there was an injunction out against him and he wasn't allowed near the house. When this happened it felt like the sun had come out and a wave of relief washed over me, my life had begun again. I'd be able to invite my friends over for tea without the fear all hell would break loose. Of course he'd be sorry, time spent reflecting on his behaviour in a poky damp bedsit would help him see the error of his ways. Her Christian beliefs bound her to the marriage and I heavily resented her for keeping us exposed to the instability and cruelty. He'd beg and plead and without any consultation my mum would take him back. He came home, no apology to his children and life went on as "normal".

His own childhood was turbulent and mental health experts say that this has exaggerated his condition. In calmer more reflective times he realises he needs help and promises to get it but then the manic upswing comes and he is overwhelmed with arrogance and an inflated sense of self importance. Until now, for the nine years my daughter has been alive his mood has been stable. I began to develop a good relationship with him and had forgiven him for the past. Despite the fact that he has never supported me in my singing career (I can count on one hand the amount of shows he has been to, and each time he left halfway through) despite this we had became friends. We would send jokey text messages and have a good banter. His latest bout of mania flaring up now has destroyed the fragile reconciliation made during my daughter's short lifetime.

As the first wave of sinister communication came through from him I found myself constantly on edge. It was difficult to concentrate and I was irritable. Then I had a "heavens open, angels singing" moment. How I deal with this situation and how I react to it is my choice. I can choose to let it worry me constantly and ruin my mood, or I can concentrate on the things that are important to me and enjoy my life. I will not, I simply point blank refuse to allow this disease or the fallout be passed down to another generation.



The icy wall you criticise
Protects me and my heart
From the bi polar bear
That lurks there in the dark
If I'm a snob I'll celebrate
And arrogant hey that is great
At least I'm nothing like you
I know that to be true

I am nothing like you
Nothing like you
Nothing like you, I am sure


The doctor on the pedestal
Said take a drink of gin
But she took it to extremes
Oh the mess she's in
Mother's little helper
Popped in to ease the day
Shielding her eyes
I know she wasn't blind


I am nothing like you
Nothing like you
Nothing like you, I am sure


This is no legacy
I will raise with love you see
No blame, no game of hate you see
What are you thinking of?
I'll succeed in spite of you
You never stayed, left half way through
Your anger will not burn me
Like it did before

I am sure....

I am nothing like you
Nothing like you
Nothing like you, I am sure,
I am sure, I am sure

Summer Fair Ills

Yesterday was the school's annual summer fair. Parents and teachers are rallied and cajoled into helping do their bit and throughout last year our efforts raised 8 grand. My offering this time was putting hair up, I am a qualified hairdresser and every skill at these events is utilized. The head of the PTA parked me over by the beautiful pagoda next to the face painting, coloured hair sprays and ice cream van. A constant stream of hair was parked before me as I sprayed, quiffed, back combed, curled, pinned and sparkled with glitter the little princesses. Thankfully the weather stayed dry despite looming clouds threatening overhead.

The ice cream van chugged away and our fantastic summer fair was in full swing. As the afternoon wore on I started to feel unwell, I had a headache, I felt sick and faint. I presumed it was the fact that I had stood for three hours without a drink and had been woken four times in the night by my daughter's over crowded sleepover. My condition began to worsen not helped by the fact that that there were kids running around my feet, and a crowd of people spectating. One child screamed and cried as her grandmother had her hair done. The tantrum caused by the fact she wanted a tattoo and had already had her face painted so wasn't allowed. "NANNY I WANT A TATTOO WAH WAH WAH NANNY I WANT A TATTOO WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH" I wouldn't have to put up with this when I worked in a salon. She stampted her feet, wailed, cried and screamed for 10 minutes. I wanted to scream at her "LOOK, NANNY SAID YOU CAN'T HAVE A TATTOO SO SHUT UP YOU LITTLE BRAT, YOU ARE RUINING MY CONCENTRATION!"

By the end of the day I was exhausted and felt much worse. Short of breath, I felt dizzy and my headache had developed into a full blown migraine. I got home and lay down on my bed and tried to figure out what could be making me feel so rough. Then it hit me, the ice cream van! Carbon monoxide poisoning eeek. The engine had been running constantly throughout the afternoon and the wind had carried the fumes over in my direction. I quickly googled my symptoms (doesn't everyone do that?) and my suspicions were confirmed.

I just about managed to get myself ready and went out on the town. All better.

Who cares about the African orphanages?

My man has gone. Not permanently, just for a week. To Swaziland, a four hour drive from South Africa. This dusty, mountainous land has its typical dose of problems equal to so many African countries. A series of chance meetings has led to the opportunity to visit some orphanages. Until now I had always been so detached from the troubles that plague our neighbours only a plane ride away. That is until it hit a little closer to home in the form of our late night crackly conversations. It was too difficult for him to go into details, all too raw in his mind. My selfish relief quickly replaced by guilt.

The farewell tone of his daily texts has changed, it is now reminiscent of our courting days.



I love you xxx.

I miss you xxx

I love you xxx

I miss you xxx



So out of character.


As my days unfold every insignificant complaint I make in my mind is quickly transformed into gratitude.

I can't stand this coffee he bought, we have plenty to drink.

Why is there so much bloody packaging in electrical items these days? We have electricity.

Why do I have to wait ten days to get an appointment to see my GP? I don't have AIDS.

Nine year olds that calorie count?

So....tomorrow is my daughter's 9th birthday sleepover. I have been pestered into allowing her four friends over to stay for the night. There is a pact between them to see if they can stay up even later than the last time, their record stands at 6 am. Girly squeals of laughter hit me at 2am, I rouse from my coma and vaguely recall shouting "GET TO SLEEP!"
Hushed "Whatever" gently reverberated across the landing. I was told quite matter-of-factly that the party fizzled at sunrise. Distant yet fond memories of Ibiza appeared in my mind, albeit different reasons for staying awake.

There are rules this time. Not set by me, although I prefer a please and thank you now and again. Missy has written a list of dos and don'ts.

1 Do not swear (I'm sure this was written for my benefit)
2 Be kind (nine year olds can be so bitchy)
3 No private conversations (whispering in each others ears is soooo last season)
4 Bring your Nintendos (alas, none of the above will apply anyway)


I'm tempted to add a couple of my own but restrain myself

5 No calorie counting (seriously, one girl in particular reads labels on everything)
6 Eat some fruit (uncontrollable laughter ensues from guests)

I can just see Missy's face, red and mortified complete with angry glare "MOTHER!"

I pull a face and shrug "Whatever"