Gum on My Shoe

My deep gratitude for all those who never gave up on me during all my holiday-hating years. You all deserve jingles and bells and snowflakes and carols and pressies and happiness. When one has mental illness it’s nearly impossible to feel anything but gloom or death or anger. Fortunately I have friends who are fierce with their friendship. They see the tiny glow inside me and gently fan it. Because of them today I feel alive and strangely jolly and hopeful. May everyone have friends who let us stand on their feet without flinching, and let us chance a look through their eyes to taste joy.. Fran  

I often forget.. Years ago Months ago Weeks ago Days ago Hours ago Even minutes.. So many times I can’t access the pathways in my brain to take me to memories I’ve lived. I can’t access names or even faces. Photos help, Facebook helps, writing helps. My best friend logs a calendar for me and reminds me of things forgotten. He often reminds me who I am.. Fran  

Success with my test run of garlic mashed potatoes! It is amazing even that I am in the kitchen. I feel completely incompetent. I am petrified of cutting myself, which I did. I struggle to focus. I have to keep reminding myself of what I am doing and what’s next. Besides my neurons misfiring I am full of fatigue and everything hurts. None of this needs to be a problem. I just gently go in slow motion not pushing myself beyond the turtle speed I am at. The accomplishment feels monumental and need not be compared with those who are gifted. Npr helps. It offers a feel of intelligence and company. Fran  

“Two may talk together under the same roof for many years, yet never really meet; and two others at first speech are old friends.” (Mary Hartwell Catherwood) American writer Mary Catherwood clearly knew a thing or two about friendship. Her words echo something Fran and I talk about in our book. It is possible to feel utterly alone in the same room as people you have known for years. It is possible to sit beside someone you counted as a close friend, and feel utterly estranged. Those are the distances that get in the way. The good news is that distances can be bridged. Make the most of each opportunity, and every means at your disposal, to communicate honestly and often with your friend. Whether online or in person, find whatever ways work for you. That is the secret to closeness, and there is nothing virtual about it. Gum on My Shoe , chapter 4, “Making Connections”  

“My friend didn’t feel sorry for me. She believed that I had the strength within me to recover and to grow. That was the kindest thing she could have done. That was her great gift.” (Helen Thomson) These words from Helen Thomson epitomise the gift of care, rather than worry. As Fran and I explore in our book , the phrases “I worry about you” and “I care about you” are often used interchangeably, but there are three important differences. When we care about a friend we are expressing our trust in their abilities, strengths, and resilience. We trust ourselves to support them as best we can, and others to contribute as they are able. We don’t feel we have to do it on our own, fix everything, or find all the answers. When we worry about a friend we express fear that they lack the resources to meet whatever challenges they are facing. We fear we don’t know what we are doing, that we will be found lacking, or not up to the task. We fear others won’t be around to contribute, and we will b...

Sometimes I am filled with fury igniting a storm of tornado, hurricane, or wild fire. The recurring themes are my many lives lost and my limited present life, not that there need be a reason. The storm razes all the tender shoots I’ve carefully cultivated. Only the closest of friends stand by as I am slinging shots and snots. They are not afraid. They know me. They trust. Funny how my inner landscape clashes with my outer. Wishing escape from my hated self I stumble out the door to clothe myself in city. Art music and familiar faces let me access a different part of myself while the storm rages on inside. I had good health and good fortune, and then not. I am well aware of my fundamental nonacceptance of what is but right now I shall pretend to be as others are. There will be pain from this. There will be fatigue. And there will be tenderness, embracing, and unquenching rest yet again. Fran  

I liken my body and mind to a spaceship. Not one all sleek and shiny and new and well-engineered. My spaceship looks like the hillbillies. Rusty and dented and old and engineered with duct tape. I need plenty of space to take off and land and navigate everything in between. My spaceship is rickety and noisy and overheats regularly. It’s a Herculean task even to hold onto the madly vibrating controls, let alone steer the thing. The windshield is foggy and pebbled. Sometimes friends help guide my ship when I am unable. They also help with maintenance, which also is often too big for me. Eternal thanks is my contribution. The controls consist of lots of buttons and dials. When I push a button I hope the something I want to happen does, but that’s not always so. Sometimes things go on when I want them off and vice versa. Sometimes the dials get stuck, the screens freeze and crash, and I’m left relying on my instinct, which hopefully is not also defective. It would be tempting to le...

We are proud and delighted to introduce Rachel Kelly, author of Black Rainbow: How Words Healed Me, My Journey Through Depression and Walking on Sunshine: 52 Small Steps to Happiness . Forever at the Heart By Rachel Kelly When I began to keep a diary of my year, noting down the strategies that were helping keep me steady, I began each new season with a poem. Here’s my entry from the beginning of Spring: We are just back from a family trip to the Lake District, where lambing was in full flow. Printed below is John Clare’s ‘Young Lambs’, his celebration of spring as a time of renewal, when all sorts of things seem possible. This poem slows me down and makes me appreciate and be more attentive to my surroundings, which I tend to ignore when I’m busy and overwhelmed. The spring is coming by a many signs; 
 The trays are up, the hedges broken down,
 That fenced the haystack, and the remnant shines Like some old antique fragment weathered brown. And where suns peep, in...