stigma

Why do you blog?

I’ve been collecting questions and comments about blogging recently. Here are some of them, with my thoughts. I’d love to hear yours.

1. Why do you blog?

This is a bit like asking why do you breathe. Because I have to. I’ve always used writing to explore ideas and work out what I think. And I’ve always shared it. Blogging is just the latest way to do this. There will no doubt be others.

2. I don’t know how you find the time

Writing a blog doesn’t take as long as you might think. Also, I no longer have a full time job – although I found it helpful to write a weekly blog even when I did. Nowadays, there are other things I don’t do as much of as perhaps I should. Such as finishing the book I am writing…

3. There are so many blogs. I don’t have time to read most of them

No one expects you to. There are also many millions of books, articles and other forms of writing. Some of us have voracious appetites for reading. Others are more choosy. Both are OK, as long as you don’t only read things you know in advance you will agree with. Reading is meant to broaden the mind. And make you think.

4. How do you know if people read your stuff?

This is why blogging is so great. Back in the day of articles appearing in print only, you might know how many people had bought the newspaper or journal. But you’d no way of knowing who had read your piece. With online blogs and articles, at least we now know exactly how many have opened it, even how long they have lingered there. Although whether they actually read it remains their private business!

5. What if no-one reads your blog?

That’s OK. I have had blogs that were looked at by 1,000 people within a few hours, and others which struggled to reach 200 people over a whole week. It can be hard to work out which will be which in advance. It helps to consider whether the title is appealing, and also whether I am saying something original or even interesting; sometimes only clear with hindsight! The ones that seem most popular tend to be when I write about something that other people might have wanted to say, but were too scared to. Or where I talk about my personal experiences of difficult stuff, and what I have learned.

6. I’d like to write an opinion piece but I’d hate to get some of the horrible feedback I’ve seen you getting

This is interesting. At first, the online mauling of people like me who express their views can be distressing. There is something about the ability to be anonymous or apparently unaccountable that makes some people behave in destructive, even vicious ways. I heard Stephen Fry on Desert Island Discs say that he now tweets but never reads the tweets of others. That is really sad. I’m similar to him in two respects: I experience depression from time to time. At those times, there is nothing anyone can say about me that is bad as how I view myself. And when I am well, I have in the past found it almost unbearable when people have criticised me. But…If you ignore negative feedback, you miss learning something. I’m slowly improving at rolling with the punches, and just tuning out the most obviously horrible responses. Increasingly I see myself as an incomplete project that I need as much help with as possible. This makes everything about being alive so much easier.

Also, my wise friend @AlexYLDiabetes tells me that the 80:20 rule should apply, i.e. at least 20% of people should actively object to what you are saying. If they don’t, you are being bland or populist. Thanks Alex, as you know that has been a stunningly helpful insight. Particularly as my next blog after this one might be quite contentious…

7. I’ve been told I should blog but I’m anxious about getting started.

No-one should tell you what you should do. It is your decision. But given that you might want to try blogging, I will just say this. All new things are scary. I have had palpitations just before pressing the Publish button on quite a few occasions. This was one and this was another. It is when you stick your head above the parapet and say what people might not be expecting that you will get the most reaction. I like it when I manage to articulate what others have been thinking but haven’t got round to saying yet. And I like it even more if I can help people to formulate their ideas. If you think you might like these things too, please do have a go.

8. How does blogging make you feel?

Mainly happy. I honestly love it. As I do discussing ideas face-to-face, reading and hearing what others have to say, finding my thoughts shifting, and finding ways to explain what I think through the powers of story-telling.

And I love online conversations, especially on Twitter, which is made for ideas. As well as pictures of cats.

William in the garden

Please don’t walk by on the other side

Suicide is one of the last taboos. So much so, that some internet service providers (ISPs) block websites that name it, for fear they are pro-suicide or that just mentioning the word may somehow encourage it. Even my little blogsite has been affected. Thanks to those who told me about two ISPs who were blocking me, and to BT who fixed it fast. And thumbs up to Virgin Media whose initial excuses were unimpressive, but who sorted it out eventually.

I was thinking of the taboo of suicide when I met some wonderful people in Devon recently. Some had been directly affected by suicide, such as the couple who lost their 18 year old son in 2011 and now campaign to raise awareness, and promote a young people’s helpline and two excellent training courses, Safe Talk and ASIST via suicide prevention charity Papyrus. Some were like me and experience suicidal thoughts from time to time. And some were just good, kind people who help others in their chosen careers or as volunteers. They are all part of the South West Suicide Prevention Collaborative.

I shared some of my personal story with them and why I believe now more than ever that preventing suicide is everyone’s business. It is definitely not just the responsibility of staff who work in mental services, who can get blamed for not keeping someone alive, rather than praised for all the times that they have. Staff need support at such times because they feel devastated at the loss of a patient who they care about deeply. How can we expect them to be compassionate to others if we treat them with so little compassion?

Actually, this applies to all of us. Telling people who work in public services to be more compassionate while treating them without dignity, respect or kindness is the ultimate irony. And yet it is played out in many places every day. Including much of the media.

I said something at the event that isn’t currently fashionable. I don’t think it is is possible to prevent every death by suicide. But I do think that we can do very much more IF we make suicide prevention the business of families, friends, neighbours, schools, workplaces, all public services rather than just the obvious ones, the media, shops, cafes, bars, the voluntary sector, faith groups, social groups, sports clubs…everyone. And if we talk about it with more understanding and less rush to judgement, I believe we will gradually lose the taboo. But we still have far to go.

It isn’t just those of us who experience mental illness who think about killing ourselves. Death of a loved one, job loss, other sorts of loss, crippling debt, loneliness, isolation or an overwhelming sense of hopelessness about the future can all be causes. One of the people at the Devon conference spoke bravely about the corrosive impact of the downturn and benefit changes on those who are least well-off.

Only those who have been directly touched by suicide can possibly know just how raw and awful it feels. It is a grief like no other, because of the guilt and the shame that is still associated with it. I don’t get cross about those who still describe the act as “committing” suicide. They usually mean no harm. Suicide hasn’t been a crime since 1961, but we have some way to go to incorporate that change into our values, attitudes, behaviours and language.

I have spent a lot of my life being ashamed of having occasional suicidal thoughts. I was lucky to learn about Samaritans via an article in Reader’s Digest when I was 15, the same year I saw my first psychiatrist. Their kind, wise volunteers have helped me several times in the past. I even became one myself for a while in my early 20s. But I was going through a rough patch and left without explaining why.

Now it’s payback time. I’m doing a big bike ride to raise money for Samaritans. Apart from a handful of staff at their HQ, all Samaritans are volunteers. Like the two lovely women who spoke at the Devon event about the work they are doing in local schools to raise awareness and offer support in the event of a death by suicide. I am donating my £500 fee from the event this week towards my fundraising target. Every penny I raise will go to keep local branches across the country running and to pay for the calls desperate people need to make. I have a big birthday in August. I’m asking my family and friends to make donations in lieu of presents. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate reaching 60.

We can all help one another. That man sitting on the station platform all alone? How long has he been there? Could you get over your reluctance to appear interfering and take a moment to ask him how he is? What about the elderly neighbour whose partner has recently died and who hasn’t been seen for a while? The young person at work who takes frequent days off? The friend who has been made redundant? Even the chief executive who has apparently made a mistake and is getting a mauling via social media. We can all do our bit to be kind, because that is all it might take to save a life.

And as we say at Grassroots, the wonderful suicide prevention charity in Sussex of which I am a trustee, here’s to life.

When I’m 94…(to the tune of When I’m 64 by the Beatles)

When the NHS was created in 1948, 64 was considered elderly. Both my grandfathers died during the 1940s aged 50 from what we now know to have been smoking related illnesses, having served in the WW1 trenches. My maternal grandmother died aged 65. My other grandma managed to last a bit longer; she died in December 1982 aged 79. 3 out of 4 died in their own beds at home.

I was born in 1955, a child of the NHS. I have worked in it since aged 18. The NHS was set up to improve the extremely poor health of the nation after World War 2, with clinics providing advice and free milk, vitamins, orange juice and cod liver oil, as well as weighing and measuring children, hearing and eye tests, free dentistry, and checking for lice, nits, scabies and rickets. A mass free screening and vaccination programme began for common killer diseases such as smallpox, diptheria, tetanus, polio and TB. Going to the clinic with my mother and younger brothers was fascinating and memorable. Providing care free at the point of delivery to people who were sick or injured was a massive bonus for the public, but its wasn’t intended to be the main aim of the new NHS.

Despite these wonderful founding principles, the NHS quickly began to increase its focus on treating sickness. The status of hospital medicine has always been greater than public health or primary care; this continues today. Radical health promotion initiatives such as the Peckham Experiment sadly closed down before they had a chance to prove themselves.

I trained as a health visitor in 1978, having been inspired during my hospital nurse training – in 1975 I went out for the day with the local health visitor. As well as admiring her cream Morris Traveller and adorable spaniel puppy, I will never forget one visit. In a tiny cottage in a village outside Cambridge, we called on an elderly lady. I remembered her in hospital after a massive stroke, lying with her face turned to the wall. Back home, despite needing two sticks and very limited speech, she ushered us into her cosy kitchen, all smiles, and made us tea and biscuits while her cat snoozed on the sunny windowsill.

Community services (those outside hospital that either help people to stay healthy or look after them at home when they are ill or dying) and mental health services have always been the Cinderellas of the NHS. Never more so than in the last few years, when they have experienced unprecedented cuts in order for commissioners to continue to pay for increasingly sophisticated physical hospital interventions.

Today I have a lovely gig: joining 100 or so folk from the NHS and social care system in Kent, Surrey and Sussex, all of whom want to improve care for older people. It is organised by the KSS Academic Health Science Network. Life expectancy in Kent, Surrey and Sussex is the highest in the UK. Were it not for pockets of significant deprivation along the Kent and Sussex coast, and the appalling fact that people with serious mental illness live 20 years less than the population average (25 years less than the KSS average), it would be even higher. It is common for acute hospital wards to be entirely populated by people in their mid 90s and above. The people attending the event know things have to change. Medicalising old age is cruel as well as extremely costly.

It is, fortuitously, Dementia Awareness Week and Dying Matters Awareness Week. I know from the research of my brilliant ex-colleague Professor Sube Banerjee that only 18% of people who have dementia only have dementia. The majority have between 2 and 7 other significant health conditions that seriously affect their lives. The way we run the NHS is simply not serving their needs, despite very elderly people being its majority users. I also know from the wonderful work of organisations such Dying Matters that these days, most people die in hospital despite very much preferring to be cared for at home.

Today, we will be encouraging the people at the event to face this enormous challenge together. We have to do things differently. It says so in the Five Year Forward View. The attendees at this event are to some extent, like those involved in the vanguard sites across the country, the converted. But even they will have to throw away beloved ideas and think the unthinkable.

I am indebted to @HannahTizard on Twitter for this lovely infographic about tall poppies.

Tall poppies may experience meanness from others because they are full of ideas and are not afraid to challenge the status quo. They are always thinking about how to do things better and are not prepared to accept mediocrity, especially when it harms others.

I will be using this lovely infographic today to encourage the people at the event, who I think of already as tall poppies, and giving them a link to this blog so they have a reference to keep.

I hope you find it helpful too. Please be a tall poppy; challenge the status quo if you think the care you provide or commission isn’t what you think you would want yourself when you are 94 or even older. And do something right now to start making things better for every elderly person who wants fewer tubes up their bottom and down their throat, and more time to enjoy their latter days with somebody kind to sit with them, help them to have a drink and hold their hand.

Meanwhile, as I intend to live until at least 94, I’m off to read Sod 70! by the indomitable Dr Muir Gray, to help me continue to treat my body hard but well, and How to Age by Anne Karpf, from the School of Life series, to help me manage my (sometimes fragile) psyche and approach old age with equanimity and joy.

Do please join me.

Post script: 11 hours after posting this, I’ve already had lots of feedback. One person feels I’m generalising and that the research quoted doesn’t support my view that older people would prefer to avoid unnecessary investigations. I agree that we must ask people and really listen carefully to their answer before subjecting them to invasive tests. Over 100 seem to like it so far.

I’ve also realised that I’ve been channelling the #HulloOurAimIs campaign from NHS Change Day led by my lovely Twitter and real life chum Alex Silverstein @AlexYLDiabetes. So I wanted to mention it. Alex is the tallest of poppies and despite being less than half my age, has taught me loads. Go Alex and thank you xxx

Are you feeling sad about the election?

The exit polls turned out to be right. And whilst Conservative and Scottish Nationalist supporters are ebullient, I’ve lost count of the number of people who have remarked on social media that they feel really depressed.

For the majority saying this, the feeling they are experiencing isn’t depression in any clinical sense. It is disappointment, sadness and loss. It is a normal grief reaction to something shocking and unexpected, which dashes hopes for the future. And it re-introduces and even expands fears that people who were hoping for a better result for Labour, the Lib Dems, the Greens and even UKIP had overcome, albeit just for a short while.

The five stages of grief model described by Dr Elizabeth Kubler-Ross was not intended to be prescriptive. It was an extremely well-received description of how people who are terminally ill get used to the idea of their own impending death. The stages of grief described are Shock, Denial, Bargaining, Anger, and Depression, better described perhaps as deep sadness. This, in time, leads to Accommodation/Acceptance. Depending on the nature of one’s loss, grief has to run its course. It is possible to get stuck at any stage, and for stages to have to be repeated. Trying to avoid the anger or sadness phases by keeping busy and pretending to be OK can be psychologically damaging; I have form on this myself.

There will be people today who will undoubtedly be at the start of a significant grief cycle, including the 3 party leaders who have resigned, those who have lost their livelihoods, and those closest to them. For the majority of the population, though, the cycle will pass quite quickly.

Some people are already into the angry phase; this is can be when blame gets sprayed about and bad decisions made. It is a time when we are advised not to make big decisions.

It is also important not to get stuck at the anger phase. Those who have learned to attribute responsibility for bad things that happen to them to others can waste huge amounts of energy re-traumatising themselves and failing to realise their own power to effect positive change.

Some people who experience mental illness get annoyed about the misuse of the term depression to describe feelings they see as relatively trivial compared to the self-hatred and hopelessness of clinical depression. I used to be one of them, but these days I am less fussed. As long as people understand that one word can have many meanings, I am more than happy to share it. But I do want everyone to understand that there are no such things as happy-pills. If you aren’t clinically depressed, anti-depressants won’t make things better. Only you can do that, by getting to know yourself, and being kind and compassionate to yourself and to others.

It is tough advice, but as Maya Angelou said:

If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.

The brilliant thing about our democratic system, apart of course from actually having one, is that MPs may only be elected by some of their constituents. But they are there to represent all of them. Occasionally they just need reminding.

I’m consoling myself about the the loss of the rainbow coalition I fondly imagined by thinking how to keep mental health on the agenda of the Conservative government, as they promised us during their election campaign. We have to make the business argument that investment in mental health treatment and support saves money in the long run. As well as the compassionate one about saving lives and making those lives worth living.

It is wonderful that there are millions of us who care enough to do the same.

What I did during National Depression Awareness Week

Now I no longer have a wonderful communications team to keep me briefed, awareness weeks like this one can pass me by. It was serendipity that I saw my GP yesterday and we agreed that I would start the final reduction of my antidepressants prior to stopping them altogether.

There are side effects to reducing modern antidepressants, also known as SSRIs, as well as significant risks. Reduction should be done carefully, with expert supervision. My GP has specialist mental health training and experience, which is also serendipity, as I didn’t know this when I shuffled into her consulting room at an acute stage of my last depression. She listens carefully to her patients, and works closely with us and secondary care staff including my psychiatrist. I am confident that I don’t get special treatment; she is equally compassionate and skilled with everyone. I do know that I am lucky.

It is shocking how many people think that you can go on the internet and become an expert in the treatment of mental illness. Without me asking for their advice, someone suggested that now we know that mindfulness works just as well as antidepressants, maybe I should try that instead? This made me smile to myself. I have given a presentation about the importance of access to mindfulness as a treatment option for anxiety and depression with the report author Professor Willem Kuyken to the Permanent Secretary of the Department of Health, Una O’Brien, and her senior team. So I do know a bit about it. But even so, with my own treatment, I need help.

As my dear friend @BiPolarBlogger said on Twitter, telling someone they should have a go at mindfulness is a bit like telling a person who can’t swim that doing the butterfly stroke is good for you. Such psychological techniques need to be taught with skill and practised regularly. And they are not for everyone. Mindfulness can be increase problems for someone with a trauma-related illness such as PTSD.

Actually, once I got over the hiding-under-the-bed-stage of my last depression, I found mindfulness to be a great help, and I use it most days. Yesterday I looked into a top-up course because, like all exercises of the body or the mind, repetition and building mastery are essential. Which isn’t the same as taking a tablet.

I have to confess to feeling anxious about coming off my little pills. There is something about putting them out before I go to bed, and then taking them on waking in the morning, that helps me remember my own fragility. It is a little daily act of self care. I might forget to floss my teeth, but I have never forgotten to take my medication.

People like me who experience depression have a tendency to be extremely hard on ourselves. I’ve written about this here and here. Medication prescribed by a doctor that you cannot buy over the counter is a reminder that someone who knows what they are doing believes that you need and deserve help – even if you don’t believe it yourself.

As well as upping my game on mindfulness, I am also doing more work (paid and voluntary) and preparing for a gruelling bike ride. And I’ve bought a new book called Reasons to Stay Alive by the wonderful @MattHaig.

Reasons to Stay Alive

And finally, I am using CBT techniques – facing the thing that frightens me and through this, allowing the fear to subside naturally – to help me. My blog is part of this.

Thank you for reading it. I hope it helps you or someone else xxx

Please take care, Twitter can be cruel

I love Twitter. But it can be a cruel place. Personal attacks and even threats of death are not uncommon. Sue Perkins and Jack Monroe are the latest high profile quitters following unrelated horridness – in Sue’s case, she was attacked for being (wrongly) tipped as Jeremy Clarkson’s replacement on Top Gear. Jack’s was about supporting the Greens on the election. Death threats for this? There are no words.

I’m nowhere near their league, but I’ve had my share of online nastiness, and it continues. It can be overwhelming when you are under an onslaught from many directions. And unless you reply and risk even worse, other more measured folk won’t know what’s happening, because the vile stuff won’t appear in their time line.

I am of the “Whatever we wear and wherever we go, Yes means Yes and No means No” generation. I don’t see why bullies should frighten us away from places that belong to us all. But I’m also concerned for my own wellbeing and that of others.

It is good that Twitter are cracking down on abuse – better late than never. Meanwhile, here are my tips for staying emotionally safe and still getting the best from Twitter.

Be yourself but think really carefully about how much you share. Social media is still a relatively new medium. Some are already regretting earlier openness. I’m thinking particularly of people like me who experience mental illness from time to time. Talking with others who have similar experiences really helps, because with diseases of the mind, unchecked irrational thoughts about ourselves can snowball and be really bad for us. But sharing also makes us vulnerable. Only a handful of people have accused me of psychological weakness, attention seeking or of using my depression as an excuse for past failings. Even fewer have defaced my image, called me vile names, and traduced my appearance, intelligence, morals, motivations and career. I have forgiven but I cannot forget their words. On a bad day, I imagine that others may feel the same way about me. On a really bad day, I may even agree with some of this shit. So please, take care.
Be wary of individual tweeters who follow few people themselves. They may say interesting stuff, but they are unlikely to be interested in an online conversation with you. Maybe you don’t mind just reading their views? It’s a good way to start, especially if you are shy. But most of us are on social media because we want to exchange thoughts, share experiences and ideas.
Don’t just follow those you know you will agree with. It might feel cosy to be in a cocoon of like – minded folk, but it won’t stimulate or enlighten. If it weren’t for Twitter, we wouldn’t know the odious extent of the views of, say, Katie Hopkins on people seeking asylum. What better spur to get the previously disaffected to vote than the thought of people like Hopkins (who always vote, by the way – they know their rights) getting more of a say than us non neo-Nazis? We need to know these things.
Take the plunge and join in conversations when you haven’t got a view or are still making up your mind. Some people think that being open – minded, even undecided, is feeble or wishy-washy. I disagree. Just be sure that when you in one of these discussions, everyone is treated with politeness, including you. Be prepared to walk away if that doesn’t happen.
Join in with conversations that are happening at the time you are actually on Twitter. Prepare yourself so you don’t feel too hurt if people whose views you admire don’t respond. Just move on and chat to someone else. Don’t assume people are being rude; they might be but that really isn’t your problem. Easier said than done when you desperately want a reply, I know!
Try not to get involved in those angry ding-dongs where an increasing number of @names get added, until in the end there is no space to say anything. If you get copied in, these are best ignored, in my experience.
Don’t be heavy – handed with the Block button. Some people collect blocks like trophies, and will proudly list you as a person who lacks empathy along with others you may prefer not to be associated with. And you won’t know about this if you have blocked them. Save blocking for porn sites, annoying bots and people who are genuinely harassing you. And for the latter, do also report them. Twitter are rightly upping their game in dealing with online harassment. If you are being repeatedly harassed by someone, you may also need to check if they have other profiles. In my experience, these are relatively easy to spot. And do also report them to the police. They definitely do take action when serious threats are made.
My thoughts here are aimed at people like me who are able to tweet as individuals. The freedom we enjoy compared to those in public positions cannot be underestimated. I’ve been in one of those jobs, and written about use of Twitter from that perspective here. It is great if such people can share something personal of themselves, but it is a big ask, given what can happen and the impacts. Which leads me to my final point.
Don’t rush to judgement of others. No-one knows what it’s like to sit where they are sitting, other than they themselves. Be kind, always. Never, ever make remarks like James May did recently about those who made death threats towards Sue Perkins. He only made a bad situation worse. If you can’t be kind, walk politely but firmly away.

I’ve blogged in the past about forgiveness. If you haven’t seen it and are interested, here it is.

I’m still practising by the way.

Let’s stop being mean about people who are fat

This is an update on a blog I wrote earlier this year. I’m reprising it because of the fuss this week about Public Health England’s report into obesity and the Prime Minister’s apparent refusal to consider a possible tax on sugar.

Fat-shaming is a recent phenomenon. People who do it include doctors, nurses, NHS managers, politicians, journalists, comedians and ordinary folk like you and me. And it is weird, because according to statistics, over 60% of us in the UK fall into the category of people being vilified for our weak will, stupidity, greediness and for costing a lot of money in unnecessary healthcare.

I write as one who has done it as well as had it done to me.

I always liked the beach

Here’s me as a baby. Fully breastfed, I grew bigger than my tiny mother almost before I could walk. I take after my father. I am robust. I love my food.

Humans are built for survival. Some are wiry and can run fast for long distances. Others have staying power. In an emergency situation, chunky people like me can cope with cold and hunger because we can survive on our fat stores. We are the polar bears and the Arctic seals of the human race.

But our modern Western world has played havoc with these survival characteristics. As long as you have money, food is plentiful. The least nutritious, most fattening sorts of food are often the cheapest. And the combination of sugar, fat and salt in many processed foods such as cakes, biscuits, chocolate, ice-cream, crisps, milkshakes and even bread is, apparently, addictive.

This Ted Talkthis Ted Talk is enlightening. It helped me understand why losing weight is so hard. When you have gained weight, your body quickly adapts to being bigger, and adjusts your metabolism accordingly. Resetting the metabolic rate is extremely difficult. Once you have lost weight, you will probably have to eat fewer calories for the rest of your life to maintain your reduced size, even with regular, vigorous exercise. So you are fighting not only an addiction, but also your own nature.

And there is another factor. Many modern medications, particularly those used to treat various sorts of mental illness, have the unfortunate side effect of increasing one’s appetite. People taking them find they feel hungry all the time, and not surprisingly they eat more. I finished my antidepressants six months ago. Yet I have at least half a stone to shift, and despite extensive motivation and knowledge, it is proving a struggle. I know from chatting to others how distressing it is to gain four or five stone very quickly, with all the disability and stigma that goes with being overweight to add to the burden of the mental illness for which you have to keep taking the medication that leads to the weight gain.

I know people who have been to the doctor and been encouraged to lose weight. And then they buy a newspaper and are told that if they also buy a monster size bar of chocolate (which contains more calories than they need to eat in a whole day but no protein, vitamins or roughage) the newspaper will be free. If it were cigarettes or drugs, we would be horrified.

Given the cost to the NHS of obesity, with its links to heart disease, strokes, Type 2 diabetes, cancer, arthritis and other long-term disabling conditions, not to mention depression, anxiety and agoraphobia linked to body image and self worth, you would think that investing in prevention and effective treatments for obesity would be the place to start.

There is mention of this in the NHS Five Year Forward View. But until this week, there has been no systematic appraisal of the best ways to help people achieve and maintain a healthy weight, nor is there a coordinated, evidence-based commissioning approach to weight-loss and healthy weight maintenance services. Public Health England have produced a report about sugar, but we have learned this week that it has been witheld. Who knows what the real story is about who did this? I don’t really care. I just know that leaving obesity to individuals to tackle is unfair, ineffective and helps mo-one but the commercial giants who sell us all the stuff we don’t need.

Our current attitude to obesity is bizarre. Let’s tackle the food giants who push processed junk food at us from every direction possible. Let’s publish the economic appraisal to prove that helping people rather than criticising and lecturing them would in the end save a lot of money and even more unhappiness.And most of all, let’s stop blaming people for doing what comes naturally.

Ignore Russell Brand and vote for mental health

I start by declaring an interest. I really like The Right Honourable Norman Lamb. He knows his stuff on mental health. His values are sound, and he is an unassuming, witty and extremely kind man. He has also been dealing with distressing family issues and still managed to maintain focus on his job as Minister of State for Care and Support. Senior staff at NHS England such as Professor Sir Bruce Keogh vouch for him “holding our feet to the fire on mental health.”

Yet I became tetchy on reading the Liberal Democratic manifesto mental health promises yesterday. It feels a bit rich that a party that has been in power for a full parliamentary term, albeit as a junior partner in a coalition, should be making promises now after 5 years of not making these things happen.

My supporting evidence:

I:4 of us will be mentally ill in any one year, according to the Mental Health Foundation. Yet mental health services are still the poor relation within the NHS family, missing out on new money and bearing the brunt when public sector “efficiencies” are required, as they have been during the last parliament. Under the coalition, this imbalance has grown measurably worse. The funding promises made in yesterday’s Lib Dem manifesto will to some extent redress the balance – but only if they come to fruition.

I will need persuasion to believe that we will see this money, given the promises made in 2010 not in the last Lib Dem manifesto, but after the coalition government was formed. I was chairing the Mental Health Network of the NHS Confederation at the time, and was invited to speak at the launch of the coalition’s mental health strategy alongside Mr Lamb’s predecessor Paul Burstow. We felt excited and optimistic that parity of esteem between physical and mental health services was being promised at the start of the new parliament and ahead of any other health announcements. What happened?

Children’s mental health services, one of the top priority areas in the manifesto, are in a state of particular crisis. This is because of cuts to local authority funding of front-line services in schools and those provided by the third sector, reductions to NHS community services, substantial increases in referrals linked in part to the downturn but also modern pressures felt by young people. There has been near-chaos in the commissioning of these services arising from changes to the NHS and Social Care Act, which although a Conservative-led initiative which they now admit was a mistake, could have been halted or at least improved by the Lib Dems. One of the most troubling outcomes is that sick children now wait regularly in police cells while desperate clinicians and managers scour the country for a suitable hospital bed. Staff are overwhelmed, and parents are desperate. Given that 75% of mental illnesses start, as mine did, before the age of 18, and that early intervention is now known to make such a difference, this situation is not only cruel, it is also extremely short-sighted.

According to W Edwards Deming, if you don’t measure, you can’t manage. Mental health services have been crying out for a commissioning currency so they aren’t expected to respond to infinite levels of demand under open-ended block contracts. They need national benchmarks, targets and some form of payment by results, otherwise bids for increased funding will continue to be trumped by those for diseases such as cancer or heart disease, where there are a wealth of measurements. This was promised by the last Labour government in 2005 and by the coalition in 2010. It appears again in this manifesto; if the Lib Dems help to form the next coalition, will we be third time lucky?

Here are Royal College of Psychiatrists’ President Professor Sir Simon Wessely and Time to Change ambassador Alastair Campbell explaining why in their view, when it comes to mental illness and mental health care and support, government actions speak louder than words.

It’s not just the 1:4 of us who experience mental illness who should carefully consider these promises and those made by each of the other political parties. 4:4 of us will be voting on May 7th, or rather, we have the right to vote that others have died to get for us. This will apparently be the closest election in a lifetime. We have the greatest ever diversity of candidates. If we don’t each exercise our democratic right, we risk allowing those more certain than us about matters as important as mental health to decide who will run the country.

According to pundits, the outcome of the election is likely to be another coalition with at least two parties. This time, whoever forms the new government, I intend to make a fuss right from the beginning about funding and evidence-based support for mental health services. The more of us who do, the more they will realise that we mean business.

The recent dog-whistle headlines about the aircrash co-pilot show that we have a way to go in tackling the stigma of mental illness. So please ignore Russell Brand and vote; being disenfranchised would be really bad for our mental health.

I think we are pretty amazing

I didn’t sleep much last night. I’d agreed to go on the Today programme at 07.40 to give my perspective on this week’s coverage of the terrible plane crash in the Alps, particularly the implications that it was caused by someone with depression.

I only came out about my own experiences of depression a year and a half ago, even though it has come – and gone – since I was 15. I’m not unusual; 75% of mental illnesses start before the age of 18. I’m also not unusual to be shy about sharing. There is still massive stigma. Including self-stigma, in which I am an expert.

Very gradually, things have become easier for the 1:4 people who experience mental illness, through campaigns such as Time to Change. Or so we thought.

I’m not going to repeat how disgracefully the majority of the print and even broadcast media have behaved this week. Others including Matt Haig, my 17 year old Twitter friend Stella and Stephanie Boland have done so much better than me.

And deepest thanks to Paul Farmer, CE of Mind, Sue Baker, Director of Time to Change and Professor Sir Simon Wessely, President of the Royal College of Psychiatrists for being so quick off the mark and setting the record straight. They have done a stunning job.

What I want to say is that, every time I have an opportunity to speak about the stigma that still affects people like me, I feel a little more nervous. It is an increasingly heavy burden of responsibility. For some, the impact of their mental illness means they lack the voice and opportunity to speak for themselves. They have to rely on others. And that means those of us who can must act with great sensitivity and respect. Including towards those who have lost someone to suicide, anorexia or lack of self-care.

Mental illnesses, by definition, mess with your head. They make you believe horrible, negative things about yourself, question your worth and the very point of your existence, and cause you to feel hopeless about the future. In some cases, people lose touch with reality. They hurt themselves, either deliberately or by failing to take due care. It is rare that they hurt other people. Far more rare than people who are NOT mentally ill hurting others.

There are other illnesses that carry stigma, but mental illnesses are in a class of their own. The media coverage this week may have set matters back.

But what gives me hope is that after speaking on the radio, I have heard from hundreds of people I didn’t previously know via social media. Many are like me, timidly but courageously speaking up about their own experiences in order to encourage people who are ashamed of their mental illness to seek help.

Together, we can metaphorically hold hands, step forward together and show that we aren’t murderous monsters. And that, with love, support and most of all our own courage, we can make a creative and compassionate contribution to the world.

Thank you to all my old and new friends. I think we are pretty amazing.

Pride and Prejudice: post NHS Change Day ponderings

20.30 from Birmingham New Street to London Euston

20.10 Birmingham New Street to London Euston

You know how it is. There’s been a big event in your life – a special birthday or a wedding. Even NHS Change Day.

Now the party’s over. Everyone’s gone home, you’ve done the clearing up and read the thank you texts. You’ve got a hangover and sore feet from dancing till dawn. And you feel a bit flat. And you wonder what the point of all that fuss was.

I was feeling a bit like that the day after NHS Change Day. Maybe you were too? I’d given my all to various events in Birmingham. I was made extremely welcome by amazing people at Birmingham Children’s Hospital, at Birmingham Community Trust, at two children and young people’s mental health services and by patients, users, carers and staff at a West Midlands Health and Care Voices event in the evening.

It felt very special to share thoughts with patients and staff about things we all care very much about. Everyone seemed up for playing their part in changes that needed to happen. And our NHS Change Day: Time To Change campaign also seemed to hit the mark for many of the folk I came across.

A student nurse called Ellie did something on NHS Change Day that I didn’t have the courage to do until I was 58. In this blog, she beautifully describes what happened to her in front of 40 other people. In our Time to Change video, I ponder what may have made me take so long.

So that’s the pride part. I felt proud of my small contribution to NHS Change Day.

And the prejudice? It was to realise that some of the naysayers also had a point. While NHS Change Day 2015 has been amazing, people who have never heard of it continue to do stunning stuff. Like my friend Alison, a sister in a hospice, who with her colleagues care for dying people with such skill and compassion, I defy anyone not be able to learn something from how they work. Their hospice is one of the most joyous and hopeful places I have ever been invited to visit.

Or another friend, a clinical leader in an acute hospital, battling to get colleagues to see people with dementia for what they really are, human beings with wants and needs, rather than “inappropriate admissions” or “delayed discharges”. Or a third friend, a health visitor with a caseload so huge, and with clients with so many complex health and social problems, I cannot imagine how she is coping. But she is, as are so many others like her.

On Friday, my mother and I went to visit my auntie, her only sister, in her care home. Most of the staff who work there earn not much more than the minimum wage. As always, we were moved by the tenderness shown towards those living at the home. These staff truly love the frail and confused people whose care has been entrusted to them.

People like this don’t need a special day. What they do every day is extraordinary.

The NHS has to change. We cannot go on as we are. It’s an honour still to be involved, as a helper now rather than a leader, and to play a small part in bringing some of those changes about. NHS Change Day is an enabler. But it is no more than that.

Life, and death, continue 24/7 across all parts of the NHS and the services that support it.

If you work in the NHS, I hope you had a wonderful NHS Change Day. Thank you for what you do every day. I am most humbly grateful.

Lisa Says This

Using what I've learned to help others