25 Songs, 25 Days: Babe, I’m on Fire

Day 06: A song that reminds you of a best friend

◊

Babe, I’m on Fire | Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

To understand Samantha you have to understand one thing; she was a spanking aficionado. She passionately loved everything and anything to do with spanking. She liked looking at spanking art, adored watching spanking movies and cherished being spanked herself. She wasn’t a pain slut. That’s not why she liked being spanked. She liked being spanked because she had a genetic urge to have someone smack her (as she called it) naughty little bottom.

So when we met in Adelaide, when I was lost to the nightmare of a manic phase, and obsessed with slapping as many female posteriors as I could, it was a match made in heaven. Within hours of us meeting she had manipulated herself over my knee for a playful spanking session in the middle of an Adelaidian park. But then she left to continue her travels and my manic self moved on to finding another play partner.

Four months later I was sitting in front of a computer. My manic phase had long since ended and I was consumed with a nightmarish depression. I was homeless. I was destitute. I was lost. Waiting for me when I logged onto Facebook was a message and a friend request. Both were from someone named Samantha Campbell. I had no idea who she was or how she found me, so when I read the message, a beautifully written question as to whether I was the same Andrew Lake who spent the evening with her in Adelaide, I was taken aback. I had little to no memory of Adelaide, especially the time I spent when I was manic. I didn’t accept the friend request, but I did respond to her message, asking for more information. Within days she had responded with an equally beautifully written tale of bottom slapping, endless conversation, spank bets and spanking. She even included photos; photos of me, with a ravishingly beautiful woman she identified as herself. After reading her latest missive, I accepted her friend request.

For months we communicated with each other online, exchanging emails, Facebook posts, comments and endless MSN chats. She filled in my missing memories of Adelaide, we discussed my mental health and dissected what I had been writing on my blog. But we also did other things. We chatted about our mutual love of spanking, we indulged our fantasies with cyber-spanking sessions and shared personal, intimate fantasies we had both been harboring for years. Through these online sessions we became firm friends. She was often the first person I thought of when waking up in my park, and the last person I thought of as I bedded down with my blanket for the night. Unlike every other friend I’d ever had, Samantha knew me, intimately, because I hid nothing from her. Not my mental health. Not my fantasies. Not my kink.

Upon returning to the UK in early 2008 I knew what I wanted to do. Samantha was back in Stirling, studying fashion and design, so I wanted to see her. I wanted us to be face to face, sharing ourselves in person, instead of through fibre-optic cabling. It took months to organise. Months that we spent continuing to chat online, email each other almost daily and getting to know each other on deeper, murkier levels. Nothing she learned about me seemed to phase her. She just accepted it. Accepted me. In April of that year we finally matched our calendars and I jetted off to Glasgow for a reunion with someone I had gotten to know so well. It was awkward at first, but within hours we were comfortable around each other, gleefully playing off each others words, happily teasing and playing in the cultural capital of Scotland.

And no reunion with Samantha would have been complete without spanking playing a pivotal role. She had written to me before we met, asking if I would be willing to help her fulfill a lifelong dream. It took me a while to come around, to be confident enough within myself to perform her desire, but I agreed. And in a hotel, late one evening, I took Samantha over my knee and gave her a jolly good spanking. It wasn’t abuse. It wasn’t assault. It was two consenting adults sharing in a mutual passion. And she (and I) loved every second of it.

In order to mask the noise of our indulgence we hooked up an iPod to play music throughout our session. It was Samantha, always with a heavy sense of irony, who chose the song. And it is a song that – no matter when or where I hear it – reminds me of the time I spanked Samantha Campbell.

It is the anthem of our friendship. A song that fills me with warmth, happiness, joy and contentment. A song that reminds me that, no matter what, it is the people we meet who have the greatest influence on our life. Samantha accepted me for who I was. She didn’t try to change me. She didn’t want me to pretend to be someone different. She wanted me to be Andrew; mental health, kink and all.

That’s why she will always be one of my best friends. If not my bestest friend.

You can read more about my friendship with Samantha in these posts:

~ One Night in Adelaide ~
~ One Day in Glasgow ~
~ Dearest Samantha ~
~ [NSFW] If you care about what other people think, you will always be their prisoner [NSFW] ~
~ [NSFW] I don’t have a dirty mind, I have a sexy imagination [NSFW] ~

25 Songs, 25 Days: Maybe Tomorrow

Day 05: A song that is often stuck in your head

◊

Maybe Tomorrow | Terry Bush

One of my favourite television shows when I was a child was the classic The Littlest Hobo. A delightful programme about a homeless German Shepherd dog who roamed the country seeking out people to help. After helping them he would then move on in his quest to be the most helpful dog in the history of the known universe. It was never made apparent why Hobo wanted to help so many people as his back story was never explained on-screen, but help people he did, and we all fell in love with him in the process.

The theme song to the show was written by Terry Bush and it is, without question, one of the most catchy theme songs ever written. In fact, when I began traveling in the late 90s I adopted it as my official backpacking anthem. Whenever I was moving on to my next destination I would begin singing the song, sometimes in my head, sometimes out loud, but always with a smile on my face.

In fact, I love the song so much, that when I established my first website in 2001, I named it Come Travel Light in honor of this fantastic tune.

Today, the song reminds me of my childhood, and it reminds me of those endless days I spent traversing the globe. An adventure that saw me encounter dozens of beautiful souls, whom I would try to help in whatever way I could, out of respect for my childhood idol.

So, without further ado, everyone sing along now…

There’s a voice that keeps on calling me
Down the road is where I’ll always be

Every stop I make, I’ll make a new friend
Can’t stay for long, just turn around and I’m gone again

Maybe tomorrow, I’ll want to settle down
Until tomorrow, I’ll just keep moving on

Down this road, that never seems to end
Where new adventure, lies just around the bend

So if you want to join me for a while
Just grab your hat, come travel light
That’s hobo style

~ from Maybe Tomorrow ~

The Sunshine Blogger Award

It’s been a while since my blog was nominated for an award, so I can only thank Brighton Bipolar from the bottom of my heart for bestowing upon me the Sunshine Blogger Award. It is heartening to know that my words are read and enjoyed by people other than me. Inspiring and entertaining others is, after all, why I dedicate my time to write about such complicated and necessary topics.

The rules for the Sunshine Blogger Award are simple:

• Thank the person who nominated you in a blog post
• Answer the 11 questions set by the person who nominated you
• Nominate 11 blogs to receive the award, and write them 11 new questions

◊

My questions from Brighton Bipolar:

1. What’s your most treasured possession?

My external hard drive. It contains a plethora of music, photographs and personal information. I would be devastated to lose it.

2. If you were an animal, what would you be and why?

I would be a wombat. Because wombats are cool! They’re cute, they’re furry and they’re built like little tanks, able to bound through any obstacle in their path.

3. What was the last book you read?

Smokeheads by Doug Johnstone. An addictive ride through the Highlands of Scotland featuring psychotic cops, illegal whisky distilling and love.

4. When was the last time you cried, and why?

I cried last Saturday. I became overwhelmed with nostalgia and melancholy and couldn’t resist a cleansing weeping.

5. If you wrote a book about your life, what would it be called?

All that I am, All that I ever was. I know it’s the title of my blog, but it would also be the title of my autobiography, as it suits what I would write about.

6. If you were a superhero, what would your super power be?

Invisibility; it would be interesting to roam around, casually helping people without them knowing I was there.

7. What’s your favourite ice-cream flavour?

Mint. I love mint flavoured ice cream with a fiery, intense passion.

8. Do you remember your dreams, and if so, are they in black and white or colour?

I don’t always remember my dreams, but when I do, they are in absolute rainbow tinted technicolour.

9. What would you say is your best quality?

My determination to be there for people when I’m needed. I have failed in this endeavor in the past, but we all make mistakes.

10. If it were possible to live for hundreds of years, would you and why?

No. Life is complicated, painful and altogether depressing. Why would you want to extend the agony?

11. Are you good at keeping secrets?

Yes. When I know something that other people want kept secret, I will take that information to the grave.

The eleven blogs I nominate are:

1. Panic Disordered
2. Blahpolar Diaries
3. Borderline Functional
4. Many of Us
5. Marci, Mental Health and More
6. Strong Enough to Break
7. Rose with Thorns
8. Dearest Someone…
9. Summer Solstice Musings
10. Resurfacing and Rewriting
11. Heather’s Helpers

 

And the eleven questions for my nominated blogs:

1. If you could have a pet dragon, what would you name him/her?
2. What is you favourite book of all time?
3. If a movie was made about your life, who would play your love interest?
4. What country would you most like to visit? And why?
5. What are three things that fill you with happiness?
6. What is something that no-one else knows about you?
7. How do you think mental health services could be improved in your country?
8. Chocolate or Ice-cream?
9. What is one of your favourite quotes?
10. What is your happiest memory?
11. Why do you blog?

Borderline personality disorder is a hurtful label for real suffering – time we changed it

by Jayashri Kulkarni, Monash University

Standing in the cold, dark bathroom, she hacked into her wrist with a razor blade and quietly stared at the blood that flowed from the cut. She told herself she was a bad person and deserved the pain.

A part of her felt reassured by the sight of the blood – it showed she was alive – since she felt so dead and empty inside. As she stared at her image in the bathroom mirror, she thought, “I have no idea who that person is staring back at me.”

Such deliberate self-harm is very common in people diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. It takes many forms, including intentional overdoses of tablets with excessive alcohol, risky sexual behaviour, as well as physical self-punishment.

Other symptoms of the disorder include identity disturbances, feeling “dead” inside, rage responses or difficulty regulating emotional reactions to situations, mood swings, constant anxiety and panic, poor self-esteem, memory blanks, dissociation (“out of body” or feeling “unreal”) experiences, problems with concentration, feeling invalid, and fear of being abandoned.

A bad cycle

Between 2% to 10% of the population have some degree of borderline personality disorder, which puts them at high risk of suicide. While it’s poorly understood, we know that it predominantly impacts women.

There’s no medication that specifically treats borderline personality disorder, and it’s associated with a great deal of stigma among both health-care professionals and the general community. Research shows people seeking treatment for self-inflicted harm, including taking medication overdoses, are often seen as “difficult”, a “nuisance” or just indulging in “bad behaviour”.

Rage or diffuse anger is another symptom of borderline personality disorder that’s poorly tolerated by family and health professionals. If the person with the condition repeats self-harming behaviour, frustration among family, friends and health professionals increases and may lead to decreased care.

Since people with the disorder crave reassurance that they are worthy, valid and deserving of care, this rejection sets up a dangerous spiral of increasingly harmful behaviour that’s intended to attract care.

Origins in trauma

About 80% of people with borderline personality disorder have a history of trauma. They may block out recollections of early life trauma, but the impact of their emotional, physical or sexual abuse as a young person is profound and present for many years afterwards.

More specifically, people who were sexually abused as children often feel – wrongly – that they did something wrong, that they are to blame for being abused and that they’re bad people. At a deep level, they believe they deserve punishment; their self-harm acts out this belief.

The rage of people with borderline personality disorder, which often occurs in response to apparently small issues, may actually be a totally justified – a delayed expression of anger with the perpetrator of their abuse. And their memory blanks and out-of-body responses to stress may be attempts to repress recollections of abuse and to escape from trauma.

Not all traumas stem from physical or sexual abuse. Emotional neglect or deprivation can also be difficult for people to identify and define. They can, nonetheless, leave a mark for years to come. About 10% to 20% of people who have borderline personality disorder have no known history of childhood trauma.

Difficult diagnosis

The biology of this poorly understood condition includes the hypothesis that abused or neglected children produce high levels of stress hormones (cortisol) and remain on “high alert” – watching and waiting for the next abusive episode. These stress hormones impact brain circuits and centres that determine anger or emotional control and higher learning.

Deliberate self-harm is very common in people diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. | Rachel Collins/Flickr, CC BY

Women with this condition can also have cortisol-induced cyclical reproductive changes, leading to menstrual cycle-related depression, obesity, diabetes, high blood pressure, increased facial hair, infertility and ovarian cysts. All these long-lasting mental and physical symptoms appear to have their origins in a history of early life trauma with biological brain changes.

There are effective psychological treatments, such as dialectical behavioural therapy, for borderline personality disorder but health professionals have to recognise and explain the condition before appropriate care can be provided.

And many health professionals find it difficult to recognise the condition because different symptoms come and go over time. An overall view of the person’s life is needed to correctly make the diagnosis.

Ill-fitting name

As a diagnostic term, borderline personality disorder not only fails to capture any of the underlying issues and mechanisms involved in producing its symptoms, it also denigrates. In contrast, major depressive disorder describes a serious condition with the key feature of depressed mood explicit in the diagnostic term.

The word “borderline” was used in the 1930s by psychoanalysts to describe patients whose symptoms were on the border between psychosis and neurosis. But today the most common interpretation of the word is that the condition “borders” on being a real illness.

In effect, there’s an invalidation of the illness in its name. This mirrors – as well as possibly enhancing – the feeling of invalidation the person with the condition already suffers.

And all this is not helped by the next word either. To suggest there’s something about someone’s personality that’s disordered – especially as personality is, collectively, the intimate and unique qualities that describe a person – is a devastating blow. And it cuts further into the already diminished self-esteem that people with this condition have.

Why it matters

Diagnostic labels carry a great deal of weight. They describe symptoms, attempt to answer the question of “what is wrong” and lead to a treatment plan. A diagnostic label such as borderline personality disorder with its stigma and propensity to invalidate the person’s suffering clearly has many negative impacts.

A name that captures the origins of the condition, such as complex trauma disorder, could shift the focus from seeing the person as “behaving badly” or not having a “real” illness, to recognising them as a survivor of trauma or abuse. Such a change could improve outcomes for them and their families.

Of course, what’s also urgently needed is clinical research that creates better understanding of the condition, and the development of tailored, effective treatments. But ultimately, prevention of early life trauma would make the biggest difference to the development and expression of this disorder.

In the meantime, changing the label borderline personality disorder to something more sympathetic, even if just informally, may start shifting negative attitudes to people with the condition.

---

Jayashri Kulkarni is Professor of Psychiatry at Monash University.

This article was originally published on The Conversation.
Read the original article.

25 Songs, 25 Days: Gathering Pieces

Day 04: A song that calms you down

◊

Gathering Pieces | This Is Your Captain Speaking

Back in the good old days. The days when I was employed, when I had a regular income, when I had a social network of cherished individuals, when I wasn’t governed by my mental illnesses, I used to spend my days roaming the streets of Melbourne, exploring all sorts of book and music shops. I would trawl the shelves for interesting titles, fascinating blurbs and ingenious covers. Anything that attracted me to the product. Anything that inspired me. And when something spoke to my soul I would purchase it.

One such example occurred one autumn evening when I was browsing the shelves of Polyester Music on Brunswick Street. I was looking for something new, something I had never heard before, and the above album cover sparked my attention. It was simple. Delicate. Beautiful. I didn’t know what type of music it was, I had never heard the band name before or read any review of their product. So I took a chance. I strode up to the counter, handed over my hard-earned money, and carried on my way.

The next day I was rostered off from work. After my girlfriend had risen, performed her morning yoga ritual and left for work, I poured myself a bowl of Crunchy Nut Corn Flakes and settled down with my new CD. Within minutes I was left speechless. The music was instrumental; the compositions spellbinding. For one whole hour I sat on the floor of my flat, completely transfixed by the musical soundscapes that were assaulting my senses.

When the CD finished I did the only thing I could possibly do. I listened to it again. And again. I was spellbound by the intricate array of instruments and the notes they played. It was, without question, one of the finest CDs I’d ever heard.

As the months passed I returned to this CD whenever my stress levels rose as the music had a calming influence over me. I listened to it when faced with a panic attack. I listened to it on long train journeys. I listened to it as I strolled around a heaving city. And whenever I listened to it, whenever I allowed the music to steal my soul, I was left breathless.

This is Your Captain Speaking; one of the finest, if not the finest, instrumental bands of all time.

25 Songs, 25 Days: Rise Again

Day 03: A song that reminds you of one/both of your parents

◊

Rise Again | The Rankin Family

My father is a music aficionado.

There is nothing he doesn’t know about acid rock, prog rock, folk rock and art rock. He knows his Abba from his abbandonatamente. His geschwind from his Gershwin. And if you were to ask him who was number 1 in the charts on the 21 January 1973 he’d be able to tell you. Not just in the UK, but the US, Australia, Mongolia and Kazakhstan as well!

Because of my father I became a fan of The Eagles, Queen, Kansas, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Bryan Adams. Yet out of all of the great music my father introduced me to; from Heart of Glass to Booooom, Blast  & Ruin, from Chasing Rainbows to Life on Mars, the song that will always remind me of him is one I shared with him.

After arriving in Australia I saw the opportunity to introduce my father to a selection of artists he may never have heard of. A world of music from the other side of the planet that would rival those he had introduced me to. Cue My Friend the Chocolate Cake, Archie Roach, Lisa Miller, This Is Your Captain Speaking, Kavisha Mazella and Laura Imbruglia.

Amidst all these CDs was a record (as in a record, of an event, the event, of people, playing music, in a room) from a country that wasn’t Australia. And it was this record my father picked to praise during one of our telephone conversations.

And from that record, there was one song that he proclaimed to be one of the best he’d ever heard.

And it is this song I have chosen to share with you today. For whenever I hear it I think of him and the gifts he gave me.