Some of us with long-term mental illness are lucky enough to be financially supported or assisted by family and friends. My parents are paying the mortgage and most of my bills and I don’t know how I’d manage without them. The fortnightly government allowance is swallowed up by food and groceries and cat food and the occasional book. I haven’t walked into a clothing shop or a shoe shop or a department store for months. Hiring a DVD once a week is cheaper than the cinema. To save money I pare my diet down to raw carrots, mandarins, spinach leaves and steamed rice with chilli. I drink black coffee instead of whisky. I lose a lot of weight. My blood glucose and cholesterol normalise after the years of subsisting on chocolate. Sometimes I faint if I stand up too quickly. When one of my former colleagues in cancer research goes on long service leave, I’m offered a job as her replacement for three months. I feel somewhat re-born just at the thought of being involved in something that matters, in having a sense of purpose, in contributing.
