Let’s set the record straight…

So, let’s set the record straight.

Things have cooled off a bit. Time has passed. I re-read my last post, and have realised that I was possibly, slightly unfair.

The person who has hurt me recently is hurting too. He didn’t want to end things, but he didn’t feel he had any other option. I don’t hate him for that.. Hell, I’m not even angry… It’s difficult. Relationships are difficult, but throw in an uncontrolled mental illness, leading to uncontrollable behaviour, unpredictability, and irrationality and relationships become somewhat impossible. So I am not angry that he left me. He just didn’t do it right. I know there’s never a ‘right way’, but this was the worst way. It was very much a déjà vu of the first betrayal…. And that hurts… A lot. But he didn’t do it like that on purpose, that’s just how it worked out. In essence, he’s a good person. He stayed by my side when I was crying for hours on end, called for help when I sliced open wrist and did all he could to calm me. He’s the only reason I wasn’t sectioned – because he agreed to take legal responsibility for me. He did so much for me, and he did it because he loved me. And I still love him. And that’s why it all hurts so much. That’s why, at least for now, I can’t help but be bitter. So, if you’re reading, I apologise for that. And I hope one day I can move on to the extent where I can have you back in my life – just at the distance you need. I also hope one day I can move on to the point where I am able to trust again, and meet someone who is able to support me in a way they can cope with… But I get the distinct feeling that’s many years off…

But moving on, this week has been suspiciously positive… I say suspicious because I don’t think I’ve taken any sedatives this week, which has happened since the start of February.
I submitted my final piece of coursework for the year, albeit a week late, I got my new glasses – life in HD is a bit exciting – I organised getting a flat with two friends, so we won’t be homeless next year, and I got through two night shifts. My wonderful wonderful friend drove me across the country to get me home, and we went on my favourite hike so he got to see how beautiful the local area is. I took him to visit Bath, where I got a new phone, having f*cked my old one, so I have contact with the outside world again. Things are looking up! Oh, and I decided which medical schools I’m applying to – feeling a bit old and responsible… How on Earth has anyone even let me think about attempting to be a doctor? Eek!

I’ve done that typical girl thing – get dumped, get your hair cut, get a new look (glasses… and I’ve even started wearing make-up!) and get my shit together. The phrase ‘I won’t let this win, I’m better than this’ definitely escaped my lips several times whilst completing that coursework. I’m a determined bugger when I want to be. So the next step, as I mentioned in the previous blog, is to focus on losing some weight. Due to the anxiety, I was vomiting several times a day a couple of weeks ago, and was therefore unable to eat. This lasted around 10 days. I am now happily back to my old, food-loving self, but this has at least started the process, even if not in the most sensible way. Tomorrow I’m heading to Gran Canaria for a week with my parents. Diet starts when we get back….? I am, clearly, looking forward to this holiday, but there’s also an element of concern. Given that this has been my first week not having any acute episodes or needing any PRN medication, things are by no means ‘fixed’. Better, perhaps. More stable. But not fixed. Any what if this is all a superficial front that my subconscious is working very hard to put on? I feel like a time-bomb… Surely it has to all explode at some point?

Or it doesn’t, and this is the beginning of The End… At least of this crisis.

So, a relaxed weekend at home, following a productive week and it seems I was right – things are on the way up. I’ve started to realise how much of this has to come from me, but also, the Specialist Mental Health Team, who are now responsible for my care, seem to be a fantastic resource. Their doctor was lovely, he’s come up with a proper care plan, so far the medication alterations only seem to have been beneficial, and there’s one more drug I’m yet to start – a mood stabiliser. He’s also decided that some individual psychological therapy would be beneficial. A trusted friend of mine who is a psychologist agrees, so I’m hoping that will help deal with the root cause.

As soon as I get back from this holiday it will be time to crack on with revision for my summer exams, which I WILL work hard for and I WILL smash them. I have decided that it’s time to be positive. I wouldn’t expect to get good grades if I didn’t work for the exams, so why am I expecting my mental health to improve without working for it? Previously, I’ve always used the excuse that I haven’t had time. I’ve had coursework to do, or had to cook, or do my washing, or do a shift, or needed time to relax with my guitar… But I’m just going to have to make time. Without stabilising my metal health I won’t cope with med school, I won’t manage to be a doctor, and I won’t ever be capable of having a successful relationship. So from now on, mental health comes first.

Ground Zero

So, here I am again, back where I started. In exactly the same position as last year. Ground Zero. At least it can’t go downhill from here.

To give some context – I am a 21 year old studying biomedical science at the University of Essex. I get good grades, have fantastic friends, a busy social life and I’m on the committees of both St John Ambulance and SSAGO (Student Scout and Guide Organisation). In have volunteered thousands of hours for St John, received awards for my commitment and interactions with patients, I work for another medical company, I have a fantastic relationship with my parents, who raised me in the Cotswolds, and relax by playing guitar, violin, saxophone, or singing.

On paper, I have the ideal life – so why doesn’t it feel like that? And why am I labelled a nutter?

Throughout my teenage years I suffered with low mood and crippling anxiety, which meant I suffered what I now know to be huge anxiety attacks every day. The frequency of these has lessened, but by no means is all fine and dandy.
After my A levels I moved to Spain, where I worked in a nursery and lived with three horrible human beings. Understandably, this did not do wonders for my mental health and through a series of unfortunate events I ended up being put on resperidone, a very strong anti-psychotic, and an awful lot of benzos.. Spaced out is an understatement.
However, on my return to the UK I got put on mirtazapine, the wonder drug! …. Or so I thought…
My WONDERFUL GP, who is one of the best, caring and generous spirited people I have ever met, forgot to warn me about the ‘weight gain’ side effects…. As a young woman, this caused a slight problem. All the weight I had lost in Spain from being so unwell all went back on, and then some. This is something I’m still attempting to fix.

Anyway, six months on from this, following an eventful (and slutty) few months working in a hotel, I began university. And then we had the first suicide attempt. A small altercation with one of my new flatmates led to a panic that I’d have a repeat of Spain. I didn’t know how to fix it, I couldn’t live (again) with someone who hated me, so in my eyes the only option was to drop out of uni. All that went through my head was that I couldn’t fix life, so I decided it was over. A huge overdose, and ambulance ride and about 27 hours in hospital later I had my first interaction with the local crisis team.
I recovered from this pretty quickly, with the help of some fantastic friends, got back on my feet and continued being my usual bubbly self, getting my coursework in, attending lectures and juggling a social life. I coped with a plethora of exams in January, and all of the spring term, until the Easter break. I was in Spain with a sports society, and somebody thought it would be a hilarious idea to put his hand up my skirt in front of all of my friends. I, on the other hand, did not agree, and we had a second overdose, as I coudn’t bear the idea of meaning so little to another human, who I considered a friend, that they would, essentially, sexually assault me as a joke. If there’s any advice I would ever give anyone it would be not to take an overdose in Spain. They WILL pump your stomach, and it WILL be one of the most traumatic experiences of your life.

So then we repeated. I recovered, left the relationship I didn’t want to be in and had a summer similar to the last.. In my eyes I was just being ‘young and carefree’ and behaving as a student should; spending money, sleeping around, drinking lots and various other questionable behaviors. Bu that’s just fun, right? It’s a laugh, especially when the stories come out in drinking games at parties… Or possibly not. Possibly, it’s the manifestation of someone who doesn’t know how to cope, or doesn’t have access to their feelings. Sleeping around is the only way to feel close to people.

So, eventually, everything came crashing down again, this time around November. I had another suicide attempt, and ended up with a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder. This is a diagnosis I struggle with. The stigma surrounding it is huge, and it makes me feel like my illness is my fault and like I’m a flawed person. One of the people I’d been sleeping with came to the hospital with me on this occasion. He stayed by my bedside for 24 hours without sleeping, eating, or resting. He made it clear that he loved me, and gradually, over time persuaded me into a relationship. It was not something I wanted, as I’d been so hurt from a previous affair that I was terrified of commitment – mainly because that gives someone the opportunity to leave you and destroy you. And that’s what he did. After months of persuading me into the relationship I trusted him enough accept my feelings for him, and very quickly fell head over heels. Once together, we rapidly began to spend most of our time with each other, and were both sure very quickly that this was what we wanted. Forever. He persuaded me into thinking he would always be there for me. Always be by my side. No matter what. He promised time, and time again that he could cope with the mental health issues. But suddenly, one day, he couldn’t. The previous night he had upset me at work, which led to me having a panic attack, at work, and my boss telling me I couldn’t work until I was more stable. We ended up in A&E to see the crisis team. We talked, we sorted out most of the issues, even if we still had a few creases to iron out. And the next day, he disappeared. He told me he couldn’t cope. He didn’t love me enough to work through the issues and to wait until I got better.

Which is where we reach Ground Zero. I have effectively lost my job, I have lost my partner, I cannot bring myself to attend lectures and I can’t focus enough to do my coursework. I have lost friends, some because of a fourth suicide attempt, and I’ve hurt those still with me and my family. And essentially, it’s all my fault. I have sat and watched my life crumble, but been too unwell to do anything about it. My actions and words are what have pushed people away and destroyed so many good things. Even if I haven’t been in control when I have said or done them… It’s me. It’s my fault. I have no self esteem, I despise myself, I’m well aware that I look disgusting and desperately need to lose the weight that I put on with the mirtazapine. But these are things I can work on.

From here, I can recognise the psychological issues, and accept the psychiatric issues. My medications is being tweaked, the diagnosis is still being determined – Borderline Personality Disorder and various types of Bipolar Disorder have a lot of cross-over. So, the medication will change and the psychiatrist has recommended some psychological therapy. This is something I’ve never had before.

I may have hit rock bottom, but at least that means the only way is up.