How the hell am I back here?

How the hell am I back here? Back on this blog. Back in this mindset. It’s been a while. This might be a long one.

In the few years I’d happily forgotten about this blog, a lot has happened. I got diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, and put on actual mood stabilisers. I got thrown out of medical school for having Bipolar disorder, despite being perfectly stable – yes it was illegal, yes it utterly broke me, no there was nothing I could do about it. It still turns my stomach every time I think about it, but I can’t change the past. Shit happens.

Then covid happened, and I had to move back to my parents house. Then we lost my dad. Very selfish behaviour if you ask me, entirely unacceptable for one to just go and die. In all seriousness it was crap, but he didn’t suffer for long, and he had his entire family around him, and got to die at home. As deaths go….

Somehow I sort of coped with that. Of course I grieved, I’m human, but it felt like normal brain grieving. At the same time I was under the psych team near my parents, and eventually had some therapy on the NHS. It was useless. I was just coming to the realisation that I very clearly have ADHD and that a lot of what had been assessed as Bipolar Disorder was, in actual fact, neurodivergence not mental illness. The difference between those things may not be apparent to all, but it’s the difference between believing you’re ill and there’s something wrong, and knowing you’re fine and safe, but your brain is built a little differently. 

So then I pursued that and was diagnosed with ADHD. Suddenly, between the Bipolar and the ADHD, life made sense. But the therapist didn’t want to talk about that. She didn’t care about diagnoses. She just wanted to talk about dad, which was probably the one thing I didn’t need help with.

For much of this I was physically unwell – 23 knee dislocations and migraines that cause seizures tend to stop one in one’s tracks. So I was just trying to get well. And eventually I did. I had my knee totally rebuilt in May 2023, did a lot of physio and swimming and hiking, and my knee improved. As did the migraines, though that one is still a mystery….

I knew I wanted to emigrate, the UK was damaging me, especially being trapped in a tiny town, but I couldn’t until my Irish Citizenship came through. As I will say, for the 12 millionth time – FUCK BREXIT.

So I spent several weeks in Andalucia, where I knew I wanted to move, in the spring of 2024. I got to know Sevilla, Malaga, and Cordoba as well as I could, looked around some estate agents and kept an eye out for any jobs going, knowing my Irish Citizenship would arrive within the month. Except it didn’t. What arrived instead was a message telling me there been an error. I had another 6 to 9 months to wait. Bollocks.

Time to think again. I was concerned about going straight back into full-time paid work, so I thought some volunteering might be a good test. I had a couple of months back at Mum’s house and one day, in September, decided I had enough. I found a project in Ecuador and a week later was on a plane. Then back to the UK for a couple of weeks and of to Vietnam. While in Vietnam my Irish Citizenship arrived at Mum’s. Then back to the UK for a week or so, applied for my Irish passport, then Greece – this was a good opportunity to practice the Greek I’d been studying. After Greece was Christmas. And Christmas was nice. But then we got into January, and I still had nothing to do and no EU passport. So I found a volunteering project in Guatemala, and once again, a week later was on a plane. Ironically my passport arrived within that week.

So I was finally ready to move to Spain. I’d decided the best way of doing this was to work as an au pair. So while in Guatemala I was searching for jobs, and I found a family. We carefully timed a videocall interview, and then confirmed that I start in April. This gave me 2 weeks back in the UK post Guatemala to sort my life out (and go to a hen do), and then I moved.

Throughout all of this I was doing well. Tired, on occasion, but never just depressed or down, and no panic attacks. I felt good. I liked where I lived and I liked my job.

And then the family got some bad news. Not mine to share, but it meant they couldn’t have an au pair, so I had to move out and find a new job. The moving out part happened quickly. I found somewhere well positioned and with people I really like.

But there are no jobs. Or at least none that want me. I may as well have no qualifications because the homologacion takes months, and until then I can’t use any qualifications. But even so, I have experience in various fields, and still I can get a job. Admittedly most of my experience has been in medicine, and I’ve been going for waiting jobs, but I don’t know how to get into anything more relevant.

I coped for probably 6 weeks. 6 weeks of walking miles a day handing out CVs. 6 weeks of just applying for anything in person or online and being rejected. I had 2 companies take me on, but just for a couple of shifts. There were reasons they didn’t work out, mostly due to errors in the hiring system, but it stings.

I only had so much motivation, and it’s gone. I’ve got hospitality experience, I speak several languages, and I’m good in an emergency. I thought that would get me hired in a touristy area, but no.

So now I feel useless. Totally useless. And like I have no value. And that I wasted years studying, and my money, my parents’ money, and taxpayer money. All for qualifications I now can’t even use. I’m deep in a pit of self hatred, and there’s no ladder in sight. Maybe everyone else would cope with this, and I’m just weak. Maybe nobody else would be in this situation because I’m totally valueless.

And so I find myself back here. Back deeply wishing I was anyone else. Hating myself with an intensity I can’t quite describe. People normally say this as a joke, but I just view myself as a waste of oxygen. Of water. And the blog… I don’t know. The blog helps me organise how I think and feel, and makes me feel like I’ve got some of the venom out of my brain via my keyboard. Even if I don’t know that anyone has read it, it makes me feel a little less alone. Like there might be another human who has possibly read it and can see what it’s like inside my brain, like someone might understand this pain.

Hell, it was helpful before, and there were points when I was deeply unwell then. Who’s to say it won’t help this time, as I see the inevitable plummet into a depression so deep I cease to function. Inevitable because I’ve done literally everything I can to improve this, and nothing’s fucking worked. Excellent. Here we go again.

FUCK MANIA

Fuck mania.

No seriously, fuck it.

It sounds like it’s all fun and games, and that having a sense of elation constantly must be great, but it’s scary, and can have shitty consequences. The elation is there, but on a knife edge. Anything could potentially push it the wrong way and make you plummet. That’s why it’s scary. It’s great to be enjoying life and not even acknowledge your worries or issues… But you’re constantly waiting for things to go wrong.

And that’s part of it… Not even realising the issues and important tasks are still there. This means things don’t get dealt with, and so when the crash does happen, there’s a whole load of bullshit to wade through.

On the plus side, apart from the worry that things could fall apart any second, you live in the moment. You’re not worried about the small things… The quarrels, the bitchiness, that awkward thing you said in the pub last week. It doesn’t matter. You’re there, you’re socialising, and loving every second of it. You don’t need to take anything seriously, life is light, and superficial. You’re up for anything. If you’ve seen the film ‘Yes Man’…. Literally anything anyone suggests, and you’re there.

However… It does also cause you to do some really stupid stuff, as a result of not thinking outside the moment. You behave irresponsibly, but not necessarily so much that anyone who doesn’t know would notice. To those on the outside you just seem more… Gregarious, happy, and generally… At ease with the world. But when you look back on it you start to get angry. Angry at yourself for not managing to take control of the situation at the time. Angry at yourself for making the same mistakes again. And angry because you *never* fucking notice you’re manic until you’ve already exhibited a number of these behaviour. Never. Each time you think you’re getting better at recognising, and then you realise you’re not. Eventually other people start to pick up on things, especially those close to you, and only then do you notice the pattern of behaviours.

There’s also something it’s hard to explain. The real tell-tale sign, for me, anyway, is that I feel like I’m full of bees. My whole body. Like it has electricity coursing through it. And my brain just buzzes. Nothing specific, it just doesn’t stop thinking, and it doesn’t go quiet. For those of you who’ve suffered from panic attacks, it’s similar to that feeling when your mind is whirring, your heart is racing, and you’re in complete sensory overload. Except instead of the dread, it’s almost like excitement. But this does mean that you’re already half way to a panic attack. Constantly, for weeks. And therefore, if something bad or stressful does happen, it doesn’t take long for things to progress into a panic attack.

Like I say, it’s not all bad. You’re much more socially adept than usual, and sometimes you end up getting amazing experiences out of it. And it’s nice to feel truly carefree. But at other times, you get to the final stages of donating a kidney before crashing, and (thankfully) not going through with it.

So fuck you, mania. Please just let me chill out for a bit.

I don’t want to feel like a patient!

I don’t want to feel like a patient. I know, technically, I am. I’m on medication, it needs reviewing by medical professionals. This is sensible and necessary. I do not have an issue with this, when it is occasional or a change needs to be made. Generally I’m treated as an adult and my involved in decisions about my care and medication. If I think something should go up or down, I’m generally trusted to manage it.

But I don’t want to feel like a patient. When I first moved to London and had a new GP she refused to give me my medication on repeat prescriptions. I’d been on these meds for well over a year. I understand that at first she needed to keep tabs and get to know me, but this went on for months, to the point where I changed GPs because I couldn’t stand it… She did also tell me THE FIRST TIME I MET HER that she wanted me off *all* medication. I had to have an appointment every 4 weeks, as well as regular appointments with the nurse as they wouldn’t prescribe the contraceptive pill I’ve been on for 8 years on repeat either. This, on top of a physical health issue requiring regular prescriptions of codeine, meant I essentially lived in my GP. Aside from this being inconvenient, it suddenly felt like I was unwell, which was not the case. I was fine and just wanted life to carry on as normal. I felt ‘medicalised’… Not sure if that’s a word… It is now… But if you’re treated like you’re unwell, you start to over-analyse and think that you are.

So why am I moaning about this? One of the medications I’m on is pregabalin. This is to control anxiety and thus far has been the medication that’s made the most immediate and profound effect. For me, it has been a wonder drug. And it’s been reclassified. This means it is now a class C controlled drug and, essentially, the upshot is that it can no longer be prescribed on repeat. I believe the concerns are that it is being over prescribed for pain, but also has a fairly high street value.

But this means I’ll have to go back to monthly appointments with the doctor, even if they’re just phone appointments. This is hassle. It’s unnecessary. It’s a waste of my doctor’s time, and of my time. And again, I’ll begin to become medicalised.

I understand the necessity to put extra controls on certain drugs, and considering the current spike of this drug on the black market (apparently particularly in prisons), it seems appropriate. But I feel that the rules should not be absolute. For someone who’s in chronic neuralgic pain, they do need frequent review. This is to see whether the pain is relieved or improved. Whether they still need the medication. Whether they need a higher or a lower dose. Chronic pain is quite fluid and changeable, and therefore needs careful and close management.

However, unfortunately, my cyclothymia and anxiety aren’t going anywhere. They might fluctuate, but these psychiatric conditions aren’t something that go. They need to be managed for life, and the management tends to be fairly stable when something successful has been found.

Chronic pain is also often something to be managed for life, but the treatment necessary is often much more fluent and changeable. I don’t think I’ve explained my point very well, but what I mean is that when mental health is stabilised with medication it tends to remain stable. This is less common with chronic pain.

It seems odd to me, that despite the fact I have been on this medication for two years, and on this dose for about a year and a half, and it’s WORKING, I suddenly have to go back to monthly appointments in order to get it. I’m also under the mental health team, so there is someone keeping tabs.

I suppose what I’m saying is that I appreciate the need for these classifications, but the rules should be more flexible depending on the illness for which the drug is being prescribed.

So… Overall… I’m doing ok. Currently in a slightly difficult patch, but still functioning, and compared to the past, this is nothing. But I have felt like a normal, functioning member of society for a year. I haven’t felt mentally ill, because I haven’t been. And I’m not now. But I’m frustrated that the system has the potential to make me feel as if I’m a patient again, even though I’m well.

Ok, this really is crap now.

I still don’t know.

After months of chasing, and nagging, and asking nicely, and following things up. I still don’t know.

I spoke to the mental health team today. As they were sent the request for the report so late, the psychiatrist and CPN only had the chance to put something together on Tuesday, so it’s only been sent off today. So it will only arrive at OH on Monday or Tuesday. So I *might* just have a decision by the end of next week. I’m supposed to fucking start a week on Monday.

I’ve been calm, and I’ve been patient, and I’ve kept my cool. And I’m still doing all of those things. But this is shit. I mean.. really shit. I’m not going to lose my cool, and I know it’s something I just have to deal with and that I can’t change. But I’m tired of it now. It’s emotionally exhausting, and incredibly disheartening.

I’m having to pack, and prepare, as if my first day will be in 10 days time… Whilst being aware that it may all be for no reason. And that’s really hard.

So I am keeping it together, and I’m fine. But this is a really crap situation.

Well… This isn’t ideal.

I’m surprisingly ok.. Certainly more ok than I would normally expect.. I’m not entirely sure whether this is how most people would react, and I’m doing really well, or whether I’m being emotionally numb and shut off.

Yesterday I had my occupational health appointment for my new university course.

I was expecting to have an open, honest, and frank discussion about my mental illness, how it affects me, and how I cope… Which we did… I was also expecting the outcome of the meeting to be ‘these are the support measures we’ll put in place’. Not quite..

Recently, I’ve done really well. I’ve had no panics over exams, I’ve had a few blows and coped with them, or reacted in a reasonable way. I’ve been on top of everything. I’ve been looking after myself.

I was aware the MH could be an issue for the new course, so I put steps in place. I contacted the disability team very early on and had a meeting with them. I’ve set up a meeting with one of their advisors, and people from the department. I’ve made sure my mental health team knows they’re going to have to transfer me. I’ve looked up relevant therapy to support me when I’m there.

I’ve been stable, and I’ve shown insight and planning. I’ve worked really hard to get my shit together for this, and put measures in place to prevent anything going wrong.

So while I was aware there would be a chance I could be told I couldn’t do the course yet, I didn’t expect it. And they haven’t said I can’t do the course. They’ve said I might not be able to, and they have to talk to the GP and psychiatrist before making a decision. I totally understand why. It’s a reasonable thing to do. I can see why they’re questioning my ability to cope. But it’s frustrating.

I’ve just finished one degree. I’ve sat every exam, and completed every piece of coursework bar one, which I couldn’t do because I missed the lab as I had flu. Essentially, what I’m getting at, is that despite the problems I’ve faced, I’ve coped, and I’ve done well. And I’m more stable now than I ever have been, so surely things should be easier?

I get that it’s stressful. I get the concern about my ability to do this course. I get that they have to go through the motions and do all the checks. I’m not concerned about the GP saying I’ll be ok, because she knows me, and knows I’ll be able to cope. If she didn’t think I could, she’d have said something long ago. The psychiatrist, on the other hand…. I’ve only met one psychiatrist from the mental health team, for 20 minutes, and she was horrible and sent me into a bit of a meltdown.. but even my dad agreed that it was an awful consultation. I am worried about having a letter written by someone who doesn’t know me, hasn’t seen me progress, hasn’t spoken to me in months.. that sits uneasy in my mind.

And it just sucks a bit. I’m worried they’ll say I can’t do the course. And I’m a bit down, because it feels like no matter how well I do, and no matter what I achieve, it will always be overshadowed by the fact I have mental health issues.

However, to be positive, I’m staying calm. They haven’t said I can’t do it yet.. and if they do, it should be a case of holding my place until next year, when I prove I’ve been stable for longer. I’m frustrated that this has all happened so late in the day. And I’m frustrated that the MH condition is more important than all of the good things they must have seen in my application and in interview. But I’m coping. And I’m stable. I am aware that I am feeling anxious, and that I am feeling disappointed, but those emotions aren’t in control… I am. And I think that alone speaks volumes.

So here’s what I don’t understand.

So here’s what I don’t understand. As a society, we’re changing. We’re being encouraged to be open about our mental health, whether it be good or bad. We’re being encouraged to be more kind, and understand, and not to trivialise traits of ill mental health in every day conversation. More and more people want to learn, and want to understand. More and more people say they’re happy to support each other. So why does none of this work?

I’ve never been one to particularly hide my mental health condition, and for a long time this was because I couldn’t. Throughout secondary school I had horrendous panic attacks, daily, and couldn’t cope with even the smallest of challenges. I had no self esteem, and didn’t even realise how much I was over-thinking things. At this point, without a diagnosis, It was all shrugged off as the behaviour of a hysterical teenager. Attention seeking. Unimportant.

I’m not bitter about this. Looking back on it now, I can see why this is what people thought. I didn’t have enough self awareness and insight at this point to even try to explain what was going on in my head, even if I wanted to. It wasn’t until I was first put on antidepressant and anti anxiety drugs, at the age of 15, that my head was even clear enough to start seeing why I was feeling so dreadful.

Now, 7 years later, I certainly do have more insight. This is often commented on by mental health professionals. I can see why I’m feeling a certain why, and I’m beginning to understand how this influences some of my actions. But it’s difficult. And I’m certainly only at the beginning of a long road.

I suppose part of the problem is that even if I can intellectually understand some of these mindsets and behaviours, I can’t necessarily convey this information to the emotional part of my brain, meaning the outcome is often the same. This starts to make certain things feel inevitable and inescapable, and others often can’t understand this.

But I’ve been hurting recently, because sometimes, it feels like no matter how hard I try, nothing matters. It doesn’t matter to people that you’re trying, if the outcome is the same.

I take all of the many pills I’m told to take, and listen to the doctors. I attend my appointments. I look into my diagnosis to try and get a better grasp of which behaviours I need to look out for. Which behaviours are warning signs. And I’ve done pretty fucking well! For the first time ever I spotted an oncoming manic episode, and prevented it from taking control – with a little help from some psychoactive substances, and a lot of help from a few very wonderful people. I’ve started to recognise that, while I didn’t have a problem with drinking, it did make me vulnerable, and then things could very easily go wrong. So I had 2 months completely dry, a week or two of allowing myself a little bit, and now back on the straight and narrow. I realised that repressing emotions for an extended period would eventually lead to an uncontrolled and explosive release, so have learned to accept that it’s ok to have shitty days, and then pick myself up and dust myself off, rather than wait until I was completely out of control.

But try as I might, things still go wrong occasionally. They do. That’s what happens. Especially when you’re only just beginning to really understand the nature of the beast. And I do understand that I have hurt people, and whether it’s really me or not, whether I have any control, it still hurts them. I get that. I really do. And I live in perpetual guilt. But I also have friends who I support. I have friends who struggle with their mental health, and who have said, or done things, which have hurt me. But I look at this rationally and objectively, and understand that it’s not really them. So it’s frustrating that people can’t do this with me.. Maybe you can’t forgive these things until you understand them personally.

But each time someone walks away.. each time someone abandons you as a lost cause… it reinforces the little voice telling you that however hard you try, it will never be worth it. And it really fucking hurts. It really hurts that people think I choose to behave in the ways that hurt them, and that they think I, as a person, and as their friend, am capable of that. It scares me to know how little control I have sometimes, as if I’m not making the decisions, I’m just begin carried through life by them. It terrifies me that I can’t remember what’s happened.. Because I only know I don’t remember when somebody tells me.. so what could have happened when nobody tells me?

I don’t blame these people. I understand that not everyone can cope with it, and that sometimes people do need to walk away for the sake of their own mental health. I respect that. I understand that. But at least be kind. Explain it. Have the decency to tell the person, who once meant so much to you, what’s happening. Don’t just disappear. Some people have done exactly that, and to them I am eternally grateful, not just for that, but everything they’ve ever done for me. It still hurts, but at least I know they still have some respect for me as a human being.

But really, what destroys me that I know, ultimately, it is all my fault. Because it’s my brain creating these emotions, and reactions. It’s my brain making me say and do certain things. It may not be the part I have control over. It may not be a lucid part of me. But it is me, and it’s excruciating to know that I am such a flawed human being. The Shakespearean fatal flaw, which everyone but the protagonist can see, and forewarn. To the audience it seems obvious how to evade the impending doom. But I am aware of my flaws. I just need time, patience, understanding, and kindness, to learn to work around them. And if ever possible, to see them into ancient history. Maybe that way, the inexorable, dramatic, tragic ending, might be less inexorable.

 

I’m a little bit fed up of going round and round in circles.

Well. This was a position I was hoping I wouldn’t find myself in again quite so soon.

I’ve had a really good couple of weeks! The mania calmed down (having had my parents pay £300 for a private psychiatrist to adjust my meds), but I stayed focused and motivated. Wrote a good chunk of my dissertation, got a load of tasks done that needed doing.

And now I find myself sitting in my car, too worried of going into my flat, for fear of what I’ll end up doing to myself.

And the main, contributing factor? Something I’ve loved from the moment I became involved. Something which made me feel like I belonged, and gave me a sense of community and companionship. Something where for the first time in my life, I felt I was a natural, and that I was actually good at something.

But clearly, none of that matters.

Until shortly before Christmas, I’d never really felt true discrimination. Sure, I’d had people leave me because of my mental health, and I’d been told that I temporarily couldn’t partake in certain activities as a result of crises, but I’d never truly felt discrimination.

But, despite being signed off as fit to work, by 2 psychiatrists, an associate mental health practitioner, and my GP, I was told I was no longer allowed to volunteer my time doing what I loved. I’d already had 6 weeks of this, due to delays on both my part, and that of the organisation, only to be told that I had a further 6 and a half months to wait until my next review. At which point, I may or may not be allowed to continue.

At no point was I consulted to see what had actually happened, at no point was I offered any support, by an organisation which is supposed to help save lives. I have had no welfare checks. Nobody even contacted me to ask if I was ok. I was just told I was no longer wanted, because I have a mental illness.

As if this didn’t hurt enough, I was then bullied out of the equating society at university. I had donated to much time and effort, and was essentially told it wasn’t good enough. That I wasn’t good enough.

So I carried on, clinging to the last part of the organisation available to me. And now that has gone. Admittedly, this time through my own choosing, but I didn’t have much choice. However hard I tried, it wasn’t good enough. The constant onslaught criticism was damaging me to the point where I repeatedly found that on the days I was supposed to be attending these sessions, I couldn’t, or could barely leave the house at all. I understand that it’s difficult to work with someone who struggles with organisation, but when you repeatedly do your best, only to be told it’s worthless, it does grind you down.

I feel somewhat like Icarus. I got too close to the sun, believed I was good at something. I believed the praise I had from others. I accepted the regional awards, and gradually came to accept that, maybe, I at least slightly deserved them. And now it’s all gone. Because I’m clearly not good enough for that to be more important than my mental health. The awards were hollow, and the praise clearly misdirected.

So here I sit. Reminded of why I felt worthless for all of those years. Reminded of how my mental health deteriorated to such an extent. Reminded that, most of the time, my best isn’t good enough.

Maybe I shouldn’t be going into medicine at all. I mean, I sure as hell don’t feel I deserve that place. I’m still waiting for an email to tell me it was a mistake. I struggle to take criticism, and that’s a key part of medicine, but I don’t know how to change that in order to accept it, without allowing myself to feel so desolate. I’m sure there are many acquaintances of mine, muttering behind my back about how I’m not suited to the career, and maybe they’re right. If I’m not good enough for the thing that pointed me down this path, then maybe I’m not good enough at all.

I remember, now, why I never allowed myself to feel good about anything I ever did. Because when I return to face reality, I feel even worse. And feeling worse, gets dangerous.

I’m angry and hurt, more than I could possibly explain, that something which was such a wonderful thing, and had such a positive impact on my life, has directly led me to feeling like none of this is worth the pain and misery.

My wonderful flatmate, and the best friend I have ever had the pleasuring of being a part of my life, has come to escort me inside. She knows the full context, and understands why I’m feeling like this. I’m sure she knows many of the unspoken thoughts that are going through my head.

But there are many times, like now, where the only thing stopping me, the only thing keeping me here, is the knowledge of what it would do to her. And I desperately hope I could never do that.

How can you ‘seek help’, when it doesn’t f*cking exist!?

I write sitting in A&E (I know, haha, what a surprise). However, this time, I haven’t done anything stupid.. yet.

On Monday night, I identified that I was heading into a mania. So I decided, instead of burying my head in the sand, letting it take over, and reaching self destruct, I would address the problem.

So. On Tuesday, I attended my lecture in the morning (yes, a modern miracle), and headed over to the GP. I had an appointment with the Emergency Nurse. She decided I needed to see the Doctor. So far, so good.

So, I went to call my CPN, to update her and ask for advice. We came up with a plan. I’d see the GP, we’d replenish my supply of sedatives to get me through the night, and I’d go to an appointment with her in the morning. We’d see where we went from there.

So I saw the GP, he was wonderfully helpful. He tried calling the crisis team. They said they wouldn’t touch me, because I’m under the Specialist Mental Health Team, and therefore, I’m their responsibility. So he called SMHT. They said, because it was a crisis, the crisis team had to deal with it. Of course. They said if the crisis team wouldn’t help me, then we had to go to A&E.

The GP, understandably, wasn’t willing to send me home with meds in the state I was in. So he said I should go to A&E, following the advice of the SMHT. He was, however, furious that the appropriate services were unwilling or unable to help. He did all he could, and I am very grateful for that. It was nice to see that his frustration with the system matched mine, but was somewhat disheartening to realise even a doctor can’t get the appropriate care for his patients.

I was less keen on this. We went home, finished my supply of sedatives, ate some pizza (thank you Lizz ❤), and went to sleep.

Chapter Two: Today.

10am – appointment with CPN. She’s very lovely, and caring, and helpful. However. Her hands are somewhat tied. She can refer me to the psychiatrist, but I won’t be seen for weeks. She can refer me to therapy, but I won’t be seen for months. We had a good chat, but there was no actual practical outcome.

So we tried to go back to the GP. But my GP practice is awkward. We missed the Emergency Nurse by 10 minutes, so it would have been several hours before I could have even made contact.

It was at this point I finally realised that A&E was the only option. That’s what they tell you to do in crisis. ‘There’ll be a psychiatrist’ ‘You’re separated from the physical patients’. This is bullshit. We sat for 6 hours, in a noisy, crowded A&E waiting room. Don’t get me wrong, A&E is busy, sometimes you have to wait. People are dying. But… If a patient is in pain, they’re given pain relief while they wait. Why was I not offered any sedatives? I’m prescribed them, for PRN use, and ran out, because I only have a small supply, due to not often needing them. Medicine is based around relieving suffering, but this was not done.

Finally, someone from the crisis team arrived. She told me there was nothing they could do. She couldn’t prescribe, which was understandable. She told me the A&E doctors couldn’t prescribe.. How is this the case? If this is true, then why are we continually told to go to A&E whilst in a crisis?

So I left. I was thrown from the SMHT to the GP. From the GP to the crisis team. From the crisis team back to SMHT. From SMHT and the GP to A&E. From A&E to the crisis team, only to be told that there was nothing they could do, and to essentially be told to go home. With no meds. No extra support. The expectation of my friends to look after me. This is unreasonable.

How is there no emergency Psychiatrist? How is it possible for someone to follow every avenue they are told is available, and end up left with nothing, having been perfectly honest about the fact that heading into a mania can lead to risky behaviour.

So we left. I got about 20 feet, and broke down. I felt lost. I felt like I was falling, and there was nothing there to catch me. I felt godforsaken and desolate, and as if there was no hope. Because there is no help. You can try and try, and beg and plead, and it doesn’t come. I feel worthless, and an inconvenience. Because today has shown me that in this system, I do not matter. I am so unimportant that rather than anybody try to help, I’ve just been passed on and on, and eventually told there was nothing to be done. Discharged. Whilst going into a mania. That seems safe…

I went back into A&E reception and explained to the nurse that I would be at risk without the correct medication. She booked me back in, I’ve seen another nurse, she’s going to get me to see the doctor. Hopefully this will solve the problem. We are currently waiting to see.

But I have had my friends here all day supporting me. Encouraging me to go to appointments and actually getting me to the places where you are advised to attend during crisis. They’ve dragged me to A&E, where I didn’t want to go, because I feel like a waste of time. I’ve followed the rules. I’ve done what I’m told. I’ve tried to get help. But how am I supposed to get it, when it doesn’t fucking exist!?

Dismal, dejected, and disillusioned…

Somewhat like the jazz standard ‘Bewtiched, bothered, and bewildered’, but only the miserable and mopey part at the end.

I’m getting a bit worried now. Everything seems to be back on a downwards trajectory. And I can’t tell anymore if it’s me reacting relatively rationally to difficult circumstances, or whether it’s my brain playing tricks on me. I suspect, given I’m struggling to look at things objectively, that it’s the latter, but that doesn’t necessarily make me feel any less shite.

Currently I have less than no money, and this is the situation for the foreseeable future. Thanks student finance. Great organisation there! For once, not even my fault.. they gave me the wrong information months ago, when I tried to sort it out before.. but it is being sorted now, and only with a little chivvying along from my wonderful flatmate. Except it’s not being sorted. They’ve told me the wrong thing. Again. So basically, I have no money to live off, pay rent, and they’re not paying my fees, so I’m probably going to get kicked off my course.

I’ve also been realising that I’m actually totally totally fucked. There are only 2 or 3 medical schools I can actually apply to now. Barts are sticking to their new A level Chemistry rule, and Warwick said they would just discard my application as most of my medical experience is with St John. This stings a little bit. I understand it for the most part; there’s no guarantee that you’ve actually treated many, or any serious, patients. But to automatically throw me on the ‘useless’ pile, without reading my application.. If they read it.. If they saw that actually, I have hundreds of hours working directly with patients in very high pressured situations, and for the most part cope with this, then maybe they might re-think the value of St John. I understand the want or NHS experience, but in my role in SJA I am often the lead clinician on a patient, or even a shift. This means it’s my call. It’s my responsibility to do the right thing, and it comes down on me if it’s wrong. You obviously get different things out of different experiences, but working on a ward as a HCA (which I will hopefully ve starting soon) cannot give the same amount of autonomy or leadership experience. And it hurts that I’m essentially being told something I’ve put my life and soul into is worthless. So I decided it wasn’t worth applying.

On top of this, I managed to somehow get meningitis… (I don’t f*cking know either). This was, obviously, a bit shit, and hasn’t helped with general mental wellbeing. I’m now behind on uni work, and desperately trying to catch up, whilst also starting my dissertation, extra reading, and completing assignments. There is not the time. All I have done is uni work. No St John, no scouts.. nothing. And it feels crap.

On top of that, I generally feel pretty hopeless. I am repeatedly being told that I’m not a successful, functional adult, and maybe I just can’t take a joke, but it feels vindictive when I know it’s true. I’ve had people saying left right and centre ‘oh.. so it wasn’t *your fault* you were in hospital this time’. As if before, I’d chosen to have mental health crises, and happily swanned into A&E. As if I had been aware enough of my surroundings to make a decision for myself. As if I hadn’t been dragged, kicking and screaming by the statutory services and my friends, locked in cars, sectioned… I could go on.

I was so happy with how I was doing. I was so proud of myself, for coming so far, in just a few months. I’d got my shit together, got a new flat and moved in, new laptop, new jobs, I thought I’d sorted student finance.. but none of these things seem to work out for me in the way they do for other people. I still haven’t started my new jobs, because the paperwork is taking ages to go through, and there are continual hiccoughs. Student finance still isn’t sorted because I’ve been given the wrong information so many times. It’s not like I’m not trying. I try has hard as anyone else. I do what I’m supposed to, and nothing ever works for me. And I don’t understand why. I feel useless enough about all of this as it is. But having regular reminders makes me feel about 1cm tall.

I’m aware of how self pitying this is. But I feel shit. And I’m scared. Because I know what happened the last time I felt like this.

Bugger it, I guess it’s worth a shot!

So I’ve been debating whether or not to apply.. I keep going through phases of being fairly confident I’ll get in, to completely doubting myself. At the moment I’m completely doubting myself. I mean.. I’ve got the experience (minus shadowing a doctor, which is all but impossible to arrange), I’ve got the grades, and I’ve got the drive and passion. So really all it comes down to is the entrance exam.

It’s difficult. I’m sure there are people out there who breeze through it without an issue, but sadly, I am not one of them. And it’s not like I haven’t been trying.. I downloaded a practice app on my phone months ago, went to a tutorial day, and I’ve been working hard using the practice books, but I don’t seem to be getting my as far as I’d hope. The problem is that the exam seems totally arbitrary.. I am getting frustrated because it’s not like you can work at it and learn, in the way you can for a university exam, and I also don’t understand the relevance it has to my becoming a doctor. 

This has been getting me down. It’s made me feel stupid and incapable. I think I’ve been getting so upset because it is so totally out of my control, no matter how hard I work, and this feels so desperately unfair. I’ve worked so hard to get to this point, and I’m so sure I’m going to fall at the final hurdle.

So I’ve been debating.. Is it better to give up the ghost now, and admit defeat, as an act of self-preservation, or do I go for it anyway? I’ve been horrible, for the last week or so, and I can only apologise to those around me, because I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. From waking up in the morning to going to sleep, all I’ve been doing is second guessing my decision to aim to be a doctor. I’ve even felt less confident treating patients, because I’m so sure I’m not going to get in, and therefore that means I’m not good enough.. so should I be doing any of this?

But.. Fuck it. Like I say, I’ve worked so hard to get here, it would be ridiculous to give up now. People have kept saying to me that not trying is an automatic failure, and that I may as well try, because if I don’t, I definitely won’t get in… And I’m finally seeing their point. I find it difficult, as I’m sure many do, to remain objective and positive. It doesn’t come naturally, which means doing it for months can be exhausting, and in the end, the cracks start to show. But, as it were, I’m back on the waggon, and this time, I only need to do it for a few weeks until the exam is over, and then move on to the next step. 

And clearly I should be doing this, because I get good feedback from patients, and I’m told by colleagues and superiors that I am good at it. I feel at ease with patients, and always used to feel confident in my treatment. It’s only recently that I’ve lost that. And I’m sure it will come back.

I’ll keep working hard to keep the panic at bay, study as hard as I can, and go for it. Because I’ve never wanted anything like I’ve wanted this, and I’ll do everything in my power to get there. And because I’ll be a shit-hot doctor.