Stability and sexism

Looking over my previous posts, I’m beginning to realise how much the new medication is working. What I wrote was honest, and I think it really does reflect the highs and lows that I experience on a regular basis.. and that my loved ones have to deal with.

I say experience.. I think I really mean experienced. The last wobble I had was weeks ago, and with a reasonable cause – as verified by everyone present. Most people would have reacted similarly. Apart from that, I’ve been having fairly standard reactions to things.

So, I’ve been more ‘normal’. Stability and control are things I’ve never really understood before, and I’m still getting used to it. But I like it. And now I know what I’m aiming before. All of the ‘you won’t get better if you don’t want to’ is all well and good if you know what ‘better’ is. And now I do.

I’ve been applying for jobs, working, doing St John, seeing my family, spending time with friends and remaining calm. Yes, of course, I’ve been upset at a few things, but within the realms of normality. And I’ve been happy about things, but not manic.

Work is interesting. I’m gradually becoming more and more aware of the male dominated nature of this profession. In essence, this isn’t an issue, I’m more than happy to be ‘one of the lads’ and have them rip the shit out of me, I enjoy the banter.. (God I hate that word since it’s become so overly used, but it describes what I mean.)

The issue is, sometimes, it can feel a bit sexist. Maybe it’s just my paranoia, but it often feels like people look down on me, and assume I’m less capable clinically than my male counterparts. Often, it’s because they’re clinically senior to me, and that’s not an issue. If they’re senior to me, I’m more than happy for them to tell me what to do, but only if they’d treat the guys at my level in the same way. And there’s a way to help someone junior to you, without coming across as an arrogant arsehole with a superiority complex. And it often seems to come from men… but maybe that’s just because there are more of them around? I also think that part of it may be that I don’t have much self confidence, and that is conveyed very easily, so maybe people think I need more guidance than I do, but actually, I know what I’m doing. I’m a confident clinician with hundreds of hours under my belt and a huge variety of patients, and I come across like that to patients. They feel safe when they’re with me, and I’m actually good at what I do. I’ve never been good at something before, and so I think it gets to me when I feel belittled.

But, I’m sure I’ll have to deal with this frequently, if I’m to stay in the world of medicine, and maybe as I progress I’ll feel more able to address it. But for now, I think I’ll have to suck it up. Which I can. Because I love the job.

Things are frustrating at the moment. I don’t have a regular paid job or income, I’m finding it infuriating that I don’t know what I’ll be doing after I graduate – yes, I know it’s a year away, and I feel a bit lost. But that’s ok. I’ll find a job. I might have to accept that for the time being I’ll have to do something that isn’t medical, and just pick up all the ambulance shifts I can for experience! 

So in summary: 

• Feeling less mental
• Things aren’t ideal, but that’s ok
• Men are frustrating – what’s new there?
• I’m in control. What!?

How the hell am I supposed to feel?

It’s been weird recently. I mean, it’s exam time, of course it has been.

But what I mean is, I’ve been stable. I haven’t been in the extremes all the time. I’ve been able to look at what’s happened recently objectively, without stimulating an emotional response and put it into perspective. I’ve looked at my exams, for which I have studied in less than ideal conditions, and accepted that my grades won’t be up to my usual standard. That was ok. I had my coursework grades to counterbalance it. It was only 2 modules I really screwed up revsion wise, so what if 2 exams went wrong, it didn’t matter. I only need 50-60% in the exam to get a first in those modules anyway. Who cares what the actual grade for the exam was, if I got a decent grade in the module and overall. I had a couple of minor pre-exam wobbles, which is to be expected when you know you’re supposed to write for 2 hours on a subject you know shit all about. Coming out of the exam yesterday I was ecstatic. Yes, I didn’t do as well as I would have done normally, had I been well and not adjusting to new meds, but I performed acceptably, and came out knowing I’d got a reasonable pass.

I felt better that I finally had a full explanation and diagnosis from the psychiatrist (cyclothymia), and that I felt so much more in control. All the small things were done, and I was focusing on the bigger picture, but calmly, for once.

Until last night. Last night was a big wobble. My housemate (and beloved friend) had to sedate me, which knocked me out until this morning. I was apparently hallucinating again, not that I remember, which is a fun game my mind hasn’t played with me for a couple of months. And this morning, I woke up knowing something had happened, but I didn’t know what. But wake up I did. And I got up. And I had a shower, and got dressed – small victories.

I was incredibly resilient, which takes a lot of work for me, and sat with my housemate going through the content for the exam today. I felt confident. I knew HIV inside out – that had to come up, right? I skimmed over a few other topics, learnt some as well as I could, and felt relatively confident, considering I’d only managed 3 days of proper revision.

I had already passed the module, without sitting the exam. I only needed 58% for a first. Even less, for a 2:1. Surely I could do that? And the right topics did come up, just not in the right way. I wrote what I knew, but on paper, it seemed like so little. One question (worth 10%) I completely blanked on, and for the data analysis and interpretation I feel like I wrote absolute horseshit.

And, of course, the second the exam finishes, everyone messages and calls and contacts. And right now I can’t cope with that. So I’m on a bus. I can’t go home. I can’t face people. People have put so much time and effort into me. They’ve saved my life. They’ve made me happy. They’ve loved me and coped with em when I’m not coping. They’ve brought me dinner, gone on long drives with me, just for the sake of it. People care about me. They give up so much time and emotional energy on me. They believe in me, and I’m letting everyone down time and time again. I’m remembering now why I felt so stupid for so many years. Because I am. Why on Earth I ever thought I could be a doctor I don’t know. I’ll never be intelligent enough for that, even if I try. And now I’ve fucked it, I may as well give up. I don’t just my hopes up by persuading myself I have a chance of being successful, I get up the hopes of everyone around me.

So for that I can only apologise. But maybe it’s time to stop trying. It doesn’t pay off anyway.

Finally understanding the phrase ‘winning at life’!

I’ve never understood this expression before.. But I think I’m starting to.

I made a list. A big long scary list. Of things I needed to do – some big, some small. All of the small things are done. I’ve finally unpacked all of my clothes from the Easter break, tidied my room, changed my sheets, put some washing on, done my washing up, applied for the UKCAT, which makes the fact I’m applying to medical school terrifyingly real. I’ve worked out all of the long term objectives and written them down so I don’t forget anything crucial, and I actually feel on top of things. I’m finally swimming, and the sinking feeling has all but gone.

I’ve minimised my alcohol intake, and the meds seem to be working. I feel stable, and in control. I’ve got a psychiatrist’s appointment on Monday, which I’m oddly looking forward to. I’m hoping it will shed some new light on the diagnosis, and it’s nice to feel like I can check in with the SMHT to ensure everything is as it should be.

So, the good things! I was at an awards ceremony last night! Both of my societies got awards from the Student’s Union. SSAGO (my baby) In its first full year as a fledgling society got Silver Standard, which I’m incredibly proud of. We’ve worked very hard for that!
St John Ambulance LINKS got Gold Standard. Last year we had no standard. We did no extra trips, there were few socials and we had to cancel various duties. This year we started with no president, secretary or unit manager. We filled these positions, worked together as a team despite a few personal issues, we had educational trips and talks, we had socials, we have covered every single duty this year because of the hard work of our volunteers and we have achieved incredible things. I am so very proud and thankful to the other members of the committee and every single member of the society. You all keep me sane… even if sometimes you drive me mad.
Both of these societies have helped me form some of the best friendships I have ever had. Everyone has been so supportive, and has welcomed me back as normal now that I’m better. I couldn’t ask for a better group of friends. I am so very lucky. Thank you all.

Could it get better…? Of course it can! Today I had the meeting with my boss… I’m allowed back to work!!! Despite the torn cruciate ligament…. My first shift is on Saturday!

With my fantastic teams, we’ve won awards. I’m back at work. I’ve done some AWESOME St John shifts; London marathon is SO much fun, I’ve decided that one day I want to run it!

Now I just need to study and ace these exams. Which I’m going to do. And then I’ll get a job in a hospital over the summer. And then I’ll prepare for the UKCAT, and then apply to medical school… I’d be happy if I were functioning normally.. But I’m doing so much better than that. How did I ever lose sight of this?

Oh bollocks..

I knew I didn’t trust it. It was definitely more elation that happiness. I was really quite giddy and hyperactive.

But it’s sort of stopped now. I mean.. Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely feeling better than I was before, and certainly more stable. But right now I want to cry.

I’ve done my usual. Got incredibly drunk, incredibly frequently and have fucked around. And has it helped with self esteem? Of course not. I know why I do it. Somehow it makes me feel more connected with people? In a way that I often don’t. And also, of course, because if someone wants to fuck me, then I can’t be quite as unnatractive as I feel.

But I feel shit. And a bit used. And very young and naive.

And I fucking hate being single. I can’t be bothered with this bullshit anymore. I want to have that person who I can always call when something good has happened, or something bad has happened, or I just want to feel loved. I want to have that person to come home to every day, to cook dinner with, to fall asleep in their arms and wake up next to. I don’t like being alone. And I think it’s only just hit me, really, that I am, now, very very alone. And I will be for a considerable amount of time. Because as I said before, I’m never going to have romantic success until my mental health is stable. And while it is more stable, and I am better than I was, it is still clearly very temporary, and it’s not going to be ‘fixed’ for a very long time. Which means I’ll be by myself for a very long time. And I don’t like that. And it scares me.

But I’ll have to live with it.

The feeling shit is probably somewhat my fault. I know the efficacy of the meds is lowered when I drink, and I’ve done it anyway. I know that not getting enough sleep makes me feel like shit, and yet, I’ve stayed up late anyway. So time to stop. I’ve got a party to go to soon, so I may have a little tipple, but will keep it at that. Little.

I’m currently away with a few friends on holiday, and we’ve been hiking a couple of times.

Before we came away I started running – I know, what the f@#! is happening to me!?- and actually enjoyed it. It makes me feel like I’m taking control of part of my wellbeing. This being both in a physical and a mental sense, because knowing that I’ll be helping myself lose weight makes me feel better. I was actually drinking loads of water, which is always good, getting outside and studying hard. So I probably just feel shit this week because I haven’t done enough exercise, I’ve eaten shit, I haven’t done any work, and I’ve been partying every night.

So back to a life of virtue when I get home.

I also have lots of St John activities coming up, and that always makes me feel better. I’ve got to have an interview with my boss, to see if I’m stable enough to return to work, and to be honest, I think I am. These are all good things. But they’re all in the future, and I always find myself looking forwards and entirely unable to live day by day.

So. Today, I have had no alcohol, I’m planning on going to bed relatively early, we went on a walk, and I haven’t eaten total crap.

Let’s see if tomorrow is any better.

So the tides are turning…

So, as previously stated, it would appear the tides are turning.

I write, slightly drunk (following a night of wine, rum and wonderful company), sitting on my parents’ sofa and watching Peep Show. I don’t think there’s such a thing as too much David Mitchell.

I got back from Gran Canaria yesterday. This was certainly theraputic. A week of sun, sea and, seeing my best friend who lives half way across the globe certainly does leaps and bounds to bring the spirits up.

Good lord the grandfather clock in my folks living room is annoying. I’ve stopped the ticking and I swear I can still hear it… unless audio hallucinations have joined the visuals… (just a joke, please don’t anybody take offence…)

But yes, yet more time has passed, I’ve been having some fun (a girl musn’t kiss and tell) and had some time away from it all, in which I truly switched to ‘Spanish Brain’; English really isn’t comming naturally, at the moment.

Crashing back to reality wasn’t as difficult as I’d expected. A beautiful walk in the Cotswolds this afternoon certainly helped, but tomorrow I really need to start focusing on revision.. I managed at Christmas so I’m sure I can manage now. 

Interestingly, the new medication (mood stabilisers) which I have just started state that they are specifically to treat epilepsy and/or bipolar disorder… So why then, did the psychiatrist tell me he needed to diagnose the personality disorder in order to get me the pills? Unless he’s trying to sugar coat a metaphorical pill.. I suppose something I need to ask when I next see him..

But, as the days and weeks go on, I become more certain that everything is more stable. Some of the funky side effects of the meds are wearing off – eg I now have at least one iota of balance. I am able to recognise emotions, and distinguish between them, and to a certain extent, control them – or at least express the correct emotional repsonse to most situations. Today I caught up with two fantastic friends, and despite not getting any studying done, made good use of my time by doing housework, so I’m not beating myself up too much for veing entirely unproductive..

Feeling more rational, more stable, and more me. The world seems a little brighter. And I cannot thank enough all those who have helped along the way.

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.