Just keep swimming!

Pretty good quote from Disney there.

When I last posted on here I thought I was coming out of a blip, and then said blip continued. I 100% thought I could positive think myself out of the hole. I don’t really recall what happened but it worked very temporarily, perhaps a day, and then things became worse again. I ended up in hospital a couple of more times, but only overnight…and then slept a lot in the day time. I mean positive thinking is vital and I 100% believe that what we think, we become. That being said mental illness and being low is not exactly the same as being negative, and positive thinking can only do so much. I think when you are at rock bottom, it takes more than positivity to help you, but once you are beginning to feel a little better, positivity can really help.

Things are better now though! I went through a couple of days at the weekend where I was looking after myself better, but I felt incredibly low, which is the usual process after a blip. It’s like you are letting go of the ways you have been coping, so it’s relatively “normal” to feel a bit rubbish and it’s a lot like when you have been physically ill and it takes a few days to get your energy back, but here we are!

I can’t say I am entirely sure how things have turned around. On Friday I was in A&E from about 3am-7am…but I was determined to still go to work, but then I fell asleep. I was so angry with myself when I woke up. I woke up 15 minutes before I was due at the hospital for an appointment that I was planning to go to on my lunch break. I had to practically run to the hospital and I was not exactly wide awake. The clinic was running an hour late, and I basically slept in the waiting room for another hour and then saw them. They asked a lot of questions and were worried about me, so they wanted me assessed by the crisis team but I managed to avoid it. I walked home in a daze and really disappointed in myself. I think sometimes you get to the point where you are drained, tired, and sick of letting yourself down. I spoke to the mental health team I am under for a planned phone call and I attempted to act “fine”…but the plastic surgeons, police and the university mental health team had all contacted them within a day so the “I’m fine” routine didn’t work. When I got home I rested all afternoon/evening, and my pain levels were so high that even with prescription painkillers, I was struggling. It helped me to keep safe because the idea of more pain was, to be honest, intolerable.

I am still on extra meds, plus the pain killers and antibiotics. Apparently it’s harder to get antibiotics these days but I swear I’m given them so often! It can’t be healthy!

I’ve been to work, and the gym for the last 3 days. On Monday I saw my MA supervisor, and I’ve also been super challenging myself with food. At home especially. I had been eating the same things every day for all meals including my evening meal, and then having set rules about lunch at work that I won’t go into, but I’ve had different meals every evening, eaten foods I haven’t eaten in a long time (cheese, avocado, salmon, cous cous, houmous, crisps and more), and also eaten different things at work. Every time I start panicking about it and my head wants to go back to eating the same old things I actually get really angry with the thoughts and I feel like, and excuse the swearing, “f**k you, you don’t get to dictate my life any more” and I love it when I am able to have this attitude.

I actually feel like my recovery from my eating disorder has had two stages; stage one was forced treatment as a child, stage two was actively choosing to “recover” as an adult, and I feel like I am entering a third stage where I am no longer accepting what I previously have. I’ve not been “ill” in terms of my anorexia for a few years, but I have been making a deliberate effort to keep my weight at or just below the target weight range eating disorder services set for me, doing as much cardio as possible, eating at certain times, eating the same foods, avoiding a lot of foods and other similar things…and I feel like I am beginning to challenge that.

If I gain more weight, who cares?! I’d rather be happy. Just because my current weight is what I need to be to be regarded as “healthy”, doesn’t mean it is my bodies healthy weight. I mean BMI isn’t the most reliable of measures, everyone’s weight/BMI varies, and a minimally healthy weight doesn’t have to be the end goal. A BMI of 20 is healthy, but so is a BMI of 21-24. I choose a little extra weight, happiness and being able to eat dessert any day! More than that, I choose being mentally healthy over spending my life restricting what I eat, not eating things I enjoy and having to put so much energy into not gaining weight. There are far better things to be putting so much effort into, and some food is good for your body, some food is good for your soul!! A healthy body is important, but so is a healthy mind.

I am a big believer in lifestyle changes for anyone who has weight related issues, rather than dieting. I am a big believer in body acceptance – body positivity is great, but actually you don’t have to love your body all of the time, but you can accept it and not criticise every aspect of your appearance. I despise the money making diet industry. I despise the guilt that so many women (and men), feel over their bodies and what they eat. I despise body shaming of any description albeit fat shaming, or thin shaming, and I absolutely hate that some people feel they have to adhere to certain standards. I hate that we are bombarded with messages such as ‘fat is bad’, ‘low calorie = healthy’, and ‘no pain, no gain’ – and I want to practice what I preach!

AMEN.

While There is Life, There is Hope.

Pre-warning: This is a long post (like 99.97% of my posts). Sorry, not sorry.

I have quite a lot of rough patches every week, often at night time. It is not uncommon for me to spend the early hours of the morning walking around the city. More often than not I wake up in the morning wondering why the hell I was in such a state (and tired!)

I have also been doing a lot of reflecting while walking.

I think I have mentioned in brief that things took a turn for the worse in late December. I went to my hometown for Christmas. I stayed at my sisters new house and it was nice to begin with, although a little weird to see my sister independent and in her own place. I was supposed to stay until after New Year, but then something happened on the 28th of December and on the 29th I got the early coach back to Leicester.

I was not in a good place. I had stopped taking one of my medications a few months before; at first it was forgetfulness more than anything else, then it was a case of “well I didn’t take it most of last week so clearly I don’t need it.” My mood was dropping rapidly, and the obsessions that the medication was prescribed to treat became a lot worse. I cannot say it was stopping the medication that caused that, because it could just be coincidental, but what it did mean was that when I got back to Leicester I had a huge amount of medication sat in my bedroom.

I took them.

It’s hard to admit this. I am not sure why. Fear of being judged maybe. Fear of being open having an impact on how people see me, and on my future prospects. Fear of people who know me reading this, when only my family and a couple of close friends know about it.

I fell asleep in 2016, and when I woke up it was 2017. I was confused. Apparently on the day I gained consciousness I made a nurse call my Mum, before falling to sleep for 24 hours. When I woke up I made a different nurse call my Mum, panicking about the fact she would be worried about not hearing from me over New Year. The nurse told me that my Mum was saying I had contacted her the day before, but I did not remember at all. I do not remember anything.

I know it was serious. I know things could have worked out differently. But I feel extremely aware of the fact that for me personally, it was not the worst experience I have had. I was unconscious, and if at any time I was aware of pain or what was going on around me, I sure as hell do not remember it now. The worst part of what happened was feeling embarrassed. I had a catheter in, and when I tried to walk for the first couple of days I couldn’t. The medication gave me the side effect of a tremor when I was taking the normal dose, so the overdose left me violently shaking and my legs just buckled underneath me. But it honestly was not that bad.

Not that bad in comparison to other less “serious” things that I have done. There have been things I have done to myself that have been far more terrifying, far more painful, and to be honest, quite horrific. Largely because I was conscious. I have also been arrested while in a crisis, and when you are in that kind of state and locked in a prison cell for 16 hours, I can tell you that you leave even worse than you were to start with.

I have been thinking about these things a lot while walking, and the consequences of the suicide attempt; I was assessed under the mental health act, and told I had a choice between voluntary admission, or being sectioned. I agreed to go in voluntarily, which I am beyond relieved about. I got myself out quick, and I mean quick. Even the psychiatrist admitted he would not normally let someone out as fast as I got out. I was determined. I was thinking that if I stayed in there I was choosing to fight, and if I was going to choose to fight, I would be far better off fighting at home.

The hospital environment was bad for my eating; I was not eating at all and my weight was dropping, and I felt like my anorexia was re-gaining control shockingly fast. I knew if I stayed in there I was going to find myself with more problems, rather than less. I was dizzy and light-headed, and more to the point, it was making me feel better. I knew that was not good, and I knew it needed to stop. I was also due to start an internship, and that felt extremely important to me, and I made it very clear to the psychiatrist. I knew that I needed to prove to myself that I was capable of doing it, and that not doing it would have a really negative impact on me. I was terrified, of course. I wanted to run a mile, make up excuses not to do it, and avoid facing my anxiety; but I also wanted it, badly. I wanted it more than I was afraid of it, and doing it was one of the best decisions I made. In fact, in January it was just about the only good decision I made.

I was scared. I begged and begged my way out of hospital. I jumped through the hoops. I did what was expected of me to prove I was safe. I gave them no reason to use the mental health act against me again. It could probably have gone two ways; it could have gone badly. I remember getting home and while I was insanely relieved to get my freedom back because I cannot cope being stuck indoors for a whole day, never mind longer…I walked into my house very overwhelmed. I panicked. I thought I had made a mistake. I remembered what things had been like leading up to the admission, and as to be expected, I was doubting my ability to cope.

It also could have gone well. And it did. Sometimes there is such thing as ‘positive risk taking’ and this was that.

I still get myself in bad places. Having Borderline Personality Disorder means I often get myself into the worst kind of states, and then several hours later I am thinking “Girl, what was that about?!” It is extreme, a little dramatic and very frightening; I know I can do things that feel right in the moment, that in less than 24hrs time will seem ridiculous.

At my worst points, and on my walks, I have established some facts that help me to keep safe:

  1. I want my life to mean something. I do not want to be remembered as the girl who ended her own life. I want to do things that help people, and make my mark. I do not care how big or small that mark is, but I want to make it. Even in the darkest of times, the idea that in my lifetime I might make a difference to a single persons life, feels like a good enough reason to fight.
  2. People. And I do not mean fighting for people, or because people love me and losing me would hurt them…but that there are people who have done so much to help me, and I just cannot chuck that away. My Mum and sister have stood by me through thick and thin, even when I least deserved it. And professionals including my previous psychiatrist and various people at my secondary school, college and university who have still believed in me when I lost all hope, who have fought for me and simply never given up on me.
  3. Things can change for the better, and quickly. Just as things can get suddenly worse, they can get suddenly better. There are endless nights I have survived, and woke up relieved. One of the hardest things to do is be in a state of despair and believe that it is not permanent, but one thing I remind myself is that change is actually the only thing in life that is guaranteed.
  4. One of my common thoughts when struggling is that I have been fighting for so long, and that giving up is only logical. My mentor at university challenged this by saying that surely having been fighting for so long is a reason not to give up now, not to throw all of that hard work away. I’m not going to lie, when she first said that I was thinking that she did not get it, and it was a load of rubbish. BUT, on reflection, it is true. I did not come this far, to only come this far.
  5. Future treatment. During a recent bad night it hit me; I have an opportunity to go back to the therapeutic community and dedicate some time to working on myself. If I truly put everything into it, and do not self-sabotage it, it could really make a difference. I mean it might not, but it might. What is more the point is that it is with a service that I have gained a lot of faith in, with people I have begun to trust, which I did not previously. I mean regardless of whether the treatment method is ideal, I know the staff and other patients from experience are in equal amounts supportive and challenging; they are tough and sometimes hard on you, but in a helpful way. How can I give up before I have exhausted all options?

The biggest thing is, how can I throw my life away when there is hope for change, people who will stand by me, people who will not give up on me even when I do, and when I have the power within me in some small form, to do good?

If I give up there will be no more trying.  And while often trying feels much more like struggling, I will take the struggle because struggling can lead somewhere. I hate struggling, but at least struggling means there is hope.

While there is life, there is hope. 

I hope that if you cannot see a reason to make it through another day, you can hold onto the possibility that one day you will find a reason. I hope you know that although I am just a random stranger sat behind a computer screen who does not even know your name, I believe in you.

I hope you know that your kindness has to extend to yourself, and that your place in this world is important.

And I know this is cheesy, but I hope that you know that I am a human. I am real. And I am always only a message away. I care.

The Life Plan

My life plan right now is better known as the treatment plan. I’ve had a bit of a dilemma recently. I have a place at an assessment centre for a grad scheme. It was unexpected and it threw a spanner in the works. My plan was to fight to get back into the therapeutic community aka take time out, and then when I got onto the assessment centre I was thinking ‘Maybe I could just never go back to treatment and get “better” by just “getting on” with my life’. And it could work out. Treatment isn’t always the way to get better. Sometimes living life is. Maybe moving to London and doing a full-time grad scheme would help me get “better”.

However a draft email has been sat in my outlook account for the last week. A draft email stating that right now, due to health reasons, I can’t accept a grad scheme offer, therefore I need to pull out now. The reluctance to send it is the ‘But what if I actually got offered a place on the scheme? How can I turn that down?’ which is why I need to hit send. Because if I did get offered it, it would make my life even harder.

I had an “interim appointment” with the PD service today. A brief explanation if you don’t already know from my other posts is that in November I was, in short, chucked out of the therapeutic community (TC). I was “too unstable” and “too high risk”. I ended up on an acute psychiatric ward, and if you are deemed as being acutely unwell, you are not deemed ready for therapy. Since then I have just had an interim appointment in March.

Today a plan was made. My options were private, self-funded counselling which I was assessed for, and found for a VERY reasonable price; it’s with a charity, and they do student rates of £12 an hour! If you’ve ever looked into private counselling you’ll know you can pay £40-50 an hour minimum. So that was option 1, and would involve being discharged from the PD team with re-referral for the TC once ready and suitable (I’m not allowed back while people I was in treatment with last year are still there). Option 2 was to do a smaller, once weekly group for 6 months, starting in Jan with an interim appointment in May and fortnightly scheduled telephone support, then re-referral to the TC in July 2018. Option 3, which was the option I put forward, was to skip the once weekly group, have the interim appointment/phonecalls, and be re-referred to the TC as soon as I can be.

We are going with option 3! The downside is I won’t be having any formal support until that time comes, which should be November/December – but I will have an appointment in August, and fortnightly phone calls with my lead professional. They are going to work out the date they *think* should be the point at which I can go back into the TC process and let me know. I’m expecting it to be no later than December.

The TC process is a long one. You have to do a prep group first, on a Tuesday morning. If I started that in January, I’d expect to be finished in March/April. It took 4 months last time but I think this time I could be quicker. Then the actual TC is for one year. The TC is 3 days per week, with the occasional extra half day where you are expected to help run the prep group in blocks. Halfway (or 3/4 way) through the TC you join another group called Thrive, which would increase it further…Thrive is basically like the prep group, but it’s a post-therapy group…it’s preparing you for leaving the TC…and when you leave the TC after the one year, you continue going to thrive for either three or six months, I can’t remember. All in all you’re looking at 18-24months.

I am dreading it. The TC was the most exhausting, at times soul destroying, intense, sometimes toxic, environment I have ever been in. I found going there three days per week more exhausting than I would find a full-time job. All I wanted to do when I left each day was sleep. Weekends were spent recovering from the week.

The idea of going back terrifies me. It is by no means the easy option. It would actually be easier for me to try get on this grad scheme. I wouldn’t have to feel bad for not being in full-time employment. I wouldn’t feel like a failure because all of my friends are working and living their lives and going somewhere…and I am sat in a hospital. I wouldn’t have to turn down an amazing grad scheme. I wouldn’t have to worry about money. I wouldn’t have to go through intense therapy that is going to bring up some tough stuff; I am not a person who openly talks about stuff with people, so group therapy is really difficult for me. I am sat here right now thinking ‘oh f**ck what am I doing?!’.

But it’s the plan. And it is a good one. I can finish my current job because I will still be here in September, and honestly I was worried at the idea of having to leave the job early to move away for a grad scheme (grad schemes start in Sept) because I would honestly be absolutely gutted about it. People kept saying to me that I can’t not take a 1-2yr grad scheme because I want to finish the last month of a temporary contract and I was like UMMMM YES I CAN IF I CARE. So this works out soooo well for that. A grad scheme would also mean moving from Leicester at the start of Sept when my MA finishes on the 31st aka I would need to get my dissertation finished a month early which would be fun!

And how I am seeing this is…yes I am 25 this year and I thought I would be well into a career by now…but what is 1-2 years of my life if this treatment actually helps? Do I want a full time job where I am struggling and spending evenings and weekends in hospital or prison cells? Or do I want to focus on treatment, get myself sorted, and then focus on my career? In the long-term this could be the best decision I have made. I will be fully dedicating myself to treatment this time…rather than doing treatment plus university. This time I am going to give it everything. If I am taking a year or two out, I am going to make it worth it. While I do want to find part-time work, the part-time work will have to be second on my list of priorities.

So now I just need to work out how to get myself ready for returning so that I don’t get chucked out for a second time!

PLAN.

We also had some interesting conversations regarding diagnosis which I might write about another day, and it was raised that my exercise might be becoming excessive and/or obsessive and how to manage that.

In Which I Rant About Everything.

Apologies in advance for the abnormally open and long post.

I am a bubble of stress and anxiety. Mostly anxiety. I have in this learnt that anxiety is one of my biggest triggers for negative coping mechanisms and now I am looking at the past, I can’t see why I didn’t realise this sooner. I think I was in denial of it, because two people had brought up the idea that my negative behaviours are often a reaction to anxiety, and I totally dismissed it and to be honest, quite frankly felt annoyed at the suggestion.

It all just got too much on Friday and I ended up in A&E at 4am which was incredibly stressful, not helped by the A&E department moving to a new building with new procedures. I was a mess, but maybe I needed to be a mess. Maybe it helped as horrible as it was. A&E is usually the place where my meltdowns occur, like I’ve been holding myself together and then I just fall apart. Any way, I got physically sorted and had this lovely doctor who knew me already. He spent absolutely ages with me before I managed to talk but it was helpful, although kindness and people saying nice things about me always makes me upset and he seemed extremely worried. He said normally I seem a bit better after what had happened to end up there, but that this time I seemed a lot worse. I saw the mental health team after treatment for a few minutes, but that was unhelpful or rather, pointless. I was tired and calm, and not bothered about talking. I felt like I did the talking with the doctor and to be honest, considering he wasn’t a mental health professional, he was a lot better at helping me than the mental health team ever have been. I guess I got lucky there. When I first saw him I was thinking ‘oh god not him’ because I knew him, but he was amazing with me. He also said some interesting things about my diagnosis and treatment, and that he has never met someone with my diagnosis who is managing as well as I am, and studying for an MA which made me feel both good but a bit annoyed that being outwardly functional sometimes makes people over estimate how ‘well’ you are doing.

The doctor was discussing admission to the psych ward or crisis team input but as soon as I saw mental health it was clear that was out of the window, which was mostly a relief.  The following days were full of feeling anti-treatment and spending pretty much all night every night walking in the dark which on the first couple of nights was very dangerous, but on the last night, was very peaceful and reflective and last night I was sat up till 4am arguing with myself over a decision. I made the healthiest decision, the safest one,  and I feel calmer now. I’ve overcome most of the guilt and regret of ending up in A&E because I am a work in progress and that is ok. I pick myself up quicker and better than ever, and that is an improvement. I have time to improve further. This is not a race.

So yeah, I have *picked* myself back up again, which is good, but not exactly fun or pleasant. I’d rather not. I’d rather crumble. Correction, in the short-term I’d rather crumble because it is easier. In the long-term I will be glad I am not crumbling. I know where crumbling ends and I will not like it.

I think a big part of my stress is to do with treatment. Like, I was kicked out of the TC in November and things have felt so unstable since. It is like I am supposed to make myself stable while everything around me is the exact opposite. It doesn’t feel like the easiest of things to do.  I’m meant to be starting counselling privately but I’m re-considering doing a group at the PD service (same service as the TC) instead. I don’t know which will be best for me. I think I would prefer to do the counselling, but that perhaps the group would actually be best for me. But I have no idea what day the group is on, or if it is still an option, so I need to find out which means ringing them tomorrow. I don’t want to wait till next Friday because I’m starting my new job on Wednesday and if I am going to have to ask to swap my days around I want to do so in a way that is the least annoying for work so my plan is to find out what day the group is tomorrow, so when I go to work on Wednesday I can ask to change my days to fit the group, just in case I do the group. It feels like the best option rather than messing work around in a months time or whenever.

Now I want to do the group I regret stretching the truth with my responses to the initial questionnaire thing for it. And regret ruling it straight out without thinking. I am scared now that I won’t be able to do it aka more anxiety.

I am also stressed about life post-September aka post-university. I will be unemployed and that makes finding a grad scheme very attractive and I only have a few options that way because of timing. But then there is the idea of going back to the TC, which I had to be honest, ruled out, but I think that is largely a fear of what if it doesn’t work? Which makes me feel like not even trying for fear of ‘failing’, a fear of coping financially and really not wanting to return to a house share because it is SO bad for my mental health and my eating and my anxiety. And then a fear of not being allowed back even if I am “stable”. I don’t know how real that fear is. I’m just scared of rejection and uncertainty.

Also, I don’t know what timescales will be and that is probably quite unpredictable for anyone to say. I mean say I got referred back at the end of November, assessed or whatever by Jan..approved for prep, joined prep in say Feb or March? Like, what do I do between October and March. Financially speaking, and in every other way, it’s a worry.

I mean the best I can hope for is to get myself to this new job without using negative coping mechanisms/sabotaging it completely, ring tomorrow to find out about the day of the group, ask to do the group in my next appointment on the 12th, them agree to let me join, join ASAP, work on “stabilising” further, then when I finish uni look for more part time work in anything though I’d prefer something career related that might be difficult if I want part-time which realistically I do, apply for help financially and find a cheap as possible one bed place (house sharing would be financially better but it feels like such a bad move), finish the group and be re-assessed for the TC, then wait to join the prep group.

I don’t know how realistic the plan is. I’m worried that I won’t be allowed in this group now, but that can be replaced with the counselling and I will just have to work on not letting the issue I am worried with re: counselling, become an issue. I’m also worried that if I do still want to join the TC which at the moment I mostly do, that they will decide I am too well or something. You know, 2016: you are too unstable. 2017/18: you are too stable. That would be a turn of events and not ideal for me. Like stable does not equate well, or happy, or where I want to be at the end of all of this.

Then yeah, going back to work is making me a bit/a lot anxious. And other little things like this walk I am supposed to be doing to fundraise for a charity, some volunteering etc. And then university is a huge stress right now because I’m behind and not sure if I can make up the work, never mind get a decent grade. And then there’s other stuff, like sorting out my routine and sleep, which is a massive issue right now, and exercise and injury and eating.

I just really want some stability around me. I guess the primary things I think I need is a stable once weekly appointment of some kind, either the counselling or the group. To settle back into working. And to be managing a better routine – sleep, exercise, uni work and work being the priorities. Then adding in little things like the volunteering and actually seeing friends at least occasionally without getting so anxious that I cope using negative behaviours.

My psych appointment got cancelled, and while I am bothered, I am less bothered than I was because although I still want medication, that feels suddenly less important to me. Like sure the meds I want to go back on help my mood/anxiety/obsessions and it would definitely help stable me out a bit and ease those things, but there are other methods too. Of course ideally I would have meds plus the other methods but I guess there is no rush and hopefully I will get another psych appointment soon. Pinning my hopes on being allowed back on meds isn’t helpful and is potentially dangerous as I could be disappointed, so I am taking a few steps back from that idea.

I have an interview for a grad scheme and I’ve seen two other things I’d be interested in applying for, but it doesn’t fit in well with my current job which I need to be working in September for. I mean I know a longer-term job should be a priority over the temporary job but I really REALLY want to work there in September because it’s a key part of the campaign and I mean, yeah, I want to badly. And also, starting a grad scheme/job somewhere else in September really does not fit what I want treatment wise and so I am weighing up my options. While I really want to get a proper full time, permanent career job, I’m not sure I am “there” yet. I want to be there and I am trying to work out if I can just y’know, do it and find my way through it as I go…force myself to manage it. Or whether I just need to try and be ok with taking another year or so before getting into that kind of scheme or job and being 27 years old and just starting my career. I do feel a lot of pressure about being 24 and in this position, pressure to be doing what other people my age are doing and to be on the whole career route thing and I hate it. And I know, people say 27 is still young but I wanted to be in a career by 22 and it just really gets to me.

So if I am going to take the treatment route and take time out, I am going to really prioritise therapy and give it everything I have got so that once I am done, I truly am done. Which is very good motivation, it makes me feel very determined. I feel like if I go to the appointment on the 12th and have a clearer plan in my mind, I will probably improve a lot in terms of my mood and negative coping mechanisms and so that feels really important right now. I want to give up and run a few hundred miles from treatment for fear of failure and rejection, but I know what I need more than anything is to feel…I don’t know, contained and safe, and stable.

The sooner the 12th is here the better right now. Going a couple of months between appointments and having no set clear plan is just really unhelpful for me. It’s unsettling and it makes me feel unstable. I struggle to hang onto the plan at the previous appointment for such a long period of time.

I sent them a letter asking to be discharged on the 12th and while I am proud of myself for clearly asserting what I wanted at the time, I think it could have been a wrong decision. I literally woke up that morning with the idea and wrote the letter and sent it all in the space of two hours. It wasn’t exactly the best thing to do so quickly. I’m going to find out about the options with the group and not make a decision right now. I’ll go to my appointment on the 12th and discuss all options openly and without putting a heavy preference on any option, and decide there and then based on the positives and negatives, the options, and just in an appointment where I will be thinking rationally and won’t be making decisions based on feelings or misinterpretations of what other people are thinking.

Plan. My focus between now and then is manning up and going to work on Wednesday, working on my routine and university work. Keeping up the exercise while managing injury, and doing this sponsored walk. I also think I need to stop being so negative about trying mindfulness because a lot of my impulsive behaviour is connected to thinking far too ahead and panicking and the whole being in the moment thing sounds like a very good thing despite my dislike of the idea of mindfulness. Plan. Plan. Plan.

It has been one of ‘those’ weekends

I guess I should know by now when things are deteriorating. It had been happening for a few weeks. I should also know by now that a holiday plus a bank holiday plus being alone would make things escalate. I guess sometimes I hide from the facts and hope that if I cover my ears enough and ignore the signs, it will all be ok.

And it is all ok. I am sat here writing this because things feel safe now. I can see now, that in many ways, the last four days could help me forward. But it does not mean it had to be that way. That I had to go through what I have just been through in order to make progress or feel ‘better’. I could have chosen to intervene sooner, but I succumbed to the darkness and it could have turned out differently. It is turning out ok. I have “survived”. I am taking positive steps now, but there was the risk this would not be the case.

I know. It sounds like I am talking in code. And I am. I do not really want to publish the in’s and out’s of what I am talking about, for a multitude of reasons. Let’s say, I was not in a great place between Friday and today. It was horrible, but one of the worst parts is coming out of it, and thinking “Girl, why did you put yourself through that? Why have you just thrown away four days of your time?”

Because everything stopped mattering. I stopped doing my university work, so I am behind my schedule I created for myself. I have messed up my sleep routine, which was not exactly great to begin with. I have damaged myself, physically and emotionally. I have withdrawn from people and just, life. It happened slowly, over a few weeks. It was not that bad at the start, it became gradually worse and then suddenly bad. It is hard because I should have taken myself and my thoughts more seriously before it got worse, but I just hoped it was going to get better by itself, somehow.

I entered a really dark place, and I do not know where it would have gone if I had not picked myself up. I mean, I guess I do know where it would have gone, but I don’t want to say it.

The ‘thing’ that broke the self-destruction was a dream. It was not an interesting dream. It was a very boring dream, if we are defining exciting dreams as being beyond the realms of ‘normal’ life. I never used to remember dreams or nightmares often. But since I have been on nicotine patches I have started to. To be honest, it is mostly a bad thing, to remember my dreams. But not last night.

I dreamt I was starting back at work. I am returning to where I did my internship for 5-6 months part-time. I dreamt about that. It was my first day back I think, or definitely first week or two. I was sat at my desk doing some work, and then a staff member came to talk to me, followed by one other, I think. We were just chatting about work and stuff going on, and I was laughing and happy.

I woke up this morning thinking about it.

It felt like a reason to fight.

So here I am. Fighting.

When you say “they hate me”, do you really mean you hate yourself?: Avoidance and (lack of) Mind Reading Abilities

I think I believe I am a mind reader and I absolutely without any doubt know what people think about me. And usually that is that they hate me.

I use the word ‘hate’ loosely. I do not mean they seriously hate me or despise me. When I say I think someone hates me I usually mean:

  • They think I am a bad person
  • They are sick/tired/fed up of my “issues” and sick of me/sick of hearing about me/sick of having to deal with me
  • They think I am annoying, a drain of their time etc.
  • They do not exactly like me
  • They are judging me on my “issues”

There have been a huge number of examples of how I have felt this way over a number of years, and I can recall my previous psychiatrist telling me that I am not a mind reader and that maybe I should give people a chance, and let people form their own opinions of me rather than doing that for them. In that sense it sounds quite unfair that I assume what people are thinking, because in some ways I am almost judging how I think they think or feel. And on top of that it can lead to me avoiding said people to either a) not make them any more fed up of me, or b) the whole thing where I would rather reject someone first than hang around to be rejected by them.

Just lately there have been a number of examples of this, and I am becoming acutely aware of it because I have both been able to vocalise feeling this way in some examples, and also been given information that suggests the opposite of what I think. (And the fact there has been a number of examples in a short space of time). What I mean is, either I have asked the person if they hate me in a jokingly but not joking manner, or someone has told me something that has been quite the opposite of “they hate you.”

I have to admit that often despite a severe amount of evidence to suggest people do not hate me, these lessons often serve no real purpose. For example, in December I saw my mental health team and I was quite upset and feeling very much like they were very angry and fed up of me, which I translated to “they hate me”. I was given evidence on the contrary, and in said appointment I felt reassured. But come the next day I was straight back into “they hate me” mode. However more interestingly, I saw them again in March and received said reassurance again, and this time I am able to hold onto it much more than before. That is not to say that I have not felt annoying when I have had to speak to them over the phone, but the ‘hate’ bit has been a bit weaker.

My learning whatever mentor (I do not really know what her title is) from my university came to the appointment in March. On the way there I asked her to look out for “any signs that they hate me.” I wanted her to sit in the appointment as an outsider and see what she thought, of which I thought the outcome would be very supporting of my views, although I did add that perhaps they would act differently with her there. Looking back it was ridiculous. The two therapists that were in my appointment are absolutely bloody lovely and I feel awful looking back now at just how suspicious I was of them. Act differently? What was I thinking? That they would “act” because my mentor was there? I think I just thought that maybe my mentor would come to the conclusion they do not hate me, and I would then be able to argue back against that by telling myself that they were just pretending for her sake.

Thinking I know what other people think, and being so suspicious of peoples motives, really is not the best quality I have. It is actually unfair on others and I was yet again surprised today to find out when speaking to someone else, that a person I thought really, really hated me/judged me, really does not.

I think the obvious answer as to why I fall into this way of thinking is what most people will conclude; that I transfer my feelings about myself onto other people. I feel reluctant to agree with this, but then the obvious answer is quite often the answer. I feel insane guilt for my behaviour sometimes, albeit related to not managing to do things i.e. university work, meeting friends etc. or my self-destructive tendencies. I feel bad, guilty, ashamed and disappointed in myself, and I assume everyone else feels said things too, and therefore that they think I am a bad person aka they hate me.

It is a vicious cycle because feeling bad about myself leads to me doing more things that I feel bad about. I avoid university because I feel bad at not being a good enough student, and then avoid university even more because I am scared to face people and feel bad about being bad. I think my mental health team hate me because of my behaviours, avoid contacting them for support because I think they hate me, and then end up engaging in said behaviours even more, leading to more hate and more avoidance. And the same goes for a lot of situations including with friends and family.

Feeling bad about something quite often has no positive outcome. Even with other situations; I feel bad about not going to the gym/not doing a task, and then feeling bad about it makes me even less likely to do it, leading to feeling even worse. How fun!

My best advice in these kind of situations is:

  • Get yourself some actual evidence rather than evidence gathered from your so-called telepathic powers. When your reason for someone hating you is “because they do”, that does not cut it. Ask them. Discuss it with someone else. Give people a chance!
  • DO NOT BEAT YOURSELF UP. Feeling bad about something is just going to lead you to feeling worse in most cases. Very, very rarely I will find motivation through being disappointed in myself, but it is rare, and it does not usually last.
  • Remind yourself of what a truly “bad” person is. For a start I reckon most “bad” people do not worry about being “bad”. I mean, what even is the definition of bad? I don’t know, that is open to interpretation, but struggling with university work and struggling with self-destructive behaviours does not make you a bad person. It makes you a person who tries very hard but is having a rough time.
  • We also have to look at why we are so bothered about other peoples opinions. I spend more time worrying about the opinions of people I know in a more “professional” relationship, than I do about the opinions of people I know more personally. This is a whole other issue/blog post. But remember that you need to try and focus being much more concerned about how you feel about yourself, because that is what is ultimately important (and if you work on how you feel about yourself, it is quite likely you will begin to stop thinking that everyone else hates you – I had not thought about this until typing it, but it makes sense!)

 

Between rock bottom and recovery.

Everyone talks about rock bottom, and talks about being better but it feels like nobody talks about the in-between. Everyone talks about rock bottom as being this one particular solid place you hit. This one particular solid place you hit right before you get better.

I have spent some time searching online to find something I could read that did not just talk about this, but nothing seems to really come up. I want to understand. I want to be understood. How do I manage this stage? How do I put it into words? How do other people do this? I want to read someone else’s words, and feel less alone.

I cannot find them.

I do not know if it is specific to certain mental illnesses, like borderline personality disorder, which are more long-term and up and down, up and down… but rock bottom for me is not one time or one place, nor does it always look how you would imagine.

I have the kind of rock bottom times you read about a lot when people talk about their mental illness. The hospital admissions following serious attempts at harming or killing myself, like New Year. On December 30th I took all of my prescription medication I had been collecting, and I woke up in hospital on January 2nd. I think about that a lot. I woke up with no recollection of the paramedics taking me to the hospital, and no recollection of being in hospital. I woke up in a different year. To this day I have no idea where I was in the hospital or what treatment I had. That sounds like a rock bottom place, right? The sort of rock bottom you read about and think “Oh my, that is bad.” The sort of rock bottom that would make a good real life story. Or what about when I sat with my legs over the edge of a multi-storey car park? That was definitely a rock bottom kind of moment. Sadly what made it rock bottom for me was the fact that fear was forcing me to stay alive. It was a moment where I realised I had little choice in living, and walking down from the car park was far from a moment where it all clicked and I suddenly wanted to be alive. I took three more overdoses instead, and ended up in hospital on a drip each time. One time I ended up in the psych ward. It must have been awful, right?

And it was.

But this world between rock bottom and recovery is worse, I think. It is longer. It requires so much more. It is painfully slow. The bad times are horrific. I wish I could point out a particular time and say this was rock bottom and that it does not get any worse; but rock bottom is not some fixed tangible place. Rock bottom is where you make it. For me, the car park does represent a rock bottom, but rock bottom could have gone further. It could have changed. It could easily have ended up being somewhere else.

I hate that rock bottom moments in people’s stories within the media need to have the shock element to make them newsworthy. I mean sitting on the edge of a multi-storey car park and being found by security was pretty rock bottom. And people would be interested in that, maybe shocked, and sad. People are not so bothered about the in-between world.

The world where I do not wash for days upon days. The world where the sofa and my bed are the only two places I feel ‘safe’ (and I do not really feel safe at all). Nobody is so bothered about the nights when I cry myself to sleep, miss deadlines, withdraw myself from everything and everyone, or have to seek emergency support to stop me from self-harming, or overdosing, or finding myself back on top of the car park. It is not so interesting when the person does not actually do anything. I think people think it means it is not so bad, or perhaps I wrongly assume that. But it does feel that way. That by not hurting myself, things must be better or easier or somehow less painful.

I will tell you now, not hurting myself is much more painful than hurting myself.

It is like with eating disorders. Everyone is fascinated and interested in shocking images of underweight bodies. Stories that tell readers that this girl was on deaths door. They would be interested in the parts of my story where I would not even drink water or brush my teeth for fear of gaining weight. The bits where I ended up in hospital. People are less fascinated by the battle of eating, but eating any way. The battle of not wanting to gain weight, but gaining any way. They think that means that the problem is better, or easier, or perhaps even over.

Everyone with an eating disorder knows that is not true. I have not had any serious issues with my weight or eating, apart from small lapses, in years. It does not mean it has gone away, but nobody is really bothered that I had two months where things got a bit worse again and I lost a bit of weight. Nobody is really bothered that I struggle to eat out, or eat the exact same things every single day. It is not life or death stuff.

My previous psychiatrist was the first professional who made me feel like there was someone in my life that knew that gaining weight, eating more, and not hurting myself, was the harder option. I recall some of the things she said. She told me that I did not need her support to destroy myself, that I had proven I was perfectly capable of doing that by myself. She told me to eat, was to choose the harder path. She told me that to not take an overdose, to not cut my skin, was harder than giving in. She saw my weight going up, and she did not think everything was fine. She knew it was not. She knew inside I was falling apart.

By her understanding this, she probably saved my life a million times. Her understanding of the struggles I was facing when I was doing all of the “right” things, is what kept me doing the right things even when they felt incredibly wrong. If she had thought that my weight gain meant I was happy and absolutely fine, I would not have been able to explore just how difficult it all was. I would have kept it all inside, and I would have, in the end, gone back to restricting and losing weight. Her understanding that I needed her support most when I was looking after myself, and keeping myself safe, helped me to keep going. If she had assumed things were great purely on the basis that I had not self-harmed since she had last seen me, I would have slipped backwards.

The biggest thing I have ever needed to get better, is for someone to recognise that “getting better” is more painful and more hard work than not. That the time I needed the most support was when I was fighting against the thoughts inside of my brain. A brain that is very often trying to kill me. All I have ever needed is someone to see that I am managing to look after myself, but still sit in front of me and tell me they know I am not ok.

Right now I am in a good place with my eating. A genuinely good place, but that is not to say my eating disorder is not present every single day, it is. There are some real shit times still; probably at some point every day. But I have gained so much knowledge and understanding, and so much help, that even now my previous psychiatrist is no longer present in my life, in the moments where I could easily slip backwards, I hear her words in my head. They are no longer just her words, they are mine too. Her retirement did not hit me that hard. I wondered why for a while, but then I remembered something she said; that one day I would have got what I needed from her and be ready to move on. I got what I needed, and it is inside of me for life. I am ready to move on and work on the rest of my issues elsewhere.

The self-harm and suicidal thoughts side of things is a work in progress. Bloody slow progress. Painfully slow. Sometimes so slow I feel like I am sinking. My focus right now is on stability and I swear to god I am sick of hearing that word. I head the word ‘stable’ and my eyes automatically roll back. I have, in the last week or so, come to acknowledge that right now I am not really aiming to “get better” as such. Not really better. Right now I am aiming to survive. I know, it sounds defeatist and depressing, but it is not. Not for me. I mean, just surviving is crap. But it is also essential. Sometimes, temporarily, it has to be enough. Sometimes just surviving is brilliant. My plan is to survive for now; to be stable and reduce/minimise/stop my destructive behaviours. The “getting better” bit will come after that. Aiming for my end goal right now just leaves me feeling deflated and defeated. Aiming to cope and survive is best for me right now. It means that I do not feel disappointed in myself for still feeling so god damn sad every single day.

My biggest realisation is that the help I could return to mirrors (I think and hope) the attitude and understanding of my psychiatrist; that not engaging in a behaviour is much harder than engaging (or a different kind of hard at least). And that support is still VERY much needed after someone stops hurting themselves regularly. And my belief that the people who I might return to for help in the future know this, gives me an insane amount of hope, and an insane amount of trust, in them and in eventually getting myself where I want to be. I just hope that everyone can find someone who gets this, and if you can’t, I hope you can be brave enough to tell someone, and give them that chance to be the person who supports you when you are roaming in the no mans land between “ill” and “recovered”.

rock bottom