This is what happened.

This is what happened. Please don’t change your views on me. I know I share a lot on here; I guess I compensate for what I don’t say in words out loud. We all have to get things out somehow.

I cannot entirely remember what I previously posted, but I know I was on leave from the acute psychiatric ward and I thought that I was free. I was not free.

It is hard to write on here, and to be honest. I am aware that there are potentially more people reading this that know me in “real life” than ever before. This blog was initially a place just for me, or just for me to meet other people with similar experiences.

Stigma and all of that stuff has improved, but it has not gone. And while sharing experiences is good, I guess we all want some element of a private life. And yet writing is SO, SO cathartic. I am a person who expresses very little about herself and her feelings in words, or face-to-face with people. This includes professionals. One of the key things the inpatient ward has been trying with me is encouraging me to talk. It hasn’t totally failed, but it has definitely not been a success.

I have spent now, a month there. It is a month tomorrow since I was sectioned. I know this because my section lasts 28 days, and it runs out tomorrow. I had my leave revoked twice. The first time was after an appointment with my outpatient team. I was on leave, and went to see them to discuss the plan moving forward; I wanted to return and do the therapeutic community. A three day per week programme that I was thrown out of last year. Any way…the decision by them is that my risk is still too high to return. The hope was that I’d be ready by October, but now they think not, and the consequence was total discharge from their service.

I had my whole life plan based around going back. I had cancelled interviews for internships. I was ready to dedicate 1-2 years to therapy. And boom. Gone. And I melted down. I walked out. I was in the corridor banging my head against the wall. I was distraught. But they calmed me down, took me back inside, and we had a very emotional, but important talk. I realised the decision was hard for them, as much as it was hard for me. One of the nurses cried. It was painful, and the decision was made that it was in my best interests to return me to the ward for a few hours to calm down and get my head around it. Those few hours turned into a weekend when the consultant psychiatrist said there was no way he would let me leave again before the Monday.

I did go on leave again. And it was revoked. I took some meds and fell asleep. I didn’t overdose, but I took night time medication in the day time plus PRN. I was OUT OF IT, and I wasn’t answering calls from the crisis team who support me daily while on leave. And so of course boom…police knocked my door down, found me and took me back to the ward. I didn’t cope well, made an attempt on my life, was put in seclusion, and had a few days of hell.

But I am home! I had some day leave at the start of the week, then one night at home on Thursday. I went back Friday to discuss how it went and then they agreed I could come back home until Monday. It has gone…ok. Things feel unsteady. One part of me can see me going to my ward round tomorrow and getting taken off my section 2, not transferred to a 3, and being discharged completely. If not that, then being on leave for a week as a voluntary patient, then discharged. My section 2 cannot be extended, it is 28 days maximum, and that is the law. The way forward is either to take me off it, or put me onto a section 3 which is much more serious and not likely to happen at all. I am positive. I am looking into how to deal with my poor financial situation right now, I am looking at future job options, accommodation, social stuff to stop being so a damn recluse. While I haven’t in a few days, I had been working hard on my dissertation, and yeah…there are lots of positives.

But there is a part of me that knows the next 12ish hours are crucial and this is a high risk time for me. If I am going to land myself back in hospital, it will be during this time so I am on high alert. I have the crisis teams number, and the wards number. I know a name of a person from the crisis team I can ask to speak to, and I have PRN medication.

PRN medication is weird. I’ve never had it before, except for the odd week once or twice. PRN medication basically means you take it as/when you need it. I try to take as little as possible. During my first day at the ward I was angry and being kept “safe” and angry at being sectioned, and angry at being locked up. For the first time ever, the girl who never expresses anger, erupted. I kicked off and tried to escape, and this was when I found out that due to being under a section, if I refuse PRN medication when staff feel it is appropriate, it can be injected against my will. PRN medication doesn’t knock me out, but it makes the world feel slow and unreal. It’s like living in a bubble. It makes me very different. It also makes me very calm.

That first week is a long way behind me now, but I am still using PRN lorazepam 1-2 times per day. It’s a weird feeling it leaves you with. I definitely wouldn’t suggest driving!!!

I can’t believe it has been a month. A month tomorrow. I am ready to speak the words. I think I need to. Or I will feel ashamed and embarrassed and sick tomorrow when I remember writing this, and letting you read it.

A month ago tomorrow I came back to Leicester from visiting my family. I remember I went to a hospital appointment in the morning, then came home. I had some lunch while watching something on my laptop. The plan was to go to the gym, so I got changed into my gym stuff, and packed my water bottle, towel and purse in my bag, plus a Tesco bag for life as I had little food in after being away.

I was laid on the floor in my lounge (I prefer the floor to the sofa, don’t ask), and all I was thinking is, “I can’t keep on doing this.” I had been struggling for weeks with anxiety, rules, low mood, self-harm and all of the usual. The idea of going to work the next two days and facing the gym and all of my exercise rules, and then having to try do uni work while being surrounded by people…I just thought, “I can’t do this any more”. It wasn’t so much that things were worse than ‘normal’, but that I just couldn’t face doing the ‘normal’ any more.

I started walking to the gym, but I didn’t go in. I sat on a bench outside. I cried. And then the team that discharged me called me. I was gravitating towards a local multi-storey car park, and from past experience, she knew that was the risk. She tried to help me. And I wanted to work with her, but by 7.30pm (she finishes work at 5), we weren’t getting anywhere. She said we needed some outside help, and that the police mental heal triage car were going to be sent to see me. I met them in a grave yard of all places, and sat in their car. The decision was made to take me to A&E for an assessment, but while the police were discussing my situation with the nursing staff, I ran.

It was late by this point. Gone 10pm. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was walking at speed to the car park. There was no fear. There was no doubts. All of the usual thoughts that would pop into my head and stop me doing it had gone. It was a type of moment I have never experienced before. It felt like clarity. I had my headphones on, listening to a song by Halsey called ‘I am not afraid any more’, and I honestly felt like I was on one; I had the solution, this was it, and in a way I was excited. Nervously excited. Like something was pumping through my body and it was all going to be ok.

Rather than hover around the car park like I have done in the past, I went straight up to the top floor. I walked to the point where I knew it was easy to get over the edge, and I sat there for a little while with my legs on the inside of the car park. Then I moved one of my legs further towards the edge and I heard someone say my name. I didn’t turn around but I knew it was the police officers from before. They were trying to talk to me but all I was thinking is “You cannot survive this. Survivial is not an option.” and so I swung both of my legs over and pushed my arms to heave me over…

and next thing I knew my head hit the floor, pain seared through my right side…through my legs, hip, bum, shoulders, head. My hand and face was bleeding, and I was in the arms of a police officer. The police officer who saved me.

He was shaking. His arms tightly around me. He kept saying “we are going to be ok”, and “the worst is over now.”. All I was thinking was that the worst had just begun; that surviving this was going to be horrific. I kept trying to get back up. The car park security arrived, a negotiator arrived, and the two police officers sergeant. They arrested me under Section 136 of the Mental Health Act, which meant they would take me to a place of safety where I could be kept for up to 72hrs. Within those 72hrs two psychiatrists and an approved mental health practitioner assessed me, and without even the option of going into hospital voluntary, sectioned me under section 2. I was taken straight to one of the female-only acute wards.

This is the thing that stands out to me the most; since that night happened, that night has barely been mentioned. I have barely thought about it neither, and if I have, it has been brief.

You will read stories in the media and that night will be the point of the story. And yet so much has happened since. Further attempts at seriously hurting myself, having my room stripped, including all of my clothes…including all of the clothes I was wearing. There have been tears, restraints, and god…just more tears.

There have also been positive days, days with hope. Moments where I can see an alternative future for me, for my life after September. Moments where I laugh. Moments where I feel ok. Moments where staff help me to keep safe, and I feel proud of myself for letting them do that.

There have been so many important, terrifying, sad, happy and a combination thereof, moments, that nobody ever talks about. And here I am talking about them. Because I’m not out of hospital technically, yet. And it is insane what can change in a night. And even once I am fully discharged, which should be incredibly soon, potentially tomorrow…the journey from that terrible night, to where I am now, is such a small part of the journey. The journey is going to continue for the coming months, perhaps years, and people never read about that.

 

 

 

 

Positive vibes only please.

I screwed up. But maybe I need to stop saying it like that…I crumbled and everything became too much.

Last Monday I was sectioned. I was arrested under section 136 of the mental health act by the police (for anyone who does not know much, it is not a crime but for safety and a mental health assessment) and taken to a “place of safety”. At said place I was assessed by two psychiatrists and a social worker, put on a section 2 and admitted to an acute ward.

I am not sure I want to disclose what happened. I have not really spoken about it at all to anyone, nor how I feel about it now. I keep telling myself I should be glad that a police officer saved my life, but then I think that sounds ridiculously dramatic and it does; but then it is also true. If the police officer had reacted even just 5 seconds slower than he did, I would be dead right now and I want to be glad. I do. But right now I am just confused. I think wanting to be glad is a good place to start. When the incident happened the police knocked me to the ground; broke my nails, bruised my side and bum, ripped my coat and scratched my face. He was holding me, almost hugging me. He was shaking and he kept saying that we were safe and that it was all going to be ok, that the worst was over. I wanted him to get the hell off me and I tried to get away. But I also remember this little part of me that could see how relieved he was that he had made me safe, and I was jealous. Bad choice of words there, but I wanted to feel his relief. I was crying because I could not feel it. All the officers were relieved and happy, talking about it being a good outcome, and I was laid there on the floor wishing I felt the same – I take that as a sign that something in me wanted to be alive. Well, wanted to want to be alive, and when I remembered feeling this way on Friday, I realised I have to fight.

I only spent a week on the ward. It was a rubbish week. I have only been on an adult acute ward once and I acted fine, and “displayed no signs of mental illness” mostly because I was trying to get myself out, and I did within 3-4 days. This time I was not quite the same. I had to be medicated which I hated, because it feels like every time you get distressed and they cannot handle you, they just want to knock you out…I was restrained which has never happened before, I was attempting to escape, I was on 1:1 a lot, I had all of my stuff taken off me…given back, taken off me again.

But I am home. I came back home yesterday and I am home for a week, and if I keep how I am/improve, then I will be taken off the section next Monday and freeeeeee. And I am pretty proud of myself for picking myself up so quickly rather than ending up having a long admission. I cannot stand hospital and while I know most people can’t, I particularly can’t. I cannot handle feeling trapped or not getting space, or fresh air. I cannot manage to eat in hospital so I went 7 days without food. I get worked up and even my Mum knew that hospital was not the right place for me.

That is not to say it was the wrong place neither. What I did, what I nearly did…there was no other option. I could not go home. And yesterday afternoon I had an absolute meltdown. On my way home from the ward I went to see my mental health worker at uni, and I just lost it. She rang the ward and the consultant suggested going back, but I pushed through and I am still at home. I have cleaned, dealt with some physical health issues, I am eating again THANK THE LORD and I am engaging with home visits even though I tried to refuse them. I know if I refuse them I will be recalled aka back in hospital, but that is not why I am engaging. I am engaging because I want to, and because this is an opportunity for me to learn how to communicate how I feel and get things out, rather than bottling things up and exploding.

Two weeks ago I was struggling, but I would never have predicted this to happen. It has been horrible, and at time, traumatic. I could still be on the ward right now, on 1:1 with none of my belongings, hurting myself, arguing, kicking off, not eating and destroying any chance of returning to outpatient therapy. But I have another two and a half months to show I can regain control and be “stable” (bloody hate that word), so I can do the therapy, and so that is my goal.

There are lots of issues at the moment, and things that contributed to this, and consequences of this last week that I have to deal with. But ultimately I know all things can be dealt with. While I am finding it difficult to say I am glad the police saved my life, I am glad I am still here to have the chance to engage in therapy and perhaps one day be glad.

I am focusing on looking after myself physically, reading some positive books and focusing on positive things. Having positive conversations with friends, generally talking to friends to be distracted, working on putting my feelings into words and just, helping myself. It started with eating; I knew I was not going to be able to pick myself up and do the things that would help me, if I was not eating. So yesterday after my meltdown I had my trusty rice krispies, and since then I have been eating “properly”, and it is just a case of one foot in front of another. I do truly hope I can go to my ward round on Monday, surprise them at how different I am (better!), get discharged and resume life, but for now we shall focus on today.

 

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.

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.

Taking time out.

I have *stuff* going on, and *stuff* in my head, but I seem to be having a few seconds where it comes into my mind, and then I push it under.

Some things happened in my family in April, and then it got took further in December. We heard from the people dealing with the *stuff* today. It has been really quiet since December, and over the next couple of weeks it seems like it is going to suddenly get quite busy with it all. It is like the calm before the storm right now, and I know it is only going to get harder. I did not initiate the *stuff*, but now I am involved in it. It could take a year to be dealt with, and the “ideal” outcome really is not my ideal outcome. I am kind of questioning why I am doing this. The guilt is awful, and I know the guilt should not be mine, but when it is family, it is hard. Family. Family should be all loving and stick together, and when you are basically potentially destroying your families lives, it is hard not to feel guilty. But I suppose the reality is these people are not my family. They were. Technically they are. By blood they are. But that is where it ends now. It is terrifying how much things can change in less than a year.

I also hate that I cannot talk about the *stuff*. I cannot talk about it because it is private and personal, and scary, and also probably for legal reasons. It makes it hard. I do not have “support” at the moment, but that is likely to change on Friday. I am terrified about Friday. I am being assessed for a different mental health service, after being chucked out of the other. And a non-mental health service is attending the assessment, at my home, because they want mental health services to know what is going on with my physical health so that everyone is talking to each other. I’m not keen on this; I like to tell people what I want them to know, I like to be in control of who knows what. Nor am I keen on them all coming to my house. I will be glad when Friday morning is over. It has been hanging over me all week. I am barely sleeping, and we all know lack of sleep is never a good thing. It would be nice to fall asleep without hours of waiting for it to happen, and it would be even nicer to stay asleep. My medication does not seem to be helping, which is odd.

I have been looking, and applying, for graduate schemes. In the back of my head I know that my plan should be to take a year out, or at the maximum, carrying on studying. The service that chucked me out, do want to take me back on once it has been a year from discharge, if I am “ready”. It is just such a huge commitment, both emotionally and in terms of time – it is a day programme for 12 months, plus a few months before and after at reduced days per week. I do not know if I can face going back there, but I know that is not a good reason not to. I also do not want to invest into going back there, and it not work out. I cannot handle failing twice. I was supposed to go and do it during my masters, and that plan fell apart when I was chucked out. They probably would not describe it as being chucked out, but that is the reality of the situation.

It is also the whole taking a year out for “treatment” thing. It feels bad. It feels like failure. I kind of want to stop applying for jobs and graduate schemes, purely because I do not want to end up in a position where I have to turn interviews or an offer down. Like, what if I get a fantastic opportunity that could help me with my career? That has the potential to be the stepping stone into my ideal future, and I have to say no, sorry, because I am going to be a “patient”. I do not want the patient identity to be everything I am for a year. I also know if I had a physical illness I would feel differently. But it is not really something you can whack on your CV. And it is hard to feel OK with explaining a gap in my CV when it is for what it is. If I had a physical illness I would just say “I had a year out because I had (insert illness)”…but this will never be that easy.

But then, what is one year if it changes my life? I am not going to sit here and feel sorry for myself. I have to turn whatever choice I make into a positive. Nothing is bad or good, it is what you do with it that makes it bad or good. I firmly believe that. A positive mental attitude is required.

I know the sensible thing to do. I just do not like it.

This was not the situation I was supposed to be back in, again, but it is the situation and I can own it, or I can let it control me. I do not have to let the “patient” identity be my identity, even if I go down that route of taking time out. I can volunteer, I can write, I can do other things.

And at the end of the day, other peoples opinions are not really that important. If people do not like what I am doing, or think less of me for it, that really is not my problem. And will people even do that? Or am I stigmatising myself?

I am really interested in the concept of the “stigmatised” assuming the stigma is there, and paradoxically causing themselves to be stigmatised. I am probably guilty of it. Is being open really as bad as it feels? If I take a year out, and then go to an interview and respond to the questioning of what I did in that year truthfully, and tell them the other things I did in that year, will people think what I think they will?

We cannot assume what people are thinking. People are entitled to be given the chance to think for themselves.

 

 

 

It’s update time again!

I started my six week internship on Monday. I was meant to start two weeks ago, but unfortunately ended up in hospital twice.

I had no belief in myself that I could work. I thought that there was no way I am confident enough…no way I was going to get myself there. The two hospital admissions served as further evidence of this. Fast forward to Monday 8:20am, leaving the house to get there…and it hit me…the “normal” worries. Can I do the work? What if I can’t? What if I make them regret taking interns from my university? I had been so worried about not being able to even get myself there, that I had somehow forgotten about the more important worries.

Well, it has been fabulous. I am fortunate that both my university, and the place I am working for, have been very accommodating, and although they do not know it, have helped me stop myself from self-sabotaging.

I am working for a charity, as a Campaigns and Communications Officer, working primarily on one campaign. Everything is good. The routine and structure is good for me. The people I work with are lovely, the charity itself is amazing. When I applied for this intern scheme, I never expected to be so lucky to get the perfect match; not only am I doing a role I would love to do in the future as a career, but I am also working for the kind of place I would love to work for.

My work is especially geared around social media – scheduling posts and analytics. As well as drafting emails, promoting our campaign strategies etc.

My normal life is quite unstructured, especially as I do my own research at university, and therefore have minimal contact time. My sleep routine is less than healthy, and my iron levels dropped in December to borderline transfusion level. I felt like the odds of coping with working were against me. And yet the hours go SO quickly. I would work here part-time for free, without a doubt. I am so interested in what I am doing, I find myself researching and keeping an eye on one of our campaign strategies as soon as I get home. Heck, I check one right before I go to sleep!

The hardest part has to be managing my medical appointments. At the moment I have no contact with mental health services, other than the crisis team which is due to end tomorrow (and they can see me late evenings, so outside of office hours), but I am seeing two outpatient clinics for physical health problems plus another service. I feel like I live in hospital at the moment. I was at the hospital yesterday, and the day before, and two days before that. I finished work just after 5pm today, and went straight to the hospital. Tomorrow I am back at the hospital again for an X-Ray and then for a fracture clinic appointment. Then I am seeing my support worker at university, followed by the crisis team. I want to fit the gym in somewhere, but I am not sure where!

I am kind of relieved that my referral to CMHT is being messed about with. Every week I am told this is the week I will hear from them, and every week I don’t. I’m not sure I have the time for them right now, nor do I particularly want to engage in mental health services anymore. I was discharged from the two services I was under in November and December. The November one was due to being classed as “too high risk” for what they offer, and the December one was because the person I saw retired, and I no longer required help for that aspect of my problems – it was the Anorexia Nervosa service from where I am originally from, and I am doing well in that respect. I must admit it is nice not to travel back home every week! I’m finding I prefer not being under anyone at the moment. It’s a nice break from 10 years of mental health services. Whether it’s a good thing, or a bad thing, is debatable.

The service I was discharged from in November want me to consider returning there in a years time, when I am more stable. But it’s a three day per week day programme, for one year. Plus a prep group before you do that for a maximum of 6 months, and an after group as well, for six months. As a member of the main programme you are also expected to run the prep group in blocks, increasing it to four days per week at times.

I’d rather not go back to a place that made me feel the way it did, with people I would honestly rather never see again in my life. I’d rather do my PhD full time without juggling therapy, or get a full time job in the field I am passionate about.

Right now, I am focusing on managing this internship and my medical appointments, and I need to make sure I get on top of my MA work. I will re-assess after the internship.

For now, I’m going to focus on the fact that I am doing this, and that I am more capable than I realise. I don’t know how many positive experiences it is going to take for me to learn this!