Please Invite Me Out With You

By Amy Cullis

Ever since I started to become mentally ill, I have noticed a distinct drop in the amount of times I have been invited out by friends. I have even lost friends because of the effects of my illnesses.

Many of the times I’ve been invited out, I know I’ve cancelled and this probably leads to someone wondering if I really do want to meet up with them. The truth is, I do though. I really truly do.

I have Generalised Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Borderline Personality Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It’s hard to believe that one person can accumulate so many mental illnesses, but it is possible. Each of these illnesses affect my functioning in one way or another, and pretty much all of them can affect my ability to get out of the house and meet up with people.

My Anxiety and OCD make me worry about humiliating myself in public. I fear losing control of my bladder through not being able to get to a toilet in time. I have to complete rituals and even control the things I’m thinking otherwise I convince myself I will lose control and not be able to cope with the shame. My OCD in particular isn’t as bad these days, but in the past I have had to cancel plans last minute, or I’ve been late because I had to repeat my rituals. It takes a lot to quieten the intrusive thoughts I have around this. It also takes a lot to cut down my counting and repeating rituals. Part of me knows that logically the rituals mustn’t really affect how well I can control my bladder, but those toxic doubts of “what if?” hold me back and make me repeat them, just in case they do have an effect. The times when I’ve not been able to control my bladder, or I’ve almost not been able to, my brain puts down to not doing my rituals properly or enough. Next time I will be extra careful.

My Depression can severely impact my motivation and self-esteem. I see myself as a bad, unworthy friend; who will not be good company to be around. The thought of putting on a smile, being chatty, and coping with crowds in order to meet my friend/s can become very daunting and I may even think they don’t really want to meet up with me. If I have cancelled before, I also feel very guilty and this will make me feel too ashamed to meet up again.

My BPD has an impact on my thoughts and behaviour around friends. I may be clingy, or I might completely isolate in order to avoid abandonment and rejection. I will go through times where I cannot bear conversation. I cannot cope with the idea and even paranoia that my friends aren’t as close to me as I am to them. I feel no one will ever love me as much as I love them, and I get scared of holding on too tight, so I do the opposite. It will take so much for me to make plans, and eventually I believe I push friends away. They may think I’m not interested in meeting up with them, when in fact the opposite is true. I am so desperate to be loved and accepted that I fear what will happen if I take the plunge and attempt to make plans.

My most recent mental health diagnosis is PTSD. My main trauma has little to do with friends and friendship groups, but it can affect how I act in busy situations. When I am out of the house I can feel unsafe and out of control. I am easily startled and always on my guard. Sometimes knowing I will be like this is too much to cope with and I will cancel plans.

This may seem like a lot to take in, and may leave my friends wondering what to do. For me, though, the worst things are lack of interaction from friends and not making plans. I may cancel many times but please keep the faith that there will be times when I am able to meet up. Just to be invited means the world to me, even if I can’t make it. Please include me. Feeling left out is something I’ve experienced ever since my childhood and it doesn’t take much for me to still feel left out now. If it confuses you that I cancel so often, then talk to me! I will be more than happy to explain what’s going on. It may even bring us closer together to know why I act the way I do. I promise I will always try my best to stick to our plans, and I will try not to cancel last minute without good reason.

Communication is so important in friendship. It may even become more important when one of us falls ill and cannot get out of the house as often as we’d like. Please continue to communicate with us and include us in your plans with friends. We may have not changed. Our health has.

About the Author

Amy Cullis is a mental health and chronic illness blogger from the UK. They have a BSc (Hons) in Clinical and Health Psychology. Amy blogs at Amy’s Mystery Illness, contributes to The Mighty and has a keen interest in writing, politics, and equal rights; alongside music and photography.

Links

• Amy’s Mystery Illness Blog
• The Mighty Contributor Profile
• Amy’s Mystery Illness Facebook Page
• Amy’s Mental Illness Video Playlist

 

Managing My Dual Diagnosis on a Day to Day Basis

By Kailey Fitzgerald

Being in recovery from drug addiction and having a mental illness concurrently can be extremely mentally taxing. On my off days, when I am not keeping up with my daily routines and neglect my self-care mechanisms, my life can seem chaotic and unmanageable. I often say it feels like I am just constantly putting out one fire after another. On the other hand, when I do manage my dual diagnosis well, I am truly happy.

Finding coping mechanisms and a healthy daily routine that worked for me took a lot of time and effort through trial and error. What may work for one person, may not work for another. It wasn’t until I went to an addiction treatment center and began true, honest, and rigorous therapy that I finally found what worked for me.

Go to Therapy Regularly

Going to therapy and giving it a real, honest shot is what saved my life. For years I was repulsed by laying down on some brown over-sized couch and telling some stranger with a medical degree all of the reasons my life sucked. To my surprise, I learned that real therapy is not like what you see on TV. My therapist treated me like a human and really allowed me the time and pace I needed to begin to open up to him.

In therapy, I learned many valuable coping mechanisms that I incorporate into my day to day life. For example, I suffer from a couple of anxiety disorders. When I begin to have a PTSD flashback or an anxiety attack, my therapist recommended I ground myself through breathing techniques. I try to apply this and when I do, it typically helps in centering my body and mind enough to get through the flashbacks and anxiety attacks.

That being said, after a few therapy sessions I began to feel better. In my own naivety, I thought that meant I was recovered and could stop attending therapy. The first few weeks were great, I had more financial freedom and more free time on my hands. Quickly I realized I had made a mistake when I ran into one of my PTSD triggers and had a complete meltdown. Luckily, I was able to make the conscious decision to admit my wrongs and call my therapist to resume our biweekly appointments.

Maintain the Sobriety Aspect of My Recovery

It is extremely important for me to maintain my sobriety in concurrence with the treatment of my secondary mental illnesses. This means continuing to participate in the fellowship I chose, utilizing my meditation practices, keeping in contact with my sober support, and remaining diligent in monitoring whether I begin to romanticize drug use or old habits. The combination of all of these practices is what allows me to remain sober without becoming a “dry drunk”. Dry drunks are defined as people who are chemically sober but behave in the same manner that they did while they were using. For example, if I stopped maintaining my sobriety I would begin to become easily agitated and unable to control my emotions — causing me to resort to fantasizing about using a substance to numb my feelings.

For all intents and purposes, let’s just say I let the maintenance of my sobriety slip. I become discontented with my life, the people around me, and the fact that I have to abstain from using drugs. This would begin to affect my secondary mental illness because I am already slipping into a dark place. With the combination of my unmanaged sobriety and the symptoms of my anxiety disorders beginning to intensify, it would be extremely hard and maybe even impossible for me to remain sober. So, keeping that in mind, I do the best that I can in order to maintain my sobriety every day.

Remember That Recovery Is Not Linear

Recovery from any ailment takes time. Some days you will progress, while some days you may backslide. It is important to remember not to beat yourself up when you have an off day. When recovering from dual-diagnosis mental illnesses, these off days may happen more often than you’d like. I remember at the beginning of my recovery, everything was seemingly perfect. I had the desperation and time to do everything in my power to maintain my substance abuse recovery and my anxiety disorder recovery. As time went on, I regained responsibilities that left me with less time to pursue my recovery. This meant that life began to become increasingly difficult.

In order to balance my recovery, work, family and my social life I had to readjust my expectations. In addition, I needed to gain confidence in my recovery. I had built a strong foundation of life skills, coping mechanisms, and a support network that could carry me on my “off days”. When I had less time to make meetings or therapy sessions, I would call a sober friend to give me advice or just lend a listening ear. Initially, I felt guilty that I wasn’t doing as much as I had been in early recovery. But, despite my guilt, the truth was that I was still doing everything in my power to maintain my recovery. We get sober and recover from our mental illnesses in order to build a life worth living. Once I realized that my guilt dissipated. All of these responsibilities that I thought were taking away from my recovery were, in fact, the gifts of recovery.

About the Author

Kailey Fitzgerald is a young writer in the recovery community. She has found passion in writing for websites like Discovery Transitions, who work to spread awareness and break stigmas in relation to recovery from addiction and mental illness. She has found this passion through recovering from her own dual-diagnosis and attempting to help others do the same.

 

How Letting Go Saved my Life

By Maya Kelley

My childhood was not an easy one, despite my mother’s efforts to keep me safe. I grew up in a loving home, was provided with everything I needed, and was exceptionally bright from an early age. Even with being provided the best foundation I could have to excel in life, I turned down a path of self-destruction. I was filled with hatred for myself, mistrust towards others, and a general apathetic outlook towards life.

Early Childhood Trauma

At around the age of seven, I was mauled by my family dog. I slipped and fell, let out a high-pitched scream, and the dog’s prey drive must have kicked in. This incident left me nearly dead, with scars all over my face and neck. I was happy while I was in the hospital; I got to participate in arts and crafts while I recovered with my loved ones around me. Once I went back to school, the kids were not as welcoming. I was bullied for the scars on my face which left me with extremely low self-esteem at a young and impressionable age. I was lacking in self-worth before I even hit my teen years, all because I would not allow myself to process what had happened to me.

As I began to get older, my behavior started to worsen. At about the age of thirteen, I started attending parties with people who were older than me. I fell in love with the way that alcohol and xanax seemed to take away all of my insecurities, even if it was just for the night. The flashbacks from my dog attack would go away, I would forget about my scars, and I finally felt “a part of” when I was surrounded by other people partying.

At a 4th of July party, I binge-drank and took xanax to the point of passing out. The next morning, I was told that an older man took advantage of me while I was blacked out, and in result stole my virginity from me. Finding out that I had been a victim of sexual assault at the age of thirteen only made me want to self-medicate even further. I was too ashamed to talk to my parents about what had happened to me because I blamed myself. I thought that since I allowed myself to become vulnerable, that it was all my own fault. I didn’t stop to consider that I was only thirteen years old and my abuser was in his mid-twenties.

A Downward Spiral

The weekend turned into weekdays, nights turned into mornings, and I was constantly in an altered state. I could not go longer than just a few hours without getting high or drinking. I had developed extreme PTSD and anxiety from my unresolved trauma, which made me feel like I could not live without a substance in my body. In reality, I was just making my symptoms worsen over time and prolonging my road to recovery. Emotionally, I was either withdrawn or completely unhinged; I had no in between. I began to self-mutilate just so that I could feel something other than emptiness.

Eventually, the drugs stopped working. I could not get high anymore, my symptoms were extremely loud, and I wanted to die. I felt like my life wasn’t worth anything. I dropped out of school when I turned sixteen, began to sell drugs or even myself just to get my fix, and I had absolutely no purpose in life; or so I thought. I had allowed my morals to become nonexistent and pushed away all of the people in my life who truly loved me.

Letting Go and Beginning to Recover

When I realized I could not bring myself to take my life, I asked my mom for help. I decided that I had no idea how to fix things on my own and agreed to go to treatment where I would safely be transitioned into a sober individual, while going through trauma therapy. I always thought that therapy was for weak people, but once I finally allowed myself to give it a try, I realized that it actually took a strong person to be able to admit they have a problem and begin to face it. In therapy, I learned how to accept the things that happened to me and to use my experiences to help others heal; giving me a purpose in life that I had craved for so long.

With my newfound sobriety, I began to meet people from all different types of backgrounds who shared the same emotions, thought processes, and ideas as me. I began to feel that sense of being “a part of” that I had not felt since my first time getting high, except this time it felt different because I knew it came from a place of love and authenticity. I began to learn who I really was as a person and also learned how to love myself through the help of fellowship. My problem was control. I needed to learn how to let go of the past and future so that I could be in the present moment, enjoying life to the fullest extent.

Today, I am extremely happy for the first time in my life. I have genuine friendships, intimate relationships that I was never capable of having before, and I do not regret one part of my story; my past has shaped me into the woman I am today, and for that I will be forever grateful.

About the Author

Maya Kelley is a writer for Agape Treatment Center, a drug and mental health rehabilitation center in South Florida. She is passionate about spreading awareness on sexual assault, childhood trauma, and addiction.

 

My Journey Through Mental Illness, Addiction, and Recovery

By Kailey Fitzgerald

Growing up, I always felt like I didn’t fit in; I felt like I was a little off when compared to my peers. I had this terrible and seemingly constant feeling in the pit of my stomach when I would try to talk to other kids, and a ringing voice in my head that told me I wasn’t good enough. When I would accomplish something, I would find the reasons that it didn’t amount to anything and head down on a path of self-destruction.

Everything appeared perfect from the outside, but from the inside, I was absolutely falling apart. I managed to maintain until I was around twelve years old. I started to have violent emotional outbursts that I couldn’t seem to control, and it began to affect my relationship with my mom. She noticed that I wasn’t behaving normally and decided to send me to a psychiatrist. At first, when I was diagnosed with Intermittent explosive disorder and social anxiety I thought my whole life was over. I was only twelve years old and society had led me to believe that having any sort of mental disorder meant I was clinically insane; I was ashamed.

The medication my psychiatrist had prescribed me seemed to only make me worse, I began having suicidal thoughts and had socially withdrawn completely. My relationship with my mother was almost nonexistent and she was distraught. My explosive episodes were even more frequent, tearing apart any friendship or relationship I had left. I felt helpless because I didn’t want to respond to people in such anger, but I literally had no tools to control myself. My hopelessness led me to drugs. I began hanging out with an older crowd and attending highschool parties in order to find any substance available to calm the voices in my head.

For a while, the drugs helped me — or so I thought. To my friends and family, I seemed to be doing well. No one had any idea that I was drinking, smoking weed, and taking Xanax in order to attempt to quiet my anxiety and control my violent emotional outbursts. What I didn’t realize was that every time I took in a substance I was just covering up my issues and letting them fester over time, and as if that wasn’t enough, I was developing a drug addiction.

My addiction led me down an even darker path; abusive men, withdrawals, violence, and incomprehensible demoralization all became my new normal. I watched myself become a shell of a person and all the while, I couldn’t care enough to save myself. Eventually, I grew such a tolerance to the drugs I was using that they weren’t getting me high anymore. When I wasn’t high, I wasn’t numb, and all of my emotions came back with a vengeance. I spiraled so far out of control that I finally couldn’t take it anymore, and I FINALLY asked my mom for help.

Considering half of my family were members of Alcoholics Anonymous, they knew exactly what I needed. My mom enrolled me into a dual-diagnosis treatment center, which helped me learn to cope with the mental disorders I was suffering from and allowed me to overcome my addiction safely. I have found a life that allows me to not feel ashamed of my mental illnesses or my history of drug addiction. Going to treatment gave me the tools I needed to live my life peacefully, provided me with a group of friends who have gone through similar things as me, and has given me the strength to continue fighting when my mental illness may creep back up.

About the Author

Kailey Fitzgerald is a writer in recovery from PTSD, Anxiety, IED, and drug addiction. She is passionate about spreading the word and breaking stigmas regarding mental illness and addiction. She writes for The Discovery House, a treatment center in California.

 

I Will Rise

By Tracy Leppla

Suicide is a very touchy subject with me. Why? Because I have attempted suicide four times in the past. Obviously I didn’t succeed or I wouldn’t be here today sharing my story. I remember what it was like back then. How I felt. The darkness completely took over. I felt completely lost. Everything seemed like it was caving in and there was no way out. I had no desire to live anymore. I just wanted the pain to stop and I thought that was the only solution.

At the time of my suicide attempts I did not understand my PTSD, my anxiety or my panic attacks. I was angry about everything. I hated everything and everyone. I was tired of being bullied at school. After being beat up for the fourth time at school I decided I wasn’t going to take it anymore. I started fighting back. My fighting turned from survival mode to wanting to win mode. I wanted to show all those bullies not to mess with me and it worked. But it didn’t take the anger and pain away.

I was at home alone one night. My mom was out of town and my brother was out with his friends. I took a bottle of pills, laid down on my bed and waited to die. I started vomiting and it wouldn’t stop. Late that night my brother and his friend found me. He told me later I was white as a ghost, lethargic and not responsive. He took me to the hospital thinking I had the flu or food poisoning. Little did he know he just saved my life even though I had no desire to be saved. I attempted suicide three more times after that over the course of two years. I never succeeded so I am assuming I am still here for a reason. I hid my mental health illness for years due to feeling shame and being bullied. I just now started sharing my story. Maybe this is what I am supposed to be doing. I have no idea but I feel if I can help just one person than I have succeeded. That’s enough for me.

Two months ago a student that my son went to school with and was also on the football team with committed suicide. He was only sixteen. It broke my heart to hear of this. The reason he took his own life was due to bullying. Evidently he was being bullied so bad that he thought the only way to end his suffering and pain was to end his life. Even though I did not succeed in trying to take my own life I know exactly how he must have been feeling. I will never understand how a bully can feel so much satisfaction from making another human being feel so badly about themselves. What do they get out of it? Is it power? Is it control? Why would you even want to make someone else feel that bad? I will never understand this.

I read an article the other day from The Jason Foundation, the parent resource program. It stated that more teenagers and young adults die from suicide than cancer, heart disease, Aids, birth defects, stroke, pneumonia, influenza A, and chronic lung disease combined. Yes you read that right … COMBINED. That is unacceptable to me. Each day in our nation there is an average of over 3,041 attempts of suicide by youth grades 9 through 12. If you add in 7th and 8th grade the number would be even higher. The article stated that four out of five teens who attempt suicide have given clear warning signs. No one took them seriously. WOW! How could you not take any sign, any gut instinct, any remark about suicide seriously?

Is there anything we can do? I am not sure. I just know that these numbers are unacceptable. No child or adult for that matter should feel like taking their own life is their only option. We need to have more support groups, more resources, more help for the Mental Health Community, especially for teens. Teens have a hard enough time feeling accepted. They are going through puberty. Their hormones are all over the place. They have to worry about what they wear, what their friends will think, they so badly want to be accepted. There is a lot of peer pressure to fit in. And of course they have to worry about the bullies.

One thing that isn’t talked about enough is depression and anxiety among teens and young adults. We as a Mental Health Community need to bring more awareness to this subject. We need to reach out and offer our support. Maybe I don’t have a clue of what I am talking about. Maybe I am reaching for something that is impossible. I do know that if I would of had more support or even one adult that showed concern for me when I was a teen I may not have tried to kill myself. Maybe if the school had more resources or someone a student could confide in without judgement it would help.

As a survivor of childhood trauma living with PTSD, anxiety and panic disorder I have decided to stop feeling shame. I decided to share my story hoping it would help me and maybe help just one person be brave enough to face their mental illness with the fierceness of a lion and conquer their fears; to hold their head up high and be proud that they fight every day to be here, to live another day. I recently became an Angel Advocate for an online support group called MH Crisis Angels that you can find on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. I have met some wonderful people online in the mental health community. This support group is there for anyone who needs a listening ear, support, or just someone to chat with if you are feeling like you are in a dark place.

I also met Steve, a wonderful person on Twitter (@Cockney_Buddha). He shares his experience with Anxiety and Depression. He uses Buddhism, yoga, and meditation for his healing. His website mindnutrition4all.com is amazing. I think you will enjoy it as much as I do so be sure to check it out. It’s absolutely amazing that within a few minutes of speaking with him about my photography and showing him a few photographs he gave me the little boost that I needed to show more. To actually want to show more. He truly is an amazing, kind and sincere human being who just wants to help people.

I also want to mention Jeremy Zinzan who did my interview for the live Podcast. He has a beautiful website beherenow.one. He does a lot with meditation as well. Please check out my interview. It is forty minutes long but you get a small idea of my story straight from me.

At one point in my childhood I may have been a victim. It may have changed me forever but I survived. Every day I Continue to fight and I will Rise….

This article was originally published July 2019.

About the Author

I was diagnosed with PTSD, Anxiety and Panic disorder when I was fourteen years old due to childhood trauma. I am wife to a very supportive husband. We have been married for fourteen years. I am also a mother to four boys.

My passion is photography. I love black and white photos. I use my photography to help cope with my Anxiety. Being out in nature with my camera helps me relax and calm my mind. I am a Mental Health Advocate and want to bring awareness so there is more understanding.

You can find me on my website Controlling Chaos, on Facebook, and on Twitter.

 

In the Beginning

Anonymous

I’ve always told myself that I would never submit anything anonymously. I guess the vain part of me wanted the glory. It wasn’t until I considered telling this part of my story that I felt I couldn’t truly be me. That’s not to say that I’m ashamed of what I’ve been through. I’m trying hard to work past that feeling, and this is step one.

I didn’t think I would ever be sitting here sharing so much of myself with the outside world. I kept my mouth shut to protect other people, mostly my parents. I wouldn’t have been able to tell them. It would have caused more grief than I could ever stand to put them through.

My mom and dad are gone now, and it’s time to stop worrying that I will disappoint them. The other people involved are still alive, and I don’t care about protecting them. I’m doing this anonymously now to protect myself. Something I wish I could have done before now.

It’s all still incredibly painful, even all these years later. The nightmares and the PTSD are all piled up on top of the bipolar disorder. It’s more than anyone should have to endure. Here I am, struggling to keep my head above water.

For the first time, in a public way, I’m admitting to being sexually assaulted by two family members. I was nine years old when it happened, and I can recall four separate incidents. That may not seem like a lot; I know I was lucky. It could have gone on for years. That doesn’t make my pain any less valid.

I spent a lot of time alone as a kid. I guess the attention, no matter how toxic, was better than no attention at all. I wanted to be loved, and I didn’t think anything was wrong. As I got older and realized what I had been through, I blamed myself for all of it. As if I was asking for it.

For many years I kept my secret, not even remembering until I turned 18. Suddenly, there were nightmares and flashbacks that were far too real. It took a little time, but eventually, I could recall every detail. Before I realized what was happening, I was cutting myself and dwelling on self-loathing.

The self-injury plagued me for years, and I was in an out of different types of facilities. I got involved with men that treated me badly, but it didn’t matter to me. I wanted the attention. I kept my secret for years. I didn’t see any other alternative. I thought I could handle it.

Here I am, at my age, still carrying around the trauma from what happened to me. I never told anyone that could have helped me in any way. The people responsible for all this pain are still around, but we have no relationship. I’ve struggled for years with the idea that there were more victims because I didn’t speak up about it. It’s a feeling of guilt that I don’t know if I’ll ever get over.

Maybe talking about it even in an anonymous way will help me move forward with treatment. Maybe a time will come when I won’t carry so much guilt. Perhaps all of this will make it easier for someone else to come forward. Helping someone would make it a little less painful.

For now, I lead a pretty good life. I’m happily married to a man that values and respects me. I still have my day-to-day struggles. I suppose I always will. At least I know that I’ve started to take steps in the right direction, no matter how painful they may be.

 

The Ostrich Egg: My Journey to Mental Wealth

By Lea

It is only when we lose what we had that we realise just what we had. This is true in different elements of life. Sadly, this year it was true for me when it came to my Mental Wealth.

Between the ages of seven to twenty-two my Mental Wealth was lost, eaten alive and consumed by a range of people, from bullies at school, to the lack of trust shown by professionals who had the training to know better, and others. All this in addition to a rough deck of cards life had thrown my way.

Over those years, though, I was fortunate to spend a twenty-four week admission to The Crisis Recovery Unit, a specialist unit which was part of The Maudsley Hospital, which specialised in attempting to reach those for whom self-injury had become a coping mechanism.

I guess the best analogy I can make is that my body, my life, my experiences, my emotions were like an ostrich egg. The staff at the CRU chipped away slowly and methodically to break down the barriers I had put up as an act of self-protection. Once the external shell was cracked they chipped on until nothing remained of that egg. They then took the time and tenderness to build it back up, but equipped it with the skills and knowledge, not to mention self-confidence, that things can and will change, but that change has to come from within.

That was July 2001 through January 2002. For the first time my fears and my demons were not only heard, but they were held in mind whilst solutions – all of which I had to reach – were found and embraced. But this was not without many tears and setbacks as the journey to Mental Wealth began.

It worked. It lasted. Healthy coping mechanisms were adopted, psychiatry pushed to one side, a degree obtained, the loss of one of the few who gave unconditional love even whilst in my darkest of times, the birth of a child occurred, a divorce happened, a house move and more – all whilst maintaining that wealth.

But as is so often the case with these things, life had other ideas. In May of this year (2018) I was raped twice within six days by a so-called friend of over three years. He had methodically taken time to manipulate, use and lure me into a false sense of safety and trust. He had obtained power to know my buttons, how to push them and ultimately use them against me. I did the right thing and reported it to the police, but as all of this was going on the Mental Wealth I had gained rapidly disintegrated back to the crumbs and fragmented shell which the CRU had provided the skills and self-awareness to enable me to build back up.

Sanity fell. It fell like stale about-to-go-green-and-mouldy bread fed to ducks by children at the park. Any healthy ways to express emotion failed, and thirteen and a bit years of freedom and stability were lost. After caving in to self-destructions, and a psychiatric hospital stay, it is safe to say Mental Wealth was well and truly lost to the sink hole of life. Full blown Mental Illness had returned.

Last week the police informed me that they are unable to take the case forward to court due to lack of witnesses and/or CCTV, but who actually has these things when it comes to rape? A felt a sense of abandonment from the very agency which claims it is there to help and support, urging those who survive not to be silenced but with the emergence of the “Me Too” campaign to find their voice and speak their truth. I spoke mine, yet I am the one living with additional physical scars to layer on top of the mental and emotional ones he left as his legacy, whilst he walks the street continuing to spend his days oblivious to the damage and detrimental impact his actions have left behind.

In a vague attempt to self-soothe, self-manage – and self-sabotage if truth be known – self-injury has occurred once more, medical treatment obtained. The urges remain. The self-love for now is, temporarily I hope, on a shelf. I am trying to regain my grasp on it but it is hard. It is going to be a long journey to reclaim all I had.

If I know one thing it is that once this storm passes a butterfly will re-emerge. But it is hard to keep attuned to that vision when even as I write this I am in physical discomfort and pain following an episode of self-injury earlier this week which left my leg a mess. And I am mentally reliving all that he did those two days when he stole so much.

Asking for help is a hard yet brave step to take. I asked. I begged. I reached out. I cried. I screamed. Services were offered eventually but it took a breakdown to obtain a hospital stay. Services then deemed that due to their funding I had used my time and had to move on, although they acknowledged the distress I am living with on a daily basis. That was a sharp and bitter pill to swallow.

I am mindful that I am fortunate to have a private therapist trained in trauma who is enabling me to regrow and relearn and acknowledge and accept all that has occurred this year and its impact on me. After previous experience of being unreachable or untreatable by too many therapists my guard remains high. Nevertheless, she is thankfully equipped with the skills to see through the facade and get to my gut, to know what I need but may not want to hear, enabling me to try do things differently the next day.

So much has been lost, but I cling to the hope Mental Wealth will return some time soon. Until then all I can do is keep on as I am, vocalising when in distress, reaching out in the hope light will return, and pray no one else suffers in ways I have.

About the Author

Lea is a mid-thirty year old, Gender Fluid, Pansexual Solo Parent who lives in Leeds (Yorkshire, UK) and is Natural Term Breastfeeding their small who turns six in January 2019. Lea also happens to live with cPTSD, Fibromyalgia, and ME, and lost their sight a decade ago. Follow Lea’s Challenging Parenting Perceptions blog and Twitter (@leahtova).

 

Informal Admission and Being Sectioned: Seeing Life in a Psychiatric Unit from Both Sides, by Soph Hopkins

In September I wrote a post about being an informal patient on a psychiatric unit. It is with great sadness that I am now able to write about life as a sectioned patient. Seeing it from both ends has been a real eye-opener for me.

I came back into the psychiatric unit after only managing four weeks of discharge. I found those four weeks a real struggle: things happened and I couldn’t cope. I was first admitted as an informal patient after being on a section 136 by the police.

Everything was going ok, but I had a few days where I struggled. I got really upset and angry at myself and ended up using destructive coping mechanisms. Unfortunately, this meant that on Friday 13th October—a day that is known to be unlucky—I was placed on section 3 of the Mental Health Act with no leave for three days. This was a shock to me. I didn’t expect the knock on my door asking me to attend an assessment under the Mental Health Act.

I always thought I would be informal. As an informal patient I took my leave for granted, being allowed out all of the time not listening to nurses’ advice shocked me. Being on a section makes me think differently.

The words “section” and “detained” sound horrible: it sounds like you’re in prison because you are put under local authority care. I didn’t like this at all, and I decided to get a copy of my papers and see what had been said. I do agree with my section because I am unsafe in the community on my own and I need the care and treatment in hospital.

Having no leave opened by eyes to how unsafe I was, but I accepted it and headed into the ward round on Monday determined to get something. It went smoothly. I was ready to argue why I needed leave but I didn’t have to. I accepted my small leave and managed to get escorted leave because I don’t have family or close friends nearby who can do my shopping for me.

Being under section 3 means you can be treated against your will. The other day I had a scare. I was so ill that I had to be forced back on to the ward. I tried to leave so many times I had to be assessed by PICU (the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit). It is a locked ward with high staffing and limited personal possessions. It is the most secure ward for patients who aren’t in because of court or magistrate sentencing. I was and am fortunate: as long as I keep working with staff and keep taking my meds I can stay on the acute ward I was already on.

I was injected with medicine to make me feel better. I heard that I was a worry to the staff because when I get low I get so low I am capable of doing what I can to hurt myself. Waking up the next morning makes me realise how ill I can get.

I understand my section a lot more now. I am currently waiting to find out if I have been accepted onto a specialist personality disorder unit for intense psychotherapy: the average stay there is one to three years. I have an idea that hospital is going to be my home for some time, but I understand I need care and treatment.

Being diagnosed with Emotional Unstable Personality Disorder is hard to understand and I don’t want to go into it here, but there’s more to come on that. What I have learnt is there is life on a psychiatric ward. I made a close friend who really helped me understand that I have been sectioned and what it means. I have accepted that I need help, treatment and care

And most of all, I now can speak for both sides—being informal and being sectioned—and they are certainly different.

I want to leave you with a piece of advice. If you ever have to go into a psychiatric unit and get offered informal take it, but listen to the nurses and doctors. I wish I had now.

Also, if you’re homeless like me being on a section 3 does come with some benefits. They have section 117 aftercare and have to make sure you’re housed and supported when you leave hospital. Also don’t take your section leave for granted. Start small and build up.

The more you accept the more you get better.

 

About the Author

Originally from Gateshead, Soph Hopkins now resides in Wales. She has been volunteering and campaigning since she was fourteen. In 2014 she was Vinspired regional Volunteer of the Year for the northeast of England for bringing communities together. Vinspired is the UK’s leading volunteering charity for 14–25 year olds.

Soph is diagnosed with depression, anxiety, borderline personality disorder (BPD) and complex post-traumatic stress disorder (complex PTSD). Having spent time in and out of psychiatric hospital, she is keen to use her experience of mental illness to help others.

Please contact Soph by email (hopkinssophie3 [at] gmail.com) for copies of her articles, or for more information. She is keen to hear of any mental health opportunities in Wales.

 

Your Thoughts Create Your Future, by Soph Hopkins

“Key to my future”—the quote that lead me to take control of my life, accept the help I need, and move on.

I have been battling severe depression, anxiety and BPD since I was fourteen years old. In that time I have been in and out of hospital due to overdosing and cutting. No one would help me. I was labelled an attention seeker. I suffered seven and a half years with sporadic help and only crisis intervention. A recent move to Wales changed all this.

Soon after the move my GP was concerned at my many attempts at taking my own life. Unfortunately, this continued. Two months ago I was assessed and put under continual assessment until I took an overdose that could have killed me.

I remember crying for help in A&E and was then taken to a hospital for assessment. I didn’t know what to think but I knew deep down I needed the help. I was kept in overnight and transferred to an acute ward the following day. Talking to the nurses upon arrival I was shocked that it took a move to Wales to get the help I needed. The move which I know is permanent was a big step for other reasons.

I didn’t know what to think when I was offered leave until I was seen by the psychiatrist. I was shocked at the fact I was not even assessed by a consultant and I was given five days leave. I later found out this was to see how I would manage. I managed four hours before I was back in. I was displaying dangerous behaviour by running into traffic. The police were brilliant with me. They listened to me and understood I desperately needed help. They spoke to the ward and it was decided I would be back as an informal inpatient.

I was discharged the following Monday but the dangerous behaviour continued and within two days I was back again. I spent a couple of weeks as an inpatient before being given leave. I managed two hours of what was supposed to be weekend leave and then was taken back in. I spent another ten days there before being discharged into 24 hours supported accommodation.

Whilst on the ward I gained an experience which I want to share. A lot of the blogs I read about being inside a psychiatric unit are based on patients who have been sectioned. A small proportion go in as “informal.” However, being informal is not as easy as it sounds. Theoretically, it is meant to be your choice to come and go as you like. However, this is not the case. I was told it was for my own safety and the safety of others. If I didn’t agree to go in as an inpatient I would go under assessment of the Mental Health Act.

I went in voluntarily but I couldn’t come and go as I pleased. However, I liked it. I felt as an inpatient I was there for a reason and to assess it fully I should be on the ward attending occupational therapy sessions and DBT. I was on daily clothing and fifteen minute observations. Whilst on the ward I learned to write if I couldn’t voice my opinions. I learned skills to cope with my cutting and dangerous road behaviour. I was also able to use art as a form of expressing myself.

Six weeks as an informal inpatient helped me so much. I was able to find myself, my future, and ME. The psychiatric ward introduced me to friends who helped me but also who I helped during recovery. These friends have played a big part in creating the new me.

After coming out of hospital I was given a Home Treatment Team who will be discharging me within a week, because the hospital rehoused me into 24 hour supported accommodation. I will have Community Mental Health Team support for six months. This and the medication and new strategies have helped me grow to love myself and have the confidence to do things.

After moving to Wales for personal reasons, I now have the help I needed for so long after spending time as an inpatient. I am on medication. I have a library of tools and skills, and a team of people to help me. I also have short term 24 hour accommodation until I can manage to live independently.

I was also able to open my eyes to how mental illness can affect others, and sometimes just because you’re not sectioned it doesn’t mean you’re not ill—you just made the choice to follow the suggested plan of treatment.

My recovery has begun and writing and art is my way forward.

They say “Your thoughts create your future” and only you as a person can change that. I did and so can you.

 

About the Author

Soph Hopkins is 22 years old. Originally from Gateshead, she now resides in Wales. Soph has been volunteering and campaigning since she was 14 years old. In 2014 she was Vinspired regional Volunteer of the Year for the northeast of England for bringing communities together. Vinspired is the UK's leading volunteering charity for 14–25 year olds.

2013 and 2014 marked the start of Soph’s mental health campaigning, with her spending the summers at events to raise awareness of mental health stigma. Soph also spent time in London at events with YoungMinds and Youth Focus North East on a project called Change Ur Mind, raising awareness and delivering workshops on the stigma around mental health.

Soph spent most of 2015 campaigning and raising awareness of mental health and the stigma attached. She worked with the YoungMinds media team, and was involved in many radio interviews. These were mainly for BBC Newcastle but she was also on Women’s Hour, Heart Radio and Capital FM.

Soph featured in two articles in The Times newspaper. The first article, I Wasnt Taking Seriously Until Overdose, was all about Soph. The second article, Depressed Children Seek Help On Web, covered a campaign YoungMinds worked on with The Times regarding using the internet when feeling depressed. Soph was used as a case study.

Soph has volunteered for Time to Change at many events including Time to Talk Day Newcastle, The Sunderland Airshow, and Northern Pride.

Towards the end of 2013 she was invited to work with Durham University on a research project which looked at getting young people involved in mental health research. Soph was an original member of the group and played a big part in setting it up. She was actively involved for two years, attending regional events to share the work they were doing and help gather funding.

Also in 2013 Soph participated in the Changemakers leadership program, leading to a six month placement working with local GP practices and sexual health clinics in Gateshead to make them more young person friendly. This included looking at mental health and how to improve the services offered to young people. Soph represented Changemakers (now merged with The Foyer Federation) at many local and national events, using her story of battling severe depression and suicide feelings but still putting others first.

Soph is diagnosed with depression, anxiety, borderline personality disorder (BPD) and complex post-traumatic stress disorder (complex PTSD). Having spent six weeks in and out of psychiatric hospital, Soph is keen to use her experience of mental illness to help others.

Please contact Soph by email (hopkinssophie3 [at] gmail.com) for copies of her articles, or for more information. She is keen to hear of any mental health opportunities in Wales.