To Post Or Not

"Making people change because you can’t deal with who they are isn’t how it’s supposed to be done. What needs to be done is for people to pull their heads out of their asses. You say ‘cure.’ I hear ‘you’re not human enough."

John Scalzi, Lock In

 This is something that really stuck with me as I was reading this book. People can't deal with who I am. Or rather they can't deal with my mental health when it's bad. It's bad at the moment.

 My open-mindedness and candid talk of my own mental health problems have become something of a problem, not for those who share similar diagnoses or experiences, but for other people who probably wish I could give myself a shake, have the whole damn thing disappear and shut the fuck up about it. 

Now, wouldn't that be nice? I would LOVE to not have these problems but I do, and so do millions of others. 

 Unfortunately, despite the extensive worldwide media campaigns to end the stigma of mental illness it still remains. Maybe they're scared of it, catching it from someone. Well you know what? They should be! It's torture. It's not contagious though. 

 I recently started posting on Facebook some Mental Health Posts because I'm trying to let people know how I'm feeling, you know, in case anyone cares,  because I'm tired of people dismissing it, dismissing me, whenever I try to talk about it in real life. So on Facebook it's my way of asking for help, a little support, and most of that support comes mostly from people I've met online. I'm not good at asking for help and I realised recently that it's because when I try to talk openly to family or certain friends about it, it gets shut down. Quickly. 

 Now it's not everyone, but many people don't like when I post on Facebook about what's going on in my head. if I'm having a good day and able to semi-function, or whether it's a bad one I just can't do anything with. They don't understand it, they don't like the self-harm and suicidal thoughts but, come on, I don't go into detail!! They have ups and downs yet hold down a job, do things with friends, maintain their housework, so why can't I? Hell, they can wash, eat, and dress themselves every single day. Yay for them. 

 I'm glad they can because not being able to is a nightmare. Curled up in bed on a bad day thinking constantly about suicide is a nightmare. Flashbacks of traumatic events are a nightmare, and falling asleep and having nightmares well... 

 I've barely eaten in the past 3 weeks, sometimes nothing for days, I've not washed for over a week, which is not a record for me, and the only time I got dressed was when I had to go to the local shop to buy toilet roll and tins of soup that I've not eaten. I have dishes in my sink that every few days, when I go to fill my water glass, I tip the water out of the dishes and refresh it so that it doesn't start smelling because every night I think: "tomorrow will be different, I'll get up, shower, eat, do dishes. And if I can do that much then it's a start"

 But I don't. 

 I've not eaten today. I had 2 slices of toast yesterday so that must've been filling. I've no desire to eat. I've no motivation, I've no reason. 

That's the problem. I've no reason. 

But that's another day. 

Love. 

My Tourniquet?

The problem is deciding who to try to call. Which one person to ask for help, put all this responsibility on? Or try several? When no-one picks up in the wee hours or someone does but they don't take you seriously, or are annoyed at being woken, what then? Helplines haven't been helpful in my experience and have made it worse at times. I'm not good at asking for help from people for everyday things how am I supposed to ask them to help save me when I don't know if I want to be saved? 

There's so much to say but who the hell wants to listen? 

The song remains the same

I've read through a few of these posts and although they span 3-4 years they could easily have been written in the last few months. Seriously? What the actual fuck. 

Out of Commision

I've just been medically retired at the age of 41 because of my mental health. That's not to say I won't ever work again, just that I am unable to do the work I was employed for. It's not very common apparently, so, how did this happen? 

For the last 13 years I've been a mess. My dad was ill for some time and passed away 11 years ago next month. He was my favourite person, that's no secret. He rooted me to this world, made me feel I  belonged. I was his daughter, the youngest of 7 children but he always had time for me and that meant I was special to someone. Just one person, that was enough. My mum and my family loved me but I've not felt I belonged since he passed, that's not to say they wouldn't do anything for me I just feel....separate.  6 months after he died I went off work with depression. It's something I've had bouts of for many years but was always able to manage it, I was able to function on a fairly decent level, until then. 18 months after his passing I was still struggling, I'd been off work for most of the year, and the toxic relationship I was in, that should never have begun, was getting worse, but we'd been together since 1993 and I felt I had nowhere to turn. I tried to kill myself. I really tried. The hospital saved me, they woke me up 2 days later. I lied when I said I'd regretted it. That was 9 years ago. 

I started going out with Malc in 1993, I saw the signs of toxicity early on but had no confidence to do anything about it. My bedroom back home had been taken over by a brother who'd just separated from his girlfriend so I couldn't move back home so I just moved in with Malc. He could turn on the charm, all my family loved him and so I went through years of mental and emotional abuse (I didn't see it at the time - how dumb am I?) with the occasional punch here and there (don't think I took that lying down). The reason I'm talking about him is because he succeeded where I failed. He killed himself in 2006. As if I wasn't fucked up before. 

Around 2008 my mum had a stroke and died a couple years after in 2010. It's been a shitty time, what can I say? 

My employer restructured our department in 2011 and I was moved to a place where, as a teacher, I'd been assaulted and verbally abused, two of the main reasons I gave up teaching. I was also working with two people who knew Malc well, had worked  and trained with him. 

What I'm trying to say is that I was struggling severely with attendance before I moved schools but after the move? Forget it. 

It took a long time and a bit of bullying from a member of staff for me to finally give in and say I can't do this anymore. That was April 2013. 

My attendance over the years had been ridiculous. Long spells off work, short spells at work. If you think that doesn't play its part in my depression then you'd be wrong. At both schools I've been sent numerous times to occupational health whom had always said my depression was not work related. It wasn't. Until the bullying. Once that started, I went off work sick again, saw occupational health and they recommended medical retirement, just too many triggers for depression in the school environment. 

Fast forward to today. (Wow, fast? I'm a waffler!) 

My employment was terminated on 20th Nov 2013. I have to decide what to do about the pension they're offering me. I have to contact the DWP and council once I get the pension sorted because it will affect any benefits I'm getting. 

I have a postgrad. I should be able to do these things but I can't. I cannot face them, it's a mental block. I'd be able to help someone else do these things but for me it's like scaling K2. 

I have been shutting out everyone because I couldn't face the "joys" of the festive season. I've been using way too many tablets to knock myself out for days at a time and I'm self-harming again. All the healthy coping mechanisms I've learned and used went right out the window because I think I'm a loser. I've been in a psych ward a few times over these years, it may be on the cards again and I really don't want that, it never helps. I've been self-destructing and not caring. 

I need to care. I know that I need to, I just can't bring myself to. 

I don't know why after 7 years I'm still having nightmares of finding Malc. I still wake crying after dreaming of my dad. 

I am a fucking child who cannot look after herself properly and wonders what the fuck I am still doing here? 

I am unrooted, lost, floundering in the darkness. And I always hated the dark. I'm so ashamed of myself, I hate to think what my dad would say of all this.

I know this can be a new beginning, I can cash in some of the pension and use the money to go travelling if I ever get well enough, or just invest it and find a wee job till I'm more stable but at the moment I'm barely functioning, I just want it all to end. Boo-fucking-hoo eh? Boo-fucking-hoo Tina. Just make a decision and get on with it. 

A very hard day.

Today I got two calls from the Benefits Agency. 

I've been off work for months and attended a medical assessment last week to ensure I qualified for the benefit. I was worried about the appt. I thought it was tomorrow afternoon after I see my psychologist but I got the date wrong. In our last session we agreed to discuss it before I went to help prepare me, that I would try not to worry too much while she was on holiday, and that I should arrange to meet a friend after the assessment so I'd be ok. It was a good plan but getting the date wrong meant I went myself with no preparation and I stupidly decided not to bother anyone so I hadn't arranged to meet a friend.  During the whole thing I was freaking out, for days before, and after. 

I'm a catastrophic person when I'm ill. I'm always waiting for the worst and I was waiting for bad news even before the first call. I've heard of people getting benefits stopped and I knew the appt had a big part to play in it. 

After the first call I was reeling, my mood plummeted, so I took precautions to keep myself safe then texted a friend and my brother. I wasn't going to contact anyone, (does anyone really want to hear my problems and that I'm thinking of killing myself? no-one cares) but I thought they'd want to know, I needed to tell someone. Logically, I know they care. I just don't know why. 

These are the messages I sent to my brother;

Me: Got call from benefits agency today. I think they're stopping my ESA. Get a letter later this week but it doesn't sound good.

Me: She called me back. She said I passed, she was worried that I was worrying about it. She says my money will go up. I'm so relieved but feel like a fucking idiot because I couldn't stop crying.

B: Why didn't she say that the first time? Do they take some perverse pleasure upsetting people then calling back to see how upset you are?

Me: Maybe. I don't know, she sounded nice, like she didn't want to give me bad news.  I don't think they usually call back, i think she knew i was freaking. I mean i cried a little during first call but i held it together. 

She said they were looking at my case and were about to assess it. She asked if I felt I represented myself fully at my appt and I said no, I was panicking and couldn't think straight, she asked if I had problems with social situations I said yes. I cried a little asking her if it was bad news, told her it was the day for it. She sounded a bit worried at that. Then said if I didn't qualify I could appeal in writing but they'd send a letter letting me know. 

I didn't tell her that after the appt I had a huge panic attack in the street and people thought I was on something then totally shut down and zombied out, wandered somehow to the bus station, got home, cut myself and climbed into bed still zombied more than 2 hours later. Felt like I was walking through soup and I had to try really hard to physically speak to bus driver etc. 

And with my friend; 

Me: Got call from benefits agency today. I think they're stopping my ESA. Get a letter later this week but it doesn't sound good.

Friend: Why?x 

Me: She asked me if I felt the appt went ok and if I fully represented myself. I said no, that I was panicky and couldn't think straight. She said that with the appt and the forms I filled in if I don't get 15 points that the ESA would stop, and that since I have a job I wouldn't get jobseekers.  I asked her if it was bad news, i said it was the day for it. She asked if I have problems in social situations. I said yes. She said they'd look at it today and hopefully get a letter to me by the end of the week but if I didn't have 15 points the ESA would stop, I could appeal but it would have to be in writing. 

I've really had enough of all this shit. I've shoved all my tablets and my knife into the tumble dryer, locked the doors and come back to bed. I don't feel safe enough to have them near. 

Is there nothing wrong with me and I just don't see it? 

How are you hon?Xxx

Me: She called me back. She said I passed, she was worried that I was worrying about it. She says my money will go up. I'm so relieved but feel like a fucking idiot because I couldn't stop crying.

Me: Got call from benefits agency today. I think they're stopping my ESA. Get a letter later this week but it doesn't sound good.

Me: Ignore me I'm freaking out and can't work my phone xx 

Friend: R u getn it then?x

Me: Yeah. I was freaking out. I was lying here wondering what happens when you don't have money for funeral expenses. Jesus, I'm so glad she called back. I'm glad I'm seeing psychologist tomorrow. Xx

Me:Sorry for being a spaz. X

Friend:Thats good. Ur not x

Me: I am. But that's why you love me. The good spaz. Not the oh my god worst case scenario spaz. Xx 

It took just over ten mins for the Benefits Agency to call back. I wasn't expecting another call from them but I'm so glad they did. What a relief. 

In those ten minutes I stuffed my knife and all my tablets into my tumble dryer, locked the doors, took the keys out the locks, and climbed into bed.  I was thinking "this is it. I don't know if I'll get through the night". I left sleeping tablets and diazepam in case I needed to knock myself out to stay safe but I realise now there are enough here to more than do the job. I hope that if I hadn't gotten the second call I wouldn't have taken them all, but I don't know. Thankfully, she called back and I stepped away from the abyss I was teetering at the edge of. I was whimpering during the first call, the second opened floodgates. She asked if there was someone I could call. I told her everyone would be at work. She said she'd stay on the line for a few minutes till I was ok. This is a woman who has compassion. She didn't have to call and tell me I'd passed and she didn't have to try to soothe me and calm me down. She did anyway. It helped me so much. 

Afterwards I thanked God. 

Sincerely. 

Stuffing everything in the tumble dryer, putting things in front of it and locking doors. Sounds silly, like that would stop me right? 

I know I have to do things that give me extra time if I feel very unsafe, even a few seconds is enough to change things if my brain decides to kill me. 

Every second counts. Every one. 

I don't want to die, but sometimes I act so impulsively I know that if my brain decides to try to kill me that I could do something I know I'll regret before I get a chance to stop myself, which is why I did it.

I think about suicide a lot. How the world would be much better off if I weren't here. I can't stand the depression and all that brings with it. I remember waking up in intensive care years ago, Malc and my family worried sick, and I remember finding Malc dead. I don't want to put anyone through that. I'm very glad I answered the phone because I usually don't. 

Someone up there is still looking out for me I think. Whatever happened to bring this result, I'm grateful. Very grateful. At least that's one verdict been handed down and a bit of a weight off my mind but I still have to fill out new forms because they need to assess it on income rather than contributions now. I'm still grateful. 

July 30th 4am ish

I really can't handle nights. Or days. I can't handle much at all. Whether I never get out of bed or I manage to function slightly by eating and getting up for a couple of hours, or I have an appt and I'm up most of the day, the darkness descends eventually, and not just literally. Such dark thoughts, horrid, horrific. I try to keep them to a minimum by taking sleeping tablets and diazepam but it doesn't always work. Or at least not as quickly as I need it to. I've woken crying a few times lately. I have nightmares. I have dreams of my mum and dad. Of Malcolm. Dreams where life is perfect then I wake and I'm crying because it was just a dream and my life feels like a nightmare. After Malcolm died I used to say "I'd like to wake up now" a lot. 

I've started to think that a lot. I want to wake up please. 

I wonder if I actually died all those years ago and this is purgatory. Punishment for taking my life. It feels like it. 

Most mornings I wake and along with my usual tablets I just take more sleeping tablets and stay in bed because everything is too hard. I know I'm feeling emotions I've never dealt with before because I've blocked them out or antidepressants have numbed me but the way I'm feeling now? 

Brutal. 

I'm not right. I can't stand the pain. It's too much. 

I feel like screaming and kicking and punching, ripping my hair out, clawing at myself, wanting to put myself in danger so someone else can hurt me so I can hurt them right back. Physically. 

I've been cutting. For a while I've been cross-cutting and seem to take photos. I'm not sure why the photos. The blood gives a satisfaction. Calms me. The photos, maybe the same. I put bloody handprints on paper with "loser" written on and put them on wall. When I told Frances she asked me to take them down. I did, but it's lying on the basket in the hall and one's in my diary. I didn't admit to writing it on the mirror in the bathroom till last week. She persuaded me to clean it off. I also told her I've been thinking of cutting my face. That's not a good sign is it? I mean, I'm ugly enough. The closest I get to normal is going to costa and reading. It keeps me safe, it's familiar and the staff are getting to know me, or at least what I drink.  Somehow I can act normal even if I don't feel right. I know no-one's looking so if I'm silently freaking out who knows? Only me. 

I can put the even more normal chatty persona on for Wendy, Shona, Lynne or Gill and the folks of twitter but it's exhausting. I was on twitter a lot today and I was having an ok time chatting, Neil Gaiman even responded, reading articles posted through links etc then bam, it just hit, the downer. I came to bed, read for a while which seemed to help but two hours ago I took sleeping tablet and a diazepam and still awake. 

My mind churns as does my stomach. People keep telling me to fight but what for? What do I have? Life I guess. However it may be.