When I first started blogging, way back when, around 2011, my main focus was mental health and living with various mental health conditions. My blogging was very much anonymous; I was so scared about sharing with people who I knew in real life what I was going through out of fear that I would be judged or that they would think differently. University completely changed my perspective about mental health. I realised that it wasn’t a battle that I needed to fight alone and, more importantly, that other people also struggled with mental illnesses.
Talking about mental health is still something that I am passionate about. The mental health system in the UK is very broken and it is failing so many people. I can’t change that, but I can advocate for people and remind them that they aren’t alone. I’ve seen both sides of the mental health system: I’ve been a patient and I’ve also been the professional, supporting service users and fighting to get them the help that they need and deserve. The number of people being failed really worries me. It worries me personally, as I have been failed by the system and it worries me as an ex-professional who had to fight on behalf of vulnerable young adults, to simply access a referral into mental health services.
A lot has changed since 2011. I am (for the most part) open and honest about my mental health. But, saying that, my own mental health has been forced to take a bit of a back seat, especially over the last year, as my physically health deteriorated to the point that it took over my life. Things as I knew them suddenly became very different and it was something totally out of my control.
I have been having therapy for just over three years. For about two years of that time, I found it a really useful process and I was getting a lot out of the sessions and was learning new coping strategies that I could implement into my daily life. As my physical health worsened, this changed the way that I worked with my therapist. I would frequently turn up to sessions so exhausted that I couldn’t function, a large chunk of the session would be a debrief on the week’s hospital appointments, whether I’d stayed out of hospital, if anything drastic had changed. Without realising it, my therapy sessions (which I am paying privately for) have become a space for me to talk about my physical health, completely ignoring my mental health. My physical health is important, it impacts my life daily and at the moment, it is very unpredictable. But my mental health is also important and I have been neglecting that and the reasons why I am in therapy in the first place.
So, I guess you could say that I’m going round in circles. Therapy can’t cure my physical illnesses and I am doubtful that it can fully “cure” my mental illnesses. It can, however, give me the skills to cope, manage, survive and pick myself up again when things go wrong.
During one sleepless night (painsomnia is fun) I ended up thinking about what I am getting out of therapy. The answer was not much. Because I have been so focused on trying to stabilise my physical health and was fixated on trying to avoid hospital, I hadn’t realised that I had slowly and silently slipped backwards in terms of my mental health. I have been anxious, really anxious, probably 90% of the time. This has manifested in an increased number of anxiety attacks, nightmares, my heart feeling like it’s going to explode and so much sweat. Gross but factual. My safe haven of my bed has been where I have wanted to hide much of the time and it has taken a lot of effort to go against that instinct. I guess I can be thankful for the many hospital appointments that forced me out of my bed, my pyjamas and my house.
For me, anxiety goes hand in hand with OCD rituals and again, without realising, they have also worsened and I am more dependent on them, in order to feel safe and less anxious.
Relapses happen. They are part of life and I know that being able to recognise this slippery slope is positive.
This week I made the decision to take a break from therapy. Not ideal, you might be thinking, given what I have said above, but I think and hope that this is also a positive step. I was honest with my therapist and said that I felt that the sessions were becoming too focused on EDS, gastroparesis, Addison’s and all the other fun things that my body does. I am not addressing the reasons that I am in therapy and that has been the case for too long. Those reasons aren’t ever going to diminish or become less problematic if I continue to ignore them, either consciously or subconsciously. I am a pro at changing the subject and I think my therapist needs to be stricter at forcing the difficult conversations because I can’t do it for myself. It won’t be a long break and it was agreed on the condition that I made contact with my therapist if I needed to.
I’ve been here before and I know the feeling of “stop the world, I want to get off” will pass. As anyone with a mental illness will confirm, sometimes you will have days when you feel on top of the world and able to take anything on. Other days aren’t quite so great and you end up feeling frustrated and demoralised about life. And moments when I feel like that are when I need to take a break and re-evaluate things, without piling hideous amounts of pressure on myself.
For much of 2018 I have felt like a massive failure. I haven’t achieved my goal of moving out and as the year has progressed, it has become more and more unlikely that I will be able to fly the nest any time soon. I am crazy jealous of people who are living independently. Rationally I know that I need to be at home, financially I can’t afford to move out and I also need too much help with regards to my health to live alone. I’m not working and the whole universal credit process destroyed my soul a little bit, so much so that when I get an email or text from them, I want to be (and often am) sick. Classy. But I know that I can’t work, even the pleb who met me once for my fitness to work assessment agreed with that. I’m not well enough, but I am taking tiny steps forward to engage in the workplace again.
I used to hate it when people told me to be kind to myself. My counsellor at university ended every session by saying “go well out there” and looking back, that was possibly the best thing anyone could have said to me. I’m not going to succeed in everything I do, life doesn’t work like that. All I can do is try my best and “go well.” And yes, I need to be kind to myself, particularly when the world doesn’t feel like it’s being very kind.