The curse of borderline personality disorder

The curse of borderline personality disorder

From the day I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, I have felt my life slipping out of my hands. The more I read about my illness, the more distressed I get. I have been experienced suicidal ideation since before I was teenager and as soon as I reached the point where I was willing to accept help and consider staying alive as a viable option, I get given a diagnosis that has given me very little but slammed door after slammed door in my face.

It doesn’t seem fair that I have been suffering for such a long time, that I had all the supposed ‘best years of life’ taken away from me, and all I get in return is the confirmation of what I have always thought: I am a bad person, this is my fault, and I have to ‘take responsibility’ and deal with it.

I understand that professionals fear PD patients. They fear the almost inevitable failure of treatment. They are uncertain. PD patients are difficult. But the attitude that patients often get faced with is so devoid of the kindness and understanding needed that it reinforces the problem itself.

Here’s what I know about my mental health:

  • I feel awful, all the time.
  • I can’t reach out to anyone to tell them how awful I feel because I feel like I’ll either a) annoy them, or b) come across as ‘attention seeking’.
  • I constantly feel guilty and ashamed.
  • What might seem like just a bit an off comment or a funny look to someone else, will have me crying behind closed doors.
  • I feel like people are talking about me, in a bad way, all the time.
  • I don’t really know who I am and I can’t remember what my own face looks like without looking in the mirror. I have very little attachment to actual pictures of me.
  • My memories don’t feel like my own.
  • I self-harm in many different ways.
  • I am scared to die but being alive is painful and exhausting and I feel like this illness is eventually going to just take me because I am weak and I can’t cope with it.
  • I have been suffering for a long time.

What mental health professionals seem to think about me in relation to my diagnosis of a personality disorder:

  • That I can’t possibly actually want to die, I’m just doing it for attention, that my brain hasn’t processed what dying actually is and I don’t ‘mean it’.
  • That I must be manipulative and deceitful in some way, especially as I am at a top university and I have always achieved good grades.
  • That I am hysterical and aren’t able to understanding how I’m feeling. This is quite the opposite, as I have pretty good insight into my own struggles.
  • That they can’t really help me.

I don’t want much from mental health professionals. More than anything, kindness goes a long way. Believing me, listening to me. Stepping away from the diagnosis and treating me as a person rather than a bundle of stigma that is still utterly embedded even into the professional mental health system. I just want to be told that it’s not my fault, that things get better, that the traumatic roots of my illness are valid, that I deserve help.

Sufferers of BPD are vulnerable. We are our own worst enemies. Everyday is so, so difficult.

The truth about high functioning depression

The truth about high functioning depression

I’m at university. I live away from home. I can cook for myself and wash myself and do most ‘normal’ things. I’m not actively trying to kill myself. So, I guess you could come to the conclusion that at the moment, I have high functioning depression. I am depressed, but I am coping.

The reality is that for me, giving up is the easy part. It’s easy for me to give up, to let go. To take depression and suicidal ideation and everything else by the hand as my old friend. To listen to and feed those thoughts the forefront of my mind, rather than pushing it aside as the nagging little voice at the back of my mind. Because once I drop to a certain point, everything else comes naturally. It is a slippery slope.

Giving in is easy. It’s fighting every single day to hold onto the little life that I have worked so hard for that’s the hard part. Recovery is a greater battle than any relapse I have ever had. It’s exhausting and it’s relentless and it feels like it could slip through my fingers at any second.

I am tired every single hour of the day. Even when I’m happy, even when I’m out with friends, it’s always there. It never goes away. Overthinking one harsh word from someone or taking one tiny little thing as a sign, and I begin to think well, what is the point?

I know in many senses, I’m a lot better than I have been in previous years. But just because I look fine and act fine and even tell other people that I’m fine, doesn’t mean that I actually am fine. Because behind closed doors I’m still thinking about how I could make my death look like an accident so my family wouldn’t hate me for giving in.

I’m giving it all I’ve got, but sometimes I just need to acknowledge the fact that it’s not normal to feel the way that I do, and just because I am coping in some ways doesn’t mean that I don’t deserve to cut myself some lack and realise that I have an illness. 

 

Suicide Awareness Month 2017

Suicide Awareness Month 2017

I want to talk about suicide and I want to talk about it now. By the time you’ve clicked on this link and read this sentence, another person in this world will have taken their own life. So many more will be thinking about it. It takes a lot of pain to make the decision that there’s nothing better than death, and it’s a decision that plays on the minds of a staggering amount of people worldwide everyday. It’s a decision that often ends in tragedy.

People think suicide is selfish. I think this is bullshit. ‘Selfish’ suggests that you’re caring about yourself and yourself only. When you’re suicidal, you care about yourself so little that you’re wishing yourself into non-existence. And often, you do care about the other people around you. You care about them so much that you feel like a burden on them, like the best thing would be for you to disappear. How can someone leave their family, leave their friends, leave everything? It’s hard to understand if you’ve never been suicidal, but the fact that these people have and love these things and yet still feel compelled to leave it all behind is so heartbreaking.

It’s thought that over 90% of people who committed suicide had a mental illness. Most will have had some contact with mental health services at some point before their death. Most will probably have felt uncertain about their decision at some point. I believe all of their lives could have been saved.

I asked over 230 people who do or have struggled with suicidal ideation questions about their own experiences. I hope you will find this really insightful and I hope that it can help you to understand it from the inside perspective.

Information about the participants 

  • 70% of the participants were aged between 18 and 25, however 16% of the participants were over 35 and 3% were under the age of 15.
  • The majority of the participants were female, however a number of participants were also gender fluid or non-binary, as well as a number of males.
  • The reason why the survey consisted of so many females is probably because not only is my social media base largely female, but because of social conditioning from an early age, men may be less willing to talk about suicide even when the answers are anonymous. This should be taken into account whilst reading the results of the survey.
  • 86% of participants reported suffering from depression, however most selected having multiple diagnoses. The other three most common illnesses noted were an anxiety disorder, a personality disorder, or an eating disorder. This is in line with what would be expected from a sample of sufferers of mental illness as these illnesses are more common with around 7% of the population suffering from depression.
  • When asked which of their illnesses they thought contributed most to suicidal ideation, the most commonly selected illnesses were depression, borderline personality disorder and PTSD. However, across the board there was variety with perceptions that any mental illness severe or untreated could lead to suicide.

Exposure to suicide

  • 75% of participants informed the survey that they had first become aware of what suicide was when they were under the age of 12. 45% of these were under 10, with 7% of those being under the age of 7. 7% reported not being aware of what suicide was until they were over the age of 15.
  • Common reasons why an individual had been exposed to the idea of suicide included: the media (particularly the news but also TV shows, films, songs and books), the social media website Tumblr, lessons at school and the suicide of someone who the individual knew. A large number of participants commented how they struggled with suicidal thoughts and wanting to die as their first memory associated with suicide.
  • A large number of participants reported having lost someone to suicide. This was in most instances an online friend (39%), a friend (37%), another child at their school (34%), a close friend (25%) and someone met whilst being cared for in inpatient treatment (24%). 21% had lost a member of family to suicide, with 9% having lost a member of immediate family.

How did the loss of this person make you feel?

When asked how they felt after losing someone to suicide, these were some of the answers:

  • Heartbroken and just clinging onto the hope that they’re in a better place.
  • Devastated for their family. 
  • Suicidal – I wanted to be with them and felt ashamed that my attempt had failed. 
  • I felt completely numb and empty. I couldn’t believe they were gone. 
  • Confused because I saw no warning signs and didn’t understand.
  • It broke me but eventually made me want to help others who have been at that point in their lives where they want to give up. 
  • Guilty because I felt like I could have done more. I felt like I was to blame and there was something I could have done to save them. 
  • Shocked and angry that nobody helped them, that services didn’t help them, that people are killing themselves as a way out because mental health services are so awful. 

If you could speak to this person now, what would you say?

  • I love you. Please don’t do it. It gets better.
  • My darling I miss you so much and I’m so sorry.
  • Please speak to me. You’re not alone. 
  • It’s not the answer.
  • I miss you and I love you so much. 
  • You are enough and will get through this pain. We can do it together. 
  • I am so proud of you and you will never understand how much I valued you.
  • I still love you and I always will. 
  • I’m so sorry. I should have done more. 
  • I’d tell them that they have the most beautiful baby girl they never even knew was going to be here. 
  • There’s always something better around the corner. 

Personal experiences of suicidal ideation 

  • Of the 230 participants, 18% were under the age of 10 when they first started getting thoughts about suicide. This really goes to show how CAMHS need to work on early intervention, especially with vulnerable children. This could save lives. 30% were between the age of 11 and 12 and 26% were either 13 or 14. This means that 76% had thought about suicide before they had even gone through puberty.
  • Common reasons listed for first having these thoughts included: bullying, traumatic events, the death of a family member, divorce, sexual abuse, being neglected, figuring out sexuality, difficulties in the home environment and a generally unstable childhood.
  • 90% of participants said that they did not tell anyone when they first started getting these thoughts.

Personal experience of acting on suicidal ideation 

  • 92% of participants had made an attempt to take their own life, with 67% having tried prior to this to tell someone how awful they were feeling and how much they were struggling. Please listen.

Perception of contributing factors towards suicidal ideation 

  1. Severe depression (84%)
  2. Untreated mental illness (74%)
  3. Being bullied or isolated (73%)
  4. Emotional abuse (72%)
  5. Pressure of exams (52%)
  6. Sexual abuse (46%)
  7. The loss of a loved one (40%)
  8. Physical abuse (40%)
  9. One or more psychotic episode (30%)
  10. Adverse effect of mental health medication (29%)
  11. Pressure of work (28%)
  12. Exposure to the suicidal ideation of others (27%)
  13. Financial difficulties (22%)
  14. Misuse of drugs or alcohol (20%)
  15. Parental neglect (19%)
  16. Being unemployed (18%)
  17. Prejudice faced for being in a minority group (13%)

Why did you feel like suicide was your only option?

  • I couldn’t think of anything else.
  • Lack of support from mental health services leading me to think that there was no hope.
  • I lost my best friend and couldn’t cope without her. 
  • I felt no joy in being alive and I felt like it was too hard.
  • I felt like everyone else was better off without me and that I was a burden. 
  • The pain was just too much. 
  • I didn’t know how to kill the mental illness without killing myself.
  • I was so exhausted and tired and I didn’t want to try any longer.
  • I was too scared to continue my life as it was. 
  • I had already lost everything worth living for. 

If professionals were involved after an attempt, what care did they put into place?

  • 80% said that mental health services were involved after they attempted suicide, meaning that 20% did not even have a risk assessment.
  • Many patients said that they were either sectioned or admitted to an inpatient ward informally, however a large number of others commented on how their life was put at risk multiple times before they were taken seriously and admitted. A considerable number of participants said that they received no help after, despite mental health services being involved.
  • Other treatment options were access to the crisis team/home treatment team, a referral to CAMHS or Community Mental Health Services, or being placed on medication.
  • 75% of participants said they had received psychiatric medication as a treatment to help reduce suicidal ideation. This was almost on par with therapy, which 74% had received in some form.
  • 62% of participants were or had been under an outpatient team and 61% had intervention from the crisis team at some point.
  • 57% of participants had been admitted to a psychiatric hospital at some point for their suicidal ideation. 2% said they had never had one appointment with mental health services, despite being in general for an attempt.
  • Participants voted therapy as the most helpful treatment for suicidal ideation, with inpatient treatment second and medication third. Many commented that no treatment so far had been helpful.

Why is there so much stigma against suicide?

  • People don’t understand. 
  • People don’t expect them to succeed.
  • People joke about it all the time. 
  • Because there are so many attempts for every completed so people think it will never work. 
  • They think if you confide in them they you won’t actually do it. 
  • People think that it’s selfish or attention seeking. 
  • They don’t know how to help so they just brush it to the side.
  • They think if you really were suicidal, you would have just done it. 
  • Some use suicide as an empty threat. 
  • From the outside, it often looks like they have nothing to be ‘sad’ about. 
  • Generally people don’t know what to say. 
  • People get confused between non-suicidal self-harm and suicide attempts. 
  • Others are more comfortable believing that no one is capable of taking their own life. 

How have family reacted to your suicidal ideation?

  • They were sad but not surprised. 
  • They were shocked and really angry.
  • My Mum was devastated.
  • They were really confused and kept asking me why. 
  • They were dismissive and almost tried to deny it. They couldn’t believe it. 
  • They called me selfish. 
  • Just went on like normal and pretended that nothing happened. 
  • They didn’t get it because I was high functioning. 
  • My parents threatened to kick me out. 
  • They didn’t know and they still don’t know now. 

How have friends reacted to your suicidal ideation?

  • It really upset them. 
  • Confused, worried, but supportive.
  • They didn’t know and it took me a long time to finally talk about my past.
  • They didn’t know what to do so they just stopped talking and hanging out with me. 
  • I didn’t have any friends at the time. 
  • They felt like I was being a negative influence so their parents kept them away from me. 
  • They seemed upset but also that they didn’t really care because it hadn’t worked.
  • Some blamed themselves and wished they had known how to help. 
  • They thought it was for attention or that I was being over the top. 

What things should you never say to someone who is suicidal?

  • Other people have it worse.
  • Suicide is selfish.
  • Just get over it.
  • Snap out of it.
  • If you wanted to do it you would have done by now.
  • You don’t actually want to die.
  • You have a life other people would be grateful for. 
  • You’re attention seeking. 
  • I would never forgive you if you did that. 

What things have been helpful for you to hear when you have been suicidal?

  • ‘I love you. I’m here for you. It’s going to get better’
  • ‘You’re loved and valued’
  • People listening without judgement. 
  • Others stories who serve as proof that things can get better.
  • ‘You are not alone in this’ 
  • ‘You’re important, please hold on’ 
  • ‘I’ll be here for you no matter what happens. I’m not leaving’ 
  • ‘The feeling will pass. You’re alive and you’re wanted’ 
  • ‘You’re at rock bottom. It only gets better from here’ 

What do you wish that other people understood about being suicidal?

  • Just because I am still here and still alive doesn’t mean I’m not struggling with it everyday. 
  • It’s not selfish and it’s not easy. 
  • It’s not something that you can just get over.
  • I am in so much pain and your ignorance is making it worse.
  • This is the point where I really, really need help. 
  • It’s not all inpatient admissions, it’s being turned away by services because nobody takes you seriously.
  • I don’t necessarily want to die, I’m just tired of living. 
  • Please do not shame me for trying to get the help that I need to stay alive.
  • This is a heavy load to carry around. 
  • It is a symptom of a treatable illness, and I will get better.
  • It isn’t easy and it’s not something that I’ve ever wished for. It’s torture. 
  • You never know what is going on in someone else’s head. 
  • We need help, and reassurance, and support.
  • I am terrified to die, but my illness also makes me terrified to live. 

What warning signs should loved ones look out for?

  1. Actively looking for ways to seriously hurt themselves e.g. stockpiling tablets
  2. Talking about death, both in a negative and a positive way
  3. Becoming increasingly withdrawn from friends and family
  4. Making threats to harm or kill themselves
  5. Complaints of feelings of hopelessness
  6. Lack of concern about the consequences of any actions
  7. Increased self-harm
  8. Losing interest in things previously enjoyed

How do you think that mental health services can help improve care for people who are observed to have suicidal ideation?

  • Support them and check in on them on a regular basis. 
  • Offer them the option of an admission. 
  • Set up support for points of crisis before they actually happen. 
  • Keeping them safe in hospital if there is any uncertainty. 
  • Providing a healthy medium where inpatient assessments are done more thoroughly so that patients aren’t institutionalised to the point where they can’t cope on their own, but also that they aren’t left with no help when they need it the most.
  • Regular support from a key worker. 
  • Having a 24/7 text service as many people struggle to phone crisis teams, or don’t have access to them. 

How do you keep yourself safe now?

  • I realised that my life is important and started actively looking after it. 
  • Keeping myself surrounded by other people. 
  • Using the crisis team as much as I can when I’m struggling. 
  • Distraction techniques.
  • Using PRN medication to calm down. 
  • Keeping regular appointments with services and frequently checking in with my GP. 
  • I try to keep my house a safe place with as little danger objects as possible.
  • Practising self-care routines.
  • Keeping busy so that I don’t have the time or energy to act on these thoughts. 
  • I’ve learned to recognise my own triggers.

And finally. The most important question. What are your reasons for staying alive?

  • My pets.
  • My partner and my family. They don’t deserve to lose me. 
  • Hope for the future.
  • To prove everyone else wrong.
  • To get my degree and carry on making victories against the odds.
  • Christmas, birthdays, nice meals out, nights out. 
  • Because I believe that happiness is waiting for me somewhere. 
  • To not let my little sister grow up without me. 
  • Seeing the sunset/sunrise. 
  • Beautiful views, hot summers, cosy winters, parties, graduation. 
  • Finding my own place on this Earth. 
  • Yummy food I still need to try!
  • I’m not going to let the abusers win. 
  • New reasons of my favourite shows and new books by my favourite authors being released. 
  • To eventually help others. 
  • To carry on learning and growing as a person. 
  • The prospect of so many opportunities.
  • Ice creams, hot tubs, face masks, bath bombs, bubble baths, crappy TV shows… 
  • Belief that things can always get better.

Thank you so much to everyone who helped me to put together this post. It’s definitely been the hardest thing I’ve ever put on my blog, and I hope that it is insightful. We need to talk about suicide and we need to pull together to change attitudes and save lives.

If you have been personally affected by suicide or feel distressed, please contact Samaritans 24/7 on 116 123 (UK). 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Moving into a new student house

Moving into a new student house

I’m not going to lie. This probably won’t seem like a massive deal to other people. I have moved out of my home in Nottingham, to a different place in the city, into my student house. It’s not far from home and I could get two buses and be back to my parents within an hour.

But it is a big deal for me.

Living in halls last year was a humongous step from being on high observations in a CAMHS PICU for until just a couple of months before I started my degree last September. On the unit, the lowest level of observations I had been on was 5 minutes. 5 minute observations felt like freedom at the time. In the 5 minutes between someone checking me, I could go to the toilet without someone watching. I could wash my hair. I could start tidying my room. For the majority of my admission, I was on 1:1 in all isolated areas (my bedroom, the bathroom, any other rooms with no patients or staff in).

But living in halls was still a very protected space, especially as the Warden and Tutor team knew me very well and understood my mental health issues. The Tutor for my block would come and knock on my door whenever she was on night shift just to check that I was alright. I had regular meetings and there were multiple times where I had to be taken to the emergency department. Luckily, I’m doing a lot better now.

In my new student house, there’s no Warden looking out for me. There will be no professionals checking up on me, nobody reminding me to take my medication. Nobody insisting that I need to be taken to my mental health advisory centre appointments. There could be times (hopefully not many) where the other girls in my house are all away, and I’m home alone. This is a step that I’m taking.

At this moment in time my mental health has never been better. I’m motivated and I’m on the whole, happy. I’m on medication that actually works. I am super excited to get back to university and see my amazing friends and get on with the second year. I am being positive and looking after myself. It’s what I have to do. I see my CPN regularly, I will (try my best to) comply with the university mental health team, and I have access to Crisis/Home Treatment Team if need be.

It’s still scary, but I know that I can do this.

My house is really, really nice and the girls that I am sharing with (some of my close friends) are really lovely. It’s going to be really good to live with girls who all already know each other and get along really well. We all do the same subject so if nothing else, we have that common ground.

Here are my challenges for the next year living in this house:

  • To walk to university. It takes less than half an hour, and there’s no way that I’m paying for bus fare when the student price has just gone up (cheers, NCT).
  • To actually feed myself. When I was living in halls I struggled to use the dining room (anxiety) and struggle going to the shops (anxiety) so I didn’t eat much, lost a lot of weight, and struggled with concentration.
  • To actually take my medication. I don’t know why my brain suddenly convinces itself that taking medication is a Massive Effort™ but it gets me every single time.
  • Not to isolate myself when I’m feeling like shit, because there’s really no excuse. My friends are in the same house, my best friend is a two-minute walk away, my Mum and Dad just a few buses.
  • To try my best to attend university. Last year I kind of got into the pattern of ‘Well, I had a panic attack in that lecture hall’ or ‘That seminar tutor doesn’t like me’ so I just avoided it in the future. I managed to do well last year, but I know that I could have done better had I not been reinforcing my own anxiety so much.

 

I’ve already faced a few minor challenges in the house (a TV remote that doesn’t work, a broken toaster that blew the fuse and left me and Cora devoid of electricity, a clogged up dishwasher) but the real issue this year is of course going to be my own mental health. I’m determined however that this is going to be a brilliant year and I’m so excited to see what it holds.

 

 

Why I’m glad that I’m still alive

Why I’m glad that I’m still alive

2 years ago to this month, I was admitted to general hospital for a suicide attempt, nearly passed away, and when I was eventually deemed physically stable, was sent to a CAMHS psychiatric unit where I was sectioned and sent to a PICU (mental health intensive care). It was the single worst thing that had ever happened to me, and it was the result of years of struggling. Years of ‘less severe’ suicide attempts, self-harm, self-hatred, anxiety, and instability. Years of inadequate treatment and being turned away by people in my life.

The reason why I went so downhill at first when I went into PICU was because I had reached the point where I had wanted to die, and I was angry that not only was I still alive, but I was being locked up in what felt like hell. It was suffocating to have staff constantly on my back, watching my every move, restraining me to stop hurting myself. Suddenly all my rights as a ‘free’ human being were taken away and I felt stuck. All hope for a bright future promised by my A level grades vanished. I had had enough, big time. I felt done.

I eventually turned a corner whilst inpatient. This was due to the right combination of medication, but also because I was given what felt like a second chance. I was given a lot of support to continue studying for my exams on a ‘casual’ level, and I received 4 university offers, 2 of which were unconditional. When I realised that I had an unconditional offer from the University of Nottingham (the only feasible option for me at that time), I felt immense relief. I felt hope that I could move forward with my life. I honestly feel like if I hadn’t had the prospect of university on the other side of my admission, I would probably still be in hospital now. My assessment changed from low-secure personality disorder treatment (12-36 months), to an acute adult ward step-down from PICU, in which I only stayed for 8 weeks.

It’s scary to look back and to realise that things could have turned out very differently. I could have died in August 2015. I could still be in hospital right now. But I’m not. And as difficult as the past two years have been, I feel so grateful to be alive. My life has changed so much for the better in the past two years, especially in the last year. I spent almost the entirety of my adolescent life feeling I was worthless, that everyone else was better for me, that I didn’t deserve happiness. Comments from people at school would send me into a meltdown. I cared immensely about what other people thought, because I was taught to believe that what other people said about me was a reflection of me, rather than a projection of themselves and their own insecurities.

I always achieved good grades at school. I worked hard and especially at A Level, I loved my subjects. English was always my favourite. I have always loved reading, and I’m not just saying that. I’ve found that often, books can be kinder than people. But, in my English lessons during sixth form, and in seminars in the autumn term of my first year at university, my lack of confidence kept me from being able to contribute. I could write, I could think, I could perceive. But I couldn’t talk. My English teacher tried so hard to convince me that it was alright, that I had no need to lack self-esteem, but it never worked because it didn’t come from me.

So, I’ve learnt to stand up for myself. Being in hospital and in intensive services taught me that. I didn’t have my parents or my friends or anyone on my side when I was arguing with staff on the ward. I had to voice my own opinions, tell them what was wrong, tell them how to help me. In assessments and meetings, I had to often fend my own corner. I couldn’t afford to be quiet anymore. In order to get anything from mental health services, usually you have to push really hard for it.

Other girls walked all over me at school. I was slut-shamed, isolated, and essentially shunned for things that hadn’t happened. I was casually sexually assaulted by boys. Constant comments about my breasts. Hands up my skirt. Told that I was a slag, that I was easy, that my body was ‘fit’, as if that’s really a compliment coming from a horny little boy. People spread rumours about me, stopped talking about me. I once went to meet one of my best friends to walk to school with her, and when I came up to her she straight up ignored me and carried on walking to meet other people. Friends would laugh in the changing rooms and joke ‘It looks like you’ve been self-harming. I heard ‘friends’ saying horrible things about people they thought were ‘crazy’, about students who had come out as LGBTQ, about ‘sluts’ in the year. And when I got really unwell, people didn’t want anything to do with it. Oh, Rosie is attention seeking. Rosie is so dramatic. Rosie is copying behaviours. Rosie probably just wants one of the guys to ask what’s wrong. Why is it always about Rosie? Why is she doing this all the time?

Not anymore. I’m done with being pushed around and belittled, and I’m so much happier for it.

I’ve learnt what I should have learnt when I was 12 years old: the only person who can make you feel shit about yourself is you. People say and do nasty things and it’s painful, but it’s up to you to block off the suffering. It’s not worth giving your time or energy to people who make you feel like a burden. People who are struggling with their own sexuality or relationship troubles so take it out on you. People who are jealous. People who don’t understand how someone their age, just like them, can become mentally unwell. I’m not bothered anymore. Only the people closest to me could ever break my heart like that again, and the reason why they are so close, is because I know that they never won’t. And if I hadn’t of gone through this horrible journey, I would never have experienced this freedom from the snare of toxic people.

So, here it is. Reasons why I, Rosie Wildman, am glad that I have spent the last two years alive, when I could have completed a suicide attempt.

  1. I would never have met my best friend, Victoria. I can’t even imagine what life would be like without her. With some people you just click, and she’s one of them. She has taught me more about life than most other people I know put together, she’s brave, and she’s strong. She also doesn’t put up with any of my shit. She tells me how it is. She reminds me of how far I’ve become. That I’m different from the people I compare myself to. That you can live a relatively happy life with borderline personality disorder.
  2. I would never have seen my family grow. My sisters are now 16 and 17 and they are intelligent and beautiful young women. I was never close to my sisters when I was a bit younger, and I’m happy to say that I now am. Over time, things patched over and I can always rely on a hug and a chat with Joni or Poppy. I have also been able to see my brother go to big school (secondary school) and continue showing everyone what a kind little soul he is, even if he gets angry at me sometimes.
  3. I’ve read so many books, especially over the last year. When I was feeling really depressed I couldn’t concentrate properly on the words, but thankfully I have been speeding through books at the moment and I love it. It’s such a great distraction when I’m feeling shit, and it maintains my good mood when I’m feeling happy. It makes me feel pretty sweet that there will always be another good book for me to sink my teeth into. All these stories change me slightly. They give you insight into different worlds, different literary dimensions.
  4. I would never have been so self-confident in myself and my appearance. I am not just a pair of boobs. I have soft shoulders. I have sparkly eyes. My whole face lights up when I smile. I have dimples in both of my cheeks. I can run pretty quickly and I dance like nobody’s watching (usually in a club, embarrassing myself) and my brain is brilliant. I’m aware of my imperfections, but they don’t define me. I’m not some heinous beast. I’m just me. I’m excited and friendly and energetic, when I’m not struggling. I can make other people happy. When I glow, it feels like all the other people around me are glowing.
  5. I would have never have become so independent. Although I am probably less independent than most people at my university, as my family live pretty near to the campus and my Dad actually works there, it’s been a massive step from being on 1:1 in psychiatric hospital. I’m not scared to be in an empty house anymore, I can go to sleep without worrying that I’m going to be attacked, I can make myself meals. I look after my surroundings and I look after myself.
  6. Finally, I would never have connected with so many people who have been through the horrible and draining ordeals of mental illness that I’ve been through. The friends I had on the inpatient ward: late night conversations sat at our doorways, sneaking into each other’s rooms, playing XBOX in the quiet room with the lights off so we could pretend we were somewhere else, group leave. And, the friends I’ve made through the recovery network. My beautiful Lauren. Rhianne. Cora. Emma. Megan. Shauna. Sophie.

 

Life isn’t perfect and it would be pretty futile to claim that I’m ‘recovered’ by any stretch of the imagination. But I am moving forward and I have come a long way. I am not a victim of mental illness anymore. I am a fighter and I’ll continue to fight for as long as I’m still here. This chance to live has shown me why the world is so beautiful and it has made me fall in love with it all over again. I’ve grown, and I’m still growing.

 

Oh shit, I don’t think my brain is functioning properly

Oh shit, I don’t think my brain is functioning properly

 

Today is just one of those days. One of those days where getting out of bed feels like an overwhelming effort. One of those days where my thoughts are lagging, all excitement gone. One of those days where it feels like I’m always going to be like this.

It isn’t an unsafe day. In fact, the days when I am at the highest risk of serious self-harm or suicidal ideation are days when I’m manic for longer than a few hours, or when my mood is swinging rapidly. Today is just a shit day with nothing to show for. If I can’t find the energy to drag my sorry butt out of bed, I certainly don’t have the energy to do much else, including hurt myself.

Contrary to common belief, self-harm takes a lot of bravery. It hurts and despite how crap I might be feeling, it does scare me. You go too far. You begin to worry about the pain. Doubts kick in. Everything crumbles. I’m not brave today. I’m weak and I’m vulnerable.

On days like this, all I want to do is be asleep. It’s the easiest thing. When I’m asleep, I’m safe. I’m out of it, in a little dream world where things can be scary, but not in the way that I know with my mental illness. I can’t remember ever having a dream in which I self-harmed or killed myself.

Today, my head hurts. It’s pounding. Everything is too loud. I think about how loud it is, and I start spacing out. Am I a real person? Is anyone else real? Was my brain always going to be like this, or did something happen? I am slipping.

Today, my stomach is sinking. I have no hope for the future. I can’t even see tomorrow ahead of me. It’s just a black hole. I have nothing in the future. I am stuck in the present, with these thoughts lagging around me. It makes it hard to breathe.

Today, everything is grating on my nerves. A harsh word, an accident, and everything is fizzing. I have this dull anger which is directed at nobody apart from myself. It feels like I’m trying to scream, but I can’t, so it just comes out as a whisper.

These days don’t last forever. For all I know, I could feel better in a few hours. The sinking feeling is temporary, despite how permanent it feels in the moment. I am not drowning. I can breathe and I can live, despite what my brain is telling me.

Writing these feelings doesn’t make me feel significantly happier but breaking out from the nothingness of this cage my brain has made does evoke a small sense of release. This might be a bad day, but I am not a bad person and I will continue to fight as hard as I can to stop my illness from doing bad things to me.

emotions running high 3

A personal update

A personal update

It feels strange that I’ve been away from university study for over two months now, with my final exam having finished at the end of May. Not only this, but I’ve been three months out of a hospital admission under section, over three months since my last general hospital requiring incident, and weeks free of self-harm. Sounds pretty lame, but I’m kind of bossing life at the moment. It’s going good. So here’s what’s been going on with me.

Preparation for next year at university

As well as readings lots of books at my own leisure, I have been cracking on with some Class A Amazing books (as well as some less thrilling ones) for some of my modules next year. My favourites so far have been Moll Flanders by Daniel Defoe (for my Romanticism module) and The Power by Naomi Alderman, which is for my Spring Popular Culture module. Because I found myself last year having to skim read chunky texts in short periods of time, I’ve decided to read all of the core texts before the term starts, to save myself some stress.

In preparation for going back to university in September, I have also been re-allocated a mental health advisor. I’m meeting up with her before term starts and hopefully the service will be able to help me more this year.

Looking after my own mental health

Although incidents wise my mental health has been pretty amazing, that doesn’t mean that I haven’t been struggling. My mood at the moment seems to be alright most at the time (with some catastrophic declines), but anxiety is the real Bummer. This is something that has happened every summer for the past few years where I sort of isolate myself and thus feel very strange and anxious about getting out and about and doing things, but I’ve been trying really hard and also accepting that some days aren’t going to be as great as others.

Changing up my look

My best friend dyed my hair for me way back in March and there was definitely still a red/pink tint, but this week it’s been topped up and I’m feeling FABULOUS. My hair is naturally a bit of a dull brown so I like adding a bit of cherry pink colour to it to make it more exciting. I don’t really bother with make up during the holidays (probably because my anxiety means I don’t see people very often. Also, effort) so having my hair dyed kind of tricks me into thinking that I’m making an ‘effort’ (which is important when you’re bed-ridden depressed) all the time. Woo.

Planning for my student house

In three weeks I’m moving into my new student house with my course mates. It’s especially exciting because I’ve spent the last year in catered accommodation (would not recommend), but obviously this year I’ll be cooking all my own food and sort of looking after myself a little bit more.

I am a little bit worried because there are going to be times when I’m in the house on my own (only recently have I been actually coping being in my own house at home on my own), and also on the other hand, times when I’m going to have to interact with my friends even when I’m not feeling up to it. However, this nervousness is largely overridden by my excitement at the prospect of decorating my new room and turning it into a self-care and comfort (and studying, meh) den.

Watching Celebrity Big Brother

OK so Big Brother is utter trash, but it gives me something to add to my routine and I’m not going to lie, I get pretty into it. I like all that Psychology and analysis shit, but at the heart of it, it’s just easy TV with (some) likeable personalities. Indulging myself in a bit of reality TV is a really good distraction, despite how heated up I get into housemate arguments and controversies. It also gives me some time to chill out and watch television with my Mum, which is really nice.

Travelling to Birmingham

Like I said, my house-binding anxiety has been pretty catastrophic at the moment, but I have managed (twice!) to get down to Birmingham to see my best friend, Victoria, and her super cute puppy, Harlyn. This is a big deal because I find train journeys really draining and stressful.

I’ve just got back from Birmingham today and I’ve had a great week. It started off a bit stressful – I decided to walk from the train station to Tori’s house with all my luggage (in a strange, unknown area), because I was too scared to call a taxi. It only took me just over an hour but I strained my back and I was convinced I was lost right up until I got into her house.

Typical of me, the trip consisted of some tears, some annoying sarcastic banter on my part, occasional strops, non-stop tweeting, a multitude of selfies, make overs, minor arguments and plenty of dog cuddles.