Open Letter To Those Meant To Help Me.

*Very bad language, self-harm, suicide*

Open Letter To Those Meant To Help Me…

 

You didn’t did you….. you chose not to. You decided what was best for me. You wanted me to have the right support and you said you can’t offer the in-depth support I need. Never mind the fact I wasn’t asking for in-depth support. I didn’t need it. I was perfectly prepared to help myself. I wouldn’t even have needed as much help and support as I’ve had in the last few weeks, if you had just simply done what I asked for in the first place.

 

But now you’ve made it into such a massive deal, that I sound like a crazy, unhinged person, who needs more support. I don’t. I just need X to say he would agree with what I wrote – even if ‘only in principle’. That’s all this is about. This is about you denying something that would’ve healed so many wounds for me. This is about you destroying my trust in mental health services. This is about you making me feel utterly hopeless about a future for me now. ALL of this could’ve been avoided if you’d just casually done what I requested. Now it’s a huge issue that can’t be resolved. You fucked up.

 

It’s like you’re deliberately trying to frustrate me. And it’s succeeding. I’ve never felt more frustrated. I want to scream. In fact I’ve done so into a pillow in response to this before.

 

I tried a healthy way of trying to get my needs met. I asked. And yet again, here I am on my knees, having pleaded for one simple little gesture to help me to help myself, and I’ve been left there, broken, naked and totally pathetic.

 

I’ve spent my whole life having to beg to have my needs met. Begging for friendship, for care, for love, for apologies, for effort, for kind words… all of it. Things that others are readily given… freely, willingly…. I’ve had to ask, beg and plead for them. And still had it all denied. Sometimes the mere act of asking for these things has ended friendships / relationships, as the person takes it as criticism of them rather than what it was. Even when I ask for what I need I’m not given it. This is my life. Do you know how it feels to see others showered with the things I need, and I’m here being denied those things when I ask for them…. can you imagine that? What that does to a spirit…?

 

I’ve reached that point where I don’t know whether to accept I’m just here for others to use when necessary and to be ignored the rest of the time – a catalyst for change and relationships for other people…. that I’ll always love but never be loved…. and to give up on asking for MY needs to be met….. or whether to give up on life altogether. Because I can’t live life like this.

 

Once upon a time I was young and I would give and give but never receive…. I took it on the chin. It was my nature. They always say to not let this world harden you, or transform you from a nice, giving person into a cold-hearted, selfish one… but eventually it will happen. If you’re repeatedly giving love and care and never seeing it in return. Eventually you have nothing left to give. Everybody needs love, care, respect, remorse, effort, kindness, forgiveness…..if you deprive a human being of these things for long enough, they will run out of it themselves and have no more to give others. That’s where I am now. I’ve run out. I don’t want to be a bitch, but the alternative has run dry. When you spend your life giving, eventually resentment will form in the void left by the denial of all you require, but never get.

 

I’ve had too many experiences of coldness…. had too many people ditch me as though I was nothing…. too many people not care about me… not say a kind word to me…. give up on me rather than making things right or apologising…. I’ve never been loved…. I’ve never been understood. I don’t believe this will ever change. It never has. Seriously if you took the time and understood my past you would see this is the pattern of my life. This is my worth. To everyone I’ve met I am nothing. I’m dispensable… forgettable… irrelevant. Nobody will ever treat me differently. Believe me. And I will never trust anyone or open up to them enough to let them close enough to treat me the same again.

 

I needed you to do this one thing for me, to make me believe people could be different. That there is hope for change. To build my faith in people again. Yes it would’ve been synthetic. It wasn’t a real experience, relationship or human interaction…. but it would’ve fixed something inside me that had given up on humanity. Now that part of me is even more broken. You’ve made me totally give up on not only humanity but myself.

 

You’ve confirmed it’s wrong to ask to have my needs met. And actually the asking for it is even worse than just not having them met. Because to ask for something and have it rejected is even worse than not asking. Usually I’d say ‘If you don’t ask you won’t get’. But for me it’s irrelevant whether I ask or not, I still won’t get.

 

The trouble I have is I made specific points in the email… things I needed to hear / believe… and the refusal to acknowledge them makes a black and white mind like mine think the opposite is true. X may have said that’s not the case, but I can’t believe that now. It’s like if I ask a friend to tell me they care about me or miss me, and they turn round and say they can’t do that, it means it’s not true. It means they don’t care about me or miss me. Otherwise they’d be able to say it. Or at least be able to say something to replace it if not. But if they just say no and that’s it, then to someone with BPD it’s going to come across very loudly that there is a lack of those things, and therefore the opposite is the truth.

 

If I hadn’t asked for those specific points though, I wouldn’t now be believing the opposite is true, as there would’ve been no denial of specific sentiments. So part of me is annoyed with myself for asking. It’s my fault I now feel uncared for, worthless, disgusting, a burden, feared, ashamed, forgettable, like a number, and that it doesn’t matter what I do to myself. If I hadn’t specified what I needed in order to heal, then I wouldn’t be where I am right now. But it’s just cruel to deny human kindness and compassion to someone reaching out for those things. 

 

That’s the reality…. that’s all I was asking for. I didn’t need additional support. That would’ve been it as far as the Wellbeing Centre was concerned. It would’ve allowed me to reach out elsewhere for support if necessary – but it wouldn’t have BEEN necessary. I know my heart. I know my mind. I know it would’ve been enough to start a healing journey for me. You will never understand why. You will never know what a difference such a tiny gesture would’ve made for me. But the denial of it has damaged me far more.

 

To say that X doesn’t have the training to deal with this, is weird. Because all I was asking for was reassurance from him. That doesn’t require training. It’s a basic human concept that everyone is capable of. So I’m being fobbed off. I know it. Apparently there was concern because I’d said that X can even lie if he has to…. I said that because I feel nobody feels those sorts of things towards me, so automatically assumed I was asking too much. But it seems that gave him doubts – that I wouldn’t believe it and it wouldn’t be enough reassurance. So the answer was to give me NO reassurance. Because no reassurance is better than not enough reassurance, right?? It would’ve been better than nothing. It would’ve been enough… as I told you last week. It still would be enough. You’ve messed this up so badly, and it feels it’s being blamed on words I wrote from a place of low self-esteem. So it’s MY fault I’ve been denied what I needed to heal. STORY. OF. MY. LIFE.

 

To hear that you can’t help me…. when all I needed was a nod of the head…? Full stop. Or at the most a phrase that ‘I think those things are true’. You can’t give that? And your reason is stupid…. it’s an insult, to pretend it’s because you want me to have the right help. If you wanted me to have the right help you’d have listened to me, as I’d seriously contemplated what would help me, and you would have given that nod or allowed X to say that statement. It wasn’t a contract. It was a human being in need of healing, and you had it there right in the palm of you hand. Rather than give it to me you chose to crush it and throw it away… throw ME away as though I’m nothing. Fuck you. All I asked for was kindness, compassion and warmth – not buckets of it…. a tiny sliver of it, to make me feel you’re not robots, and I’m not just a number in a factory. But the truth is you ARE robots – your fucking ‘rules’ make all mental health workers robots. And I AM a number. I’m nothing. You’ve confirmed that over and over again. You don’t care about my recovery! You deny me the very thing that could’ve allowed it. You’ve sent me backwards. You’ve ripped every wound open and left me to bleed to death.

 

It’s sad… I watched a programme a few weeks ago, where some mental health worker was talking to a client and saying something like they’ve really enjoyed their company and they’d miss them etc., as they were due to be discharged soon…. and I thought – see, THAT’S  what I need. That’s all I asked for. If they’re allowed to say that to that person, why can’t I hear anything remotely like it myself? Especially if it would’ve saved my life. Human connection. Human kindness and compassion. Apparently when it’s me that’s too much to ask. And given that I’ve been asking too much of absolutely everyone in my life, it fucking hurts to be denied it by those meant to be helping me too.

 

My paranoia is a huge problem for me now. And my anxiety has become so much worse. Palpitations, tics, breathing issues…. all made worse by this problem. No, the solution is not to stop attending… it’s your problem to fix, or you just have to put up with me. I’m not going to make this easier for you and just leave, like you probably want me to. You broke me. You either fix me or put up with my shattered pieces.

 

But the paranoia I’ve felt, like last week when I came in to talk to X, and there was a ‘chaperone’. That screams that I’m not trusted to be alone with X. My motives are being questioned again.

 

I had paranoia about the topic discussed in the group. I voiced that and X seemed upset and offended… like I was accusing him of personal digs at me through the topic. This has eaten away at me ever since – that I upset him. I was only explaining that paranoia has been a big stumbling block for me in trying to understand and read about that topic. But he was so defensive…. maybe I was quite close to the mark…? It talked about this theory that everyone has it in them to help themselves …. and about not taking on what others think of you, as your own beliefs…. I’m sorry that what I’m going through at the moment made me see secret messages that may / may not have been there. But it felt like I was being told why I’m not being given the help I asked for – because you want me to help myself. Fuck you if so. If that’s the case you’ll need to tell me exactly what I need to do to help myself in this situation. Okay maybe I shouldn’t have voiced my paranoia… it never goes well when I do… it seems human nature to get defensive in response to paranoia – I will be writing separately about this at some point – but I said it and that’s that. I just hope for X’s sake that the others in the group didn’t pick up on his reaction and think there’s a story there.

 

Last week was very bad for me. Having a chat with someone afterwards killed me. I kept crying. I was frustrated as he wasn’t listening or understanding. He wasn’t helping me. I started doodling on a bit of paper to stop me from getting upset again and because I was angry. I felt the life drain out of me at one point. I realised this is hopeless… you’re never going to help me or hear me. It’s pointless talking anymore. I had resigned myself to my fate. I wanted to get out of there and self-harm, or worse. I walked into town, right next to the road and kept feeling a pull towards the traffic. I wanted to throw myself in front of a lorry or something. I seriously thought I would. I broke my stint of no self-harm… I’d made it 17 days without anything at all. I was proud. Now it’s all gone. Now I’m reverting back to earlier this year. You lot don’t care what I do to myself. You don’t care about helping me. You don’t meet my needs when I ask healthily. So now I’m back to communicating through pain. Might as well.

 

I’ve lost interest in things again. I’ve gone backwards. I’m trying to keep doing crochet, but I’ve buggered my hands up haven’t I… and yesterday I forced myself outside to walk 6 miles… because I’ve committed myself to doing 25 miles this month. If I hadn’t then I wouldn’t go out. But everything else I’ve given up on. I don’t care about anything anymore.

 

I don’t want adult life. You’ve reduced me to a wounded, vulnerable, broken little girl. That’s who I am now. And as such, I don’t fit in this world where I look like an adult. Well done on making me feel I don’t fit in and never will…. that I can’t live anymore because of your failures. And thank you so much for acknowledging the mistakes you’ve all made and apologising for them. That was sarcasm in case you didn’t get it. Not once have you accepted fault for anything. Just like everyone else in my life / past…. you blame it on me or just dodge accountability. It’s damaging to someone like me. Well done for reflecting my life’s pattern for me. Proof that nothing will change and this is my lot in life. You’ve finally made me give up on life. I’m back to feeling suicidal again. It’s certain to happen at some point. You could’ve stopped it all with a simple nod of the head. I hope you’ll be proud when I’m inevitably dead.

 

I thought I’d turned a corner. But there’s no such thing as corners…. it’s just a circle… the same things repeating over and over and never changing, and it’s making me sick. Now I’m just waiting for Coronavirus to come and get me. As long as it leaves my family and those I care about alone, I don’t care what happens to me anymore. I don’t exactly have a life or a future, so let’s get it over with already.

 

I wish you could’ve helped me. I really do. Unfortunately I’m the one who has to live with the consequences of you not doing so. I have no control over whether you help me or not. I only have the choice to tolerate this life or to opt out of it. Thanks for dragging me down to this point. I have no fight left in me. I’ve tried so hard the last few months. I’m not sure anyone recognises just how hard I’ve worked. How hard I’ve battled through this, alone. I can’t pick myself up this time. I’m not strong enough. I had such high hopes for this place. I thought it would be better. I was wrong. Or maybe I’m just beyond help. Maybe nobody can help me. Maybe I’m the problem. Well I won’t be your problem much longer. I’ll get through this and leave you in peace. I regret opening up. It was all for nothing…

 

 

 

 

 

Poem: Deluge.

 

Deluge

And just like that, the lights went out…
Extinguished once more by those too afraid to let me shine.
It’s for my own good they claim;
“We’re on your side” they cry from the bank of the river
As they watch me flail around,
Dragged under by the current;
“We can’t give you the in-depth help you require” –
When all I asked of them was to throw me a line
And I’ll save myself from drowning just fine.
One word.
One simple line,
And my lungs would not be filled with silent screams
And bitter salty tears,
Stained red from the wounds they inflict
With each jab and kick,
At my absolute lowest.
None of this need be
If they would only help me…
Help me to help myself;
Prioritise my mental health.
Be human for a moment and see the person before them
Pleading, as she has her whole life,
To matter, to hear it and have her needs met;
Begging for once to get, that which she asks for.
For she’s only ever known rejection, deflection,
Disconnection,
Detachment and denial of what could heal her heart.
Things given freely to others are withheld when she asks;
She’s learnt her needs come last.
I matter not to these folk…
Their idea of ‘help’ is an utter joke –
Help by denial of the one thing which would be of use,
For pitiful reasons they simply refuse,
Using any excuse
And leaving me to drown in a torrent of paranoia,
A deluge of pain,
A flood of anger and resentment as I circle the drain.
Nobody reaches a hand to pull me from these cold, lonely,
Devastating depths…
It’s too much trouble;
I’m not worth the bother.
So here I’ll drown… before their very eyes;
I’ll bid them all goodbye
And spare them the hassle of me being me.
I’ll set them all free,
Take one last desperate gasp of air
And give up the fight at last.

 

 

Poem: My Prison Soul.

 

 

My Prison Soul

 

I almost tasted freedom from this prison of emotion;
The closeness of you, my key…
You came so close to saving me.
I peered through the lock, awaiting your arrival,
Beholding the light of you,
And a world free from these shackles of darkness.
Your radiance shone through the keyhole,
Straight through to the cold, murky walls of my prison soul;
That ray of hope kept my fighting spirit alive.
I waited for the sound… the turning of that key;
Through the lock I watched a shadowy figure approach –
The silhouette of a woman blocking you from view,
Ushering you away, and there was nothing I could do
But wail after you –
“Come back! Don’t leave me in here! I need you! I need your light!”…
Helplessly I watched you fade out of sight;
The woman jangling the bars of my cell
As she forbade me farewell,
And doomed me to this relentless hell;
Withholding my liberty,
My chance to escape…
She bound my hands
And sealed my mouth with tape.
Left here to rot in silent solitude
And to never complain
Or ever again
Ask to be released.
She will not be satisfied until I am deceased.
It won’t be long my dear –
My heart beats its final beats
As the will to endure perishes.
Nothing can live forever in the dark…
‘The prison guard’ ripped my light away,
Now I’ll never see the dawn of day.
My only companion is the voice in my head –
The one saying I’d be better off dead…
Is this what you wanted?
For me to die?
Left to fight to the death – my demons and I?
I shall not win, for my wounds run deep;
If abandonment you sow
Only death will you reap.
My mind and body are weak;
I have not the strength left to even speak.
The pleas for help die in my mouth –
They’re swallowed by my heart;
My insides ripped apart…
These bones break on the walls of frustration;
My blood runs cold on the floors of isolation.
My recovery shot,
My name they forgot.
If willing was enough, then my heart would stop this minute –
For what is life with no light in it?
She trapped me and gagged me, and threw away the key…
Now, without your help I will never again be free.

 

 

 

Poem: Drowning Through Life.

 

Drowning Through Life

 

That place between life and death,
That void…
That’s where you’ll find me;
Swimming around in an ocean of emotions
Too immense for the human soul to witness,
Or the human body to contain.
No breaths of relief can be taken here.
I choke on the fluidity of people’s inclination to care,
To stay there,
To see my worth;
I drown in the words unspoken,
Unheard,
The lack of sentiment, the lack of words.
I gulp down indifference
And gargle blame,
Lost in this sea where nobody recalls my name.
Even the sharks that usually circle at the scent of blood
Care little to devour me –
Nowhere to be seen;
Though I bleed profusely from my wounds,
I bleed not red but emerald green…
The colour of envy –
Envious of those who get to live on solid ground
And know not the horror of drowning through life;
Jealousy of those who matter to someone,
Whose cries can be heard and are satisfied
By a love, an interest, a connection,
The warmth of affection –
Not left to the ravaging currents of these ice-cold depths,
Forever alone…
My blood is water,
Water, my blood –
My broken heart feeding salt to the sea
Which then in turn reminds me of how those tears came to be.
Can anyone see me here, sinking under the waves?
Am I worthy of being saved?
You’ll see my face in a crowd
But I am not there –
My mind is elsewhere,
In that far-off land – unable to live, not ready to die,
With no-one to help me or to bid me goodbye.
Look for me in between these worlds,
Find my soul;
Please see me
And return me to myself,
Or else
I fear
These days will be my last.

 

 

 

CMHT: Failings In Mental Health Services.

 

 

When you’re mentally unwell it is hard to know what to do or where to turn. Making the decision to ask for help is not an easy one. Actually taking that step and reaching out is even harder. I’ve had an experience this year which I know I’m not alone with… in that my plea for help has been ignored, and my referral rejected. I know this happens to a lot of people around the country.

 

I saw my doctor last weekend and she had discussed their rejection with my local mental health team. The woman she spoke to apparently said that I should see it as a positive …  yes, that’s right…. I should see it as a positive that they’re denying me help. I suppose because it means they don’t deem me to be that seriously unwell that I require their help – so it means I’m better than I think I am. If you’re following this blog I think you know full well what is wrong with that…

 

It is completely INVALIDATING! It’s saying that what I’m experiencing isn’t as bad as I feel it is. That others have it worse. That things could be worse and I could be a very real danger to myself or others. I’ll tell you, that’s the only way things could be worse for me – that I actually act on thoughts and visions I have of killing myself, or that I become a danger to others. I’m one step before all that. But it seems that means I’m not ‘ill enough’ to warrant help. It seems I have to take that step over the edge, try to take my life and hope I survive it in order to receive their help.

 

They will only help those who are at that point or who experience psychosis I believe. The trouble with this is that it makes people like me question if we need help. If help is only given once you’ve tried to kill yourself, and they tell you to see not getting help as a good sign, therefore invalidating your suffering, then you’re going to start thinking you don’t need to seek help until you’ve tried to kill yourself. Which might as well be the case with the CMHT anyway, as they won’t see you until you’ve done so.

 

The changes they’ve made to mental health services are ridiculous. CMHT won’t help until you’ve crossed the line between life and death. Until then they direct you to wellbeing centres or the like, which is fair enough if you’re at that stage where that sort of thing will help. They do courses about anxiety, anger management, mindfulness, confidence. But when your issues are intense…. like ‘BPD’ intense… you’re endlessly having breakdowns, unable to function in society, your whole life is messed up by your illness and you don’t want to live anymore… but haven’t quite got to the stage of taking action to remedy that, then you’re on your own….. UNTIL you take action and hit rock bottom. Then and only then might mental health services help you, if you’re lucky. Never mind that once someone has tried to end their life there’s more work to be done to fix them, and they might be more likely to try again. They put off helping people before the event, letting them fall apart completely – they’d rather fix broken people than stop people totally breaking in the first place. It’s ridiculous.

 

I used an IAPT service last year… which I was under the impression used the ‘stepped-care approach’… meaning they could step people up to step 4 if necessary – the mental health team, if the person’s beyond their help. I was step 3. I struggled with the course. Had various issues with it and didn’t get a great deal from it. I came away broken. They didn’t ‘step me up’. I had to go away and work on things by myself or go to my doctor to be referred to CMHT. I think this was negligence on their part. They couldn’t help me and in fact in some ways made me worse, so they should’ve done what they could to get me better.

 

It seems you’re very much on your own nowadays with mental illness. You alone have to make the choice of what to do. Right now I have to choose what direction I go in – my doctor’s re-referring me but I have serious doubts about this, as I should not have to BEG for help – it only makes me feel worse and resentful. They may reject me again. Or they may not. And then they might make me feel worse than I do now, as I don’t hear great things about mental health services anymore. If I do get to see a psychiatrist and get diagnosed, as much of a relief as this would be to me, what if it results in bad things, like being denied treatment, or facing stigma, neglect and abuse and restrictions in the future?  Getting help might make me worse…. but at the moment I feel NOT getting help will make me worse…. so I’m stuck. I’m confused. I don’t know what to do.

 

And I wish I wasn’t the one who had to make the decision. Things used to be so easy. You went to your doctor, you were referred, they saw you and took the lead. Now they’re all reluctant to take anyone on and actually do the work helping you… they look for any excuse to avoid you… they ask you what it is you want from them…. how it is you think they can help you….. what has happened in the space of ten years?? Where has all the care gone? It’s not that I want my choices taken away from me, but I could do without the pressure and added stress of worrying what’s right and wrong for my mental health. I need to know what is on offer. I need to know what is wrong with me and what would be the best treatment for it – even if CMHT don’t want to offer me that treatment… at least I would know where to go with it… and I don’t want to be fobbed off by them telling me to do a course on assertiveness at the wellbeing centre or something…. I want honesty. What type of THERAPY will be best to help me with my emotional turmoil and my mountain of ‘trauma’…. tell me how to heal my mind and to be able to live one day in this life without being wounded by everything around me…. how to not be traumatised by the tiniest experiences…. how to not want to die anymore. Tell me what will help (and not by brushing it aside and just ‘joining clubs’) and direct me to where I can find that help if you won’t give it. That’s what I need.

 

Answers. Help. Guidance.

 

I don’t like this culture we have now around mental illness. I’ve heard, as I’m sure you have too, that people are deemed ‘not skinny enough’ to be offered help with an eating disorder. This only encourages the person to lose more weight. Telling someone who believes they are fat that their BMI is too high to warrant help is sickening. It is feeding into their illness that tells them they’re not thin enough. It makes the problem worse. Oh, but then of course once they’ve got that ill they’ll get help won’t they! Just like with general mental illness. They won’t see you unless you’re actively suicidal. Never mind if suicide is on your mind every day. They don’t care about that. Only if you MEAN it. From what I’ve just been reading though I hear that once you’re diagnosed with BPD they don’t want to help you. They close off treatments for you. They write you off as a lost cause. I hope this isn’t true. Because that would mean one of the worst, most painful, traumatic illnesses, which puts you at a higher risk of suicide makes you ‘too ill’ to treat. If anyone is in need of care and support it’s those with BPD, as it comes from a place of pain and suffering. We can’t have people give up on us as though we’re a hopeless case, when we’re lacking all hope as it is.

 

The part of all this which makes me angry is that I was denied help…. I was told to see it as a positive…. and that if my mood got any lower they could look at it again perhaps. How the heck do they know the state of my mood?? They haven’t even met with me to assess me!! They’ve deemed me not ill enough to warrant their help. And they’ve based that decision on my past notes and treatment, my experience with IAPT and whatever the doctor said to them. Unless they just remember me from years ago and think ‘Oh no not her again!’, they are making the decision on assumptions and old evidence. I’m not where I was ten years ago. I’m not where I was a year ago under IAPT. I’m worse. But they wouldn’t know that because they haven’t met with me. They probably don’t know much about my suicidal thoughts, my paranoia, my self-harm and all the other elements of my illness. How can they tell all that from a bit of paper?

 

I feel as though they’ve communicated to me (through my doctor – who thankfully is a lovely doctor), that what I’m experiencing isn’t that bad. How would they know?? And for their information it is ‘Hell on Earth’, to quote a friend. Right now I have constant urges to hurt myself. I harm myself every other day in some way and it’s never enough. I can’t stop. A part of me doesn’t want to stop. I want to cause damage and so much pain. There’s chaos in my head every day, and some days I feel the only way it will ever stop is to end my life. And given that I am forced to exist in this way, in this hell, that often looks inviting. I don’t want to end my life, for the sake of my family. To get help I would have to say ‘screw my family’ and try to end it.  That’s asking me to change as a person and go against my values, before I’ll be offered help. Why not help me now while I’m still determined to not end my life, even if the only reason I’m hanging on is my family? Surely that should be worth something….?

 

I know I’d be a tough case. Because I can’t willingly say I want to get better. That I want to change my ways of coping. This is because I have no faith in my ability to recover. I cannot see a future without me self-harming. I can’t see a future with good people around me, fulfilling my emotional needs and treating me well. My life has got smaller and smaller. It’s hard to imagine the opposite. I can’t say I want to get better. I want the world around me to get better before I feel I can. I don’t feel I can help myself at the moment. Does this mean I don’t deserve help? Does it all depend on me being willing to help myself? Some of us hit such a bad patch in life that we need help in order to start helping ourselves again. That’s where I am. I want to WANT to help myself. That’s the best I can do right now.

 

But I need help… and that help doesn’t seem to exist for me. I see the doctor again in a couple of weeks. I might find out if I’ve been rejected again or perhaps it’ll take longer than that for them to decide. I don’t hold much hope. I’ve had someone suggest I get myself an advocate. I haven’t yet looked into this, but may do. The trouble is, these rejections and the invalidation makes me think it would all be a waste of time and that I don’t need or deserve help. That they won’t help me no matter what… and if they did they would make me feel like I’m wasting everybody’s time. The last thing I need right now is to be made to feel a burden when I’m reaching out for help. It takes such courage to ask for help. When you have your pleas ignored and rejected too many times, eventually you’ll give up asking and suffer in silence. God knows where that’ll end up. A gamble between life and death I think. It shouldn’t have to come to that…

Bad Mental Health Day… (Rant)

*Strong language, self-harm and suicide references. Read with care*

 

 

There is no such thing as a ‘good mental health day’ for me, not for a long time now. But I can tell the particularly bad ones apart from the rest. Today is one of those. In fact all week has been. There is no imminent reason. Nothing’s changing. Nothing is happening that hasn’t been happening all year…. just sometimes you can’t cope with things as well.

 

If you looked at me you wouldn’t think I was any worse than usual. My usual has become more depressed – so not going out, getting dressed, brushing my hair has become the new normal. So although you’d know things aren’t ‘good’, you wouldn’t know that I spent this morning trying to research where to cut myself to do more damage. Or that I went onto a site to find out the least painful way to kill yourself – of course it was one of those sites that reels you in and tells you not to do it and to reach out to Jesus instead! But looking up these things is something new. I’ve been self-harming for half my life now. I’m not new to it. So I have no reason to research, other than I want to cause more damage. That’s how bad I have become with my mental health.

 

I know I have probably already damaged my hand from punching a wall weeks ago… I still have pain and it seems deformed. But that doesn’t stop me wanting to make it worse. A professional could say to me ‘You might break your hand’… but the state I’m in now, that’s not an incentive to stop hitting the wall… it’s more like ‘…. good’. If you’ve never been in that state of mind you would think I’m a psycho. I don’t have the energy to tell you why you’re wrong anymore. Not today. It’s like when I lost my friend a few weeks ago, I harmed myself so badly I bruised the tendon in my arm again. And I want to do that again. I want pain. I want blood. I want bruising. I want damage. I have nothing left.

 

My mental health has become so bad it cost me friendships I thought I’d never lose. Mental health services won’t help me. I’m too unwell to do my voluntary work. I don’t leave the house. Unless it’s to do something with family. That’s all I have now. Nothing else. And I hate the world outside my family. I hate them with a passion.

 

My existence is just tolerance now. Tolerating uncomfortable emotions, which seem to always be there. I have no professional support. No social support from friends. Yes there are one or two people I talk to online. But no close friends in real life. ‘Make some new friends – take up a new activity’….. fuck off. Do you actually know what it’s like to feel how I do today? Do you know what it’s like to have lost everything and to feel so suicidal and to just want to keep cutting yourself over and over again? And how hard it is to have self-worth buried six feet under the floorboards. To have paranoia and anxiety about going outside the front door, let alone to meet new people and have to trust them to not abandon you, like even your most trusted friends have?? Do you know what it’s like to not want to live anymore, therefore how hard it is to do things that would improve your life? And to have to cope with this all on my fucking own?

 

Mental health services I think, are too fixated by this ‘You have to want to get better…. you have to put in the work, I can’t do it for you’ crap. Yes, of course I have to put in effort – it’s what I did at therapy, at DBT… I’ve always been the one to help myself, with support. But what about times like now? What about when someone can’t help themselves anymore, because they’ve been allowed to spiral to the point of apathy and despair? What about when I can’t even picture feeling better…. when I can’t even see a future…. when I feel so paralysed and isolated and unsafe in this world….. what then? If I’m unable to help myself straight off the bat does that mean I’m undeserving of help? Do you have to be able to help yourself otherwise you’re just seen as a lost cause? Because the trouble is I’ve felt like a lost cause all year. Nobody has proven otherwise. My friends left me. CMHT won’t help me. They think as I’ve done DBT there’s nothing more they can offer me. As if ‘Well if that didn’t help you, nothing will….. just look at your folder and use your skills’. Thanks. I’m beyond being directed to a folder I made over ten years ago. I need actual human help to dig me out of this grave I’m existing in. I’m being buried by pain and nobody wants to help me with that pain. Nobody wants to understand it, validate it, or tell me what the hell is wrong with me and how to treat it. I need help. I need compassion. I need effort. I need to know I’m worth something in this world. Because I’ve lost that and I see no other reason to live than to not hurt my family.

 

Why won’t anybody HELP me? 

 

Nobody gets how difficult it is to keep living right now. I am constantly wanting to hurt myself because at least that’s the sort of pain I can ‘tolerate’. Tolerating paranoia, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, chaotic thoughts, disturbing images, crippling depression, isolation, self-hatred, guilt from wanting to die, fear of abandonment, feeling helpless, hopeless and a failure, and the biggest desire to just not feel anything anymore…. that sort of tolerance is something I can’t do. Not without help. The help I can’t get. So I live in hell, experiencing all those things because I can’t get help, and I can’t kill myself because I love my family. So I suffer. And people leave me because I’m suffering. But they have no clue that I’m going through all this hell. So I self-harm to externalise my suffering. To take the focus off the inner turmoil. And I live with the physical pain too. The emotional pain would kill me otherwise. On the scale it is right now it’s not something I could deal with.

 

I feel pain because of abandonment. I feel pain because of grief – that’s been particularly hard this week for some reason. I don’t tend to self-harm because of the sadness of my loss. I don’t think I ever have. I usually just let myself cry. It’s only this week that the pain of grief felt too strong that I thought about self-harming to stop it. But I didn’t. But I do self-harm as a result of other things that I can’t cope with so well now, as the grief has made me vulnerable. I view life through a different lens now. Life is just a waiting room… waiting for your appointment with death. My outlook on life has become morbid. I know I have to do some work on grief, but grief is not the biggest problem in my life right now. Other people are. And I can’t cope with them. I can’t cope with being around people, or talking to them. It’s too much.

 

I  also feel pain from things that happened over the years. I feel pain at realising my closest friends didn’t really care about me. I feel pain at the loss I experienced at therapy last year. That keeps trying to rear its ugly head. I have to try and block it out at times like this. I have enough trying to kill me without that joining in. It’s just when times are like they are at the moment, I want to run back to those days and the therapists who ran the course. I have nothing now. I feel pain about all the online abuse I’ve had this year too. I feel pain at not receiving help. I feel pain from everything and everyone. There’s that saying –

 

“People with BPD are like people with third degree burns over 90% of their bodies. Lacking emotional skin, they feel agony at the slightest touch or movement.” ….. 

 

Usually I feel the agony at the slightest touch …  as in ‘how people treat me’… but now I feel it from every movement I make …  as in ‘nobody has to even do anything bad to me, just living hurts’. People talking to me and people NOT talking to me both hurt me…. so it’s better just to deliberately stay away from people. But it still hurts, because they don’t come looking for me, fighting for me. So whatever I do… or don’t do… hurts. Living just hurts. 

 

It’s taken all day to write this. I ramble so much and yet never feel I’ve said enough. I can’t ever release the chaos I feel inside, and I worry I don’t express it well enough for anyone to understand the hell I’m in.

 

Today is a very bad mental health day. It’s 5pm and I haven’t had my morning meds… (don’t worry, I’m about to). Those are the days I know are bad. Now some might say they’re bad BECAUSE I’ve not had my meds…. could be… but this has been ongoing for the last few days. Medication won’t actually make me feel any better than I do right now, because even if I do have a need for medication, the problem is life…. lack of support, so much loss and pain, and just being weary of life. No pill will change my circumstances and all the shit that’s happened to me. And there’s been a lot of shit. I don’t know how I’m still here. I need something that will make me forget all the bad things, or remember all the good things….. I need more good things to happen…. I need more people to be the sorts of people I need in my life…. I need them to be kinder, gentler, warmer…. consistent. I need to be understood. I don’t want people being super positive to me or saying we all feel that way sometimes – fuck off. I know you don’t know what to say to me but you’re making me feel worse and more misunderstood and alone. No more of the ‘What you need to do is blah blah blah’…. no….. what YOU need to do is shut the fuck up and listen to what I’m saying and acknowledge how I’m feeling – comfort and support me, without advising me or comparing my suffering to yours or anyone else’s.

 

I’m always being told I need professional support – sustained support from secondary mental health services. Other people with lesser demons than mine seem to have that support. Why can’t I? Being denied that help communicates to me that they wouldn’t give a fuck if I did end it. They’re supposed to be there to help people. What a shit job to take, whereby you just sit back and let someone end their life… turning your back on them as a lost cause…. how the fuck do they sleep at night?

 

Guess I’ll have to pay over £300 to see a psychiatrist for an assessment then, to get a diagnosis in order to get the help I need, and then I’ll have to go private to be treated for it – whilst other people with the same illness get given the help for free…… I have to pay other people to keep me alive…… what fucking incentive is that? We should be given the money to stay alive. All these people who’ll have to do that – they’ll recover from the depths of their illness and have no fucking money left, which will cause life problems and worsening of their illness. It’s ridiculous. WHY SHOULD I HAVE TO PAY TO STAY ALIVE?!! I’m already giving enough effort and paying the price just staying alive for the sake of others…. why do I also have to pay someone else money just so I don’t die?! This country is fucked up. And I’m always the one left crawling on the floor, BEGGING for help. It’s not fucking right. It makes me more suicidal.

 

I’ve had enough. There’s no point to this post. I’m just sick of the chaos. Today was a very bad day. At least I see the doctor this weekend. That’s something. I guess.

 

 

 

Rants On Reality.

*This is venting so very strong language and self-harm / suicide references*

 

Time to be honest, I’m not okay. Yes I’m taking little steps. Yes I have some wonderful things to look forward to next year. And to many people I’d probably seem like I’m doing better than I was two or three weeks ago. But inside is chaos and sometimes I just want it to stop.

 

I need help… the help I’ve been denied by mental health services. I need someone to tell me what the fuck is wrong with me. I thought I knew, but now it feels there’s so many layers to it that I don’t know how to do life now. I feel like my mind is going… my concentration and memory are rubbish. My stress level is constantly high, so the slightest thing is too overwhelming for me. Whenever I go out I feel exhausted and ill afterwards. It’s like my brain is so full of noise and traffic, that being around other people and having to pretend to be well, is too much and will make me snap. I’m worried about going back to my voluntary work. I tried taking steps towards that this week, but already I’m panicking about it. I know that having to work with the public is not something I can do right now. It’s too overwhelming.

 

Also being around people is too dangerous… people only have to say something wrong, even in a banter kind of way, and it’s like I’ve just been emotionally stabbed. People would have to walk on eggshells around me, or I’d have to constantly be hurt by those around me.

 

I’m not okay with friends. I’m trying to block out how I feel about it all, so I don’t feel the full effect of it again. I’ve been trying to stay in touch casually with people, but still feel so detached. The nagging feeling like none of them really care is always there, contributing to the chaos in my head. Pressure to talk to people too…. I have times I can talk to them, and others like right now where I don’t even keep up to speed on what’s going on for them. I can’t open up. There are people I’m supposed to have got back to… I haven’t. I feel really guilty about it but at the same time I still can’t do it. I’m having a problem with words right now. I feel emotionally imprisoned.  I feel if I start talking to people a whole world of emotions and thoughts will tumble out. So I’d rather live in denial of other people. I feel bad for it.

 

I keep trying to write my feelings out about losing my best friend. I can’t do it. I don’t even know how I feel anymore. I’m pissed with her. I’ve been hurt by her. I hate her. I miss her. I feel calmer and more resigned to a life without her. I feel misunderstood. I feel guilty. I feel bitter that I feel guilty. I feel scared…. scared to ever try and sort things out with her. So I don’t. I won’t. Part of me feels it’s her fault so she should  approach me and apologise for abandoning me because of my mental illness. Part of me realises she probably thinks I’m the one in the wrong and abandoned HER… because she doesn’t understand mental illness or how her last message came across to me. She made me feel like a burden and like she needed space. So I’ve given her that. I’ve had a life of feeling like a burden and a worthless piece of shit, which she knows about, so she shouldn’t expect me to go crawling to her begging for her friendship. Won’t happen. She did me wrong. Who abandons someone at their lowest ebb?? But then a part of me thinks she didn’t deserve to have me ruining her happy life with my misery, so she was within her rights to walk away.  But that feeds the low self-worth monster. I can’t work out if I want to be nice to her or tell her how much she’s hurt me. So I say nothing and can’t complete any bit of writing I do about it.

 

I always stop and pull my hair out instead. That became a problem again. Just like the self-harm… particularly punching. I really want to self-harm so much but often can’t muster up the energy to do anything like that. I feel numb yet like I’m drowning in emotions at the same time…. like there’s so many feelings going on inside me, that they’ve filled my airways and they’re pinning me down and stopping me from acting or speaking. So nobody knows how I’m really feeling. It’s like someone having their voice stripped away, having their heart dug out of their chest and screaming in agony but nobody can hear them…. or even more than that, being paralysed and being tortured but showing no signs of the hell you’re going through on the inside.

 

Paranoia. Nobody can know what it’s like to be mistrusting of people’s intentions, even your own family members. My best friend didn’t understand that a lot of the changes she saw in me this year were as a result of paranoia, and probably took it personally. But do you know what it’s like to be scared of your own loved ones, for no reason? To feel they’re going to hurt you in some way….. with no evidence that it’s true…. just your own mind convincing you of it. It’s scary. I spent a long time when I was younger, not wanting to be around the males in my family as I had convinced myself that I’d repressed something and that they weren’t safe to be around. I know this is not true, and when I’m in a healthier state of mind I never even think it, but it comes from a place of not trusting anyone – I’ve always been particularly mistrusting of men because of some of the jerks who have hurt me over the years. But it also comes from feeling disconnected from reality. I don’t know what’s real sometimes. I have dreams where I get really angry with people I love. I wake myself up shouting and swearing things like ‘I’ll fucking kill you for that!!’ …. sometimes kicking my legs in the air or punching the pillow next to me. In the last few days I keep having dreams where I’m desperately trying to punch a wall and injure myself, but it’s like I’m doing it under water, so can’t hurt myself as much as I want. It’s frustrating.

 

Times like right now I want to scream my way into a new reality where none of the last six years happened. Life doesn’t feel real. Not the life outside of my house. Even going on the bus the other day, people didn’t seem real…. or they seemed TOO real…. like they’re on another plane of existence from me. Like I am floating around in a bubble of invisibility while they live life…. that’s how I’ve felt all this year. It’s unsettling.

 

My mind keeps jumping to different thoughts. I’m thinking about the fact I cannot remember growing up. I remember tiny snapshots of experiences. I remember when I had a nosebleed at primary school and the dinner-lady pinched my nose so hard it hurt. I remember when someone stole my favourite teddy ‘Freddy Teddy’ from school when we had to take a bear in… not sure I ever got over that! I remember a few of us (we were the good kids) running back to our classes at the end of the day after a music group, as we didn’t want to be late, and a teacher came out and shouted at us really loud for running through the playground past all the parents, and how humiliating it was. I remember standing alone at lunchtimes by the wall, watching everyone else have fun. I remember begging to tag along with other people so I wasn’t alone. I remember being bullied. I remember being teased so much about my hairy arms that I started shaving them. I remember the amplifier not being switched on for a jazz band performance and the teacher embarrassing me while I was on stage. I remember being stalked by someone I befriended when he was new to the school, and how nobody wanted to be around me if he was there. I remember a boy in my tutor group putting his thumb through my clay work I did in art – he was later expelled for other reasons. I remember a girl telling me a group turned down having me in their limo for the prom because I’m ‘boring’. I remember a teacher giving me a dressing down for reporting her to my parents instead of talking to her myself. I remember a teacher grabbing me by the wrist and shouting at me, calling me a ‘stupid girl’ for accidentally picking up a hot tray and burning myself. I remember when my cat died. I remember having a car accident on our way on holiday – don’t recall the details now. I remember when I started self-harming. I remember being ‘abducted’ by a bus driver playing a joke on me one evening when I was alone. I remember the look on someone’s face when I made a mistake at a voluntary job, and me going to my bag and self-harming in the room I was working in. I remember cutting myself under the table in psychology, for doing badly on a test. I remember sneaking scissors into the pocket of my jeans at college and going off in the break in biology to harm myself, for not knowing the answer to a question, despite knowing the answers to everyone else’s questions. I remember flipping out on the biology trip because the people I was working with wouldn’t let me do the job I was meant to do, so I said ‘YOU DO IT ALL THEN!’ and I remember how they looked at me, and I remember wanting to walk out into the sea and drown. I remember …..

 

I’ll be honest. At this point I have a mental block. Everything I just wrote came pouring out in an endless stream of memories…. flashbacks. And at this point I re-joined reality and a part of my brain has yelled ‘STOP!’ as it’s too much… too many bad memories…. the point is the parts I can remember about my childhood and my teenage years are generally bad little snippets – the bits I’d rather forget. And all the good stuff that I wish I could remember I just don’t. I look at photos of me and I don’t remember that person… I don’t remember those times, how I felt or even doing the things we did. It’s like it was a different person.

 

There HAS to be something wrong with my mind…. be it trauma/stress related, amnesia, BPD-related or degeneration of my brain. A part of me is worried I’ve inherited Parkinson’s. I know that’s rubbish, but what if it’s true? What if my brain is dying? Will I ever get my good memories back? I don’t even remember my childhood – growing up with my parents or spending time with my grandparents when I was younger…. which is very upsetting when I’m grieving for my granddad. I have very few real memories to hold on to. Only the knowledge that I loved him, and he cared about and worried about me. The main memories I have of him were after he got ill and as he passed away. Nobody can understand how hard it is – they say to hold on to the good memories, but I cannot remember them now. For whatever reason. I’ve been robbed of my past.

 

On top of that I keep getting really vivid images in my head… like when I’m walking down the stairs – I was carrying a little kitchen knife down the stairs earlier and I had an image of me falling down the stairs and falling onto the knife…. and it plays out in my mind’s eye… graphically… to the extent I can imagine it stabbing me, as well as the pain of just falling down the stairs. Sometimes in the car (as a passenger) I imagine a car coming down the road on the wrong side and us having a head-on crash…. or on the motorway I have visions of a pile-up just ahead of us, and it makes me really anxious. I sometimes imagine situations where people upset me or humiliate me and what my response would be – and it’s like my body reacts as though it’s happening and I feel the emotions it would stir up…… these images happen so quickly and without actual intent to think about them. They’re usually very brief but very detailed and sickeningly graphic. I don’t feel in control of my own mind anymore. What’s wrong with me?

 

I feel so trapped and lost because nobody will help me. Did CMHT reject my referral because they think I have BPD, therefore they’re discriminating against me?? That’s not fair on me to not even be able to see someone to be told what’s wrong with me and what I can do about it. They should at least signpost you to people who can help you… and no, not the IAPT service…. they don’t want to know either.

 

There seems to be this atmosphere of ‘You have to help yourself’ around mental health services nowadays. Whilst I acknowledge that is true, some people need help to be able to help themselves. I will be blogging about this separately, but being told by mental health professionals, ‘You’ve done DBT in the past, just look at your folder and use your skills’ is fucking stupid and neglectful! Don’t you think if it was that easy I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place?! I need human interaction, support and someone who can offer me hope…. I need someone to figure out everything that’s wrong for me, and once that’s established to perhaps review my medication situation…. not to just tell my doctor that ‘medication won’t help in the long-term’….. okay Sherlock….. so what will?? Because you sure don’t seem to want to help either? So what’s your magical solution for me?? The thing that sickens me is that they would’ve all sat around discussing me and they either thought ‘Oh no, not her again….’ or they simply based the decision on my past…. how the fuck is that meant to help??? I’m not the same as I was in the past. I cut my arms so badly that I bruise my tendons for over a month…… I punch walls so much I have deformed my knuckles……. I pull my hair out so much I leave bald spots….. I feel suicidal most days…… I have no support network anymore…… I have faced so much loss since before…… everything is different but these morons want to base it on the fact that they once offered me the most intensive help they could … there’s nothing more they can do for me… wash their hands of me. Fuck them. And fuck the whole fucking world at this point.  So let’s say I received no support for twenty years, then had a serious relapse…. would CMHT turn me down saying I did DBT once twenty years ago…. ‘that should be more than enough – help yourself’. Warning guys, it seems once you do DBT you’ve signed a contract saying you’ll never seek mental health support again. That’s what it feels like. It’s like they got me to do it, and secretly it meant they could then wash their hands of me. Then once I was discharged there’d be no way back in….. oh, unless I had a serious problem within six months, therefore they’d fast-track me back in………. sorry that I managed to go several years without crawling back to you fuckers. Believe it or not I actually liked not having to report to someone every week or two. I liked the freedom from mental health services. I’m not choosing it as a hobby. I chose it as a fucking lifeline. It took me months to finally decide to be referred. I’ve been through hell this year. And then this.

 

To not even assess me….. you know what, if they were to change their minds now I’m not sure I could attend, as I feel like an utter fucking burden to the services now…. just what someone like me doesn’t need. I feel like a burden to IAPT, a burden to CMHT, a burden to my best friend. ARE YOU ALL TRYING TO FUCKING KILL ME???! All these people who should be there to support you in your hour of need and I’m treated like I’m nothing. Like if I did kill myself what would it even matter? Mental health services should be there to make people feel better, but my experience has been the opposite. At my most fragile times I’ve been made to feel like shit for not being well again. DO YOU THINK I WANT TO BE ILL AGAIN??? This is the most detached from reality I’ve felt in my life. I’m scared. Scared of the world, scared of people and scared of myself. And each rejection and abandonment deepens the wound and makes it that much harder to repair me. Why couldn’t anyone help before I reached utter despair?

 

I’m upset now, so better stop writing. Sorry if there’s typos etc. – was just ranting, can’t be bothered to check right now.

 

 

Understanding Suicide.

 

 

I had wanted to get this post finished and published on Monday, as it was World Suicide Prevention Day… but in a way I’m glad I failed to meet that deadline, as why should there be just one day to ‘prevent suicide’ or to talk about suicide? Awareness days are all well and good, but I’d prefer it if we were more open all the time, about our struggles. We can help each other feel less alone, and perhaps give each other hope. We don’t need one day to do that. People weren’t just considering suicide or acting on those thoughts on Monday… every day people are contemplating ending it all. Right now people are paying serious thought to their place in existence… they need us to keep the conversation going today, tomorrow and every tomorrow after it. If people only care for one day, and can’t keep going day after day, how can we expect people to keep living day after day, when they’re in such turmoil and distress? We cannot expect people to keep going if the support and understanding doesn’t also keep going. So here’s what I wanted to say about suicide…. it’s rather long, as I don’t speak about it often… goes without saying, be careful reading it, due to the subject matter……

 

……………

 

I don’t have all the facts and figures on suicide, like many others put out there on World Suicide Prevention Day. All I have is an insight into the thoughts and feelings that would lead someone to feel that desperate as to choose to end their life. Until now I have never attempted to take my own life. I have considered it – sometimes just in passing as I walk past something that could be ‘a means’… sometimes more thought out… actually putting myself in the situation where I could make that decision. 6th December last year was the first time I really couldn’t see me being able to carry on, and it was the first time I phoned the Samaritans. I didn’t know what to expect but there was a gentle, caring sounding woman on the other end of the phone, who helped me through that desperate night. And the next day I shared with my family how bad things were. That was a low point in my life and I really couldn’t bear living anymore. There have been these moments I’ve seriously considered suicide. But until now at least, I have chosen the endless painful torment that is life.

 

But in more recent times my mind has become so much darker and more desperate, that it has sought comfort in the notion of death. Suicide plagues my thoughts. Every day lately I consider the way I could do it. I think what would be the quickest way… the most certain way… the least distressing or inconvenient for other people. You see, I’m still at that point where I can think of the people who would find me. When you reach that point where you choose death, there really is no room left for anything else. The mind and soul have been swamped by darkness and decayed hope. I’ve never been there, but I have heard from people who have, and I know enough to know that if I don’t get help soon, I will be faced with that reality myself. I’m close enough to it, to know that it takes over the mind to the point that not much else can fit in.

 

I know, because although I am thinking about the people who would have to witness it or find me, and I wouldn’t want to traumatise them, I also know that the pain I’m enduring is too strong and too much to bear, and in the end that will trump everything else. There will come a time when I put myself first and everything else will go out the window.

 

People think of suicide as a selfish act. I want to say a couple of things on this – yes…. I can understand the argument that it is selfish, and if that is the case then I can also understand why people still make that choice. I myself have been staying alive for my family now for the last few years. They are the only thing keeping me going right now. I am putting their feelings ahead of my own need to be free of this pain. I have had selfish people destroy my life and then claim I was selfish for being upset about it. All my life my needs and my wishes have come second (not to family though). So much so that I think of myself as ‘selfish’ whenever I take some time for myself and focus on self-care, or when I’m not there for my friends or family. When your self-worth is that low because you’ve had to stuff your needs down all your life, and then when it all becomes too much to bear inside, and you choose to put your needs first and end your suffering, people call you ‘selfish’… that is wrong. You have no idea what that person has gone through, and how very much the opposite to selfish they have been, to  have held on so long, for you. I understand that people will always view suicide as ‘selfish’. In some ways I could even agree that it is. That is not to say people are bad for opting for it. It is not to say they shouldn’t be allowed to make that choice for themselves. And it’s not to say it is EVER done with a selfish intent. Which brings me to my second point…

 

Suicide, whilst perceived by others as ‘selfish’ is often viewed by the person themselves as a selfless act. Many people who reach such a crisis point as to want to end their own lives, very often feel like a burden to those around them. They feel like a terrible person… a nuisance. Some feel invisible and don’t think anyone would notice or care if they died. But some actively think that others will be better off without them. It might not make sense to a calm, positive and rational mind – you might say ‘there is ALWAYS someone who cares about you’… but you don’t know other people’s circumstances. You may think that someone has a loving family, a network of friends, a happy relationship… and those people themselves may think that they communicate their love, care, appreciation and support – but it doesn’t mean it is being received by the person in crisis.

 

For instance, in the last few months I’ve had to cope basically on my own. None of my friends would know that the other friends weren’t there for me either, and that I’ve had to cope alone. I sometimes get messages saying ‘You know I’m here for you’… as if it’s a given. But sometimes when in crisis, everything goes out the window. If people think ‘Well they know how I feel about them… they know I care… it goes without saying’ and therefore don’t communicate it to us, we feel as though we’re totally alone and uncared for. Just telling each other what we mean to one another may be the thing that saves someone from suicide. You can’t expect people to just know how you feel about them.

 

Even if people DO feel loved and appreciated, sometimes it’s still not enough to save someone from the demons in their mind. Sometimes love isn’t enough. To live with a constant enemy inside you, ripping your soul apart from the inside, every single day, it’s exhausting, and eventually everyone reaches their limit. If they don’t have the right support, which is quite common nowadays in this country, and there’s nowhere to turn, some will choose to take matters into their own hands. It doesn’t mean they don’t love you. I think that’s what many people feel when a loved one ‘chooses death over’ them. Unless you know the endless torment of mental illness, you’ll never know how someone could choose to end it. It is not personal. It’s not about you. It’s something deeper and more complex than you could imagine…. an inner demon that’s taken control of the wheel. Someone could have every good reason to live and still want to die, because they are haunted by this sickness of the mind that robs them of all light and hope.

 

And one last point on the idea of ‘selfishness’ and suicide. I cannot count how many times I have seen comments on local news stories, where roads have been closed due to ‘an incident’, as in someone contemplating suicide… and these comments are always the same…. of ‘inconvenience’  … it’s the same with trains, when someone has ended their life on the tracks, and people are blurting it straight out about how selfish it was, and how they’re going to be late for XYZ, or they’ll miss the football, or whatever… my message to those sorts of people is this… I understand your frustration. Perhaps XYZ was important to you. Perhaps you frequently encounter this problem and you’ve had enough of it. But no matter what your annoyance is, be thankful that you get to go home to your loved ones. Be thankful that you have just had enough of being held up by people on the tracks. Those people on the tracks had enough of life, and ended it. They won’t be returning home to their loved ones… those loved ones will be grieving tonight, and for the rest of their lives. Be grateful that you don’t understand the desperation and torment that leads someone to end their life.

 

It shocks me when I see those sorts of comments or hear them from people. You always hear the ‘Why don’t they just go off somewhere private and do it quietly?’ thing, which shows the utter heartlessness of people, and makes me question the goodness of humanity. But I understand these are people never touched by suicide or mental illness. They would be horrified to learn it was a friend or family member who ‘inconvenienced’ them by ending their life. But because it’s a stranger they think it’s okay to be callous about their life. Some people will go off and die quietly, as you wish them to, others will see an opportunity and take any means possible to be gone. I know you won’t like this, but some people actually want to be saved. They want to be stopped. They feel suicidal but they really don’t want to die, and they’re scared that it will happen.

 

I have had times when I’d fantasise about a particular way of doing it, and a great part of that fantasy was people trying to stop me and help me. I wanted to know my life was worth saving. I wanted to get the help I need. It’s not about getting attention. It’s reaching a crisis point and not knowing where to turn or what to do. It’s needing more help than is available to you. It’s needing to feel you’re worth saving. Being protected and rescued. To have someone hear and see your pain, and take it seriously and save you from yourself.

 

Suicide is a tragedy. And people sit at home on their computer, or on their phone, writing about the inconvenience of ‘jumpers’. How it disrupts their lives. No humanity. No compassion. Just pure selfishness. That is the true face of ‘selfish’. Not the person in such distress they cannot live anymore, but the people who do not know that pain and suffering and whinge about being late. Selfishness is people making someone feel so bad about themselves or so alone, that they no longer want to live in this world and see suicide as their only option. And people calling it the ‘easy way out’ … ‘the coward’s way out’… when they don’t know what they’re talking about. There is nothing ‘easy’ about choosing to take your own life. It takes a lot of ‘resilience’ and being worn down by life to reach that point. It takes a heck of a lot of inner conflict, backwards and forwards between just wanting peace, but not wanting to hurt anyone else. Nobody makes that choice easily. And even people who don’t want to live life anymore will feel scared of dying.

 

I don’t promote suicide. I simply say that I understand it and I am against people attacking this highly taboo subject, forcing more people into silent suffering. I want people to know that I understand the agony that leads to those thoughts and those places, because I’ve been at least three quarters of the way there, and that’s enough to know the hell you’d be in, to make that final decision. It’s a decision I wish people didn’t make. I wish they didn’t have to make it. I wish that life could be kinder to those people and they could defeat their demons, in life. I want people to hold on and fight against this illness that’s telling them to leave this life. Too many good souls are lost because of suicide… because of the conditions that lead to suicide…

 

Suicide is very often the final symptom of a mental illness. Just as death is the final symptom of a terminal cancer. I know you might argue that point, saying that cancer robs a person of their life, whereas suicide is a person throwing their life away. But the reality is that those who reach that point of suicide most likely feel their illness has robbed them of their life. Suicidal thoughts and self-harm can be symptoms of many mental illnesses. I know matters of the mind are harder to understand than physical illnesses, but they’re no different. Mental illnesses have symptoms, which are not the fault of the one suffering them. We would trade lives with someone in a heartbeat, if it meant having hope and a life worth living. I would give anything to not be experiencing sickening paranoia, isolation, abandonment, self-destructive urges, self-harm, splitting on people and the world, daily suicidal thoughts, hopelessness and flashbacks to every painful thing that’s ever happened. I would love to trust people. I would love my mind to be quiet for once. It is so jam-packed with the noises of memories, worries, made-up scenarios, paranoid thoughts, negative self-narrative, and the silent scream for me to just end it all. I have no room in my head for anything else. It’s already overcrowded. I want a bit of peace and quiet. Nobody chooses their symptoms, or their illness.

 

I take medication. I am still waiting to hear from the mental health services, just for the initial assessment! My world has shut down around me. I am isolated. Nobody knows the depth of my suffering. Suicidal feelings are hard for me to share with others – it’s pretty much the only symptom I don’t talk about in real life with people, for fear of their reactions. I don’t want to upset anyone, or alarm them. But I know I’m going to have to find the courage to discuss it at some point soon, and I just hope I have a calm, validating reaction when I do finally speak up. Silence around suicide is a big risk factor. A lot of the time people have no idea someone feels like ending their life, until they’re gone. They don’t see the warning signs. The signs are there. The world is just too busy and people are caught up in their own lives to notice them…

 

Signs of suicidality include:

 

• Talking about / being preoccupied with death and suicide.
• Increased self-harming behaviour.
• Withdrawing / isolating.
• Feeling trapped or hopeless.
• Giving away possessions.
• Being unable to concentrate / feeling restless.
• Agitation / irritation.
• Changes in personality / mood.
• A calm / positive burst after continuous deep depression – this is often as the person is resolved to ending things… it brings them peace to know an end is near.
• Engaging more in risky behaviours.
• Changes in sleeping / eating habits.
• Talk of feeling like a burden.
• Negative view of self / life / the world.
• Saying goodbye to people / making confessions.

 

I think the biggest signs for people ought to be that the person talks and writes about death and suicide more. I think there’s this myth that if it’s being talked about it’s not going to happen. This is wrong. I have talked about ending it for the last eight months or so. Admittedly I haven’t done anything yet. But what concerns me is the silence on the other end. People could see me talking about wanting to die, and had nothing to say to me. My take on that is that they don’t honestly believe I will do something. But me talking about it  was me reaching out for help, so that I wouldn’t do it. The trouble is eventually you stop talking about it. You go silent. And then if you were to follow it through, those same people who heard you talk about it for months would bleat out the same line – ‘Why didn’t she say anything?’ … ‘I had no idea she felt that bad’. The warning signs are there. And talking about suicidal feelings has to be one of the most blindingly obvious signs that someone is considering ending their life. Yet it’s often ignored as a ‘threat’ or ‘attention-seeking’. People talking about suicide is your chance to save them from it. So please don’t ignore someone as ‘crying wolf’ if they say they don’t want to live anymore. One day you’ll regret ignoring this sign.

 

Personally, my self-harm has got worse. I have withdrawn from everyone and I’m isolating myself. I feel trapped and worthless… completely hopeless. I don’t see a future for me. My concentration isn’t that great right now. It’s taken me a long time to write this post. I wanted it posted yesterday as well, but I had awful anxiety yesterday which only felt worse when writing this. I always feel like a burden. There’s not much good left that I see in me, life or the world and the people in it. And I am in the process of writing / saying things for people to know when I’m not here anymore. I’ve set it as my goal to stay alive long enough to document certain things, and to tell people the truth about my feelings and events. In the last few months I actually wrote ‘a note’. It didn’t become anything. I don’t know where it’s gone or what I said in it. But I’ve definitely gone to some extremely dark places this year. Right now I’m advised to take it minute by minute, so that’s what I intend to do. Everything feels broken and ruined beyond repair. But I have to just limp on and not worry about the big picture at the moment. I have to focus on me and getting through each minute. But I do so, with very heavy and intrusive thoughts of suicide.

 

But you wouldn’t think it to look at me. If you saw me I would be trying my hardest to wear a smile, even if that smile doesn’t touch my eyes I’ll be trying my hardest to force it to.

 

The whole thing with mental illness and suicide, is you never know when you’re standing next to someone or talking to someone, who wishes they were dead, or who has plans this evening to end their life. Suicide is a silent killer, often known about too late. We need to be able to speak out about how we’re feeling, and we need to have it taken seriously. If we’re speaking out about wanting to end our own lives, we’re scared, and we want to feel safe, loved and supported. It’s not easy to talk about suicide, so if we do it, please listen.

 

 

Whenever I used to be asked about suicidal thoughts by mental health professionals, I would say that I thought about it, but would never do anything about it. This was because I was afraid of their reaction. I was afraid of the doors it might open (or close). I was worried it would result in lectures, or even abandonment. The truth is I never felt completely safe from the possibility of actually doing something. And as time has gone on I have become less certain of what I’m capable of. After self-harming at therapy last year, which is something I never thought would’ve happened – I never thought I’d have been caught self-harming – I now don’t know what the limits are for me. I can’t honestly say that I wouldn’t do something. Would I admit this to a mental health professional? I don’t really know. Because I have a fear of the unknown. And I don’t know what lies beyond honesty about suicidal intent.

 

I feel certain at this point that it’s the direction my life is heading in. I see no future. I see no light or hope.

 

But let me clear something else up. I don’t want to die. I want to not want to die. I want a reason to live. I want a life. I want that life to bring me happiness, make me feel loved and important. I want people to treat me well. I want to matter. I want life to give me a break. I want to be able to cope with the world. I want more joy and love. I want to forget my past and dream of a future, that isn’t suicide. I don’t want to end my life. I want to end my pain.

 

This is the thing about suicide. Most people just want the pain to stop. They want the inner turmoil to mute. They want to heal. They want to kill the demon they carry with them everywhere they go. They want to be free of what weighs them down. This is how I feel. If life was different… better… I’d want to be a part of it. But at this point in time, the pull of ‘peace’ is greater than the pull of ‘life’. I don’t want to die. I want life to be better. I want to erase my memories. I want to not live in emotional pain every day. But when you are at this point, you feel there is nothing you can do to change the way your life is. You can’t make people treat you the way you wish they did. You can’t turn back time. You can’t forget everything you’ve been through. You can’t create your own breaks in life. You can’t create joy and love by yourself. You can’t make yourself matter to other people. You feel powerless. You can’t change your circumstances. But you can make a choice as to whether to live with those circumstances. And unfortunately that is why many people choose suicide. They see no other option.

 

People speak of the fear of being sectioned, for admitting suicidal ideation.  I would fear this too, having never been sectioned. In some ways a part of me would welcome it. A great part of me right now wants to be kept safe from myself. But the fear of the unknown doesn’t give me that choice. So I have to keep pushing on, in the hope that my regard for my family’s feelings will overpower the overpowering wish to make everything stop. But nothing feels certain anymore. It’s no longer a given that I won’t do anything. And that scares me. This year has seen the worst decline in my mental health I’ve ever known. I’m no longer who I once was. The self-destructive part of me is running the show now, and I’m afraid of my own mind.

 

People don’t just wake up one morning and think ‘Hey, I’ll kill myself’ for no reason. It happens slowly… days, weeks, months, years of endless sadness, pain and depression… until one day it feels like the only option left.

 

Please don’t be so quick to judge suffering you couldn’t understand. There’s so much more going on underneath a person than you will ever know. Try to understand what someone has been through, before thinking of them as selfish or weak. Be there for them. Help them want to live again. Push for support for them. Don’t give up on them, as they’ve given up on themselves. And listen to them – allow them to talk to you about their suicidal feelings. Remain calm and caring. Validate how they feel and why they feel that way, but show your commitment to helping them continue with life. One suicide is one too many. It’s important we talk about our feelings. It’s more important that others listen.

 

If you’re feeling suicidal or struggling with your mental health then please try and seek help – I know it’s hard to come by now, but don’t suffer in silence. And give the Samaritans a call (or your national suicide helpline)… it might not fix everything, as the pain you feel cannot be cured overnight. But I hope they can give you the encouragement to see another day.

 

We’re in this together. You’re not alone in feeling the way you do. I understand how you feel. I’m going to keep trying, one minute at a time, and I hope that if I can do it, you can find the will to do it too. I know it’s hell and pure darkness, but all we can do is survive and pray the light will return in time. And I believe it will. I have to.

 

Take care of yourselves.

xxxx

Why I Died.

This is a difficult month for me, because of reminders of the past. I know people would just say not to think about it. But it’s not as simple as that. Life traumatises me. Things that happened six years ago still haunt me. I’ve never been given the opportunity to work through these issues with therapy or the like. The last therapy course I did made a point that they don’t look at the past, they look at the now… CBT and mindfulness don’t cater for those who have unresolved pain and trauma. I don’t know what help there is out there, and if any of it could help me at this point. I feel like a lost cause now anyway.

 

It would just be nice to have my pain recognised, understood, validated and to be told how I can let it out. I don’t want to be told to just ‘move on’, ‘let it go’ and ‘forget it’. To be told those things is to misunderstand me and misunderstand my mental illness.

 

Six years ago I lost everything. My life has never been the same since. I was betrayed by one of my closest friends, hurt by another, hurt by a man I had feelings for, a friend passed away, I had a bit of a breakdown whilst I was abroad, lost another close friend – all of this happened in the space of a couple of months. I lost my group of friends. My social life became zero. My confidence and self-esteem plummeted. I could no longer trust anyone. I had no hope. I was destroyed.

 

Then the next year life changed. My goddaughter was born. Wonderful. It allowed me to be a loving, fun version of me. But life changed so dramatically from how it was only a year before. It was a good change, but whilst everyone was busy moving on with their lives – my friends were all getting married, having children, growing up…. I hadn’t attained the sort of life they did. I stayed stuck in the year 2012, and everyone else’s lives happened around me. I was suddenly the only single one left. And I was not left in a good place. I don’t think they realise that yes, their lives have also changed… but they have their lives. They have their partners, they have their families. All I had was them. Their friendship with me. I was stripped of everything else in 2012. They were all I had left. My godchildren became my focus. But at the end of the day they’re not my life. They’re my friend’s life. Her life has changed, but she has a life.

 

When left alone I have no life. Nobody understands this. My life changed so drastically overnight. From a sense of belonging with friends, and support, care-free fun and socialising…. to losing it all….. to seeing everyone else settling down…. to being my fun self with the kids….. to seeing less and less of them, and of my friend … to having nothing left.

 

I’ve accepted it’s over. I’ve accepted I’ve been abandoned. I don’t even blame anyone anymore. I saw it coming years ago. I knew eventually I’d be left on my own. I’d lose relevance. I’d drop down the priority list. What do I have to offer anymore? I’m single, childless and severely depressed and broken. Who would want anything to do with me? It’s okay. I’ve made my peace with being totally alone. I’ve been feeling increasingly alone for the last couple of years. Yeah I’m upset, but best not to let it in too much. Dwelling on it would kill me. And as that’s starting to appear on the horizon now I shouldn’t really hasten it.

 

All this change in my life… and loss… losing my friend who passed away – we weren’t the closest of friends, but she was a positive influence in my life… I still miss her. Losing the guy I had feelings for – he was a jerk as it turned out and had been playing me, but it still hurt. Losing two of my best girl friends because they hurt and betrayed me. Losing another guy – a friend of mine who I thought I’d settle down with & the way he left things between us. Losing the young care-free social life and replacing it with babies (which was good – but was ‘growing up’ … only problem is I wasn’t ready & lost a social life that could help me find my own happiness). Losing my mental health and physical health. Losing my granddad… my first loss… so also losing that sense of security and safety, and that belief I’d never lose anyone. Losing my extended family because they attacked my family the day before the funeral. Losing my confidence to speak out about things, as I kept getting attacked for my views, or nobody really cared what I had to say. Losing most of my friends – not knowing why. Losing my best friend. Losing the support group from therapy, and the therapist I had feelings for. Losing the ability to talk to people anymore. Losing everything. Losing the will to live.

 

Life is loss.

 

I have lost so much over the last six years, and nobody gets that. Nobody understands how that feels, to lose things, lose people and be abandoned by everyone. To have your life changed so much. From finally having friends and building your confidence up…. to utter despair and isolation…. but having your family in tact. Having your godchildren and one friend at least. To a broken family, real grief, deteriorating mental health and nobody there for you at all through it, and losing the godchildren and friend… watching it fade away. I now have nothing left besides the closest members of my family. The world is also different from a few years ago. It’s all going to hell.

 

A part of me is quite chilled out about it though. The world is going loopy just at the right time, when I’ve lost everything. Not much left to stick around for.

 

I book to go and see things by myself again now, like I used to do before I had friends. I’m going to a show next year alone, and the cinema this week. No I don’t like going on my own particularly, but I don’t have a choice. I have two events I’m going to in the next six months where I booked two tickets – I now have nobody to ask to tag along. So will be either going with family, on my own or selling the tickets and not going.

 

Nobody understands this level of isolation I feel. I don’t have anyone to talk to about anything. That’s why I make videos and write blogs. This month is hard for many reasons – some are as far away as six years ago… some are more recent, a year ago and therapy. I can’t talk to anyone about it anymore. They all want me to just move on already and I’m sick of it. Don’t you think if I could move on I would’ve done by now. I’m not choosing this!! I tried opening up to the only person I have left who I could talk to, about how I’m struggling at the moment, and they had the same response – ‘Are you still thinking about that? How can you move on?’ … I clammed straight up and resolved never to open up about my feelings to anyone again. And I haven’t since.

 

So I truly do suffer in silence now. Yes I write. But writing doesn’t let out the internal scream in me. I can’t vocalise my feelings. That’s why I made so many video journals lately, to talk my feelings through. But I can’t have human interaction and compassion from anyone, because nobody gets it. Nobody gives me the time and care I need. Nobody asks how I am, actually wanting to know the answer and help me.

 

So yes, I am really struggling at the moment with flashbacks, distressing emotions, so much pain and turmoil, and deep loneliness and sadness. But I will never breathe a word of it to anyone in my life. I’ve closed up now. I feel everyone is sick of me still being caught up in my past and not being happy. It pushes me closer to the edge. I wonder why I bother going on if I’m such a failure that I get on everyone’s nerves. If they’ve all given up on me and think I need to ‘just let things go’ what hope is there? It’s one of the most distressing things to hear when you’re in pain because of the past…. to just let things go and to live in the here and now. Believe me I want to do that. Unfortunately for me though the here and now fucking sucks. Unless you’ve been through what I have keep your mouth shut.

 

Some people I know really don’t know how lucky they are. I wish I could hand them my pain, my memories and my mental illness, just so they could understand how impossible it feels to live my life how it is right now… alone. Abandoned. They wouldn’t last a week. Probably not even a day. And it’s what I have to endure every day of my life. And I know some of them would compare their problems with mine. They’d tell me their life isn’t that great, blah blah blah… stop trying to relate to me. You don’t understand isolation and having NOTHING. You have a partner. You have children. You have a social life. You have a job. You have a home. You have purpose. You have mental health! You cannot understand how I feel. You can’t understand how it felt to be starting to live your life finally, and to just as quickly lose everything. To have it change you as a person. And to lose even more because of that change, and because of your mental health. To lose everything you had left. Nobody could understand that. Nobody DOES understand it, clearly, as they’d be here for me if they did.

 

I’m just so sick of existing in a world where people don’t want to know me, because of my mental illness. I’m trapped. I can’t end my life because of my family. So I have to exist. But my depression and negativity offends other people and pushes them all away. So I have to exist in constant emotional pain and isolation. It’s enough to make you want to end your life. But like I said, I can’t, because of my family. I AM TRAPPED. And this is hell. And I don’t know what to do anymore.

 

I’m not who I once was. And there’s no way I can ever get that back. With every loss, a part of me dies. The best part of me died six years ago this month. But so much more … anything I had left died in the last year.

 

I need help.

 

I need someone to help me. PLEASE. I don’t know what to do anymore. Life is so dark right now. Even with support I wouldn’t know how to get through this. But I am alone. I don’t think I can do it.

 

 

Expectations, BPD & The Hijacker.

 

Do I expect too much? Am I too demanding? It’s a serious question. Everywhere I turn I’m met with people saying not to expect too much from others… that they all have their own lives and issues to contend with…. and that people aren’t always going to react how I want them to. Does this mean I should stop asking them to? Do I need to stop reaching out for help? Do I need to stop expecting people to care?

 

Because if the answer is yes, then that is asking me to return to ‘doormat’ status. It’s telling me that I’m unimportant. If you’re telling me that other people don’t expect care and concern from others, then I don’t believe you. Or perhaps they don’t expect it…. but they get it nonetheless.

 

Whenever I hear these sentiments I end up feeling like I’m ‘attention-seeking’ or that they think I am. And one of the things I hate about that is that even if I was after ‘attention’ does that mean I don’t deserve it? People seem to have this aversion to what they deem to be ‘attention-seeking’. They think those asking for attention (i.e. care) should be punished by denying them what they need. They should be taught not to ask for attention, or to ask for it in a more ‘acceptable’ way. Please tell me what the right way to say ‘I need help’ is…..? How do ‘normal’ people get the support and care they need, that I’m clearly not doing right? I want to know. Because others seem to get support and care, yet I’ve lived my life almost having to beg for it at times – my worst times. And still my pleas are ignored.

 

At which point people would say that people have their own lives and concerns – as though I’m thick, self-centred or totally unaware of other people. I’m not being self-centred by asking for help, and if you think I am then off you trot, as you are detrimental to my mental health. You have no clue how many times I DON’T reach out for help. How much I tolerate on my own. So when I reach the point where I verbalise things on Twitter or Facebook, that’s after I’ve exhausted all other possibilities. Sure I write my feelings out on my blog, but I don’t expect everyone to read it and to react. That’s not what it’s for. Of course if it will help them understand my state of mind, then great. But it’s an outlet. When I am honest on social media that I’m struggling, it’s saying I need help. I’m sorry if I do that too often. I’ll try not to do it at all.

 

But I see other people reaching out for support, and being granted that support wholeheartedly … yet when I need support it’s given either reluctantly or with the caveat that I shouldn’t expect too much from others, or I can’t always have what I want. What is that about? Do people think I’m thick? Clearly they do. I’ll tell you – my ‘expectations’ of others, comes from what I witness. I’m not thinking I deserve special treatment..… I’m thinking I deserve the same treatment that they give to others!! Is it because I’ve been too open and honest about BPD? Do people think they ‘know me’ now because of that? Do they think it makes me an attention-seeker who should be ignored? Do they think it makes me ‘manipulative’? Does it make them see me differently? Or perhaps it’s just a continuation of my lot in life….. I’m always below everyone else.

 

All throughout my adult life in particular I’ve been littered with comments that made me feel as though I’m too demanding. Generally speaking though I’m pretty laid-back. I’m less demanding than a lot of women out there. However, when I’m in a dark place, I’m upset or someone hurts me, I am a little more what you like to call ‘demanding’. I expect more. I expect more effort.

 

The point is that whenever I’ve had to practically BEG for this ‘attention’ – love, care, respect etc., I’m not actually asking for miracles. I’m not asking for the world. I’m asking for the basic respect, love and care that every human being needs, and seems to get. What is it about me that makes people think I don’t deserve what everyone else gets? It makes me feel like less of a person. It feeds the part of me that just feels like a nuisance to others, who should do them all a favour and die. I’m tired of fighting to be acknowledged. I’m sick of battling to matter, to anyone. I’m fed up with having to ask for what I need, when it’s given willingly to other people. It gives me this feeling of ‘I’m terribly sorry to bother you with my crippling pain and sadness, but could you just give me one little sign that I matter to you please? I know that’s asking too much, to take time out of your day to say “I hope you’re okay”…. I won’t bother you again for another six months after that…. thanks for taking the time out of your life to acknowledge I exist. You’re the best’. That’s how it feels being me. It’s like that thing of ‘Children should be seen and not heard’…. except that I should be neither seen nor heard.

 

Most of the time I just stay out of everyone’s way. I let them have it their way. I let them forget I exist. I bottle my feelings up and cope with them on my own, in my own way. But every now and then I start to resent that I’m made to live this way. I start to get annoyed that they’re happier when I don’t exist. I get pissed off that they make me feel so worthless for asking for help… and it explodes in a blog, or in a tweet, a post, whatever….. I then get kicked down for speaking out about my resentment. I get reminded I’m asking too much of people. And the cycle continues… I go back into hiding… don’t bother people. Don’t reach out for help….. give the people what they want….. ‘Oh, it’s getting too much for me again…. why is nobody even concerned if I live or die?’ BOOM. And shot down again.

 

The last time this happened I said to myself that from now on I will say what I want, and to hell with what anyone thinks of it. But I don’t really work like that. So I’m going to go back into my shell, and try not to explode again. I just have to learn that I’m irrelevant. I’m unimportant. I’m nothing. And anytime my ‘ego’ tries to speak up for itself and tell me that actually I DO matter, and it’s wrong of people to make me feel like I don’t, I need to put it in its place. I have to keep reminding myself I’m only here to be used and abused. I’m here to be taken for granted and taken advantage of. I’m here for no other reason than to wait to not be here anymore. I’m even breaking the rules by writing this blog. It’s ‘attention-seeking’. So please show me no attention for it. I don’t deserve it.

 

I just feel sad, as life has changed so much. Ever since my granddad passed away, and I had the issues at therapy, I’ve gone downhill. I’ve never been this unwell. I don’t know how to pull myself out of it. I know I have to do it alone. I remember a time I had depression and had to pull myself out of it. I know how it works with depression. But I’ve never truly experienced the full force of BPD symptoms like this. And people are less understanding and forgiving of such symptoms. They understand depression. They don’t understand the behaviours caused by BPD. They think I’m choosing them. They think I’m being a bitch. They don’t understand the raging fire inside… the battleground…. the carnage I see when I close my eyes. They don’t understand how sick of the rollercoaster I am.  How sick I am of feeling ‘okay’ more or less, to then being paranoid, thinking everyone hates me, I can’t trust anyone, I have no friends… within days – hours even. And how long it takes to recover each time my mind takes me to that place. I’m sick of it meaning I need people to make more effort to prove I’m not as worthless as I’m led to believe. Because that makes me ‘too demanding’, which reminds me of how utterly worthless I am. And I then hate myself for daring to think I matter at all. I seriously hate myself.

 

I am so sick of splitting on friends, that I purposefully distance myself from them, because they don’t deserve that. It’s better I’m lonely than splitting on them every other week. It’s not something I choose to do. But I can choose to isolate myself, to spare them my ‘mood swings’. It’s better that I AM alone, than to tell them I FEEL alone, even with their presence.

 

 

 

I can’t help how I feel. It’s part of the illness I’m struggling with at the moment. I wish people would understand that. It’s a terrifying place to be. I don’t feel in control of my own mind anymore. Sometimes I even lose control of my body during my ‘episodes’. It’s like I’ve been hijacked by some bastard intent on killing me… but ruining my life first. And I’m trapped with him, because as much as I’d love to just take a pill, close my eyes and leave this world and all this torture, I can’t. That bastard shares a space with my conscience, and the two don’t get along very well. Every time he tells me to end it, my conscience fights back… but eventually everyone gets worn down. Its resolve won’t be infinite. I feel as though that hijacking bastard is going to win. He’s already taken over so much of me. He’s driven me down a path I can’t return from on my own.

 

Months ago I witnessed it happening. In those days I was making videos and blogs asking for help, it was because he had taken the wheel, taken me hostage and was driving me away from my friends. I needed them to get my SOS and pull him out of the driver’s seat. I knew he’d lead me somewhere bad. And he did. My SOS back then was ignored. Now, months later, I’m out of the vehicle – he’s still with me, with a gun to my head, but I’m at a crossroads, assessing which way I could run to get away from him. It’s a barren desert… nothing in any direction. I’m lost. I’ve nowhere safe to hide. I don’t know how to get back to where I was when that bastard got hold of me…. which direction do I go in? And there’s nobody in sight who can show me the way…  we drove away from them three months ago… we’re miles away now. I feel stranded and isolated. And I’m trapped with this madman as my only company. So even when people talk to me now, it feels as though it’s a distant whisper, or a phone call. So when anyone tries to help me, they’re speaking into the phone trying to direct me by saying ‘Come this way!’ … it means nothing when you can’t even see where they are. I need someone to drive and find me, take my hand and lead me back home. But if they didn’t care enough to stop the hijacker in the first place, they’re hardly going to go to that amount of effort to find me and bring me back.

 

I don’t feel like the same person anymore. It’s a terrifying, desperate, lonely place to be. To feel so utterly detached from everything… everyone. To see no light. To feel like you’re suspended in darkness. To not know who you are anymore. To not like who you are anymore. But to feel out of control. Powerless. I feel as though I’ve lost everything. I feel as though nobody likes me anymore. I feel closed off. I don’t know how to be me anymore… not with these people. When I close my eyes I see a world flattened, burning, bloodied bodies, a lonely rowing boat – as though I finally drifted back to the shore and everything’s changed… destroyed. This is how I see the world now. And the safe haven I wish I could run to, I can’t. It’s not mine to run to. I just have to stand alone in this empty, broken world, grieving for all that’s been lost.

 

I feel detached from kind sentiments. People can say lovely things to me, and they can’t be about me. It doesn’t match with who I’ve become. It’s like they’re paying tribute to some deceased woman they used to know. I’m not her anymore. I don’t know how to relate to people anymore. I’ve been lacking proper human connection for a long time. And there’s a lot of water under the bridge now. Even when I’m in touch with people, things can plod along for a short time, but when I’m left alone things change…. because I’m never really alone now. That damn hijacker’s there beside me feeding me doubts, paranoia, misery and trying to drive me further away. This is BPD to me. A hijacker. I’ve never thought of it as a separate entity, I’ve always just seen it as a part of me. I still think of it as me – I don’t see a person. I don’t hear a person. It’s something that resides in me. But I thought it might help explain it to others, if I described it as another being that’s taken me prisoner…..because that’s what it FEELS like to me. I’m a hostage to this part of me. Would anyone ever pay the ransom to get me back…?

 

I ask for too much from people by asking that they care… that they talk to me…. that they acknowledge my existence or my pain… that they respect me… that they speak up in order to save my life. I’m sorry. You try living with a hijacker in your mind day in day out. You’d call out for help too. My calls fell on deaf ears for such a long time. I’ve come so far and feel so lost that there’s no point in calling for help anymore. Nobody can save me now. I will burn and decay out in this desert, and one day when they find my bones they will ask, ‘Why didn’t she ask for help?’ as they all do when it’s too late. They miss the signs. They say the wrong things. They tell me to expect nothing, as if my life is dispensable. Only when I’m gone will they change and say I deserved more. Life’s funny like that… or rather death is…. it gives you a new perspective. I learned that recently.

 

It’s just me and the hijacker and our journey to God knows where now. I feel very guilty and sorry to those who try to help. To those who care. To those who are now trying. I don’t know if I can be saved… not with this bastard’s gun to my head. He doesn’t want me to go back. And I’ve been his prisoner for so long, that I don’t feel safe going it alone, without him. I’d rather his company than total isolation. We’ll travel through this desert together. Everything’s flat here…. it goes on for miles and miles…. of nothingness….. we journey on, with me just waiting for it to end. This is no life. Who could even ‘exist’ with this? It’s purgatory.

 

Open Letter To My Friends.

 

To my friends,

 

I’ve been distancing myself from you all, and from ordinary life. I wanted to take the opportunity to explain and apologise for this. I think all of you are aware of my mental illness. I’ve always had this illness, so it’s nothing new. But having said that it has not been this bad since long before you knew me. This has been a steady, slow-building problem, but predominantly worsened by the events of last year. The combination of family troubles, my first loss and my struggles at therapy have dragged me down lower than I can remember. Ever since I had my breakdown during the therapy group in week three, my life has changed. I am under the control of self-harm again, and although I had been harming before that happened, I had control over it, not the other way around.

 

My depression has worsened. This has changed me into a person I no longer recognise. I feel ashamed. I feel hopeless. My self-esteem is under 6 feet of earthworms. The depression I feel has triggered off the worst parts of my BPD. It has convinced me that you all hate me, you’re sick of my negativity, you’re all going to leave me (stop talking to me), that I’m an awful friend, an awful person, and nobody cares. This in turn made me defensive. This made me push you away, to force what I saw as a done deal.

 

I tried reaching out in the earlier stages of this, but I went unnoticed. I took this as proof that nobody cared, and that I’m as irrelevant and worthless as I feel. Before I pulled away from everyone I went through the first anniversary of the loss of my granddad. I posted about this a few times, and I’ll admit I am upset that none of you commented, messaged me or anything, to show support. I guess having not personally gone through this experience before, I expected that’s what people do, as I’d seen them do with other people. Perhaps I’m wrong. That’s what upset me though. It felt like nobody had my back, which triggered a whole wave of memories for me. It also felt like nobody saw the value of my granddad. I now realise it doesn’t matter, because I know his value, and my family do. It just would have been nice to feel supported at that difficult time – the first I’d experienced.

 

It made me ‘split’ on you all. It made me think you were ‘bad friends’. And I’m sorry for that. I haven’t reconciled it with the truth yet, as I’ve still not spoken to any of you. But you’re not bad friends. This was just unfortunate. People get busy, and have their own issues. I know I’m not that important in life. And to some I’m probably viewed as ‘an acquaintance’ more than I am ‘a friend’. So I’m expecting more from people than is reasonable, based on that fact.

 

I didn’t come off of Facebook to make people care, or get attention. I did it, because being on there, feeling invisible and still resentful that nobody supported me, and seeing everyone chatting to each other while I felt ignored, was making me feel worthless. It was like a dull stab in the heart every time I logged in. So I had to protect myself from that feeling. I found refuge on Twitter and on my blog, because my voice felt more heard there. I didn’t feel as irrelevant as I felt on Facebook. My blog became my outlet for my emotions, as I tried to not be taken over by self-harm. It’s saved me on several occasions… but in the process I fear it may have damaged relationships with some of you. This has made me scared to come back, and to talk to you again. As I’m in a paranoid and guilty state, I detect things like a change in ‘tone’, or I notice things that aren’t said. I make assumptions that you’re upset with me. Or that you’re despairing of me. And it makes me shut down, as I don’t know what to say in response. I don’t know what to say to you. I’m not ignoring you because I’m mad with you. I’m not ignoring you to upset you. I’m ignoring you because I can’t see a way out of this mess I’ve created in my head. I haven’t found the right opening yet, to free me from this mental prison. I need reassurance, care and warmth – but I feel undeserving of it at the same time, for the way I’ve been these past weeks.

 

 

I came off to protect myself, and avoid negative emotions. But there hasn’t been a lack of negative emotions… because unfortunately nobody seemed to notice or care that I’d gone. Nobody checked in to see if I was okay. I understand by coming off Facebook I made that harder, but there were other ways to get in touch. And the resounding silence was shocking. One person asked if I was okay on my old Facebook account. That meant a lot. And another I’ve also had contact with on Twitter. So thank you to those people for noticing my pain when nobody else did. Anything else feels too little too late. I know my motto should be ‘better late than never’, but it’s hard to know how to respond to anyone once you reach that point of no-return. For anyone interested, I’ve not spoken to anybody about what’s wrong. Even those who did reach out to me – I was unable to put it into words. I’ve been in shutdown mode. Like I said, the only outlet I’ve had has been the occasional tweet, and my blog. It’s been the only way to organise my thoughts and state them. I don’t talk to my family about any of this. So I have had to cope with a heavy burden totally alone. I’m not asking for sympathy here, I’m just saying it’s hard to know the right thing to do when you have no sounding board. When you have nobody to validate your feelings and challenge your beliefs, it’s hard to know what to do, how to cope and what to say. So I don’t always make the best choices when left alone in my head for so long.

 

I know that I overvalue people. I give them more importance than they give me. It’s wrong of me to assume I mean as much to you as you mean to me. At this point I wouldn’t blame you for having the thought ‘I mean something to you?? Doesn’t feel that way!’… I agree. I’ve been a rubbish friend lately. And here’s the honest bit – I’m probably going to continue to be a rubbish friend for quite a while yet. I don’t enjoy it. I promise you I beat myself up for it constantly. But I’m not coping very well.

 

It’s been so long since I’ve been this unwell mentally (the physical illness isn’t helping much at the moment either!)… I’ve forgotten how to cope with life when feeling this bad. I’ve forgotten how to pull myself out of such a bleak depressed state. The last time I did this I think I had professional support, and I had my support network – my group of friends. So I’m struggling to do this alone. In fact that’s a lie. I’m not struggling. Struggling would imply effort to do something. I have given up. I know that on my own I can’t beat this. So after pulling away from everyone, I’ve given up on life. I now just sit in the deep black hole I fell into. I just sit there twiddling my thumbs, waiting for the end. I’ve given up fighting. 

 

 

I know that you must feel frustrated with me. You must feel helpless. You must have no clue how to help me. Just know that I feel the same. I’m so utterly frustrated with myself. I don’t know how anyone can help me. I’m not actually asking for you to fix this. I’m asking you to tolerate me at the very least. I’m asking you to, if you can – love me, care about me, and stick by me, giving me the support, validation and reassurance I need, to make me feel safe and secure, and like there’s some hope left for me. I have people on Twitter and on my blog who tell me I’m not a lost cause… they validate my feelings…. they are consistently there, noticing my existence, comforting me with kind words. This has been invaluable to me in the last few weeks. But I need this from my friends. I need this from you. Please. I know I’m unbearable at the moment. I’ve given up on myself. What I need is for you to not give up on me too. I need reminding of what I mean to you, and why. I need reminding of who I am. I need reminding of what matters. I’m not fishing for compliments. I’m not digging around for attention, or trying to inflate my ego. I’m asking for help to feel better about myself and about life. I’m having to ask for this, because it’s lacking in my life. I’m not someone constantly in need of praise. I’m not egotistical and lapping up admiration. I’m feeling neglected, and I’m asking for that to change. It’s not meant as a criticism. It’s just me trying a more constructive way of asking for what I need. If that makes me too demanding then so be it, but at least I tried.

 

I am sorry that even if a month ago you said something nice to me, and made me feel like I had a friend, sometimes life happens, my depression gets worse, my doubts creep in, my low self-esteem strikes and I forget what you said. I forget you care. I forget that you are a good friend. It doesn’t mean you’re not a good friend. It simply means I have a mental illness and it plays tricks on my mind. But the best thing to do when you can see this happening, is stop it from escalating to the point of no-return. Remind me of what you said to me. Remind me of your friendship. Remind me that you care. To me this is bog-standard thinking. If I saw my friend spiralling out of control, hating herself, feeling she had no friends, feeling suicidal, and thinking nobody would care if she disappeared for good…. I can’t imagine sitting back and hating her. I can’t imagine staying silent and confirming her belief that I don’t care. I can’t imagine denying her the reassurance, validation and caring that she needs. That is neglect. That is what many people with BPD experienced as a child. They didn’t have their emotional needs met. I’m not talking about my upbringing here, because that was not the case for me. But denying someone the emotional care they require is abuse at the worst, and neglect at the very least. I may not have been denied what I’ve needed. It could be people didn’t know what I needed. It could be I have offended you, and therefore my punishment is to not have those needs met, as I don’t deserve it. I accept this. But with my depression and my paranoia towards everyone right now, I feel I have been deliberately denied support… warmth… compassion. And that puts me on edge when people do eventually talk to me. I don’t believe they really wish the best for me. I don’t believe they actually want to talk to me.

 

I just wanted to explain the process that goes on in my head at times like this. It’s a vicious circle, and if I did what I learnt in therapy, I would try to break that circle, but like I said, with nobody to help me it’s been difficult. I guess this is me trying to break the circle by approaching it differently. Ideally I’d speak directly to people, but I’m not ready for that. I need to give you all the chance to understand me better first. So that you know where I’m coming from.

 

I’ll understand if you’re all done with me now. I would be too. I know I’m toxic right now. I know I’m draining. I know I’m a burden and don’t have a lot to offer you just now. I can’t promise when I’m going to be back to my old self. I’ve not felt this awful for at least ten years, I don’t know the way out. It feels an impossible climb right now. I don’t see an end to it.

 

I’m not good at replying. I’m not good at socialising at the moment. I won’t reach out and ask you if you want to meet up, because I’ve done that with people over the past year or two, and it never happened – it was empty words of ‘we should catch up’, without substance, so eventually I stopped asking. So if you want to see me, then I need you to ask me. I might not be able to meet, but I still want to feel included. This is important to me, because of what I experienced as a child at school. I was socially excluded and isolated, and this damaged me more than words can explain. It’s probably the reason I am how I am now. It’s that thing whereby someone wants to be alone, but they don’t want to feel lonely. And they want to stay at home, but still want to be invited. If I turn down meeting up, it’s either because I’m busy, or more likely because I’m scared. I have no confidence at the moment. I don’t like going out and being around people. If you can help with this fear then great – if you can meet me off the bus, or we can go somewhere quiet, or anything else you can think of that might help, I’d really appreciate it. Going outside the house is a huge deal at the moment. It’s been years since I’ve been such a hermit, and ‘socialising’ terrifies me right now. I want to feel safe and protected. Sorry if that makes me sound pathetic at my age. I’ve taken huge steps back in my recovery, and my anxiety is getting worse now too. I don’t do social gatherings that involve eating food, as I have social anxiety which makes me feel uncomfortable eating in front of other people, unless I know them well and feel comfortable. Drinks are okay. I have to use public transport, and doing so on my own at night fills me with dread, as it’s been so long since I’ve done that – besides, the public transport here at night is non-existent. Group meet-ups are overwhelming for me at the moment. But one-on-one meetings would be nice. Same with discussions – group ones overwhelm me. Private ones are welcome.

 

 

It might seem like a rollercoaster with me – one day I’m chatting and laughing with you, a couple of days later I’m talking about not having any friends. This is most likely a series of events that happened inside my mind. And depression has a way of lying to you. A few days ago I felt angry that I had to explain this concept to you – I’m ill, why should I have to tell you that my illness tricks me into thinking things that aren’t true?? You should read up about these things, and KNOW it. If I wasn’t so self-aware people would understand it more! Why do I have to explain myself when I’m too ill to give a crap?!  – But in the process of writing this letter, I realise that if you don’t understand mental illness and depression, then you’re seriously not going to understand that it’s like having a bully by your side 24/7. I don’t hear ‘voices’, but I do have a voice inside of me, that masquerades as my friend but is my enemy. It’s a part of me that’s intent on self-destruction and self-sabotage. If you don’t have that part, you’re lucky, but you’ll also never understand someone like me. It’s constantly there, telling me nobody cares, I’m worthless, I mess everything up, I deserve to be as alone as I feel, I’ll never be loved, I’ll never succeed, people would be happy if I killed myself. This isn’t a separate being telling me these things. This is me. It’s the ill part of me. And when I’m not so ill it’s easier to challenge these thoughts, and feel happier feelings to balance it out. But when I’m as ill as I am now, those thoughts are facts. And those are the times I NEED my friends…. to make me see they’re not facts, and to counter those beliefs with the truth, in the form of care and appreciation.

 

What has happened here is that voice in me has won. And by having nobody fight against it, and you all leaving me in silence, it’s given power to that voice. It’s made me believe what it says must be true, as ‘where are all my friends??’ It honestly made me believe you’d all be happier if I was dead. And if that’s not true for instance, then I need you to tell me that. I need you to tell me how you’d feel if I WAS dead. I need you to tell me what I bring to your life that you’d lose if I wasn’t here anymore. The things you appreciate about me. I don’t want to have to ask for this. I shouldn’t have to ask for it. And I believe I’m not worth the effort it takes to say nice things to me. But if you’re my friend and you care about me, I need you to prove me wrong. Prove I’m worth the effort. Prove I’m not a lost cause. Prove I matter. Because at this moment in time I’ve never felt more hopeless or worthless.

 

I might not be very giving at this time. But once upon a time I was. I used to put in so much effort to friendships. I was always a very giving person, until a time came where I realised my friendships weren’t balanced. People took me for granted, and since then I started holding back more. And then of course I was hit by this wave of mental illness, and now I feel incapable of giving, as I’m running on empty. I hope in time I will be able to give back, but I hope you will be patient with me and be willing to accept whatever I have to offer for now, even if it’s only my company. I realise I’ve become selfish. Part of that is feeling like nobody cares about me, so I have to care about me – but the thing is even then I still have that half of me (more than half actually), that doesn’t care about me either.

 

I’m insecure nowadays. People backstabbing me, letting me down, standing me up, playing with my feelings, abandoning me, crushing my heart and overall being arseholes, has led to me being uncertain of people’s intentions. I don’t trust. But if I appear to have any trust at all in you you’re lucky. My paranoia is a troublemaker for me at the moment. It causes conflict in relationships, because it makes assumptions about what you’re thinking – what you think of me, what you’re saying about me. I hate it. And it’s not something that’s really featured in my past with mental illness. It’s relatively new. So it’s hard to know how to cope with it. Keeping away from people tends to be the best way. But even then my mind doesn’t shut down. It continues overthinking things.

 

The bottom line is – if you notice I’ve disappeared, or I sound like something’s really up, then please say something to me. Don’t ignore me. Don’t leave me to stew in my own thoughts. Don’t leave me alone in my head for too long…. if left alone too long I will end up in a place I can’t escape from. Like right now. This could have been stopped if one person said enough, early enough. The turning point was nobody saying anything on the anniversary of my granddad’s passing…. or for a further week after that. That’s when I decided nobody cared. There were warning signs, and I wish someone could have noticed them and said something before it became too late. I only hope it’s not too late to salvage friendships now.

 

 

I’ve never felt so alone, and I hope to never experience this level of isolation again. Although I felt abandoned at a time I needed my friends, and I was hurt, a lot of this has been in my head. So ‘my fault’. But that’s mental illness for you. That’s why I’m opening up in this way and explaining to you all that this will happen sometimes, and saying what I need from you if it does happen. I can’t blame you for not knowing what’s going on in my head. I can’t be mad at you for not being mind-readers, even if I did suggest I wasn’t okay, you wouldn’t know the full extent of the chaos in my head. I can’t blame you for not understanding a mental illness you likely don’t have. Although I wish people would just learn about these things and I didn’t have to explain it, ultimately if I want the support then I have to make my friends understand what support I need and why. I’ve not been good at communicating my needs, and I hope this is at least a small improvement.

 

I apologise for the ways I’ve handled things in this difficult time. I was upset, and unable to express that in the right way. I couldn’t reach out directly to any of you, as there’s a block there. I struggle with conversation right now. My paranoia tells me I’m an outsider, a nobody, an unwelcome freak. It’s hard to fight those thoughts. My inner voice stops me talking to you all. And I find communication quite stressful so I just avoid it if possible. But I do care about you. Life has just become too much to bear. I’m sorry that my inability to cope with life may impact on you and on our friendship. I was doing the best I could. But believe me, I know it’s not enough. If you can forgive me and give me another chance, I will try harder, but I will need your help. In order to preserve our friendship you may need to learn more about my mental illness, to understand that I’m not trying to be ‘difficult’, I’m finding life difficult, and hopefully a good chat will explain what you can do to help me in the future.

 

If this helps make sense of what’s happened, and you’re prepared to help me going forward, you know where I am, and what I need. If there’s too much water under the bridge, then so be it. Mental illness is an endless, tiring, draining experience – for those who suffer with it, and those who support them. Nobody chooses to have a mental illness. But you can choose whether to support me or not. And there’s nothing to say you have to. It’s not easy. But I will always remember the ones who did. The ones who never gave up on me. The ones determined to help me see the sunshine again.

xxxx

 

 

Open Letter To MH Professionals, From Someone Lost In The System.

*This is in no way an attack on MH services, as I’m sure you all feel the same. It’s an expression of helplessness, and a plea to the powers that be, for something to be done, not just for me but for millions of people in this country, denied the support they need*

 

Dear mental health professionals….

I know you’re under pressure. I know you’re underfunded. I know you have rules and tick boxes that prevent you from doing the job to the standard you wish you could. You work hard and do the best you can, and I have a lot of respect and appreciation for the majority of you, who have chosen a career based on helping ease the suffering of others. It’s admirable. But can I just share with you my experience of being on the other side? Because whilst you may have the option of walking away from your job if it ever gets too much, I cannot walk away from my mental illness. So I’d like to share with you the struggle of existing in this world with this illness, and nowhere to turn for support……

Nine years ago I was doing a couple of courses of DBT. Little did I know at the time I was actually being treated for Borderline Personality Disorder. I hadn’t heard of this before, and was offended at the suggestion that I had this – especially as I had not been told I had it. I thought it meant there was something wrong with my personality… it felt like an insult. I now know that not to be the case at all! A couple of years later during individual therapy sessions I would be given the opportunity to see a psychiatrist, and get the official diagnosis… but it was suggested to me that it may not be a good thing to have this label, due to the stigma around it. I worried it might affect my chances of working. So I decided not to.

I left the care of CMHT and had to try and cope on my own. I’ve had a good five years surviving on my own as best I could, and coming to terms with the fact I do have BPD. But the last couple of years have been the worst I’ve experienced and my mental health has deteriorated. And now I find myself in a bit of a predicament….

You see, I cannot get the support I need. I saw the doctor, who said I’d probably not have success with CMHT, as I wouldn’t meet the criteria to receive their support. There’s no counselling service in existence unless I go private. And given that I don’t work, I can’t afford to pay to go private. So I tried an IAPT service… unfortunately I experienced a problem during this, which wasn’t handled urgently enough or in the best way, and further worsened my mental health… I felt more suicidal, my self-harm increased dramatically, my self-esteem plummeted. And I’m now trying to pick up the pieces alone. I’m not convinced they were set up for someone like me. I feel they’re more for those with mild/moderate depression and anxiety or phobias. This resulted in me feeling like a burden, and too difficult… ultimately a ‘lost cause’.

So I have nowhere to turn now. I cannot afford to go private. I shouldn’t have to. There used to be support for people like me in CMHT, but now it’s like those with BPD have been abandoned. And given that one of the major issues within BPD is abandonment, I find this incredibly troubling that we’d be subjected to that in a therapeutic setting.

 

 

I know some people with BPD are under CMHT. But this is probably because they have the diagnosis. I am trapped, because I do not have that diagnosis, as I rejected it all those years ago. Now I cannot access the services to see a psychiatrist to receive the diagnosis. So I will never get the support I need. I know those with the diagnosis often don’t get the support they need. But I feel even more stuck, because it feels like nobody understands my battle.

This is one aspect of my mental illness I want mental health professionals to understand…. I am very good at pretending to be okay. I have a lot of pride and dignity, and I contain how I truly feel, because I don’t want people to see me how I really feel. I don’t want to upset / disappoint / trouble other people. I want to maintain control over myself. I’m a very introspective person… I read up about my illness, to make me feel less alone with it and to make sense of it. So I seem knowledgeable / ‘intelligent’. On the outside I may look calm, collected, ‘together’, and even confident and happy at times. This is a mask. One I can’t wear much longer.

All my life I have had this problem – people couldn’t understand why I could do some things, and not others. They couldn’t understand my anxiety, or my difficulties. Because it wasn’t blindingly obvious. They probably thought I was making it up. I never show my reality outside of my house. I don’t like to cry in front of people. I don’t like to get angry. I don’t like people to know I’m struggling. I don’t want them to know about my suicidal thoughts and self-harm.

I may look ‘normal’ to the naked eye, but if you could see the storm underneath… if I could show you how I’m really experiencing the world, you would be shocked. You would be horrified and probably deeply upset by it. But I cannot externalise any of this, because I don’t want to lose control. I don’t want people to see me that way, for fear they will never see me any other way. I don’t want to hurt those who love me. I don’t want people to look down on me.

 

 

But because I don’t have public breakdowns…. because I don’t try to throw myself off a roof…. because I don’t slash at my arms in front of people, screaming “Just let me die!”…. people don’t know that’s how I’m feeling inside. They think I’m more capable than I actually am. They expect more from me, which overwhelms me and when I can’t do it, they can’t understand why. Just the mere fact I can verbalise what my inner experience is, makes people think I’m fine, when I’m not – I’m just trying to express the inner turmoil in the only acceptable way I know – with words. Because I can’t release it physically, I hope that talking about it will ease the burden… but the burden is actually keeping it physically hidden. And nobody takes it seriously. ‘Actions speak louder than words’. So it feels like it’s going to take me giving up control and losing the plot completely, for my pain to be taken seriously. And what if I still don’t get the support I need? Do I spiral until I end my life? I won’t have control any longer, and that puts me more at risk of acting on my urges. I’m scared of letting go. But it feels like mental health services don’t know how to help if they don’t see someone standing, bleeding in front of them, incoherent.

I actually had a therapist tell me to go away and think what help I wanted from them, as long as it’s within their skill-set. With all due respect to you all, you are the mental health professionals…. you know what your skills are, therefore what you can offer. You know all about mental illnesses and what therapies may help an illness. Yes, I am an expert in my own BPD as I’ve lived with it all my life… but I don’t know what options I have. I don’t know what help there is. It’s not my job to know. I’M THE PATIENT. If I had a total breakdown and showed how I feel inside, you would have to help me. You would know HOW to help me. You would take the lead, do your job and try to heal me. But because I stuff it all inside, so nobody can see, you think I’m capable of doing your job for you and deciding what will help me best. I am the patient, you are the professional – please tell me how you can help me, and if you yourself cannot do it, then please point me in the direction of someone who can.

 

 

I need to feel there are options for me. Because right now I don’t. I don’t see a future for me. I can’t see me getting through this, because I have nowhere to turn. I feel isolated. I can’t get the level of help I need as I don’t have the diagnosis, and can’t get the diagnosis because of lack of access to the services… so I have no ‘label’ to explain my emotional turmoil…. on top of that I don’t let it show, so people probably question if it’s really as bad as I say. So in a sense I feel I constantly have to prove I’m as ill as I say, but I can’t do this by showing them, I can only tell them… but if they don’t SEE it they don’t BELIEVE it. So I’m also stuck in that way. I’m trapped within myself. And I’m trapped within the mental health services. Nowhere to go. Nobody can help me. And that makes me feel suicidal.

Another thing I want you to note is this: If you ask me if I have thoughts of suicide and I say yes, but that I wouldn’t act on them, don’t just believe me and carry on as if it’s not a risk. I am afraid of the consequences of admitting to wanting to act on these thoughts. So I’m never going to tell you that I might do it. This is how people end up dead. They tell professionals they’re okay, it’s accepted and then they act on it. When I was on a course recently I had a conversation with a therapist, and they asked me if I could keep myself safe that night… I was the most honest I’ve been about it, and said that it would be difficult. I said I would try, but I went home and self-harmed, ending up at the MIU. I knew this was going to happen but didn’t tell them. I don’t want to burden people. And I don’t want them to judge me. I want to seem like a rational adult. 

I self-harmed during my course, and this was discovered by one of the therapists, who had to treat me and advised me to go to the hospital. It was NEVER my intention for anyone to know about it. I was hidden in the toilets trying to treat it myself. That was the closest I’ve ever been to revealing my reality. They saw me crying, panicking, they saw my wounds and scars…. I was a mess that night, and I felt ashamed to have let the barriers down, and let someone see the mess inside me.

This is what I mean…. I feel ashamed of the thoughts I have, the emotions I feel and the way I would behave if I felt it socially acceptable. I know some would think if you’re really that bad you’d have no control over it – well the incident at therapy was one example of when I lost control. You might think it can’t be controlled, but you don’t know me. I have major issues with control, and I guilt-trip myself into maintaining a certain image. I think I would be letting a lot of people down if I didn’t give a damn anymore and behaved how I wish I could. Control is possible, whilst being very unwell. I’ll tell you how I know this… because I can feel it slipping away. I am about to lose control. And it terrifies me. I don’t know what is going to happen when I lose that control. I don’t know what I’ll do, what the consequences will be, and I fear losing myself in the process.

The control I exert over my own mental illness is such a heavy burden. It is like I’ve got myself chained up inside. Like I’m holding my reality hostage. So believe me it’s there, and it’s possible. It’s why every single time I say “I can’t do this anymore” I become one step closer to not doing it anymore…. not hiding it anymore.

 

 

I know that when I finally lose control, I will feel so ashamed that I will not want to live anymore, and I need to know there will be a safety net to catch me. I need to know it’s safe to let go and lose control, and fall apart, and someone will keep me safe. Otherwise when I finally show you all the pain I’ve locked up inside, I’m not sure I will make it out the other side. And I don’t really want to die. I just want life to not hurt so much. I want people to care about me. I want to have something to live for.

It shouldn’t be that I have to reach utter crisis point to get the help I need. The help should be offered to prevent that risk to my life. That’s what makes me feel totally worthless – that I’d be left to reach that point where I might die, before you’ll help me. It shouldn’t be that way. But I can see in my case that’s the way it’s going to be. Because nobody understands BPD unless they’ve had it. And nobody can understand a mental illness that they can’t see. If the only visible sign I have are my self-harm scars, then nobody could ever understand what leads me to cause them. This is my personal interpretation of ‘quiet borderline’. I know many don’t agree with me on this, and I’m still forming my own opinion on it, but my BPD is so hidden most of the time, that nobody would believe how much I’m suffering.

 

 

With most illnesses the strategy seems to be to treat the symptoms… but if I hide the symptoms, and only write about them, then those wanting to treat them cannot do so. And I’m neglected. I just want one mental health professional to stick with me while I fall apart. I want them to believe what I’m experiencing and let me express it, whilst protecting me from myself. I just want to feel safe and supported. And I really don’t right now. I don’t know who I can turn to. I don’t know what to do. I feel powerless.

You see we’re not all that different – you feel powerless to help me, I feel powerless to get help…. the only difference is, to you I will just be one more person who couldn’t be saved… a statistic….but for me, I will be no more. Gone. Dead. So please, will someone do SOMETHING to provide the help and support people like me need in this country? I don’t want to die. I need help. Someone please create that help – don’t leave us all to an ugly fate. There may be some misconceptions out there about those with BPD, but I know from talking to many of them, they are the loveliest individuals with a heck of a lot to give. And to lose all those lights from the world would be a tragedy.

I know you try your hardest to help us where you can, but more people need to unite to get help for those of us lost in the system… those of us in the middle, who are ‘too ill’ for IAPT services and ‘not ill enough’ for CMHT to help us… at least that’s what I was told. Where are we supposed to turn? BPD puts us most at risk of doing harm to ourselves, or taking our own lives… we are desperately in need of support. Please value our lives enough to do everything you can to get us that support. I don’t know what my ‘rights’ are as a service user. I don’t know what’s on offer to help me. It feels as though different sectors of the NHS can’t agree on what help there is for me. Can you please start to communicate with each other and come up with a strategy, so that when someone in dire need comes along, they can be directed to the right support? I feel like I’m floating around in the system and don’t belong anywhere, which is a reflection of my experience in life… the feeling I will never belong, that I’m worthless and a burden. These beliefs are being mirrored in my experiences of trying to get help. It feels like my life doesn’t matter. And too many others have this experience. Things need to change.

 

I want to start campaigning for more support for those with BPD. And when I feel mentally stronger this is something I will look into. In the meantime, I hope those within the profession can do all they can to change things from the inside. I know it’s a huge ask, and not something that can just happen – it takes a lot of work and money. I’m just asking if you have a voice within the profession, please use it to save lives. Those most in need are being left behind. This cannot be right. I know that most of you would agree, and are just as frustrated at the injustice. Hopefully enough of us can take action to try and bring about a change.

Thank you for taking the time to read.

xxxx