I'm going to list five truths. Five experiences I've had as a result of suffering severe peer abuse between the ages of about six and sixteen. I'll explain a little about each as I go. Some of these things my family know about. Some they don't. One of them I've only admitted to anyone at all as of yesterday. It's time the world appreciates just what an affect peer abuse has.
Please note this hasn't been proof read as it was hard enough to write never mind read. I need a break from it. It may also be triggering for people who've been bullied, abused, or who self harm.
1. It was abuse, pure and simple.
By the time I was eight, I was scared of leaving the house. Leaving the house to go out and play almost always resulted in verbal or physical assault. I would be called names, I had my own theme tune (I couldn't go anywhere without the Addams Family Theme being sung at me). I was hit over the head with the wooden handle of a swinging skipping rope, repeatedly. I had things thrown at me. It never stopped and by the time I reached my teens I wouldn't walk around my village alone because I'd been hit, punched, pushed into rose bushes, intimidate by a girl weiding a metal pole, had my hair pulled, had my hair filled with chewing gum, and been backed up against walls more times than I can remember to be hit and kicked. I'd been surrounded to be verbally or physically abused more times than I care to remember, and the police denied they could do anything. That was bad enough, but what caused a little teasing to become something horrific enough to merit policy intervention was my headmistress in first school. My headmistress who denied there was any bullying in her school and left me stuck in anew environment where abuse could flourish.
She didn't leave me with much hope so my childhood was one of near constant fear, throughout my primary years and beyond.
Thereally was one day I was surrounded, hit, pushed into a rose bush (I was literally sat in it and I was pulling thorns out of my legs for hours), and intimidated with a metal pole. My one friend had to run home to get my mam to intervene. When mam came to chase off the 'bullies', the first words I said to her, while stood there with rose thorns in my legs and arms, were apparently 'but I didn't cry'.
To this day I can remember being proud of that, of not crying. Crying was weak, right? I'd been told so many times to 'toughen up' that not crying was worthy of pride. But it wasn't necessarily a good thing as, by the age of ther teen, I'd learned to shut up and take whatever was coming without tears, at least whenever I could hold them back. But there's only so long anyone can hold back tears and internalise pain and fear before it causes some serious damage.
2. Resulting vulnerability can lead to unhealthy intimate encounters.
By the age of ten/eleven I'd learned my peers could do what they wanted to me. Hurt me with words, intimidate me, attack me. Fighting was pointless. By ten/eleven I'd learned to treasure any friendship I made because eventually the intensity of the bullying and/or my social problems due to it would drive people away. This left me vulnerable. Very vulnerable.
There was a girl in my year who was... well, mam calls her a sheep... she followed where the bullies led. She went from being horrible, to being my friend, to being horrible again, really really viciously so. Even when we were 'friends' she was in control. We did what she wanted because I didn't want to fall out and lose her friendship. I wanted to keep her happy.
When I was about ten/eleven, that inequaity went too far. We were playing in a tent made from sheets in my back garden. I can still remember the wooden clothes horse which supported the structure. It was held together by hope more than structural integrity. Such tents had been a place of joy to me in summers playing with my siblings, but this one experience was anything but happy. In the tent there was me, my friend, and a girl a year younger than us. My friend asked if we'd ever been touched 'down there'. When we said no, she said we should touch each other.
I feel sick writing this because I didn't want to touch them. I didn't want them to touch me. Maybe she had faced some abuse elswhere or had accidentally seen something inappropriate to make her ask such a thing, I don't know, but at that point I'd fought bullying for so long and had so few friends that I didn't feel I could say no. Even if I ran inside and told my parents, I thought they wouldn't be able to do anything. They'd talk to the other girls' parents, they'd talk to the school or police, but the other parties would insist I was lying, just as they did about the bullying, just as had been going on for years. And anyway I didn't want to lose my friend...
The other two took turns to touch each other, then waited for me to join in. I didn't know how to say no without making my life worse. After all, my life had gotten worse every time I reported anything untoward. I believed that speaking out would've been pointless, detrimental... So I let both girls slide their hands into my underwear and touch me in a way I didn't want to be touched, a way that made me feel guilty and ashamed. Then I complied when they told me to touch them.
I hadn't even hit puberty. I barely understood what was going on down there except that one day I'd start bleeding and it all had something to do with making babies. And even that, I'd only recently discovered. I hated the experience. I was so very ashamed and afraid I'd get into trouble. The memory still haunts me.
For twenty years I've kept that secret, ashamed, disgusted, feeling dirty. I hadn't wanted to allow what happened, but being bullied had already taught me that reporting incidents and fighting got me nowhere. I was also lonely and wanted friends. Though, as it was, both girls returned to verbally tormenting me not long after that anyway, despite my compliance.
They remained friends with each other, they became friends with others who bullied me, but not with me. They'd made me feel even more disgusted in myself than I already did and stole some of my innocence while doing it. I've carried so much disgust and shame about that for so long, disgust that I did something that I knew to be wrong, something I didn't want, without rebellion, because I was already too afraid of my peers to say no. And I hate myself for that.
I had two more encounters aged sixteen and seventeen which came about through coercion, either from fear of losing someone or because I was lied too. Both were sexual, only one was attempted intercourse. Neither left me feeling happy. In fact, both left me disgusted at myself.
Oh, there was my eighteenth birthday night out too, when some stranger shoved his hand down my top... sad thing about that is, a lot of women go through that last one. Some men just think their hand can go anywhere, and so I accepted it as part of life. By then, I also hated myself so much I was flattered he wanted to touch me. even admitting that makes me cringe, ashamed.
My first positive intimate experience came wasn't until four/five months after that last event, after I turned eighteen, and after I met the man I went on to marry; a man who is still one of my best friends and my rock. I'm lucky I found him.
3. Children slip through unnoticed by mental health services and teachers can worsen symptoms.
In '96, I saw a child services regarding mental health. I can't remember this but my mam's recently mentioned it, as did my new psychiatrist in his recent report. By then I was ten/eleven and I'd already been diagnosed as having migraines due to stress. That's something my new psychiatrist called 'psychosomatic' last week. Telling, right?
By '96, I was already showing symptoms of psychological problems. Yet I wasn't treated beyond being given pills for migraines. I slipped back under the radar and the bullying went on. Only by then I had to do battle with teachers and school nurses too, people who declared me to be 'a sickly child' because I was ill so often. I missed a fair bit of school. It's a wonder I'm educated to the level I am, really, because middle school could've easily destroyed my chances.
So I was a sickly child to the adults at school, at least to start with. As years went by, a number of teachers also told me the bullying was my own fault when they couldn't resolve it. That further destroyed my self image. Said enough times, it also made me confrontational with SOME authority figures when I feel unheard or let down. Afraid of peers and untrusting and argumentative with authority figures. it's not a great combination, although I'm getting better with the latter now I'm an adult myself.
I am. No matter what some would say.
4. Consequences are long lasting.
I am agoraphobic. Open spaces are ok, but it's the crowd side that is too much for me. Being trapped among a lot of people where there's no obvious escape causes disabling anxiety and panic attacks. If I was looking for a reason for that, I'd say it was the times I was surrounded while out playing, or more likely again, when I was surrounded at the bus stop waiting for the school bus. Trapped. Just like I would be the day after, and the day after that.
I think I also have a degree of claustrophobia. It's there when I enter lifts, but also buses. Being trapped in a box with others is nauseating. But then, I can't count the number of times I spent squashed against the school bus window with people behind, in font, beside me all determined to get a reaction from me, make me cry, or make me say one of the useless pharases I'd been taught in a desperate attempt to reassure me...
'Sticks and stones may break my bones'... 'You're just jealous'... anything that I thought was better than tears.
These days, I'm also known to have social phobia, but I guess that one is self explanatory.
5. Consequences are life threatening.
I can't remember what it was like to want to exist. The peer abuse started so young that I learned to hate myself and fear the world long before I'd finished becoming whoever I'd had the potential to be. Falling apart this year isn't much of a surprise really as it's been coming for more than two decades. I've popped all my antidepressants out of their packet and started taking them before, intent on killing myself. I've driven towards the coast twice, intending to drive off the cliffs and only saved by two lucky phone calls. I've also self-harmed since my teens. So much so that I find the dripping of my blood comforting, a distraction, and because it means I've punished myself for being a horrible person.
I'd NEVER hurt another, not after how often I suffered other people's cruelty, but I often feel I need to be punished. There must be a reason people hate me, after all... It must be my fault.
I'm getting help with that belief now though, and at this moment I'm two weeks self harm free and willing to access crisis support when I get low or anxious enough to consider it. That'said a slight improvement, even though my distorted self image is as fragmented as before.
Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx
Monday 31 October 2016
Saturday 29 October 2016
A Tale of Ink, Labels, and Closets
This is going to be a long one, sorry, but bear with me as I have a lot of ground to cover...
Thursday was my birthday, I turned 31. A friend paid for me to get two new tattoos which I designed over a year ago but never had the money to get. That brings my total number of tattoos up to four, each designed by me, each meaningful. All reminders of strength, a willingness to fight on, the strength of my ancestors, or of my own achievements. They're positive things for me, it's a creative process I enjoy and my tattoos are always there to remind me even pain can create beautiful end results. But this trip was even more monumental, because its the first time I've left the house in longer than I can remember.
Standing in the street was both wonderful and horrific. Seeing the autumn leaves and feeling the cool of the breeze was excellent. Being among people, cars, buses? That was terrible, anxiety inducing, and on top of that walking made my back pain play up which hurts a lot more than any tattoo. Calling into the chemist was truly horrible. My husband had to ask for what I needed (cream for tattoo after care) because I couldn't speak to the pharmacist. I just stood behind him, feeling like the pharmacist as suspicious of my motives even though I wasn't doing anything wrong, we'd never met before, and I know such thoughts are just my condition playing tricks on me. Feeling judged is part of my social phobia and it makes interaction with others a constant and exhausting challenge.
Actually getting the tattoos was great, however, because I went to the artist who did my last tat. She seems to have a lot of similar interests to me and the hubby, and she is far easier to talk to than I find many people. Sure, I over-analysed everything I said, but it was good. I achieved something. I both talked to someone and achieved going out to do something. That's progress.
But it's also when things got more complicated.
See, my mam, who I adore and who is one of my best friend (along with hubby) doesn't like tattoos. She vocally and visibly doesn't like tattoos. Neither does my mother in law, although she's no longer vocal. I saw the expressions of tight-lipped disapproval from both of them, and that caused anxiety to build rapidly.
Disapproval makes me nervous; I've lost enough people to fear disapproval, but at the same time I've survived losing enough people to know that - over things I find positive, things that help me and hurt no one else - it's my opinion that matters. It's my body. It's my self-image. It's my self-expression.
With everything else I'm a protector; I hide away more than you'd expect from someone with tattooed forearms. I hide my self-harm from most people and especially my kids, because I know they need stability (incidentally, since crisis team intervention I've been almost self-harm free). When I argue with my husband, we restrict it to when the kids are asleep or staying at their grandparents, we hide the problems. Providing safety and stability for my children is my utmost priority, just as it is my husbands, so I hide the ill, desperate side of myself away.
Some days that means hiding a lot. On others not so much. But creative outlets help (part of the reason I write novels, actually, and why I do illustrations for this blog), so to be able to get tattooed and express a part of me openly is nice. It's a bit of freedom when I often feel I need to hide, imprisoned by my depression, anxiety, phobias, the stigma attached to my sexuality, and as of this week, my newly diagnosed Borderline Personality Disorder.
BPD. I needed the diagnosis to get suitable treatment and so that I understand the need to step back when emotion takes over so I can gain objectivity. However, I needed another 'label' and the attached stigma about as much as the world needs Boris Johnson - Not at all.
To me, it's something else I'll have to hide from most people, because there's so much negativity attached to it. You just need to google 'BPD parenting' to be persuaded BPD mothers always destroy their children because they are incapable of putting them first, because they're narcissists, selfish, and inherently abusive people. One 'therapist' even claimed on twitter that BPD parents were incapable of loving their children.
How offensive is that? And no, this isn't an unjustified BPD rage. I'm calm right now. I'm rational. But as peer abuse (you might call it bullying) undoubtedly had a profound affect on my development and subsequent mental health problems, I strongly disapprove of false, stigmatising statements that misinform and may cause others to be judgemental towards a person they know nothing about. That particular 'therapist' seems to make so many black and white statements that she sounds more BPD than me.
And here's the thing: I CAN and DO love my children. I love them more than anything. I love my husband. My mam. My friends, even if I don't see them as often as I should. BPD is wrongly seen as an illness which prevents emotion and empathy, but that's just not true. Maybe some sufferers have disconnected so completely as a reaction to their heightened emotional state, but that's not true of all. In truth, BPD means I feel things MORE, not less, and that's true of a great many of us. Probably the majority, to be honest, otherwise it would seem more accurate to disgnose Anti-social Personality Disorder, which does include a lack of empathy. Or at least Narcissistic Personality Disorder which is characterised by caring only for ones own needs, at the detriment of others.
I'm hurt easily, yes, and my temper can burn brightly, although usually only when provoked into defending a loved one. My temper flares when I'm defending my mam, my husband, or my children, (or, for some reason, defending the following of best practise procedures at work). Most of my major arguments with my husband have been over something he's done which has risked our family home and/our our kids wellbeing (financially). For example, his panic when he was made redundant led him to acquiring debt and going into mortgage arrears which he didn't tell me about. I didn't know until the mortgage man turned up on the doorstep (while I was home alone and 36 weeks pregnant), and then when debt collectors started ringing. Once I knew, I sorted the issues, but I was furious, and I did do the 'I hate you, don't leave me' thing then.
My condition also means I worry intensley about my children. so much so that the first time my five year old crossed the street on her own to go and 'seek' a friend, I felt ill. I was breathless and nauseous even though I could watch her cross the streetvto ensure she was safe. But guess what? I didn't put my own emotional needs first, before my child's development. I didn't act as the internet claims a BPD person would inevitably do, and satisfy their emotional needs first and foremost. I let her cross the street, knowing we've taught her road safety and knowing that she has to be allowed to grow without having my fears pushed on her.
She's at the age where she wants friends outside the home, and she loves the girl across the street who is two years older than her. I'm fine with that. That's my daughter growing and I'm pleased she has friends and has fun interacting with other children, because I wasn't much older than her when the peer abuse started in my life and did huge harm, harm I never want my children to face.
That's what I do. Bury my anxiety so my kids can have a bright future, then let it out when they can't see, or hear, or through writing and art. So much of what I've done, right down to my hobbies are about conquering irrational fear/anxiety specifically so my kids can have wonderful experiences without me projecting my anxiety onto them. I started to swim and kayak, my husband's hobbies, despite anxiety about drowning, which I inherited from my mam. I did this specifically because I will not allow my irrational fears to be passed on to my children. I want them to swim, to learn water safety, to go on adventures with the scouts (if they wish). Or they can travel. Dance. Write. Be doctors. Soldiers. Pilots. Midwives. Ice Cream Van Owners. I will not allow my emotional insecurity to dictate my childrens' futures or destroy them... Yet the internet claims I will always put my needs first.
Truth is, what I need is for my children to live happy lives, content with themselves and their achievements, which is something I rarely feel for myself.
Additionally, there is no preferential treatment in our house, despite what is said about BPD parents 'splitting' their children into the 'good' one and the 'bad' one. There is also no violence or emotional abuse. We're the sort of household where the concept of a smacked bottom is a game, not a punishment, because it isn't a genuine threat. We use non-physical methods of teaching our children right from wrong. We use time outs ( though not often), refusing treats (again, rarely needed), etc. And my husband and I work together to ensure continuity of discipline and care. We both treat both of our children the same.
Despite what the internet claims about BPD parents, I do not use my children to hurt my husband; I'll leave using kids as weapons to my younger brother. He's very good at that, but I don't have the stomach for such behaviour. I do not rely on my children to make me feel loved, either. Sure, it hurts when they say they don't want me or that they 'aren't my best friend', but I also understand that's normal three year old behaviour. I do not rage at my children either, because they are my world. See, although I meet the criteria for BPD, I am not the self-centred monster some would have you believe.
I will always put my children first, even when it comes to my phobias. I'm petrified of strangers and dogs, but I will always stand between my children and stray dogs or unsavory looking characters. My fear does not come before protecting them because I love them and they deserve to come first. They are so much more important to me than I am to myself.
During the economic downturn I was made redundant, the week I had our daughter, our eldest child. Despite that, I set up a business. I worked for years, for next to nothing, for no emotional or health benefits, just to keep a roof over my childrens' heads. I even worked via my tablet while in a hospital bed, waiting for an operation, because what I was doing would pay for my children's food, clothes, and trips out. And I only took two days off after my operation Everything I do is for my children, but the stigma against BPD suffers would state this can't be true. It'd claim I must be lying. But I'm not lying. I'm not manipulating. I'm not perceiving things differently from how others see them, and I know this because it is other people who tell me I'm caring for my children, even when my sense of worthlessness makes me feel I'm failing them.
The 'claims' we've read recently about BPD have upset my husband as much as they upset me, because they aren't accurate. Not all BPD sufferers are narcissists. Yes, some have narcissistic traits. I have more avoidant traits. Do you know what that means? I'm more of a people avoider and then people pleaser than a people user. Narcissists have used me because I am constantly worried about what other people think and feel and seek to please. When I make mistakes, I apologise. When people need me, I'm there. I've spent all night talking a friends out of suicide more than once, even while suffering suicidal ideation myself. I am not an unfeeling narcissist. What I am is often over-sensitive, often empathetic individual who often cares too much rather than too little.
There are website after website of people discussing their 'psycho' and 'manipulative' BPD exes, and while I'm sure some BPDs are abusive to be involved with, that could be for any number of reasons. Maybe they have a more severe case. Maybe they have co-morbid Narcissistic Personality Disorder, or narcissistic raits. Maybe they are in denial about their condition. I don't know. what I do know is that the descriptions are not representative of every BPD sufferer. Why? I suspect because many of us are too afraid of negative backlash to discuss our problems and how the affect us, and if our partners are happy with us they don't need online support forums and so no one sees that side of the coin.
But there is a flip side.
Guess what? I'm self aware. I know my flaws and I'm getting help for them. To some who claim to understand what BPD means, that might come as a surprise. in fact, they may somehow twist that statement in an attempt to prove I'm manipulating you, my readers. But I'm not. I wear my heart on my sleeve. this blog is about honesty. Brutal honesty.
I've always understood aspects of my personality, even before it was given a label. That understanding has allowed me to sustain a loving and committed relationship with my husband for nearly thirteen years (and we're stronger now, despite my problems, than we were a year ago). It's allowed me to begin raising two beautiful children who are both doing well at school/nursery, who are openly affectionate but also confident in expressing their personal preferences and beliefs, who behave exactly like normal five and three year old children - and I know this because they're constantly watched by our family of teachers, special needs teaching assistants, and people who've studied child development.
I am not damaging my children. Why? Because my mental illness is treated as equal to a physical ailment by my support network. I do not depend on my children and I have the support of both family and trained professionals. Which brings me to my point, BPD parents can be good parents, but stigma allows the circulation of misinformation which means people with an illness are discriminated against rather than helped to live fulfilling lives. We need to start treating mental illness like other illness. Diagnose. Treat. And do not blame and accuse the patient. You wouldn't accuse someone with a physical illness of being unfit to parent just because of their diagnosis, you would see how they managed their illness first. It's time we did the same with mental illness.
Remember, most crimes (including domestic/child abuse) are committed without the culprit suffering mental health issues. My BPD doesn't mean I'm abusive, just like anothers lack of mental illness doesn't guarentee them not to be. We MUST stop demonising what we personally don't understand or have not experienced. That goes for invisible illnesses, disabilities, sexuality, gender indentification, all of it. Just stop. It's wrong. It's unnecessary. It does more harm than good.
It's also the reason I might choose to stay in the closet about suffering BPD. I'll talk to my doctors, my nurses, my mam, and my husband - those people I need for BPD/Depression treatment to work. I'll even talk to twitter about my conditions, but only under a pseudonym for now. But I won't put that diagnosis next to my real name in public. No more than I tell the general public I'm bi-sexual.
That is, actually, pretty much how I deal with my sexuality as well. I'm open to talking anonymously - campaigning to #endstigma, even - but not to those know me. Family wise, only my husband and mam know about my bi-sexuality. My husband in much the same as me (although he's told none of his family yet, and may never). My mam reacted to my revelation (only last year) as she would to a tattoo; with displeasure and eventually an unwillness to discuss it at all. That left me feeling as though part of me is wrong, broken, not quite right. Much the same as many think of mental illnesses, to be honest.
Not that it'should my mam's fault. She is from a different generation, that'sounds all. She doesn't stigmatise others but she isn't thrilled at knowing I falling under the LGBT label. Straight is easy, simple, understood. I guess that's why a lot of parents want their kids to be straight; it's easy and isn't stigmatised. But the world isn't fair or easy onavigation people. Sometimes it's a struggle.
Such is the life of the zombie in the closet; I have ever more to hide because of unjustified stigma. Learning to accept myself is hard when others don't accept me, but what the hell; this is the hand I've been dealt. But goodness, I hate labels.
I'm a person, not just #BPD, #LGBT, or #Inked. it really is time we ended all stigma; about mental health, sexuality, gender, body modification, all of it. Don't judge people because of the myths surrounding a label. Get to know them. Don't stigmatise; there are shades of gray (and a rainbow of colours) which require understanding, empathy, acceptance, and/or support, but not outright vilification (and that's from a 'black and white thinking' BPD). Based on the stigma around my labels I should be a narcissistic, abusive, greedy, promiscuous, thug. Yet I'm not. I'm an empathetic, overly-protective woman, who has been with the same man since she was 18, and who has psychological scars left over from going through years of torment herself, and who is actively engaged in getting treatment for those scars to get back a normal life.
For most of my life I've been 'high functioning'. I'm in a stable, traditional marriage. I've worked since I was 16. I am capable of critical thinking, even if SOMETIMES I might need a night to get an emotional reaction under check first. I am not my Recurrent Depressive Disorder, nor am I my Borderline Personality Disorder, or my bi-sexuality, or my tattoos. I am me. Nothing more and nothing less, and I am formed from 31 years of experience and learning, I am not a stereotype.
Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx
Thursday was my birthday, I turned 31. A friend paid for me to get two new tattoos which I designed over a year ago but never had the money to get. That brings my total number of tattoos up to four, each designed by me, each meaningful. All reminders of strength, a willingness to fight on, the strength of my ancestors, or of my own achievements. They're positive things for me, it's a creative process I enjoy and my tattoos are always there to remind me even pain can create beautiful end results. But this trip was even more monumental, because its the first time I've left the house in longer than I can remember.
Standing in the street was both wonderful and horrific. Seeing the autumn leaves and feeling the cool of the breeze was excellent. Being among people, cars, buses? That was terrible, anxiety inducing, and on top of that walking made my back pain play up which hurts a lot more than any tattoo. Calling into the chemist was truly horrible. My husband had to ask for what I needed (cream for tattoo after care) because I couldn't speak to the pharmacist. I just stood behind him, feeling like the pharmacist as suspicious of my motives even though I wasn't doing anything wrong, we'd never met before, and I know such thoughts are just my condition playing tricks on me. Feeling judged is part of my social phobia and it makes interaction with others a constant and exhausting challenge.
Actually getting the tattoos was great, however, because I went to the artist who did my last tat. She seems to have a lot of similar interests to me and the hubby, and she is far easier to talk to than I find many people. Sure, I over-analysed everything I said, but it was good. I achieved something. I both talked to someone and achieved going out to do something. That's progress.
But it's also when things got more complicated.
See, my mam, who I adore and who is one of my best friend (along with hubby) doesn't like tattoos. She vocally and visibly doesn't like tattoos. Neither does my mother in law, although she's no longer vocal. I saw the expressions of tight-lipped disapproval from both of them, and that caused anxiety to build rapidly.
Disapproval makes me nervous; I've lost enough people to fear disapproval, but at the same time I've survived losing enough people to know that - over things I find positive, things that help me and hurt no one else - it's my opinion that matters. It's my body. It's my self-image. It's my self-expression.
With everything else I'm a protector; I hide away more than you'd expect from someone with tattooed forearms. I hide my self-harm from most people and especially my kids, because I know they need stability (incidentally, since crisis team intervention I've been almost self-harm free). When I argue with my husband, we restrict it to when the kids are asleep or staying at their grandparents, we hide the problems. Providing safety and stability for my children is my utmost priority, just as it is my husbands, so I hide the ill, desperate side of myself away.
Some days that means hiding a lot. On others not so much. But creative outlets help (part of the reason I write novels, actually, and why I do illustrations for this blog), so to be able to get tattooed and express a part of me openly is nice. It's a bit of freedom when I often feel I need to hide, imprisoned by my depression, anxiety, phobias, the stigma attached to my sexuality, and as of this week, my newly diagnosed Borderline Personality Disorder.
BPD. I needed the diagnosis to get suitable treatment and so that I understand the need to step back when emotion takes over so I can gain objectivity. However, I needed another 'label' and the attached stigma about as much as the world needs Boris Johnson - Not at all.
To me, it's something else I'll have to hide from most people, because there's so much negativity attached to it. You just need to google 'BPD parenting' to be persuaded BPD mothers always destroy their children because they are incapable of putting them first, because they're narcissists, selfish, and inherently abusive people. One 'therapist' even claimed on twitter that BPD parents were incapable of loving their children.
How offensive is that? And no, this isn't an unjustified BPD rage. I'm calm right now. I'm rational. But as peer abuse (you might call it bullying) undoubtedly had a profound affect on my development and subsequent mental health problems, I strongly disapprove of false, stigmatising statements that misinform and may cause others to be judgemental towards a person they know nothing about. That particular 'therapist' seems to make so many black and white statements that she sounds more BPD than me.
And here's the thing: I CAN and DO love my children. I love them more than anything. I love my husband. My mam. My friends, even if I don't see them as often as I should. BPD is wrongly seen as an illness which prevents emotion and empathy, but that's just not true. Maybe some sufferers have disconnected so completely as a reaction to their heightened emotional state, but that's not true of all. In truth, BPD means I feel things MORE, not less, and that's true of a great many of us. Probably the majority, to be honest, otherwise it would seem more accurate to disgnose Anti-social Personality Disorder, which does include a lack of empathy. Or at least Narcissistic Personality Disorder which is characterised by caring only for ones own needs, at the detriment of others.
I'm hurt easily, yes, and my temper can burn brightly, although usually only when provoked into defending a loved one. My temper flares when I'm defending my mam, my husband, or my children, (or, for some reason, defending the following of best practise procedures at work). Most of my major arguments with my husband have been over something he's done which has risked our family home and/our our kids wellbeing (financially). For example, his panic when he was made redundant led him to acquiring debt and going into mortgage arrears which he didn't tell me about. I didn't know until the mortgage man turned up on the doorstep (while I was home alone and 36 weeks pregnant), and then when debt collectors started ringing. Once I knew, I sorted the issues, but I was furious, and I did do the 'I hate you, don't leave me' thing then.
My condition also means I worry intensley about my children. so much so that the first time my five year old crossed the street on her own to go and 'seek' a friend, I felt ill. I was breathless and nauseous even though I could watch her cross the streetvto ensure she was safe. But guess what? I didn't put my own emotional needs first, before my child's development. I didn't act as the internet claims a BPD person would inevitably do, and satisfy their emotional needs first and foremost. I let her cross the street, knowing we've taught her road safety and knowing that she has to be allowed to grow without having my fears pushed on her.
She's at the age where she wants friends outside the home, and she loves the girl across the street who is two years older than her. I'm fine with that. That's my daughter growing and I'm pleased she has friends and has fun interacting with other children, because I wasn't much older than her when the peer abuse started in my life and did huge harm, harm I never want my children to face.
That's what I do. Bury my anxiety so my kids can have a bright future, then let it out when they can't see, or hear, or through writing and art. So much of what I've done, right down to my hobbies are about conquering irrational fear/anxiety specifically so my kids can have wonderful experiences without me projecting my anxiety onto them. I started to swim and kayak, my husband's hobbies, despite anxiety about drowning, which I inherited from my mam. I did this specifically because I will not allow my irrational fears to be passed on to my children. I want them to swim, to learn water safety, to go on adventures with the scouts (if they wish). Or they can travel. Dance. Write. Be doctors. Soldiers. Pilots. Midwives. Ice Cream Van Owners. I will not allow my emotional insecurity to dictate my childrens' futures or destroy them... Yet the internet claims I will always put my needs first.
Truth is, what I need is for my children to live happy lives, content with themselves and their achievements, which is something I rarely feel for myself.
Additionally, there is no preferential treatment in our house, despite what is said about BPD parents 'splitting' their children into the 'good' one and the 'bad' one. There is also no violence or emotional abuse. We're the sort of household where the concept of a smacked bottom is a game, not a punishment, because it isn't a genuine threat. We use non-physical methods of teaching our children right from wrong. We use time outs ( though not often), refusing treats (again, rarely needed), etc. And my husband and I work together to ensure continuity of discipline and care. We both treat both of our children the same.
Despite what the internet claims about BPD parents, I do not use my children to hurt my husband; I'll leave using kids as weapons to my younger brother. He's very good at that, but I don't have the stomach for such behaviour. I do not rely on my children to make me feel loved, either. Sure, it hurts when they say they don't want me or that they 'aren't my best friend', but I also understand that's normal three year old behaviour. I do not rage at my children either, because they are my world. See, although I meet the criteria for BPD, I am not the self-centred monster some would have you believe.
I will always put my children first, even when it comes to my phobias. I'm petrified of strangers and dogs, but I will always stand between my children and stray dogs or unsavory looking characters. My fear does not come before protecting them because I love them and they deserve to come first. They are so much more important to me than I am to myself.
During the economic downturn I was made redundant, the week I had our daughter, our eldest child. Despite that, I set up a business. I worked for years, for next to nothing, for no emotional or health benefits, just to keep a roof over my childrens' heads. I even worked via my tablet while in a hospital bed, waiting for an operation, because what I was doing would pay for my children's food, clothes, and trips out. And I only took two days off after my operation Everything I do is for my children, but the stigma against BPD suffers would state this can't be true. It'd claim I must be lying. But I'm not lying. I'm not manipulating. I'm not perceiving things differently from how others see them, and I know this because it is other people who tell me I'm caring for my children, even when my sense of worthlessness makes me feel I'm failing them.
The 'claims' we've read recently about BPD have upset my husband as much as they upset me, because they aren't accurate. Not all BPD sufferers are narcissists. Yes, some have narcissistic traits. I have more avoidant traits. Do you know what that means? I'm more of a people avoider and then people pleaser than a people user. Narcissists have used me because I am constantly worried about what other people think and feel and seek to please. When I make mistakes, I apologise. When people need me, I'm there. I've spent all night talking a friends out of suicide more than once, even while suffering suicidal ideation myself. I am not an unfeeling narcissist. What I am is often over-sensitive, often empathetic individual who often cares too much rather than too little.
There are website after website of people discussing their 'psycho' and 'manipulative' BPD exes, and while I'm sure some BPDs are abusive to be involved with, that could be for any number of reasons. Maybe they have a more severe case. Maybe they have co-morbid Narcissistic Personality Disorder, or narcissistic raits. Maybe they are in denial about their condition. I don't know. what I do know is that the descriptions are not representative of every BPD sufferer. Why? I suspect because many of us are too afraid of negative backlash to discuss our problems and how the affect us, and if our partners are happy with us they don't need online support forums and so no one sees that side of the coin.
But there is a flip side.
Guess what? I'm self aware. I know my flaws and I'm getting help for them. To some who claim to understand what BPD means, that might come as a surprise. in fact, they may somehow twist that statement in an attempt to prove I'm manipulating you, my readers. But I'm not. I wear my heart on my sleeve. this blog is about honesty. Brutal honesty.
I've always understood aspects of my personality, even before it was given a label. That understanding has allowed me to sustain a loving and committed relationship with my husband for nearly thirteen years (and we're stronger now, despite my problems, than we were a year ago). It's allowed me to begin raising two beautiful children who are both doing well at school/nursery, who are openly affectionate but also confident in expressing their personal preferences and beliefs, who behave exactly like normal five and three year old children - and I know this because they're constantly watched by our family of teachers, special needs teaching assistants, and people who've studied child development.
I am not damaging my children. Why? Because my mental illness is treated as equal to a physical ailment by my support network. I do not depend on my children and I have the support of both family and trained professionals. Which brings me to my point, BPD parents can be good parents, but stigma allows the circulation of misinformation which means people with an illness are discriminated against rather than helped to live fulfilling lives. We need to start treating mental illness like other illness. Diagnose. Treat. And do not blame and accuse the patient. You wouldn't accuse someone with a physical illness of being unfit to parent just because of their diagnosis, you would see how they managed their illness first. It's time we did the same with mental illness.
Remember, most crimes (including domestic/child abuse) are committed without the culprit suffering mental health issues. My BPD doesn't mean I'm abusive, just like anothers lack of mental illness doesn't guarentee them not to be. We MUST stop demonising what we personally don't understand or have not experienced. That goes for invisible illnesses, disabilities, sexuality, gender indentification, all of it. Just stop. It's wrong. It's unnecessary. It does more harm than good.
It's also the reason I might choose to stay in the closet about suffering BPD. I'll talk to my doctors, my nurses, my mam, and my husband - those people I need for BPD/Depression treatment to work. I'll even talk to twitter about my conditions, but only under a pseudonym for now. But I won't put that diagnosis next to my real name in public. No more than I tell the general public I'm bi-sexual.
That is, actually, pretty much how I deal with my sexuality as well. I'm open to talking anonymously - campaigning to #endstigma, even - but not to those know me. Family wise, only my husband and mam know about my bi-sexuality. My husband in much the same as me (although he's told none of his family yet, and may never). My mam reacted to my revelation (only last year) as she would to a tattoo; with displeasure and eventually an unwillness to discuss it at all. That left me feeling as though part of me is wrong, broken, not quite right. Much the same as many think of mental illnesses, to be honest.
Not that it'should my mam's fault. She is from a different generation, that'sounds all. She doesn't stigmatise others but she isn't thrilled at knowing I falling under the LGBT label. Straight is easy, simple, understood. I guess that's why a lot of parents want their kids to be straight; it's easy and isn't stigmatised. But the world isn't fair or easy onavigation people. Sometimes it's a struggle.
Such is the life of the zombie in the closet; I have ever more to hide because of unjustified stigma. Learning to accept myself is hard when others don't accept me, but what the hell; this is the hand I've been dealt. But goodness, I hate labels.
I'm a person, not just #BPD, #LGBT, or #Inked. it really is time we ended all stigma; about mental health, sexuality, gender, body modification, all of it. Don't judge people because of the myths surrounding a label. Get to know them. Don't stigmatise; there are shades of gray (and a rainbow of colours) which require understanding, empathy, acceptance, and/or support, but not outright vilification (and that's from a 'black and white thinking' BPD). Based on the stigma around my labels I should be a narcissistic, abusive, greedy, promiscuous, thug. Yet I'm not. I'm an empathetic, overly-protective woman, who has been with the same man since she was 18, and who has psychological scars left over from going through years of torment herself, and who is actively engaged in getting treatment for those scars to get back a normal life.
For most of my life I've been 'high functioning'. I'm in a stable, traditional marriage. I've worked since I was 16. I am capable of critical thinking, even if SOMETIMES I might need a night to get an emotional reaction under check first. I am not my Recurrent Depressive Disorder, nor am I my Borderline Personality Disorder, or my bi-sexuality, or my tattoos. I am me. Nothing more and nothing less, and I am formed from 31 years of experience and learning, I am not a stereotype.
Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx
Wednesday 26 October 2016
Why Do We Wear Masks?
Everyone does it, no one is an open book for the whole of their lives. We wear masks to protect ourselves, to protect our hearts, minds, jobs, and reputations. We do it to survive. For some, the mask is a tube of lipgloss or the right cut of suit. For others it's a hair colour, a car, a marriage, or a standard of living. For those suffering from a mental illness, a mask can be a simple smile when they want to cry, or an 'I'm fine' when all they can think about is how grateful they'd be if the world stopped spinning.
Sadly, some masks are safer to remove than others; lipgloss and a sports car hide far fewer dangers than a fake smile. Removing some masks brings consequences. Devastating consequences... And strangely, removing the simplest of masks can be most traumatic.
My mask slipped once and seven months on, the conflict it caused hasn't been resolved. See, when my dad died, things happened that I couldn't deal with. Too much happened all at once, within a horrible 24 hour period. It was so bad that my mask didn't just slip, it shattered entirely and what my family saw was the brutal reality I'd been hiding. Pain. Anger. Scars. So much intense emotion that it bubbled over. Or rather, exploded out of me.
It was the wrong time for my mask to fall away, because what lay beneath couldn't be understood by those who faced it, especially not while they were grieving. However, it was also the most logical time for me to snap, while under so much pressure and feeling so many conflicting and confusing emotions... If only if it were that simple for others to rationalise.
When dad died of cancer, that wasn't beyond comprehension. It was horrific, but we all know it happens. We hear the stories and see the cancer research appeal adverts. Its's part of life and so families crowd around hospital beds, they care for their loved on on the palliative care ward and cry together as they say goodbye. That's what a terminal disease does in many cases. Even none terminal illness draws family in. The visit hospitals. Bring grapes. Come to visit your home with a box of chocolates and the notion they could, perhaps, cheer you up for a while.
But when was the last time you saw a bi-polar awareness appeal ad or a borderline personality disorder coffee morning? I bet your answer is never, despite suicide being a huge killer and depression being predicted to be more widespread than cancer by 2030. When was the last time you took a box of chocolates and a listening ear to a depressed friends house?
If you have done those things, I'm so grateful you're in the world, because you are exceptional. You are an exception to the rule. Why? Because while physical illness can be brutal on the whole family, the biology can be grasped with somewhat more ease than understanding why a loved one is screaming at you, or why they're taking a razor blade to their own skin.
There are so many misconceptions about mental illness compared to physical illness, so many that explaining them away can feel like an impossible task, especially to someone who may feel exhausted and vulnerable anyway without justifyingbsymptoms of tgeir illness. It's easier to hide a disorder than face the myth-based accusations that come from revealing it, whether your disorder is recurrent depression, anxiety, borderline personality disorder, schizophrenia, or a phobia. That's part of why I'd kept a lot hidden in the months leading up to my dad's death. Of course I wanted to protect my dad from worrying about me, but on top of that I didn't want to deal with the fallout a revelation would leave in its wake.
Only a few people knew I was on antidepressants between January and March, and it took a lot for me to tell mam that I was cutting again, that I was sliding back into the dark pit of despair which had often been part of my life. I didn't want people to know. I eanted it dealt with as privately as possible. It wouldn't have been fair to discuss it while dad needed us to support him anyway... but I hadn't been prepared for how difficult it would be to hold back the tide of emotion that would follow dad's death. After he died everything I'd been suppressing unintentionally poured out of me, and it did it in the form of enraged words.
That was how I lost people I once loved. My inner monster raised it's head and found itself unmasked. It snarled and snapped at more than just myself, and it caused irreparable damage. And why is the damage irreparable?
Because I was blamed for it, even after I apologised for my angry words.
I was blamed for an intensity of emotion that couldn't be controlled and for a condition I was actively seaking treatment for. No amount of apologies were accepted and in the end I felt I didn't have a voice at all because I was ignored. I said sorry for reacting as I did while at crisis point, and people turned away. They left me. Those same people who'd gathered around dad just days earlier vowed never to have a relationship with me again, because I had a different illness they 'wouldn't make excuses for me'.
I was going to list what was said about me following the disintergration of my mask, but the list is long so I made another post for that which can be found here if you're interested. All I'll say her is that loved ones turned away. They turned away because I'm sick. Because my mask failed me when I needed it most.
That's what people with a mental illness face when their illnesses becomes obvious; stigma, blame, guilt and their anger at their own condition reflected back at them from people who cannot understand that their behaviour is a condition, not an attack or a malicious attempt to manipulate and control.
I snapped once. On one stressful day, and for that I've been locked out by members of my family for seven months (and counting). I can't say sorry again now, because I've already apologised for what I said, and to apologise again would require apologising for an illness which is not my choice to have. Ibwon't do that. I've apologised for losing my temper. I've apologised for what was said in the heat of the moment. I won't apologise for my illness too.
I can't take back what's done, but nor should I need too. No one expects someone suffering a heart attack to apologise for the inconvenience their attack causes others, yet with mental health, people dole out blame. They accuse and chastise. That's why most of us who suffer mental illness have become proficient at keeping our masks in place. The consequences of revealing the truth are too demeaning, too brutal, too cruel to risk while already vulnerable.
But here's the truth; we shouldn't have to wear a mask all day, everyday. That confinement is no good for recovery and no use for promoting understanding. We need to encourage empathy and support. We need to educate, not humiliate, but we're also the least equipt to handle that education because we are vulnerable. Ending stigma towards mental health problems can't be left to sufferers alone. We need more advocates for equality with other illness, for securing government funding. We need to work together, patients, carers, health professionals and others with a voice to change the discussion on mental heath and remove the disguises we're forced to hide behind.
Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx
Sadly, some masks are safer to remove than others; lipgloss and a sports car hide far fewer dangers than a fake smile. Removing some masks brings consequences. Devastating consequences... And strangely, removing the simplest of masks can be most traumatic.
My mask slipped once and seven months on, the conflict it caused hasn't been resolved. See, when my dad died, things happened that I couldn't deal with. Too much happened all at once, within a horrible 24 hour period. It was so bad that my mask didn't just slip, it shattered entirely and what my family saw was the brutal reality I'd been hiding. Pain. Anger. Scars. So much intense emotion that it bubbled over. Or rather, exploded out of me.
It was the wrong time for my mask to fall away, because what lay beneath couldn't be understood by those who faced it, especially not while they were grieving. However, it was also the most logical time for me to snap, while under so much pressure and feeling so many conflicting and confusing emotions... If only if it were that simple for others to rationalise.
When dad died of cancer, that wasn't beyond comprehension. It was horrific, but we all know it happens. We hear the stories and see the cancer research appeal adverts. Its's part of life and so families crowd around hospital beds, they care for their loved on on the palliative care ward and cry together as they say goodbye. That's what a terminal disease does in many cases. Even none terminal illness draws family in. The visit hospitals. Bring grapes. Come to visit your home with a box of chocolates and the notion they could, perhaps, cheer you up for a while.
But when was the last time you saw a bi-polar awareness appeal ad or a borderline personality disorder coffee morning? I bet your answer is never, despite suicide being a huge killer and depression being predicted to be more widespread than cancer by 2030. When was the last time you took a box of chocolates and a listening ear to a depressed friends house?
If you have done those things, I'm so grateful you're in the world, because you are exceptional. You are an exception to the rule. Why? Because while physical illness can be brutal on the whole family, the biology can be grasped with somewhat more ease than understanding why a loved one is screaming at you, or why they're taking a razor blade to their own skin.
There are so many misconceptions about mental illness compared to physical illness, so many that explaining them away can feel like an impossible task, especially to someone who may feel exhausted and vulnerable anyway without justifyingbsymptoms of tgeir illness. It's easier to hide a disorder than face the myth-based accusations that come from revealing it, whether your disorder is recurrent depression, anxiety, borderline personality disorder, schizophrenia, or a phobia. That's part of why I'd kept a lot hidden in the months leading up to my dad's death. Of course I wanted to protect my dad from worrying about me, but on top of that I didn't want to deal with the fallout a revelation would leave in its wake.
Only a few people knew I was on antidepressants between January and March, and it took a lot for me to tell mam that I was cutting again, that I was sliding back into the dark pit of despair which had often been part of my life. I didn't want people to know. I eanted it dealt with as privately as possible. It wouldn't have been fair to discuss it while dad needed us to support him anyway... but I hadn't been prepared for how difficult it would be to hold back the tide of emotion that would follow dad's death. After he died everything I'd been suppressing unintentionally poured out of me, and it did it in the form of enraged words.
That was how I lost people I once loved. My inner monster raised it's head and found itself unmasked. It snarled and snapped at more than just myself, and it caused irreparable damage. And why is the damage irreparable?
Because I was blamed for it, even after I apologised for my angry words.
I was blamed for an intensity of emotion that couldn't be controlled and for a condition I was actively seaking treatment for. No amount of apologies were accepted and in the end I felt I didn't have a voice at all because I was ignored. I said sorry for reacting as I did while at crisis point, and people turned away. They left me. Those same people who'd gathered around dad just days earlier vowed never to have a relationship with me again, because I had a different illness they 'wouldn't make excuses for me'.
I was going to list what was said about me following the disintergration of my mask, but the list is long so I made another post for that which can be found here if you're interested. All I'll say her is that loved ones turned away. They turned away because I'm sick. Because my mask failed me when I needed it most.
That's what people with a mental illness face when their illnesses becomes obvious; stigma, blame, guilt and their anger at their own condition reflected back at them from people who cannot understand that their behaviour is a condition, not an attack or a malicious attempt to manipulate and control.
I snapped once. On one stressful day, and for that I've been locked out by members of my family for seven months (and counting). I can't say sorry again now, because I've already apologised for what I said, and to apologise again would require apologising for an illness which is not my choice to have. Ibwon't do that. I've apologised for losing my temper. I've apologised for what was said in the heat of the moment. I won't apologise for my illness too.
I can't take back what's done, but nor should I need too. No one expects someone suffering a heart attack to apologise for the inconvenience their attack causes others, yet with mental health, people dole out blame. They accuse and chastise. That's why most of us who suffer mental illness have become proficient at keeping our masks in place. The consequences of revealing the truth are too demeaning, too brutal, too cruel to risk while already vulnerable.
But here's the truth; we shouldn't have to wear a mask all day, everyday. That confinement is no good for recovery and no use for promoting understanding. We need to encourage empathy and support. We need to educate, not humiliate, but we're also the least equipt to handle that education because we are vulnerable. Ending stigma towards mental health problems can't be left to sufferers alone. We need more advocates for equality with other illness, for securing government funding. We need to work together, patients, carers, health professionals and others with a voice to change the discussion on mental heath and remove the disguises we're forced to hide behind.
Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx
After The Mask Slips
This links in to my post about why we wear masks. Below is a list of things that have been said to me since my mask slipped.
I was:
'Selfish' - Interesting, considering that defending another person caused the situation which broke my mask.
'A brat' - Because I couldn't control my emotions due to a mental illness.
'Not the only one who was hurting' - I knew that, but I wasn't just hurting. I was suicidal. I was and still am on a ledge where jumping makes most sense. my illness isn't 'hurting' me. It could kill me.
'Using self harm to hold mam hostage' - Not true, I'd hidden it until I desperately needed help and even then she doesn't know the half of it. I cut to survive, not to control.
'You Blow up and make a fuss' - A man fom an accident, a man in pain, might scream and shout. People would offer consoling words and medics would administer pain relief. But mental anguish... when someone with a mental illness screams their pain they're 'making a fuss' at best and 'psycho' at worst. Neither of those analysis are correct, though, and both stigmatise.
'You just take' - This one was for someone I'd never asked for anything, except a lift to a job interview once, and I didn't ask. He offered. Also, apparently I've never done anything for him... I'm not even going to tackle that one because it's untrue and a tangent that isn't covered by this post.
'There is only so much someone can put up with, mental illness or not' - People will weather storms of physical illness but mental illness isn't seen as an illness, as something which isn't a choice. It's seen as a character flaw.
'Your problem is you think you're the only one' - Not true, but at that point I felt I was dying. That's why I attempted suicide the month after this falling out. I was in need of help just to stay alive.
'Misguided' - I don't get that one.
'If you want anything else, bother someone else' - Can you even imagine saying that to someone with a physical illness or disability? But with mental illness it's apparently ok.
'You haven't got a clue' - Apparently I wasn't the only one.
'Unbelievable' - Yup, that I was responding to an illness is unbelievable.
'You really are an idiot' - Where do I start with that?
'A problem of your own making' - I didn't turn myself into this thing I am. No one would choose it. It's a nightmare than never seems to end and I cant run away from myself. Not without giving in to the suicidal thoughts.
'When I think you can't get any lower, you prove me wrong.' - That's how I feel about my black pit of depression too, but thank you for your disgust at me.
'Ignorant, selfish arsehole' - Nice. Not suffering a mental illness which affects my ability to cope with stressors or rationally think through stressful situations. I'm just an ignorant, selfish, arsehole.
'You put unbelievable stress on mam' - The person who claimed that has it backwards, but more than backwards he's basically indicating my illness needs to be hidden so it doesn't stress others. not like a physical illness where help can be sought.
'I don't know what good I personally get from this relationship' - Because relationships are all about personal gain.
'You think you are the only person in the world who is suffering' - I don't, my friendship group includes people with severe depression, anxiety, and other chronic illnesses. We support eachother all the time. I've stayed up all night talking others out of suicide before. I'm aware others suffer but that doesn't mean I can supress my illness anymore than someone with a physical condition could.
'I personally cannot and will not put up with it anymore' - Can you imagine if I'd said that to dad because watching him become ever more sick was worsening my mental health. I wouldn't have considered saying it. Never in a million years. But with my mental Illness? That's acceptable, it seems.
'Disgraceful behaviour' - My illness is disgraceful. that one just leaves me feeling defeated.
'Obstructive' - I'm not being obstructive, my illness prevents me doing certain things.
'Refusal' - I'm not refusing to do things, I can't do them. a paraplegic doesn't refuse to walk, they just can't do it. why do we use different language for mental health?
The way we talk about mental health and how we speak to people suffering mental illness is in direct opposition to how we talk about other illnesses and how we speak to others with disabilities. Why?
That's the real question. Why?
Pseudonymous Zombie
I was:
'Selfish' - Interesting, considering that defending another person caused the situation which broke my mask.
'A brat' - Because I couldn't control my emotions due to a mental illness.
'Not the only one who was hurting' - I knew that, but I wasn't just hurting. I was suicidal. I was and still am on a ledge where jumping makes most sense. my illness isn't 'hurting' me. It could kill me.
'Using self harm to hold mam hostage' - Not true, I'd hidden it until I desperately needed help and even then she doesn't know the half of it. I cut to survive, not to control.
'You Blow up and make a fuss' - A man fom an accident, a man in pain, might scream and shout. People would offer consoling words and medics would administer pain relief. But mental anguish... when someone with a mental illness screams their pain they're 'making a fuss' at best and 'psycho' at worst. Neither of those analysis are correct, though, and both stigmatise.
'You just take' - This one was for someone I'd never asked for anything, except a lift to a job interview once, and I didn't ask. He offered. Also, apparently I've never done anything for him... I'm not even going to tackle that one because it's untrue and a tangent that isn't covered by this post.
'There is only so much someone can put up with, mental illness or not' - People will weather storms of physical illness but mental illness isn't seen as an illness, as something which isn't a choice. It's seen as a character flaw.
'Your problem is you think you're the only one' - Not true, but at that point I felt I was dying. That's why I attempted suicide the month after this falling out. I was in need of help just to stay alive.
'Misguided' - I don't get that one.
'If you want anything else, bother someone else' - Can you even imagine saying that to someone with a physical illness or disability? But with mental illness it's apparently ok.
'You haven't got a clue' - Apparently I wasn't the only one.
'Unbelievable' - Yup, that I was responding to an illness is unbelievable.
'You really are an idiot' - Where do I start with that?
'A problem of your own making' - I didn't turn myself into this thing I am. No one would choose it. It's a nightmare than never seems to end and I cant run away from myself. Not without giving in to the suicidal thoughts.
'When I think you can't get any lower, you prove me wrong.' - That's how I feel about my black pit of depression too, but thank you for your disgust at me.
'Ignorant, selfish arsehole' - Nice. Not suffering a mental illness which affects my ability to cope with stressors or rationally think through stressful situations. I'm just an ignorant, selfish, arsehole.
'You put unbelievable stress on mam' - The person who claimed that has it backwards, but more than backwards he's basically indicating my illness needs to be hidden so it doesn't stress others. not like a physical illness where help can be sought.
'I don't know what good I personally get from this relationship' - Because relationships are all about personal gain.
'You think you are the only person in the world who is suffering' - I don't, my friendship group includes people with severe depression, anxiety, and other chronic illnesses. We support eachother all the time. I've stayed up all night talking others out of suicide before. I'm aware others suffer but that doesn't mean I can supress my illness anymore than someone with a physical condition could.
'I personally cannot and will not put up with it anymore' - Can you imagine if I'd said that to dad because watching him become ever more sick was worsening my mental health. I wouldn't have considered saying it. Never in a million years. But with my mental Illness? That's acceptable, it seems.
'Disgraceful behaviour' - My illness is disgraceful. that one just leaves me feeling defeated.
'Obstructive' - I'm not being obstructive, my illness prevents me doing certain things.
'Refusal' - I'm not refusing to do things, I can't do them. a paraplegic doesn't refuse to walk, they just can't do it. why do we use different language for mental health?
The way we talk about mental health and how we speak to people suffering mental illness is in direct opposition to how we talk about other illnesses and how we speak to others with disabilities. Why?
That's the real question. Why?
Pseudonymous Zombie
Monday 24 October 2016
Trapped In My Own Head
There are times when I'm silent despite the tears rolling over my cheeks, even though in my head, I'm screaming at the top of my lungs. I'm clawing at the inside of my skull, trying to escape the monsters which torment me. But all my attempts to escape are in vain. They always have been. Every light I think I see blinks out, leaving me in a dark pit which seems ever more sinister.
You see, the monsters don't want to let me go and they extinguish every spot of brilliance which might lead me to freedom. Three of them are as familiar as old friends now, although they're my jailers rather than much loved companions. Their names? Despression (D), Anxiety (A), and Suicidal Ideation (SI). They claw at me, feed on me, slowly eating me alive while I writhe in the dark, trying to find a way to escape but knowing it's hopeless. There is no escape hatch in my mind and despite my screams, no help is coming.
There are probably other monsters tearing chunks from me too, but they're as of yet unnamed. Vague, undiagnosed, not like the three I'm on first name terms with. Those three seem to have been my life long companions. I can't remember when I finally learned the names of the beasts who'd began to torment me before my age reached double digits, nor can I remember when they first clawed at my still developing sense of self.
The struggle has gone on so long now, that at times it feels like I'm going mad, losing control of my mind. My thoughts spiral. Worries and paranoia tumble over each other until I can't understand what I'm anxious about, and A mocks me as he predicts catastrophe after catastrophe. Meanwhile, D whispers his insidious lies, telling me that no one could truly love me, that I'm worthless, that my family would be better off without me. D is best friends with SI, who is arguably the most dangerous of my three tormentors. She is the executioner. A and D are mere interrogators, they're torturers and judges. It's SI who sharpens the weapons of my demise, because it's SI murmurs constantly in my ear, plotting all the ways I could end my life and tempting me with them daily.
Being trapped inside my own head with such gaolers is hell. So many times I just want out of there, that dark cell where my screams go unheard and the monsters remain invisble to the people passing obliviously by my dead outer shell. Mental illness is a lonely prison where friends often don't exist, but where hungry demons of your own creation feed on your spirit and drain you of energy. They devour your will to live until all that's left is the desire to die.
I don't want to live this way any more. I don't want to cry and scream as I try to escape my mind. I want to be normal, and if not normal, I would like to push SI from my mind and have the strength to fight back against A and D. I want some quiet. Some peace. I want the scars to heal, then maybe I can heal too.
There's a problem with that though. Some people say they want to become who they were before their illness, but I was a six year old girl back then. My personality and knowledge hadn't finished developing. I don't know who I would be without D and A, and that itself is terrifying. Although perhaps not as much as the feeling that there's a bigger predator circling, one caused by traumas in the past, which simply hasn't been given a name yet.
Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx
You see, the monsters don't want to let me go and they extinguish every spot of brilliance which might lead me to freedom. Three of them are as familiar as old friends now, although they're my jailers rather than much loved companions. Their names? Despression (D), Anxiety (A), and Suicidal Ideation (SI). They claw at me, feed on me, slowly eating me alive while I writhe in the dark, trying to find a way to escape but knowing it's hopeless. There is no escape hatch in my mind and despite my screams, no help is coming.
There are probably other monsters tearing chunks from me too, but they're as of yet unnamed. Vague, undiagnosed, not like the three I'm on first name terms with. Those three seem to have been my life long companions. I can't remember when I finally learned the names of the beasts who'd began to torment me before my age reached double digits, nor can I remember when they first clawed at my still developing sense of self.
The struggle has gone on so long now, that at times it feels like I'm going mad, losing control of my mind. My thoughts spiral. Worries and paranoia tumble over each other until I can't understand what I'm anxious about, and A mocks me as he predicts catastrophe after catastrophe. Meanwhile, D whispers his insidious lies, telling me that no one could truly love me, that I'm worthless, that my family would be better off without me. D is best friends with SI, who is arguably the most dangerous of my three tormentors. She is the executioner. A and D are mere interrogators, they're torturers and judges. It's SI who sharpens the weapons of my demise, because it's SI murmurs constantly in my ear, plotting all the ways I could end my life and tempting me with them daily.
Being trapped inside my own head with such gaolers is hell. So many times I just want out of there, that dark cell where my screams go unheard and the monsters remain invisble to the people passing obliviously by my dead outer shell. Mental illness is a lonely prison where friends often don't exist, but where hungry demons of your own creation feed on your spirit and drain you of energy. They devour your will to live until all that's left is the desire to die.
I don't want to live this way any more. I don't want to cry and scream as I try to escape my mind. I want to be normal, and if not normal, I would like to push SI from my mind and have the strength to fight back against A and D. I want some quiet. Some peace. I want the scars to heal, then maybe I can heal too.
There's a problem with that though. Some people say they want to become who they were before their illness, but I was a six year old girl back then. My personality and knowledge hadn't finished developing. I don't know who I would be without D and A, and that itself is terrifying. Although perhaps not as much as the feeling that there's a bigger predator circling, one caused by traumas in the past, which simply hasn't been given a name yet.
Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx
Saturday 22 October 2016
The Untreated
When I saw a psychiatrist last week, he himself said I was 'more than severely depressed'. We discussed anxiety. Agoraphobia. Social phobia. Avoidant personality. I thought I was finally properly being diagnosed. Then I received his written report, which stated I have recurrent depressive disorder but "there was a report of self harm behaviour and anxious avoidant strategies, however there was not enough evidence to formulate a diagnosis of comorbid personality disorder". That diagnosis, or lack thereof, is disheartening.
And no, it's not that I want another disorder. It's that I believe there is more going on and I feel like that's being ignored. I constantly feel like I'm screaming, screaming for help as the darkness creeps around me and light recedes. Screaming, even though it's hard to speak, or even to breathe. People hear me but they turn away. They hear me, but they don't have time to help. That leaves me feeling hopeless.
I wanted my GP to check for other disorders months ago, but there just arent enough community psychiatrists to see me based on what I think are possible conditions. I wanted to discuss it with the CMHT nurse who initially assessed me, but again, discussing it is really a no go until I'm assigned my CPN and my treatment really starts. That's why I'm attempting to inform myself about the possibilities.
I know self-diagnosis is not advised, but after 22 years of asking for help it's inevitable that I've done my own reading, so I have ideas, but I'll discuss them after I've gone over a few other comments in the psychiatrist's report which left me feeling deflated.
"Crisis team to monitor for 7 to 10 days", I'm already on day 8 and I now feel I'm running out of time for help when I haven't yet been given my community psychiatric nurse. Will I be abandoned again in two days time? I know the Crisis Team is as its name suggests, it's for crisis not long term treatment, however, if they discharge me before other help is in place I know I'll end up back at crisis point. I've thought about it so many times this week. And I'm not sure how many times I can go through the cycle before I lose faith in there being help again.
If I'm discharged from the crisis team before I have a CPN, I think I'll give up. I won't phone next time I feel like killing myself. What would be the point if the help I need never comes? That though leads to my next extract from the psychiatrists letter.
"No further medical input required". What does that mean? I need medical input. I need to know for sure if there is something else. I need the depression and anxiety to be treated so I remember how to live.
Last night I had a panic attack, when it east I ended up wandering the house looking for a way to kill myself as I no longer have access to car keys or pills. I had a plan to get an extension cable and hang myself from the banister. Matt had to phone the crisis team for me again. Talking to them helped, but it's a new method of coping. It's novel. Sooner or later I'll need more.
What do I need to do to get continued help from people who'll listen to me? Do I have to make another suicide attempt? Because if it comes to that, it won't be an attempt. It won't be cry for help, it'll be a determined attempt to die. And that's the head space I was in last night.
Here's the thing... My brain tells me I should be dead all of the time, constantly, and I want it to stop. I would die just to make it, and my self-loathing and self-doubt, stop. That means I need help, right? But help is hard to get. I'm in a cycle and it feels like the only way to get off the ride is by dying.
That's everyday life for me, however, so lets ignore the nagging suicidal thoughts for a moment and focus on "not enough evidence to formulate a disagnosis of co-morbid personality disorders." That's what I want to discuss.
There is a disorder I suggested to my GP, Borderline Personality Disorder, although she didn't seem overly interested in investigating. Here's why I think it's worth taking a look at...
- Do you have an intense fear of being left alone, which causes you to act in ways that, on reflection, seem out of the ordinary or extreme, such as constantly phoning somebody (but not including self-harming or suicidal behaviour)?
Yes, I do this. I'm terrified of being abandoned. There are days when I'm irrationally furious with my husband and I'll scream at bim to leave. Then stand in the door so he can't, because I'm afraid he won't come back. I'll promise friends more than I can manage because I'm afraid of losing them if I say I can only manage less.
I'm a self published author, but in the past year but at times I've barely written because I've been rewriting somone elses chapters for them because I felt obliged to keep her happy and keep her friendship. As it is, that friendhip has now ended so I'm no longer rewriting her book for her, but I did get drawn into that trap for the better part of a year.
Even two weeks ago, when we were barely speaking as I'd learned how manipulative the person was, she messaged asking me to read over a short story. She hadn't spoken to me in weeks but she wanted a favour. There was no 'hello, how are you doing', just 'can you read this and give me feedback?' I spent three or four hours going through that story for her. I rewrote example paragraphs and made detailed suggestions. Then she went back to barely speaking again. Because my fear of being hated is so great I'll do things I'm not really up to, until I'm at breaking point and become angry, and push people away.
I also feel obliged to answer messages even when I'm in a situation where my phone should be off because I fear people will come to hate me if I don't reply. That's so stressful that I can only interact with a few people at a time. I barely write now because I'm afraid that if I take time for myself and stop messaging my few friends, I'll lose them.
And if I try to get in touch with someone and get no answer? I panic and keep ringing. If i upset someone I keep messaging, trying to explain, even though the flood of messages often make things worse rather than better. Sometimes I must look crazy (by that I mean out of control). I certainly feel it.
- Do you have a pattern of intense and unstable relationships with other people that switch between thinking you love that person and they're wonderful to hating that person and thinking they're terrible?
Yes. Not my marriage. Well, I have days where I can be loving and then believing I hate my husband. We've been together for twelve years and there have been some pretty unstable periods when our 'issues' clash, but he loves me, and I love him. He's one of the few people who can make me laugh.
The real unstable relationships are with friends and other family members. The friends I have, I idolise, but psst experience tells me that I can go from idolising to hating very quickly. There are a few I hope this would never happen with, and I hope they forgive me if it does. I'm really trying not to be the sort of person I seem to be. As for family members...
I supposed I must have idolised my dad at some point. We had a complicated relationship and there were a lot of times I hated him. It took until the last year, when he was dying, to be able to say 'I love you' again and mean it. It was the last thing I said to him.
Whereas the last thing I said to my brother was the he was an arsehole. That was the day after dad died and I was struggling. My anger was rearing up to protect me from breaking down and when we fell out it exploded. I apologised, but he wouldn't accept an apology. He then went on to tell me I only self harm to hold man hostage, which isn't at all true as mam often doesnt know when I'm self harming. We fell out. I fell out with my other brother too.
I hate them both.
I did love both of them. Despite our competitive streaks I idolised the older of the two and I adored the youngest. But now I hate them both, and they might as well have evaporated. And I decided that in a moment. I spent a while being heartbroken over the falling out, then one night I thought 'no, I hate them. I don't care what happens to them now', and the switch was flicked.
That's an unhealthy skill I have, the ability to flick from love to hate, I guess I learned it during the times when my dad walked away and wouldn't speak to me for six months at a time. Or maybe I learned it when friends left me because, I assume, they were fightened of being targetted by the bullies who were targetting me. I don't know. I just know I can press that switch.
- Do you ever feel you don't have a strong sense of your own self and are unclear about your self-image?
Goodness yes. At almost 31 I still don't know what I want to be. The best option is an author because I enjoy writing and it allows me to explore different facets of my character, of experience, and even work out how to be a better person. But as far of myself goes... I switched university course three times because my goals kept changing. What I aspire to keeps changing. A lot of the time I just don't know what I want.
- Do you engage in impulsive activities in two areas that are potentially damaging, such as unsafe sex, drug abuse or reckless spending (but not including self-harming or suicidal behaviour)?
I do spend recklessly. My husband is terrible with fiances so I have to control them, but that involves a battle with myself because I do impulse by a lot. Even when I 'plan' a big purchase, our version of planning is to discuss it without making plans other than 'we'll save up', and then one day I'll be in need of a pick-me-up and I'll say 'fuck it, lets get that'.
I also binge eat. My depression currently means I don't really have an appetite driving me to eat. I eat because my husband makes food. However, I do have a habit of going through stages when I'll go through every sweet thing in the house. My brother has shown his disgust before because I ate a whole Golden Syrup cake for breakfast. I can do that. Eat a whole cake. A family size bar of chocolate. A box of donuts. It's not a daily thing, but I go through periods of binge eating. I just don't admit it because I'm ashamed of it. I know it's tied up with my mental illness but I'm ashamed of it.
That comes back to stigma, though, doesn't it. There's a lot of media coverage on anorexia and bulimia, on how the media encourage those conditions and how people suffering symptoms of those conditions need help. But if the media shows an overweight person devour a whole cake, scorn follows. They're seen as greedy pigs. As a strain on the NHS. As people who don't deserve help because they're causing their own suffering. No one ever says 'this person has a mental illness and they need help'.
So I don't admit my dark, disgusting secrets about refusing dinner but then hiding alone eating a full family size packet of marshmallows. That's just stupid and disgusting, right? More so than vomitting after meals, which is part of an illness.
The media still sees eating disorders as starving because of distorted self-image or mental illness. They don't show that over-eating or over-eating junk food is also a reaction to distorted self image and mental health conditions. The person in the street often expresses the same bias. How can anyone admit binge eating is a problem for them when they expect to be met with disgust?
- Have you made repeated suicide threats or attempts in your past and engaged in self-harming?
Yes. Repeated threats, I've made one recorded attempt, family intervention has stopped several others, and in the last week crisis team involvement has stoped several. Ive self harmed for years. My left leg is scars from ankle to knee. I have scars on my other leg and my arms too.
- Do you have severe mood swings, such as feeling intensely depressed, anxious or irritable, which last from a few hours to a few days?
Yes. I'm in a severe depressive epidode at the moment with severe anxiety. An extended episode happens every few years, but between my them I'd consider myself to be emotionally unstable. I have severe mood swings that cause shorter term depression, anxiety, and anger. I can be ok, then at seemingly nothing I'll be suicidal, or anxious, or easily angered. Then I'll be ok again.
- Do you have long-term feelings of emptiness and loneliness?
Yes. All the time. It's one of the hardest parts of being me, the emptiness that just stays, stoping me from interacting or living like normal people. I can't remember not feeling lonely on some level.
- Do you have sudden and intense feelings of anger and aggression, and often find it difficult to control your anger?
Yes. This influenced my falling out with my brothers. It's affected my interaction with colleagues before too, and my husband.
- When you find yourself in stressful situations, do you have feelings of paranoia, or do you feel like you're disconnected from the world or from your own body, thoughts and behaviour?
I often feel paranoid that people are talking about me, laughing at me, or plotting against me, at othertimes I feel totally disconnected and yes, like my body is going through the act of living and interacting but I'm not really there.i also find it hard to remember things that go on while disconnected.
So, that's Borderline Personality Disorder, the indicators and my responses. I think that's my most likely disorder and would like that to be investigated, but I feel like having waited 16 years to help with depression (22 if you consider the years of migraines due tobstress before that diagnosis), that it'll be another 22 years before anyone listens to my suspicions that more is going on.
However, let's consider me as someone without BDP as the psychiatrist I saw didn't mention it at all. Let's consider Avoidant Personality Disorder instead, as an epansion of my anxious avoidant strategies which were noted.
Avoidant Personality Disorder (taken from this website):
As briefly aforementioned, people with AVPD will exhibit a variety of common traits and characteristics. Although these may vary slightly from person to person, generally avoidant personality disorder symptoms are quite specific. This does not mean however that someone who shows signs of avoidant behaviour has the disorder. Everyone from time to time may feel hypersensitive and antisocial, and only those who exhibit a number of AVPD traits can qualify for a diagnosis.
The most common avoidant personality symptoms are:
- Avoidance of occupational activities.
I've been on the sick for 6 months and I really don't want to go back. Does that count?
- Easily hurt and offended by criticism or disapproval.
Yes. Definitely. And I'll spend days going over and over critisism feeling worthless.
- No close friends.
No. I have a select group of close friends.
- Strong reluctance to get involved with other people.
Yes and no. I'd like to be involved but I don't know how to be without extreme anxiety inhibiting me.
- Strong reluctance to take personal risks or engage in new activities.
Yes. Definitely. Risks and unfamiliar situations cause panic attacks.
- Very shy in social situations.
Yes. Very. I'm known for sticking to my husband's side and staying quiet.
- Preoccupied with criticism.
Yes. See point two.
- Exaggeration of potential difficulties.
I wouldn't say I exaggerate, others might.
- Holding back in intimate relationships.
No. As far as intimate relationships go I'm an all in kind of person.
- Perception that they are socially inept.
I AM socially inept.
- Constantly using 'always' and 'never' statements.
I sometimes use always and never statements.
- Blaming others for creating a problem rather than dealing with the problem.
No, I'll deal with it while seething at the person who is to blame. At least I did until my current depression hit.
- Catastrophizing - always assuming the worst case scenario.
Yes. I do that.
- Depression and mood swings.
Yes.
- Escaping to fantasy worlds and daydreaming about ideal relationships.
Yes, I guess. I'm an author and I write paranormal fantasy books so escaping to fantasy is kind of my thing...
- Fear of abandonment.
Yes. So much so that I avoid people so I don't upset the into leaving, but then they feel pushed away anyway.
- Hardly speaking when forced to participate in a social situation.
Yes. I do this whenever I'm forced into a social situation.
- Hypervigilant - having an unhealthy obsession with the actions, thoughts and interests of others.
I wouldn't say obsession, but I do have an unhealthy concern over the thoughts of others.
- Passive-aggressive behaviour.
Sometimes, when I'm trying to rein in the openly angry outburst which relate to what I discussed in the BPD section of this post.
- Self-loathing and self-victimisation.
All the time. I hate myself. I blame myself for everything. Often it's unbearable.
- Tunnel vision - can only focus on a single concern while ignoring priorities.
I want to say no, but recently it's a yes.
I've read up on other personality disorders too, but none fit as well as BPD followed by AvPD. And the indicators that I've answered yes to all severly impact my life, my ability to socialise, leave the house, maintain family relationships, maintain friendships. I really do think there's something else going on apart from recurrent depressive disorder, but I'm terrified of mentioning it again in case I'm ignored, or told I'm being a hypochondriac. I'm scared of being judged if I ask for a third time. So what do I do? That's a question I can't answer, because part of my brain say's I need help, but another part of my brain also says no one will help anyway so I may as well stay quiet. Or better yet, die.
This is what happens when mental illness goes untreated for too long. Vulnerable peole whose minds are already working against them become ever more entrenched in their doubts and symptoms. But a lot of the time, it seems the government and wider world don't care about that. Physical illness is worthy of being treated. Mental illness? Not so much.
Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx
And no, it's not that I want another disorder. It's that I believe there is more going on and I feel like that's being ignored. I constantly feel like I'm screaming, screaming for help as the darkness creeps around me and light recedes. Screaming, even though it's hard to speak, or even to breathe. People hear me but they turn away. They hear me, but they don't have time to help. That leaves me feeling hopeless.
I wanted my GP to check for other disorders months ago, but there just arent enough community psychiatrists to see me based on what I think are possible conditions. I wanted to discuss it with the CMHT nurse who initially assessed me, but again, discussing it is really a no go until I'm assigned my CPN and my treatment really starts. That's why I'm attempting to inform myself about the possibilities.
I know self-diagnosis is not advised, but after 22 years of asking for help it's inevitable that I've done my own reading, so I have ideas, but I'll discuss them after I've gone over a few other comments in the psychiatrist's report which left me feeling deflated.
"Crisis team to monitor for 7 to 10 days", I'm already on day 8 and I now feel I'm running out of time for help when I haven't yet been given my community psychiatric nurse. Will I be abandoned again in two days time? I know the Crisis Team is as its name suggests, it's for crisis not long term treatment, however, if they discharge me before other help is in place I know I'll end up back at crisis point. I've thought about it so many times this week. And I'm not sure how many times I can go through the cycle before I lose faith in there being help again.
If I'm discharged from the crisis team before I have a CPN, I think I'll give up. I won't phone next time I feel like killing myself. What would be the point if the help I need never comes? That though leads to my next extract from the psychiatrists letter.
"No further medical input required". What does that mean? I need medical input. I need to know for sure if there is something else. I need the depression and anxiety to be treated so I remember how to live.
Last night I had a panic attack, when it east I ended up wandering the house looking for a way to kill myself as I no longer have access to car keys or pills. I had a plan to get an extension cable and hang myself from the banister. Matt had to phone the crisis team for me again. Talking to them helped, but it's a new method of coping. It's novel. Sooner or later I'll need more.
What do I need to do to get continued help from people who'll listen to me? Do I have to make another suicide attempt? Because if it comes to that, it won't be an attempt. It won't be cry for help, it'll be a determined attempt to die. And that's the head space I was in last night.
Here's the thing... My brain tells me I should be dead all of the time, constantly, and I want it to stop. I would die just to make it, and my self-loathing and self-doubt, stop. That means I need help, right? But help is hard to get. I'm in a cycle and it feels like the only way to get off the ride is by dying.
That's everyday life for me, however, so lets ignore the nagging suicidal thoughts for a moment and focus on "not enough evidence to formulate a disagnosis of co-morbid personality disorders." That's what I want to discuss.
There is a disorder I suggested to my GP, Borderline Personality Disorder, although she didn't seem overly interested in investigating. Here's why I think it's worth taking a look at...
Borderline Personality Disorder (this list of indicative/diagnostic questions is from the NHS website):
- Do you have an intense fear of being left alone, which causes you to act in ways that, on reflection, seem out of the ordinary or extreme, such as constantly phoning somebody (but not including self-harming or suicidal behaviour)?
Yes, I do this. I'm terrified of being abandoned. There are days when I'm irrationally furious with my husband and I'll scream at bim to leave. Then stand in the door so he can't, because I'm afraid he won't come back. I'll promise friends more than I can manage because I'm afraid of losing them if I say I can only manage less.
I'm a self published author, but in the past year but at times I've barely written because I've been rewriting somone elses chapters for them because I felt obliged to keep her happy and keep her friendship. As it is, that friendhip has now ended so I'm no longer rewriting her book for her, but I did get drawn into that trap for the better part of a year.
Even two weeks ago, when we were barely speaking as I'd learned how manipulative the person was, she messaged asking me to read over a short story. She hadn't spoken to me in weeks but she wanted a favour. There was no 'hello, how are you doing', just 'can you read this and give me feedback?' I spent three or four hours going through that story for her. I rewrote example paragraphs and made detailed suggestions. Then she went back to barely speaking again. Because my fear of being hated is so great I'll do things I'm not really up to, until I'm at breaking point and become angry, and push people away.
I also feel obliged to answer messages even when I'm in a situation where my phone should be off because I fear people will come to hate me if I don't reply. That's so stressful that I can only interact with a few people at a time. I barely write now because I'm afraid that if I take time for myself and stop messaging my few friends, I'll lose them.
And if I try to get in touch with someone and get no answer? I panic and keep ringing. If i upset someone I keep messaging, trying to explain, even though the flood of messages often make things worse rather than better. Sometimes I must look crazy (by that I mean out of control). I certainly feel it.
- Do you have a pattern of intense and unstable relationships with other people that switch between thinking you love that person and they're wonderful to hating that person and thinking they're terrible?
Yes. Not my marriage. Well, I have days where I can be loving and then believing I hate my husband. We've been together for twelve years and there have been some pretty unstable periods when our 'issues' clash, but he loves me, and I love him. He's one of the few people who can make me laugh.
The real unstable relationships are with friends and other family members. The friends I have, I idolise, but psst experience tells me that I can go from idolising to hating very quickly. There are a few I hope this would never happen with, and I hope they forgive me if it does. I'm really trying not to be the sort of person I seem to be. As for family members...
I supposed I must have idolised my dad at some point. We had a complicated relationship and there were a lot of times I hated him. It took until the last year, when he was dying, to be able to say 'I love you' again and mean it. It was the last thing I said to him.
Whereas the last thing I said to my brother was the he was an arsehole. That was the day after dad died and I was struggling. My anger was rearing up to protect me from breaking down and when we fell out it exploded. I apologised, but he wouldn't accept an apology. He then went on to tell me I only self harm to hold man hostage, which isn't at all true as mam often doesnt know when I'm self harming. We fell out. I fell out with my other brother too.
I hate them both.
I did love both of them. Despite our competitive streaks I idolised the older of the two and I adored the youngest. But now I hate them both, and they might as well have evaporated. And I decided that in a moment. I spent a while being heartbroken over the falling out, then one night I thought 'no, I hate them. I don't care what happens to them now', and the switch was flicked.
That's an unhealthy skill I have, the ability to flick from love to hate, I guess I learned it during the times when my dad walked away and wouldn't speak to me for six months at a time. Or maybe I learned it when friends left me because, I assume, they were fightened of being targetted by the bullies who were targetting me. I don't know. I just know I can press that switch.
- Do you ever feel you don't have a strong sense of your own self and are unclear about your self-image?
Goodness yes. At almost 31 I still don't know what I want to be. The best option is an author because I enjoy writing and it allows me to explore different facets of my character, of experience, and even work out how to be a better person. But as far of myself goes... I switched university course three times because my goals kept changing. What I aspire to keeps changing. A lot of the time I just don't know what I want.
- Do you engage in impulsive activities in two areas that are potentially damaging, such as unsafe sex, drug abuse or reckless spending (but not including self-harming or suicidal behaviour)?
I do spend recklessly. My husband is terrible with fiances so I have to control them, but that involves a battle with myself because I do impulse by a lot. Even when I 'plan' a big purchase, our version of planning is to discuss it without making plans other than 'we'll save up', and then one day I'll be in need of a pick-me-up and I'll say 'fuck it, lets get that'.
I also binge eat. My depression currently means I don't really have an appetite driving me to eat. I eat because my husband makes food. However, I do have a habit of going through stages when I'll go through every sweet thing in the house. My brother has shown his disgust before because I ate a whole Golden Syrup cake for breakfast. I can do that. Eat a whole cake. A family size bar of chocolate. A box of donuts. It's not a daily thing, but I go through periods of binge eating. I just don't admit it because I'm ashamed of it. I know it's tied up with my mental illness but I'm ashamed of it.
That comes back to stigma, though, doesn't it. There's a lot of media coverage on anorexia and bulimia, on how the media encourage those conditions and how people suffering symptoms of those conditions need help. But if the media shows an overweight person devour a whole cake, scorn follows. They're seen as greedy pigs. As a strain on the NHS. As people who don't deserve help because they're causing their own suffering. No one ever says 'this person has a mental illness and they need help'.
So I don't admit my dark, disgusting secrets about refusing dinner but then hiding alone eating a full family size packet of marshmallows. That's just stupid and disgusting, right? More so than vomitting after meals, which is part of an illness.
The media still sees eating disorders as starving because of distorted self-image or mental illness. They don't show that over-eating or over-eating junk food is also a reaction to distorted self image and mental health conditions. The person in the street often expresses the same bias. How can anyone admit binge eating is a problem for them when they expect to be met with disgust?
- Have you made repeated suicide threats or attempts in your past and engaged in self-harming?
Yes. Repeated threats, I've made one recorded attempt, family intervention has stopped several others, and in the last week crisis team involvement has stoped several. Ive self harmed for years. My left leg is scars from ankle to knee. I have scars on my other leg and my arms too.
- Do you have severe mood swings, such as feeling intensely depressed, anxious or irritable, which last from a few hours to a few days?
Yes. I'm in a severe depressive epidode at the moment with severe anxiety. An extended episode happens every few years, but between my them I'd consider myself to be emotionally unstable. I have severe mood swings that cause shorter term depression, anxiety, and anger. I can be ok, then at seemingly nothing I'll be suicidal, or anxious, or easily angered. Then I'll be ok again.
- Do you have long-term feelings of emptiness and loneliness?
Yes. All the time. It's one of the hardest parts of being me, the emptiness that just stays, stoping me from interacting or living like normal people. I can't remember not feeling lonely on some level.
- Do you have sudden and intense feelings of anger and aggression, and often find it difficult to control your anger?
Yes. This influenced my falling out with my brothers. It's affected my interaction with colleagues before too, and my husband.
- When you find yourself in stressful situations, do you have feelings of paranoia, or do you feel like you're disconnected from the world or from your own body, thoughts and behaviour?
I often feel paranoid that people are talking about me, laughing at me, or plotting against me, at othertimes I feel totally disconnected and yes, like my body is going through the act of living and interacting but I'm not really there.i also find it hard to remember things that go on while disconnected.
In the last week alone I've phone the crisis team because I've gone from managing to panicked nauseous or suicidal for no reason. I do have stressors at the moment, but this switch can happen for seemingly no reason too.
So, that's Borderline Personality Disorder, the indicators and my responses. I think that's my most likely disorder and would like that to be investigated, but I feel like having waited 16 years to help with depression (22 if you consider the years of migraines due tobstress before that diagnosis), that it'll be another 22 years before anyone listens to my suspicions that more is going on.
However, let's consider me as someone without BDP as the psychiatrist I saw didn't mention it at all. Let's consider Avoidant Personality Disorder instead, as an epansion of my anxious avoidant strategies which were noted.
Avoidant Personality Disorder (taken from this website):
The most common avoidant personality symptoms are:
- Avoidance of occupational activities.
I've been on the sick for 6 months and I really don't want to go back. Does that count?
- Easily hurt and offended by criticism or disapproval.
Yes. Definitely. And I'll spend days going over and over critisism feeling worthless.
- No close friends.
No. I have a select group of close friends.
- Strong reluctance to get involved with other people.
Yes and no. I'd like to be involved but I don't know how to be without extreme anxiety inhibiting me.
- Strong reluctance to take personal risks or engage in new activities.
Yes. Definitely. Risks and unfamiliar situations cause panic attacks.
- Very shy in social situations.
Yes. Very. I'm known for sticking to my husband's side and staying quiet.
- Preoccupied with criticism.
Yes. See point two.
- Exaggeration of potential difficulties.
I wouldn't say I exaggerate, others might.
- Holding back in intimate relationships.
No. As far as intimate relationships go I'm an all in kind of person.
- Perception that they are socially inept.
I AM socially inept.
- Constantly using 'always' and 'never' statements.
I sometimes use always and never statements.
- Blaming others for creating a problem rather than dealing with the problem.
No, I'll deal with it while seething at the person who is to blame. At least I did until my current depression hit.
- Catastrophizing - always assuming the worst case scenario.
Yes. I do that.
- Depression and mood swings.
Yes.
- Escaping to fantasy worlds and daydreaming about ideal relationships.
Yes, I guess. I'm an author and I write paranormal fantasy books so escaping to fantasy is kind of my thing...
- Fear of abandonment.
Yes. So much so that I avoid people so I don't upset the into leaving, but then they feel pushed away anyway.
- Hardly speaking when forced to participate in a social situation.
Yes. I do this whenever I'm forced into a social situation.
- Hypervigilant - having an unhealthy obsession with the actions, thoughts and interests of others.
I wouldn't say obsession, but I do have an unhealthy concern over the thoughts of others.
- Passive-aggressive behaviour.
Sometimes, when I'm trying to rein in the openly angry outburst which relate to what I discussed in the BPD section of this post.
- Self-loathing and self-victimisation.
All the time. I hate myself. I blame myself for everything. Often it's unbearable.
- Tunnel vision - can only focus on a single concern while ignoring priorities.
I want to say no, but recently it's a yes.
I've read up on other personality disorders too, but none fit as well as BPD followed by AvPD. And the indicators that I've answered yes to all severly impact my life, my ability to socialise, leave the house, maintain family relationships, maintain friendships. I really do think there's something else going on apart from recurrent depressive disorder, but I'm terrified of mentioning it again in case I'm ignored, or told I'm being a hypochondriac. I'm scared of being judged if I ask for a third time. So what do I do? That's a question I can't answer, because part of my brain say's I need help, but another part of my brain also says no one will help anyway so I may as well stay quiet. Or better yet, die.
This is what happens when mental illness goes untreated for too long. Vulnerable peole whose minds are already working against them become ever more entrenched in their doubts and symptoms. But a lot of the time, it seems the government and wider world don't care about that. Physical illness is worthy of being treated. Mental illness? Not so much.
Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx
Friday 21 October 2016
The Pros and Cons Of Using Mental Illness Tropes As Halloween Accessories
I'm seeing a lot of posts about Halloween and how mental illness shouldn't be used as a basis for costumes and decorations. On one level I agree. On another, I don't. My view is going to be controversial, so remember it's just an opinion. A different perspective.
Do I approve of straight jackets and pill bottles as costumes and props? No. Of course not. That sends the wrong messages. Do I frown upon plaques engraved with the word 'Asylum', with 'No one leaves' written in blood underneath. No, I don't, because it's a useful spoof. Actually, I'd very probably get one of those plaques for my house, despite suffering from several mental conditions (and probably more as of yet undiagnosed as I've only had my first meeting with a psychiatrist last Friday). And why do I feel differently about those two examples using mental health as inspiration during Halloween?
One promotes fear of psychiatric intervention.
One recounts the horror of past thinking and cruelty.
One encourages fear of patients.
One recounts the horror that patients went through in the past.
One encourages stigma.
One could actually be used to show how fear and stigma hurt the vulnerable when those with power choose to abuse those in need.
One recounts the horror of past thinking and cruelty.
One encourages fear of patients.
One recounts the horror that patients went through in the past.
One encourages stigma.
One could actually be used to show how fear and stigma hurt the vulnerable when those with power choose to abuse those in need.
Of course, others will have different views, but it's all a matter of perspective. As another example, personally I'd rather watch a horror film about ghosts in an abandoned victorian asylum - patients seeking revenge upon their jailers - than listen to another news report on how an arsonist/murderer had a history of mental illness whether or not it's relevant to their crime. One shows that cruelty does permanent damage. Once seems to indicate that mental illness causes crime, even though most murders are committed by people without known mental illnesses. The importance is blame, one points to the failing of the mental health care system due to stigma, one encourages fear of patients.
It's the same with halloween accessories. The past is what it is, a horrifying place that we need to remember in order to prevent it happening again. Seeing a halloween asylum sign doesn't mock mental illness. It says that in the past asylums were terrifying places that people often couldn't escape. Terror is the theme of halloween, so why not show that truth? Many monsters are representations of taboo subjects. While the once spawned fear they can also bue used to create understanding. Maybe I feel that way because I write paranormal novels. I've used real monsters to help others understand very human problems. The idea of something being ghastly, reprehensible, and to be feared can be useful. As long as you make the right thing ghastly. The asylum of the past, the stigma of the past, but never the patients.
The message I take from the theme of abandoned asylum where only ghosts and past suffering linger, is that history shouldn't be repeated because it leaves a legacy of cruelty and oppressed people. It's a reminder how not to treat the mentally ill.
That's different to dressing up as a patient in a straight jacket, or carrying bottles of pills or pretend sedatives. It's different from pretending to be a psychopath who has become dangerous. People shouldn't be encouraged to fear mental health patients. Mental health patients shouldn't be made to fear modern psychiatric hospitals, doctors, and nurses. We need to end the stigma around mental health in the modern age. However we should still all be afraid of the asylums of the past. Of the experiments, dehumanisation, and neglect.
A cartoon can educate. Satire can tell the truth through a lie. Personally, I wouldn't be averse to putting an aged looking asylum sign on my front lawn for halloween. If it got people talking, I could educate them about what being trapped by a mental illness is really like. However, if someone turned up in a straight jacket, or in a white coat while threatening to 'take me away', then there'd be a problem. They'd still get an education but my wording might not be so gentle.
But what do I know. I'm the person who expresses twenty two years of mental health issues through a zombie character. Maybe horror and the paranormal is just my way of finding a voice, or saying that I don't always have one. I guess my point is that we need to be careful about what we take personally (I know that can be impossible, I have probable #AvPD, but I try). Some 'fun' is damaging, certainly, but some 'fun' is an opportunity. You just need to decide how to best use that opportunity. Look at the film, 'Suckerpunch'. An abused girl gets labotomised, that could thrust the film into a negative light. It is about layers of psychosis, but in reality it's about the abuse of patients by their families and nurses. The villains are not the patients but the carers, and the message is that mental health patients need to be protected, not victimised. At least, thats what I take from it. Even a trope or stereotype can be used to pass on an educational message. You just need to know which ones to use.
I know that view is controversial, and I certainly don't mean to offend. As I say, this is just my opinion as someone within the mental health system, currently under crisis care, who just received my psychiatrist report this morning. I have enough real stigma and abuse directed at me, from someone I love telling me I use self harm to control others, to an ex-friend's husband telling me to kill myself, and to do it right by using a gun, not pills or scraping wrists. To me, that abuse need tackled head on, and if we can use a celebration (Halloween) to educate, even if it's through an asylum sign, then we should embrace that chance.
Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx
xxx
Thursday 20 October 2016
Guest Blog: Abused By So Called Friends
Today we have a guest blog written by one of my best friends, The Undead Noodle. It relates back to my 'Not All Killing Blows Are Physical' post and it's heart-breaking. This is why we need to stop peer and emotional abuse, and why no person suffering mental illness should be targetted for harassment and have their illness used against them. Such behaviour is life-threatening. In my opinion, it can amount to attempted murder.
To my UndeadNoodle. You are valuable. You are loved. You are worth so much, no matter what cruel ********* say. I know you won't believe me, but it's true, and I'm going to keep repeating it. I am grateful that you're in my life. Even though we can't see each other as often as we'd like, talking to you almost every day matters to me. You matter.
Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx
Abused By So Called Friends
Well, I have been asked to write a blog as a guest for one of my closest friends, and I said yes, so hey. I have been thinking a lot about what to write, and yesterday’s events gave me some good ideas. But before I go there let me give you a small bio on me, so the rest of what I write will make sense.
I am a 31 year old mum. I haven’t worked in 8 years now, because I wanted to be a stay at home mum and watch my beautiful boy grow. Then once I could go back to work I found I had cancer, so went through treatment which was successful thankfully. Now, I have struggled with depression for most of my life, and the last few years have added a massive bundle of anxiety to that too. I am overweight, so my confidence is basically non existent. But, despite all of that, I am a nice girl. I am always friendly, I support my friends as much as I can, and all in all I am a good person.
That’s rare for me to admit. Especially now, after yesterday. Yesterday, a couple of my friends and I were betrayed by someone we thought we could trust. The woman and her husband were rude disgusting to us. I was personally attacked online, and my friend was given horrid abuse when she stepped in to defend us all.
We were abused. It can’t be explained any other way. Unfortunately we all suffer from depression and anxiety. We have all self harmed. And at one point or another we have had suicidal thoughts. The girl who was downright cruel I shall name Girl C, and her husband will be called D. Girl C was so good, she weaselled her way into our group, working slowly but surely closer and closer, getting us to trust her, to open up, to let her in. This is over the space of about a year, so she knew how to play the long game. Her husband, D, was always abusive. He treated her so badly and we all felt bad, supporting her through her depression, through her feelings of worthlessness that this awful excuse for a human being constantly made her feel.
We told her things barely anybody knew. We all shared, or so we thought. And we kept it all between us 4, again or so we thought. We were a close knit group. We chatted online every day. We Skype and oovooed, sometimes all 4 at the same time. We were really close. Until recently.
Recently Girl C changed. She got new friends that she spoke to more. I mean by all means no one was upset that she had more friends. It was the fact that her attitude changed towards us that I didn’t like. But, arguments aren’t my thing. I have always suffered with self blame, and I will blame myself for everything. I can’t help it. I constantly feel guilty. Guilty for things I’ve said, things I’ve done. Even when I haven’t done anything. I don’t lash out, I lash in. I withdraw, and force myself to take the blame, take the punishment, even if none is needed. I always think I’ve done wrong. I have done since I was a teen.
So, naturally, I blamed myself for Girl C's change of behaviour. I tried to stay away from arguments, whilst still supporting whoever needed me. Oh, and Girl C was my best friend. I was fooled. She had been telling D stuff about us. Because yesterday, after I commented once, and it wasn’t even anything bad, D got involved. He told me and my friends to kill ourselves. He said no one wanted us. No one would miss us. He then turned on me. He said I needed to get laid. He said that I would have to pay them, or ply them with drink and drugs to get them to be with me.
Bang. One of my biggest triggers. Thrown so carelessly into my face. He didn’t care. He laughed. I have always felt disgusting. Like I wouldn’t be desired, wanted, needed. Especially intimately. It takes a lot for me to do anything. And now, there is no chance. Not after that. I think of someone touching me and I cry because they wont truly want me, will they. They need drugs. They need money. Because I am not attractive enough for them to want me just because it’s me. Any tiny, miniscule amount of confidence I had in myself is gone. Completely. Because that’s how mental illness works. Out of a thousand compliments you will only listen to the one insult. Because it’s the only one that makes sense. It’s the only one you can truly believe in. Someone finally said exactly how you feel. And as you feel relieved that finally someone sees what you see, it also breaks you. It smashes into your heart and rips it apart. Your soul dies a little more. Your pulled a little deeper into your pit of depression. And the walls become even harder to grip onto.
You think, why bother? Why try and climb out when you can just slide to the bottom, lay down and die. If that one person sees your true self, then everyone else must do too. They pity you. And no one wants to be pitied. So push away again, your curl into yourself, so they don’t have to bother with you anymore. They will feel better because your gone. They don’t have to waster their time on you any longer. And it swirls. Down, down down. It’s never ending. I could write for hours and hours about how my thoughts go.
I know I’m worthless now. I know I’m nothing. If someone who was named my best friend could betray me, then I cant be worth anything, can I. But, I still will live. I will support my other friends who were abused by D. Because that’s who I am. I’m worthless, but I love my friends, and I don’t want them feeling this way. I won’t let them think like I do. I will support them until I am no longer needed or wanted, and then I will slink away and let them be happy. Because I can be a support beam, but I’m not worthy of standing on the floor I support.
TheUndeadNoodle
https://www.blogger.com/profile/06892693911835590834
To my UndeadNoodle. You are valuable. You are loved. You are worth so much, no matter what cruel ********* say. I know you won't believe me, but it's true, and I'm going to keep repeating it. I am grateful that you're in my life. Even though we can't see each other as often as we'd like, talking to you almost every day matters to me. You matter.
Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx
Abused By So Called Friends
Well, I have been asked to write a blog as a guest for one of my closest friends, and I said yes, so hey. I have been thinking a lot about what to write, and yesterday’s events gave me some good ideas. But before I go there let me give you a small bio on me, so the rest of what I write will make sense.
I am a 31 year old mum. I haven’t worked in 8 years now, because I wanted to be a stay at home mum and watch my beautiful boy grow. Then once I could go back to work I found I had cancer, so went through treatment which was successful thankfully. Now, I have struggled with depression for most of my life, and the last few years have added a massive bundle of anxiety to that too. I am overweight, so my confidence is basically non existent. But, despite all of that, I am a nice girl. I am always friendly, I support my friends as much as I can, and all in all I am a good person.
That’s rare for me to admit. Especially now, after yesterday. Yesterday, a couple of my friends and I were betrayed by someone we thought we could trust. The woman and her husband were rude disgusting to us. I was personally attacked online, and my friend was given horrid abuse when she stepped in to defend us all.
We were abused. It can’t be explained any other way. Unfortunately we all suffer from depression and anxiety. We have all self harmed. And at one point or another we have had suicidal thoughts. The girl who was downright cruel I shall name Girl C, and her husband will be called D. Girl C was so good, she weaselled her way into our group, working slowly but surely closer and closer, getting us to trust her, to open up, to let her in. This is over the space of about a year, so she knew how to play the long game. Her husband, D, was always abusive. He treated her so badly and we all felt bad, supporting her through her depression, through her feelings of worthlessness that this awful excuse for a human being constantly made her feel.
We told her things barely anybody knew. We all shared, or so we thought. And we kept it all between us 4, again or so we thought. We were a close knit group. We chatted online every day. We Skype and oovooed, sometimes all 4 at the same time. We were really close. Until recently.
Recently Girl C changed. She got new friends that she spoke to more. I mean by all means no one was upset that she had more friends. It was the fact that her attitude changed towards us that I didn’t like. But, arguments aren’t my thing. I have always suffered with self blame, and I will blame myself for everything. I can’t help it. I constantly feel guilty. Guilty for things I’ve said, things I’ve done. Even when I haven’t done anything. I don’t lash out, I lash in. I withdraw, and force myself to take the blame, take the punishment, even if none is needed. I always think I’ve done wrong. I have done since I was a teen.
So, naturally, I blamed myself for Girl C's change of behaviour. I tried to stay away from arguments, whilst still supporting whoever needed me. Oh, and Girl C was my best friend. I was fooled. She had been telling D stuff about us. Because yesterday, after I commented once, and it wasn’t even anything bad, D got involved. He told me and my friends to kill ourselves. He said no one wanted us. No one would miss us. He then turned on me. He said I needed to get laid. He said that I would have to pay them, or ply them with drink and drugs to get them to be with me.
Bang. One of my biggest triggers. Thrown so carelessly into my face. He didn’t care. He laughed. I have always felt disgusting. Like I wouldn’t be desired, wanted, needed. Especially intimately. It takes a lot for me to do anything. And now, there is no chance. Not after that. I think of someone touching me and I cry because they wont truly want me, will they. They need drugs. They need money. Because I am not attractive enough for them to want me just because it’s me. Any tiny, miniscule amount of confidence I had in myself is gone. Completely. Because that’s how mental illness works. Out of a thousand compliments you will only listen to the one insult. Because it’s the only one that makes sense. It’s the only one you can truly believe in. Someone finally said exactly how you feel. And as you feel relieved that finally someone sees what you see, it also breaks you. It smashes into your heart and rips it apart. Your soul dies a little more. Your pulled a little deeper into your pit of depression. And the walls become even harder to grip onto.
You think, why bother? Why try and climb out when you can just slide to the bottom, lay down and die. If that one person sees your true self, then everyone else must do too. They pity you. And no one wants to be pitied. So push away again, your curl into yourself, so they don’t have to bother with you anymore. They will feel better because your gone. They don’t have to waster their time on you any longer. And it swirls. Down, down down. It’s never ending. I could write for hours and hours about how my thoughts go.
I know I’m worthless now. I know I’m nothing. If someone who was named my best friend could betray me, then I cant be worth anything, can I. But, I still will live. I will support my other friends who were abused by D. Because that’s who I am. I’m worthless, but I love my friends, and I don’t want them feeling this way. I won’t let them think like I do. I will support them until I am no longer needed or wanted, and then I will slink away and let them be happy. Because I can be a support beam, but I’m not worthy of standing on the floor I support.
TheUndeadNoodle
https://www.blogger.com/profile/06892693911835590834
Not All Killing Blows Are Physical
A few years ago something positive happened. My fiction writing drew some fans who became friends. Many of us suffered invisible or mental illnesses and we became close, supporting each other. Over two years wevcame to trust eachother. We thought we were good friends. However, there was one in our midst who became increasingly manipulative. She needed more attention than she was willing to give and had a severe victim complex.
It caused a lot of arguments. There were even times when this person told one of us to 'do it' when discussing suicide. She told the same person to 'get over' her anxiety as if it was that easy. What is particularly horrifying about this, is this woman has depression and anxiety herself. Not as severely as the rest of us, but enough that she should understand.
Anyway, back on track. This manipulative person acted like she cared until she was well enough acquainted to ask for favours, then her interest in our health and safety decreased. She had a habit of causing hurt and triggering our depression and anxiety, and when we pulled her up on it she played victim. Often she persuaded us we were to blame. She succeeded because the nature of our illnesses meant we blamed ourselves for almost everything anyway. Feeling guilt was second nature. I guess we were easy targets.
Easy or not, eventually we had enough. Several of us called her out. She did the usual, played victim and accused us (me especially) of bullying her. Maybe she targeted me because I'm more direct. I was bullied so badly as a child that I will stand up against the harassment of my friends, but the very act of standing up painted a target on my back. I don't know. What I do know is that she didn't like having several people tell her to stop bullying the youngest member of our friendship group and she started to air her dirty laundry on Facebook. That's when her husband got involved.
Now her husband is also manipulative; he emotionally abused his wife and we'd supported her through it. Yet right then he seemed determined to tear into us. He new all of our triggers, things we'd told his wife, and he used them against us in the most horrific way.
He told three people who self harm to kill themselves, and not to be pussys over the method even though two of us had already attempted suicide in the last six months.
He told us we wouldn't be missed, even though he knows we all have severely distorted self image and non-existent self-worth.
He also said some things that were just sick.
I'd once needed therapy because when I had my daughter I was so worried about someone getting in and hurting her that I had to check her every ten minutes and didn't sleep. This husband of an ex-fruend reversed that treatment by describing capturing me and slowly cutting the heads of my entire family in front of me. The image of him decapitating my children, my reasons to live, is stuck in my head. He has purposefully cause further psychological harm to someone with a mental disability.
In what world is that appropriate?
All three of us, the victims of his harassment, started talking about dying. I needed my husband to phone my crisis team. Another woman, a teen, needed to seek her mam's help to prevent a suicide, another now sees herself as completely worthless even though she's important to so many people. And Facebook's response to links and screenshots of the abuse... ? To do nothing without further evidence. What further evidence could I possibly send that I hadn't already?
To show exactly why this episode is so horrifying I'll include images of the anonymised abuse and the Facebook report messages. Please note this could be triggering. Also, I had to go through the reporting system a convoluted way because eveytime I tried to follow the instructions aimed at the app, the app either wouldn't do it or wouldn't allow me to add a comment. I apologise for my spelling in the reports to Facebook too, I was struggling to breath, shaking, and trying to silence my whirring anxious mind while writing.
This is not ok behaviour. I'm horrified. I'm anxious. I'm scared. Is this really behaviour Facebook will allow? Is it really behaviour society will allow?
Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx
xxx
Wednesday 19 October 2016
You're Worse Than Severely Depressed
Continued from 'Hitting Crisis Point' and my PIP post...
Sorry it's taken a while to post this. I wrote it but was too drained to draw an image for it. The weekend was so exhausting I still don't feel up to drawing about it, so I'm just gonna post and I might add drawings later.
By midday we'd spent hours with the Crisis Team and even longer on the phone with Atos and DWP staff. I was exhausted and disconnected, and my husband was running out of energy too. Yet he had more to do. As we still hadn't been able to contact my boss, he phoned again, although my boss didn't ring back until later in the afternoon. They had a chat about my condition and we thought nothing more about it. We didn't dwell because we were still waiting for the psychiatrist who'd added me to his list of home visits.
It was after working hours when the psychiatrist arrived and I'm not going to go through everything we discussed because I've been through the same discussion so many times since 3am on Friday morning. However, he discussed my history and what was happening at present. He scored me. He inhaled, lifted his head and said "You're more than severely depressed."
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Finally, someone had said what I'd been trying to get people to believe for months and months. I also have an Avoidant Personality, apparently, although I'm not sure about that. It's something that needs looked into. I've looked up both Avoidant Personality Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder, and while I do have a number of Avoidant traits, I'd say I had far more Boderline traits, but I'll discuss that another day. Either way, I was believed. Someone looked at me and confirmed I was right. Despite often feeling I'm not bad enough for help, I am "more than severely depressed".
The psychiatrist left me on Sertraline for depression but he added Diazepam for anxiety, that will be a temporary thing until a treatment plan comes into affect, but hopefully it'll help. He also prescribed Zopiclone to help me sleep. What a cocktail of drugs for someone who avoided antidepressants for sixteen years. But I'm not fighting it anymore. My condition has long since become a disability and I need to accept any help there is.
That was Friday night. The doctor also arranged for a nurse to come out and see me today, Saturday (I might post this in a few days, but trust me, as I write it's Saturday). The nurse cane in the morning, he was lovely, reconfirmed a few things about the Crisis Team and told me I'd get copies of my assessments and treatment plan which I could then show anyone who needed to see evidence of my condition. I was in an ok mood then. Not like a normal person, but for me. The Zopiclone and finally getting help had allowed me a better nights sleep and even though I still felt a bit disconnected, I was alright. When he left, I retained a little of the previous night's relief.
Then the post woman knocked on my door and hubby had to sign for a letter... from work. Human Resources are not happy that I didn't phone them on Thursday. They've arranged a meeting at work for November 3rd despite knowing I can't attend meetings. They've said I can take another employee in with me... a colleague I haven't seen since March, despite knowing all communication really needs to go through my husband because I can't cope. They haven't asked if there was a reason I hadn't phoned. They didn't try phoning me before sending the letter. What they fail to appreciate is that I was not well enough to phone them on Thursday, although my husband had tried to contact my boss. I was heading towards crisis point and as much as they have concerns about the impact of my illness on the business, my priority has to be surviving another day.
The letter talked about occupational health meetings, about being obstructive, about termination of my employment on grounds of ill health. I have a disability. What they're asking of me I can't provide. I can't attend those meetings any more than a paraplegic can walk up the stairs. I'm trying to get better. I'm seeking help, but I can't tell them when I'll be better. The Department of Work and Pensions defines a disability as 'a physical or mental impairment that has a substantial and long term effect upon your ability to do normal daily activities'. My depression and anxiety is a disability, and at the moment it seems I'm going to me dismissed for that, because at present work are asking me to do things I just can't do and not giving me the time I need to complete my treatment.
I understand it's a difficult one for work. I'm the only person in my role and they can't wait forever. At the same time, I have a disability which I am actively trying to recover from enough to function. I'm not pulling a sicky so I can go to the cinema and see friends every day rather than working. I'm on sick leave because the idea of getting in a car and going among other people makes me want to end my life. I hate myself so much and these letters are adding to that. If someone walked up to a person in a wheel chair and tipped them out, the word would have a problem, yet it's somehow acceptable to send accusatory and stress inducing correspondence directly to someone with mental health issues even though you've been told she can't communicate well at the moment and you should contact her husband. What double standards is that?
What people continually fail to appreciate is that those letters, have. Consider the following phrases: 'assessment', 'capability meeting', 'you did not contact me as requested', 'in light of your refusal', 'medical capability', 'little likelihood of return within a reasonable timescale', 'notice of termination of your employment', 'if there is any relevant information which you believe we ought to consider, then it is in your own interests to make it available to us for the meeting', 'confirm that you are able to attend no less than 72 hours prior to the meeting to facilitate travel arrangements', 'obstructive', 'failure to respond', 'impact of your absence on our organisation or resources', 'I trust you understand the reasons behind this letter, as we do have sympathy with your situation and I have no wish to worry you at this difficult time. However, we do need to consider the operational needs of the organisation and consider what decisions need to be made.'
Those words cause anxiety, feelings of failure, depression, self loathing... they push me when pushing could cause my death. I know I'm blunt about that, but it's where I am these days. I can be blunt about suicide because thoughts of it are my daily companion and one trigger could see me back at crisis point or dead. You can't assess a paraplegic on their failure to walk, so why is it ok to assess someone with mental health issues on their 'failure to respond' especially when you've been neglecting to try her mobile or hold conversations with her husband? It's discriminatory, but because I have an invisible, mental illness, it's accepted.
Telling me I failed to respond is a bit like telling a one armed man he failed to clap his hands. Only in this case it's worse because I didn't ever receive the letters they wanted me to respond to (or, incidentally, any payslips or tax documents) since March and they didn't try ringing my mobile, a number they've had for the duration of my employment, until last week. A number that is answered when it is called, by my husband if not by me.
I'm not being obstructive, not anymore than a man with a zimmerframe is obstructive because he's blocking the corridor walking slower than able bodied people have patience for.
It's not that I'm refusing further assessments. That implies a choice. It's that I can't face further assessments, not when I'm already barely coping with seeing my GP, the Community Mental Health Team, the Crisis Team, PIP... I just can't do it. Does a blind woman refuse to see? No, she just can't do it.
As for returning within a reasonable timescale, what is reasonable? Before or after I stop feeling like driving my company car off a cliff during my daily commute? Before or after walking in front of a reversing truck on a building site seems like a good idea? Before of after I recover my ability to answer a phone call? Who assesses what a reasonable timescale for recovery from a disability is?
As for providing evidence as it's in my own interests, how threatening does that sound? They've had my sick notes. When my sick notes failed to be delivered, HR phoned and my husband emailed copies of them to the relevant person. My doctor knows I'm not fit to work, what evidence could an HR Business Partner and Business Manager interpret better than my doctor?
They want me to confirm attendance with more than 72 hours to spare so that they can arrange travel. They, the people who can manage to drive or use public transport. I don't know if I'm going to be fit for a meeting 72 hours in advance. I could agree and then be floored by a panic attack on the day (likely) or disagree because I'm having a bad day them be ok 72 hours later (even though that's less likely). Once again, they're asking me to do something my disability prevents me from doing. All I can do is say I can't attend. And then no doubt they'll say I've 'failed' to do what's necessary. That I 'refuse' as though it's a choice. Or that I'm being 'obstructive'. All verbs and adjectives that would be deemed discriminatory if used to describe the impairments of physically disabled people.
But I guess that it's ok to discriminate against those who can't attend meetings. Who can't say, go and see a solicitor to discuss the possibility of legal action. It's easy to discriminate against people whose disability is mental because they're less likely to have the ability to fight. But that isn't solely a problem within business, its a problem within society and the government. People don't understand mental illness. There's still so much stigma attached to it... We're unusual so people fear us. We're vulnerable, so people discriminate. That's something we have to deal with alongside our conditions.
Pseudonymous Zombie
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