For as long as I can remember I’ve know that my brain works differently to others. I have never known exactly what was different about it and the unknown scared me. This really started to affect me when I was 13 but looking back I think there were signs even before that. That was 15 years ago now, mental health was not something that was spoken about. But I knew what it was. Not long ago I was asked by a psychiatrist if there were any traumatic events in my childhood that may have lead to the decline in my mental health. I can imagine some people are asked that question and they feel that they don’t have the right to be unwell because their answer is no. I think regardless of my answer to that question I would have always suffered from bad mental health. Of course there are factors that haven’t helped but I don’t believe they are the sole cause of why my brain works differently. I don’t believe that people should have to compare their bad days to others. If someone was happy no one would remind them that there is always someone happier. So why is it ok to tell someone who is sad that there are always people that have it worse?
When I was 13 years old I began to struggle with self-harm, I don’t think I even knew that is what it was but I knew it wasn’t ‘normal’. I hid this from everyone – my family, my friends, my teachers. Nobody suspected a thing, from such a young age I hid my struggles because I was ashamed. As the years went on my self-harm only became worse, I continued to hide it and it became more dangerous. I have been to A&E and Urgent care so many times alone because I needed medical attention for injuries that I inflicted on myself and still I was too ashamed to speak up. When I was around 15 years old I confided in a teacher and a few months down the line she helped me tell my mum. By this time I had scars all over my body – none of the adults really knew what to say or do, I didn’t particularly want to speak about it either. So no one said much at all really and I went back to hiding it.
When I was 16 years old I went to my GP, my self harm had got worse and behind closed doors I was so unhappy. When I spoke to the GP about this the shift in the room was visible. The thoughts of having to talk about self harm and mental health made him so uncomfortable that he changed the subject and asked if I needed to start taking contraception. This middle aged man was more comfortable talking about a teenagers sex life than he was talking about mental illness. Never the less he sent me away with a prescription for the contraceptive pill and antidepressants.
From then on nothing really got better, if anything it became worse. And after seeing a handful of people’s reactions I chose to continue hiding my struggles. When I turned 18 I hit an all time low, so much so that even though I tried to hide it I wasn’t doing a very good job and people became really worried. More than one referral was made about me to mental health services and I never received an initial appointment. At this time a lot of people thought I was going to try to take my own life and they were right to think that. And then I found out that I was pregnant with Archie. I know it’s cliche but he really did save me – I believe I would have been dead a long time ago had it not been for Archie.
But then I had a reason, I had a purpose. This tiny little human depended on me quite literally to survive. And for a while I really was a good mum. But inevitably the cracks began to appear I was drinking heavily and my mood became extremely low. It was around this time that I crashed my car, I flipped it completely over and failed the breathalyser. I think that shocked me back into reality a bit and I did try to get help, shock horror I was prescribed more antidepressants. And this became the cycle of my life – hit rock bottom, turn to drinking or gambling or worse, ask for help and then repeat. I hurt so many people along the way including myself. I would like to say nobody gave up on me but they did. Honestly, I don’t blame them.
For 15 years of my life I have been known to have bad mental health. I have received different diagnosis from different doctors and still to this day I don’t actually 100% know what is wrong with me. The system in this country is reactive instead of proactive, had I been given proper help and support things might be different. There were so many times where professionals could have stepped in but they did.
And I would love to say that now 15 years down the learn I have been given the treatment I need but we all know that isn’t true. I still don’t have a firm diagnosis, I still haven’t received treatment I need. But I’m sure you can guess what I have got. Medication – so much of it that I am surprised I don’t rattle when I walk.
We are trapped in a system that we are only helped to survive once we have very nearly died. It isn’t right, it isn’t fair and it needs to change.
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