Help!

Dear All,

I’m writimg this post because this family desperately needs some help. The wife and mother in this family is someone who means a lot to me. She helped me to regain some of my self-belief, encouraged me when I was ready to give up, and never for a second wavered in her own belief in me to succeed.

I am asking anyone who reads this to share the crowdfunding page, and where you’re able, to make a donation.

It would be amazing to get this man home to his loving family in time for Christmas so that they can spend what time he has left creating memories for his son to treasure.

So please, take a look at the page and wherever possible, please share.

Thank you to everyone for reading and taking the time to look at the page below.

Look after yourselves and loved ones. Life is often unfair and ends prematurely. Treasure those who mean the world to you and appreciate them with all your heart.

Love and best wishes to you all,

Lib xx

https://www.justgiving.com/crowdfunding/nic-akingbola?utm_term=eXwqpKbmj

It’s been awhile…

Well, I am uncertain that anyone will read this, but I am hopeful that someone out there will.

Life has been full of twists and turns over the past three years. I got clean from co-codamol, ive had many wobbles of varying degrees, cut many times and wished my life were over. But in the midst of all this crap, I had hope too. Hope for a better life, to prove doubters wrong and to show myself that despite a shitty diagnosis, I am capable of achieving things.

Uni has been a huge challenge in so many ways. My mental health is the biggest of those, the lack of confidence, the panic and isolation I often felt threatened to overtake me at times. But somehow, i managed to fight back. I pulled myself out of the abyss and pushed myself to keep going.

A week ago I completed the last assignment for my course. It was such a huge relief to have done it, but it was also with a tinge of sadness that I submitted it. The course has kept me going, given me something to keep my mind busy and focused rather than replaying things from the past. I’ve had to fight every inch of the way, but I can proudly say that I have a degree, that all those people who thought I was crazy, incapable, who wrote me off were wrong. I am more than my past, than my diagnosis, than the mistakes I have made. I am a fighter. I have a mental illness and i struggle, but I refuse to allow it to define me, to believe that its a badge of honour to be on a ton of medications and not to do anything to help my recovery… Mental illness can be hugely debilitating, but it doesn’t mean you give up on yourself, that you are nothing more than a fucked up head. It means that you have to fight everyday to make life worth living, to embrace those people who care about you and want you to be well. It means that you have to be tougher, more determined, have more courage to fight another day and overcome those daily obstacles whilst trying to ignore your head. Even as I write this I still have to fight hard. I have shitty days, but now I also have good days. I remind myself that the darkness doesn’t have to take over, that there can be a glimmer of light, even if it is faint. I have to push myself, I have to fight against all the negative thoughts I have about myself. Its hard, exhausting, sometimes I just want to shut myself away from everything and everyone because I just can’t cope. My agoraphobia is a massive obstacle which I don’t always get over, but I have to keep trying. I do not want to be defined by my mental illness, for too long that’s exactly what I did. I wallowed in my own misery, wondering when things would get better. I had to tell myself that only I could make a difference to my life. People were there, but unless I did something for myself, nothing would change. When those people weren’t around I’d just go right back to being miserable, depressed, suicidal, lost in the darkness. My husband said to me that I had to help myself. At the time he said this I was furious. I thought he was a cunt that just didn’t get it, that he didn’t understand how hard it is to battle with yourself every single day. I could barely talk to him and I hated him. But actually, he was right. I have managed to get my degree because instead of keeping everything inside, i sought help and received the support and encouragement I desperately needed. Those amazing people saw that I could get the degree and kept me going when I was overwhelmed, when I was ready to quit. They helped me to see that I could do it.

Whilst I am by no means better, what I am is open to asking for help when I need it and taking what is offered. I no longer feel sad and sorry for myself, instead I think that life is hard but with determination and an inner strength anything is possible inspite of all the things that threaten it. Getting a degree means that I have stuck my fingers up at those people who thought that I was crazy and laughed in my face. And you know what’s more satisfying is proving that I am not someone you can write off… Its taken me 5 years to get to this point and I still have a long way to go yet, but I’m telling you, no matter how bleak it seems, how little people think of you, if you say fuck them and push all those doubts you have about yourself, anything is possible.

So don’t give up, don’t think you’re not going to get better, that life is over. It isn’t over, it’s a different path to others. Harder for sure and wobbles a definite part of the journey, but finding that person inside of yourself that wants more, and holding onto them with all you have, that ia what will get you through. And accepting that we’re none of superhuman, we all need help sometimes, it doesn’t make us weak, it takes strength and courage to ask for help, and then accept that help, no matter how small it may be, and eventually you will find that you can see that glimmer of light, and that glimmer will guide you forward.

End of the year

It has been so long since I last wrote anything that I doubt anyone is still reading or really gives a shit about what I might have to say.

Today I am feeling really low, I think that the end of the year always gets me down. Chrsitmas is hard and then we are some how meant to get excited about the upcoming new year and all the amazing things it supposedly is going to bring with it. 

Well, I don’t feel excited. I don’t believe in all the hype and the over enthusiastic celebrations. I carry year in and year out this constant battle with my head. I wish so much that it were possible to leave the crap from one year behind and to move forward with a new mental state. How amazing that really would be!

I have worked hard this year. I passed my second year of uni and am now midway through my final year. Im still clean, i barely drink and I am in a much better condition than I was when I first embarked on this twisted journey. 

I may be in a better condition, but my diagnosis makes life incredibly tough, tougher than it needs to be. I dont trust people, I keep them at arms length in order to protect myself. I feel increasingly paranoid about technology, about how people view me, about so many things I dont even know where to begin. 

My mood is unstable, unpredictable and often more hostile and aggressive than I really mean to be. I bite people’s heads off, i get irritated easily and I feel confused by those relationships which are meant to be the most important. 

I am tired….exhausted….I fight my head, the thoughts and moods as best as I can everyday, but sometimes they are overwhelming and they take over everything. 

This evening, i feel disappointed, rejected and disillusioned once more with my family… My siblings and my parents. Once more i dont belong, they cut me out and then make up bullshit excuses. I shouldn’t let it get to me, but it does. No matter what i do it bothers me so much. I am not made of super strong stuff, I am sensitive, I feel things inside so deeply it physically hurts sometimes. 

I am trying to build a life after my breakdown and diagnosis. I am fighting as hard as i can, but sometimes I just dont have the strength to do it any more. I want to shut out the whole world because it feels safer. 

Whether this is read or not, it feels good to write something… To get these feelings out. It wont change anything, but maybe my head will be silent tonight and the nightmares and paranoia will subside for a little while. 

The destructive force of anxiety

As the morning arrives for another day, there is this incredible knot that sits itself at the top of my stomach. My heart in turn feels like it’s going to take off. It pounds away inside my chest and combined with the knot in my stomach my breathing is shallow and I feel sick. 

It’s a horrible feeling to have and the root of its unpleasant existence is my head. This chronic, irrational fear of going out. It doesn’t really matter where I have to go, this feeling happens everytime I know that I have to leave the safety and security of my home. 

I really didn’t expect to get my place at uni, especially given that my personal statement was open about my diagnosis of BPD. I remember that it had been around 8 months since my breakdown and I had figured I would be sorted out with my mental health. 

Ha! What a fucking joke! 

I wasn’t ready when the summer came. I was really unwell and uni at that time was a non-starter, so I delayed it by another year. During the following 12 months at an incredibly slow pace, I worked my butt off to get clean from co-codamol, I tried to make my relationships with my kids and husband better and got myself to a place where I could focus and concentrate for more than five minutes at a time (and that’s if I was lucky). 

Eventually September rolled around and I started the course. The first week was terrifying. Anxiety was really high, but some how I fought through it and got myself in. Not every single day religiously because hey, I’m a student and sometimes mornings were a little on the hard side!! How many students have you known that have attended every single lecture without fail?? I’m guessing that the number would be fairly small. So I didn’t beat myself up if I couldn’t make it in. Instead I pushed myself to attend as many lectures as I could which was a reasonable amount and ultimately I did fairly well with exams and assignments. 

I genuinely felt like I had turned a massive corner with anxiety and the control it had previously had over being able to live my life. 

I was wrong. Plain and simple. It’s the quiet beast that sits patiently by waiting for the perfect moment to raise it’s ugly, disgusting, deblitating and frustrating head. 

First fucking day back of the Autumn semester and I get triggered. Since then I get so worked up about lectures on a Monday and Tuesday, I just can’t face it. The anxiety that takes over my body and brain is overwhelming and so I do what I do best, I hide at home feeling guilty and pathetic. I beat myself up over and over again for being such a fucking, stupid failure. 

This week I forced myself to go in on a Tuesday, the first one I’ve been in for since the start of the academic year. I had signed up for participating in some 3rd year research and also had a meeting with the welfare officer. The research participation was fine, it wasn’t as overwhelming as I had feared. However, being in a room with one other person is not the terrifying part. When I wasn’t in those rooms, there were so many people around and that knot, pounding of my heart and all the other shit feelings came rushing at me. I became hyper-vigilant and my over-riding desire was to get the hell out of there. 

By the time the meeting came with the welfare officer I was a wreck. It became very clear that getting in to uni on Monday’s and Tuesday’s is not something that I feel I can do right now. It was a really hard, painful wake up call. I’ve no idea how I am going to get through another 18 months of uni. 

It has been suggested that I need to have a ‘fitness to study’ put into place. Apparently this is where some tutors, members of the welfare team etc meet with me and discuss where things are. I thought that this might take a week or two to happen, but seems not. 

Thursday I had a meeting with my tutor where she told me she had recieved and email about the fitness to study. She wanted to know if I wanted to remain on the course and how I feel about the fitness to study. My tutor has been an amazing support throughout the past 18 months and has told me how much faith and belief she has in me. I don’t want to leave the course because although I can’t physically getting in, I work hard from home. It helps distract me from all the shit that hasn’t been dealt with yet and stops me from falling back into a depressive state. It is moving me forward to a better place, a future where I can finally help others who are or have been through the same things as me. I don’t want to give it up for anything. 

But…..anxiety seems to think differently. 

How the fuck do I do this? 

The increase of venlafaxine is meant to help and so is the quetiapine. I am at least sleeping a bit more which is a relief. But the anxiety seems to be set in so deep that nothing is touching it. 

I feel so miserable and fed up. It doesn’t seem to matter how hard I am trying my head has a billion different ideas and now everything is at risk and I am scared that it’s all going to fall apart and I am going to end up in the gutter. I don’t want to spend my life wishing for things. I don’t want to sit on the sidelines. But how do you get onto the field and be part of this game of life?

Fear

Before I start with writing I wanted to say that this is a very personal post and focuses on a very female issue. It’s not the kind of thing I would normally write about, but I am discovering that it’s becoming more frightening by the day and pushing me closer to having to face many unresolved issues revolving around the trauma I experienced as a child and young adult. If you are not fond of thinking or knowing about women’s issues then this is not the post to read! Also, there may be references to child sexual abuse which may be upsetting or triggering. So please look after yourself. 

So,…. Am working up the courage to put the words together…. Here goes… 

Almost 9 years ago I had an abortion. It was the hardest decision I have ever had to make. We had a 9 year old, 3 year old and a 1 year old. Financially we were barely making ends meet and my pregnancies were horrific as I suffered with morning sickness from beginning to end, especially with the last baby. I was severely anemic and could barely eat by the time he was born. 

I suspected I was pregnant because the signs were there with suddenly super strong sense of smell and the constant nausea. I could barely stand without feeling faint and gagging and being a full time mum with 3 kids to take care of it was going to be very tough. My husband didn’t want another child and i talked to my 9 year old who was horrified and said she didn’t want another sibling. I was so torn. 

I wanted to keep the baby, but I had to also consider the long term effect it was going to have on those I also loved. I had to make the decision and quickly. So, eventually on the 21st May 2008 I went through with having an abortion. It was horrific. They did sedate me, but it didn’t seem to do anything because I felt absolutely everything. I sobbed throughout and hated myself for what I was doing. I felt like I was committing murder, and to all those pro-lifers that’s precisely what I had done. 

To prevent any more pregnancies from happening I had a copper coil fitted at the same time. Taking the pill was a non starter for me for a number of medical reasons and this was the only option left aside from sterilisation which,  at only 28 years old, seemed too much of a finite choice and one which neither of us was ready to do. 

Fast forward to now, monthly cycles have been fairly regular. Some months have been heavy and horrid and others have barely been there. I could live with this, it beat being irregular and would mean no hard choices. 

The copper coil can be left for 10-12 years so I have read, but it was recommended that this is done at around 5 years. At the 5 year point I was busy having a breakdown and whilst I had reminders about smear testing, I couldn’t go. 

Four or so weeks ago I came on, but it was like it was teasing me. It was there but it wasn’t. Then it started and was really heavy and I had bad cramping. After a week and a little bit I was still bleeding. I felt some concern, but after 3 weeks I was really beginning to be frightened. 

I looked up dear old Dr. Google to find out what the hell was going on. It came up with all those things that had been going around in my head. However, the most important thing it said was that I should make an appointment to see my doctor. Everything I read said the same thing. 

Should be easier enough right? 

I told my counsellor about this last week on the phone, and she said the same thing. But I can’t. This week I was still bleeding until today, but I am not convinced it’s over. Yesterday, I decided to be brave and check to see if the coil was still in place. This might not seem like a big deal, but anything like that I just can’t do. It makes me feel sick and dirty and like I am doing something abhorrently wrong. Anyway, i checked and found that I couldn’t feel the coil. 

This means that I now really need to see the doctor. Just the mere thought of having to make an appointment for this makes me start panicking let alone having to be exposed and invaded. It frightens me so much. I just can’t do it. But I am also scared about why I have bled abnornally for such a long time. Sometimes there’s spotting after sex which disturbs me at times. I don’t remember the coil coming out. I think that it’s something I would have noticed. So I’m left feeling scared that something isn’t right with me in that region. 

It is triggering bad memories from when I was a little girl and was first abused. I was 6 and I remember feeling embarrassed and so exposed. I wanted to cover myself up and feel safe, but my body was responding in a way which didn’t fit with my head. Over and over and over again for years I felt this same conflicting feeling. 

I’ve only had two smear tests and they were humiliating but I had buried so much by drinking and drugs and whoring myself out that it was not as bad. I took stuff before I went. Having babies was incredibly tough going but I was too ashamed of my past I never told them and being in labour and feeling all that pain, you forget about all your fears and just get on with it. Once it’s all over there is just a relief that you won’t have to show anyone that part of you again. 

But now, since my breakdown 4 years ago, this type of thing is terrifying. Having sex with my husband can terrify me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want anyone prodding me, examining me. I want it to be private and remain so. I can’t make the call to make an appointment and I know that I will just cancel it again and again. 

I’m scared about what’s happening to me but I am too scared to do anything about it. I feel pathetic and stupid for feeling so afraid, but I can’t help it. Just writing this post is terrifying me. My heart is racing and my breathing is shallow. I’m like this for just a blog post, imagine how much worse it will become if I make that call or actually make it to the appointment. My head is such a mess, conflicting thoughts and feelings… I don’t know what to do.