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You will have to forgive me for the insane shit I am about to write. I have been drinking in the desperate hope that it will make me tired and knock me out.

Recently I have had more panic attacks than I can count. My heart races, my breathing becomes shallow and fast, I feel sick, tears appear out of nowhere and the worst part are all these crazy thoughts and feelings that just bombard me at once. I can’t escape and this intense feeling of panic just grows inside me.

Yesterday I had one of these shitty experiences. My panic was that I was going to lose all my shit, get kicked out of uni and be a totally outcast like I was 4 years ago. I am terrified of having a breakdown. I’m terrified that I am going to lose the little control I still have and that my world, my foundation is going to crumble.

October 4 years ago, sleeping well became something I could only imagine. I woke several times a night and struggled to get back to sleep. I remember putting this down to the stress of being at uni, the unravelling of any relationship I had with my mother and sister and having a teenager and 2 young kids to look after. I remember being exhausted and my mood was up and down. I was doing my best to keep it together.

Then in Jan/Feb 4 years ago, one of the service users disclosed his own experience of being sexually abused. This was the reason why he had started to drink and use hard drugs like coccaine and heroin. Fuck knows why now, after all this time it happened, but as I was driving home one afternoon I just couldn’t get this voice out of my head that I had been sexually abused too.

Since that day it haunts me constantly. I try and ignore it, I do my best to deal with possible triggers by avoiding or distracting myself from them. I don’t talk about it, I don’t wear it like a badge on my sleeve for everyone to know. I am like the service user who trusted me enough to tell me. I am ashamed. embarrassed, have elements where I blame myself despite reassurances that it wasn’t my fault and throughout the time I was abused, it was a secret…the voices haunt me and I don’t want to break that oath I made to keep it a secret.

I know it sounds stupid, I am 37 fucking years old now yet I have the mind of a 6 year old.

I took my first overdose in late September early October the year I was 14. I had been planning it for more than year, but this kind of happened without much real thought and preparation. I was really sick because I took antidepressants as the overdose. I regretted it for weeks. It was around this time that I started smoking weed and helping myself to my dad’s whiskey. I just didn’t want to feel anything any more. I bunked off school. My parents couldn’t get me out of bed and when I did go to school I snuck off home at lunchtime. I just didn’t want to be there with people who just didn’t get it and teachers who really didn’t give a shit.

At this time in my life I was seeing a child psychologist. She was probably really good if I had been really brave and told her the truth, but because I was too scared to say anything and the time I had no one had believed me, she thought that I was just attention seeking. I wasn’t, but no one knew.

It was a lonely time.

The last couple of days I have felt more depressed and low than I have in ages. I have not been able to get myself out of the house and to uni. Instead I have kept myself hidden at home. I have taken copious amounts of pills of one sort or another, ignoring completely the recommended dosage and just taking as much as possible of whatever I have in order to knock myself out. Tonight I have no pills to take – at least none of the ones which reportedly are sedating but don’t have much affect on me. So, I have downed some vodka and now working my  way though a cheap bottle of wine. It’s disgusting but it has alcohol which is really the only thing that matters.

I hate my head with a passion. There is a part of it which is capable and motivated to be far more than I currently am, but it gets swept away by this other side which is totally lost, feels totally worthless and a failure. I feel like I spend my days just fighting my own thoughts, trying to decipher what emtotion it is that i am experiencing. It is all such an effort. But one thing which is guaranteed, by early evening, those conflicting thoughts and feelings are replaced by this constant feeling of darkness, of shame and self-loathing. It comes almost like a sun set, it’s predictable. It’s the only thing in my life that seems to be.

I have wondered sometimes whether this dark feeling that takes over is somehow comforting. I think that I have got to the point where i would feel totally lost if I didn’t have these feelings. I know that many of these thoughts etc didn’t just happen for the first time 4 years ago, I know that I have had so many sleepless nights where darkness has taken over and have done since I was very young. The difference being that back then a sleepless night wasn’t something I really understood, I just couldn’t sleep. In fact, for a long time I didn’t understand the enormity of what was happening/ had happened to me.I was too young.

I think that this is one of the reasons I struggle to discuss my feelings about things and why I don’t sleep now. I didn’t have the words at the age of 6 to discuss what I was feeling. I couldn’t tell anyone.

When I was 10 and sent to boarding school sleep was difficult. It would take me ages to drift off and then I would wake multiple times during the night. It got progressively worse as I got older. Being away from home and at school made it all the more difficult, I couldn’t just get up and go downstairs and make something to drink or eat. I couldn’t listen to music or watch tv. The only thing I could do was to stare at the ceiling. Nights were very lonely.

I guess not an awful lot has changed in all these years. Nights are still difficult, lonely and depressing. However, at least now I can watch tv and drink alcohol!

 

 

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Sometimes the world seems like an achingly painful place to be. Everyone seems to have a purpose and rushes around fulfilling that reason for living. Whether its a job, being a mother, daughter, husband, son, aunt or uncle. Life has a meaning. 

When you’re unwell mentally this purpose evades consciousness and it’s replaced with an overwhelming feeling or worthlessness, of being a failure and a lost cause. I don’t believe that life is perfect for anyone and I know there are obstacles and moments of doubt which have to be dealt with. It would be foolish to think otherwise. 

I’ve also become acutely aware that any mental illness is a very individual, personal experience. There are of course common themes and similar experiences, but none of us experience things exactly the same. We can attempt to empathise and offer comfort but we can’t see, feel, hear or think like each other. I think that it is this individuality which makes mental illness feel like such an isolating and lonely experience. 

For weeks now my general mood has been fairly down and low. It has been increasingly difficult to determine what I am thinking and feeling. I can’t quite figure out what’s making me feel this way and try as I might I can’t lift myself up. I feel weighted down much of the time which just makes me tired and depressed. 

There’s a part of me which wants to socialise and laugh, to embrace the opportunities I have and to feel motivated. Instead I feel this intense need to withdraw myself, to hide myself away and just shut everything else out. 

I feel frustrated by how slow the community mental health team moves in providing support and help when it is urgently needed. Insomnia is well known to destabilise even the healthiest of minds, so when it’s messing with the life of someone already fighting mental illness, why does it take so long for something to be done? My mental stability is wavering on the edge of a giant abyss and I am terrified that I am going to slip any time. 

The problem is that so many people who work in medicine or mental health don’t empathise or truly understand the debilating effects of mental illness on a persons life. I may be being unfair, but my experience so far is that all these ‘professionals’ have knowledge gained from text books and stupid letters after their names, but how many have real experience? Have had to fight their own head daily for months or years? If they did then perhaps they would be quicker to react and give someone the support they need before it becomes more serious. 
In the UK there are campaigns to raise awareness and end the stigma of mental illness. There’s increased awareness of depression, anxiety, eating disorders and thanks to some famous faces bipolar. There’s more information about suicidal thoughts and how to help. But still there’s a giant fucking hole where there is still ignorance. 

Funding is desperately inadequate and the NHS provides a limited range of therapies such as CBT, dbt and brief psychological interventions. But once you have completed these then what? Fucking nothing…. Just pills, if you get an appointment….Every time I have had to go back to see the psychiatrist for a medication review the skills that have been taught via Cbt or dbt get drudged up. If you’re having a hard time then you get asked if you’re doing the things such as mindfulness, sleep hygiene, distracting, distancing etc. It’s like a one size fits all and woe betide you if you’re not doing them.  It becomes your fault if you’re struggling. You’re not trying hard enough, you’ve been given all the answes so fucking use them. It’s a joke. If you spend too much time distancing or distracting then you’re advoiding which is a bad thing. 
For someone with BPD, medications can do little to help. They help mainly with anxiety, depression, mood stability and sleep issues. Personally I get fed up of hearing about mindfulness and sleep hygiene. These are not new ways of thinking, they are old, taken from Buddhism and other ancient ways of meditation and relaxation. I try to do all the things that I’m supposed to do, but there is a time when it gets beyond my abilities to cope. 

Attending therapy weekly does help, far more than I could have ever imagined. But even my therapist is of the opinion that we have reached the limit of what can be done without the aid of medication. It was so hard to get a gp appointment my therapist wrote two letters to make sure I got the help I needed. This was back in November and December. Now nearly in February and still I have not got the help I desperately need. 

I’m so very, very tired. I’m tired of watching my life pass me by. I’m fed up of working so hard to get stable only for it to all blow up in my face and then have to wait for months and months before I get any help. 

Tonight I am awake as all my family are snuggled up in their beds getting the sleep they need in order to have a productive day. I am sat alone downstairs wishing away the hours so that I can perhaps sleep. My days blur into each other, I am mentally disorientated most of the time, i feel like i am a total failure. I am emotional and nothing really makes much sense right now. 

Being mentally unwell is not something I would wish on anyone, it’s soul destroying and worse than any prison sentence. It’s a living nightmare and without the right help and support it only gets worse. 

Time waits for no man…or woman!

Time is a precious commodity which does not wait for anyone. The clock ticks by second by second, minute after minute, hour after hour. It is relentless and once those seconds, minutes and hours have passed by there is no second chance. You can’t get them back. The day melts into night and before you know it those days have blurred into each other and weeks go by. There’s no let up in it’s relentless momentum. 

Insomnia, depression and anxiety eat into that precious time. Life isn’t lived, just survived and all you do is exist in this darkend, lonely world with no way of escape. There’s no way to get back that time which has been lost battling the demons that lurk in your head. 

Life is passing you by as you sit on the sidelines watching, aching desperately inside to be a part of it. To have a role to play and the ability to embrace and embody that role with all your being. 

No one else feels the pain, the longing or the sadness that dwells deep inside. Words simply cannot adequately describe the agony which this creates inside your head. Thoughts and feelings are jumbled, emotions are in freefall and life just feels unbearable and pointless. 

Some how, some way, the days and nights are survived. More often than not it feels like a minor miracle. But that feeling of self doubt that you can manage another hour let alone another day simply doesn’t let up. It’s burrowed itself so deeply that it feels like you will never be rid of it. 

My days feel endless, sleep evades me at night and only descends as the sun comes up to greet those ‘normal’ mortals who sleep as they should. This existence is isolating and just increases depression and anxiety. Feelings of being useless and a waste of space build in strength and it feels like it’s never going to end. 

I am told by many people that I am intelligent and capable, but this current situation leaves me feeling that I am anything but those things. My attention span is that of a nat and my energy is non-existent yet I am restless and bored. My brain wants to be stimulated and my body wants me to participate in the art of living. 

It’s a confusing and irritating place to be. I’m sleepwalking through a no-mans-land which is filled with treacherous mountains,  ravines and dark, thorny forests. The pathway is a never-ending maze of twists, turns and forks which just adds to the myriad of chaos I’m trying desperately to navigate. 

That magical light that is meant to be a beacon of hope teases by getting brighter only to suddenly disappear. It leaves me feeling lost, fumbling around in the dark hoping that I’m not going to trip and fall. 

Yesterday I had to battle panic attacks in order to make it into uni. I don’t normally feel anxious about Thursday’s as its the part of the course I enjoy the most and I get on well with the people in my group. My chest felt tight, my heart raced and I felt nauseous. It kept coming in waves, over and over again. I just wanted to sleep so I was a bit more rested. I fought so hard to get through the first year and I desperately want to complete the whole thing so that I can become a counsellor. I want to work with people who have suffered similar trauma as me. I want to help others and make what happened to me mean something more than the pain I feel inside. It feels foolish to want those things when I can’t help myself. I stumble with every step I take and make a mess of the things again and again. 

This year at uni is flying by, the days blur into each other and I keep losing track of time. I get muddled about which day it is and forget important things constantly. Daily living is like climbing a steep hill. I’m exhausted. 

I reach out for help and it takes forever for anything to be done. The doctor can’t even get the facts right when writing a referral to the psychiatrist. The dire need for sleep and the extent of insomnia doesn’t seem to register so the prescription is next to useless and there is no follow up. Instead I am left self medicating in the hope that something will do the trick. All I want is to sleep at night and be able to function during the day. Is that really to much to ask? 

Importance of sleep for mental well-being

It’s funny how we take a good night’s sleep for granted. Following a long day with many obstacles to navigate, climbing into bed, closing your eyes and switching your mind off is a welcome relief. 

I know that sleep is something which frequently I take for granted when I have it. I am stronger mentally, physically energised and emotionally more stable. Tasks during the day are doable and things which crop up I can deal with. I am focused and living daily life in a ‘normal’ manner. 

But when sleep evades you night after night, all that strength, energy and stability slowly evaporates and the everything appears to become a battlefield. 

Since the end of September I have struggled with sleeping. Initally it was the odd night where I couldn’t stay asleep and then it became a problem just going to sleep. 

I have been sat on the sofa watching tv, falling asleep and decided it’s time for bed. So I’ve gone up to bed only to find myself wide awake. I’ve followed strategies which are recommended in ‘sleep hygiene’ but to no avail. And hour or two have crept by and I am still wide awake. 

My mind seems to go into overdrive. Random thoughts race around creating havoc. I try to distract, I try to do everything I can to make my head quiet but it doesn’t work. So I get back up and go downstairs to watch TV in the hope that it will quieten the noise in my head and make me sleepy. It can take all night before I get close to sleep, I wearily climb back up the stairs and crawl into bed and close my eyes. I sleep. 

But suddenly I am awake again. I check the time and only a couple of hours have passed. 

This routine follows night after night, week after week. 

There is no time for my mind to rest and body to relax. I feel like I am permanently on edge. 

My therapist and gp believe that as soon as we can get my sleep back into a healthy rhythm that the mental and emotional issues will be easier to handle. I agree with them. 

Life seems so much tougher than it did just a few months ago. It’s that bad right now that I am considering whether I should drop out from Uni. My therapist is right when she says that the course is sometimes triggering. There are many aspects which hit too close to home and that unsettle me emotionally. I know this, I try to deny it or push through, but ultimately I know that her point is valid. 

I’m torn about uni. I struggle to get in because of agoraphobia, I can’t focus so therefore I don’t get the work done and I am falling behind. BUT when I can sleep, the work keeps me busy and distracted and makes me feel like I am doing something worthwhile with my life. 

I’ve quit college and uni several times over the years and it makes me feel like I am a giant loser, regardless of the fact that there were extenuating circumstances. I don’t want to be a loser, a constant failure or a joke. 

The progress I thought I was making in therapy has been good, but I pushed too hard and it’s unsettled me emotionally and mentally. Not being able to sleep has just exacerbated the problem. 

When I was taking cocodamol I was seldom really aware of how I was feeling or what I was thinking. Everything was just a jumble. This time round I can feel my moods going up and down, the paranoia creeping in, the endless feeling of being useless and worthless, feeling like I am empty. Sometimes I feel overwhelming rage and sadness that just take  over.

Craving cocodamol is hard to fight. Not because of the physical desire to get high, but because there is a psychological desire to feel better and in the recent past cocodamol was that thing. 

I feel frustrated that I can’t get it on prescription, having to leave the house and go to the chemist fills me with anxiety so I don’t go. This in turn leads to seering anger with myself. Several times a day I fight this neverending loop. 
I feel like I am going crazy. I’m lonely and isolated but it’s not because there aren’t people around, it’s because I have withdrawn socially. I find it hard being around others, I get tongue tied and feel excruciatingly anxious. I try to distract myself by studying but I don’t have a clue what it is that I just read. I get bored easily and feel restless but nothing interests me and I’ve got no energy to do anything which in turn makes me feel lazy. 

The gp prescribed me temazepam to help me sleep, but it’s not really helping with the whole insomnia thing. When i do eventually fall asleep i stay asleep some nights but I still struggle to go to sleep. So I’ve been misusing the few quetiapine tablets i have left over. They worked far better than the temazepam but last night, 50mg didn’t do anything so I took 75mg. I feel terrible that Ive been using them but I am terrified of not being able to sleep. At the same time I am terrified of sleeping. Its like a nightmare day after day, night after night. 

Tomorrow I have two meetings at uni. One with the welfare officer and one with one of the lecturers who combines as a department counsellor. I’ve learnt over the course of the past 4years that reaching out when things are hard is far better than trying to fix everything on your own. 

I then have a two hour counselling workshop which I am nervous about but also looking forward to as I will see my friends who are supportive and caring. 

Then at 2pm I have my weekly counselling session. It’s a busy day and one which I need to have sleep for. I am already feeling anxious about tonight and being able to sleep and then having to get up early to attend these meetings. 

Everything just feels like its too much. I am so tired and  I have no idea what i want or how to get there. 

Teetering on the edge

Right now I feel like I am losing myself. Yesterday my therapist voiced her concern that I am slipping back into the black hole. She penned a letter for me to take with me when I get an appointment to see the gp. She’s told me that it’s essential that I go. I tried to get an appointment but like most doctor’s surgeries these days it was impossible. I have to call back on Monday morning. 

To be honest, at the moment I feel really isolated despite having people around. It is hard to spend all day everyday putting on a fake smile and pretending that all is right in the world. What’s more maddening is how easily irritated i get when I’m around other people. 

The sound of people talking gets under my skin and i want to scream at them to just shut the fuck up. I don’t because obviously the few people I do have in ny life I would like to keep! 

I know that compared to where I have been I have been doing far better. But this feels different. I am not hiding myself behind drugs and booze in the hope that it will make everything go away. However, its also fair to say that fighting this increasing sense of darkness is getting harder as each day passes. I have managed so far to stay away from co-codamol but the temptation is stronger than it’s been since i got clean. I have also come to feel that drinking is a feeling i dont enjoy much and would much rather get high. I know that this is probably the addict in me talking and it scares me. 

Then there are the urges to self harm. Anything that will relieve these feelings is good enough. I’ve kept myself away from the blades for now too, but each day is harder than the one before. 

I’m anxious about everything in my life. I am terrified that I’m going to totally fuck up uni. I don’t want to take time oit because I think having to sit at home is worse for me than trying to focus on something else. I’ve not made it in to lectures much this semester, but I do have a lot of support so as long as things don’t get progressively worse then hopefully i can improve things…. Sooner rather than later. 

I will also admit that I feel pathetic for the array of thoughts and feeling which have emerged since i began to disclose some of the abuse i experienced. They are not what i want and i dont spend all my time dwelling on it. But at night it’s different. I get flashbacks and can’t shut my eyes without seeing something. 

There are some people who believe that the past is in the past and it should stay there. That these thoughts and feelings are ridiculous. That my guilt, shame and self blame are wrongly placed and that I should just move on. 

I wish with all my heart it were that straightforward. I’m not this fucked up because of the thoughts I have. Im fucked up because I have experienced trauma which ive not ever dealt with and on top of it i have mental illness. Its not just a little bout of depression and anxiety. Its a fucking nightmare of an illness caused by a bunch of other things alongside the trauma. The likelihood is that even if id never experienced the abuse i would probably be fucked up anyway. 

I have a personality disorder which makes my life at times a living hell. The smallest, most pathetic thing can trigger and unsettle me. I go round and round in circles, making progress only to get back to the point where things seem pointless and unbearable. 

I would give anything not to feel these things, not to be on this stupid merry-go-round but that’s the hand I’ve been dealt. 

I do feel like I am to blame for many of the things that happened to me. I feel like a total failure in most aspects of my life and a lot of the time i am severely lonely and struggling because there are so few people who seem to understand how fucking debilitating BPD is. I didnt ask for it, I’m doing everything I can to manage it and i guess right now managing the symptoms is proving fucking tough work and I am slipping downhill. But I am still trying. Im still reaching out for help and I am talking to my counsellor even if I struggle to articulate things. 

Im feeling really pissed off right now and totally fed up of everything and almost everyone. Maybe one day I will feel differently about things and I will have figured out how to manage the bpd symptoms and everything else. But for right now, each day I avoid co-codamol, self-harm or believing that i would be better dead is a win.