I’m not exaggerating when I say that this post has been a
long time coming. I’ve had this thought piece swirling around my head for years
now, but something has always held me back from sitting down, letting my
thoughts take over and pressing publish. Partly because this post is so
personal, and for the longest time I felt like I was alone in my experiences, and
until I recently discussed this problem with some friends and realised I hadn’t
been the only person who encountered difficulties on my mental health journey.
The other half of me is absolutely petrified to talk about it. Even as I type
these words, my heart is fluttering so hard it feels as though it’s about to
burst out of my chest and bleed all over the keyboard.
I don’t know why I feel so afraid to discuss a topic that I’ve
been so open about since I began using social media many moons ago. It could be
that the prospect of exposing my less than linear mental health in meticulous
detail for all to see makes me feel naked, like I’m reopening every healed scar
and distressing experience only to relive it once again. Obviously, I am not
the same person I was when I first began to transition from a happy, bubbly
young teenager to someone who genuinely didn’t believe that they would make it
to today. But the memories and experiences that shaped me into who I am, and
paved the stones of my recovery still linger fresh in my mind. Of course, I
would never want my experiences to trigger someone who is struggling with their
own mental health, so I won’t go into too much detail, but this is an issue
that I believe needs to be discussed, and there is no better time to publish
this post than on Mental Health Awareness Week. So, here goes nothing.
Here’s some context: I first started to experience the
emotional side of puberty when I was ten years old. My moods would vary wildly
from excitement and childish curiosity, to extreme anger and emotional
distress. This is not unusual for a sensitive young child who had experienced a
lot of problems and issues that most kids my age had not yet thought about, or
been fortunate enough to have happen to them. But as I began to transition into
adulthood and experience the wonder of hormones and typical teenage behaviour,
I noticed that something was different. Most of my friends could cope with
challenging situations in a calm and controlled way, and my only solutions to
problems were to cry until I got my own way or explode at those around me. My
family, my friends I didn’t care who was in the firing line, but they were
going to listen to me. I’m aware that this sounds like typical, problematic
teenage behaviour, and that the younger me comes across as a little shit who
lacked any discipline or direction. Now that I’m older and I can truly
understand the toxic circumstances of my relationships with those around me,
and the pressure I felt to continue to mould myself into the perfect, responsible
big sister, I know exactly why I behaved like that.
What also separated my emotions and behaviour from my acquaintances
that were consistently problematic, was that my outbursts were infrequent and
the remorse and regret I felt afterwards was immediate. It made me believe that
I was the worst person in the world. I wasn’t worthy of affection, love and
support that those around me were providing me. My brain told me that there
were people out there who would die for the privileges that I was fortunate
enough to have in my life, and if I didn’t feel I was worthy of them I should
not even be here. As a result, I began to retract further into the safety of
the barriers I placed around myself. On the outside, I was able to disguise how
I felt, but it eventually became all too much and I no longer wanted to live.
Until recently, my mother worked as a mental health nurse
for over fifteen years. When she recognised the intensity of my mood swings and
negative emotions she carted me off to the doctors. I watched as her and my GP
had a discussion about my mental health in front of me, without even consulting
me to ask how I was feeling. My doctor explained to my mother about hormone
imbalances in young women, and as I also had the physical problems of puberty
that coincided with what she was saying, my behaviours were diagnosed as a
direct result of puberty. My mental health issues were dismissed as typical
teenage girl emotions and I was placed on the pill at thirteen years old. Nothing
more was said after that. With a little perspective, part of me believes that
my mum didn’t want to admit that something more was wrong with me. She worked
with people like me every day, from mild cases to the most extreme, and I
wholeheartedly believe that she didn’t want the weight of her work carried into
her domestic life too. In addition to this, she didn’t exactly have a clean
bill of health when it came to her own mental health, and it certainly seemed
like she was in denial about the fact I was fast becoming more and more like
her every day. As a teenager, I resented her for years for ignoring my feelings
and refusing to acknowledge that something more was happening to me. Now I’m
older, I understand exactly why she did that.
As time progressed, the pill helped balance my physical
issues. Periods become more bearable, my skin cleared up and my appetite was
suppressed, and on the surface, I functioned as regularly as other girls my
age. I worked on shedding my image as a bullied, scared girl and blossomed into
someone confident, funny and independent. But inside I was fighting a losing
battle with myself, and on the outside, I continued to treat those around me
like complete shit to reflect how I felt on the inside. I allowed myself to be
manipulated by those who had control over me, and this led to me doing the
exact same to those I cared about. I hated everything about myself. When I
started to educate myself on mental health conditions and recognised the
behaviours I exhibited, I realised that something was still wrong with me.
However, those conversations between my mother and my doctor
haunted my thoughts and stopped me from speaking out. I didn’t want to be
dismissed as a silly little girl who was exaggerating her thoughts and emotions
for attention. I’d heard enough of that from kids my own age who mercilessly
made me feel terrible about things that I’d done, thus stopping me from getting
over the person I used to be. I kept quiet, only confiding in those closest to
me and seeking support from strangers on the internet who I could identify
with, who I knew wouldn’t judge me. I put them through hell, and even now I
will never forgive myself for how I acted, nor for taking so long to speak out.
The catalyst of change came with one phone call from my
mother. One of her patients who we both had become extremely close to had
committed suicide. She was only 21. She struggled with mental health issues for
years, and although it seemed like she was on the road to recovery, she had
kept her true emotions hidden from those around her. We held each other and
cried, and that was the first time I told my mum exactly how I felt. “I don’t
want to that to happen to me.” “I know.” That was the beginning of my recovery
process.
But I’ve been doing it on my own since then, with support
from my family, friends, partner and work. However, even now it’s still a taboo
subject to talk about, and no one can look me in the eye when I start to
express my thoughts and feelings. Even at 21, I am still haunted by the fact
that my concerns were dismissed as little more than my hormones acting up, all
those years ago. Now, that’s obviously not the case, and this year I promised
that I would finally start the diagnosis process with my doctors and get the
help I truly need. I took myself off the pill, and I’ve experienced the
roughest five months of my life. Extreme depressive slumps, psychotic episodes
and hallucinations, memory loss, highs and lows, crippling anxiety that’s left
me housebound and afraid to complete even the simplest of tasks – I’ve
experienced them all. Yet, I am still being dismissed.
I’m not the only young woman I know who has experienced this
utter neglect from the health services and those around me. I know my own mind,
and I know exactly what’s wrong with me. But I’ve been told my only option is
to go back on the pill and see how the next five months pan out while my
hormones rebalance. I don’t want to go through this again, but I don’t have a
choice because I am not believed. I’ve been met with scorn, disbelief and abuse
every step of the way, hence why I have largely battled this alone. Hence, why
I’m scared to publicly express how I feel. But I refused to be pushed to the
sides.
The affirmation that I am not alone in how I feel, is more
than enough to inspire me to continue to seek help, to continue to do better
for myself and those around me. I don’t recognise that girl any more. I don’t
recognise that ten-year-old who was ridiculed for being too sensitive, for
being too much, who had the weight of the world on her shoulders. I don’t
recognise that thirteen-year-old, whose mental health issues were dismissed as
nothing more than “hormones,” who allowed herself to be taken advantage of and
took her issues out on those around her. I’m so far removed from that eighteen-year-old,
who swore this time would be different, who knew she had to grow up and who
continued to be destructive and allow her self-doubt to ruin her mental health.
We need to listen to those around us. We need to recognise
our own behaviours and take responsibility for our mental health. We need to
stop dismissing symptoms of mental illness as typical behaviours and hormone
imbalances. I have been fighting for most of my teenage and adult life to be
taken seriously, and to get the support I desperately need. My mental health
journey has been a rollercoaster, and it’s time I take responsibility for
myself and work to better myself. It takes more than a positive mental attitude
and self-care practices to get better, and although I still harbour resentment
over how I’ve been treated over the years, I have forgiven myself and now I need
to help myself too.
BERET: TK MAXX
JUMPER: DAISY STREET
JEANS: TOPSHOP
BOOTS: PRIMARK
SUNGLASSES: H+M
Thank you for reading, and please, realise that you are
never truly alone in your mental health battle. There is support, there is love
and acceptance out there. Please, don’t put it off for as long as I have.
Until next time,
- May 17, 2018
- 12 Comments
