Another Night

Another night I sit here hopelessly wishing the pain would stop. Another night I sit here praying for everything to be over. It shouldn’t surprise me anymore. It has always hit at night; the empty numbness that inhabits my body always awakens fully as the sun descends. And so I sit here yet again, feeling the facade slip, the day’s resolve fading into nothingness.

It’s ironic. Relationships. Friendships. Things which are synonymous with love and support. It’s ironic how they exacerbate the very things they are supposed to shielding against. I spend my days living inside myself. People walk on eggshells around me, and to some extent I do the same. They choose to ignore how desperately I’m screaming inside and instead focus on the smile on my face and the laughter in my voice. They don’t want to admit that inside I am a fortress of hatred and self-disgust. After all, ignorance is bliss.

It has become a vicious cycle. The lies, the hidden torment, the silence, the alienation. It is so much easier to fight yourself, to hurt and blame yourself than to do it to people you love. And they let me. That is the worst part. They don’t question the dark circles around my eyes or the changes in behaviour. No one sees me flinching back, cancelling plans, making excuses left right and centre. Sometimes they will ask me how I am but I know that they really don’t want to know. So once again I will smile and lie. It has become a second nature. I can’t imagine my life without it anymore.

If only I could lie to my heart with such ease. If only I could pacify the loneliness that way and convince myself that the pain and emptiness inside me is only temporary. Oh how easy it would be then. But of course it doesn’t work that way. The more I pretend, the harder it gets. Shame and guilt builds up and I know that it has taken over my life. I have reached the point where it has taken over everything. It’s all I feel. A deep, piercing ache that takes away my breath. I can’t do anything to stop it. Instead, I am now reduced to praying to a God I don’t believe in to show me some mercy and then maybe, just maybe I won’t wake up again in the morning. But then, that prospect also scares me and I find myself stuck.

My life is full of contradictions. I yearn for people’s affection yet I push away the few who care. I hide behind my facade hoping that today will be the day they build up the courage to confront it but at the same time hoping that they do not. And so I am lost. Lost and alone in world filled with so many people. Time is nothing but a broken watch in my pocket as the numbness takes its fill, sucking on my very being. I am falling now, falling into the abyss that has become my second home.

And so another night I sit here, desperately trying to grasp onto something to stop my fall but I know it is hopeless. This night is lost to me now. Another night lost in the dark lonely void that tortures my life. I can only hope now, as I always do, that tomorrow won’t be the same.

Failure in Care Systems

How many tragedies need to happen before the NHS realise that its care services for mental health patients are far below satisfactory?

A man suffering from paranoia and schizophrenia stabbed a 25 year old mother in 2006 and today evidence has been shown that a number of failing in his care could’ve prevented this tragedy. The report (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/humber/8034521.stm) found that his condition was under treated and not effectively managed. He had even been assessed two days before the stabbing.

I, someone who has seen firsthand the failures in mental health treatment here, am not surprised in the slightest by the findings. My story, albeit not as extreme as this one, shows a number of failings and has led to many preventable suicidal moments.

Let’s start when I was hospitalised after my overdose in February. My answer to the question “If you had more painkillers on you, would you have taken them?” was “Almost certainly”. This led for the doctors to call for a proper psychiatric assessment which I had later that week. All good so far but this is where it starts to go downhill. The psychologist asked for an appointment at North End House, a mental health care unit where I could get long term treatment in terms of therapy, counselling, CBT, etc. After two weeks I still hadn’t heard anything. My GP sent a letter asking them again to make an appointment with me. I was still very suicidal and after a talk with my university tutor, he sent me for an emergency appointment with another doctor as it was obvious I was close to doing something very stupid. That doctor phoned and sent another letter to North End House asking what the hell they were playing at and low and behold a few days later I’m told that I have an appointment in a week or so. A full month after my overdose.

The appointment turned out to be another assessment and I yet again went through the ins and outs of my life, the whys and hows of February’s event. It was coming up to Easter at this point and I would be on my own in my house for a 4 weeks or so. I mentioned this, stating that I felt very vulnerable about it and would appreciate some extra support. The woman agreed and said they would get in contact soon. 4 weeks later. Nothing. I hadn’t heard anything from them over Easter and to this day I still don’t know how I got through it in one piece. It takes another week and THREE different doctors to finally get me an appointment. I get a half hearted apology saying that there had been some changes and my file must’ve slipped through the net.

Finally I was assigned someone and she is meant to be in charge of all my care. After a few late night phone calls to my crisis team (the only thing that’s actually a positive in the care system) and them assuring me that my care woman would phone the next day, it takes a week before she phones, the day before our appointment. During the first appointment she then leaves early saying that there has been an ‘emergency’. I was completely lost for the rest of the day. This was during my bad week (see previous posts) and I desperately needed some sort of support.

This week she is currently sunbathing in Portugal. Fair enough, I can forgive that, everyone needs a break, but I have been assigned no one as a backup. I feel failed, a burden that people can’t be bothered to look out for. More dangerously, I feel the need to prove that the system is failing. I want to make them feel guilty about how they treat people. My head is full of these dark, selfish, stupid thoughts at the worst possible time. I only hope, for their sakes as well as mine that I’m able to compose myself and keep these thoughts locked away because something needs to change. I can see plenty more tragedies to come is things carry on the way they are.

Kick Me Whilst I'm Down

Hmm, realised I hadn’t updated this in a few days, though to be honest, I haven’t had the energy to. The last week or so has been hectic to say the least and my whole world has just collapsed around me. I really don’t know where to start.

Thursday night I had another scare. I managed to bypass the alcohol this time, but instead I went straight to the kitchen drawer, pulled out a knife and scored my arm until I could see the deep crimson seeping through. I would like to say that I very rarely do this. I don’t get much from it and I ended up feeling worse afterwards. Managed to phone the crisis team though...after I’d harmed myself, but still, it’s an improvement from not being able to phone for help. Now I just need to work on phoning before I do something stupid...

Anyway my doctor has decided to switch my medication. I’m currently on Citalopram (40mg) but I really haven’t felt any better on it and the fact that I have overdosed whilst on the stuff tends to suggest they weren’t working for me. More surprised that I haven't been taken off them sooner. For almost a week now I’ve been taking 20mg to start to taper off it and in terms of withdrawal effects all I have is slight light-headedness now and then and sleepiness. On Friday my doctor is going to review things and then start me on the new stuff, Venalfaxine. This is a different type of anti-depressant to Citalopram and after researching it I’ve decided it much scarier. The side effects are more extreme and also overdosing on it can screw you up pretty badly. I’m a little concerned. I’ve already reacted badly to one type of AD (Prozac) and that wasn’t nice. The main problem I have is I have a job interview on the 13th and if I’ve reacted badly to this medication I could quite easily mess up.

On top of this worry I found out on the weekend that my dad had been keeping letters from me back in Wales, pretty important letters, urgent letters, from my student loan company. Because I suspended my course a few months back they have obviously suspended my loan payments, but they also have refused to cover the tuition fees for my new course in October. I have spent this week on the phone constantly trying to sort it out and they may be able to change that decision but in terms of my finances right now, I’m screwed. Currently well into my overdraft, rent to pay, bills to pay, general living costs on top of that with nothing coming in. I was relying on the student loan people to be a bit more sympathetic about my situation but as the letters were kept from me for over a month, there’s very little I can do. So now I’ve been filling in forms upon forms to try and get some sort of benefits to cover my shortfalls. Normally I could cope with all this but with how I’ve been feeling, tapering off medication, new medication to deal with shortly, presentation to prepare for my job interview, it’s all far too much. I’m getting driven crazy and right now I have so little energy I’m surprised I’ve managed to type this much without collapsing.

I have no idea if this post even makes sense but there we have it, I need sleep and have no energy to check over it.

Ben, Jerry, and a Whole Load of Bags

In this world there are only two men in the world a girl can rely on; Ben and Jerry. I managed to resist the pull of drinking myself into a stupor last night and instead binged on a girl’s best friend...chocolate. I felt so sick that the thought of any sort of alcohol made me want to empty the contents of my stomach into the nearest bowl shaped object. Probably not the best way to cope, but nevertheless, it got me through last night.

I have actually just got back home from my appointment with my doctor and despite it being obvious that he couldn’t wait to get me out of his office, he has actually done something this time. I have been prescribed the grand total of 7 sleeping tablets. Woohoo! Sorry, can’t keep my sarcasm under control.

He has also called on the crisis team here to keep an eye on me. I am grateful, they helped me a lot after my overdose in February but I’m not sure if having them involved again will help me through this. Basically, for those of you who don’t have a team like this in your area, it’s a short term programme where a team help you through a period where you are at risk. They’ll check up on you a few times a day, be there to talk if you need, go for coffee, go on a walk, whatever you need. They only usually have about 10 people on their books and the programme only lasts a couple of weeks at the most.

I feel a little more secure but I can’t help feel smothered right now. I didn’t think I was that at risk to need the team again. I’m getting prescribed sleeping tablets on a weekly basis until I break out of this latest bout of insomnia and I’m having someone check daily that I don’t abuse them or stash them away somewhere. I don’t know, maybe I’m in denial again but I feel that I may as well have a sticker on my head saying “Unstable, approach at your own risk”.

I think I’m going to go back to bed anyway, right now I have more bags under my eyes than my nan has in her entire wardrobe, and trust me, that’s a lot of bags.

Is Suicide in Japan a Socio-Cultural Phenomenon?

A friend earlier today discussed her current essay titles and one of them grabbed my attention. Is Suicide in Japan a Socio-Cultural Phenomenon? It is an interesting topic. For me, someone who often has thoughts of suicide and has a history of overdoses and self harm to my name, I put suicidal thoughts purely down to my depression. The thought of my actions being down to society and culture doesn’t even cross my mind, but of course, society and culture is very different in Japan.

Japan has long been providing social studies on suicide. Take the suicide bombings in the Middle East for example. This can easily be traced to Japan’s “Kamikaze”, the suicide air attack squad at the end of World War II. Tracing back even further and we have the samurai’s, the Japanese warriors. In order to protect the samurai from being killed by executioners, a form of suicide, hara-kiri, was committed. This wasn’t seen as some sick, heartless sacrifice as many in the western world would perceive it, but a privilege in society. Another form of suicide, shinjyuu, was committed among intimate people such as between lovers or families.

Here, suicide is seen by some as a selfish act, an act that goes against many religious teachings. By others, it is perceived as a last resort, an escape. Rarely is it seen as an act of good. Suicide in Japan however is seen as an act of individual dignity, of freewill, and has a long lasting cultural association with saving family fame, a noble act almost.

In this modern day and age there is more pressure on Japanese, especially men, to make money and be successful. In these days of recession, economic slump and high unemployment, this is becoming harder to do. It comes as no surprise then that statistically men are more likely to commit suicide in Japan than women. Failure isn’t an option for them and suicide is often attempted in a bid to get life insurance for the family. With the invention of the internet comes arise of suicide pacts in Japan, thus bringing a new phenotype of “group suicide culture”. Suicide is fine as long as people do it together.

I personally see suicide in Japan as a socio-cultural phenomenon. Despite many policies being proposed to help reduce the suicide rates, they are treating the suicides as a mental health issue. In fact, many psychiatrists are arguing that past suicides were due to depression and are urging people to regard suicide as a product of pathology. Even though I agree with this, I don’t think this is the way to go about it. For someone who is depressed a mental health hotline and counselling can prevent suicide, for someone who is under financial strain it will not help.

Japan is developing a vocabulary of motives associated with suicide permitting the Japanese to believe that they have no other choice but to die. As a result, they are resisting mental health efforts such as medication for depression. In order to move Japan away from the “nation of suicide” you first need to change the society. Allow more aid for those in financial difficulties, for those who are unemployed, change the pessimistic outlook on life. Then concentrate on the mental health aspect. This may seem like an indirect route, but personally I believe it is the most secular way to reduce suicide rates in Japan.

And So It Begins

Here we go, the first post. I am not a beginner to blogging, far from it, and through much trial and error I think I have finally come up with a winning format...well, at least I hope I have. In the past my blogs concentrated on my depression and I rather naively thought that writing about it through my blog would remove all stigma surrounding mental health and all would be well in the world. This of course didn’t happen. A blog that just contained posts describing how low I was feeling was never going to convince someone who was ignorant about mental health to change their opinions, if anything it would reinforce them, thinking that yet again another ‘attention seeking, weak, pathetic loner’ was clogging up the internet with their ‘emo’ thoughts.

That doesn’t mean I won’t touch on the subject here, definitely not. I am more determined than ever to tackle the stigma that surrounds it. I find it pathetic that in this day and age so many people are still ignorant and clueless about what mental health is. Like many, I hid my depression for many years, I still do to a high extent, because of the way people automatically label you, pity you, treat you like an outcast. No matter how close someone is to you, how long they’ve known you, you tell them you’re depressed and suddenly you’re a different person. They judge you, look at you differently, are suddenly awkward around you. Obviously not everyone reacts like that, but I would say, after personal experience, the majority would.

My aim for this blog is to give an insight into what it’s like to live with this illness whilst also looking into other areas of human behaviour. Some posts will be educational, some personal experiences, wherever the mood takes me. A little warning though before I wrap this post up. I also suffer bouts of complete randomness and if during one of these bouts I want to write a post about reinforced plastic spoons, I will do just that.

Enjoy :)