The Only Reason I'm Alive by Mica

I have had mental health issues throughout my life. I was diagnosed with OCD as a child, an eating disorder during my teens and battled anxiety. I began taking antidepressants at fifteen years old and have now been on them for 12 years. I never felt as though I was affected that much by my problems, I simply lived around them.

When I became a parent I took to it like a duck to water, despite having a horrendous pregnancy and labour. I felt as though I was going somewhere, then everything changed.

Upon moving areas and doctors surgeries I was falsely diagnosed as having a heart condition known as long QT interval. My new GP believed that my antidepressants were causing the problem and took me off them cold turkey... after 10 years of being on them non stop at that time. The withdrawals started after 3 days and within a week I had to be put back on them. The only way I can describe it is that when you see people having heroin withdrawals on films... it looks quite mild compared to antidepressant withdrawals.

After a few weeks of messing about with the dosage my GP  then changed my antidepressants over to a different kind. The first few months were hell. My mum had to retire early as she had to care for both me and my son, who was two at the time. A huge rift was caused in my relationship with my mother as she loved her career with the NHS and lost the majority of her pension after retiring early. She now lives on less that I received in benefits.

A year later I had another ECG and was diagnosed with long QT interval again. My new antidepressants were reduced to half of the lowest therapeutic dose and I experienced unpleasant withdrawals but nowhere near as bad as it was going cold turkey. I saw a Cardiologist a few months later who informed me that both ECG'S were read wrong by two doctors at my GP surgery. There was nothing wrong with my heart and if they bothered to fax my results to the Cardiologist he would have told them on the same day that there was nothing to worry about.

A month later I became unwell. I had flu, tonsillitis and a chest infection all at once. I was given antibiotics I'd never taken before and almost overnight I changed.

I became paranoid, delusional and suddenly had OCD, although it was different compared to when I was a child.

After a few months I became suicidal and was referred to the home crisis team. My antidepressant dosage was increased which got rid of the paranoia but the OCD remained as strong as ever. They increased it again... still no change.

Eventually my mum couldn't cope and threw me out whilst keeping my son with her. I spent a few days as a voluntary inpatient but was discharged after seeing a psychiatrist. I was homeless for 3 months with very little support from various organisations. There was simply no resources.

At my worst I parked up and wrote a letter to whoever would find me. When it got to the point where I wrote about my son I cracked and drove myself to the mental health ward. I took the letter and told them I needed help. The nurse looked at my letter for one second and then said "Don't go making threats, if you were going to kill yourself you would have done it already." She sent me away with some sheets on depression and I then returned to my secluded spot in the car and slit my wrist.

The only reason that I'm still alive is that the cheap razor blade snapped and got lodged in my wrist. The pain was so intense that it brought me to my senses. I had a panic attack, screamed, swore and cried  then took the blade out of my wrist. I bled all over my jeans but I knew I hadn't hit an artery so I tied up my wrist with some old wet wipes, sat there for a while before changing my jeans and buying some bandages.

I was referred to a DBT group ran by my local mental health team 6 months later but I have trouble attending.  I've lost all faith in the mental health service and believe that the  only person I can rely on is myself. 

In my experience over years of problems there is barely any help available on the NHS. In my borough there is just one Psychologist available with a 2 year waiting list for CBT. During that time most patients will have either deteriorated and taken matters in to their own hands.

I have learned that mental health is like a black hole that is easy to get sucked into but very hard to get out of, especially on your own. The only way I manage to cope on a daily basis is by trying to see the bigger picture, rather than focusing on the here and now. 

I think of my son, he is my main focus for getting better. I don't know if I will ever be "normal" but I know that I have to try, for him. Not many people will feel as though they have a reason to get better, as sometimes it is so hard to see beyond it. But we have to try. Never stop trying.

#ITAFFECTSME

ME TOO by Aimi Cree

It was always my greatest hope that my first real written account of my mental health journey, would be one full of hope and encouragement for those newly or currently suffering. Like many of us who have struggled with mental health issues, if I could choose to gain only one thing from my experience, it would be to help just one person and offer them a refuge. A sanctuary. A tribe. A big, bold rallying cry of "Me tooooooooo!!!" until they no longer felt alone or ashamed. To reassure them that no, they are not crazy and yes, the sun will shine again and that there's nothing that they could do or tell me that would make me judge them in any way. My illnesses have made me think, say and do some pretty extreme things over the years so I will not think you're weird, just that you're hurting and afraid. And are tired. Oh so tired. 

Whilst I'm pretty open about my mental health issues, I don't think I've ever written my diagnoses down in one go, so *deep breath* here goes: since suffering a breakdown in 2008, I have been diagnosed with bipolar affective disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and generalised anxiety disorder. I have endured panic attacks, intrusive thoughts, flashbacks and self-harm. I also experience social anxiety and have traits of borderline personality disorder as a result of living for years with unresolved trauma. So as you can imagine, sometimes it gets messy. I've been hospitalised and made attempts on my life. I've also experienced euphoria and the overwhelming agitation that resides at the other end of the spectrum. 

But what that doesn't tell you is that I'm also a well-meaning vegetarian with a penchant for Alan Partridge, Tolkien and old skool jungle. It may be my mental health "CV" that shouts the loudest, but I am also a devoted mother, partner, sister and friend. I trained and worked as an actress and am now the slightly frazzled person you'll see tearing up the road on the school run (time-keeping has never been my forte!) before agonising over which ready meal/duvet set/pair of pants to buy (decision-making also not a strength!) and then rushing home to belt out Les Mis, at full volume. At times I am over-whelmed by my diagnoses but with patience, professional help and A LOT of support from friends and family, I am able to find my way back to me and feel happy, once again, to be alive. 

To anyone who is suffering and needs to hear this right now, I am so sorry this is happening to you. It is horrendous and unfair. You are not weak, or deeply flawed, you are UNWELL. It is beyond your control, you did not choose it or encourage it but rather you have been worn down by the weeks, months maybe years of trying to fight off a cruel and relentless illness. But I promise you that there will come a day when you will slowly start to feel that vice like grip around your chest begin to fade. That twenty tonne weight you are dragging around with you will gradually begin to dissolve and your mind will stop punishing you, 24/7. One day, you will be able to sleep soundly again. I promise. 

Take each day, minute by minute, hour by hour and if something feels too much, do not beat yourself up. Lower the expectations you place on yourself and be as kind to you as you would be to a friend. Try to count your victories, no matter how small. There are days when just brushing your teeth is a massive achievement. And as much as you can, reach out to others, particularly those with shared experience. That was one of the greatest helps for me. Lean on those who offer to carry you, you would do the same for them, if you could. 

It will not be without setbacks. I'm writing this feeling pretty floored by a recent nasty bipolar episode, having had almost a year of relative "stability" for me. So I'm angry at my brain and feeling exhausted from the gauntlet my mood has just run. But I know I need to try to remember how far I'd come in the months before this wobble and, too, need to hear my own message of hope: 

"You've been here before and recovered with time. You can do it again." 

It's always so easy to say that to other people but the hard part is believing it yourself. I'm trying to learn the art of self-compassion (any tips would be gratefully received!) and release myself of the guilt I feel about the 'burden' I place on everyone else. My amazing mum recently said to me, "If you think this is hard living with you, I couldn't go on, living without you. I do it because I love you." I know I feel unworthy of this love and ultimately need to work on loving myself. And on that note, if it's an option, get yourself into therapy. It can be tough-going but will arm you with coping skills you may one day need. 

So it's time for me to put my money where my mouth is and reach out to this wonderful community, that is growing day by day. If we can reach out to each other, we can use our collective voice to shatter the stigma and obliterate the shame. 

With love and understanding ... 

"Me too. Me too".