Opening up about my mental health 

I must apologise for being so crap on here the past week! I’ve been super busy and either working or commuting! I’ve been working for the metro this week and it’s been an amazing experience so far, I’m loving every minute of it! It doesn’t even feel like work, doing what I love all day long. I’m so happy with how things are at the moment. 

Everything’s finally under control for me. I feel in control. 

I’ve had a pretty rough time emotionally the last few months, but I finally got some help. 

So today I’m going to post something that I’ve been putting off for a while. I posted it on my smaller blog around the time it happened, but really it’s a personal blog for me so I don’t expect many people read it.

But knowing I’m in control now, and on the right medication, I feel ready to talk about another side of things. The mental health side of things. 

A couple weeks back 

Today was a big day for me, for a number of reasons. Today is the day I learned something about myself, something I’ve been so desperately seeking to educate myself on for such a long time. I pin pointed a source of my true self on some map within my mind and found a little part of me I’d feared I’d lost a long time ago. Today, I got help. I got help I’d been pining for since the first time I cried. And I don’t mean tears, that fall down your cheeks as you reminisce over heartbreak. Or the tears you cry when re-watching The Notebook. No. I mean the tears I didn’t know were there. The true frustration of minimal knowledge as to why these little drops of water are falling from your red, puffy eyes. The emptiness that swarms your stomach and leaves it tied in a knot of guilt, and shame.
Today, I went to see a psychiatrist, who I had been referred to after seeing my GP and another Mental Health Nurse. I’d first gone to speak with my GP when my mother had come over to visit with my younger siblings. Trapped in conversation, my voice cracked as I asked her whether she’d like coffee or tea. “Tea”, she replied, as my shaking hands poured the boiling water into the mug. I handed her the tea as I turned my back to put the milk back into the fridge. I took that moment to take a deep breath. In, and out. But as the cold air hit my face I struggled to contain my erratic emotions. I asked my mum if we could talk in private – in my bedroom – and with that, I broke down. Head in my hands, sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Lost for words as to why I felt this way. Why I was doing this.
I explained I’d been having outbursts at my boyfriend and that I was struggling to contain anger. This wasn’t anything new to her, just perhaps a little more extreme. I’d always been the same. Controlling, angry, upset, desperate for that “normal” feeling that I’d so often question the existence off. My mother understands because she suffers with Bipolar Disorder. She’d guessed I’d also been a sufferer too for a while, but the meetings I’d had during my teen years had been about as helpful as a blunt pencil. This time needed to be different. Now that I’m living apart from her. Now that she can’t be there at a drop of a hat. Now that there was the worry of post surgery emotions as well as the distant pain that came crashing down so often within my brain.
My GP was great, and today was the first step in the right direction. We talked for an hour and a half. We spoke about my past, my present, my background, my work life, my relationship, my ethics, everything that could possibly amount to the woman I am becoming today. I laughed and I cried, picking at the tissues he was offering me every time he noticed my eyes were beginning to water. My hands would shake as I tried to maintain their stillness, but my body language was nothing but nervous as I tried to spill out my life story within the hour and a half he’d booked me in for.
It’s funny though, as I don’t feel anything that I have experienced in my life generally reflects on my emotions today. It’s hard to explain. I know it’s the actions of your past that sculpture who you are at present. And in some respects that’s completely true. My ileostomy surgery led me to doing a great thing, which resulted in me earning a living from a much wished for career – well, the start of one, anyway. There are various other ways this theory proves to be correct, but my emotions just aren’t one of them. I say that because I currently don’t know what my emotions are. Not the ones that hit me when I least suspect it, anyway. It’s almost as if they’re not me. As if I become this whole other person when I sense any negativity surrounding me. Negativity that is much imagined very often.
I wanted answers as to why I hit out over things that seem so small, things that seem so silly when I’ve calmed down. Things that could have easily been ignored, and therefore the evening spent screaming and crying could’ve been an evening very much enjoyed.

I spoke and he listened. I asked and he answered. I questioned these answers and he continued to explain. He continued to help. It felt amazing speaking my whole mind for once. Not just the part of it that I feel needs to be spoken. Needs to be heard. I couldn’t believe how comfortable I felt telling a stranger things I’d felt too scared of, too ashamed of to tell to those closest to me. It was such a relief. Somebody knew what was going on. And they didn’t make me feel crazy. I felt at ease with myself for the for the first time in a long time. Reassured. Relieved.

Today, I left my appointment with a smile on my face. 3 notes in my hand. One for blood tests, one for prescription meds and one for current evalutation. A pre-diagnosis that I’m going to face and deal with. Something to get me on the right track. Something to help.

Emotionally Unstable/Borderline Personality Disorder, OCD & Social Anxiety.
Emotional Intensity Disorder / Cyclothymia
It may not have been the result you’d think I’d be happy with… the all clear and much hated ‘hormones’ term. But it’s a result, after all.

  

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