Stigma.

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Shame

A week ago I found myself explaining to my therapist how I wanted to end my life, how I was so desperate for my mind to shut off and how I was ready to end it all, in that moment I felt distressed. A week ago I found myself ringing a close friend asking him to collect me from the local health centre because I had to go to hospital and couldn’t trust myself to be left alone, in that moment I felt ashamed. A week ago I found myself ringing my brother in law asking him to bring me to hospital, where I would need to go in order to stay alive, in that moment I felt guilty. A week ago I found myself ringing work to explain that I was being admitted to hospital for my own safety due to my mental health, in that moment I felt embarrassed. A week ago I found myself sitting on a mental health inpatient unit faced with colleagues from my work in pre hospital care working on the unit, in that moment I felt panic. A week ago I found myself fighting to keep myself alive, I found...
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A prisoner of my own mind

A while ago I wrote about a bump in the road that saw me take a step backwards…. That bump is still very much on the road and I am simply coasting along hoping the end is in sight somewhere. But when the end comes I have to ask, how long will it last for? How long will the good times last before we hit another bump? I don’t want this anymore, I no longer want the label I have attached to me, I don’t want borderline personality disorder. When I was first diagnosed I resisted my diagnoses, last year when I got unwell again and found myself re-entering the mental health services and engaging with the community mental health team I had to use every ounce of energy to truly accept my diagnosis and in many ways empower the label and allow it to help me understand myself. That label, which had a positive purpose no longer holds the same status, now it is simply something I do not want, something which has taken over my mind and body, it is something that I need gone, I need it to disappe...
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An unexpected week

Last week I went back to work and to say I was scared would be an understatement! On Sunday night I prepared myself as much as I could for what I anticipated to be one of the worst weeks I would experience in work. I expected to be riddled with anxiety to the point where I wouldn’t be able to go to work- I was not. I expected to feel pure panic as I drove to work each day, bordering on a full-blown panic attack- I did not. I expected to cry, each day over something minor, something small, something that wouldn’t have mattered- I did not. I expected to obsess over everything; put more rituals in place to ensure everything was perfect-I did not. I expected to hide the fact that I had been in hospital for my mental health, I expected to allow the shame I was feeling to take control, I expected to shy away from my colleagues during the week, I expected to fight this battle on my own, but I did not. It was a hard week in many ways, it was the first week back, I was sc...
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