Originally posted to GoDaddy Blogs 11 December 2021. Copied like for like 21/03/2024.
Have you tried to gain any medical help over the last couple of years that isn’t Covid related? Unfortunately my story dates prior to Covid however for the purpose of this post I will only talk about the last year or so, after all, I don’t want to bore you with too much to read. (three months after starting this post I am finally finishing it, I am sorry I lied about the length)
Up until my unfortunate demise (breakdown), I had managed to maintain a healthy(ish) weight and avoid medication as much as possible. After various unsuccessful overdose events, I opted to avoid medication and reverted back to my alternate treatments of booze and stupidly dangerous behaviours. My depression was hidden for many years with the excuse of migraines being used when not being able to get into work or participate in society, at which point I would lock myself away in my empty house until the internal darkness would lift a little or societal expectations exacerbated my fearful anxieties into
a position which would overtake my depressed state, such as not collecting my daughter for contact or the risk of loosing my job if I didn’t get back or to the doctors for a “sick-note”. Whilst in this state I inconsistently missed contacts with my daughter, an act which can still keep me up at night ruminating over the disappointment my daughter would have had in me, giving that I was her only form of break from what was a tough time for her.
The build up to my breakdown began a few years prior to the big implosion, my absences and depression episodes becoming frequent and multiplying in duration until I was unable to keep them hidden anymore. I came clean with my then doctor (Hadfield Medical Practice), who was quick to prescribe anti-depressants and refer me for counselling. My fear of medication in my possession was strong at this point and I wanted off them as soon as possible. I stopped taking the anti-depressants, partially because of my fears and partially because I could not afford the weekly prescriptions I was placed on due to my past attempts on my life. I was successful in being referred for Cognitive Analytical Therapy and, after a group of sessions, I had found coping mechanisms with some events and partial understanding of why my childhood was as it was, which was documented in start and end letters (if I find them I will post them at a later date). I had been given the diagnoses of Cyclothymia, however, this diagnoses was never discussed with me and, having omitted my my abuse from the session discussions, I am unsure if this was correct or just. One of my biggest regret is not talking about all the experiences I had endured as a child as the therapist who was working with me was one of the best I have encountered throughout my struggles. Life’s events however dictated this action and, although now I am able to talk freely about my abuse, I believed at the time that some things just were not in my interest to disclose and had I done so, my only reason for living would be taken away from me.
Whilst coming to an end of my sessions with my counsellor, I was also in custody proceedings with my daughters mother and social services, given that my daughter and her siblings (not my children) were on the cusp of being removed from their mother, with my daughter coming to live with me and the other children being placed into long term foster care, I feared such disclosure would have resulted in my daughter also being placed into foster care and taken away from me. Given the events when I finally disclosed my abuse and the lack of support bubble I had at the time, I am almost certain my daughter would have not been placed into my care. Instead, I kept my abuse hidden and “cracked on” with life. We moved away not long after until events resulted in us coming back to sunny Salford, however, that is a subject for another blog. With my daughter in my full time care, and my depression and anxieties still not dealt with correctly, I no longer was able to lock myself away in a dark, empty house for a few weeks or drink myself into a coma like state anymore. I had to be on the ball and wear my “strong male” mask 24/7. I had no protective circle and due to my now known issues with keeping people at arms length, I had no-one to help me with childcare for self-care days. Everyone around us had to be vetted by social services due to my daughter still being under their child in need arrangement, whilst my anxieties meant I would not put anyone in that position, resulting in it being me and my daughter against the world. With no time for self care, my demise was starting to crack through my false faces.
I was starting to struggle at work, losing my temper with colleagues and customers, taking on too much work and building on anxieties I had hidden away from the world for so long. I had started to opt for “wet lunches” at the pub, attacking inanimate objects to defuse my anger and punching my head, body and legs to deal with my mental health (I still do this form of self harm daily). The demise of my mental health was becoming apparent throughout the office with some colleagues who worked closely with me becoming concerned, however, my manifested fears, anxieties, and expectancy beliefs meant I would not talk about what was truly wrong with me. After all, my daughter was still under the remit of the social services, she needed me to be supportive and strong for her, to be strong I needed to provide a level of parental expectation including keeping a job to put food on the table, keep us homed, and clothed etc: I feared that if I told of my mental health struggles I would be sent home on the sick, this meant reduced pay so I would not be able to afford my rent, bills, car running cost, childcare etc, the social services would take my daughter for me not being mentally sound, I would lose my house, lose my job completely and end up homeless, the usual resonating fears!!!! It could be argued that my managers had a duty of care towards me however past posts have covered this a little and I will be doing a focussed blog on my working life soon.
A shift in the companies dynamics added excess pressure to what was already a demanding job and as a result I was dealing with the worst of customer calls on a daily bases. Given that I was on the cusp of a breakdown and struggling with work I was convinced to seek help. Once again I was placed on anti-depressants and referred for Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. I attended the CBT sessions when I was offered them however it quickly became apparent that this was not right for me. The day before my sessions came to an abrupt halt, I had experienced a traumatising day at work which had resulted in me wanting to leap out of the 7th floor window and had gotten me into a lot of bother with management. I was already on an employment action plan due to my time off for self care and I was on the downward spiral heading towards total destruction. My life was coming to an end and I had no desire to continue.
During that last session, I expressed my concern that the treatment was not the right form for me which the counsellor agreed with, having expressed that I needed help with my past experiences, my physical, emotional and sexual abuse!!!!!!!!!!!!!!… The events had just become real. I left the counsellors office, sat in my car and broke down into floods of tears….. Every memory of my childhood traumas came flooding back to me in one big bang. I was broken and I just wanted to die.
The events which followed are still a little hazy and I am still not in a strong enough position to go over my past videos to put the pieces together, however I am fully aware that my life didn’t end. I did try many times, however, for some strange reason, I am still here to tell my tail. I would like to say that my life became easier after this moment and I am living my best life now, unfortunately, this is far from the truth.
Little over five years since my breakdown, my life is constantly changing, however, my mental health care still drags on like a child pushing a trundle wheel around the school playground. On a side note, I saw two grown men (road workers) pushing a trundle wheel down the road a few weeks ago dressed in high vis vests, with one writing down numbers every time they stopped. I had a freaky flashback of wanting to push the wheel in primary school so I didn’t have to log the number of clicks in a tally chart… but I digress.
Currently at the writing of this, I am medicated on Venlafaxine, Mirtazapine and Promazine, as well as 80mg Statin, Lisinopril and Lansoprazole to counteract the strain placed upon my body following the fast weight gain (13st to 20st) my mental health meds side effects have developed. I was on Quetiapine however this was changed to Mirtazapine in an attempt to lower my constant hunger issues. I am on folic acid (Vitamin B12) supplements and Vitamin D as both are low (I foolishly thought only pregnant women need folic acid supplements), both of which present symptoms including depression, anxieties, tiredness, feeling drained and memory issues amongst others. Non-surprisingly such side effects are also attributed to my mental health ailments, presenting a chicken and egg conundrum within my body and mind. Nervous system problems can cause these deficiencies but also these deficiencies can cause nervous system problems, sometimes it feels like I can’t win, especially when my body and mind can’t come to an agreement to work together. As minimal my problems present, my mind will tell me that I am not supposed to be helped and I should go away, stop mithering people and die in a cold dark corner away from everyone else. A contrary and over-the-top response I know, however, this is the messed up scrambled thought process my mind goes through, copious times an hour. Care from Greater Manchester Mental Health NHS Foundation Trust (GMMH) team is as active as my medication progression, in that it hasn’t changed much although some slight thought has been introduced along the years. To expand on this further, it is best to explain the GMMH dynamics first from my external perspective and my chronological involvement with GMMH and connected services (to what my memory can present).
GMMH control the NHS mental health care throughout Greater Manchester area. They have secure centres across the region, within various medical hospital grounds, and a large mental health hospital base in Prestwich. They also have smaller satellite facilities within the community districts. To my knowledge care is categorised into primary and secondary, however, I imagine there are more categories to include the medical hospital teams and mental health hospital teams etc; of which I have come into contact with the mentioned categorised teams as well as the home based treatment team who are located at Meadowbrook, Salford over the last five years. Initially starting with the primary care team for CBT therapy, as mentioned above, my treatment took an impromptu about turn and found me under the care of the home based treatment team. Handed off from the home based treatment team when they deemed me as “no longer a high risk”, I was referred to Cromwell House (local satellite) and placed under there “care”. After a couple of years being told I am too unstable to treat and medication being “tweaked”, I was finally referred for “primary care” treatment. 9 months later I am sat with a therapist who is telling me I am still too unstable for treatment and there is more than just c-PTSD going on in my head. I receive a diagnoses of Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder (EUPD/BPD), given some coping advise and referred back to Cromwell House for Personality Disorder (PD) work. another 9 months later (last week) I receive an assessment appointment for this work however, in true world v Stevie fashion, I receive the appointment letter on the afternoon of the appointment day, which was a morning appointment. (I could go into a rant about RoyalMail about this but lets see how this plays out first). Frantically I rushed round to Cromwell House and explained my predicament, I was told I would get a phone call from the worker, it never happened. I returned the next day for an update and I was told it wasn’t looked at and a note will be placed for the worker to contact me regarding the appointment. to top it off, the psychologist I am under checks in with me every 4/6 months, leaving me to control my own daemons.
So my current standing is, I am heavily medicated, clinically obese, constantly tired, drained, and unable to last a day without inflicting some form of self harm to my body in order to cope with the battles going on in my head.
I am going to leave this post here as I am conscious I have diverted off topic and it is a lot to read in one sitting. If you have gotten this far then I congratulate and thank you for listening to my waffling and moaning.
Take care,
Stevie