A couple of months ago I had a wobbly moment and had to cut away from blogging for a bit. My bipolar started playing up to a point where I couldn’t control it anymore and that was probably due to stress and trying to quit smoking. I am back smoking which sucks, but I need to deal with one battle at a time at the moment.
Two weeks ago I had a psychiatric assessment and was put on antipsychotic pills. These are currently low dose at the moment but are to be bumped up soon.
I’ve taken up to writing how I feel in a journal every day, as requested by my doctor which isn’t rely helping but I think its for them to keep tracks on how I am doing. Which is fine. This however has encouraged me to get a bullet journal for this blog though which I hope will encourage me to blog better content for you guys.
Basically, sorry I went quiet for a while. I’m still here, I just am going through a little set back at the moment and normal programming will come back soon.
Today is World Mental health day and I thought I would do a post about it. Before I start though, I would like give you readers a warning as to its content. Its going to mention depression, self harm, bipolar, graphic description of suicide, being trans, abuse and rape. If you are unable to cope with the subject matter, please please do not read this. Self care is important, and if you are concerned about your health please seek advice from people you trust.
Now before I properly get into this I am going to have to content warn this post. There is a lot of talk of self harm, depression and mental health issues, and this post will not be suitable for people who will not be able to cope with that. Please do not read this if you cannot cope with the subject matter. Always remember to look after yourself and seek appropriate help when in times of crisis.
So I was going through my old photos and I came across this picture of me. Pre transition, a few years old, Making an mask during my art leadership and peer education qualifications.
Now the first thing you probably notice is that I have some serious concentration face. And yes that’s true, I really do. The second thing you may notice is that I’m cut up to shit all over my arms. I edited this photo because the original photo showed it in all its glory (lol because self mutilation could be glory). I did this because I had to. Not for everyone on here, but for myself. I could not face seeing it like that.
Now rewind back to this photo. This was 2012. June I believe. I know this because , one (the obvious) I was going through my Facebook and found when it was uploaded. Two, I’m making a mask, it was the last thing I did in my course work to demonstrate I could learn a new skill and Three, it was probably the last time I cut myself up to this sort of level.
Now before people talk about how cutting yourself is “emo” and you should just “not do it”. It was a coping mechanism for what my head couldn’t deal with internally. This time that I had done it was also just before a suicide attempt. This was also the most painful moment in my life where my nan had just passed. I know I have been brutally honest throughout my blog posts, but its one thing I’m still not ready to talk about. I may do one day, I may not. This post is not one of those.
A few days after this picture was taken I drank my weight in alcohol, I got home, picked up a kitchen knife, a plastic bag and a tie. I then hung myself in my bathroom. There was no note, no warning. I just did it. I would never paint a romantic picture and make it deep and meaningful. IT WASNT THAT. It was cold, thoughtless and I had no care for peoples thoughts and emotions. At that period of time, I wanted to die. I didn’t care whether people knew my reasons or otherwise. It was utterly selfish.
Now as you can guess, considering my method/s, why am I here writing this? Because I didn’t live alone. My partner at the time, needed a piss and found me. He woke up in the middle of the night and found me hanging in the bathroom and cut me free. Again I’m not going to paint a pretty picture, it wasn’t. I was a total wreck. There was no “I love you’s” , no “baby its OK” or even “why?”. There was none of that. If he could have kicked my arse he fucking would have. He screamed at me and told me how fucking selfish I had become. How I obviously didn’t care about everyone else around me and that I needed to sort my shit out before I ended up dead.
It was the wake up call I needed in my life. From that point on I needed to stop fucking up my life. Stop destroying everything. I stopped excessively drinking and started taking care of my damaged liver. I started taking care of myself. And I came to the conclusion that I had to finally come out. I had to finally stop being the person I was because I would just end up dead. I came out, and yes in the process lost a few friends. But as you can see, I have gained far more than that.
Now I’m not going to lie. I believe I had one or two relapses of self harm past that point and attempted suicide last year. I slipped up and made mistakes. However the difference in them now, to what they were then. Is that I know what the problems are. I know how to resolve them and rather than close myself off and think I’m fucking superman. I actually get off my arse and try and make myself better. I’m also not going to say that I’m magically better. I will be like this for probably my whole life, and I take each day as it comes. But its better then what it used to be, and right now, that’s the only thing that counts.
Motivational picture added so it will possibly be the main picture of this blog.
Though you can actually use it in your life
Note: any fires caused by readers are not my fault.
Content warning – drugs, suicide, mental health
Since its bipolar disorder day, I should write about my own battle with this illness.
I was first diagnosed with clinical depression at 12, I had started earlier on in my life feeling suicidal, and low. I saw my first therapist at 10.
At 11 I had started self harming, though it was never picked up till I was 14. I would constantly struggle with my low moods and at 13 had my first suicide attempt. I was put on prozac at 13, and after a while my mood changed. I began to become delusional, I was hyper and reckless. I would put myself in risky situations and started taking drugs. I then would end up with crippling lows that always resulted in me being in hospital. After my psychiatrist said I should see my father, because it might cheer me up, I took a massive overdose and ended up very sick. I had taken paracetamol in doses everyday slowly for about 5days (I was taking 20/30 a day) till I said I needed help. By the time I had got to the hospital I had turned yellow. I had a nasty reaction and my liver was failing.
As you know, I’m here writing this so I survived. I still have liver issues, and are now regularly tested to see how its doing.
My psychiatrist ended up being struck off, turns out you shouldn’t give children prozac, it can bring on other mental issues. I then started seeing a new psychiatrist and he was entirely supportive. He tried getting me to talk about my trans issues and was the doctor to finally diagnose me with bipolar disorder. My levels were able to be worked on, and he recommended me sedatives for my super manic episodes, and for my nightmares, but that we should work together on a creative level rather than a medicated side. I saw him until I left home.
I managed a good year before I broke down. I however rather than seeing a doctor,crack and heroin were my doctor. I quit the drugs (well those ones) eventually. But I still would party to excess. If I wasn’t hyped up to get reckless I was low. I attempted suicide a good few times. Eventually I saw a therapist, who I saw up until I was 25. She brought me back round to working with my feelings, and did art therapy with me. It was only then, I was able to explain the demons that are in my hear, my hallucinations, the panic and fear I live with and my fixation with death. Shortly after my 25th I came out as trans, and although I his my mental health history from my psychiatrist who assessed me, I felt the happiest I had in a while. I had actually dealt with it really well up until October. I tried to jump off a bridge. My brain started playing tricks with me, I stated failing to sleep, and I was starting to get low. At the moment, I’m on pills, but I’m hoping to go through therapy again.