Time To Talk

A counsellor's office is thought to be a safe place, somewhere you can surrender all of the thoughts that have been recycled over and over again in your head. Perhaps those thoughts and feelings can also later be aired in attempts to help others or to let people know that there are others out there just like you, facing similar problems, someone who can empathise. I hope I can be that someone, so I've decided to share my experience of the first time I said it out loud, three words. I have depression.

I hope that it is already apparent that I'm an advocate of talking about mental illness. It matters, many people experience these conditions and yet there are very few conversations being had about it. For those who have recently realised they have such an illness it can take a while to be able to talk about it with others. I was one of those individuals. It took me three years to fully understand what I was suffering with, and to discover the full extent of my condition. I went through a process of wanting to find out everything I could about it, I probably could have written a dissertation with the amount of research I did! There was also a long period of denial, and eventually acceptance. Perhaps my circumstances were unique in some ways, so please do not fret, it doesn't take everyone that long to realise whats going on and to seek help. I wish I could say that realising what I had was the hardest part, but for me saying it out loud was extremely difficult. I wasn't aware of anyone in my life whom had experienced anything like what I was going through. Perhaps that's because others were afraid to speak up too.

I sought the help of a counsellor at my sixth form college, a service which wasn't well advertised and I had to go searching for. I took advantage of being able to communicate through e-mail. Initially I wanted to know what kinds of problems they could help with. Eventually I let go of what I was holding on to, I wrote about everything that had happened and was still happening to me. I continued e-mailing the counsellor for months, sometimes I'd e-mail daily updates because things were so bad and the counsellor wanted to be informed of anything that was occurring in my life good or bad to help them help me. Eventually I scheduled an appointment only to cancel it after a restless night thinking about it or sometimes I'd cancel it the morning of the session. After a while I managed to make the walk towards the door of the counsellor's office, progress, except I'd then continue walking past the door and would be firing off a quick apology e-mail. Unfortunately stigma against mental illnesses was present within the sixth form, I'd even heard such stigma voiced by someone in my friendship group there. The counsellor's office was in such a public, well-used space with students flowing through and meeting people nearby. Eyes were everywhere and I was very conscious of that. Eventually I found a time when the area was quieter so I could quickly dash into the counsellor's office. The door I'd be so afraid of passing through, turned out to lead into a room akin to the size of Harry Potter's cupboard under the stairs at the Dursley's house. An ideal place for a highly strung, anxious, fidgeting individual, not. I really hope they didn't encourage claustrophobics to go see them there.

After all of the months of deterring the one-on-one session I said my piece only to receive many "mmms", "mhmms" and "how does that make you feel?" in exchange for my heavy burden. I left crying and headed into the nearby staff toilets to vomit and come face to face with an initially stern member of staff, I think my appearance made them reconsider scolding me and they scurried off. I washed my face and returned to my friends in the library with the lie that I'd been meeting with a staff member about areas for revision. And so I returned to the facade that all was well and the impression that I was "cheerful Chelsea' remained intact.

I don't mean to deter anyone from seeking the help of a counsellor, talking through problems really does help. The first time will always be the hardest, and unfortunately one counsellor does not fit all. Sometimes people get lucky and the first person they meet with will be a perfect match. Unfortunately some people will give up after trying one counsellor that just didn't quite understand them or didn't provide them with the type of help they were looking for. Frustratingly the wait list for meeting with counsellors on the NHS is long and slow, but making the move to get on a list is positive progress and hopefully it means you are one step closer to beginning your recovery. I was initially put off counsellors after my awful session. I never went back to see that counsellor and it took me a long time to accept the amount of help I needed. Sometimes people can pick themselves up on their own and carry on with life. Others struggle a bit more and need to raise their hand and say "I'm stuck here, I could use some help". Ask for help and usually it is given, I certainly like to think there are more good people in this world than bad, and since I started writing this blog I've found those people all over the place. So give it go, take a deep breath and let all of it out.

Mental Health In The News

My response to an article in The Times 'Schools calling in therapists as stress soars among pupils'. 

Last week an article written in The Times was brought to my attention, the subject being that of mental health issues in children and young adults. Our generation has seen an increase in the amount of pressure placed on us whilst we are in the education system, even more so now as young adults must go on to sixth form education and in the face of exam systems changing and becoming harder. As the pressure to achieve high grades increases, students are becoming more stressed. Where does this stress go and where do students go for help? In the aforementioned article it is stated that 'top schools' are seeking help for their students through professional psychiatrists, including Priory group clinics, a privately based group of psychiatrists of whom I have sought help from in the past. The article solely focuses on private/public schools as opposed to state schools, they say that there is an increased amount of anxiety present in children facing entrance tests to elite preparatory schools. Perhaps such institutions ought to address the problem at the source, placing such an amount of pressure on such young children isn't the best thing for their health, and could impact their ability to learn later on. I certainly wasn't seen as an academic during my time at secondary school, I wasn't at the top of my classes, I flew under the radar but I certainly felt the pressure of having to achieve high grades. This pressure wasn't due to me having high expectations, nor was it my parents breathing down my neck due to a fear of me not going on to further education. It was the school itself, they weren't intentionally creating a stressful environment for their students. However, state schools, just like public schools, face an increased pressure to achieve a certain standard indicated by OFSTED reports, they're either aiming to maintain a certain level or even rise from a poor report. This determination tends to have a negative affect upon the students, teachers want to be seen to be creating model students with high grades, or risk facing criticism for their quality of teaching. 

The article refers to how some public schools are seeking the help of professionals to help with students experiencing stress related problems and high levels of anxiety. Its understandable that a school would want to seek the help of the very best for their students, but paying for private help isn't possible within all schools. The state school I attended didn't even have enough funding for an in-school counsellor. Even if this service was available within a school, would children take advantage of it? My biggest issue with using a counselling service (later in sixth form) was the fear of being seen near the counsellor's office in a very public, busy part of the sixth form. Some children may deter seeking help due to fear of stigma, which unfortunately is present within schools. I believe that the use of psychiatrists by private schools might not be in the best interests of the students. Perhaps these schools are actually attempting to protect their backs, attempting to maintain their 'top school' status through producing Oxbridge students. Private help certainly is not the only answer, in fact my experience with private assistance was not the best, everyone's experience is different and I'm open to other opinions, however I believe they did more harm to my mental health than good. 

I am of course very happy to see more media coverage on mental health issues, particularly coverage of mental health care of young people. However, it ought to be addressed across all areas of education. I know that as a broadsheet newspaper The Times is generally considered to be a 'middle class' publication and so it is more likely for them to cover these issues in a way that address their target market. The Times have implemented a campaign for training teachers to help identify at risk children within schools, something which I wholeheartedly support. There ought to be room in schools' budgets to accommodate the mental health needs of their students. I certainly wish there had been a counsellor available in a secure, and discrete location within my school, perhaps I would have been able to prevent my problems from spanning across my years within higher education. Mental health specialists certainly should not be forced upon children. If teachers can receive training to identify at risk children they ought to only act when they are 100% certain and perhaps when the parents of the minor have been contacted. Singling out a child in the wrong way could do more damage, particularly if they haven't yet established what is wrong with them for themselves, or if the teacher is wrong about their suspicions. As is said before, help should not be forced upon them as this could create a negative association or a trigger for the child involved. I believe that mental health education ought to be taught within schools as part of their PSHE lessons (personal, social and health education) and certainly not breezed over as a topic covered quickly. 

Scraping The Barrel

I've been trying really hard to write this post for months now. I had written content prior to launching the blog in October. My writing process varies from drawing upon memories and experiences of my own, reacting to mental health coverage online and in the news and sometimes finding unexpected triggers of inspiration in objects, TV programmes and quotes. Most often something will come into my head when I'm suffering from insomnia, I know I have to get it down immediately in case I suddenly drift into sleep and wake up not being able to recall those thoughts in the morning. Sometimes an entire post will come to me immediately, I'll write it in the notes app on my phone and barely edit the wording when it comes to typing it up on my laptop. There are occasions, like this one, where I've been desperate to discuss an important topic, most likely a sensitive one too, and I'll just be stumped by it. The sentences form very slowly and I'll trip over the wording, really beating myself up over the quality of it all. I've attempted to write this post four, perhaps five times. Some of my notes were lighthearted in attempts to skim over the darkness of the content, whereas other notes go into a dangerous amount of detail which could trigger a period of depression or self-harm for those with mental health conditions. I started writing this post thinking I'd finally worked up the courage to discuss my experience with and knowledge of self harm. I'm afraid I haven't quite managed that today, some areas are easier for me to write about but self-harm is an incredibly serious, sensitive and tricky subject to manoeuvre around and I don't want to cause any harm to anyone by not wording it correctly. Its also still an incredibly raw nerve for me. I often say the last time I harmed myself was this time last year. But to be honest I somehow manage to block out that it happened not so long ago, so please give me time to do the subject justice. My main motivation behind this blog is believing that I could help just one person with my words, so someone knows that they aren't alone in what they're going through. I know how that feels, I didn't have any idea what was happening to me when I was 16, I just happened to stumble across the lovely Zoella who had just posted about panic attacks. That's all it took, it clicked in my head. I am not alone in this, and neither are you.

As I tried to write this post I felt myself slipping into a dark spot, feeling sore around my eyes, waiting for the tears to form and thinking that closing the laptop lid and retreating was inevitable. It seems ridiculous to me that I can become so tongue-tied even when it comes to a subject which I'm very familiar with, painfully familiar with. This is my duty, my job as such to help people with my words and hopefully educate those who don't quite understand aspects of mental illness. So when I feel like I'm failing at that I plunge into the dark pits of depression and submerge myself in it feeling desperate to scream at myself, but the pit won't let the sound bounce back to me, I can't hear the scream, or perhaps I just can't let it out for everyone else to hear. It can be incredibly hard to write it down accurately, or to the level I expect from myself. I don't want to skimp on the details or publish anything until its just right. Sometimes I wish I could video myself talking about all this, but I'm usually just as inarticulate when I speak out loud, although perhaps those reading would actually feel like there is a real girl behind all of this. I use blogging as a way of expressing myself when words fail me when interacting with others in person, I head a Youtuber say something that rung true and applicable to me the other day "I mean, I'm on Youtube because I don't know how to interact in the real world"(Thomas TomSka, 2015).

 I often forget how hard this process can be, I'm pouring out my soul, my past, my present to hundreds of readers each week, I am thrilled that my blog generates on average 1,000 views each month, thank you to everyone who reads my ramblings. I don't want to give up on writing the blog, I don't even wish to take a break, but I do want people to realise how difficult it can be. I may be 'Cheerful Chelsea' but the truth is more often than not, I can be far from that persona. This was evident when I was trying to arrange this post in my mind for the thousandth time. I'm a hardcore fan geek when it comes to video extras of films and TV programmes, and I was watching a behind the making of Game of Thrones prior to writing this, and I just zoned out. Around twenty minutes of videos passed me by and I wasn't jumping for joy with my nose pressed against the screen to take in every detail. Not like me at all, I usually re-watch these segments at least five times. So when that happened due to stressing over a blog post I did question whether this all does more harm than good. I really hope it helps someone. So perhaps I didn't quite make it to writing the self harm post I had intended, perhaps I've just discovered that fretting about things too much can be a form of self harm in itself. Just know that the intended post is coming. Also, on a final note, try to keep this in mind "everything will be fine in the end. If it is not fine, then it is not yet the end"(quote from The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel).

The Lonely Beast

 A new, updated, fresher layout for the blog and a few bits that have cheered me up this week.

Depression is a lonely beast. It's not as if I have a few fellow depressed housemates and we've synced up like it's our time of the month, so we sit around in our pyjamas having a cupcake party. If only. It's very much a personal thing, I try my best to let others know what's going on, they can usually tell when my mind is cluttered and bothering me. However, I can't always tell them the specifics at the time it's occurring, this may be due to being afraid of certain thoughts and how others may react if I voiced them out loud. I'm frequently clouded with thoughts but I can't pinpoint what's really bothering me, why I've suddenly slumped and can't even build a nest for myself on the sofa in front of some familiar TV programme for comfort. On days like those nothing can break the flow of those thoughts, I cannot concentrate and yet I can't relax either, I'm restless but I just want to lay down in the foetal position for hours and watch the sky go from dusk to dawn, black to blacker. As I said, it's a lonely beast, especially when you can't figure out what the problem is so you can share it with others. Depression is the world's greatest incognito figure, a master of disguise and a shape shifter.

The worst part of leaving university and living away from my hometown is not knowing many people here, I can go for months with only seeing the same three people. As lovely as they are I miss other human contact, I seem to be afraid that I'll lose the connections formed at uni, the people that were unknowingly such a huge support when I needed it most. I'm also scared that those friendships may not have been as strong as I recall, most memories I have were formed in my first year there back in 2012-2013. My second year of uni consisted of me fading away into my lockable room, barely seeing anyone from February onwards. I was frequently left agonising over conversations I felt had gone badly, I sweated over the details such as how I fidgeted nervously the entire time or how I knew I ought to have walked away sooner but I was too anxious and awkward to excuse myself and leave.

Most people attempt to convince me that others don't notice the things I sweat over, but what if they did notice? What if the image I left them with is one they don't want to remain in contact with or even be reunited with? I'm trying my hardest to reach out and keep the connections flowing, but how long will the links remain in tact if I can't face returning to the place where everything crumbled?

Kicking Away My Crutches

 Picture an elderly person using a zimmer-frame or someone with their leg in plaster using crutches. No decent person would pull the zimmer away or kick the crutches out from underneath them. Physical injuries are usually apparent when we see someone using an aid to keep them upright, to support them during recovery. No-one can force someone to put their injured foot down to the ground, put pressure on the wound and shuffle into the first steps. The first steps of recovery require being mentally prepared, admitting to yourself that you are ready to venture out into the next stage of your recovery timeline.

In my previous post I mentioned how I'm sometimes afraid of using my depression as a crutch. After the post went live I had a few questions asked in relation to that comment.  I'd never claim to have depression if I didn't. I wouldn't over-exaggerate how bad things are in attempts to get out of doing things. I believe that my illness has become a crutch due to having it for so long. I've lived with varying degrees of depression for six years, this has lead to me living in a certain way, perhaps being shielded from certain aspects of life which could cause a great deal of anxiety and do more damage. After living my late teenage years and early adult life with this illness it seems as if its all I know, life without it is equally as terrifying as continuing to be depressed for several more years. Of course I'd like to live a happy life free of depression, and I hope this will be the case one day. But perhaps my anxiety about being free of depression, free of the crutches is a sign that I'm still not quite there yet, and that's OK. If the crutches are kicked away from you by someone pushing you too hard to make progress faster than your own pace don't be too disheartened. These people usually have good intentions, but it can cause a hitch in your progress towards recovering. So, take a breather if you get knocked and hopefully someone will be there to help you up again until you're ready to walk on your own again.