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.

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