rubynix
The trick is to keep breathing
Ramblings of a girl not defined by her mental health, but of a girl that's strong enough to talk about it.
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13 months
I started writing this entry in September 2018 and didn't post it. So I'm posting it today to remind myself how far I've come. And that it's OK to ask for help.
Today was my last counselling session. My first session was 11th August 2017 and at one point I was having them weekly so it's been a long term journey.
Mental health does seem to be still misunderstood to a degree. I've heard people talk about depression and anxiety, and sometimes it can all be seen as a drama or a doesn't that person care how their depression or anxiety is making others feel. I've struggled since I was young, but I only recognise the symptoms now to relate them to how I felt when I was younger and didn't realise what it was.
My 13 month journey has given me the chance to truly reflect on my life, make a handful of choices, dissect my relationships, understand some behaviours and try to stitch it all together again once it's all been unravelled.
I've been to 3 counsellors in my life time. The first one wasnt right for me. I hated speaking to her the first time I met her. Probably a nice person, just the wrong counsellor for me. The second was a referral from my gp after I was given one of those how depressed are you today and have you thought about suicide forms and turns out I scored pretty high on it. I was also prescribed anti depressants that day and an even more hollow feeling of loneliness after the doctor sent me on my way without any life behind his eyes. The counsellor he referred me to was nice, she had one of those empathetic calming voices. The problem was her voice never changed throughout everything we spoke about and she photocopied homework to do out of some sort of standard cbt for your mentally ill patients who attend a gp practise book. I only went to 5 sessions and stopped. I'll talk more about this stage of my life in another blog post, because that's quite a chunk.
The third time I went to a counsellor, is the counsellor I saw today. I referred myself through work. I work for a nhs acute hospital and even though staff health and wellbeing doesn't seem to have fully reached where it needs to be in the NHS, this service is a lifeline and a huge staff benefit.
I referred myself because my anxiety at this point was taking over my life. I am already on medication but not even that was controlling it, and this was the first time I'd seen a counsellor for my anxiety.
I recognised I needed help when I was off sick from work because I couldn't stop crying and I had stomach aches. My mind wouldn't stop over thinking every tiny little detail.
I just knew I needed help.
Looking back now, I know what the triggers were. I overloaded myself. My brain was at its limit and couldn't take any more.
I recognised I needed help when I went to work and thought I can't do this anymore. Not just work, but I didn't want to do anything because everything I did made me anxious. I went into a manic state of painting everything I could and tidying to focus on efforts.
I know that one of my biggest triggers was the planning of my wedding. I chose a venue in the woods, our dream venue! The wedding is going to be the middle of summer, the ceremony under a oak tree. It's a black canvas, a proper DIY wedding managing lots of suppliers.
I thought I could do it, I could take it on.
But planning a wedding is not like the movies. And when you have a mental health history, it's really easy to fall into old habits.
Alot of evenings, I felt incredibly alone. I cried alot because I felt so alone. I set the bar, I expect people to be there for me in ways they will never think to. I look like a strong independent girl that's got her super organised shit together. Underneath it all, I'm desperate for someone to take it off me or come round, make a cuppa tea, and say we got this, I'll help you.
I went wedding dress shopping. I thought everyone would cry and react like they do on those stupid wedding TV programmes I was obsessed with. That I'd feel like a queen.
I felt the opposite. My stomach was so bloated from stress and the women in the shops thought cause I'm skinny I could pull off tight dresses. I carted my family and friends round some shops. The experience isn't as special as they make out.
Everyone in their life needs a best friend who will tell you if that dress makes you feel uncomfortable, that dress ain't your dress. If the women in the shop are condescending, she will give you that look that says let's get out of here. Then when you find the dress, the kind of person that celebrates finding it with a massive freakshake. And the kind that will say I'm gonna sort that out for you so you don't have to worry about it. And that's the kind of people you need to stop the planning of a wedding feel not so lonely.
So what did I learn from my year of counselling? That I control my eating to control my life. That my belching is a behavior. That I need to take some time in the morning to get myself together. That I need to focus on my breathing. That writing can help when your thoughts are whizzing around your brain. That I need to rationalise thoughts and how to do that. That I can only take so much stress. I learnt alot.
I had the first panic attack in years the day before my wedding. My friends and family took over and let me recover. My best friend sat next to me. My mum ordered me to go outside and took control.
I'm lucky, I found a man that I want to spend the rest of my life with. Someone that understands every part of me, including my battle with anxiety. I've found a small group of close friends that accept me and appreciate me on my good and bad days. I've got family that listen to my rants and celebrate my good days. I've found my tribes.
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Don't let me drown
Do you ever feel like you're in a room of people are you're suffocating and all you can think is that you need to run?
Do you ever get that right restricting feeling in your chest which conflicts with your normal breathing routine?
Do you fixate on something in the room with the words hammering in your head "you need to get out of here, these people are going to see your worst side"
Do you feel your eyes start to well and your throat close up?
This happens to me every now and then, and it's usually followed by a few bad days. Bad days for me consist of excessive belching, stomach cramps, focused thoughts on my stressors and a manic like state where I'm pacing around keeping myself busy. Times like these result in doing everything I usually wouldn't bother doing. Put a wash in the washing machine, clean the surfaces in my room, reorganise my room belongings, plan any trips itineraries that are coming up, Google my physical symptoms (usually acid reflux or belching), watch a film, drink tea, eat cake, fold all the clothes in my drawers, take all my clothes off their hangers, hang them back up again in a precise order, dry my clothes, put them in the wardrobe where they belong, clear out some unwanted clothes, start an online course.
All the really boring stuff I usually can't be bothered to do, I do it. I was even considering batch cooking. And to me, they are the bad days, because that are the days my brain is working what feels like 1000 thoughts a minute. But it feels like I've pushed it to the back, and they're all trying to work their way to the front. But these tasks are preventing them from arriving at their hopeful destination.
I'm in a dilemma. I started my counselling through my current workplace over a year ago. I stopped in September 2018. I learnt some really good tools to help me. I learnt to see the signs when my anxiety is getting bad.
And here I am trying to find the right tool, but not finding the right one. Writing makes my physical behaviour worse. It's a habit I don't realise I'm doing until I'm aware. I chew gum more and more hoping that my brain tries to learn this behaviour.
It doesn't help that my dreams are weird at the moment and revolve around strange men trying to trap me or harm me. They've been changing but I don't know who they are, or I do know and they're people like our elderly neighbour who I don't think about consciously and have never spoken to in real life.
Some people can forget their dreams, mine can stay vividly in my mind for days.
So I guess it's time to go back to the GP, to ask for help for my excessive belching and stomach cramps. Which are definitely linked to my mental health status. And probably a call in to my counsellor for help... Again.
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Dancing In The Dark
Continuing from my last post, I spoke about starting counselling.
I’d had a couple of consellors before. They didnt work for me. One gave me homework out of a text book, an attempt at CBT and had quite robotic reactions with a constant mode of sympathy.
Another was in college and made me feel like my problems were insignificant.
I self-referred to this counsellor, and on the first day I went and saw her I was sweating buckets even though it was the middle of winter. I remember exiting the room thinking how soaked my blouse was and how i’d be sticky from sweat all day. But I also felt relieved. I’d managed to speak to someone about my feelings, and she made me feel like she was going to help me. And at that point I felt that I really needed help.
This is how I explained my issues:
I’m getting married in August 2018. It’s exciting, but stressful. It’s going to cost alot, i’ve got a plan, i’m dry hiring a venue. The ceremony is going to be outside. I have no back up if it rains. I need to manage several suppliers and invoices. I feel immensely alone in the planning. No-one is helping me.
In my late teens and early twenties I tried to find love but I also had many encounters that didnt lead to love. I dropped out of university and spent whole weeks in bed not eating or washing. I didnt eat alot and I was actively self harming. I took alot of risks in a variety of ways.
I got with someone who become homeless and slept in my car. I went out partying all the time. I didnt feel like I was welcome at home. I didnt have a job. I lost my best friend. I didnt have a good relationship with my mum, mums new partner or dad. I didnt speak to my sister for 2 years.
I found work in the NHS. I met new people who have now become my bestest friends. I had a period of depression where I felt immensely alone. My dad had a baby in his early eighties with a woman in her thirties. I tried to distract myself from depression by learning the ukulele. I found a friend who could play, and who I could spend weekends with instead of spending them alone. I switched contraceptive pill and blamed it for feeling so down. I went to the GP who diagnosed me with depression, prescribed me medication and referred me to a counsellor. My anxiety prescription was increased because I kept stalling my car from involuntary muscle contractions in my legs. My partner at the time worked nights. I spent that time looking on social media not understanding why everyone elses life was perfect and mine was not. I struggled for money. I got myself in a substantial amount of debt. My little brother used to get tearful phone calls and was the person I used to call in times of need.
I started running 3 times a week with a friend. I controlled my calorie intake strictly. I pretended counselling was helping me, but running was the thing that really helped me. My rekindled my relationship with my sister.
I moved from the flat I was living to and went on holdiay with 2 friends to Ibiza. My head was consumed with thoughts that I no longer wanted to be with my partner at the time. My anxiety got worse. I went out for my birthday and cried. I knew I needed to get out. I was worried he would find out and I couldnt sleep.
I ended it with him because my anxiety was so heightened it was making me feel sick. I lost weight and could barely fit in size 6 clothes.
I stayed with my friend in her flat for about half a year, then I moved to my mums. My relationship improved with my mum throughout my break up, I think this is the first significant milestone. I started going to my friends familys house as I was living with her, and used to speak to her brother.
We started chatting more, and he’s now fast forward a few years, my other half.
I feel like i’ve wasted time. I told him I wanted to get married by 30. He proposed when I’d just turned 28. We arranged our wedding for when i’d just turned 29. We helped each other through our own personal demons. He told me he’d look after me - he’s always lived up to those words. I’d told him I’d be his strength - I’ve taught him how to be more confident.
I started a new job and kept moving into more senior roles. I thrive under pressure during work, however outside of work, I struggle.
I have the worst acid reflux, I feel like there’s something stuck in the top of my chest at the bottom of my throat constantly. I feel like I’m trying to dislodge something. I can’t stop burping. I’m sick in the back of my throat in meetings and have to hide it. I throw up acid that stinks. I make myself throw up hoping that it will get better but it doesnt. I’ve had a camera down my throat, I’ve tried 3 types of acid reflux prescribed medication by my GP. Nothing is working and I fear I’ll never be normal again.
So here I am, in my first meeting with my counsellor at the end of 2017.
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Cross my heart and hope to die
Rewind to a year and a half ago.
No-one really feels amazing on a Sunday. Everyone has that similar feeling of end of the weekend, Monday blues. I can re-count to a particular weekend where I was fixated on painting the house. It had just been replastered and all I wanted to do was paint skirting boards and doorframes. It was a welcome distraction from the feeling of emptiness and anxiety. I felt like I was constantly on a edge about to fall off. That familar feeling as the fairground were your on a rollercoaster and you’ve just dropped.
I used to like theme parks and rollercoaster rides. I avoid them now, mainly because my anxiety re-creates that feeling constantly. I have tried every sweat-reducing super power antiperspirent deodrant in the market from creams that promise me no sweat, the roll-ons that promise me 48 hours of sweat free existance. None of these actually state ‘Reduces sweating from anxiety disorders accelerated by beta blockers’. Which is probably why I’ve not found one that works yet...
Anyway, I digress. So i’m manicly painting every door and skirting board in sight. Until it gets to Sunday evening and I’m feeling hopeless and crying because I don’t want to go to work tomorrow. And it’s not work, I actually like my job. I like the team I work with. I work in a pressurised stressful job, and somehow I convey the image of a laidback approach to decision making. It’s not any of that, it’s the bubbling anxiety of getting out of my pj’s and trying to put my emotions in check so I can talk to people without bursting into tears. It’s knowing that I’m not going to have a good sleep, which makes me even more anxious because I know the recommended sleep for women is 7-9 hours and if I dont follow that rule, I won’t be well the next morning. I have to climatise my emotional state to be able to cope with work, and I’m not sure I have the energy to do it because I’ve spent all weekend painting.
I knew that something wasnt right. Jamie told me to take a couple of days off to try and rest. Those 2 days were good, I slept. But I knew I was avoiding work, and I couldnt do that. So back to work I went, reason for absence: gastrointestinal problems.
Not a lie, as I’ll explain in my next post, my gastro system and mental health are so entertwined that sometimes I dont know which one is caused by the other, but enough that I still could avoid talking about my mental health at work.
The only difference was, this time I self-referred myself for counselling. I was desperate to work out what was going on.
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'Til Death
My name is Ruby and I’ve been wanting to start this journal for a long time. I have periods where I am super excited about it, I’ve practically written the whole journal in my head. Then I have periods where I can’t focus on what I’m going to write, because my mind has been intruded with a couple of thoughts that continously circle my head until I’m exhausted from thinking the same thought over and over again.
And for both of those reasons, this is why I want to start a journal. To discuss my journey in life and recounting the times I was unwell, what impacts and triggers my mental health (the good & the bad), my physical wellbeing and behaviours as as a result of my mental health, and where I am in understanding my mental health today.
I hope someone stumbles across this journal and can relate to some of my story, as throughout my story I have searched in every corner of google to try and understand what was wrong with me.
Turns out there’s nothing wrong, just a misunderstanding of how to look after myself & know when things are starting to spiral out of control.
Lets start from the most recent episode...
Ruby xo
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