I am somewhat struggling to create an introductory post which will successfully encompass my aims and desires for this blog. My ultimate intentions are to document, share, and express my experiences through life.
I will be the first to say that I’m not always normal – I’m very aware of that. There’s something about the way that my brain works, which confuses me and those close to me. However, despite numerous doctors appointments and assessments, the conclusion from a mental health point of view is that I merely have depression and anxiety – which is really no news to me. After convincing myself for years that I am “broken”, it turns out I’ve just got a ridiculously negative perspective of myself, life and everything in between.
My aim of this blog is to document my journey and attempts to move away from the cynical and soul-sucking reins of depression. And by that, I don’t mean that I am going to be a #positivity #unicorn #angel. I am fully aware that pretending that everything is sh*ts and glitters is just as delusional as thinking that life is sh*t and sh*tter. My hope is that I can become someone who is accepting of the good, the bad and the plain bog standard average.
Recent events have lead me to fully re-evaluate my life and the way that I have been reluctantly dragging my meat skeleton around for the past 20 years. It turns out, living life feeling guilty for absolutely everything, hating everything about yourself, downplaying all your achievements and treating yourself like trash will catch up with you. Last week, it caught up with me.
Last week, 20 years worth of self-hatred and unexplained resentment for myself finally took its toll, and I gave up. Despite being a perfectly competent, clever, witty, caring and valuable member of society – I convinced myself that I am a terrible person and that I don’t deserve to be here anymore. Last week, I wrote a note and shoved a load of pills down my neck. Last week; when the doctor told me he couldn’t ascertain whether I would actually live or die; it struck me that all I want to do is live.
Now, I do not for one second want to write as though my actions and behaviours last week were acceptable, normal or rational. If anything, I am reluctant to even share any of this, but that’s purely because I am worried that someone will get the wrong idea. But I feel as though having been through the literal rock bottom of my existence; things can only get better. In the past 7 days, I have really dug deep into the dark depths of my depression and anxiety. I have realized things about myself and my behaviours which I have been oblivious to for years.
I always assumed that struggling with anorexia between ages 15-18, and recovering from food issues, that I was now “cured” of any mental illness. I wrongly thought that eating like a normal human, not crying over a bagel and not jogging on the spot for 4 hours whilst watching The Inbetweeners meant that I was #recovered and that my life would be sprinkles and rainbows from that point onwards. With this in mind, I set my sights on pursuing a degree in Mental Health Nursing; hoping to inspire and help others to recover from the bullsh*t that their own brain fires at them on a daily basis. I truly just wanted to help as many people as I could, and I thought that my journey and recovery from anorexia was enough knowledge to allow me to excel in this field.
However, as I got further into the degree, I realised that my daily life was still tainted by the subtle bullsh*t of depression and anxiety. I additionally realised that I don’t actually want to be a nurse – I know, I can’t believe I am actually saying it, but it’s something that I’ve known for a good 6 months. However, I pushed myself to make the most out of every placement and every assignment. I certainly had moments where I loved it, and truly thought that I might be able to continue for another 3 years and beyond, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
Yet the events of last week solidified to me that I really was in the wrong profession. Sitting in A&E after attempting to take my own life, being asked by a mental health nurse “what do you study at university then?” I couldn’t help but squirm in the irony of the whole situation. Yes, I have made some absolutely massive mistakes, the degree, the lifestyle habits, the overdose and the general sarcastic approach to life is all a big mess. however, I am optimistic that I will make something of myself.
For some reason, I survived last week. I don’t believe in Jesus or VooDoo or fate, but I do believe that I am resilient as f*ck, and I am still standing here, all five foot eleven of me.
The next few years are going to be so much better. I won’t pretend that I am suddenly cured or happier or less depressed than last week. If anything, I’ve gained about a stone, become addicted to cheese & crackers, had 7 midlife crisis’ and forgotten how to drive. But, I know that things are going to get better, and I am starting this blog right at the very start. So that’s all I have to say for now.
I will always be 100% real and 100% honest. Whether you can relate to what I’m going through or not, I somehow manage to make everything sound entertaining, so at least you won’t be bored reading this.
(Disclaimer) – Everything that I have addressed in this post is the truth, and I am fully aware of how serious and severe the topics are that I have spoken about. My way of dealing with things and moving on past things is to make light of it, and to brush it off in a sarcastic way. However, that doesn’t mean to say that I haven’t been through some of the most emotional and heart-wrenching situations, I just don’t really want to write about how I cried myself to sleep for 2 years; or how I pretty much can’t sleep anyway. Something about that isn’t really as readable as paragraphs of Heather mocking herself.