Siobháns Story

Trigger Warning: Contains talk of Self-Harm and Suicide which some may find triggering.

Mental health, we all have it yet we refuse to accept that we have it. Many of us may live our life without experiencing a mental illness while many of us may experience a mental illness. Those of us who are unfortunate enough to experience a mental illness such as depression or bi-polar tend to hide our illness and in turn let it consume us until we can no longer go on with our lives. We hide our feelings, thoughts, emotions and mental illness because of the stigma which is present in the society we live in today. The stigma associated with mental health is strong despite the work being done by a number of different organisations world wide to reduce this stigma. People fear talking about mental health or their experiences with ill mental health as they fear they will be looked down on by society and seen as an outcast.

Well my experience with poor mental health began when I was 13. I had just started secondary school and was struggling with fitting in, making friends and the typical things a teenage girl would struggle with, I however also had to no female role model to turn too and my dad was like an alien to me, we didn't talk, we didn't communicate, we saw each other in the house and that was it. As the weeks went on I became more isolated, lonely and just plain sad. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know who to turn to and so I just kept all my feelings and emotions bottled up inside me. Although nearing the end of my first yea in secondary school I did receive some help from my school chaplain I did not benefit due to my unwillingness to co-operate. I refused to co-operate because I was scared, worried and self-conscious. I would ask myself what will people think of me if they find out? What will the teachers say? How will I ever make friends now? I like many young teenage girls kept these feelings bottled up inside and never spoke to anyone about it despite numerous efforts made by my family to get me to open up.

I went on living like this up until two days before my junior cert was due to begin. The feelings I had inside me kept building up and up and there was nothing I could do to stop them. I was confused, I couldn't stop my thoughts from racing and I just felt lost in a world that didn't want me. Three years (there a bouts) had gone by and I wasn't feeling any better, I was only spiralling deeper and deeper in a dark place and I could stop it from happening. One day it all change, one day I decided to do something about it.

Sitting alone in my bedroom I had just finished writing my note, what I hoped to be my final note. I wrote it a thousand times to make it perfect, I couldn't give my family anything less than perfect. I placed it under my pillow; I knew they would look under my pillow eventually. I grabbed a towel from the hot press and went back into my room. Shutting the door slowly trying not to make any noise. I didn't want anything to ruin my plan, I couldn't let anybody come into my room, I had put too much planning into this for something to go wrong, it all had to be perfect.

I sat on my bed, my legs crossed and glancing out the window I took a deep breath, I was ready. After spending the day with my brother and dad I was ready, I was ready to take my own life. I took the piece of glass I had been saving for some time, hidden in my room in the remaining part of the jar. I slowly but carefully ran to glass over my arm.  a feeling of relief came over me; it was like I was able to breath. This wasn't what I wanted though, I wanted to die.  I felt alive, I was trying to commit suicide and yet I felt alive, I hadn't felt that alive in weeks.

Six cuts down my arm I freaked out. It was like I suddenly became aware of what I was doing. Did I really want to die? What had I just done? I was bleeding and I couldn't get it to stop. I panicked, suddenly I didn't want to die anymore, I called down to my dad. He came up the stars slowly but surely to find me frantically pacing on the landing, the only words I could manage "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I did something stupid I'm sorry"

It was like I had suddenly woken up and everything was a dream, that's how it felt but it was all a very true reality. Within in seconds my dad had me sitting down and he was applying pressure to my cuts. Paul was racing up the stairs with the first aid kit all while I was crying and constantly saying sorry. I wasn't really aware what was going on around me after that. With a bit of persuasion I was taken to the hospital, I refused to go in the beginning but in reality I had no choice, I was going to the hospital willing or forcibly.

After arriving at the hospital things happened very fast. There was no waiting around to be seen, I was brought to a room so me and my dad could have some time together in private. That’s just what I needed, to be left in a room on my own with a man who was worried and angry. What was I meant to say to him, I couldn't explain what I had done the reality of it was that I didn't know why I wanted to die. I just couldn't cope anymore and unless you haven’t been in that situation before you don’t understand. I didn't want to die I just wanted a way out. I didn't know what else to do and there was no chance that my dad would have understood that. It was agreed that I would be admitted to the hospital so that the next day I could see my psychologist and a psychiatrist. They also wanted to make sure that I was safe but to be honest in my mind I had a million other plans of things that I could do to hurt myself. I had so many ideas and I had planned to carry them out, I didn't realise though that the doctors and nurses were not going to leave me on my own. 

I was brought to the ward and shown my room. Once settled into my bed my dad left, needless to say we weren’t really on talking terms. I was tired and I was annoyed, my plan hadn’t worked. To make things even worse as well I was being watched. There was a nurse sitting by my bed and she was not going to be going away any time soon.This all happened only a few days before the junior cert. I didn’t realise though that I would be starting my junior cert in the hospital. With a nurse with me 24/7 I couldn’t do anything.  

This suicide attempt was my way of looking for help, I know now though that it was indeed the wrong way of looking for help. I was given the help and support that I needed although deep inside me I wasn't ready to get help, I wasn't ready to begin the road to recovery and once again I didn't co-operate and I let myself fall deep into depression and things only began to get worse for me. Once again I kept all my thoughts, feelings and emotions all bottled inside me and at the age of fifteen I became a "cutter". It began with a cut or two every now and again, just enough to draw blood but that soon changed, soon I had become addicted. My life was centered around when I would get my next "fix", I was an addict and cutting was my drug. My self-harm escalated, I became closed off and isolated, I was slowly but surely killing myself but no body knew, nobody knew because I didn't let anybody know.

Somewhere deep inside me I found a spark of strength, with this spark of strength I found the courage to ask for help, I was ready to begin to get help. I didn't like the person I had become as a result of my self-harm and so I reached out. I approached my year-head at the time, Mrs L. We talked, we worked together and this was the beginning of my long and hard road to recovery. Although I had finally taken the first step and asked for help my self-harm persisted and I learned that there was no quick fix. I began seeing a psychologist and a psychiatrist. I was placed on medication and when things did not improve after about a year I was admitted into an adolescent unit to get the help I so desperately need. 

It was here when I was put on a new medication to treat my depression, anxiety and OCD. It was here where I began to have a relationship with my dad, it was here where I met some amazing and inspirational people and it was here that I began to gain control over my self harm and become the Siobhán I once was!  It was hard and it was long but I made it out the other end, I  got discharged, I gained control over my illness and my addiction and I began to be happy again.

I have had many suicide attempts, years of self-harm, scars all over my body but it is because of this I have chosen to speak out about my experiences. I was in a dark and isolated place and at the age of 13 the world is a scary place but with added feelings of loneliness and isolation it becomes even scarier. I have chosen to share my experiences not to look for sympathy or pity but to show people it is okay to talk and to try and help prevent people from going down the same dark road I once did. I didn't talk to my family or my friends and I thought I didn't want help but in fact I did. There is always a reason to live no matter what you might think- I am happy that I am alive and I am happy that I can share my story in the hopes that somebody will read this and realise that there is always a reason to live. Things such as the love an animal has for you, your family, your friends, sports, things you love to do, everything that makes you who you are is your reason to live. At the time I felt there was no way out but I was wrong, there is always a way out. You may feel that there is no help around or that nobody cares about you but that is not true, there is help and people do care about you. There is always a reason to live and don't ever forget that!

Finally in the words of young Donal Walsh-  "Suicide is a permanent solution to your temporary pain"

Siobhán

xx

Kaylieghs Story

Trigger Warning:

Contains information about self-injurious behaviour and eating disorders which some readers may find triggering. 

"Strength means recognizing that is is impossible to be strong all the time" ~ Sally Franser

Okay, so this is a little hard to write, I thought I had locked all of this away in a box and put it all in the past. However, the past never stays in the past, does it? But I can't deny my past as it has made me who I am today, I guess that in some way I am thankful to all the crappy things I went through because if I didn't go through them I may have taken a very different path.

So I am Kayliegh and I am 22 and I didn't really have the easiest teenage years to say the least (I feel like I am standing up at an AA meeting or something) and since I was 16 I have been a cutter. I have never said those words like that before it's weird as I never put myself into a category I would always make excuses for my actions but now I realize I was just kidding myself.  

"People have no idea how long something they say can stay in ones mind".

I was never one of the popular kids, I wasn't one of the smart people, I didn't fit into any group so I would bury myself into school work to try and bring up my grades and I started to get smarter. That didn't help as then I was bullied for being to smart then I decided to dumb myself down to try and stop the name calling. I didn't have many friends I had a few people who I though were my friends but they were not really, I learned that the hard way. Then I felt isolated and I didn't know it at the time but I was sinking into depression. I started to feel more lonely and that loneliness was getting worse by the day so I started to hurt myself. For some reason hurting myself made the lonely feelings better and more bearable. I went on doing this for about a year and slowly I became addicted to it, I needed to it get through the day. One night I was on first aid duty at a football match with some true friends and I passed out and they took me to the hospital and this is where my secret was revealed. At this point I was 17 and I was forced to go to see a counselor and I was diagnosed with depression, social anxiety disorder and participating in self-injurious behavior. So once a week I would sit in a room with a woman I didn't know and I was expected to tell her everything I was thinking, it was hard but I slowly opened up. Later in my sessions I was diagnosed with bulimia. The think about bulimia is that you don't have to be dangerously thin to be diagnosed and that's why for me it was the perfect alternative to cutting myself because in a way I was still hurting myself. 

Through counseling I started to feel better about myself and I managed to stop. I continued the counseling through my final year in secondary school because I was terrified that with the pressure I would be under that I would start doing it again. I continued it and I made it through the year without hurting myself.

"One day can change everything......"

When I went to college all this changed.........

College is a totally different world to secondary school, new people, new city, new life and a new me..... or so I thought. Even though I made some amazing friends I still felt so isolated and I could feel myself slipping again. Slowly the urges I had felt for the past two years to hurt were getting stronger and stronger and one day I slipped up and that was it. It started to creep back into my life. It started out as one cut every few days, but it became two every day and then more and more to where I couldn't get through one lecture a day without cutting myself and my eating had gotten bad again to the point where I was eating once a day but throwing that up when I would go for a shower. I was back in the dark place I thought I had left behind forever.

"Sometimes all we can do is cry...."

One night I broke and I could no longer keep up the facade and I told my best friend Chris. He was shocked that I had kept this from him when eight months previous to this we were together, I have never been able to figure out why I could tell him but no one else. I was only in my first year of my psychology degree and I didn't want to live anymore, the pressure was just to immense and I didn't know how to handle it and I didn't want to tell my parents as they thought I was better and I didn't want to put them through what they went through when they found out the first time. I was shocked by something Chris did, he never gave up on me. He would sit up until all hours of the morning taking to me and telling me everything would be okay. He pushed me and pushed me to help me get better and be the person that he knew! He knew that I could get better even when I didn't know it, he had faith when I didn't have anything to hold onto. 

"There is always one way out of hell, and that is through it"~ Winston Churchill

The hardest day during this time was the day I gave up my blades to Chris, but I hit rock bottom when I walked over an hour to his house to get them back. However, when I had them I did not feel any of the comfort I used to when I had them. I could never leave the house without at least one blade, they were like a comfort blanket to me bit this time I felt nothing but contempt for them. They changed me, they took away the spark that I had and they hacked that spark into little pieces and changed me into someone I didn't recognize in the slightest. I knew things had to change and that was the moment that I knew that I wanted to get better for me. That was the day that I really knew what I wanted to do with the rest of my life..... I wanted to clean up and become a counselor, I wanted to help people who went through crappy things in their life. I wanted to help people who thought that their life was not worth living anymore. 

So that's what I did I sorted myself out with the help of Chris. I am not saying that everything is great now, those urges never go away when I am down or sad or feel like I am not good enough I feel like I want to hurt but I fight those urges and say 'no' I am not going back there because getting to the place where I don't do it everyday took a lot of work and commitment and nights up crying and distracting myself but for the past two years I have been totally clean.

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger......."

They say you need life experience to be a counselor, I think between deaths, family members just getting up and leaving, being bullied because I was half English living in Ireland, people stabbing me in the back at every turn, building my walls to keep people out, not trusting guys, depression, anxiety, self-harm and coming out the other end of it, I think I have been through enough.

I have proved a lot of people wrong by getting to the place I am in right now. I have been to hell and back and I'm still standing and I have the scars to prove it. For so long I was ashamed of my scars and my past and I hid myself and would never wear anything that would run the chance of people seeing them but now I don't care, I don't care who sees them now. As weird as it sounds I wear them with some pride, they show that I have been trough a tough dark time in my life but I am proof that there is a way out of it. 

I have some amazing friends now that don't judge me for this and they are partly the reason I am still here. They will never know how much I value them and how much I am in debt to them for saving me and at times they quiet literally saved my life. I don't think Chris knows how much I love him for saving me and believing in me when so many others would have walked away and I can never thank him enough for it and Amy too. Even when Amy and I didn't really know each other she still let him help me and she helped too. Even when me and chris fought she pushed us to talk and she knows when she did this and I thank her for that because if she didn't that could have been the end of our friendship. And I have an amazing boyfriend that helps me and looks past all my mistakes and all of my past and loves me for me and loves all of me when alot of people would not be able to. So thank you guys for believing in me because sometimes people need someone to believe in them before they can believe in themselves.

"Scars are like battle wounds, beautiful in way. They show what you've been through and how strong you are for coming out of it" ~ Demi Lovato

Mental health is not really addressed, there is this ridicules stigma with it, like it is a taboo or something! There is not nearly enough emphasis on it as there is with other problems, and that sickens me! Due to this stupid stigma I was afraid to write and publish this but I think it is about time more people stood up and started telling their story. 

So this is me telling mine and if it will encourage one person out there to tell their story and that their life is worth living then I have done my job.

Always remember in the dark of night, even when you can't see them, the stars are still there.......

Stay strong my lovelies

Kayliegh

xox

Amys Story

“The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.” L.P Hartley

Everyone has a past. Its a universal truth that most of us are embarrassed or ashamed of what occurred in their past. Most people hate the pictures of when they had an awkward hippie phase, or maybe a horrible, ill thought-out haircut that took months upon months to grow out. In my more serious posts, I touched on bullying because of my hair colour and also on anxiety. 

I love blogging about beauty, don't get me wrong, but every so often I have to remember that this blog was created so I could have a place to write thing that would help me, and in turn help others. So I'm going to reclaim that for a while. 

Please remember that what follows is personal and maybe I shouldn't be sharing this, but someone out there will get solace from this, maybe. If I help one person, then it will be worth the anxious feelings that hitting that little orange "publish" button will bring.

When I was 18 or 19, I went to see Paramore in The 02 with my boyfriend at the time. Everything was going amazingly and we were after making friends with some people from Northern Ireland in the queue. We got in and were standing around in the crowd surrounded by around 10,000 people. I was in front of Himself, and I don't really remember what preceded my breakdown but I have been told that I turned my head to look around and I was in tears. I snapped back into the world around me then and I started to freak out. I remember it vividly, painfully. I started to freak out and He had to push me out of the crowd as I hyperventilated, cried and screamed. I was having my very first panic attack. I couldn't control it and for that very reason I was terrified. What was happening to me??? I was brought to a Medic and all I remember was being asked had I taken drugs. No way. Never have, never will. I was taken into a medical room and made to sit down as they attempted to bring me out of my panic. They gave me water and asked me questions. I answered them all in a pretty harrowed, hiccuping voice, from what I remember. Then they gave us seated tickets to get me away from the crowd and let me go out to the ushers when I was able to be up and functioning properly. 

That was the start of two or three awful years for me. I went downhill rapidly after that, sometimes having up to two panics a week, which would vary from mild shaking and quietness, to full blown screaming and hysterical crying. All of these panics were accompanied by thoughts that the world around me was falling asunder, that I was losing control of myself and my life. I hated myself for being weak. There was an awful couple of weeks during the following summer, where I was really low, and I just didn't know how to reach out, or who to reach out to. As if that wasn't bad enough, I was being made to feel awful by others because I didn't know how to cope with my own feelings. It was Hell. 

My relationship ended the following February/March and I was surprisingly fine with it for about a week. Then I crumbled even further. Now while I say that, I in no way blame him, nor was it the definitive reason for my further demise. This was when I started to think really dark thoughts. I was listening to a lot of really depressing music which now when I think back on it, was glamorizing self-harm and suicide. Now while I have to just plainly state that I have never ever physically harmed myself, I can fully admit that wallowing in my dark, depressive states was mental harm. I was always listening to music that dealt with death, suicide, blades, alcohol, and a lot of negative imagery. I was hurting myself indirectly. I can admit that now, but back then, I was spiralling and could not see it. While I can understand the mentality and the place you have to be in to want to take it out on yourself, in order to have physical pain to focus on rather than the mental anguish, I just could never understand the action. Its a big jump from theory to practice.

I met Chris not too long after my previous relationship, having known him for a while just as casual hello's, as he's a close friend of my Ex. He doesn't know this (but I believe he reads my blog) but I thought he was the instant fixer. He made me feel beautiful, he made me laugh, life was looking up. But I was fooling myself. Things with Chris were getting more and more serious and I was so happy with Chris, but I was getting worse to a certain point. I would cry on the bus home because I didn't want to be alone. I was aware of how much better I felt when I spent time with people, but you have to go home sometime, and its in those moments you see the difference. I still didn't know who to reach out to or how to do it. Many nights were spent crying and feeling like I was coming apart from the inside out. I would spend hours on MSN and Facebook Chat to Chris and my best friend Aine talking. Aine (I love you, you ass kicking bitch!) gave me plenty of pep talks when I opened up. I told her about feeling so low I thought about suicide. She went ballistic. I cried and cried, typing away to beat the band, and for a while I would feel better. Time was rapidly passing. Chris spent many a night talking to me over video chat and IM, helping me to muddle through my feelings. It helped, and I love both Aine and Chris for helping me. 

We went to Kerry for a week during the summer of 2011, and as is the case when 11 people in their late teens go off on a holiday of boozing and debauchery, there was drama. It's not my drama to talk about but it really set me back. Ho hum, that's just life I suppose.

Through Chris I met another amazing friend (and I love you too for the record!), Kayliegh. She and I weren't close at first, but we had common ground in our struggles and we played a lot of cards together in Kerry, and when Chris went off to Donegal and Spain for a month two summers ago, we leaned on each other a lot. I hadn't got my boyfriend and she hadn't got her best friend. We literally talked every day. Somewhere in there we formed a firm friendship that I am grateful everyday for! I don't remember who persuaded me to, but I eventually went to see my GP and told her about my panics. She was not helpful in the slightest. I was advised to buy a self help book and see how I fared with that. I read it. It did not help me. So I went back and suddenly there was a new GP in her place who was amazing! She referred me to a Psychiatrist. I was bricking it and it did take about 2 months for him to get to see me, but it was the first step to recovery. I had thought day in, day out about dying up until I went to see my doctor. Now I was getting in control. 

When I went to see the Psychiatrist, Dr Paul, I was terrified. Was I being silly? Maybe I was over-thinking my problems? Did I even have problems??? Time to man-up, as they say! So in I went, answered a myriad of questions about my family and my relationships, my life, what was happening in my life, and how I had learned to cope with my panic attacks. I answered every single question with blunt honesty, and after 90 minutes in Dr Pauls office, I was given a basic diagnosis. Anxious Avoidance Personality Disorder. What a sigh of relief I breathed! I had a problem, it had a name, I could work on it. I was asked to come back to see a Clinical Psychologist. She was amazing. Like a lifelong friend, I just opened up to her and spilled all of the worries and hurt out. She took notes, told me she'd see me again and work on getting me a space in an Anxiety Support Group. I was thrilled. Things were looking up. 

In the meantime, I couldn't get through a weekend with Chris without breaking down somehow, into hysterical tears and spilling my guts. One weekend I told him about how low I had been feeling. I felt like the worst failure in the world. What kind of person was I to be attempting to have a serious relationship with someone?? I obviously didn't deserve to be loved. I was unlovable. I was awful. Maybe I should just die and stop bothering everyone with my stupid head problems. I didn't know what to do. Things felt like they were going from bad to worse. Somehow, Chris took it all on board, and continued to persevere in helping me get through. It wasn't the worst thing I had told him. Imagine your other half telling you they had thought long and hard about how to kill themselves and feel as little pain as possible. I did that. Imagine seeing your other half in hysterical tears telling you they want to die. I also did that. I was put on medication after medication, until I found the one that fit. Then I stayed on that for a year, and slowly things picked up. The tablets were doing their job, thankfully, and I was slowly learning to be happy. 

I came off those tablets a year ago, or so. I just forgot to take them and slowly I was off them. I was terrified of what Dr Paul was going to say during our next session, but he was fine with it. He reminded me that medicating was only going to do half of the work, and I had to step up and do the other half. Time to be strong. After being told I could stay off the tablets, I was pretty scared. Was I going to come crashing down? Would I cope OK? Having recently been diganosed also with Generalised Anxiety Disorte, now only time would tell. I would still talk to Kayliegh, I would still have my arse kicked by Aine, I would still cry over stupid things, but I knew I had to be a big bold 20 year old and be brave. 

For the first few months after I got discharged from Dr Paul's Mental Health Clinic, I was still really liable to slip and wallow in my own self pity. That wasn't helping but this time I knew it. I decided that I was going to help myself be happy. I was going to kick all my bad habits and that was just the way it was going to be. I would be Amy 2.0 if it was to kill me. I deleted people off Facebook who I knew weren't good for me, and I forged new, wonderful friendships! I even cut all of my purple hair off and embraced my ginger self! It was hard, and every day I wanted to give up, but I am absolutely not a quitter and life is there to be lived, so I was going to live it, and fuck anyone who said I was doing it wrong!! 

I can't remember the last time I wallowed. I especially can't remember the last time I panicked. I started this blog and suddenly I was feeling like this amazing, fabulous Super-Amy! I had an outlet for my negative energy, and it had the scope to help someone else. I was going to do what made me happy, and that was just the way it was going to be. If anyone said anything negative, suddenly I was able to deal with their comments. I had been budding during the months prior to this, but now I was in full bloom. 

Amy from 3 years ago is so far removed from who I am now, and I couldn't be more happy, or proud of who I have become. I know now that I was damaging myself, I was making my own life miserable, and in doing so, making other people miserable and hurting them. I felt like shit, all the time, and that wasn't okay. I want to say that during my year of rising out of the darkness, there have been setbacks, hurdles I've had thrown out in front of me. My ex told me he lied about loving me and led me on. I knew for a long time that our relationship was toxic, that we were bad for each other, though, I know because he told me once I'd be unattractive with my natural hair color. The only one who was unattractive in that exchange was him, with his manipulating words. My friends have told me about their problems which I was too blind to see myself and its made me feel like a failure, as a friend. But life moves on and all you can do if grow and mature. At the age of 21, I have more knowledge of my own strength that many don't attain til their 40's. 

This might not have been the most coherent post, but the misery of that time in my life mushes it all together in to one big black, tear-stained blob. I can't thank Chris, Kayliegh, Aine, and all the rest of my friends enough for helping me get through. I absolutely love every single one of you more than you will ever, EVER know! 

If this post helps one person, then it will have been worth it. While I'm not proud of my past, I'm proud that I came through it. I'm proud of what I learned, and in some ways, I'm grateful for the experiences I had, because they shaped me. I'm the  new and improved, confident, brave Amy, and that is definitely something I'm grateful for. If you find yourself in the dark, please remember what Dumbledore once said...

“Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.” Albus Dumbledore (Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban, J.K Rowling)

I hope you mined some kind of wisdom from my demented, probably overly honest ramble. 

All my Love,

Amy,

xoxo

Welcome!

Hi Guys,

So this is a new site where Amy, Kayliegh and Siobhan will be taking about their experiences with mental illness and how they have come to cope with it. The aim of this is to help bring down the stigma associated with mental illness and with all your help we can all make a difference. 

We encourage you to get involved and share your story and help in this fight against stigma. You can learn more about our experiences in the About tab and we will let you know more as the site grows.
You can keep up to date with everything on facebook and twitter :)

Fight the Fear

Amy, Kayliegh & Siobhan

xox