Where am I now?

So, it's been over 7 months since I last updated on here! There are many reasons for my absence, some of which I won't expand on. But I've been thinking hard and I've decided that nothing, and nobody can prevent me from writing a blog. It's 2016; why is mental health illness still considered a taboo subject? With such a large population of the United Kingdom suffering with some form of mental illness, why are we not more accepting of one another?

Anyhow, referring back to the title, where am I now?

With so many people having been dedicated to reading my blog in the past, I feel obligated to update you on the roller coaster that has been the last few months of my life. So I'll start from the beginning:

When I last did a life update at the beginning of May, I had just started an apprenticeship as a pharmacy dispensing assistant. And now, 8 months since I started, I am still working within the pharmacy although I am no longer an apprentice! The work is absolutely brilliant and it is so much more than 'just a job' to me.

I also began a second job in another pharmacy in early October; I only work there one day a week but I'm enjoying it so much.

In early June, I began feeling breathless. This isn't unusual, since I have brittle asthma. I just continued using my inhalers and carrying on as normal. Then a few days later, I suddenly became extremely short of breath and no amount of nebulisers were helping so an ambulance was called. I was admitted to hospital but continued to become more and more unwell, so I was transferred to the Intensive Care Unit.

I spent a few days in the Intensive Care Unit where they told me that I (once again) had a severe case of pneumonia, but the stress of the situation eventually became too much for me and I made the impulsive decision to discharge myself home before I was well enough. Needless to say, I quickly ended up back in hospital and within a matter of days, I became critically unwell and had an emergency transfer back to the ICU. Things were a lot more serious this time; I was prepped for intubation as they said that my body was too tired to breathe on its own and I needed the help of a ventilator. Luckily, I got through the night without the ventilator and things improved from there.

All the while we were focusing on improving my asthma and making it easier for me to breathe, I began having some problems with sickness. I had a PICC line inserted in mid-July, then I was eventually discharged from hospital for good!

I went to Nottingham at the end of August to meet an amazing friend who I have been talking to online and writing letters to for such a long time. And Jess was just as brilliant as I imagined her being!

We made a day trip up to Sheffield which was just great; I hadn't been to Sheffield since I was discharged from Alpha in January and I felt so happy to be back up there. We even made a slight detour to Alpha itself and it just felt incredible to look at how far I had come in the months since my discharge.

In early September, I started back at college! Some of you may know that I started studying health and social care in 2014 but I was too unwell to complete the course, so it feels really great to be back studying again. I'm not studying a BTEC this year; I am instead retaking my GCSE's in the hopes to start my A-Levels within the next 2 years.

And that brings me to now. In summary, I am working two dream jobs, I am back studying AND I am 8 whole months self harm free. Admittedly, I have had my ups and downs, and these last few months have proven to be some of the hardest I have experienced in a long while. But all in all, I am coping and I finally have a life - something that I could only have dreamed of this time last year.

I am writing this blog to show people that you CAN do this. You CAN recover and live the life that you want to live. All it takes is for you to make that decision for yourself. This time a year ago, I was on a section 3 in a Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit suffering with absolutely crippling depression and psychosis - I never once imagined that I would be where I am now. But the only person who has got me to this place, is me.

July 2015 - a number of days before I was sectioned. I was swollen everywhere because my body wasn't coping with being beaten up time and time again, and my eyes and skin were turning yellow.

Now, 2016. I'm happy and my mind is the healthiest it has been in years. At the time of writing this, I haven't harmed myself in 35 weeks. I'm finally content with being alive. 

Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome

Since May is Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome awareness month, I figured that I'd do a blog post on the subject.

Being diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome was kind of like a double edged sword - I mean, being told that you have a life-long illness destined to cause you pain and other symptoms doesn't exactly make your day. But then again, getting a diagnosis also gave me a massive sense of relief and hope. This mystery illness, constantly causing my joints to hurt and dislocate, finally had a name. After being told so many times that it was "all in my head", this diagnosis finally gave us the answer we were looking for.

Some people reading this might be wondering right now, "What is Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome"?

Ehlers Danlos Syndrome is a group of connective tissue disorders, meaning that a genetic mutation has caused the bodies connective tissue to act abnormally. This causes a multitude of symptoms such as joint hypermobility, unstable joints leading to dislocations, chronic pain and fatigue, gastrointestinal symptoms and heart abnormalities. Although many people with EDS live life to the full, the condition can lead to life-limiting and even life-threatening symptoms.

I personally have EDS type 3, also known as the hypermobility type. I get a lot of joint dislocations, especially in my shoulder, hands, knees and feet. I also get joint pain which I take daily pain relief for, and other health complications.

Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome is thought to affect 1 in 5,000 people although it could actually be a lot more common than that! Please share this post so that more people can become aware of this condition. Illness isn't always visible, and this is commonly the case in people with EDS.

Shoulder dislocation

Finding my feet again

This past week has been the best week I've had in what must be months, maybe even years. I feel like I have a whole new lease of life! Things are finally on the up and life is looking positive.

As I mentioned a couple of posts back, on Tuesday I started an apprenticeship as a pharmacy dispensing assistant - and I am loving it! I've learned so much about the pharmaceutical industry in such little time, I've met new people, I've overcome many anxieties and I'm slowly but surely getting my confidence back. I have something to wake up and look forward to each day. I have a reason to keep myself on the straight and narrow, I have something motivating me. This feels like the beginning of a new life for me.

I can't believe that this time 10 months ago, I was being sectioned and sent 170 miles away from home to a psychiatric intensive care unit. I spent 6 months in that hospital, in which time I went through some horrendous ups and downs - and yet, look at me now.

I'm turning my whole life around.

If I can do it, then anybody can. Never, ever doubt yourself.

Onwards and upwards

On Sunday, I was sectioned. And now I am absolutely and totally determined to make that my last ever mental health act section.

I've been letting my defences down recently, and allowing my family to see a part of me that I've kept to myself for all these years. I've allowed people to help me and comfort me. I'm finally letting people in.

Things are actually looking up. I have so many things to look forward to and I feel as though I'm getting over this rough patch and moving onwards.

I don't feel ready to openly talk about what has been happening for me lately, and for the majority of my life, but I'm hoping that one day I will. I've started writing my story down, and I hope one day to publish it.

On Tuesday, I start an apprenticeship as a pharmacy dispensing assistant and I am so excited! I finally have something to keep me on the straight and narrow, something to look forward to every day.

I've realised that every time I'm feeling down from now on, I just need to remind myself that things DO and WILL get better, and right now, I am living proof of that.

I have my family behind me every step of the way and really, that's all that matters.

My lungs are trying to kill me

Yes, you read the title right; my lungs currently are trying to kill me. I have pneumonia, again.

I have been in hospital for 8 days now.

Last week, I was taken to A&E where a chest x-ray revealed that I have pneumonia for the second time in 6 months. I had already been started on IV antibiotics for a different condition, so they continued giving me them in the hopes that they'd kick the infection out of my lungs.

Unfortunately, a couple of days ago I became extremely unwell and it became apparent that the antibiotics I was being given weren't working. Yesterday, I started struggling to breathe - I was so scared. I couldn't talk properly, I couldn't eat or drink or even walk because I was so breathless.

Eventually, things became so serious that the ICU consultant came to see me. My lungs were given the final ultimatum - if they didn't start improving, I would be moved to the intensive care unit.

That night was terrifying. I was alone in hospital with the prospect of ICU hanging over my head, along with the feeling that I was being suffocated by my own lungs. But thanks to the help of stronger antibiotics, things started looking up in the early hours of this morning.

I feel so much better this evening! I've been having plenty of nebulisers, fluids and oxygen which seem to finally be kicking this horrible infection. I still have 7 days left of IV antibiotics, but I'm still hoping that I'll get home before then!

Thank you for all of the continued love and support during these difficult times.

Beat Bullying

When I was 5 years old,  I was diagnosed with sensorineural hearing loss. This meant that I was born deaf, and I had to wear bilateral hearing aids in order to hear. At first, it was exciting! I picked pink sparkly ones for my first pair, and a second pair with cats and dogs printed on them! I couldn't wait to show them to my friends.

Only, when I got to school, the bullying began. Kids would point at me and laugh and try to pull my hearing aids out of my ears. Luckily, I had a brilliant teacher who stuck up for me. He was completely deaf and so wore a cochlear implant to make him hear. He taught me how to lip read and explained to the other children why I wore hearing aids. He stopped anybody bullying me and taught me a lot about compassion.

Then began secondary school. I was one of 'those' kids, the one who never quite fit in anywhere. I was picked on for a multitude of things.

I thought that once I'd left school, all of the bullying would stop.

But what I didn't realize, is just how powerful the internet is.

Long story short, an argument arose over Instagram a few nights ago because a girl had posted inappropriate photos that upset and worried a lot of people. I recommended that she remove the photos as they are inappropriate and upsetting. But rather than simply removing them, all hell broke loose.

Now I am receiving messages from people I don't even know telling me that they are going to "smack my face in" and "slit my throat".

What has this world come to? We live in a world where we're afraid to go out alone because of threats like these.

• attacks
• rapes
• murders
• theft
• peer judgement

I got an anonymous phone call earlier from somebody claiming that they're going to find out where I live and slit my throat. Do you know how terrifying that it?

I envision my life as being beautiful and wonderful, full of peace and serenity, friends and family, a bright future and education. Why can't life be that simple? Why are we so full of hatred and jealousy and loathing and rage, Why do we kill each other, kill ourselves, bully, hurt, injure and abuse one another? Where is it getting us?

Roughly 77% of school  children are bullied or have been bullied. This statistic needs to come down.

Is it any wonder that so many teenagers have mental health problems?

National Eating Disorders Awareness Week

So this week is National Eating Disorders Awareness Week. Although I myself have never been diagnosed with an eating disorder, many of you will know that I have suffered dramatically with my weight as a result of my depression.

I wanted to talk about the stereotypes surrounding eating disorders, and educate people on what sufferers go through on a daily basis.

Now, when you hear the phrase 'eating disorder', I'm sure that the first image that enters your mind is an emaciated, bone-thin girl. Although this is one form of an eating disorder, there are many other types. One thing that you should know, is that eating disorders do not discriminate. You do not have to be deathly thin in order to have an eating disorder. There are many forms of these disorders, just a few being:

• Anorexia Nervosa
• Bulimia Nervosa
• Binge Eating Disorder
• Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified (EDNOS)

Anybody can have an eating disorder, whether you're male or female, black or white, religious or not, underweight or overweight.

Although I have never been diagnosed as having an eating disorder, food and body weight has previously been a huge issue for me. I used to struggle with my body image so much that I would restrict the food that I ate, to the point that I became underweight, unwell, and being forced to drink meal supplements in hospital. Now I am quite the opposite. I now binge-eat when I feel emotional, which has left my weight fluctuating and eventually settling in the 'obese' category. 

Eating disorders are just like any other mental health disorder - they are mental disorders. This is where I reiterate that it doesn't matter whether you are underweight, overweight, or even a healthy weight - it is your mindset that dictates whether or not you have an eating disorders and more psychiatrists need to recognize this. 

One of my closest friends, Jazz, has suffered with an eating disorder for the past 4 years and seeing her become so unwell that she was eventually tube-fed in hospital has been heartbreaking. But it has also been wonderful to see her flourish and get better again. Here is an extract written by her in recognition of EDAW:

"For the last 4 years, I've struggled with Anorexia and honestly, it's been HELL - NOT glamorous or romantic like it's often portrayed as by the media and by pro-anorexia sites. My recovery journey has been long and I've certainly had a fair few obstacles to tackle along the way, and my journey is far from over. This will be an issue that I will continue to battle all of my life. But each day I will continue to keep fighting, I will keep eating, keep getting stronger and hopefully gain more positivity along the way." - Jazz Holland 

Nobody can save you from yourself

I remember being 15 years old and being admitted to a psychiatric hospital for the first time. I believed that being admitted would cure me, that it would present me with the salvation I was so deeply craving. The idea of being admitted felt almost comfortable - I imagined it being just like the movies portrayed; I'd be wrapped up in bubble wrap, whisked away from my terrible thoughts and protected from myself. Oh, how wrong I was.

You see, in the end, nobody can truly protect you from yourself. The only person who can protect you from yourself is you.

My first admission was a hectic one, to put it lightly. In more accurate terminology, I was an absolute nightmare. Nobody could look after me, and I made sure of that. I was more an angsty, angry teenager as opposed to anything else. I began to blame everyone around me for the fact that I wasn't getting better - I blamed my 'lack of treatment', my 'poor care', my 'futile' care team. Anybody but myself.

During that admission, I spent the majority of my time on a wild path of self destruction. I would go on home leave and self harm, abscond from the unit and self harm, and even bring back items from home to self harm with. I'd jump the fence, just for the hell of it, as well as run away from the on-site school, just because I could. I refused to attend therapy, I refused to take my medications, and point-blank refused any help I was offered. Long story short, I didn't get better during that admission. Looking back now, I know it's because I refused to help myself.

My transformation from angry teenager to the person I am now can only be put down to one thing - maturity.

At the beginning of my most recent admission, I refused to engage and ultimately I got nowhere. Then, I began to help myself. I attended therapy, education and groups, I engaged with staff and patients and began to build my leave up.

And here I am now. I am completely discharged from hospital and I am no longer on section! Sure, I'm not completely better. I still have a long, long way to go yet, but I'm getting there. I still have some down days, and admittedly, I have had a few slip ups along the way. But I'm getting there.

Moral of the story: Nobody can save you from yourself, the only person who can save you is you.

My story

Imagine this:

"It's a summers evening. You've just been to town to do some window shopping, now you're walking home, alone. A naïve teenager, you believe that you live in a relatively safe neighbourhood. That's when he confronts you."

My mental health story begins when I began secondary school.

Flashback to 2010 - self harm is a growing trend in school. My peers were harming themselves simply because everybody else was doing it. How upsetting is that? Children as young as 11 were putting scars and bruises on their fragile skin just to 'fit in'. That's probably a contributory factor as to how my self injury began.

A few months prior to my development of mental health issues, my father upped and left home. We were in the middle of renovating, and I didn't have a bedroom at the time - I was sleeping on a mattress on the floor. So as you can probably guess, circumstances were difficult. I was already a stereotypical angsty teenager who believed the world and all of its inhabitants were against her, so the situation at hand didn't exactly help my mood.

I've never really fit in anywhere, whether it be due to my obsessions, my style, my looks or my personality. The bullying started the same day that I started secondary school. I only had one friend, but that was enough for me. My classmates always seemed to find something wrong with me, something they could use to belittle me and hurt my feelings. I wasn't the type of person who could just block out derogatory comments; I'd go home and cry almost every day.

When I was 14 years old, I was attacked by a stranger when I was walking home. Do you know one thing that really gets to me? It's when people say that women provoked the attack by wearing provocative clothing. I was wearing a baggy red hoodie, denim jeans and a pair of ratty trainers - I wouldn't class that as 'provocative'.

Then, I met a new girl at school. She was lovely, I thought, until I saw her arms. I'd never heard of self harm before, let alone seen it, so her scarred arms were a shock to me. Despite our differences, we became good friends. We'd play our guitars together and introduce each other to new music. Our friendship blossomed and we started sharing our secrets. Unfortunately, she decided to share a little more than was necessary. She told me that self harm makes you feel better, and taught me that it was a good coping mechanism. Eventually, she even began supplying me with sharps. This is when my self harm began.

Since she told me that self harm made her feel better, I thought that it'd take away my problems, too. Little did I know, it'd only create more problems.

Fast forward a couple of years - my doctor has referred me to CAMHS, the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services. I'm still self harming, and it's gradually getting worse. My cuts are getting deeper and I've stopped eating. My weight has dropped drastically and I'm incredibly depressed.

I eventually meet a psychiatrist who prescribes me Fluoxetine, an antidepressant medication. One of the side effects of Fluoxetine is suicidal thoughts, and just my luck - that's the one side effect that I developed.

A couple of weeks later, after a steady spiral of depression and psychotic episodes, I took an overdose that landed me in hospital. My mental state continued to deteriorate and I was admitted to my first mental health unit.

Long story short, things got worse still and I was sectioned and transferred to a Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit in Maidenhead. This experience was honestly horrifying and still haunts me to this day. I was drugged up to my eyeballs on Levomepromazine - I couldn't walk, I couldn't talk, I couldn't eat and I was sleeping 23 hours a day. I became so distressed that I was restrained and injected with a sedative. Eventually I realised that the only way I was going to leave that place was if I put on a brave face and acted like everything was okay - so that's exactly what I did.

A couple of months later, I was discharged from hospital and I went back home with my family. I had a relatively good 8 months in which I went back to school, started going out with friends, stopped self harming and although I wasn't entirely happy, I wasn't completely depressed, either. We called this the 'honeymoon period', a period in which everything seemed blissful. Unfortunately, as you can probably guess by my most recent hospitalisation, this period didn't last.

I fell back into a terrible pattern of self harming behaviours and was spending the majority of my time in hospital. I was reported as a missing person numerous times until eventually, in July 2015, I made a serious attempt at my life. I was taken to hospital by the police where I was sectioned under a section 2 of the mental health act and required 2 operations.

When I awoke the next morning, I was shocked to find private ambulance drivers waiting for me. Nobody had told me that I was being sent to another mental health unit. After a violent struggle and several sedative injections, I willingly walked to the ambulance where I was transferred to a hospital nearly 200 miles away from home.

I spent the next six months in Alpha Hospital where I underwent therapy and learned to cope better with my emotions. And here I am, six months later. Some days, I still get depressed. And yes, I still self harm occasionally, but all in all, I am a million times better than I ever imagined I could be.

Honesty is the key

So, this is an exceptionally difficult post for me to write, but I can't continue putting up a façade.

I could carry on telling everyone around me that I am A-Okay, that I am happy, that I am doing well. I could keep smiling and laughing and putting on a generally cheerful appearance. But what's the point? Why should I keep up this pretence that all is well, when all is really not well at all?

I guess you could say that I am once again falling into a slump. And yes, I know that what I need to do is to pull myself up from this gradual slope of depression before it gets out of hand, but I almost don't want to. I'm tired, exhausted even. I am fed up.

Will this cycle ever end? Depression - into hospital - out of hospital - depression - into hospital - out of hospital.

(I apologise profusely for the sense of self-pity that I am displaying.)

I feel like I'm just reaching the end of it. I want to be happy, truly happy. I want to go to college, I want to have my own flat, I want to have friends and a partner and a life. But truthfully, I don't currently feel as though I can do any of that.

At this moment in time, I am honestly terrified.

You see, on Tuesday I am being discharged from my section 3, which means that I won't have a safety net to fall back onto when things become tough. I am fully aware that I should be learning to cope with things alone, but I just don't feel independent enough yet. I'm scared. I'm scared because I can't rely on myself to keep on top of my medications; I'm scared because I can't rely upon myself to stop self harming; and I'm scared because I don't feel like I'm ready to fully intergrate back into the community just yet.

Just two weeks ago, I was discharged from a Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit, where our access to anything was so limited. And now suddenly, I have access to everything and anything, including sharps and medications. Can you imagine how scary that is for me? How difficult it has been to go from having nothing to having everything all at once? I've had no rehabilitation, no therapy, no nothing. Hell, I don't even have an accurate diagnosis.

On the exterior, it appears that I have come along in leaps and bounds. But inside, I am struggling immensely. I am struggling with people, voices and images that others cannot see nor hear. I am struggling with thoughts of suicide and self harm. I am struggling with the thought of being on my own as of Tuesday.

I regret with all my heart moving back down south. I wish that I could turn back the clock and insist that I stay on the adult ward in Sheffield, where I could have had the appropriate therapeutic input. But sadly, that is completely impossible.

I apologise abundantly for rambling on and for drowning you all in my deep pool of self pity. I simply needed a place to write down my current feelings and worries.

Life at home

Surprise! I'm at home!

So ward round - evidently - went brilliantly yesterday! I was given 2 nights at home which will hopefully be extended tomorrow given that my leave continues to go well.

I am feeling quite unhappy and let down, though. The ward that I've been sent to is everything that I imagined it would be, aka horrific. It's an acute adult ward, a ward designed for short term admissions, with a lack of therapy and empathy. The staff treat you as though you are a problem as opposed to a person; it's extremely unsettled, loud and busy; and they're more eager to get you discharged instead of getting you better, and then discharged. I feel as though an acute ward is entirely the wrong place for me to continue my recovery, especially after being on a PICU for the previous 6 months.

Anyhow, enough with the rambling and more about my time at home.

It has been an absolute nightmare trying to fit all of my belongings back into my bedroom! I'll give you just one example of the contents of one of my craft boxes, which I can no longer fit the lid on:

My washi tape collection has overflown! (And yes, I am awaiting a yet another washi delivery from Amazon).

Thanks to the Paperchase sale, though, I now have more craft boxes in order to accommodate my collection of washi tape, stickers, card embellishments, letter writing and general craft stuff!

So as you've probably gathered, my home leave is going really well! I've been able to sleep in my own bed, begin reorganizing my bedroom, go out shopping, learn how to knit again, and organise my abundant supply of craft boxes!

Life is good at the moment.

Moving on

So, I'm 18 now. Well, to be exact, I turned 18 on Sunday! Exciting times.

Somthing that I have, however, found a little less exciting is the transfer from adolescent services to adults. As you've probably guessed, I've now left Alpha and am at an adult unit. One good thing is that I've stepped down! I am no longer a PICU patient as I am now on an acute ward.

My transfer was unfortunately very scary and tearful. Seeing the staff from Alpha leave me in the care of this new hospital was extremely hard. The ward was unsettled when I arrived which made it all the more difficult for me.

I have ward round today at 12pm so fingers crossed I'll get some leave!

Thank you to the staff at Alpha for trying to make my transfer as smooth and as easy as possible.

Thank you Haven ward

Thank you Haven ward.
Thank you for holding my hands to keep me from harming myself,
Thank you for all of the hours you spent consoling me,
Thank you for teaching me that I'm worth a lot more than I thought,
Thank you for still caring for me, even when I told you not to,
Thank you for the sneaky hugs when my family weren't able to be there to comfort me themselves,
Thank you for buying me a takeaway after long nights in A&E,
Thank you for making me laugh and smile, even when I didn't want to,
Thank you for wiping away my tears,
Thank you for teaching me right from wrong,
Thank you for teaching me how to live again,
Thank you for showing me how to love myself,
Thank you for giving me my life back.
Thank you to all of the wonderful patients that I've met along the way.
Thank you for everything, Haven ward.

You've done more for me than anyone else could have done and I will always be grateful. I'm going to miss you all so much, staff and patients alike, but I'm so happy to be moving on and stepping down from PICU.

Monday is going to be filled with tears of both happiness and sadness due to leaving behind such incredible people. Please keep doing what you're doing and helping people like you've helped me, because honestly, you're changing lives for the better.

Thank you.

The asthma chronicles

Apparently, it isn't enough for my brain to be dysfunctional - I also have the added delight of airways that choose to pack in every so often.

I had yet another asthma attack yesterday, just one of many. I was minding my own business, coloring and drawing, when I start wheezing. Cue panic! All logic goes out of the window. You see, I was granted home leave today and I was worried that an asthma attack would prevent me from going on leave. So I try to pretend that I'm okay, and obviously I'm not. Anyway, long story short, staff set me up a nebuliser and I eventually get my breath back - panic over.

Luckily, this was just a minor attack. Usually, my O2 sats hit 70-80% and I end up being whisked off to hospital via ambulance. I spend a few hours in resus, have a chest x-ray, CT scan, oxygen and nebulisers - the whole shebang. This tends to happen every few weeks.

Thankfully, I'm well enough to go on home leave (5 hours!) today, but I'm not always this lucky. Winter has been particularly difficult for me, having resulted in several chest infections and a nasty pneumonia infection in both of my lungs.

Aside from the frustration and occasional tears, I'm dealing with it.