I have never professed to be perfect. In fact, in my family, I’m the fuck up. The black sheep. The disappointment. And no this isn’t a beg for “oh surely not” comments; I genuinely am and I’ve radically accepted that. And, at times, I live up to it.
I recently posted a video on my Facebook and Instagram about how open we should be about mental health, and how I hope my son’s generation will focus on mental illness as much as they do the flu jab, checking our breasts and prostate.
I said I genuinely hoped all my friends were ok and that the world needs them. It was a lovely message, I thought. Good sentiment, good intention and I received some really sweet and supportive messages.
But I am the biggest hypocrite going. I will tell others to ring the Samaritans (24/7, 365 days a year on 116 123) but due to our story being the feature of a special campaign (Small Talk Saves Lives), I don’t feel I can ring them. I comment on people’s social media how strong they are and how they shouldn’t give up but behind closed doors, I am sinking.
I was given some community support post-discharge by the Early Discharge Team which is umbrella-d by the Crisis Team. He came out to see me on a promised day’s follow up, stayed for 15 minutes and asked very little. We planned a meet for today (25th) and he called me at 3.15pm to ask if he could visit. Due to miscommunication which was a matter of 5-6 minutes, he’d filled his appointment and said he would see me tomorrow as he finished at 5. It was a good job I’d been to see my lovely GP today, because I was honest with him as I would have been with the community guy.
I wish people like that community guy realised that those who suffer with mental illness don’t just struggle 9-5. We suffer daily, nightly, 24/7, all the time, however you want to put it.
I encourage others to reach out for help yet I don’t myself. I would rather suffer in silence than burden other people. I keep it all inside for fear of scaring people away. When I do reach out (on the rare occasion) it’s often me with unhelpful comments or dismissal which, as part of my diagnosis dictates, I don’t deal with rejection very well. I’d rather suffer in silence than risk being rejected.
There you have it. I’m the biggest hypocrite going, as has been pointed out to me since my Facebook video. I’m sad and depressed. I’m lonely despite being around people. I don’t know how I’m coping. I’m vulnerable, weak, in the throws of grief and despair, and still trying to maintain a standard façade because one thing I passionately HATE about EUPD is that it is assumed I am manipulative.
Don’t expect much from me right now. I’m sorry xxx
The Warrior Within 