Mad:My history
All my life there has been oddness dogging me, its manifestations have been various but fairly evenly spaced. Until the birth of my second daughter, the stitching together of my reality had been a simple enough task. The energy required to stay still and focus was caught up as part of work and life in general. I merely considered myself burnt out from time to time, certainly not in any way unwell. But I worked in an environment with addicts and dual diagnosis patients (those with mental health conditions and drug addictions, imagine the hijinks) so maybe I faded into the wallpaper alongside high end users.
However, a tipping point arrived with Lulu. Maybe it was adjusting to life as an older mother following may make overs and reinventions of myself. Perhaps harboured anxiety from my previous life, left to single parenthood by a man who gave not even a backward glance as he walked out to get the taxis that took him back to a batchelor life style he obviously could not give up. Either way, tremors and cracks started to show 4 months into Lulu's arrival.
Post natal depression was the first station to arrive. Fairly reasonable I thought as I chugged the anti-depressants in the sure knowledge i would be saved. A year later the cutting had started. Which was a suprise to all, myself included. And with that change, the tone of the approach became darker. Longer pauses at the GP,s referrals, health visitors dropping in. Boxes being ticked. More medication, CBT sessions with a very nice woman who did not want to save me. Her initial reserve was helpful, somehow calming. I didn't do my usual party trick of trying to make her like me. During this time there were ups and downs, advances and retreats. Family counselling soon moved into the spot light. The admission that mental health does not happen in a vacum it has an impact on all around. My first impression of the counsellor was not great. Only a nod at empathy and not very good with silence, a few nasty tricks for effect and that was your lot.
A year on, a suicide attempt. Not very clever I know, exasperation and not seeing the point of my continued existence came to head. Half way through I realised the sheer stupidity of what I was doing, the hurt I was going to inflict on everyone through my own thoughtlessness. The brink was briefly mounted but happily rejected in favour of erm....other means. More drugs.
I think the most enlightening aspect of being a user of mental health services, is the patchy quality of the staff. From the dangerous to life savers. But, as I need to remind myself, this is a manifestation of a system that has broken. I don't think anyone cares enough anymore to fix the glaring problems, burdened as they are with goals and restructuring, efficency targets and so on. So, frontline staff are demoralised, but the work loads doesn't change, the funding is under constant threat and if anything goes terribly wrong guess who has to answer the questions.
I am now into my fourth year of being a part of the system. My diagnosis is a mood disorder. Fine, whatever you want to call it. Keep taking the meds. There is more to this than the above, but I have made a start. I hope you all read it and ponder it. I hope if this is any part of your life, you are not alone.
Posted by tulapalula at 00:54