The power of Prayer?

I should start this by saying that when it comes to religion I’m now Agnostic at best. I’d like to think there’s something out there but it doesn’t sit well with the scientist in me and since I struggle so much with this life, the idea of an eternal one is enough to give me nightmares! However, this wasn’t always the case. When I was 12 I went to boarding school for a year. It wasn’t planned and was a hasty decision as the result of circumstances.  The Chaplain/RS teacher at the school was young, charismatic and enthusiastic and I became quite hooked. I even considered getting Confirmed but didn’t because I didn’t want the hassle of having to be baptised first (my parents never had me Christened, something I’m incredibly grateful to them for).

I struggled with homesickness – my close family were 7 hours away by plane – and it was around this time I started praying before I went to sleep. Not the forced prayers of Church services but a decision of choice. It was never much – a thank you for the day (or a thank you for getting me throught the day!), a request to sleep well free from nightmares and to have a good day the next day. Finally it was a request to protect my family, friends and myself from any damage or harm that might befall us.

As the years have gone by (wow, that makes me feel old!), the religion has faded but the prayers have remained. They’ve been a constant for the last 10 years, I could probably count the number of times I’d missed them on the finers of one hand.  So, where is this story going you may legitamately ask?

Saturday was the wedding. The ceremony was beautiful, the bride looked fabulous and the sun shone. On a personal level though it was an emotional train wreck and ended up with my parents having to drive two hours to pick me up and bring me home to prevent me jumping out the top floor window of the B+B. I only include that to explain why it was that I got home and collapsed into bed, too exhausted to pray.

And since then I’ve made a conscious decision to stop, my before bed communions with the Almighty are no more. I don’t know why it was this precise event that triggered it (possibly the overly religious nature of the ceremony) but I’ve come to the conclusion that if there is a God then he’s a cruel bastard for letting my life run the way it is and also what’s the point in talking to someone who I don’t really think is there.

It seems odd writing this now. My prayers have been my little secret, I don’t think I’ve mentioned them to anyone and yet now I’m telling the world I’ve stopped.

WLTM

So you may or may not have established that I am coping badly on my own and despite my mothers best attempts to set me up with the offspring of assorted workcolleagues, it seems set to stay that way. Since internet dating is meant to be the in thing these days I thought I’d have a go at my own advert.

WARNING: The following is my attempt at coping using bitterly sarcastic humour. Please ignore if easily offended/triggered.

Female, 23. I’d say GSOH but more a bitterly twisted and incredibly sarcastic sense of humour that has a tendency to go too far without my realising it. I suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder. This means I will come across as manipulative, demanding, nagging and repetitive while I think I am being truthful, kind, considerate and caring. Any attempts to point this out to me will be met badly. I will have a plan in my head of how I expect you to behave (which will obviously not be explained to you) and if you do not act in a manner that fits it, I will allow it to ruin at the very least the rest of the day, probably the whole week. I am moody and suicidal. There’s a good chance I will attempt to kill myself at least once over the course of any relationship, if you’re lucky, I’ll succede. I will store up things you have done which hurt me and will throw them back in your face at the most inopportune moment. I will come out with the nastiest things imaginable when what I really mean is “hold me and protect me”. My mood can flip between euphoric and suicidal without warning, sometimes multiple times each day and my views of you and others will follow simiarly erratic trajectories. Oh, and just because I can say all this, don’t expect me to know how to do anything about it.

I am very in to cuddling and kissing but anything beyond that leaves me paralysed with fear and self loathing so don’t be expecting to score. I’m also still head over heels in love with my ex so don’t expect to be my special someone.

I’m going to be a student for at least the next three years so ideally I’m looking for someone able to support me financially. I have what used to be described as ‘rolls royce ideas on a push bike income’ except for my income would struggle to afford the rear wheel for a pushbike never mind the frame. My idea of fun involves either picking up paralytic drunks on a Friday night or hobbies more generally followed by those 50+.

On the plus side, I am a fairly good cook

I am expecting to be overwhelmed by numerous applications so the ultimate winner will be determined by a set of tasks of my choosing!

Rent a friend

My mood’s a tiny bit better today. I’m still definitely on the down side but it’s livable with and the desire to stop everything has faded to a distant chatter rather than an all consuming shout. One of my problems is that as soon as I start to fall, I shy away from the world. I retreat to my room and my laptop, curl up under the duvet and cry, sometimes for days at a time. The rational part of my brain (there is one there honest!) knows this is about the worst thing I could do but at the moment I don’t have many other options.

The last time I went out was back at the beginning of May – in the intervening 2 months I basically haven’t seen anyone other than my parents. I thought I had friends in York but that’s *complicated* (to put it tactfully and besides they were mostly students so are now on holiday anyway). Yes, I see people at work but as I work at different companies, it’s never the same people and it’s only a few hours a week. Recently I’ve had my fortnightly beading class but that really is it. Reading that back, I’ve realised just how sad and pathetic my life has become.

The truth is, I meet people badly. I don’t have a clue how to function in any social situations if I were to know how to get into those social situations in the first place. And if i knew how, I still wouldn’t as I don’t have the confidence. Everyone judges and then they betray you anyway so there’s no point. The few friends I have are hours drives away and I don’t want to bother them because frankly I don’t think my company would be up to much at the moment. People deserve better than me ruining their time.

I don’t want sympathy, I write this so that people can have an indication of how much mental illness can destroy someones life. There’s a part of me that wishes people would reach out to help because I’m incapable of reaching out to them. But I don’t know what I want other than maybe someone to sit in the pub with, having a few drinks and a chat.

Thankfully there is a slight bright spot on the horizon. A friend I’ve known for nearly 20 years is getting married on Saturday   I know enough people going that I should be just about alright with it although a venue full of happy couples probably isn’t the best of situations for me. I’ve never been to a wedding before (at least not since I’m old enough to remember) and I’m freaking out that I don’t know the etiquette and the way things procede. I know when it starts, and where the wedding and reception are but that’s it. I can envision myself crying in the corner because I said something I regret or turned up too early or too late. Still, I have a very pretty dress to wear so that’s a point in my favour and a fantabulous new haircut.

But that’s one day. Other than that it will be back to a blank social calendar. Oh what fun! My local Mind group offers a “befriending service” – basically a volunteer who is happy to meet up with someone for a few hours each week for a chat and to offer emotional and social support. I’m tempted but that would involve admitting there’s a problem and I’m far too embarassed for that. It’s too much of a blow to my already basically non-existent self confidence to need to effectively rent a friend for a few hours because I’m unable to make any real ones for myself.

Things that make me angry

Actually just about everything has the capacity to make me angry and usually manages it at some point or another but this is one thing in particular. It’s this article from the BBC that goes down the whole anti-depressants are a bad idea story line. It’s not the content itself I want to rant about, I’ll leave that to others, instead it’s the basic assumption that medication isn’t the only option readily available and accessible through the NHS.  Ok, the article isn’t as balatant as others I’ve read in pushing the idea of a fluffy, useful mental health service. My particular favourite was in one of these ‘Write to our Dr.’ type columns in some trashy womens magazines.

Question: I’ve been feeling a bit miserable on and off for the past year. What should I do?

Answer: It sounds like you could be suffering from depression. Go and see your GP and they’ll set you up with a course of counselling and maybe some therapy called CBT.

You’ve got to be joking. You’ll go see your GP, either they’ll tell you that you need to get out and do some more exercise, lose weight, stop smoking or any of the other behaviour based changes that can boost mood or more likely (at least in my experience) they’ll stick you on some crappy dose of dirt cheap anti-depressant – 10mg fluoxetine or similar – in the hope it will improve things via the placebo effect if nothing else. And people will take the pills because they won’t be offered that alternative, the therapy or the counselling that might really begin to address the underlying health concerns. This isn’t the GPs fault, it’s just the way the system is set up to function. Most of those people won’t come back, the “depression” will be a temporary blip and they will get through it but for those that it’s something more then years later, they’ll still be waiting, still unable to access any form of real support.

In all honesty, I hate the fact I’m dependant on my happy pills. I hate what happens when I forget to take them and the thought of being on them for ever more terrifies me. But don’t try and take them away from me, right or wrong, I need them to get me through the day. So go ahead and insult the meds, say they’re a bad idea but make damn sure you’ve got an accessible, functional alternative in place before you take them away.

Teetering

I’m not sure whether to write this or not. Maybe if I continue in blissful denial then things will turn around. I don’t want to confess to this, I don’t want to feel like a failure. I can be strong, keep portraying that facade to the world and nobody will know any better right?

I’m balanced on the edge, looking down into that deep, black, bottomless pit again. And I don’t know if I care enough to try and stop me falling. To be honest I think it may be too late even if I was prepared to fight. It just seems to me that life is ultimately pointless. Yes, you can have some good times and they’re fab and fun but they don’t last. Then the rest of the time you’re left with either darkness or dusk. The emptiness of not being  down as such just exisiting day to day with little to show for it and no sign of dawn ever coming round again. And the alternative? Let’s just not go there for now.

My life feels devoid of anything good going for it and my foothold on that edge is getting weaker all the time.

Things not to say to a depressed person #11,232

“You’re not the only person who has had bad things happen to them you know?”

And #11,233:

“What do you mean they were the only good thing in your life? Are you trying to say we’re not a good thing?”

Thanks mum. You always know how to make me feel better *rolls eyes desparingly*.

Stuck in the system.

I was first diagnosed with some sort of generic crazy back in 2006. Since then I’ve seen at least 5 doctors, 7 psychiatrists, 4 psychologists, a behavioural therapist and all manner of other shiny professionals I can’t think of right now (most for a maximum of half an hour each ever). I’ve taken 3 different antidepressants and one moodstabiliser, costing the NHS large sums of money in the process (and me £7.20 a month in prescription charges). I’ve visited A+E on a minimum of 4 occassions, had 3 ambulances called to me and spent 4 days on a ward. I’ve languished on a fair few waiting lists and seen 2 crisis teams. I’ve had all manner of diagnoses and cost my parents £500 in private assessments. And what has all this really achieved?

Since my first diagnosis I’ve buggered up my degree and lost the opportunity to get an incredibly well paid job that would have set me up for life. I’ve tried to kill myself twice and contemplated and planned it a million times more. I’ve alienated countless friends and scared away the love of my life. I’ve been effectively fired from one job and been barred from progressing any further in my hobby. My chosen future career could well be closed to me for good, I just don’t know.

And mentally I’m no further forward. Yes, I have an impressive sounding name that I can bandy around and blame certain behavioural traits on. I take the amusingly branded Tardcaps on a daily basis. But I’m still languishing at the bottom of those same waiting lists. I’m still waiting for some form of definitive help to clear up the quagmire in my mind that led me to seek help 3 years ago.

I hoped when I first sought that help that I was on the way to a brighter future, that my life would improve even just a little bit. I know I can’t say what would have happened had I never gone to the doctors and continued to struggle on alone as I had done in the past. I may have  still been sitting here writing a list of similar problems and questioning why I didn’t ask for assistance years ago. But when I made that decision to reach out, I hoped that no matter what, I’d be able to look back and be proud that I made the right decision for me. And I just can’t do it.

It’s all an act.

I was bullied a lot at school. I’ve been to many schools – boarding, international, state – and in some way or another I was bullied at all of them. I guess that goes to show I don’t fit in anywhere, but I already knew that. At one of them I was told that I could make it stop if I could just change my behaviour, act like I belonged, fit in. The problem is, I was already acting just as hard as I could to simply keep my head above water.I was doing my best to belong and it was never enough, not by a long shot.

I work so hard to exude a persona of normality, to pretend that everything’s ok even when it’s not and when I can’t act any more, I simply withdraw. Even what I write on here is an edited version of the truth. I censor myself so as not to let people get too close, to know the real me.

It’s self defense, for as long as I can remember whenever I do let my guard down, I get hurt worse than ever before. At least when the public face is attacked it doesn’t cut quite so deep. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had groups of friends. Admittedly they tend to be groups where I’ve existed on the periphery – useful when nobody else is around but not really worth wasting your time on. But that’s been enough, I’m so desperate to be liked and to fit in that I’ll accept that without question and I’ll be happy with it.

And slowly, I’ll relax, cracks will start to appear in the perfect mask and little slivers of “me” will escape. Those slivers will expand to expose whole facets of my personality until *BANG* I’ve gone too far. People realise the real me and are horrified. Just like that, I’ve lost another set of friends.

Only one person’s ever got all the way in, didn’t run when the cracks appeared, instead appreciated them and drew closer. But in the end, the result was the same and because they were so close the pain is unbearable.

So I will continue to act, play the part of Ana, the public persona because without it I’m alone.

The fairy in the forest

Both my parents are primary school teachers. This means that as the end of term approaches I get roped into assisting on school trips where they’ve been unable to otherwise find a selection of willing sacrifices. This means on Thursday I assisted in taking 49 year 1/2 choldren (so 6 and 7 year olds) to the park to play games (I mean do curriculum relevant science and maths based activities obviously).

One of these activities was a mini beast hunt down a wooded trail. They had to work in pairs and make a note of any minibeasts they found and where they were located. All well and good. We found a beetle on a rock, a spider on a branch and a woodlouse in the leaf litter. One of the girls was a bit quiet so Miss asked her “Emily, what have you found?”. The response, “well Miss, I saw a fairy but it flew away and I can’t see it anymore”. Trying desperately not to giggle, we quizzed her further in case fairy was some previously unknown piece of Yorkshire dialect for a fly or similar. But no, it was actually a fairy. Apparently it was wearing a dress and had wings so it was a girl fairy.

What was so lovely was not that she genuinely believed it but that all her classmates did too and backed her up. The total faith and innocence was almost enough to reinstate ones faith in humanity. Where do we lose it all? Not the belief in fairies, but the trust  in others.

When we were walking back my mum was asking another of the girls if she’d seen the fairy. The reply “No, but I wish we had found the dalek”!

One make you think.

Ok, this isn’t actually mine. It was written in our local Parish magazine, the sort of one that drops through your door every few months and lets you know that the church is still falling down and that the £2.34 and 3 buttons raised so far aren’t going to be sufficient to fix it. Anyway I thought it was pretty poignant as these kind of things go. But then and again, I’m an emotional, hormonal woman at the best of times and an emotional, hormonal woman with BPD the rest of the time so my judgement doesn’t necessarily count for much and you may well think it’s cloying, meaningless rubbish.

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Can I borrow £10?

A man came home from work late, tired and irritated, to find his 5 year old son waiting for him at the door.

Son: ‘Daddy, may I ask you a question?’

Dad: ‘Yeah, sure what is it?’

Son: ‘Daddy, how much do you make an hour?’

Dad: ‘That’s none of your business. Why do you ask such a thing?’

Son: ‘I just want to know. Please tell me how much do you make an hour?’

Dad: ‘If you must know I make £25 an hour.’

Son: ‘Oh,’ the little boy replied with his head down.

Son: ‘Daddy, may I please borrow £10?’

The father was furious. ‘If the only reason you asked is so that you can borrow some money to buy a silly toy or some other nonsense, then you march yourself straight to your room and go to bed. Think about why you’re being so selfish. I don’t have time for such childish frivolities.’

The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door.

The man sat down and started to get even angrier about the little boy’s questions. How dare he ask such questions only to get some money? After an hour or so, the man had calmed down and started to think: maybe there was something he really needed to buy with that £10 and he didn’t ask for money that often. The man went to his son’s room and opened the door.

‘Are you asleep son?’ he asked.

‘No Daddy, I’m awake,’ replied the little boy.

‘I’ve been thinking maybe I was too hard on you earlier,’ said the man, ‘it’s been a long day and I took out my aggression on you. Here’s the £10 you asked for.

The little boy sat straight up, smiling ‘Oh thank you Daddy!’ he yelled. Then reaching under his pillow, he pulled out some crumpled up notes. Seeing he already had money, the father started to get angry again. The little boy counted out his money and then looked at his father.

‘Why do you want more money if you already have some?’ the father grumbled.

‘Because I didn’t have enough, but now I do,’ the little boy replied. ‘Daddy, I have £25 now. Can I buy an hour of your time? Please come home an hour early tomorrow, I would like to have dinner with you.’

The father was crushed. He put his arm around his little son and begged for his forgiveness. It’s just a short reminder to all of you working so hard in life. We should not let time slip through our fingers, without having spent some time with those who really matter to us, those close to our hearts. Do remember to share that £25 of your time with someone you love.

If we die tomorrow, the company that we are working for could easily replace us in a matter of hours. But the family and friends we leave behind will feel the loss for the rest of their lives.

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