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.