For a few months after, I was doing slightly better, still depressed but didn’t immediately want to kill myself. But then I slipped, I became more depressed and suicidal and also started self-harming again. I told the relevant people, school counsellor, psychologist and psychiatrist I was feeling bad again. Made an agreement with my school counsellor that if I were to start hoarding medication again and I didn’t tell her she would no longer be able to see me. Which was a big deal to me because I don’t think I would last long if I didn’t have her to support me, even now. My psychiatrist who never took me seriously even though I had attempted and nearly succeeded before put me on anti anxiety meds and a new anti depressant, which just made me more of a zombie than I already was. When I ran out I went back on my own for a refill, my mum usually dealt with all my meds and locked them away, so all I wanted off my psychiatrist was a repeat prescription that I could give to my mum and she could deal with. But instead my psychiatrist went into some drawer and pulled out a full bottle of the meds and gave them to me, he knew I was suicidal, he knew I’d attempted before and he tempted me with a full bottle of meds instead of a prescription. I seriously considered swallowing them all right there and then, or taking them home and hoarding them.
Instead remembering my promise to my school counsellor, I drove to school and handed them to her. She was proud of me, and then she called my mum up from where she was working at the time in the school library. She told me and my mum she thought I needed better psychiatric care than could be offered there, so I should go back to England and get some, maybe even inpatient care. This was now April 2013. Three days later I was on a plane back to England.
After getting back I saw my GP, had never seen her before as I had been moved to a different GP from my old one whilst I was away. She referred me to the local psychiatric team, they didn’t think inpatient care would be the best thing for me so instead they put me on the hospital at home program; which is basically where someone from a team of psychiatric nurse’s come to your house every day to talk to you. It was okay, not great but okay and the nurses were alright. But after a month you get moved onto the longer term program and get given a care coordinator.
My first care coordinator was rubbish, and my second and my third and final one. I just couldn’t click with them and I didn’t feel they understood on any level what I was going through. I wasn’t getting any sort of regular treatment, it was an hour every two weeks, which isn’t a lot for someone who is terribly depressed. That’s if they even turned up at all. My second one forgot me on what was meant to be our first session, I ditched him after two sessions and asked for someone different. My third wasn’t as bad as the first two but she didn’t turn up on multiple occasions leaving me without anyone to speak to for weeks.
Not happy with the treatment I was getting I searched google for someone private to see. I found a place who had lots of psychologists in different locations within the county I live in and a neighbouring county. And they also had psychologists who specialised in treating people with chronic pain. I contacted them with a brief snippet about me and my issues, they emailed straight back and we set up and appointment for the week after with a psychologist who practiced about half an hour from where I live and treated people mainly with chronic pain.
My first appointment went well, I clicked with her instantly, she was nice, I really liked her and felt like she understands what I have been going through. In our session we talked about everything, how I was feeling that week etc etc.
Despite finding a great psychologist I downward spiralled again, sinking into a pit of depression and not knowing or wanting to get out. This was at the start of this year. I just desperately wanted my life to be over, the pain in my head to be over, but I couldn’t see a life worth living if all it was going to be was more pain and the misery that comes with the pain. My psychologist has started me on acceptance and commitment therapy by this time and we were working through that and the exercises in the book. I got the idea but I didn’t get how to get there when I was feeling so dark because of the pain. I started hoarding medication again ready for the right time.
Then I’m not entirely sure what happened but something in me sort of clicked, the whole acceptance thing started to click. I decided I wanted to live, I wanted to accept that I am in pain and I probably will always be in pain, I wanted to try and move on with my life despite pain, I wanted to try and actually live a good life despite pain. I threw them all away, all of the medication I just got rid of, so I no longer had it, so I could no longer use it. And that was my first step towards acceptance. I then decided I needed to try and do something with my life despite the pain in my head, so I applied to go to college in September, and I got in.
To be continued…