Thanks everyone! As promised I have a new update. And then I'll have some more Sunday/Monday as I haven't typed it all out yet.
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I didn’t really know what to do but I found that a bag of frozen vegetables on my arm helped the pain a bit.
The pain at work the next day was excruciating. I’m not one to cry at pain but I came very close that day. It was only a 3 hour shift but it seemed to go on forever. I put on the mask I was so used to wearing and prayed that it wouldn’t crack until I got home. It got to a point where I was running to the bathroom or walk in freezer whenever I could to allow myself to pull faces and stomp a bit out of pain.
It seems so pathetic when I look back on it. I was desperate not to let anyone know I was hurting in any respect that I felt the need to hide before I could acknowledge it myself. I rarely feel empathy towards myself, but thinking about some of the days I used to have makes me wonder how I managed it at all.
The weekend finally came to an end and my hand had impossibly swollen more. I reluctantly called my GP on Monday morning for an appointment. I decided that as I was going, perhaps I should use the opportunity to ask for help too. I still felt mentally awful and whilst I had only slipped up once, I didn’t want it to become my life again. I never doubted that I would be taken seriously and offered help. I couldn’t forget how I had been treated in my own home town but I felt sure that my new life would give me the opportunities that I wanted. Needed.
It was the first time I had seen a GP at the university’s medical centre. I was nervous; I always got incredibly nervous before I saw any medical professional and it always left me feeling nauseous. I was the only one in the waiting room and got called through almost straight away. It was a woman Dr and she introduced herself as Dr Salmon. She asked why I was there and I managed to explain what I had done and how my arm and hand were feeling. She didn’t seem too interested but she had a look, diagnosed an infection and gave me a prescription for antibiotics. I hesitated, hoping she would throw me a rope, but she didn’t.
‘Erm. I was also wondering if I could get some help.’
‘For what?’ Was she serious?
‘Well. For the self harm and my mood. It’s not been very good.’
‘We don’t just prescribe anti-depressants to everyone who asks for them.’
‘Oh. Well, I wasn’t really asking for –‘
‘I mean, we could refer you to the psychology services, but that can take 6 months or so, there’s not much point in doing that.’
‘I suggest you go to the uni counselling service. If you want to talk to someone they can do that.’
‘Is there anything else?’
I didn’t understand what had happened. I didn’t want medication and I never had; I didn’t think it could help much. I couldn’t understand then why she didn’t want to refer me, though in hindsight I suppose she wanted me to see someone sooner. Perhaps. At the time I felt that I had been dismissed again and felt worse for it.
I had had ‘episodes’ of what I can now recognise as psychosis and in that year they became very prominent. I spent hours at a time hiding in my bathroom, terrified and convinced that ‘they’ were coming to get me. I saw things and heard things – one day I was sure the oven in the kitchen had exploded and couldn’t understand how it was in one piece the next time I went in. I couldn’t acknowledge it back then and hadn’t told anyone about it, but it was those that eventually made me make an appointment with one of the uni counsellors.
Classes had been on for about a month and a half and I’d been in uni for about two months by that point. I’d only had the one episode of self harm but I was utterly miserable. I missed my family and friends from my home town, I hated drama and was feeling increasingly blocked out of my friendship group. I’d failed completely at making friends in my classes and whenever I asked Emma or the others to go out for a meal or the cinema they never had any money, yet when they wanted to go to the pub they could afford it. I’ve never liked pubs or clubs and still don’t; I find it difficult to be around so many people and loud music. I was sinker deeper into depression and I had no idea what I was doing. Even work, which had been fun at home, was making me feel awful.
That’s how I found myself walking into a small office with Francis, a male counsellor. There were ornaments and bits of African souvenirs in there which I always found quite distracting. He asked me why I had come and I didn’t really know what to say so we sat there for about 5 minutes in silence before I could think of anything.
‘Well, I guess I’m not feeling very good at the moment and the Dr suggested I come and see someone here.’
Annoyingly he said nothing and just stared at me. I had no idea what to do – I had never been good at volunteering thoughts and feelings related to my low moods.
‘My gran is ill.’ What? My gran was in hospital and was sedated – she’d had a triple bypass and had picked up an infection. We’d been told she had a 50/50 chance of surviving, but I’d not told anyone. How on earth was it relevant here?
‘Er. I guess that’s been the cherry on the cake of all this.’
He still said nothing. The remainder of our 50mins passed awkwardly; I had no idea how to say anything and he barely made a noise. As I was going to leave he asked if I wanted another appointment. I declined, feeling hopeless and went back to my room.
I got in and started to cry. It eventually turned into body racking sobs and I lay on my bed clutching my stuffed bear. I felt completely empty and broken and had no idea where to go next. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about my gran, but after mentioning it I couldn’t get her out of my head. How were so many things going wrong?
October eventually ended and nothing had improved. I had been impulsively buying DVDs and became nocturnal. I would get up for my lessons and then go back to bed, sleeping until around 5. On nights I had clubs I would go to them but mainly I left my room only for food and then stayed up all night watching House and films. I hadn’t self harmed again but I was completely sleep deprived and isolated. One spark of light was that my gran had eventually started to come through. I hadn’t been to see her as I hadn’t had the chance to – though I spent a lot of time in my room I had to leave it every day for classes and work. I was drifting through time, unaware of life continuing without me.
I am always surprised when I think back to my first semester of uni. I did well in my writing modules and not horrifically badly in my drama subjects but how I managed to do them at all astonishes me. I feel great pain and anguish when I think about the wholly miserable existence I was leading.
I was getting dressed for a 9am class when my phone rang. I thought it was Penny calling to tell me she wasn’t coming in today but it was my mum. I couldn’t think why she was calling me.
‘Yeah, I have a class, why?’
‘It’s your granddad, he’s in hospital and, well, they don’t think he has much time. He’s haemorrhaging badly and the Drs have told Danny to get ready to say goodbye.’
‘Your dad and I and Niall are heading up there in the car and we can stop off and pick you up.’
‘Ok, yeah, when will you be here? I have a lesson.’ Panic. Panic. Panic. What happened?
‘You should be ok to go to that. We’ll be there in a couple of hours.’
‘Keep your phone on you just in case there’s any news.’
‘Ok. I’ll see you later then. Bye.’
Penny knocked on my door as I hung up. I grabbed my things and headed to the studio, filling her in as we walked.
The first thing I did was explain to the lecturer why I had my phone on loud and why it might go off. She was very understanding and told me to do what I needed to do. As she was marking in who was there my phone went off. I took it and went into the foyer to talk. It was my mum again, she was in the car and my granddad had taken a turn for the worse. Everyone was being advised to get there as soon as possible; this meant me taking the train as they were going to drive straight there. I barely took the time to tell the lecturer I was leaving before rushing back to my room to throw my stuff together. I was wearing my last pair of clean underwear so I had to pack some laundry to take and chucked everything else into my bag. I quickly checked the train times and I had just enough time to get to the station for the next one.