My first suicide attempt

*TRIGGER WARNING*

I’ve decided to write about my first suicide attempt. I’m writing it partly for my own therapy, but also in case it helps others understand about suicidal thoughts, or if it’ll help people feel less alone. Please be careful reading it as it might be triggering.

If you need mental health support, please find useful numbers and contacts here.

If you need urgent support, try one of the numbers here, call the Samaritans on 116 123 or the NHS on 111.

I was 15.

It came out of the blue, it was even a surprise to me.

I don’t think anything unusual happened that day. There wasn’t any kind of trigger, nothing pushed me over the edge, no argument or abuse. It started out just an average day.

It was May, just a week or two before my exams. I wasn’t really worried about them; I actually quite liked school and worked hard, so I knew I’d do alright. And I didn’t really think I’d be around for the future, so it didn’t matter if they went well or not anyway.

I think it was a Friday. I was in class, daydreaming about not existing, as I often did. At that moment, my life was pretty good. I liked school. I was never bullied. I had a group of friends that were nice, thoughtful, intelligent and fun. I had an on-off boyfriend. My family were doing ok. I had no drama or trauma, I’d never had anything like that. From the outside, I must have looked and seemed fine. Like any other teenage girl.

But for weeks, months, maybe even years before that day, suicide had been a ‘thing’. A possibility. It crept up on me, I don’t know when or how or why. I remember watching police dramas on TV with my family and thinking ‘if I were that character, I’d just kill myself [instead of having to go through this]’. I remember reading books and thinking, ‘why don’t they just end their life? It’s not worth this pain’. I knew that I shouldn’t share this view with my friends and family, although I’m not sure how I knew that. I guess it was just one of the things that you automatically know not to share. But somehow, suicide had become an option for me. Sitting in the background, popping up regularly to remind me of its existence, waiting until the time I needed it.

On this day, something in me just thought – why don’t I actually do it? Why don’t I stop thinking about it and just do it? I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a position where there’s something you’re not sure about doing, and then you’ve just thought ‘fuck it’ and got on with it. It was that feeling. From somewhere there came a rush of ‘bravery’ and ‘strength’. I’m just going to do it. I didn’t really think too much about the why’s and how’s and what-will-happen-after’s. I just thought, I’ve been thinking about this enough, just get on with it.

So at lunchtime, I left school and walked home. I lived about a 20-minute walk away. I didn’t really have a plan; I didn’t know much about suicide, to be honest. It was the 2000’s so we had the internet, but I only used it for MySpace and MSN Messenger. We didn’t google things the same way we do now. Maybe if I could have googled methods, things would have turned out differently. I knew that people overdosed, though, so that’s what I thought I’d do.

I raided our medicine cupboard and took every pill I could find. I didn’t normally take tablets (not even paracetamol or ibuprofen), so swallowing them was difficult. My favourite fruit juice was in the fridge, so I washed it all down with that. I think I probably only took about 20, that was all I could manage. I had no idea what the ‘right amount’ to take was (and still don’t).

Then I decided I would write an email to the guy I ‘loved’. I turned on the family computer and logged onto the internet – it might still have been dial-up at the time, so it took a while. I couldn’t think of what to say, so I just typed the words ‘I’m sorry’ and sent it to him. It sounds awful, but I didn’t even think about my family or friends. I was just focused on my life finally being over.

I switched off the computer and wondered what to do. I didn’t feel any different. I sat on the staircase in my hallway, halfway between the ground floor and first floor. I could see the two levels but I wasn’t on either. It felt kind of poignant and metaphorical. I sat there for a while and then thought… maybe it’s not working. Maybe I didn’t even take them, I just imagined it. So I decided to go back to school. I would be back in time for registration and the afternoon lessons, and I could go on like nothing had happened.

As soon as I got to registration, I felt nauseous. Really, really nauseous. Is it a good time to mention that I had emetophobia (fear of vomiting) back then? Really intense emetophobia. Feeling sick was literally the worst feeling I could possibly have. I was panicking. I didn’t know what to do, but I couldn’t sit in class. My stomach was churning. I ran to the girls toilets and paced around there. I didn’t know how to get rid of the nausea. I had gone sheet white. I felt dizzy, but I think that was mostly from the anxiety of feeling so sick. It was truly awful. For my own sanity, and for that of other emetophobics, I won’t describe the next bit other than to say I was very ill.

The school called my mum to get her to pick me up and take me home. Back at home, I didn’t know what to do. I knew my mum would discover there was no medicine in the cabinet. I still didn’t know if I was going to die or not. I was feeling very ill.

So I told her what I’d done.

~ Ok that’s all I’ve got for now. I will write more; what happened next, maybe a bit of what happened before. I *REALLY* hope this isn’t triggering. I just want to try to help others who may be feeling suicidal or who may know someone in difficulty, or may know someone who has killed themselves and want answers. I don’t know.

Guys, if you think this post is inappropriate – PLEASE for the love of God tell me. I won’t be offended. I’m not good at seeing things objectively.

Read Part 2 to see what happened next! >

9th May

As usual, there’s a massive gap between now and last time I wrote. Sorry. I’ve been very busy and very up and down. Right now I’m currently on a down.

I’m moving house and city next week, so the last few weeks have been spent packing and organising and finishing projects at my voluntary roles. I’ve lived in my current location for just under a year and still haven’t done some of the touristy stuff here, so I’ve been trying to squeeze that in too. Plus I’m doing two days a week of paid work. There aren’t enough days in the week to keep on top of it all.

Everyone keeps asking me if I’m excited about the move, but I have kind of shut off my brain from really thinking about it. I know it’ll stress me out, so I’ve mentally checked out. I’ll check back in once I’m settled. Does anyone else get like that?

I can’t remember if I’ve said, but I also came off my antidepressants recently – not deliberately. I ran out of them and couldn’t get an appointment to get more, so I gave them up. I’m actually feeling fine. I didn’t have any withdrawal symptoms and I feel the same as I did when I was on them. Apparently that’s how antidepressants are supposed to work, when you’ve finished your course of them! I feel much better than in January, it’s true. But I’m still not 100%. I think now is the time for counselling and maybe getting to the bottom of what is actually wrong with me (depression, general anxiety, social anxiety, PMDD, trichotillomania, dermatillomania, body dysmorphia, maybe OCD? I don’t actually know. Maybe none of the above).

I’ve also kind of stopped doing mindfulness, yoga, eating breakfast, doing exercise, etc. Even though these are the things that keep me well. My main activities are now: working and worrying. I feel ok at the moment, I’m plodding along. But I think working and worrying is what has led to me feeling shit and having mini breakdowns in the past. I know I need to be better at this ‘self-care’ thing but I just… can’t.

Today I worked from home and I had quite a good morning – I was productive and worked hard, doing a task I feel ok doing. It was sunny and I was sitting in the study rather than lying in bed, which is what I normally do when I wfh. But in the afternoon I struggled – I got tired and confused and worried and anxious. I started getting really hot and sweaty, which is what seems to happen now when I am anxious. I needed to complete a task today but couldn’t get it done until 8pm – 3 hours after my normal finishing time. It was also something that specifically causes me stress, which didn’t help.

I am now mentally drained, absolutely exhausted, tearful and distressed. I called my boyfriend and he said it was ‘good that I’d done some work today’, even though it made me an absolute nervous wreck. I told him he didn’t understand and hung up the phone. I just… struggle to see the point of working, and of life. It is so hard. I struggle so much with things other people find easy. And no one understands.

But anyway. I guess I’ll keep plodding along, as I said. I can’t kill myself right now anyway – it’s my mum’s birthday this month, and I’m moving into the new place and it wouldn’t be fair on my boyfriend. Gotta keep going for a little bit longer.

2nd May

Today has been a mixed bag.

I woke up to rain against the window. My alarm was due to go off at 6am, so I assumed it must be about 5.55 (as is always the way). It was actually only 2am. I played a few games on my phone and at some point went back to sleep, only to wake up again at 4. I’m usually pretty good at sleeping – I tend to wake up a lot but drift off again really quickly – so I don’t know what was up with me to keep me waking up like that.

Eventually I got up and left the house to go to work. Yesterday it was so sunny, but this morning was grey and gloomy. It was a miserable drive. I didn’t even sing aloud in my car.

Work was ok. I only went in to the office because I had a meeting, and that got cancelled. It rained hard all morning. I didn’t do much because I didn’t know what I was doing. For lunch I had a bread roll, with nothing on. I had a catch-up meeting with my boss scheduled in the afternoon, and I was stressing about that – I typed out a resignation letter but knew I wouldn’t do anything about it. I’m literally too anxious to resign. I suck at my job though. I wish he would just sack me.

The afternoon was better. The meeting with my boss went ok. The rain cleared and it was sunny and warm by the time I left work, so I turned the radio up and forced myself to sing out loud the whole commute home. It helped. I felt a lot happier.

I ordered some photo prints yesterday and they had arrived by the time I got home – really quick. Putting some pictures together in a frame for my boyfriend. Lots of photos of us on holiday and on days out – but all the photos just remind me of various times that I’ve been anxious. Here’s me, feeling anxious in Spain. Here’s me, feeling worried in Turkey. Hopefully he’ll like it though. He didn’t feel anxious those times.

We’re trying to sort out some practicalities of moving in together in a couple of weeks time (hiring a van and driving up etc). We talked about it on the phone today and I burst into tears. The last few times I’ve moved house have been pretty traumatic for me and I’m getting worried about this upcoming move.

The first was when I split up with my ex-boyfriend and moved out of our flat. Even though he’s an ex-boyfriend, we were exceptional housemates (we agreed on everything) and leaving the home we’d made together was awful. It was literally the worst day of my life. I felt like my heart was breaking. The stress and sadness of carrying all my things out, bit by bit, packed up in boxes, knowing it was the last time we’d ever be together… 💔

The other traumatic move was last year, when I left my job and my flat because I couldn’t cope any more. I had no money to keep living in the city I was living in. I had to give up, leave everything behind and move back in with my parents. I had no future prospects or plans. I had to hire a car to take my stuff back, and I was shaking and crying so much that I was worried about driving it.

This upcoming time, I am moving in with my boyfriend, but I have nothing else to look forward to. My mental health is still terrible and I am worried about how I’ll cope, and how he’ll be able to deal with it. I still can’t work properly or go out with friends or socialise. I have so much anxiety about it all. He doesn’t really understand, because he’s so excited. So now I’m panicking and getting upset, I’m dissociating a little bit and my arms are going numb, which is what happens when I panic.

27th April

I am very frustrated with myself.

PRESCRIPTION ISSUES

I forgot to sort out my prescription. I was kinda aware I needed to, but just let it pass me by. A sort of deliberate self-sabotage. So now I don’t have any anti-depressants 😥 It’s my own fault, I know.

I need an actual doctor’s appointment to get them, I can’t just reorder, so I called up the other day to book an appointment. Was told they can’t book appointments for me, other than at 8am on the day I want the appointment.

Yesterday I got up, ready to ring them at 8am. But I didn’t feel very good (mentally) and couldn’t face speaking to anyone on the phone. So I spent the rest of the day sleeping.

Today I felt stronger and got on the phone at 8am – the line was busy. I wasn’t in a ‘queue’ system, I just had to keep calling them. I have 32 outgoing calls to the doctor logged on my phone!

The line was busy until 8.52, when I managed to finally join a ‘queue’ – I don’t know how that works. Where was the queue before? I have a feeling it’s not a real queue, it’s just a voice message played when the receptionist ignores the phone. I eventually got through and was told there were no appointments left, I’ll have to try again Monday to get a same day appointment – or I can book an appointment for May 11th (at the earliest).

The good people of Twitter told me to go down to the doctor’s today anyway, or ring them and tell them it’s an emergency – but I’m just too tired to deal with all of that. It serves me right for being an idiot!

The irritating thing is that I actually don’t think my meds are working that well anyway. I’ve been feeling very, very low again, and absolutely exhausted all the time. So I was going to ask for a review of my meds – but I just didn’t organise it on time.

I’m moving house soon too, so I don’t know if I should just wait it out (without my medication) until I see my new doctor. But I shouldn’t really go ‘cold turkey’ – I don’t know how it’ll affect me.

Bleurgh. I’m so dumb.

BED

I’m back at the stage of spending all my time in bed. It’s so comfy and warm and safe. Nothing seems nice outside it.

I didn’t go to my Recovery College course yesterday. I was supposed to work from home, but didn’t (I’ll tell my boss, though, I’m not skiving). I had lunch, but that was my only achievement. For the last two nights, I’ve slept in my clothes and not even bothered to close the curtains or brush my teeth.

It’s really brought home to me – I thought I was doing better, but actually, I’m not. The difference right now is that my support network is not here. My parents, who I live with, are away. They normally bring routine to my life. My boyfriend, who listens to my crying and complaining and is there for me, is also away. My boss, the only person I really speak to outside my family and boyfriend, who gives me the sense that I’m an actual person, is also away.

They are the people that validate my existence, and I don’t have them around.

So yeah. Woe is me. Play the violin. I’m in bed again.

JOB STUFF

Ok, yes, I’m going on about job stuff AGAIN. Feel free to stop reading now – I won’t add anything else after this. 😂

So. I am moving to Manchester and will need a job there – to pay bills and stuff. And for validation of myself. I really NEED work to feel like I am a valid human being, giving to society, earning my own way.

But I can’t deal with working. It’s too hard. My brain is full of fog at all times, I can’t get my words out, I feel like I’m crap at everything. I really want to be able to do a job that inspires people, but I don’t think I’m good enough. Reading job descriptions makes me so anxious, because I realise I can’t do any job.

But I don’t think I am ill enough to get any kind of support from DWP. They won’t pay me any money, because in theory I can work. And I want to work! I would hate to take money from the DWP when there are so many more needy people out there.

And as I’ve said, I do have a part-time job at the moment, but it is SO SO SO hard. I am shit at it. Every day I finish work there, I feel a wave of relief wash over me. I’ve managed to get through another day. I can’t keep working there for long – it’s crushing my (already negligible) confidence. It’s making me feel worse about what I am able to do. To the point where I think my life isn’t worth living, because I am incapable of doing anything.

I don’t know what to do or where to go. I don’t know how to get myself out of this hole.

 

24th April

It is coming up SO quickly to the ‘anniversary’ of when I quit my last proper job because of mental health. I feel so ashamed. Why aren’t I better yet?

I know I’m on a ‘down’ once again but I don’t want to get help.

Reasons why I don’t want to get help:

• I am a middle-class white girl, living in a nice-ish part of town, I’ve grown up as part of a ‘traditional nuclear’ family with my mum, dad and brother, never struggled with housing or food or things I needed, I went to a good school, I went to university, I am in generally good health, I’ve never had to face any -ism of any kind, I’m cisgender and straight so haven’t had to deal with homophobia or any kind of confusion about my gender or sexuality, I’ve never been in a bad relationship or experienced any violence or had any traumatic things happen. I am the very definition of privilege. White privilege, health privilege, all the other privileges. I feel so guilty because of this. I do not deserve to have so much privilege when others are born into none. Someone with my level of privilege should not need extra support. People who deal with racism, ageism, able-ism, homophobia, bullying, trauma, abuse, bad childhood, poverty etc, you should get extra support for having to deal with all that shit. You guys are the heroes for fighting through an unfair and unjust society.

 

• Mental illness is still stigmatised and I am part of the problem, not the solution. I am embarrassed and ashamed and don’t want people to know I need help. I don’t want to need help. Needing help is pathetic. I feel like I should be able to do the ‘stiff upper lip’ thing that British people do.

 

• I hate talking to people about my problems. It’s difficult and I nearly always cry. I feel embarrassed and pathetic and ridiculous. I am not good at talking with people in general. After about 15 minutes of talking about myself (say, at counselling), I get emotionally exhausted and start lying to make things easier…

 

• I can’t see how my life will change. I know this one is silly. But I’m stuck in a place where everything looks bleak, and it seems impossible to me that it’ll ever get better.

 

• I am worthless and there is no point in me getting better – I don’t add anything to life. I don’t contribute anything.

18th April

After being unemployed for 10 or 11 months, I’m now employed part-time and also do two voluntary roles.

I’m finding the employment part really, really difficult, so on Monday I organised a free one-off appointment with someone to talk about my ’emotional wellbeing’ and come up with a plan for when I’m feeling down. My idea was that it’d help me get to a better state at work.

Good things: got a free cup of tea and a biscuit. Bad things: I cried a lot. I was fine at first, but after a while I felt emotionally exhausted. I don’t (contrary to popular belief!) talk about myself that much, though I write about myself often. I find it very tiring. I am trying so hard to be ok but I’m not, and the more people talk to me, the more obvious it is that I’m struggling. It also made me feel a lot worse about my job. I guess it just started my brain on thinking about lots more worries than I’d previously been able to come up with myself. The lady also asked me if I got panic attacks, and I said I wasn’t sure – I’d never had anything that felt like a heart attack, which is how lots of people describe it. She laughed and said it’s not normally that severe. I really need to do research on this! What is a panic attack to you?

After that, I went to do my volunteering, which is the most basic of all admin (data entry) but I even struggled with that. I did stuff in a weird order and I couldn’t concentrate. I kept stopping to pull my split ends out or got distracted by various things. I left without finishing all the work I wanted to do.

On Monday night, I started panicking a lot about work. I’m putting a lot of pressure on myself to get things right, and am consequently thinking of all the things that I could do wrong and realising that there are so many ways I can do something wrong that it’s definitely going to happen at some point.

When I’m struggling with a project or piece of work, I also can’t really tell the difference between:
– work I can do, but don’t have confidence for
– work I used to be able to do but can’t do any more because of reduced mental capacity
– work I was never able to do

It’s very frustrating. Reduced mental capacity is terrible – I can’t remember anything, I sometimes wonder if sentences I’m writing make sense, I forget how to spell things. I can’t put concepts or ideas together. I feel like I’ve been put on a ‘simple’ setting and can only do very basic human things.

It makes me feel worthless and a failure. It’s also creating a lot of negative self-talk, which is making my situation worse. I’m focusing a lot on what I can’t do. For example: “I should just get a job at a coffee shop or fast food restaurant – but I can’t remember people’s orders and I won’t be able to use the till properly”.

Anyway, yesterday I went to work (and actually got there on time, for the first time ever). I felt anxious and down, what a classic combination. Stupidly, I didn’t eat or drink properly and started feeling really sick and dizzy. I may potentially identify it as the start of a panic attack, but again I need to establish what a panic attack actually is…

I somehow made it through the day, but yeah. A real struggle. Just keeping a record of my ‘honest recovery’ with employment so, in future, when I’m well and happily employed, I’ll remember how hard it was to get there.

15th April

Feeling down.

Yesterday I had a really good day – I went for a day trip with my brother and it was hilarious. It was quite full on as there were so many people everywhere (it was the end of Easter holidays), so I felt exhausted by the end of the day. I went to sleep at about 9pm and slept through until this morning! But I didn’t take my meds or brush my teeth or do any exercise.

Today has been crap. I didn’t want to get (and haven’t got) out of bed all day. I just couldn’t see the point. There was nothing to do. And I’ve ruminated a lot about my new paid job. I really, really want to quit. It’s making me ill. I feel so worthless and useless, I feel exhausted and stressed. My boyfriend and family want me to keep this job, but I just can’t. I might quit and just not tell them… Would need to extend my overdraft though.

I also realised that suicide (which is ALWAYS a back-up option for me) can no longer be on the table, because I have agreed to rent a flat with my boyfriend and we’ve already paid some money towards it. If I killed myself, he wouldn’t be able to afford it and it’d fuck things up for him. So I am stressed about that.

I should have killed myself last year when I had all the time in the world and no responsibility.

I really, really, really, really, really want attention today. I want someone to sit with me and hug me and make me a cup of tea and tell me nice things about myself. I want someone to say I have value and worth.

I have taken my pills, brushed my teeth and done some exercise. And now I might watch a film or read a book or something to distract myself.

I’m so DONE with struggling over such small things.

Skin, hair and picking behaviours

Well here is another weird thing I do.

My behaviour is kind of gross so, yeah, warning on that. Don’t read if you don’t like grossness.

—————————————————————————————————–

One time when I was young, about 8 or 9, I used a new shampoo. After I’d used it, I noticed my scalp was really itchy and there were weird white things in my hair. I didn’t know what it was at the time (an allergic reaction, and severe dandruff), but all I knew is I wanted that stuff out my hair. So I spent a long time picking the flakes out. Gross, I know. But as I picked and scratched, it got worse. So I picked and scratched more. I just wanted that stuff out of my hair!

At some point my mum noticed and told me that it was dandruff. Eventually, a while later, she realised it was the shampoo and we stopped using that brand. In the meantime, my dad once saw the top of my head and asked, “What’s all that?”. “Dandruff”. “Oh, that’s quite bad, isn’t it.” So now I knew that, not only did I have dandruff, but it was a bad thing. I added it to my personal list of things to be ashamed of (that so far included my eczema, my asthma, my Bugs Bunny teeth, my sticky-out ears).

We had a mirror in our hall, and I stood there for ages, picking and picking. Sometimes we had visitors and I would have to pretend that I was doing something else (“there’s a fly in my hair and I want to get it out!” was a fave). After we stopped using that shampoo, things got a bit better and I stopped picking my scalp.

I don’t remember if I picked my scalp at school or not, but I did start picking my split ends, another habit I still do every day (especially when anxious). I remember a boy asked me what a split end was, and I didn’t want to show him because I thought he would think I was disgusting.

The next time I remember a problem with the scalp thing is when I was about 18 or 19. I was at work and, when I went to the ladies, I suddenly saw in the mirror that my scalp had a scab or something on it. Disgusted, I pulled the scab out and lots of the surrounding skin. A few months later, I tried a new shampoo again and again my scalp flaked a little bit. GROSS. I spent about an hour trying to get it all out.

After this, I ‘realised’ that I needed to check my scalp more frequently to ensure it was flake-free. And, though dandruff-free, I have checked my scalp ever since (that’s 10 years or so). Checking involves raking my fingers across my scalp and seeing if there are any flakes/any stuff under my fingernails. If not, then I’m not trying hard enough or not in the right spot, and I need to do it more. It’s especially bad after I’ve just washed my hair (my scalp feels softer, easier to gouge!). My scalp is never itchy, I just need to keep checking it – but checking it causes cuts or gouges on my scalp. Also it’s a lot worse if my nails are long.

While this was going on, I also developed another gross habit. It started when I wanted to get my legs waxed as I was going on holiday somewhere sunny. I went to a salon and the lady waxed my legs but, just as I was about to get up and pay, she noticed a couple of hairs she’d missed, so she plucked them with a pair of tweezers that she took out of a large jar of colourful tweezers. Seriously, the jar was beautiful, although why anyone needs so many tweezers is beyond me. The hairs were plucked quickly, and there was a short, sharp burst of discomfort. It wasn’t unpleasant.

On holiday, I noticed a couple more stray hairs. I had my tweezers with me, so I plucked them like the professional waxing lady had done. The discomfort was quite nice, in a weird way, and my legs felt super smooth. After this, I checked every day to see if new leg hair had grown. If so, I plucked it. I literally plucked all the hair on my legs – I didn’t ever shave, because I would never let the hairs get that long! I would spend hours doing it.

Eventually, the hairs started in-growing (if that’s the correct way to phrase it!). This was even more of an exciting challenge – finding the ingrowing hairs and plucking them or squeezing them out. Roll on 3 years and I now have scars all over my legs from plucking and picking at scabs and hair. I have now stopped plucking all my leg hair out, and just shave (sort of progess), but I still pick at scabs and look for/squeeze out in-growing hair.

And finally (what, there’s more?), my eczema. I have eczema and it is ugly. I am so jealous of people who have smooth, beautiful skin. Sometimes, if I have a flare up, I get obsessed with a specific area or scab and just pick, pick, pick away at it. The feeling of having smooth skin instead of a rough scab is just amazing. Bad skin is not sexy or pretty, and I want to be sexy and pretty.

Or other times I scratch so much that I somehow get bruises?! I don’t really understand it, but you can sometimes see my hand prints on my legs from where I’ve scratched so much. I scratch more if I’m anxious or worried; I sometimes go to the bathroom just so I can scratch in peace, without anyone noticing that I look like I have fleas.

I’m so, so, so embarrassed and ashamed by this behaviour. I think it’s so gross. Like, flaking skin is gross. Body hair is gross. Scratching is gross. I should be smooth and beautiful and elegant. I get sad that I will never be smooth and beautiful lol.

Apparently there is a disorder called ‘dermatillomania’ (skin picking disorder) and also ‘trichotillomania’ (hair pulling disorder). I guess it might be one or both of those. I don’t know. Another mental illness to add to the list, maybe…

ANYONE RELATE?!

Tiptoeing back into work

I’ve been out of work for about…. 10 months now?

When I think about work, it scares me. It scares me a lot. I am not ready for bitchy colleagues, for office politics and etiquette, for under-appreciation, for over-reaching myself, for the pressure I put on myself, for the weight of expectation, for the constant ‘trying to fit in’, for the constant fear of doing something wrong and getting sacked.

I have lots of experience of admin work, and it would be quite easy I guess to get an admin temp job, but there are a few things that I can no longer do…

• use the telephone (incoming or outgoing calls)
• book travel/hotels
• make people tea/coffee

I know they’re all stupid, and I’ll have to get over them sometime, but I have blown these three things into such a big proportion of work-worry that I can’t take any job that even vaguely involves them.

My boyfriend and my mum have been pushing and pushing me into getting a job, and I do completely understand that I need to work (obviously!) and I do want to (desperately!). But I want to start working in a way that is ok for me, that takes it slow and eases me in. If I rush it, I’m afraid that it’ll put me off ever working and I’ll never be able to hold down a job again. I see you rolling your eyes – I KNOW. All or nothing thinking, right!

I have been doing volunteering though (pretty much admin work, without the fear factors above, and without getting paid). At volunteering, there is no pressure and everyone is happy with anything I do, because I’m doing it for free and it’s better than nothing. So it’s always quite positive, and I’m going into an office and working with colleagues etc. But the idea of paid work….? Still terrifying.

A while ago (I can’t remember if I wrote about it at the time), a guy I used to work with messaged me on LinkedIn. He is now a very senior person in a new company that is not too far from where I live. He asked if I wanted a catch-up, coffee and chat type thing. At the time, I was not doing well. It was the time when I kept crying for no reason whatsoever and was generally very low. I was in no fit state to meet anyone. So I told him that I had anxiety and depression now and wasn’t really good for anything. He was nice about it 🙂

Eventually, when I felt a bit better, we did meet for the catch-up, and he basically asked if I wanted to do any work for the company. It was completely on my terms – my preferred start and finish time, my number of hours, when I’m ready etc. Also, I told him the work I was interested in doing and not interested in doing. Before, I’ve always thought that if I was honest about stuff, like what I wanted to do, what I didn’t like, any concerns, any health issues, any worries etc, I would get sacked. But in this case, I’d already told him my worries and concerns, and he knew I was ‘mental’, and he still seemed to want me to work there?!?! Now THAT is mental! I also told him that I had memory problems and slow brain functioning, but he didn’t seem to mind…?!

I asked to do a trial day first, because I wasn’t sure I could manage a proper job.

That day, the drive over was HORRIBLE. I got beeped at by a dickhead white van man (when I was driving perfectly normally), which made me feel anxious about my driving. After that, I drove like crap. I cut someone up on a roundabout and I was slow overtaking and I pulled out at the wrong time and stuff. My head and reactions just weren’t working. I went the wrong way and got flustered and there were lots of roadworks and I was too hot and panicky.

The whole day, I felt on edge. I said stupid things, I didn’t know what I was doing, I was anxious about talking (the office was so quiet, I didn’t want people to notice me), I was anxious about going to the toilet (it’s really far away and really obvious that that is where I’m going!), I felt like all the staff hated me, I didn’t know if I could do the job. I felt exhausted.

I drove home full of self-loathing and anger. I thought, I could just crash my car here and then this would all be over. Obviously I wouldn’t (and didn’t!) because I worry about hurting/killing other people… But the thought was there. I go on a big motorway with quite a tough looking concrete barrier. It’d do the trick, I’m sure.

I was absolutely drained when I got home. I went to bed straight after dinner and slept for about 8 hours (which is more than normal).

The next day I did it all again, but drove a different route in that was kinder and less road-worky. At the job, I tried to be communicative and explained that I struggled with the office because it was so quiet (they put the radio on) and that I wasn’t good with unstructured days (so I got given some tasks to do) and that I couldn’t make hot drinks for others. I tried to talk to others and be more open. I got stuck into a really nerdy task that I really LOVED and that everyone else seems to hate. All in all, it was much better.

Slow progress. Just dipping my toes into the water. Hopefully I can do a good job there, but I am going to try to take it as. Slow. As. Possible. I kind of know myself a bit better now and I’m trying to be patient and realistic with myself. I’m not who I used to be. I’m not able to do the same job I used to do. But I can still do something. I can at least give it my very best shot, with lots of patience and honesty.

Toilet anxiety – TMI warning :)

Warning: this post features gross things you don’t want to know about me, regarding toilet anxiety and anxiety side effects! The reason why I’m writing this down is because I have become recently aware of how much toilet anxiety affects me and I want to understand why, and also so others in similar positions know they are not alone!

Toilet anxiety is described as concerns/fears about:

• Being unable to urinate or defecate
• Using a public toilet
• Being too far from a toilet
• Having an accident in public
• Other people being able to hear or see you use the toilet
• The cleanliness of public toilets
• Being confined in a small space

(http://www.toiletanxiety.org)

My story: a couple of weekends ago, my boyfriend and I went to Manchester.

My toilet anxiety started before I’d even left the house. I had to get a two hour train, and I didn’t want to need to wee (or #2!) while on the train, on the station, or in any other horrible toilet. Train toilets and station toilets are often pretty gross… Actually, in general, I don’t like public or unfamiliar toilets. Especially some bars and restaurants have horrible toilets. I tend to stick to chain restaurants and bars because they normally have standard facilities. So, already worrying, I avoided my normal cup of tea and breakfast before I left and didn’t eat or drink anything all morning.

When I got to Manchester, we did lots of things that aren’t my normal routine: we ate unhealthy fast food for lunch, I didn’t drink much/any water, we explored lots of new areas and we did a couple of things that were out of my comfort zone (which gave me general anxiety). If you don’t have anxiety, you might not know that it often makes you need the toilet. Apparently, this is because you are in ‘fight or flight’ mode and your body decides to make itself as light as possible so you can run faster…

Anyway. Anxiety tummy plus dehydration plus fast food plus ‘holding’ for hours and hours made my body very confused.

Then we went to a pub, and I got a lemonade – I get worried about drinking because sometimes I can’t control myself. I can’t sit there and just enjoy a quiet pint. I’ll have several drinks, say something that comes out completely wrong and makes me sound like a dickhead, go home and cry myself into a panic, and then I’ll stay up all night worrying that I’m going to be sick. So I normally have soft drinks, most of which are fizzy.

After this, we went to visit some friends, but I couldn’t use the toilet properly there because I could hear everyone chatting. Then we went back out. I drank a lot more fizzy drinks and we ate some more unhealthy food. I was feeling so bloated and uncomfortable. I was also feeling very socially awkward and different. Everyone was drinking carafes of wine and I had a mint tea because my tummy hurt!

Back at our friend’s flat, I still couldn’t use the toilet properly and was awake a lot in the night, worried I would be sick or shit myself.

The next day, a similar course of events took place.

That was now… two weeks ago. And my body has still not recovered properly. I have not got back into a regular ‘routine’. My toilet anxiety has continued at the place I volunteer (the toilet is right next to the office), at home (if I can hear my family talking in another room, I can’t go to the loo), at my new place I work (the toilet is really far away and I feel really conspicuous going there – on my first day, I didn’t wee all day because I was embarrassed).

I feel bloated and uncomfortable and, frankly, grumpy every single day because of this. My body is not happy with me because I am treating it so badly – dehydrating myself on purpose, making myself ‘hold’ all the time etc. I just want to be normal…!!

Do any of you relate? Do you have any tips? Apparently hypnotherapy works for this kind of thing but… what if I’m ‘under’ and then I just crap myself?!?! LOL.