Posted in Blog

My Wonderland: Finally Waking Up

I’ve always been an incredibly vivid dreamer.

Since I stopped talking to my sister, I’ve dreamt about her every single night. During the day (until recently) she is barely on my mind, however at night she is the most noticeable person in my consciousness. She doesn’t talk to me; If I try to, she’ll walk away from me. She doesn’t look at me either me. She just doesn’t acknowledge me.

I think we stopped talking in 2015.

Then last week, one night she looked at me. We were in a large house and I was trying to get out but I couldn’t find a way out, so I took the chance to ask her, expecting her not answer. She didn’t speak, but she did look at me.

Then the following night, I dreamt that I went out with her and her boyfriend and a friend of his, and although she wasn’t speaking directly to me, she was speaking to me within the group. We were looking at each other, laughing etc.

The following night I dreamt that she was heavily pregnant, and it was like no time had passed. I was holding her hand and touching her stomach. I could feel her baby kicking inside her stomach and we were excitedly talking about her due date which was rapidly approaching.

Each time I awake from these dreams, I wake up breathless and disoriented. However, this final one was the worse because I could feel it. The following day, I threw myself into my work to try to forget about, but then the evening came and I was too tired to escape it anymore. I lay in the bed in the dark, and sobbed for almost an hour. My heart was breaking and I very nearly picked up my phone, and called their house to see if she would pick up. However, I was frightened that my mother would pick up so I didn’t.

A couple of weeks ago, I told my partner that I would’ve died for my sister, and I repeated the statement again to a family friend over the weekend, when I told her about the dream. I also told her that I probably still would, however I’m now starting to reconsider that belief.

I hate referring to myself as a victim, but I am. And although I was abandoned my father, although it was my choice to cut ties with my mother, in my eyes I have no parents.

I still don’t really know why my sister hates me. My last conversation with her was her accusing me of faking my seizures for attention, and then telling me that she could no longer deal with my “shit” because I was too much of a burden, (but then the next day expecting me to pretend nothing had happened, without any apology). And one of my last conversations with my mother was her informing me that my sister had many grievances against me, which she was not privy to tell.

We grew up in the same household, had the same perspective of our mother, both wanted to escape, and yet something went terribly, terribly, wrong.

In 2016, after coming close to committing suicide and telling my mum that not being able to have a relationship with my sister was the reason, her response was:

“do you really think she would’ve cared if you’d killed yourself? She thinks you lied about your dad abusing you anyway.”

Of course she’ll deny that if you’ll ask her. Because that’s what they do.

Every time there’s a terrorist attack in London, I wonder to myself, don’t you guys ever wonder if I’m fucking okay? Are you really that fucking heartless? They know that I live in London. My partner actually said the other day that even if I did say that I didn’t want any contact, as a mother wouldn’t you fight? The last time I heard from my mother she wrote me a card telling me that she loves me, and God loves and forgives me. She didn’t apologise for saying that I was possessed by the devil though, and that watching horror movies had been the cause of of my epilepsy and therefore I had caused my own suffering. This is why I had asked her to stop sending me cards. 

If you’re going to continue to deny that there is something wrong with you and that you have abused me for thirty years and cannot apologise for that, then we cannot be friends, let alone mother and daughter.

I spoke one of my best friends over the weekend, who’s been with me through this entire journey and she said to me: if you go back to them, you’ll have yourself to blame when you get hurt again.

And she’s right. It hurts, but she’s right. I can’t go back. I can’t EVER go back.

I have to put myself first.

XOXO

Posted in Blog

Label #4: Mental

I was going to vlog yesterday, but then I watched Sinead O’Connor’s desperate video and became far too emotional.

 

And then I had a couple of seizures.

 

Sinead’s video resonated with me for two reasons:

  1. because you rarely hear celebrities speak so publicly about their pain, IN THE HOUR OF THEIR PAIN.    
  2. because her story is so aligned with mine. Both of us have been abandoned by our families, due to our health issues. My Epilepsy diagnosis, for my family was the last straw, because for years they had dealt ((or rather, avoided dealing) with my undiagnosed mental health issues.

I was diagnosed with depression in University, however it was clear that I was unhinged way before that.

For obvious reasons.      

But I had nobody to turn to.  

Nobody to talk to.

As soon as I was eighteen, I fell into the arms of the first guy who paid me attention, and my life became a tragedy of secrecy, sex, drugs, alcohol, depression, suicide ideation and attempts, and undiagnosed seizures.

While I was away at University, it was easy to keep my problems in a box away from my family, however after graduation, a Film and Literature degree with no work experience and therefore jobless, I was forced to move back home. I would secretly drink in my room, while sobbing, not understanding what was wrong with me – both physically or mentally.

No GP would listen to me.

I couldn’t talk to my family, so this was when I started to roam the internet, to sneak out and meet guys for rendevous’. Or on nights out with friends from University, I’d hook up with random guys and go back to theirs. For meaningless sex.

At some point the GP finally prescribed me anti depressants, but I still wasn’t talking to anybody.  I wasn’t offered the option by the GP, or my family. My mother had no idea, because of her religious stance – I couldn’t speak to her. My sister just expected me to stop. If I loved her enough I would stop. Because it was that simple. She didn’t want to talk about it.

Then each time I tried to talk to my mother, she would refer me to God, who would respond to my needs.  

 

Sinead is now alone. For being mentally ill.

I was once alone too.

Yes we are a burden, but we are sick; Sinead said this in her video and I’ve said this previously myself: you wouldn’t abandon us if we had cancer. My sister wouldn’t have told me that she didn’t want to “deal with me anymore” if I’d had cancer. My mother wouldn’t have told me that it was my “fault” that I’m sick, if I had cancer.

 

Sinead wouldn’t have been alone in a motel room, crying out for help to the world, instead of surrounded by her family, if she had cancer.

 

When are we going to get real about mental health?  

 

Why do people have to die, for us to talk about it? When Chester Bennington from Linkin Park died, we promised to change our ways, but now I’m ashamed to write that when Sinead’s video went out, people were mocking her.

 

Mocking her.

 

What the FUCK is wrong with you people?

 

Again I ask, if it was somebody sick from chemo, would you mock her? Or would you commend her on her bravery instead? Because I think that she’s fucking brave. There were days after my suicide attempt, when I wanted to do it again, when I didn’t want to live, when the seizures were crippling and the black dog was seductively calling me to the grave.   

 

I’m still on a waiting list to see a personality specialist.

I’ve been waiting over six months now.

 

Thankfully I finally have a healthy family that I have carefully selected myself. They keep me going in the interim.
I hope that Sinead’s family come to value her for the diamond that she is.    

Posted in Blog

My Survival

The key to my survival – Part One: my partner. 

For the first time in a while, I’m smiling, I’m dancing, I’m cooking (I love cooking), I’m reading, I’m listening to music and singing.

My partner’s been so patient with me, particularly while I’ve changed my mind AGAIN about my living arrangements. I’ve been so candid here on my blog, so I want to be more explicit on what happened during my psychotic episode which led me to want to live away from my partner.

I no longer felt safe around anybody, but particularly around the person I loved most in the world. I constantly felt paranoid and unsafe – everything he said triggered some kind of fear which now in the light of reason and medication, I can find no reason for.

All of this was because I was bullied in my job and when I eventually tried to stand up for myself, I was suspended. I had put EVERYTHING into this job and prioritised teaching over everything, including my health at times. When I was suspended, I felt like I had been left with nothing, because I knew I was going to lose my job and because of this, I tried to kill myself.  I put ALL of my value and self-worth in a vocation – a vocation I had grown up wanting to do and was more than qualified to do regardless of my colour, or where I grew up, even if I did have epilepsy.

They don’t work anyway right?

After my suicide attempt, the psychiatrist instructed me to stop taking the antidepressants I had overdosed on, because in his words: “They don’t work anyway right?” and in the midst of my brain fog, I agreed.

My GP thinks that the psychosis could’ve been caused by this; my epilepsy team think that the psychosis could’ve been caused by the postictal state from the grand mal seizure I had a week after my suicide attempt.

Whichever the medical cause, I will always know the people who caused this.

I wanted to die

On that night I took those pills, in that moment, I did really want to die and I really saw no other way out.

On that night, I’d also had an argument with my partner – in the weeks before we’d found the perfect home together, but with my career and now my relationship in the organ grinder, I felt that I had nothing left to live for. In my depressed state, I guess I overreacted about the argument, however this was a BIG argument.

I didn’t say much, in fact I think I’d already taken the pills when my partner came into the bedroom to get a quilt to sleep on the sofa. But then as I felt myself drifting off, I sent him a message, telling him what I’d done and he saved me.

And we’ve been through every step of hell together.

We even broke up more than once and then finally for good, which lasted an entire day. However, thankfully, as I’ll go on to mention in part two of this post, I had some friends to counsel me in my darkest time when I found it difficult to make sense of what was going on in my own head, because even when I have wanted to die, simultaneously I’ve never had somebody by my side cheerleading for me to live so loudly.

Genie Cheerleader.gif

Which is why I’ve decided that the home we found together, is where we are going to live together.

Things were never easy for me
Peace of mind was hard to find
And I needed a place where I could hide
Somewhere I could call mine

Genesis – No Son of Mine

And I think I’ve finally done it…

The key to my survival – Part Two: I mustn’t forget my friends. 

The friends who have stood by me in my sickness and my madness, who haven’t even batted an eyelid that I’ve changed my mind about my partner so many times – during my bad times, I must’ve told them some crazy things about him, only to find out a week later that it was all down to psychosis and they didn’t even mind, because they loved him so much and were just ecstatic that we were back together! Furthermore, the security of knowing that they know me well enough, to know when I’m not myself and when I am, brings me so much peace.

The love has been unreal!

I’ve also made some incredible new friends via social media, who again have been with me every step of the way. My job was making me feel intensely lonely – a loneliness I hadn’t felt since my teens and I did some reaching out, while some even did some to me which saved me. I’m still finding it an unrelenting feat to trust people, so the fact that these people have broken past my barriers speaks volumes.

Hugs

I’ll be forever thankful xoxo

The key to my survival – Part Three: My Amazing Three Uncles. 

I rarely see them. My mum completely cut off all communication with them when we were younger and to this day, I still don’t fully understand the reasons why because when we were younger, my uncles were the fathers my sister and I never had. When I moved to London and just before I stopped talking to my mum and sister, I reached out to my oldest Uncle and since then, even though I rarely see them (especially since I started Teacher Training), I talk to my three uncles via Whatsapp or on Facebook. My youngest uncle in particular surprised me because after my suicide attempt, concerned about my cryptic Facebook updates, he phoned me and has been a shoulder to cry on since. I’m a hard nut to crack and I really didn’t realise how much so until this whole experience, but he REALLY cracked me. I loved him so much more for that.

I’m not fully recovered yet – I’m not sure how long it will take, or if I’ll ever get there. All of these components: love, friendship, mentoring, support have all been empowering towards the healing of my mental health.

I know that I’m never going to be the same person that I was a year ago… I’m forever changed and that girl is forever gone. It’s sad because I never got a chance to say goodbye to her. However I’m looking forward to this new journey: moving into my new home, seeing where this new unplanned future takes me and learning to live every day as it comes.