In my last post I talked and Juliette and what a caring, fun, creative, loving, colourful person she was, when she died I said I’d get a bee tattoo not a worker bee I wasn’t looking to copy her but a bumble bee to remind me of her and our friendship which started from matching underwear, a reminder of the memes and pictures of bees with fuzzy butts we used share. On Monday I got my tattoo of my own fuzzy butt bumble bee with a purple watercolour background to match Juliette’s hair. I know she’d approve of this
A bumble bee tattoo on my wrist with a purple watercolour style background
This post is about suicide though there is no mention of methods.
A bee on pink flowers at the station on the day of Julietteās funeral
Iāve been wanting to write this for 6 months but it was too hard. A potentially creepy comment about owning the same underwear on a drunken toilet selfie did not get my blocked but instead was the start of our friendship. We met through an internet mental health ācommunityā and there were many eye rolls about such places and some of the people in them (though we were aware that we were far from perfect ourselves).
I soon found that Juliette had a wicked sense of humour, she was attractive and creative and had various different hair colours in the time I knew her. She loved animals and owned four gorgeous rats, she had an accidental memorial leg of tattoos for people in life who’d died. Despite her intolerance to bullshit (and lactose) she was loyal and supportive to those she cared about. Hummus memes were frequently shared and still pop up on my Facebook notifications, some of the jokes we shared were truly terrible.
Living in Manchester she got a worker bee tattoo with ādonāt look back in angerā going around it after the Manchester bombing and bees became her āthingā online. A gif of a cat dressed up at a bee (creatively dubbed beecat) falling slowly off a sofa became a of conveying frustration/ crap day/ crap mental health and often summed up how we felt, her mandala cat tattoo was also dubbed beecat.
We had a group chat with three of us in it which was 90% complaining about life, mental health and the internet and the rest was probably random memes and beecat gifs.
I knew Juliette had attempted suicide previously but part of you doesnāt want to accept that it could happen and when it did I didnāt want it to be real. It felt like someone had punched me in the chest; a feeling thatās come and gone for the last 6 months, I cried for hours and have cried for many more since.
Her funeral especially broke me, when many of the person who cared about her had mental health issues and were scattered around not only the country but also the world only a few of us were able to go but a request for people to change their profile pictures to bees spread and on the day of her funeral my social media was full of different types of bees. Iāve never been to a funeral full of people wearing cat ears before but as soon as we arrived we knew it was the right place.
People talk about grief and stages as if itās linear and as if it doesnāt come out of nowhere and punch you in the stomach, itās not that simple or straightforward. Oasis makes me cry, pictures of furry bumblebee butts hanging out of flowers make me smile and part of me still expects her to be online, sometimes I’ll make a really inappropriate joke and I know she’d have laughed and we’d both joke that we were the worst. I thought the 6 month anniversary of her death yesterday would be hard but instead I was caught out on Friday crying for several hours (the ugly snotty puffy face version).
Tomorrow Iām going for a consultation for a bee tattoo so Iāll always have a reminder of our friendship.
I miss you
Beecat loves you x
Helplines arenāt a replacement for proper mental health care but if youāre in distress and need someone to talk to you can contact the Samaritans or if youāre under 35 Papyrus. Text support is available from Shout.
If youāve been bereaved by suicide SOBS can give you support and advice
A picture of me dressed in green and orange dinosaur onesie alongside a picture of a ceramic dinosaur painted to match
Iāve been trying to come up with something to write about as a sort of comeback blog post but my brain isnāt cooperating, nothing I write seems good enough even compared to my normal feelings of nothing I do being good enough. Itās difficult to write about things honestly partly because of the fact that most people who read this know me in real life and ranting about inaccessible transport is easier than being honest about how I feel. So how do I feel? I feel everything and nothing, Iām numb and disconnected and Iām coming home from work and lying on my bed crying, I donāt care about anything except I do I just canāt feel it right now, my heart feels heavy and time feels slowed down, there have been a couple of days when Iāve got in to work recently (and that in itself is a struggle) where Iāve honestly thought I dont know how Iām going to get through the next 8 hours.
Mostly Iām tired, not just physically because Iām also having trouble sleeping but tired of the endless cycles of depression. For me depression comes in cycles, unipolar bipolar without the high. I guess people whoās depression is more constant may think Iām lucky because I do have periods of not being depressed but this is my blog and Iāll cry if I want to (and even if I donāt) and Iām tired of this never really going away of always waiting for it to return.
I had my unusual Birthday existential crisis probably not helped by seeing a family member I hadnāt seen in a couple of years and stirring up fun memories from my upbringing but as ever another year brings more of the feelings of not enough, not doing enough, not achieving enough, not being enough and Iām giving out advice to people who for some reason look up to me and think I have my life together when Iām getting into work in the morning and wondering how Iām going to get through the next 8 hours. Iām a fraud.
This isnāt much of a comeback post but itās why I havenāt written anything in so long.
A countdown for the number of days Iāve been self harm free
I was trying to explain to someone recently the conflicting feelings that come into my head around self harm. I want to self harm but really I donāt, I keep thinking how much better it was to have an outlet for the way I feel but really I know that it wouldnāt help, it didnāt help, not really, not properly but that doesnāt stop my mind jumping to it when Iām stressed or anxious or overwhelmed.
I havenāt self harmed in 391 days but I self harmed from the age of 17 to 32 and intermittently before that, itās not that I want to self harm itās just that I want to breathe and not feel like Iām suffocating, I want to stop feeling like Iām dragging a weight around with me or wading through custards and when itās been something Iāve done for so long itās an immediate thought an ingrained reaction that my mind jumps to when I feel bad.
Iām not naive I know that just because or not self harmed in a long time it doesnāt mean I wonāt ever do it again because I canāt say for sure that I know Iāll never self harm again and even now itās not that I never do anything unhealthy/ potentially harmful or things that could be soon as negative ways of managing things theyāre just less destructive and donāt involve me ending up in a&e. The longer time goes on the bigger the stakes, once I was past 6 months Iād beat my previous longest time, then it was 7 months, 9 months and finally a year.
Sometimes people say what can I do to help or make things easier but I donāt always want them to do anything other than listen or try and see things from my position, I know some people are more practical than others and their reaction is to look for a solution but sometimes the solution is just please listen to me and hear what Iām saying when I say how overwhelmed and stressed I feel, how I miss people I was close to, how alone I feel, how the light at the end of the tunnel feels very dim and distant right now thatās what can be done to help.
Sometimes I just want someone to take me down to the carpark and let me cry
A collage of pictures of Christmas decorations in the office
Before the earth makes that turn moving the UK into 2019 I thought Iād do a 2018 roundup post because itās been a pretty intense year. At Christmas 2017 I said my goal for 2018 was to become permanent staff even if it was still on reduced hours but to have the security of a proper contract not a zero hours one.
The year didnāt get off the best start with my first trip to a&e of the year on the 2nd of January this was also the only visit to a&e all year, just over two weeks after this I started a new medication Lamotragine a mood stabiliser. Iām sure that lamotragine has been the biggest reason that I havenāt self harmed its almost like itās turned something off in my brain thatās made me not want to self harm anymore.
My main goal for the year came true in May when I became permanent staff and took over running the youth service, in November I passed my 6 month probation so now Iām officially permanent staff running a service, managing volunteers a year after I said I wanted to be permanent.
A picture of a letter confirming that I passed my 6 month probation
Iāve been under the mental health service again this year slowly adjusting my medication and Iāve now come off the antipsychotics, reduced one of the medications I was taking for anxiety and only taking the bets blockers as needed. Iāve gone from taking 5 different medications for my mental health to 3.
For someone who often struggles with change there have been so many this year, changes with my job, and the people I work with, two of the people I was closest with at work both left within a few weeks of each other which has been hard and still hasnāt fully sunk in. The office is definitely quieter and Iām missing my verbal sparring partner, Iāll also the person who will always find something positive in everything who took me outside to the carpark to cry because she knew I wouldnāt want anyone in the office to overhear me.
Iāve also become closer to other people at work including two who started at the same time as me, Iāve been out for various drinks and social events (enough to maybe get a reputation) and Iāve had some lovely feedback and support from my volunteers.
As an incredibly indecisive person who struggles to make a choice when there are too many desserts on the menu I bought myself an early Christmas present and got my first tattoo covering some of my self harm scars something very permanent but positive and I love it so much.
A collage of pictures of my new tattoo a caduceus with the words omnes te moriturum amant above it
So 2019 will be off to a busy start with work but also starting with a huge milestone of a year since the last time I self harmed. Of course my love for a certain tv show about a certain grumpy dr has been in full force in 2018 (is a tattoo taking the fandom too far?) and Iāve spent my time off over Christmas working my way through Sherlock, 2019 is looking like a busy year for my fandoms.
Happy new year or happy January or happy Tuesday whichever suits you
I like to make places and things āmineā make them reflect me and my personality, sometimes this surprises people like last year when a drunken colleague who got me as their secret Santa nicely summed me up saying āyouāre pink and girly but not pick and girlyā I love pink, my mobility aids are pink, I have quite a girly* bedroom but Iām mouthy and sweary and suggestions of laddette to lady have been made. I do know that all this gendering of colours and behaviours is to be fair a load of bollocks but lots of people do like to gender everything.
I think for me itās important to make things and spaces reflect me is because I spent a lot of not time feeling like I lacked an identity which is one of the traits of BPD, I know itās normal to go through phases and even identity crisisā especially during adolescence and teenage but i was a human (dinosaur) chameleon Iād change the way I acted and even spoke around others it wasnāt deliberate I just soaked up other peopleās personalities and mannerisms like an emotional sponge.
Of course I went through various embarrassing phases such as the emo phase (though Iām still an emo at heart) but it wasnāt just my tastes and appearance changing I didnāt feel I had a sense of self I felt like a hollow shell lacking an identity.
When I started my job six months ago I bought a pink desk organiser which has since been joined by pink in trays, a couple of toys and a coaster saying punch today in the face, Iāve also decorated it for Christmas and put up motivational postcards on the wall, for me itās important that my work space reflects me especially as I spend so much time at work it really helps my wellbeing to feel itās somewhere I belong physically as well as emotionally. Although I still experience the occasional existential crisis I feel more secure about who I am than I have in the past, part of this is having things Iām passionate about such as my job and writing, thatās not to say my job is my entire identity but mental health is obviously something Iām very passionate about so Iām Georgiesaurus I like pink, I swear a lot and often drink too much, I love House MD, my top artists on Spotify include Bruce Springsteen, First Aid Kit and George Ezra, I believe pineapple belongs on pizza, I hate Theresa May and I wear cat mittens.
Blue, green, red and white laser beams pointing in all directions around s concert venue
I love live music I love going to gigs even though I donāt do it that often itās something I really enjoy. As a rather emo teenager Iād queue up in the cold wearing just jeans and a t-shirt arriving several hours early to guarantee a place at the front by the stage with only the bare minimum of possessions with me to avoid the need for a bag. I would far rather be crushed and sweaty in the mosh pit than sensibly seated or in the less crowded areas at the back.
My first and only festival experience was not something Iām keen to revisit, between the lack of sleep, disrupted medication schedule and discomfort of camping day festivals and open air gigs are more my thing with a comfortable bed to return to
The days of post gig highs from adrenaline and lack of sleep have been replaced by planned annual leave the day after a night out to recover, I canāt stand for anywhere near the length of time a gig lasts and crowds bumping and pushing me not only increase my anxiety but cause physical pain and my rock my already shaky balance.
Today Iām paying for last night although the pain and exhaustion are worth it for such a good time seeing First Aid Kit a band that although I havenāt been following for long Iām now a big fan of and really love the music of, theyāre also amazing live but despite some of the perks of going to a gig as a disabled person like queue jumping or getting a carers ticket for free I do wish I could still be near the front and not forced to be seated out of necessity.
A large metal walk way amongst the treetops at Kew Gardens
Iām not a fiction writer, not that I consider myself a writer as such I enjoy blogging and writing workshops and training but I canāt write stories. I admire people who can write fiction, recently Iāve been reading quite a lot of fan fiction, now I know the reputation a lot of fanfic has and the sort of images it brings up in a lot of peopleās minds – badly written sec stories often with interesting pairings and while there is plenty of that itās not what I read.
I read a description recently where a character was described as āwalking a tightrope across a canyon of pain, trying to keep his balance, occasionally swaying slightlyā although this was a metaphor for physical pain I think itās also very accurate for mental health and the balancing act of trying not to over balance from one problem or another and stay on course. Iām struggling with anxiety and low motivation and the 8 -10 week wait for another CMHT appointment has now been 15 weeks with no appointment in sight.
My tightrope is currently swinging between work and benefits with a chasm of fuck knows what beneath me too deep to see the bottom but with nothing good down there.
Iām behind with work and struggling to talk to anyone about it, Iām frustrated at myself and Iāve come to such a roadblock with this that itās making me feel stupid which is why Iām struggling to ask for help or admit that Iām having a complete mental block, Iāve always struggled to ask for help with things I donāt understand for fear of looking stupid (or being told Iām stupid). Other issues at work currently stressing me out are things beyond my control such as not enough volunteers and having to rush training new ones and now someone close to me is leaving. Have a mentioned before that I struggle with change? Especially changes with relationships? The last couple of weeks have been an emotional shit storm from hiding in the toilets crying because Iām actually devastated that theyāre leaving to losing my temper and shouting at them due to a build up of stress and frustration.
On the other side the benefits and money stress which is something that doesnāt just impact on me, my tax credits have been stopped in what I can only see as an hmrc cock up which has also had a knock on effect in stopping my housing benefit and having to repay the council what theyāve paid so far, I recently had to reapply for my PIP/ disability benefits and still havenāt heard back from that, the scary thing about this is if I lose it completely I wonāt be eligible anymore for tax credits and my boyfriend will lose the carers allowance he gets for supporting me.
As I canāt currently see an end to the tightrope I just have to hope I can keep my balance and not fall over the edge like the character the quote was about.
One year ago today I started working on the youth wellbeing service, initially to support the volunteers when they delivered workshops and helping with training while someone else did the main day to day running of the service. One the first day he threw me in at the deep end and got me to rewrite one of the workshops, despite not bringing my armbands I managed to avoid drowning and quickly decided I wanted more than just the odd hours supporting the volunteers partly because I liked the extra money but also because I was starting to want more than the things I was doing.
I guess I was lucky to have a manager that was happy to give me more responsibility and delegate more work to me plus he didn’t have the time to do the amount of work the youth service needed on top of running another service 3 days a week. I loved the things I did as a volunteer but I was starting to get bored and after years of stagnating I didn’t want to get stuck again so the more I was given the more I took.
This arrangement was meant to last a couple of months then until Christmas then April. On the 26th of April I had my interview for the service lead position and on April the 27th I was told I’d got the job.
Today I jumped ship and went to work in one of the other offices with a different team, since starting this job I’ve found it hard to be alone in the office all day so I tend to pop up in other places from time to time, I celebrated in a work appropriate was with a boiled sweet which my current manager laughed at me for when I sent her a text telling her (feeling the love) but I might go wild tonight and have something stronger, maybe a bag of haribo š
A picture of me drunk with my mouth open wearing a black and white striped top
Iām a mouthy drunk, not the messy head down the toilet drunk of my early 20ās or the numbing my body with vodka so I could take action to numb my mind drunk of my late 20ās, Iāve never had a problem with alcohol as such more a problem with the things I do when Iāve had alcohol.
I donāt drink much now, chronic illness and medication have seen to that and Iām really only a social drinker but Iām also anxious socially and alcohol is a great way to reduce the anxiety and my tongue. When I say Iām a mouthy drunk I donāt mean rude or aggressive (passive aggressive maybe) more that my tendency to over share increases as my inhibitions decrease adding this to a habit of using humour as a way of making light of difficult subjects it can be awkward at best and messy at worst.
But this isnāt really about alcohol, to quote thirteen ābeing drunk doesnāt change who you are it just reveals itā I recently did a support plan at work about supporting my mental health including triggers, what I can do to support myself, how work can support me and what signs there might be that Iām struggling. One of the things I included here was changes to my relationships with colleagues, I feel I have some good relationships with some of the people I work with and we tend to have a laugh and joke about things including each other itās banter but if Iām struggling or not in a great place mentally I can take that too far past it being funny or harmless.
The problem with banter is when mixed with anxiety and alcohol and a loosened tongue the less fun parts come out, Iām not incapable of being unpleasant or bitchy Iām certainly no saint but itās not always just to be a dick it can and recently was in reaction to hurt, those annoying attachment issues rearing up again at unplanned social interactions with someone who was once a source of support who then let me down and lied to me more than once. Iāve struggled with change and boundaries but Iām not oblivious to them and Iām not naive I donāt need people to lie to me and give me false hope only to completely go against what they said, the worst part is although Iām angry part of me still misses them but I donāt want to not that I particularly want to be angry either but it would be easier to just be angry.
It would be better if I didnāt have to see people who let me down or at least have some control over the interactions but thatās not always possible and while the banter may have gone a bit far and the anger crept in aided by alcohol it didnāt messy and there were no close encounters with the toilet or trips to a&e.
Iām clearly no stranger to sharing my life both online and offline, if I was this blog wouldnāt exist and you wouldnāt be reading this now but offline Iām starting to get tired of sharing my story and talking to people about my history and mental health. Iāve spoken to so many people in different settings from pop up cafes to fundraisers, funding bids for work and over 1000 young people through volunteering on the youth service I now run and although logically I know itās not true it does feel as though there must be a shortage of people who havenāt heard my story by now.
Today Iām running training with my new volunteers on writing their personal story and although no one is forcing me to I donāt feel like I can avoid telling it again it doesnāt seem fair to ask them to share theirs and me not share mine, Iāve been thinking about it for a couple of weeks and Im still not entirely sure why Iām so against telling it now I think itās partly that Iām tired of hearing it and then the fear of being judged and the shame of not really having achieved much in my life. I really do enjoy my job and itās not that I think it doesnāt count but Iām in my 30ās and just getting started in career where most of the people around me are younger than me and more qualified. I donāt feel like an inspiration or someone to look up to, hearing other peopleās educational backgrounds and qualifications reminds me of what I donāt have and what Iām not clever enough to ever achieve, maybe this is internalised to an extent but I also know the reality of my experiences in education.
When youāre known for one thing or people see you a certain way it can be hard to break that view no matter how much you change or try to move on youāll still be seen the same way, Iāve talked about my past so many times as a volunteer and although not in great detail thereās a high chance that Iāll be meeting people in my new role that have heard my story, I donāt hide having mental health problems and itās not like I even could if I wanted to Iāve made sure of that itās something Iāll never be able to fully hide but even though itās my own fault I wish I had a choice.
A brightly coloured coaster saying punch today in the face
Iām struggling. As a mental health blogger youād think that would be easier to say than it is, itās probably a combination of reducing my Quetiapine, a new job and being utterly exhausted but either way Iām not feeling great. I admitted I was struggling at work yesterday and told my manager that I spent last Friday crying at my desk because I felt so isolated being alone all day, i probably work in the most understanding organisation for someone with mental health problems and despite a fuckton of therapy I still find it hard to admit that and ask for help.
I donāt feel that Iām hard on myself I just think I should be able to manage though of course my brain is now telling me this was all a mistake and that I knew Iād fuck everything up it was inevitable that I wouldnāt be able to cope blah blah blah. Itās one thing when these thoughts are conscious because then I have some control over it but this is like a running commentary in the back of my mind itās not me deliberately putting myself down but it wonāt stop and I donāt know what to do to shut it up. Iām still working out boundaries and what is the right amount to share with people, I feel like I overshared yesterday to someone who isnāt my manage who doesnāt need to deal with my mental breakdowns and now I simultaneously want to crawl into a hole and die and also apologise repeatedly (not sure if this is a mental health issue or just being English).
I do have targets to meet I do have things I need to do and achieve but Iām not under pressure these are things I have a year to do and everyone keeps reminding me itās only been three weeks so itās not that. I have a psychiatrist appointment in just over a week and Iām hoping things have levelled out a bit by then, if Iād known it would take several years to come off this medication I might have thought twice about taking it though not everyone has such difficulty with medication adjustments so how would I even know this would be so hard.
Attachment issues are naturally coming out to play because I feel low and I want to cry constantly (which is actually really unlike me) so once again having thought I was feeling ok about someone I suddenly miss them again.
This was disjointed rambling but I wanted to actually start and finish a blog in one go rather then going back and making sure it was post worthy because my head is disjointed rambling right now and I need somewhere to dump it all, I guess one positive is I have no desire to self harm and I’m still over 5 months free.
A photo of me at work wearing pink glasses and a black top with my chin resting on my hand looking stressed
I took part in a photo project on Facebook for people with chronic illness a few months ago and balance was one of the prompts that stood out for me, people talk about a work life balance and having a life outside of work but another type of work life balance for me is the balance between how Iām seen as a member of staff and a person with mental health problems.
My mental health isnāt a secret it couldnāt be if I wanted it to be not just because of this blog or the very obvious signs all over my body including my hands (big regret) but also because I came into the organisation as a service user which is something I make no secret of but at times itās hard to know how others see me. This may be my own internalised anxieties or not feeling good enough but I find it hard to know whether at times of stress Iām see as a stressed or frustrated member of staff like any other or if Iām seen as a person with a mental health problem overeating as a result of their mental health.
Again this may be internalised anxiety and probably a generous dose of feeling like I donāt deserve help or that I shouldnāt ask for help and should be capable and prove myself (probably mostly the last part) but because I feel like I should be able to cope and Iām afraid of being seen as incapable I find it really hard to say Iām struggling at work. I know I keep going on about how scary it is that people having expectations for me to live up to but Friday afternoons seem to be the time my brain likes to have a breakdown and I even got left off work early for being mental today, being overtired and alone all day meant I spent more time crying at my desk than actually working.
My mental health and volunteer experiences help me support my volunteers but I worry that Iām seen as less professional especially because of my self harm and the fact that I donāt cover my scars or that people will think Iām not capable; as it is Iāve been judged by professionals when Iāve attended consultations or panels as a person with lived experience or service user rep, metaphorically patted on the head or had things Iāve been dealing with for years explained to me with a patronising smile and yes some of these people may do it to everyone but when youāre trying to prove yourself or been seen as more than just a token or a tick box to satisfy a requirement itās that bit more frustrating. I keep being told that everyone experiences anxiety at the start of a new job and itās normal to have doubts but again this is where the difference lies because I always feel Iām waiting for people to see through me and tell me this was all a mistake.
This blog is a bit all over the place but what (I think) Iām trying to say is that the balance between work and life is more complex for me than just work and outside work.
This existential crisis was brought to you by caffeine and chocolate.
Tonight* my brain is spiralling down into doom and failure convincing me that Iām a fraud just waiting to be caught out and that Iāve someone convinced people into believing Iām something Iām not, that people will soon realise this and see right through me and that giving me a job, responsibility and letting me run a service is a mistake. Iāve had the talk about imposter syndrome with someone before, someone I respect who to most people would never appear to feel this way I even bought myself a print of the picture used in this blog to try and convince myself that actually Iām not the imposter I think I am.
The feelings of responsibility and expectation are once again terrifying me, for a long time Iāve believed that if I never try I canāt fail and I canāt screw things up but Iām restless and wasnāt feeling stretched anymore by the things Iāve been doing. Iāve spent a large amount of this evening crying as my thoughts continue to spiral and snowball collecting more and more until it becomes and avalanche (sorry for the naff metaphor) anxiety has been creeping in recently and Iām trying to tell myself that itās normal to feel some anxiety about a new job.
It doesnāt really matter what people say because my brain wonāt listen, I know Iām not the only one that feels this way and I also know that I did well in my interview but facts and emotions donāt mix and the fear is strong. I wanted this job so much and I still do but the loss of security and increased responsibility and the worry of everything going wrong is very much on my mind (and in my dreams).
Today I have my induction with two other new members of staff and Iām hoping that Iāll just be treated like any other member of staff and not have to hear everyone say I know everything and that Iāve been here forever because this is still new to me and thereās a lot Iām going to have to learn.
A green backgroud with pink dinosaur cartoon carrying a black brefcase and pink walking stick. The words dinos back are at the top in black
Guess whoās back? Back again, dinos back, please like and share.
So itās been a while, Iāve had to do lots of writing for work recently which hasnāt left me with much brain capacity to write for enjoyment, but Iām back and return with a rant.
This week is Mental Health Awareness Week and the theme is stress which is ironic as stress and work are the reasons I havenāt blogged recently. It often feels like a week canāt go by without there being some kind of awareness day/ week/ month so far this year weāve had time to talk day, self injury awareness day, university mental health day, eating disorders awareness week and no doubt many others. This month is borderline personality disorder awareness month normally Iād write something about these or use them as a springboard to write about a related subject but this time Iām writing about other peoples way of promoting these awareness days.
I know that I often use these awareness days and campaigns to promote my blog and thatās not what I have an issue with but people using it to promote their illness or compete over who is the illest especially on social media. Mental health problems and chronic illness already have so much stigma attached and there are so many misconceptions around them, the biggest areas of stigma Iāve found are within the medical system from Drs and medical staff Iāve had several occasions where Iāve been poorly treated and discriminated against due to my mental health and especially self harm. So why when there is already stigma attached do people within the mental health and chronic illness ācommunitiesā claim to be āraising awarenessā by glorifying their illness or posting things that just add to the misconceptions?
Posting pictures of your self harm as part of an awareness day isnāt going to reduce stigma, posting pictures of your face scratched up or countless pictures of your starved body is shocking and attention grabbing but ultimately adds to the idea that self harm is purely graphic and bloody, that personality disorders are all about self harm or that eating disorders are about being thin and fragile, mental illness is complex but itās not pretty and we donāt need more images of fragile, delicate white girls or bloody and bruised bodies in the name of raising awareness. If I had Ā£1 for every time a health professional made a throw away comment about people with personality disorders or treated someoneās self harm in an unprofessional or even cruel way I would be a wealthy Dino.
We need to change how we raise awareness and avoid glorifying mental health problems as a way to show the reality of living with a mental health issue because the reality isnāt just whatās visible and just showing that side of things not only gives a very narrow view but also undermines people who donāt experience mental illness this way, itās a broad spectrum and everyone is different and we all experience things, everyone has different symptoms and lifestyles, mental illness is invisible not everyone has scars (at least not physical ones) and that should be the message we send that mental health problems arenāt uncommon and theyāre increasing and you canāt always tell just by looking at someone.
Iām clearly no stranger to sharing my life both online and offline, if I was this blog wouldnāt exist and you wouldnāt be reading this now but offline Iām starting to get tired of sharing my story and talking to people about my history and mental health. Iāve spoken to so many people in different settings from pop up cafes to fundraisers, funding bids for work and over 1000 young people through volunteering on the youth service I now run and although logically I know itās not true it does feel as though there must be a shortage of people who havenāt heard my story by now.
