Nobody is getting out of bed to fundraise for people suffering from psychosis

I have been seeing pictures of the darkness into light walk which was organised by pieata house, and while it makes me happy to think of all these people raising money for a charity that is helping people experiencing suicidal thoughts and self harm, it isn't enough. It allows for an awareness of suicide that doesn't include serious illnesses that devestate the sufferer such as bipolar disorder, anorexia and psychosis. Illnesses that are frightening and misunderstood by most people. 

I went to Pieta House in 2012, and it didn't help me at all. I was very very very unwell. The sessions were geared towards helping people who were dealing with suicidal thoughts and self harm because of a personal crisis, not someone who was suffering from a psychiatric illness. It's great that there is a service for people form whom this sort of help is perfect, and I am in no way trying to bash it, or belittle it. For most people, it is perfect. But I couldn't get the help I needed from this service because it is not geared towards long term support. It is for talking people through difficulties. 

People who experience the sort of difficulties I experienced, people who are extremely vunrable need the help of doctors and psychiatrists, along with a multi disciplinary team that can work with them long term (pieta house only provided 12 sessions) to manage their illness. Chronic depression, bipolar disorder and psychosis (which is diagnosed as schizophrenia after a certain numbers of episodes) seriously reduce the quality of life of the sufferer. They are stigmatised, and difficult to treat, and if are left untreated for the years most people have to wait, make chances of recovery very slim. Suffered often use alcohol and drugs as coping mechanisms to self medicate, which means that when they do end up in hospital they often find it hard to access the right treatment, or are limited by insurance, which only covers (in most cases) 90 days of inpatient treatment. This means that patients are discharged from treatment when they are doing better, but don't yet have the skills to manage their illness in the community, which means when they come out of the community they often relapse into negative coping mechanisms. A vicious circle. 

A friend I know with psychosis (who hasn't received any real, lasting help from an overcrowded health system that is unable to cope and has been forced to come off her meds completely recently due to a mix up with her doctor and GP) has had psychotic episodes where she believes that the devil is controlling her brain and forcing her to do things (such as serious self harm). She has engaged in behaviour in public (such as shouting, climbing trees etc) that she is completely mortified of while lucid but when she is psychotic seem perfectly normal in the reality she is experiencing. Her psychotic episodes often make her think people are trying to kill her, and it is traumatising and terrifying for both her and her family, who end up being her main carers until she is unwell enough to be admitted to hospital in an never ending cycle. 

Even though we both suffer from radically different illnesses, and mine is nowhere near as severe, we both have been let down by the healthcare system and our parents both pay for private health insurance. I can't imagine the path my life would have taken if my family could not afford this, and instead I was forced to wait months for substandard public health care. 

Once again, I think its incredible that people put so much effort into fundraising for Pieta House. If got up at a god awful hour to raise awareness, thank you because you are giving me the confidence to feel like its ok to be open about mental heath. Lets not let this success allow the government (specifically looking at you, Leo) take any more money away from our already pitiful mental health service in this country. And lets not forget about the people who haven't benefited from this increased openness about mental health problems. 

I DON'T HATE CHRISTMAS (ANYMORE)

I feel like every where I go on the internet (if thats the correct term, go?) I see another person blogging about how to cope with mental health and christmas. Christmas can be a really difficult time for anyone with an illness because of the expectations of happiness that we put on our selves for the month of December. Nobody logically expects anyone with an illness to magically forget about the pain they are in, or the difficulties they experience, but somehow, when you are in pain yourself, you feel like you should be a fountain of jolliness. And when you're not, you can feel even worse than you did before. 

For a couple of years I hated christmas. For me the only way to cope with the actual day was to stay in pyjamas from christmas eve to stephens day and when things got too much, read in the bath for hours. I didn't feel like I deserved presents and the thought of meeting relatives and family friends made me feel sick. So I stayed in my pyjamas and had my long baths and watched movies constantly and I obviously survived and I am now here to tell the tale. If I had read any of the blog posts would they have helped? Maybe a little, but I don't think they would have made the day any easier. 

This year is finally different. I am excited for christmas and christmas day. I will 100% get dressed. I might read in the bath, but not because I want to pretend christmas doesn't exist. I 100% deserve lots of presents and I can't wait to unwrap them. I'm going to buy an elf costume for my dog. I'm going to make my dad wear a singing christmas tie. My mum will light tonnes of candles and my day will worry about things catching on fire, and I will probably laugh at him for this then my lack of spacial awareness will prove him right. 

Christmas this year has made me appreciate, more then ever, the wonderful people that are around me, as cheesy and cliche as that sounds. I'm glad they stuck around through all the crying in the bath stages. Not that they were in the bath when I was crying, that would be weird. But I am really looking forward to christmas, and the fact my boyfriend might finally stop ignoring me in the grand debate of what skis to buy (he's going to end up with the original pair, I'd put money on it) is only a tiny tiny factor.

World Mental Health Day!

I have been sat here staring at a blank page trying to think about something to write about world mental health day. Not because I don't have anything to say, but because I have too much. Mental health is something that has hugely affected me. I don't want to write 'my story', because it is still too soon, for me and the people who supported me through it. I also don't want to write a general piece on how the silence and stigma needs to change either, because how ever much I try to distance myself from it, I can't. 

So I am, instead, going to write about how, at the darkest and worst times of my life, when I couldn't see a reason for living, because it was too painful, there were people who stuck by me no matter what. Who loved me, despite the hell I was going through and bring them along with me. 

It's a massive cliche, but I am still here in no part thanks to the mental health services in ireland. Individually, I have had the fortune to have met some lovely health care practicioners, nurses and doctors who despite working in a terrible system still managed to make a difference. 

I could spend all day talking about the terrible things that renowned doctors said to me, and my parents. The times when I was in desperate need but the waiting list to see anybody was a year long, the general insensitivity that seems to be prevalent and the sheer ignorance of mental health in this country, and the world in general. But this is not what got me here today. 

What got me here today was my mum and dad, who let me drop out of school. Who understood that I couldn't get out of bed and didn't make me feel bad about it, because they knew how much pressure I put myself under. Who drove me to appointment after appointment even when nothing seemed to be working and never, ever complained. 

My sisters and brother. For forgiving me for taking up all my parents energy and attention, and never once made me feel ashamed for it. Who even when I was at my sickest still treated me as normal. 

My friends. Aoife and Jean,at the earlier stages, Emma and Emsie and Katie, later on. The people who listened to me and loved me even though nobody really understood what was going on, least of all me. People think they have best friends, and I guess they kind of do, but not like that. Aoife and jean basically kept me alive when I honestly felt like the real caoimhe had died and there was an empty shell left. They were there through the worst days of my life. They understand my need to make horrible jokes about it all and they laugh. Even though they had awful stuff going on too they still let a massive centre stage light shine on me for years. I am becoming incoherent because I am blinded by love. These are the people that helped me recover. 

The girls I met in hospital also get a special mention. I won't name you, but you know who you are. Somebody that can make you laugh when you feel so bad that you can't even shower is somebody that deserves a medal, especially because they feel bad too. You were the people who really helped me through hospital. 

My boyfriend, for not caring. And for letting me cry. And for understanding that it is physically impossible for me to cry while watching TLC and not caring that he has sat through far more reality TV then I have ever sat through foot ball matches. Even though he didn't know what he was really getting into, he never cared. And he always calls me to ask if I'm ok. And know when I'm lying.

All the teachers, and lectures, and tutors that made sure I could continue with my education.  That made me feel ok about walking into a class not having gone for weeks. That extended my deadlines, and understood that I get anxious about answering emails. That spent time helping me to catch up. I may have not always said it, but thank you from the bottom of my heart. You made being sick and having some sort of normal life happen. You made sure I was able to continue my education, the most important thing to me. 

The people who knew I was unwell, and asked was I ok. That were nice and understanding about me missing a lot of time in college and didn't make me feel bad or weird about it. All you people are in halls, in college, in school... The fact I could be having a shitty time and someone would be nice and understanding has made me feel so much better so many times. You might not even know that you are doing it. But thank you.

So I guess what I am trying to say is, thank you. I don't always say it. I feel awkward. All these people were not trained doctors, or nurses, or psychiatrists, or psychologists or therapists but you helped me get to where I am today. You have made such a huge difference to my life and I am so grateful to have all of you. 

So, if you're struggling, look around. You might not be able to see it but there are people that love you and are trying to help you as best they know how. Mental illness is just as serious as physical illness. It's not just in your head. Your health is the most important thing. Don't be ashamed to suffer from mental illness. 

I guess I'm living proof that it does get better. Even if getting better seems the most impossible thing in the world.