About Me

Mum of 2, suffering my own mental health issues, I began to write this blog as a way to release feelings and emotions. At 13 my daughter was terribly bullied which has led to her having serious mental health problems of her own. She is now 16. I wanted to document our journey and hopefully be able to look back and see how far we have come.

Wednesday, 20 February 2013

What if you don't want to talk?

I feel compelled to write, as it's been a couple of weeks since my last post.  But to be honest I really don't know what I want to say. 

Do I talk about the two sessions I've had with a counsellor? Given the waiting list for this, in my first session I found myself struggling to recall why I had been referred.  Which aspect of my upside down life was I there to talk through and was it still relevant? The second session I threw caution to the wind and dragged us back over 20 years.  I sobbed as I recalled a 20 year old girl settling for the adulterous older man thrown out by his wife, because she felt she must "do the honourable thing".  The honourable thing lasted about 12 years.

And where is this man now?  The father of my children?  Cosy in his home, where he does not have to consider a sick child in his daily or even weekly routine.  Am I bitter?  You're damn right I am.

Do I have a moan about my lack of self control over the things I put in my mouth, which are allowing my ample frame to ever increase? The chocolate, the alcohol, anything that might give me a moment of pleasure, anything that might make me feel something other than dead inside.

Do I tell you that Emily will be leaving the unit at the end of the month?  Should I explain how she will start to build up her return to school by adding 1 lesson extra each week, but on different days?  I understand why it is being done this way, but all I can think about is how I facilitate this and still get time to go to work.

Maybe I should tell you that the closer we get to her discharge, the more anxious Emily becomes and the more I worry.  Every time she leans on me I feel the weight is too much to bear.

Shall I explain how I want to shut myself away or that I crave sunshine on my face? I want to get drunk and dance, I want to set off on a journey, I want to do many things, none of them here.  I want to forget all this crap and give my open sores a chance to scab over before the next onslaught.

There is a big mental health campaign at the moment, "Time to talk"  What if you don't want to talk?

Sunday, 10 February 2013

How far?

Today I sat in a shopping centre crying. The reason for the tears was not sadness but pain, pain in my heart, pain caused by memories tugging at me .

Emily had asked me to take her for school stationery supplies and inbetween shopping we'd stopped for lunch.  As we chatted she asked me if I thought she had made progress with her illness.

I said 'yes, of course' straight away, but then her words sent me back in time. My mind began to dig deeper into my memories.

Sat across from her I looked into her eyes and said, "You have no idea how far you have come.  When I think back it scares me" and it did, really scared me to the point that I could not stop the tears from forming.  Once formed they began to overflow and make their way down my cheeks.  I sensed people noticing me, but I really and honestly didn't care.  Emily reached across the table and took my hand, saying sorry for upsetting me.

I told her it was ok.  It has been a roller-coaster of a journey and we are not at the end.  A year ago we were in a terrible place and, whilst things are far from perfect, they are at least better.

Emily looked at me as though she couldn't comprehend.  She still considered herself to be ill.  I suppose she is, but from where we were, we have come so far.

She looked almost puzzled.  I told her that I had written a diary and that one day  I would share it with her.  Then she would truly see how far she had come.

Thursday, 7 February 2013

Thanks for all the snow

I'm sat in a supermarket car park at 8.45am. I've just dropped Emily and her brother at school. Today is the first day that Emily will attend form. She's then going to one lesson and then I'm taking her back to the unit.
School have, against normal policy, agreed to move Emily from her old form into her brothers. It means she has him for support and she also knows a few others from her junior school.  Even so, this morning she was showing classic anxiety symptoms.

When the form change was first suggested I spoke to my son. He was ok about it and understood. Yesterday and this morning, however, he has been a typical stroppy sibling. A pound each for sweets hopefully has smoothed, or maybe bribed the way.

Earlier this week, we woke up to a good few inches of snow. I didn't fancy going far in the car. My son walked to the school bus,  (which didn't come, unsurprisingly) grumbling all the way I should imagine.
The big story however came from Emily. She said she'd go by tram on her own to the unit. Not only would this be a complete first, going solo since her illness, but she would also be on with school kids from her old school.

I checked and double checked. She was adamant.

Her journey was slow and there were constant texts between us, but she made it.  I told her I was so proud of her and that she should be really proud of herself.
Not only was it a huge achievement at the time, but it has become a resource she can continue to collect dividends from.

As the tears and shakes started in the car park this morning I reminded her of that tram trip and that this was nothing in comparison. She nodded.

As I watched them walk of to school together, something, at times, I thought would never happen again, a voice in my head said "thanks for all the snow"