One year

So I don’t quite know how it happened…but it seems it has been an entire year since I’d last taken a trip to the emergency department, been admitted to hospital or even taken an overdose. Okay, so I know for most people they manage not to do that ever so it shouldn’t really be such an achievement, but for me it is. Those who’ve followed my journey on this blog for some time may recall a girl who was quite consumed with her mental health issues. Who, for the past three or so years prior, could not go more than four or five months without overdosing and ending up in the ED. To be honest I’m not even entirely sure how this year happened, but here I am.

That’s not to say I don’t still struggle. I most certainly do. There are times when I still contemplate overdosing and that ending it all may be easier. Certain things and situations still will trigger me. At times I still self harm. There are times when I miss and long to receive the support of a mental health professional, and feel envious of those who do. But all in all, compared to how I used to be, I think I’m going okay. I just hope it continues not just for one year, but for many, many years.

Full time uni

Sometimes I wonder whether or not I should do part time at uni. For the past two years I’ve been doing full time, and somehow or another, have managed to pass everything. But I also think of the struggles it took to get through it, and that it may be worth it to cut back a bit on the workload. So that I’m not so exhausted and not so stressed. So that I don’t get completely overwhelmed and panic when I have four assessment tasks all due in the same week. So that I have time to relax and do the things that I enjoy and keep me well. Because if I’m honest with myself, stress is a big trigger for me, and I’d like to stay well for as long as I can. And unlike last semester where I had a GP who could write me a letter when I needed extensions on assignments, I don’t even have a GP currently.

At the same time, I reason with myself that I got through the past two years, so I should be able to get through this year and next too. I don’t want to extend my time at uni for longer than I have to. I’ve already been at uni for so many years while friends and people I know have graduated on gone on to get real jobs. Other people’s opinions and approval also matter to me, and I’m afraid of what friends and family may think. That I should just continue on so I can finish as soon as possible or that I’m just being slack. Some people manage/d full time university and jobs with many hours (as my boyfriend has told me he did). I don’t want to feel inadequate for not even being able to manage what everyone else is able to.

Why the need to ask?

I don’t quite get why people feel the need to ask the who/what/when/why of scars. Especially when there are a number of them, and let’s face it, aren’t my most attractive feature. I mean, I can kinda understand when there’s one recent wound, and people ask as a curiosity/sympathy/”are you okay” type thing. But when there’s a number of old scars…

A couple of OT friends noticed the scars on my legs and asked how I got them. I shrugged, said “I don’t know” and looked away. We then had a Counselling and Group Work tutorial in which our tutor briefly spoke about self harm, how it’s a way to cope and is not necessarily a suicide attempt. Straight after our tutorial one of the friends then asked me whether it’s from self harm. I ignored her and said nothing, while the other friend laughed and joked “We just had the tutorial so now you’re asking about self harm.”

Later on in the day my friend then took it upon herself to ask again, remarking that she doesn’t understand how I don’t know how I got them, that even if she fell, a person wouldn’t get that many scars. “Oh my gosh, why do you keep asking?” I asked in a light-heartedly exasperated way.

That night I received a text from my other friend which said that she thought it was quite immature for our two other friends to be joking about self harm like that, she noticed I looked uncomfortable and she was sorry I had to experience that. This is a friend who knows I have mental health issues so she could probably infer the scars are actually from self harm. I texted back that I appreciated her message and that I imagined our two friends joked about it because they didn’t realise what they were joking about was actually the truth.

Many of my scars have faded over the years and I’ve had a lot of time to get used to them so their questions about it don’t really bother me all that much as I just brush it off. I’m at the stage where though it’s not something I want to announce to everyone I know, it’s also not something I go to great lengths to hide any more. What I don’t understand though is why people are insistent on knowing how someone got their scars. I know what may seem obvious to me and others who have or know someone who has self harmed isn’t so obvious to them. But even if the scars aren’t from self harm, why do they probe so much curiosity? To me they’re just scars and not a big deal.

Acupuncture

I went out to lunch today with my family and relatives. My auntie reported to us that my two cousins have been getting acupuncture, one to treat his acne and the other to treat her eczema. She then informed my mother and I that acupuncture can also be used to treat depression. “Oh,” I said, and didn’t comment further. “Are you still taking medication?” my aunt asked. “Yes,” I confirmed. And I don’t feel the need to ditch my medication for a round of acupuncture either. If it ain’t broken, don’t fix it I say. I’ll admit too that I’m a wuss and the idea of having needles stuck in me is very unappealing.

I remember at the beginning I was quite resistant to the idea of taking medication. However, I’ve now accepted that it probably does help somewhat, and it’s now just a part of my daily routine. Two tablets in the morning, one tablet at night.

I believe in Western medicine and there is proof in the clinical trials that have been conducted. I did study pharmacy at one point in my life after all. Although I am Chinese, I guess I’m a bad one, as I remain dubious about the efficacy of alternate therapies such as acupuncture. But hey, if my auntie and her children want to try acupuncture, all power to them. It will be interesting to see whether they notice an improvement. Meanwhile I will continue with my medication regimen.

2012

When I look back at 2012, my blog posts have been rather sparse in comparison to previous years. That’s probably not such a bad thing. When I’m well, my online life dwindles as I become more active in real life. There’s less of a need for me to vent and record every sordid detail of my life.

Reviewing the year that’s passed has in recent years caused me to feel dejected. However, though 2012 has brought its share of tough times, there have also been a number of instances where I’ve been proud of what I’ve achieved and grateful for what it has brought me.

In the beginning of the year Kobi, my little Maltese Shihtzu, came into my life. He’s my furry ball of joy who amuses me with his antics, keeps me company when I’m lonely, and comforts me by licking my tears away when I’m sad.

New people have come into my life. This year I made a group of friends in OT. I met my first boyfriend.

Despite many late nights, last minute assignments and freak outs, I passed both first semester and second semester of second year OT. I am now halfway through the course, with third year being the challenge in 2013.

In November, I turned 21 and spent in in the company of a group of friends. This was much more enjoyable than spending it with nurses, psychiatrists and patients in a psych ward.

This year has also been about striving for independence. I went on a holiday by myself for the first time. I finally received my drivers licence, even if it did take four driving tests before being able to do so. Through moving out, I now no longer have to live under my father’s rules and criticism and am free to live without fear at home.

For the greater proportion of the year, I’ve been managing without professional help bar the occassional GP visit to obtain scripts for my meds, and that’s been working out well for me. My last overdose, last ED and psych ward admission was back in March. That’s now almost ten months, the longest it’se been in years. I went five months without purging and an eating disorder is no longer an issue in my life.

Though mental health issues hasn’t been prominent in my life this year, I’ve still continued to be active and volunteer in the mental health sector. It still continues to be my passion, and I still very much enjoy it.

Here’s hoping 2013 is a good one.

Relationship barriers

Prior to this week my boyfriend knew I have depression and take medication for it, but not much more than that. A few days ago however, I disclosed a lot more. He now knows I’ve been in hospital a number of times. That I’ve seen psychologists and psychiatrists. I’ve overdosed to harm myself. The scars on my arm and my legs are not from allergies as he originally thought but from cutting myself. Though I tell myself I wouldn’t want to be with anyone where mental health issues is a deal breaker anyway, there’s still a part of me that’s hesitant to disclose the state of my mental health. That it’ll be seen as too much ‘baggage’ and scare any potential partners away. Lucky for me though that hasn’t happened yet and my boyfriend hasn’t gone bolting in the other direction.

Sometimes I wonder though whether I really want to be in a relationship or whether I actually prefer being single. Both physical and emotional intimacy makes me very uneasy. I guess I’m being a prude but even kissing makes me feel uncomfortable and honestly I just find it gross. And that’s just kissing so you can guess how I feel about anything further than that. I’ve always been unable to express emotions and feelings, instead going mute or making a joke of it when conversation turns in that direction. It makes me feel bad when he compliments me, says that he cares about me, that being with me makes him happy and I can’t bring myself to say the same in return. I was never pampered with hugs and kisses, compliments, solace or “I love you” growing up and so I never learnt how to dispense it either. Second in my mind is that expressing emotional affection to someone leaves me vulnerable to being hurt in the case of future rejection. And I don’t know how to overcome these barriers and whether it’s even possible.

Content

It’s been over a week now that I’ve moved out, and I’m beginning to settle in and even enjoy my new found freedom and independence. At first there were bumps, as I was pushed out of my comfort zone. I missed my home, where I had spent the majority of my life. There were tears as I wondered whether I could really cope and even contemplated picking up and going back. But now I’m glad I took the initiative to escape a situation I did not want to be in.

Moving to a new area, I went to see a new GP close by. He issued me the scripts I asked for; Pristiq and Seroquel, with enough repeats to last six months. Prior to this I had still been having only a week’s worth of medication dispensed to me at a time. Though it may be a little deceitful of me not to disclose this to the GP, I was tired of having to go to the pharmacy every week. Besides, I haven’t overdosed in 9 months and if I really wanted to, I could anyway. And for the moment, I don’t. Things are going well. I’ve finally moved out. I passed all my units at uni and will be going into my third year of occupational therapy in 2013. I have friends, and I even have a boyfriend now. The guy I’d been dating has become my boyfriend, in fact my first at the age of 21. And I too am his first, at the age of 25. For now, I am rather content.