Have I just been given a potentially terminal diagnosis?
I went to the Mental Health hospital.
It was an emergency referral by my GP. I called her because I was struggling to stay alive. She was kind, proactive and validating.
We upped my medication to give me immediate hope for better feelings, and she sent an emergency referral to the local Mental health hospital for support.
A few days later, the hospital called. The next available appointment was in 6 weeks. That's not long in medical waiting list terms, but it is long when you are fighting to keep yourself safe.
I'm lucky that I know this is an illness, that the voice and desire to die is not me; it's not to be believed or engaged with. That lightens the danger, but it doesn't alleviate it.
My illness stems from my upsetting childhood and is significantly triggered by living with family.
You may have seen my many car-camping trips during the summer. They weren't just because I'm an adventurous free spirit. Most were because I needed to get away and try to gain control of my slipping mental wellbeing. And I was looking to find an affordable home option to buy on this expensive island of Ireland.
I was desperate and doing what I could to help myself. Unfortunately, my income does not yet allow me to live independently. My illnesses still restrict the number of hours I can work. I have never been in such a disempowered, restricted situation. I have always been independent, capable and self sufficient, but Chronic fatigue changed that.
I am hopeful I will find a way back to financial independence; until then, I am living in a situation that brings me to the brink of death time and time again. Unfortunately, nothing I am doing seems to prevent it from occurring.
I have lived with, and survived, suicidal ideation since my early teens. Which means
1) the odds say I will not try and kill myself.
2) I have endured this for so long that I have a reasons to act on the desire to die.
How many more times do I have to fight this battle?
What am I missing in the medical system that I am still returning to this low point? I have to be doing something wrong, don't I?
I knew I wouldn't last the 6 weeks until my appointment. Since I couldn't live independently in Ireland, I looked elsewhere.
I got a private room in Portugal, bills included, with a pool for half that the coast of Ireland. I realise how indulgent this seems, but I know myself very well and need to have at least two of the following three things to keep surviving
1) hope of change
2) something looks forward to
3) feeling of freedom
This provided at least 2 of those things, and the medical appointment provided the hope. But I had to make it 6 more weeks.
And make it I did. The sun kissed my skin for 30 days. I ate delicious pastries, immersed my body in salty seawater and breathed in freedom each day.
It felt like I found myself and lost myself over and over again in that month.
On the whole, the trip away exceeded my expectations and needs.
I was anxious about coming home, but I had my "long" awaited appointment. I knew this would be the start some active support, probably a psychologist referral with a psychiatrist to review my medication.
My medication has been increased sporadically during lockdowns. By the end of all the add-ons, I am on triple my antidepressant dose, I'm now on the maximum allowed dosage. Added to that has been anti-anxiety, which was then increased to double the dose.
The day arrived. Finally, my next lifebuoy to hold onto.
In the waiting room, I met a man who was there to sign himself off their services. He had taken himself off his medication, refused their therapy offer and was going it alone. I was scared for him. I could see he was scared too, and there was a look of hopelessness in his eye. I wanted to take his pain away; I wanted to tell him to take all they had to offer and give everything to their recovery plan. But, instead, I wished him well and walked into the consultant's room.
I knew I would take all they were willing to offer me.
I was an hour and a half with the Junior consultant answering questioning, offering information and opening up old scars to show the pain I live with inside me. An hour and a half of courageous sharing, while a student looked on.
And in that hour and a half, there were moments of outright begging.
I begged for my pain to be seen even though I am articulate and composed.
I begged to be worthy of help even though I am knowledgeable and have a proven record of self sufficiency. Before she left the room to consult with another doctor, I cried and begged to be helped, somehow.
She left the room certain she could offer me some help.
When she walked in, I could sense her shame and apprehension.
I know the system is stretch; waiting lists are long. But, hope was all I needed to walk out of with.
Hope was exactly what was taken away from me.
She sat down and could hardly look at me.
She opened her mouth, and what came out was, "we don't want to see you here again."
Yes, let that sink in.
After telling her, I was hanging on by a thread, explaining that some days it takes 100% of my time, energy and will to not act on my suicidal ideation.
When she asked, I told her my suicide plan, even though I usually refuse to even form it as a complete thought for fear the pull to actioning it would become too strong. She said, "we don't want to see you here again; if you feel you need to see us again, your GP can re-refer you, but we don't have anything that we can offer you."
You see, I have done it all. First, I took everything offered to me, and then I found more support options myself.
When I lived in Scotland, I did;
Cognitive Behavioural Therapy
2 years one on one psychotherapy
3 years group psychotherapy - this was life changing. If you are ever offered it, take it and give it all the courage and vulnerability you have.
I've had twice been to counsellors for blocks of therapy,
Went to various healers,
And a hypnotherapist.
Since returning home to Ireland 4 years ago, I have
refreshed my Cognitive Behavioural Therapy via Aware Life Skills Program
Went to the free HSE Stress reduction course
Went to the free HSE Mindfulness course
Attended counselling at Pieta House during my last suicidal at-risk phase 2 years ago.
When I shared with the doctor that I was devastated they couldn't offer me anything, she told me that wasn't the case. Instead, she referred me to free HSE self-referral counselling for childhood abuse and some videos on stress control.
I had no words. I left in a daze and walked to my car with big snotty tears rolling down my face.
I sat in shock and then rang my mum. She joined me in shock, and we both sat flipping between being scared to death by what this meant for me and a raging fury that this could happen.
But it does happen, all that time, and not just regarding mental health.
I couldn't stop thinking "have I just been handed a potentially terminal diagnosis?".
Somehow, in all my awareness, experience, and knowledge, I had never realised that you can get to a point where nothing more can be done for you regarding your mental health. Why did I think this?!?!?
That was just what had happened. I had to keep reminding myself it wasn't because I wasn't sick enough, It was because I had already had all that was available, and it hadn't quite worked sufficiently enough.
How did we reach this point? How are my problems greater than the medical system can handle?
what does this mean for me?
Oh, and the counselling they advised I self refer to has a 1.5 year waiting time. Yep, they sent me home from an emergency referral with basically nothing. My hope of medical support has been taken away. I am alone with this illness and my battle against it, but not totally alone. I have a mother who sits beside me in my darkness. This community meets my vulnerability with kindness. And thankfully there is the support of charities and subsides services with shorter waiting lists.
For a life update 26/11/21 click here.
