Doing the right thing.

When I first moved into my flat, I thought things would be relatively quite. I'd chosen that area because, being 1 bedroomed flats, there were unlikely to be children around and as most people were shift workers at the airport, it should generally be quiet. In the beginning, it was heaven as I heard barely a peep from my neighbours and I often forgot that I was living near anyone.

Fast forward to today and the area has become much more "colourful". I've had to learn a lot about tolerance although, particularly when I'm not so well, it can be hard to tolerate people thumping up the stairs the other side of my head in the early hours of the morning never mind my neighbour's very loud and vigorous love-making at 4 a.m. I've also learnt that people change over time. When my neighbour downstairs moved in, he was with a pleasant young girl and although they had a dog, there was very little noise from them.

Over the last couple of years, this has changed a lot and not to my advantage. At some point, they must have split up and there has been a steady stream of people coming and going, most of whom, I don't recognise. For someone who has bouts of paranoia, this can be difficult to deal with but it's his home and I have no right to say who lives there. I guess I must be a pretty easy going person, either that or I'm a complete pushover as I've put up with loud music late at night, groups of people talking very loudly late at night in the garden about subjects that make me want to tell them to grow up (maybe I'm just an old grump!) and numerous BBQs in the summer conveniently placed right under my living room window so the room is filled with smoke.

A few months ago, there was a particularly unpleasant incident when a local guy turned up in the dead of night demanding the keys to his flat. From the noise he was making, it sounded like he was about to break down the door and smash the window. Part of me was tempted to open my window and shout at him for waking me up but, in spite of appearing to be strong and tough, I'm actually very frightened by violence that happens in front of me. Fortunately, I was saved by my other noisy neighbour who wasn't afraid to give him a piece of her mind. The downside for me, is that whenever I see this guy round the village, I cross the road as I now know what he can be like.

Last Friday, well it was more the early hours of Saturday, there was yet another incident. I was attempting to get to sleep when I heard violent knocking at the door of the downstairs flat. I hoped that there would be someone in as I didn't want to put up with lots of noise having had a particularly stressful day. An argument then started between the guy that lives there and a young woman. Even though my windows were closed, I could hear what was going on and could tell it was a very heated row. It got to the point where I'd decided I'd had enough and I was just about to open my window to tell them to keep it down when I saw him hit the girl so hard that she flew into the next garden.

Feeling absolutely terrified, I dialled 999 and asked for the police. All the way through the conversation, I was told "officers are on their way" and, as I put the phone down, I saw a police car drive into my road. I waited to see what would happen, mainly so that I could go to sleep knowing that there wasn't a violent man in the flat below. to my surprise, the police parked round the corner for twenty minutes and then drove off without coming anywhere near the flat. By this time, I had no idea where the girl had gone although her bag was still on the ground - I'm hoping that she saw the police and went to them although I would have expected them to find out exactly what had happened by speaking to both people involved.

Just under an hour later, I was again disturbed by the arrival of a paramedic in a response car. I opened the window and told him what I'd seen and he was surprised that the police had done nothing. As far as I know, he took the girl's bag which was still there and drove off just before 4 a.m.

Two days later, and I've still not heard anything from the police despite saying I was willing to act as a witness for the girl. Part of me wonders if the police looked at the information that they have about me and decided that it was that mad woman and if they drove round there, it might shut me up. It has certainly knocked my confidence in the police - if they don't do anything about a violent incident when the attacker is still around, what is the point in reporting anything? I already know that they're about as much use as a chocolate kettle when it comes to theft so are they equally useless when it comes to domestic violence? More importantly, if I urgently need them, will they actually help or will they just write it off as part of my madness?

Social terrors

Last night I attended the diabetes group social evening. It's been a while since I've been to one of their social evenings and under normal circumstances I would have missed this one as well but for the fact that it was hosted by my friend. Over the last year or so our relationship has really progressed and I'm learning how relationships with other people work in a practical way rather than sitting in a group psychotherapy session. Anyway, I felt sorry for her (empathy, a new experience for me!) as it sounded like she was having to do all the preparation on her own as someone else had let her down.

I knew that if I arrived there early, I wouldn't have to deal with the stress of driving in traffic and not being able to park plus, I could use the amount of time I'd already been there as an excuse to leave early. I'd set myself up with a couple of tasks to do as people arrived so I wouldn't have to stand around chatting to people (social small talk is still a mystery to me and makes me panic) and I found myself racing from door to bar as I let people in and then offered them their first drink. This was quite a big step for me as I'm an alcoholic who's currently dry, but I thought I was in a good enough place to deal with it and I'm more aware of when I'm heading for trouble which is when I would step away from the bar.

Everything seemed to be going fine until it was announced that the food was going to be served. For some reason, I felt my mood crash into my boots and I sneaked off into the garden where I hid for at least half an hour hoping to use the "I'm just having a cigarette" line if anyone said anything. I knew I really should be eating something as I'd not had much all day and my sugar levels were probably dropping quite low but my evil voice wouldn't let me. He kept telling me that I wasn't allowed to eat because I hadn't paid my money (things are very tight at the moment) and if I ate in front of everyone, they would see what a disgusting pig I was and that someone like me shouldn't be eating.

The pathetic child in me took over and accepted the punishment. I wanted to just leave and go home but it meant walking through the house to collect my coat and keys and I couldn't face what seemed like a huge crowd (even though there were no more than 40 people there). Someone did eventually call out to me and ask if I wanted to eat but I just said no, I didn't want to and hoped it would be left at that although I didn't think I could last right to the end as it was cold and damp outside. Fortunately, my friend came out and she realised that I was really struggling (I think the tears gave it away). One of the signs of a good friend is someone who can recognise and understand when someone is on difficulty and who can help put things right. I tried to dig my heels in about not eating but she kept telling me that I really did need to eat and gave me a couple of options for eating on my own so I agreed to come inside and have something to eat.

This helped improve my mood although I lurked in the kitchen for the rest of the evening and ended up tackling the washing up (not something I tend to do at home!) as I'm always happier when I've got a task to do if there are a lot of people around. I ended up surviving to the end of the evening and I'm really glad that there was someone there who understood what was going on and was able to deal with me in a calm manner which works far better than having someone ordering me around or telling me to "grow up".

I have mixed feelings about the whole evening, I was pleased with my ability to deal with people as they arrived and pouring out drinks without being too tempted (thanks to whole lot of CBT and continued medication). However, I was caught out by my reaction to eating in front of people and my fear of being in room full of people and trying to do the social chat so that still needs quite a bit of work. Overall, though, I think I did well and I couldn't have made it to the end of the evening without the care and support of a good friend.

Stigma and work

Today is World Mental Health Day and it got me thinking about mental illness and work, in particular, people's attitudes towards the mentally ill in the workplace. When I had my major breakdown, it was triggered by an incident at work. My view of it was that everyone was supporting the people making allegations against me and there wasn't a single person who was prepared to take my side or at least accept that my version of events was reasonable and true. At my lowest point, I remember sitting in a corner of the office trying to stuff envelopes while sobbing my heart out. I would have expected any normal person to express sympathy that I was upset and maybe say some words of encouragement but I was ignored.

Once I started my long period of sick leave, it was as if I didn't exist. No-one called to see how I was and when I came into work for meetings with my manager, people looked right through me. At the same time, another colleague was ill with a brain tumour. He had his family around him to support him and many of my colleagues visited him on a regular basis before he sadly died. It may sound a bit like sour grapes but I was deeply upset by this as everyone at work knew I didn't have the support of my family and was trying to cope on my own. I'd known the guy with the tumour for nearly twenty years (which most people at work knew) but when he died they apparently drew lots in the office to decide who would tell me as no-one wanted that responsibility. Perhaps they thought this news would push me into a suicide attempt (they were aware I'd made at least a couple of attempts already), perhaps they just didn't want to talk to me as I was now "mad". Either way, I felt they didn't have much respect for me and it was clear that the people I'd thought were my friends were anything but.

Since I lost my job over 4 years ago, I've had plenty of time to reflect over what happened and I'm pretty sure that if people hadn't shut the door on me, I'd still be working. In the run up to my dismissal, I came across a great deal of prejudice and misconceptions. The greatest of this seemed to be if I harmed myself, I would more than likely be a danger to children. If only they had spoken to me, my colleagues would have realised that this wasn't true. Yes, I was self harming during the period that I was still able to teach but it was something that I did in private and I made every effort to hide my injuries from my students. Only once did a child ask about the scars on my arm and my explanation that I'd been in an accident was accepted.

Having read some of the reports that were passed on to my manager, it was clear that people were making their own minds up and often exaggerating things. One report said I'd come into the office with my arms "covered in blood", something that I wouldn't have done in front of my psychiatric nurse who was non-judgmental about my self harming. It's clear that ordinary people are very afraid of mental illness but it's not catching and you're not going to become mentally ill just by talking to me. Most mental health patients are not easy to spot probably because we're pretty much just like anyone else. Yes, we do have difficulty coping with things that other people find easy and at some time in their lives, 1/4 of the world will experience some form of mental distress.

Perhaps that statistic is what scares people, a case of "there but for the grace of god" or maybe it's just ignorance. The media doesn't help with its depiction of mental health sufferers as people who stop their medication and start attacking or killing people or headlines that emphasize the fact that someone who committed a crime had a mental illness. What we need to see is the ordinary side of people with mental health problems then maybe the rest of the world wouldn't run a mile. Perhaps then I could join groups and be comfortable telling them that I have a mental health problem. I'm fine with telling them about my physical conditions so I should be able to tell them about my mental conditions without fear of being rejected.

Easy targets

This time, it's the Conservatives who have chosen to attack the benefits system as David Cameron has outlined his proposals to sort out "broken Britain" and get hundreds of thousands of people off incapacity benefit and back into work. My first question is, where are all these jobs going to come from? Every week there are news items about companies having to make people redundant due to the recession so where are the vacancies for everyone?

Having brought up the subject of people on incapacity benefit, the next move is very predictable as joe public starts ranting and raving about "benefit scroungers". I've seen this happen every time that a politician brings up the issue of welfare reforms and have been appalled at people's attitudes. I'm sure there are people who say that if I can write this, then I am capable of doing a job. What you don't know, is that I am doing this in an environment where I feel safe and can work at my own pace (something that would not be acceptable in a normal working environment).

I suppose attitudes come from experience. If you'd asked me 10 years ago to describe a person on benefits, I would probably have described a working class single parent who sat in front of the telly all day drinking cheap beer and splashing the cash on holidays abroad who was perfectly capable of getting a job but just couldn't be bothered. This view isn't helped by the media who often feature people who've got numerous children by different fathers who seem to be raking in hundreds of pounds a week to spend on beer, cigarettes, tellys and other goodies.

The reality, at least for me, is very different. When I worked, I was earning at least two thousand pounds a month (I worked almost every day for up to 12 hours at a time). Then I became ill with a crippling mental illness. For 3 1/2 years, I fought to keep my job but was declared medically unfit and given the boot. During my final months of employment, I'd been granted Disability Living Allowance (DLA)to help pay for things that would help me manage my condition and been moved onto Incapacity Benefit as the sick pay from my employers had run out.

Once I knew I'd lost my job I became terrified that I would lose my home as I didn't know how I would be able to afford the mortgage payments (it's a small flat that I bought for just under £50,000 so it's not a mansion) never mind any other bills. Luckily, someone steered me through the minefield of benefit forms and I knew I had to swallow my pride and take the money, after all, I'd paid a fair amount of income tax and National Insurance over the years. It was either that or live on the streets as far as I was concerned.

If anyone thinks that people on benefits is well off, let me tell you that we're not. The amount of DLA you get depends on your level of disability and not your income. This is not an easy benefit to get as you have to fill in two very lengthy forms which ask very intimate questions about your health and the problems you have coping with day to day living. It took me three hours to fill these forms out and I needed a support worker to do this. Other benefits, such as Council Tax, Incapacity and Income Support are dependent on how much money you already have (if I have more than £6000 in the bank, my benefit is reduced so there is very little money reserved for emergencies), your level of disability and what the government says you need to live on.

I'm not sure how someone came up with the figure that I need to live on and it usually stays fixed for a while year. This is fine if the cost of living stays the same but can have quite a dramatic effect if things such as the price of gas and electricity go up. Talking of gas and electricity, if you're a pensioner, you get a Winter heating allowance regardless of your income so Lord Snooty, who has money to burn, effectively gets, erm, money to burn whereas younger people, like myself, have to balance eating proper meals with keeping warm. The only exception to this, is when it gets really cold and we get a cold weather payment although to trigger this, the temperature has to be below a certain level for a certain number of consecutive days so you're scuppered if the temperature rises one degree above freezing for one day.

Perhaps it would be a good idea if politicians had to experience the benefits system themselves for at least six months (including the whole application procedure). Let them see what it's like to have to sit in the cold because you can't afford to put the heating on or have to do without the nice food, holidays etc. because you don't have the money. Perhaps we might hear less about "benefit scroungers" after this. Yes, there are people who milk the system, who lie, cheat and don't speak up when their conditions improve and I don't think it's unreasonable to check up on people from time to time. There are already systems in place that check your bank statements to make sure you're not earning (I regularly have to submit bank statements to prove that I'm not working and I'm not hoarding loads of cash). By all means, weed out the people that claim to be unable to work for very spurious reasons but please stop attacking those of us that are genuine.

I would love to work if I was able to but I am deemed unfit to work by a very competent medical team. Add to that, the lack of jobs and the attitude of employers towards the disabled (and the often extreme attitude towards people with mental health problems) and there seems little hope. Disabled people are often seen as an easy target as politicians assume we aren't capable of mass demonstration due to being disabled. What they seem to forget is that we have the ability to vote so beware of targeting us. If you want to find more money then stop bailing out failing banks or stop throwing money into wars in countries that we should have nothing to do with. Above all, stop allowing MPs to claim ridiculous expenses - let them try to manage like the rest of us have to do.

Mental and physical health.

I've always been a bit of a sickly bunny although for the first 30 or so years of my life all I had to worry about was my asthma. This was a disease that I thought I could manage as I knew when things were going downhill and usually managed to stay on top of it. After taking part in several clinical trial at Kings College hospital, I felt I was well educated in that area and I still feel like a very well informed patient. Perhaps that's why my GP never bothers to review my treatment apart from occasionally testing my peak flow (basically, how well I can blow) if I ever show up at the surgery.

Then, at the age of 34, I was classed as having a severe mental illness. I know I have this label as I caught a glance at the computer screen while seeing my GP and saw that I was on this list. Thus began the gradual falling apart of my body! I had to do a whole battery of blood tests to rule out possible causes of my broken mind and it was discovered that my cholesterol was pretty high (I think it was somewhere near 14 which is not good). Given that there is a family history of heart attacks and strokes on my mother's side, I was put on statins and sent to West Middlesex hospital to see a specialist.

My memory of this time is a bit hazy (probably due to how ill I was mentally) but I remember having to do a rather nasty treadmill test to check my heart. For an asthmatic who is triggered by exercise, this is not a fun test to do but luckily my heart was fine. I also remember seeing a nurse at my GP surgery who handed me leaflets sponsored by Flora and Weetabix which suggested I ate what amounted to cardboard. Why is it that everything that tastes really good is so bad for you? This is one of the crueler facts of life! Needless to say, I never managed to stick that well to the plan. I blame my BPD as one of the features is an inability to follow through with long term plans, well, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

I'm not sure if it's because of my asthma but I'm very susceptible to colds and flu. If I'm in the same room as someone with the sniffles it's a sure bet that I will get it in a much fiercer version. In April 2004, I was working on a course with someone who had a virus that made him feel pretty rough and the following week I was hit with the same illness. After a few days, I could barely get out of bed and when it got to the point where everything was starting to grey out, I thought I'd better call an ambulance. I thought I'd go through the usual procedure of being taken to A&E, being nebulised (a high dose of the medication I usually used to help me open my airways), given antibiotics and steroid tablets and then sent home.

At the time, I didn't know how ill I was and kept telling the doctors that I wanted to go home as my natural fear of hospitals was kicking in. In the end, I gave in as they told me it would be a really bad idea to go home in my condition and I ended up being in there for eight days. When I was discharged, I thought, quite rightly, that I'd been pretty much cured (although it took about another month for me to be fully back to my usual level). Unfortunately, I'd come into hospital with one problem and left with two as the daily blood tests I'd been having had picked up that I was anaemic and might have diabetes as my sugar levels had been consistently high.

This was quite a blow for me as I'd been struggling to manage several teaching jobs along with a dark and difficult period for my mental health and I felt I'd finally reached a point where I could put all that behind me and go back to being a normal person doing a normal job. The anaemia turned out to be relatively easy to fix as it most likely had been caused by my addiction to painkillers. The diabetes, however, wasn't nearly so easy.

When I finally managed to get a clinic appointment, I was handed a meter so I could test my blood sugar levels and a dairy, shown how to use them and told to return in a few weeks with the results. A couple of weeks later, I was told I had type 2 diabetes, given some pills and told to come back in a few months. This really knocked me for six even though I'd been given a warning about diabetes several years ago. It was during the time that I'd been doing the asthma clinical trials and they suspected that I might have diabetes. In the run up to doing the test for this, I wrote in a journal I'd been keeping that I really hoped it wasn't diabetes as I didn't think I could cope with it. At the time, I got the all clear and the only advice I was given was to "eat more broccoli". Hmm, something not very effective about that, I think.

There are guidelines outlining what treatment you should expect to receive when you're first diagnosed with diabetes. I know this because I'm the sort of person who has to look up everything I can find out about my conditions and medications. This is probably something that annoys doctors as I'm sure they're not keen on informed patients who can't be fobbed off. One of the things I was supposed to get was a psychological assessment which would have been great as it took me a long time to even acknowledge that I had diabetes and, even now, I still struggle with the concept. Sadly, this never materialised and it quickly became clear that most of the doctors would look at my mental health diagnosis and act on that. They appeared to make the assumption that because I had a mental health team, they would sort out how I was dealing with my diabetes without considering whether or not anyone in that team had any knowledge of the condition. I've also lost count of the number of times a diabetes specialist has treated me as if I haven't got a functioning brain. Don't they realise that mental illness is not the same as a learning disability? A friend of mine has told me to remember that doctors are not infallible but surely they should know that mentally ill people can still be high functioning.

Since my diabetes diagnosis, I've had a number of physical health problems or things that need investigating and, in my mind, these things have increased in number since my mental health diagnosis. At one stage, I was having frequent blood tests and my GP spotted that my white count was far too high in all the tests. This prompted a referral to a hospital specialist and triggered a bad depressive episode for me as no-one had told me anything beyond the fact that my white count was high enough to need urgent investigation. Sometimes, all that information on the internet can be a bad thing as I did my usual investigation and only found bad things. As it turned out, my unusually high white count is probably down to one of the drugs that I use to control my asthma which is not something they tell you about when they say it'll be good for you and keep you well!

Over the last few years, I've found it's often better to not got to my GP with little things that niggle me as he seems to have this knee jerk reaction that ends up with me panicking as I wait for yet another hospital appointment. I've come to this conclusion after thinking I might have cancer in my eye (which was just a mole on my retina) and my mouth (this lump has probably always been there and gets sore if I smoke too much, am stressed or eat too much spicy food). Sadly (or maybe not), I've got a friend who thinks differently and she's always nagging me to get myself checked out.

At the moment, I'm waiting for an appointment to see the eye specialist at the hospital as the pressure in my eyes is too high. No-one has told me how high so, once again, the evil little voice that I sometimes hear is telling me that I'm going to go blind and that my eyes are going to be the first thing that fail because of my diabetes. Part of me thinks that this is poetic justice for missing my last appointment at the eye clinic. I was already a patient there initially to investigate the patch on my retina but I lost faith in them when they denied I had a cataract (which the optician has confirmed three times) besides, how can they expect people to remember appointments when they're 18 months apart and a confirmation letter is never sent out.

I'm pretty sure I won't lose my sight in the immediate future but the internet has already wreaked havoc in my disordered mind and I'm dreading the thought of yet more medication or even laser surgery! In the meantime, I'm battling with my diabetes as the new medication I was put on last week doesn't seem to be keeping my blood sugars in check. I'm a bit undecided about it as the only symptoms I'm getting are being constantly thirsty which means I drink more fluids resulting in needing to pee several times an hour which is a lot better than the frequent stomach upsets that I was getting on my previous drug. Oh well, I guess it means I'll be back at the hospital much sooner than I had hoped. If I keep this up, I'll be entitled to a chair in the waiting room with my name on it!

What's my story?

Sitting around doing next to nothing today, I realised that I probably didn't have a full introduction to these ramblings and maybe it would help me to "vocalise" some of my history. Maybe the next time I have a new care worker, I can point him/her to this site instead of having to remember all this stuff.

I'm a late sixties child and nothing remarkable happened in my early years although I had breathing difficulties when I was born (probably why I've had asthma all my life) and was put into an incubator. Maybe this explains the problems I have relating to my mother as I've never felt close to her and she seems to be spending a lot of time trying to make up for this resulting in a lot of problems between us. Between the ages of 6 and 9, we lived in Ireland and I remember this as a mostly good time (apart from the nuns that taught me!) playing with lots of other children and generally having a laugh. Even at this early age, I had a weight problem, I can remember overhearing my mother telling a friend that she had no idea why. I ate the same as my younger brother and was always playing outside (this was before the age where children spent most of their time in front of the t.v. or playing on computers).

Just after my 9th birthday, we moved back to England and this seems to be where the trouble started. I joined the penultimate year of a local primary school and was quickly singled out, firstly, for being overweight and, secondly, for having a lisp and a strong Irish accent. Pretty much everyone else in the class had been together from Nursery and it seemed to be very hard to make friends. This was probably the point where I started to become a "people pleaser" as I did many things to make people like me including stealing to order from local shops. It was during this time that a group of boys in my class took advantage of my naivety and got me to do things that I still can't talk about but which haunt me still.

Secondary school seemed to be torture for me. I was very much a loner and this was exacerbated by my interest in Classical music. A teacher once told me that people found me strange because of my musical interest and I should read girls' magazines so that I would be able to talk to them about something (needless to say, I never did this). My music teacher spotted that I had some talent and arranged for me to apply for a music award which would pay for a place at Saturday morning music college so that I would be around people who had similar interests. My hopes were raised to an incredible height by this only to be smashed to pieces when I received a letter rejecting my application.

My mind finally broke and this triggered my first suicide attempt. I had left a suicide note at school which was found by a teacher and they found me before I had chance to do anything serious. I don't remember too many details (probably because I was very shut down) but I do remember my parents being furious. My mother made me write a letter to the police saying I'd been very silly, I didn't mean anything by my actions and I'd never do anything like it again. Years later, I learnt that my parents had been advised to take me to a psychiatrist but they decided everything was fine. This seems to be their approach to my mental health - pretend bad things aren't happening and everything will be okay. The result for me was my ability to pretend that things were fine even when they clearly weren't.

After an appeal by my teacher, I was given an audition and gained a place at junior college and my parents begrudgingly allowed me to go as long as they didn't have to pay anything. However, I wasn't allowed to go on my own, my father had to drive me there and back which probably wasn't his ideal way of spending a Saturday. At this point, I was 14 and most girls my age were going to parties and hanging out together. Not me, my parents refused to let me do anything like that and I wasn't even allowed to play in the next road. I couldn't take part in any after school activities as my youngest brother (born when I was 10) had started school and I was expected to take him to and from there every day. As a teenager, it was depressing to be standing with what I considered to be old people at the school gates every day.

People say school days are the happiest of your lives but that's not always the case. I was a very angry, aggressive child forever getting into trouble. Most of the time I had no idea how I arrived there or something that I thought was a good idea suddenly turned bad, like the time I set a fire under a staircase. I think if it hadn't been for my musical talent, I would have been expelled either that or the fact that my catholic parents and teachers didn't want to acknowledge my growing mental illness.

Somehow, I made it to the end and gained a place at music college to do my degree. I thought that this would be my gateway to the outside world but my parents, in particular, my mother, were having none of this. Although I was entitled to a place in a hall of residence, they weren't prepared to let me go. I tried to move out a number of times but each time they put barriers in my way. their usual response was that I wouldn't be allowed to take anything from the house and they wouldn't support me financially. The "people pleaser" in me stopped me standing up for myself which is something I'll always regret. Maybe if I'd left home at an age when my peers were learning to be independent I'd have learnt to cope with difficulties. Instead, I never felt like an adult as I made my way home on the train each evening.

By this point, I'd began to drink heavily and usually arrived home with a hangover. I'd learnt to hide what was really going on as I knew it was better to walk in with a smile on my face and say everything's fine. In fact it wasn't and I had at least one major depressive episode that needed intervention from the college counsellor. Once again, I somehow made it through and graduated with a good honours degree although I still tell myself that if I'd actually done some proper work, I'd have got a first.

While I was doing a post graduate course, I sort of fell into class teaching. It was a baptism of fire as I'd had no training and I remember very little of that period as I was still drinking. Towards the end, I had what I would call my first major breakdown. Previously, I'd been able to manage my depressive periods but this time I locked myself in the toilets in between lessons as I couldn't stop crying. I'm not sure how long this went on for but, like my parents, I chose to ignore it.

I eventually went on to do my teacher training and then ended up with my dream job - teaching drums. In fact, I ended up with my old percussion teacher's job so it was a bit like coming home as I already knew many members of staff from when I was at school. At this point, I wasn't in a financial position to leave home (so I thought) and besides, I had no idea what was involved. Living with my parents turned out to be a very bad idea though as my mother objected strongly to people from work phoning me and on more than one occasion she insulted my manager.

The job itself was ideal for me as I no longer had to deal with the politics of a staff room. I spent my days driving round the countryside going into schools for maybe 3 hours at most doing the thing I loved most in the world, music. There were a few times in the week when I had to work alongside other people and these short sessions worked well for me.

Five years into that job, my mother finally got sick of my living at home and I ended up buying a place of my own. At last I was free and it felt unreal, it was as if I was playing at being an adult even though I was 30 by then. I could go to bed when I wanted and pretty much do what I wanted. Okay, I had to deal with my mother phoning me several times a week as she couldn't really let go, but I was finally my own person.

Then I started to find out what that person was really like and I wasn't sure I liked her and neither did anyone else. This hit home when I decided to have a flat warming party and invited all my "friends" from work. You've no idea how bad it felt when only two people turned up very briefly. There I was with loads of food and beer and no group of friends. I thought I'd try to find local friends and started going down the pub as I thought that was what other people did. Again, the social awkwardness kicked in and, after a few weeks, I realised that the only person that knew me was the barman and he only knew what my "usual" was so I decided it was cheaper and less painful to get drunk at home. Thus began my period of getting up, going to work, going home, getting drunk, going to bed and getting up again.

Things at work were no better as my social difficulties were starting to cause problems there. I had numerous clashes with managers, usually over longstanding issues. this was not always my fault and I pointed out to them that they were as much to blame as some problems had been allowed to fester for years! There seemed to be quite a few evenings when I drove home in floods of tears for no apparent reason and I eventually plucked up the courage to see a counsellor. In fact, I saw two different counsellors in this period but didn't make much headway with either of them.

During the Easter of 1992, I was teaching on a residential music course when I had another major breakdown. This one came completely out of the blue and really knocked me off my feet. I couldn't even manage to teach without crying and frequently had to shut myself in the toilets to have a good sob. The rest of the time, I shut myself in my room and hardly showed for mealtimes. I'm not sure what my colleagues thought, I know some of them were aware how low I was but they chose to ignore it, probably in the hope that it would go away. Fortunately, I had a few days after the course before the start of term and managed to get back to what I considered normality.

I thought it was just part of my normal mood cycle and that it would be normal for me to have something like this every ten years. Above all, I thought I was safe for many years. How wrong I was! Towards the end of November, there was an incident at work where my ability and standing were brought into question and this triggered an even greater depressive episode. This time, I was seriously suicidal and it ended with me going to my GP and asking for help as I knew I couldn't cope any more. This was two days before Christmas which has never been a good time of year for me.

I tried to go back to work in January hoping that Prozac was the answer but it quickly became clear that I still couldn't cope and I was told to take sick leave. Over the next six weeks, I jumped many hurdles including seeing my first psychiatrist and admitting that I not only had mental health problems but also drink and drug addiction issues as I had been using painkillers in increasing doses for a few years in order to help me sleep.

At that point there were no procedures in place at work for people on long term sick leave and I went back to my full work schedule towards the end of March. This proved to be a bad move and I ended up taking more and more sick days as I couldn't cope with more than a few days at a time. I had acquired a social worker by this time and had also been referred to the psychiatric day unit. On several occasions, the issue of hospital admission had been raised but I kept refusing to go. Looking back on this, I think it was a mistake as it might have got me back on my feet. I was just too scared to go as the thought of a psych ward was too terrible to contemplate plus, my parents would find out and I couldn't deal with their reaction. The doctors didn't push me too hard on it, after all, I wasn't a danger to anyone except myself and they probably considered my self harm to be moderate.

Eventually, occupational health got involved and they deemed me fit to work but only at a greatly reduced level. Over the next two years I got pretty close to a full recovery before someone at work panicked over something very minor and suddenly I was told I couldn't work until occupational health said I could. This was in September 2004 and it took until the following April before I was referred by my manager. Fortunately, I'd teamed up with a mental health advocate who attended meeting with me, spoke up for me and wrote numerous letters on my behalf. Looking back on it now, it's clear my employers had had enough of my poor attendance (which was not helped by everyone's attitude towards mental health problems) and had already decided to get rid of me and in August 2005, I had my fitness hearing where they told me I was losing my job because of my health.

In preparation for this hearing, I'd asked for all my occupational health records. After reading them, it became clear what had been going on. Conversations that I thought had been confidential and were just someone offering friendly support were recorded in detail and there was an allegation that I had assaulted someone. This last bit probably explained why people stopped talking to me and calling to see if I was okay and, more seriously, why I'd suddenly been told that my employers couldn't let me be near children while I was self harming. I think this rule hurt me the most as I've never been a danger to other people only myself.

It's taken me a long time to accept losing my job. Even now, I find myself thinking "if only" and I know that because of my mental health history and other people's prejudice, I will probably never be able to teach children again.

Do I exist?

I've been pondering this question quite a bit over the last week or so. There was supposed to be a club shoot (for my archery club) on Sunday and I thought it would be something I would be able to do as the distances were within my capabilities and I might be able to get my first handicap.

There've been quite a few problems with shooting times at the club lately since the football club started using the facilities. This looked like an advantage for me as it meant the Sunday morning sessions were moved to 1 p.m. which meant I could make it. Although I was really anxious, I decided to bite the bullet and give it a go. When I arrived, the place was packed as the football was still going on so I sat in van where I felt secure. I sat and waited and waited and waited, but no-one turned up. As the targets hadn't been moved since Friday night, I was pretty sure that the shoot hadn't taken place that morning but by 1.45 p.m. there was still no sign of anyone and I was feeling pretty fed up by now so I went back home and did some serious comfort eating.

This afternoon, I was supposed to have a meeting with my nurse and another member of staff. As this meeting had been booked over three months ago and my nurse had been on leave last week, I rang in on Friday to leave a message asking for confirmation of this meeting as my nurse had let me down a couple of weeks ago and the other member of staff had left a couple of months ago. The meeting wasn't until 2 p.m. and I was tied up doing something else from 12.30 until just after 1.30 but I would still be able to make it. 1.30 rolled around and I still hadn't been contacted (on my mobile). Knowing my luck, I thought, she'll have called me at home while I was out. This would make things really tight as I would just have time to go home, check the phone messages before going to the meeting which I might make by the skin of my teeth. This wasn't ideal for me as I normally have to be at everything really early. I needn't have panicked as there was no message so I didn't need to rush.

The downside was feeling that I didn't matter, that although things have been going wrong and I've asked for help, no-one has been there. Fast forward to 4.10 p.m. and my nurse has just phoned and was talking as if nothing in particular has happened even though I told the receptionists what was stressing me out. According to my nurse, another member of staff did try to call me last week but "couldn't get through or I didn't answer the phone". That excuse might have washed if I had been able to get out but I was stuck at home all last week without transport. I've just checked the caller log on my phone and there is no record of any such call so someone's not telling the truth. It seems that once you've been given the label of "patient", people can say whatever they like and they will be believed rather than me. Yes, I've got a badly wired brain that sometimes rebels but I'm not stupid so please don't say you've done something when you haven't as it's not helpful.

At least now I know I've got an appointment for a home visit from my nurse (let's hope she turns up this time). Now all I've got to do is face my diabetes review tomorrow. Fortunately, I've got someone coming with me who's prepared to sit in the appointment with me and tell the doctor what's been going on if I'm not able to. I just hope they don't add in even more medication!

Here comes the storm.

It seems that difficult (or in my mind, bad) things don't seem to happen individually but, like buses, seem to vanish for a while only to come along several at a time. Things started just over a week ago when I was expecting a home visit from my CPN. There was I, all prepared with the kettle ready and a fresh pack of chocolate biscuits and I waited, and waited, and waited. At this point, I usually hear the annoying voice that tells me she's not coming but I knew that she's often late so I just told it to shut up. By the time I realised that she wasn't coming, it was too late to phone to find out why and as it was Friday afternoon, I wasn't going to get any answers soon.

My social circle is very small and both the people that I could have turned to for support were abroad (talk about bad timing) so I was left with no-one to turn to. Over the weekend, I sunk very low and ended up shutting myself off from everyone until the following Friday when I had an appointment with another member of my care team. I told him what had happened and although he said words that were sympathetic, he had no solutions. I myself was somewhat distracted during this appointment as I knew my van was sitting in the car park with an open driver's window due to some problem with the electrics. I did, however, ask the receptionist what had happened to my nurse the following Friday. She confirmed that the appointment had been booked and that there wasn't any explanation apart from the fact that maybe my nurse had forgotten about me. Given how important consistent relationships are for me, this was not good news, especially on a Friday as there's no support over the weekend!

Feeling pretty low and left out, I went home to try to sort out the problem with my van window thinking it may just be a piece of grit causing the problem. Half an hour after trying to work it out, I gave up and called the AA out as I knew I wouldn't be able to go indoors and just leave my van. I've already been broken into twice in the last year or so and didn't fancy my chances of still having a van in the morning. They were pretty quick and the guy that turned up was, after a generous dose of WD40, able to shut the window. The downside was, it would need a proper repair job or else I could just never open that window again.

Okay, I thought, there must be plenty of garages near me, this should be easy and I can do it without having to call my father for help (he spent his life repairing vehicles but he's quite old now and if I asked him, I would then have to deal with everything my parents would want in return). Not being mechanically minded, I was getting stuck looking for a suitable garage and ended up calling the one where I bought the van (and where my father used to work). They had a pretty good idea of what work might be needed - I'd be without my van for two days and be looking at a £300 bill.

Cue major stress and anxiety - driving to the garage would be tough never mind getting back. I looked at hiring a car but at a minimum cost of just over £100 it would be way too much for me, even the £300 bill was going to be hard on my pocket so I would have to brave the buses. Fortunately, one of my friends had returned from holiday and she was able to give me a lift back from the garage. She also suggested I ask if I could leave it the afternoon before it was booked in as it would be an impossibility for me to be able to drive (or even get up) before 8 a.m. (blame the drugs and insomnia for that one).

So far, so good but then the real bombshell hit the following day when the garage phoned me to explain exactly what I needed. Apparently I needed a regulator and the bad news was that Nissan were charging £514 for the part. Even the garage thought this was expensive which means it must have been really pricey if even they thought it was excessive. Add in the cost of labour and I'm now looking at a bill of £710 just so my window can open and close. Having driven over the weekend, I knew it had to be done as it was incredibly stressful for me to drive around with the window closed (it's part of my "routine" to have the window open and any change to my routines is very stressful for me and can contribute to a relapse). It would also take time to get the part so I'd be without my own transport for even longer.

By now, I knew I was heading for serious trouble. The combination of things going wrong with being home alone is never good so I decided to bite the bullet and try to get to my pottery class on the bus. I knew it would take about an hour (as opposed to 10 minutes driving myself) but at least I wouldn't be on my own, I'd be able to find out where my nurse was and I'd be able to get a lift home afterwards. I managed to sit on my anxiety during the journey but by the time I got there, I was almost in tears due partly to the fact that I realised I had two other big expenses related to my van due in the coming month.

Fortunately, the receptionist was sympathetic to my troubles. Unfortunately though, my nurse was on leave all this week and I couldn't see whoever was on duty until after 3 p.m. which was no use to me if I wanted a ride home. That wouldn't have been much use to me though as I can't deal with people who don't know me when I'm heading for a crisis. I asked about the cover that my nurse was supposed to have arranged and was told there was no note of it.

Arrangements were made for a member of staff to phone me today to talk about everything that's happened in the hope that a solution could be found, even just off loading things can sometimes help. Well, I've waited for that call and it hasn't happened. I may be paranoid sometimes, but this looks like a real attempt to push me into a full-blown crisis. I did the right things and asked for help but, for some reason, it's not been forthcoming and it's now got to the point where little things are now really bad.

What makes it worse is the fact that I feel let down by my nurse. I had a series of really poor care co-ordinators which didn't help my mental health and I thought I'd landed on my feet with this one as she really seemed to care and appeared to be reliable. How wrong I was, maybe the world has better things to think about than my well-being and at the moment, I think I'm joining them in not caring about whether or not I'm well or even here.

Lots happening

Yet another massive gap between posts. Gues committment isn't one of my strong points! At the end of next week I'm being discharged from the recovery service I've been a member of for the past two years. For those of us that have to leave, it really doesn't feel like two years (probably because most of the first year was being run as a pilot and there weren't many groups to attend). As part of the leaving process, we had to complete our WRAP (Wellness, Recovery Action Plan) plans - a rather lengthy and sometimes unpleasant task. A couple of months ago, I had to write out my weekly timetable for life post-discharge and mine was extremely minimal as I have almost no social contact with people. My nurse suggested some activities or exercise as it would help with both my diabetes and mental health. I was not keen on this so suggested shooting or archery as I was convinced she would say no because of my history. I was therefore rather surprised when she was okay about archery (shooting was a definite no for me).

Impulsivity can be a good thing sometimes and by the following Friday I'd received an email from a local club telling me that their next beginners' course was starting on Monday. Over the weekend, I kept trying to make up my mind and worrying about all the negatives - would my mental health be a problem, if they used chestguards, would they have one that fitted me (I have a serious weight problem), would I have the strength and energy to last each session? Monday rolled around and I went to my normal groups to try and distract myself as I was feeling very anxious about trying something new with people who knew nothing about me.

The time to go to my first lesson rolled around (I'd already been sitting in the car park for at least 15 minutes deciding whether to stay or run home). As I made my way over to the small group waiting by the archery shed, I could feel all the major anxiety symptoms and I really, really wanted to run away. Unfortunately, I'd made the mistake of telling quite a few people that I was going to do this and I hated the idea of going back to them and saying I'd failed because I was too anxious so I took a deep breath and went for it.

The course was ideal for someone like me as the six sessions were all in the space of one week. By the second day, I knew I was going to carry on with it. Not only was I one of the star pupils, I found I had to quieten my mind and concentrate in order to remember all the positions. While it was fairly strenuous, it wasn't beyond my limits and I was able to work at my own pace - not exactly what I thought sport was about.

The day after I passed the course, I was down my local archery shop buying my first bow and I joined the club on the next club night. As an adult member, I'm allowed to shoot whenever I want (there is at least 1 target up all through the year) and, apart from club sessions, I'm usually on my own on the field. So far, it's been really useful, especially on days when I'm feeling stressed, low or have difficulty quieting my head. There've been times when I've gone down there after a particularly difficult group that has left me feeling angry or aggressive and after only half an hour of shooting I'm much more relaxed. As there's a certain amount of walking involved, I've also lost a bit of weight which was an unexpected but pleasant side effect.

I guess I'm really glad that I stepped up to this challenge especially as no-one at the club knows about my mental health issues. Now I've got somewhere where I don't have a huge label sticking out of my head and people don't keep watching me if I'm having a not so good day. There are still plenty of challenges, particularly when people ask the dreaded "what do you do?" question but I'm learning to deal with these. Best of all, I can't wait to see the look on my psychiatrist's face when I tell her what I'm doing!

I knew it!

Yes, it's been a while since the last post, but I guess that's just me. I have thought about posting, but that wiring in my brain has been conspiring against me (plus, I couldn't be bothered with getting my laptop out or finding the blogging app on my iPhone).

I ended up going to the group meal last Friday even though I wasn't sure about it. I had hoped I could escape it and was curled up on the sofa glued to some trashy daytime telly when my keyworker phoned to ask if I was coming in. She said I could just bring in the music which they "really, really needed" which was a sneaky move to get me to stay as she knew I wouldn't be parted from my iPod. Fortunately, most of the people involved had a real understanding of my moods and were aware of the fact that I hadn't been out or had any social contact since Christmas so they treated me with kid gloves and didn't quiz me about my Christmas hell. I say most of them but, as the saying goes, there's always one and this particular one was being extremely annoying. It was a bit like having an overexcited puppy that wouldn't stop yapping around all the time. Everytime I tried to escape for a quiet cigarette, she would follow me outside and I had to keep locking myself in the toilet for a few moments of peace and quiet!

To be fair to her, she did say she would get everyone to quiten down after I explained to her that it was a bit too intense for me as I'd not been out since Christmas and she seemed genuinely sad that I'd spent New Year's Eve on my own. I was told today that she really likes me and that's why she's always trying to hang around with me. Relationships are such a pain in the butt with my brain, I want to have some friends but when people start getting a bit too close or too intense for me, I sabotage things. Maybe I've got a "dog in the manger" brain as it keeps doing this to me.

It did the same thing to me a couple of days ago. I was supposed to be attending a group meeting to discuss the new groups that are starting up from next week but, as soon as I saw how many people were going to be there, I decided to retreat to the safety of my flat. As a result, when I went to a smaller meeting this afternoon, I had no idea what was going on although my keyworker did fill me in later on. There are quite a few interesting groups this month, the art group is starting up again but with a different person running it so I'm quite interested in that as I was getting bored with the sameness of the previous sessions (strange that, as change often really upsets me). Drama as Therapy starts the following week and I'm both curious and wary of it although I've agreed to at least try it for a couple of weeks. I did drama therapy several years ago but can't really remember much about it as I was really unwell at the time. This group sounds as if it'll be very different from the group I used to do and it's split into two sessions with the toughest session in the morning followed by a group lunch.

The group that terrifies me the most is the "Healthy Eating" group run by a nutritionist. My cooking skills are really basic (probably because my mother never let me anywhere near the kitchen and never showed me anything) and the people that have already signed up for the group are already fantastic in the kitchen. I guess the problem is, I don't like to fail and anything to do with kitchens and cooking make me feel like an idiot. To give you some idea, someone taught me how to make porridge earlier this week and I had to write down the instructions! Mind you, once I'd done it I was initially pleased with my effort and then, old Negative Nancy jumped in and pointed out that this was something really simple that I really ought to be able to do as I'm supposed to be intelligent!

Still, I really need some guidance with food and eating as things have really slipped since I told my dietician it wasn't worth her seeing me any more. She'd been seeing me for well over two years and I'd only just got to the point of being able to eat a minimum of two proper meals a day (including breakfast, which I used to skip) and my weight had hardly changed in that time. On top of that, the results at my latest diabetes review were nowhere near as good as I thought they were going to be. What's amazing is the fact that I managed to stick fairly well to my appointments with her for so long given my tendency to give up on anything long term.

The final thing that came out of today was news of the "leavers' group". The support service that helps me is supposed to be only for two years and that deadline is fast approaching. Most of us that are affected are pretty upset by this as we weren't told this when we first joined and the first year was a pilot so there weren't as many groups to help us. I'm not sure what will happen after this as I've not got any plans that would work. At the moment, I'm hoping that I'll be kept on in a voluntary capacity because of my technical skills and my multimedia group that has only just finished its first ten week module. If that doesn't work, I'll probably revert to spending my days watching daytime telly and playing with my iPhone as I can't see anyone employing someone like me. Like most things in my life, I think I'll end up filing it in a deep, dark corner of my brain in the hope that it gets lost as I'm terrified of the thought of moving on.

Another year notched up.

This is the first of what may be many ravings from a rather badly wired brain (I'm sure it must have come from Radio Shack). There may be less rather than more as I get easily bored with long term things. Nice to know that I can blame it on the BPD and not a Couldn't Be Ar**d attitude (see, there are advantages!).

Well, that's another year I can mark off. To be honest, I'm quite surprised I've made it to the edge of what, I guess, is middle age as I can remember a time when I thought I wouldn't make it past 25. That was probably also the time when I thought that anyone over 40 was really, really old. Not that anyone would be able to guess my age as I'm always being told that I look at least 10 years younger. My usual response to that, is that it must be the preserving effect of all the drugs and alcohol!

It's been a bit of a roller coaster of a year but without some of the really hair raising dips of previous years. I've now got a CPN who's fairly competent and has a pretty good understanding of BPD which made a change from the last one. Two weeks after my CPA (which she'd booked for my birthday), she told me she wasn't seeing me anymore as I was being transferred. Not only had this come out of the blue, she chose to tell me on a Friday afternoon when I would have to deal with the fallout over the weekend. Nice timing nursie, especially as she knew I had major issues with change and people leaving. Guess it was her parting gift to me after over two years of a very rocky relationship, needless to say, I didn't exactly shed a tear!

2009 has begun in the same way that every year has in that I've gone into hermit mode. The last time I was around people was on Christmas eve. Okay,  I've done a bit of sulking over how I had to miss out on all the good things before Christmas even though I ended up in that position because I like to play the martyr (probably because the feeling left out bit will give me a reason to feel depressed). However, it's not all of my own making (honest) - guess borderlines never make good relationships as we're always sabotaging them so we don't get too close and then end up getting hurt when people inevitably leave. The question is, am I keeping away from people because I think they don't like me (no responses to Xmas/New Year texts from me and no invites to New Year parties that I knew took place) or because I just don't want to be taken advantage of again. 

If I do show my head above the parapet in time for the group meal on Friday (it's Monday today), I know I'll get more stuff piled on me. Already, I'm supposed to be decorating the table (with what, I don't know as no-one had decided), sorting out the background music (always tricky for me as my musical tastes are a tad unique and I take any criticism of my music very personally!), putting up all the fairy lights (from where, I know not), making a drab room look nice and taking photos of the whole event (which also involves the problem of people saying "don't take a photo of me and then complaining weeks later that I left them out!).

Decisions, decisions, not something I'm particularly good at (it takes me 15 minutes to decide what cereal to have for breakfast!). Maybe I'll just put it to one side for a day or two and feed my iPhone obsession. Besides, technology stuff is so much easier to deal with, it won't suddenly stop being your friend or go off in a huff (unless you're running Windows XP) and is there whenever you need it. Anyway, who wants to sit around with 30 people you never really talk to anyway having to answer the inevitable "did you have a good Christmas?" questions (answer: no, it was as bad as always but with even more shower gel). Perhaps I'll check the telly schedules for Friday and then think about it until it goes away!!