On having Borderline Personality Disorder/Emotional Intensity Disorder- World Mental Health Day 2016

I can’t remember if I managed to write anything for the last World Mental Health day, but I wanted to write a little update on my own stuff for this year. I haven’t really had much energy to write about how I’ve been getting on recently but I feel like it’s important to carry on the conversation if at all possible.

As a lot of you might already know, I’ve been receiving treatment for depression and anxiety for a good while now. Over the years I’ve been on four different antidepressants, and have been through three rounds of psychological therapy. Quite honestly, I was beginning to hate myself because I didn’t understand why I wasn’t getting better despite being given the recommended treatment. I felt like I must be doing something wrong, like I was getting in the way of my own recovery somehow. But no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t shake those old habits.

A few months ago I was also diagnosed as having Borderline Personality Disorder too.

I wasn’t thrilled, at first. I think it was mentioned to me around a year ago in a review with my psychiatrist actually, but I completely rejected the idea because, in my mind, I knew what BPD looked like, and I wasn’t it. Then in June I was seen by a psychologist with the Complex Psychological Interventions Team, who was assessing me to see what therapy might be best for me to try next. She again asked me how I felt about a new diagnosis. I maintained that I wasn’t the biggest fan of the medical model or of pathologizing personality traits, but wondered if maybe being diagnosed as having BPD might be something which could help, rather than hinder, my recovery.

One thing which massively helped in terms of me accepting a new diagnosis was the psychologist introducing some alternative names for BPD. Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder is one of the alternative names for BPD, but it wasn’t exactly one which made me feel more positive about it. Emotional Intensity Disorder however, felt a bit more comfortable.

Rather than describing my personality as being disordered, calling my condition Emotional Intensity Disorder is, I think, a more accurate way to refer to it.

I know there is a lot of stigma attached to the label of BPD. And I think that’s why I was so reluctant to accept it as a diagnosis. Having worked on inpatient mental health units, and also just through being subject to the media generally, I had an idea of people with BPD being untreatable. In my experience, they were not understood very well and at times were even labelled as not being mentally ill at all.

Now I understand so much more about BPD, and I embrace the positive things the diagnosis has done for me. In practical terms, I recently was able to start group therapy which was designed specifically for people with a diagnosis of BPD (called STEPPS); this was also where I first came across the term Emotional Intensity Disorder. Maybe even more significantly though it has given me a new framework by which I can understand myself and my mental health. The more I read about EID, the more comfortable I am. I don’t feel so much like it is my fault that I haven’t responded well to treatment in the past- The literature suggests that people with comorbid EID/BPD and depression won’t find talking therapies typically recommended for the treatment of depression as effective.

I realise now that I always felt slightly at odds with my depression because it just didn’t encapsulate the entirety of my mental health experiences. Yes, I felt empty and low, but there was more. I’m extremely sensitive, and once something has upset me it takes a while for me to be able to return to baseline. I get angry a lot, although this often gets directed at myself, and my moods can fluctuate drastically and rapidly throughout the day, sometimes at the smallest trigger. I feel very insecure in my relationships. I have self-harmed since I was 13 years old and this behaviour is deeply entrenched in the way I manage my emotions. I struggle with my sense of self and with my identity.

As I mentioned before, I’m not a massive fan of the medical model and I don’t like the idea of pathologizing experiences which are often perfectly normal parts of being human. But this diagnosis has given me more options and hope for the future, so for now I’m claiming it as my own and I refuse to be ashamed of it.

I want to continue to be open about my mental health because so many people have opened up to me as a result of my posts in the past. I hope I can continue to help people understand a little more and feel less alone.


Time to Talk Day 2015- Self-Harm

Trigger Warning: This blog post discusses self-harming. There are no ‘graphic’ descriptions of any acts of self-harm, but I do talk about the feelings and emotions I associate with self-harm.

So far, I feel that I’ve been pretty open and honest about my mental health. And really, I haven’t found it all that hard. Despite the stigma that surrounds mental illness in general, I’m fortunate enough to be surrounded by people that make me feel at ease with admitting that yes, I do have a mental illness. I think that’s because I know that they will appreciate that my mental health does not define me, and does not change who I am or who I’ve always been. However, there is one part of my mental health that I’ve hidden away, so to speak. I’ve written about it in the past tense in these blogs, but I haven’t addressed it as an ongoing issue- Which it is, and honestly, always has been. I’ve been struggling with the decision to write about it, because it is that much of a taboo, or it seems that way to me.

However, I desperately want it to become less stigmatised, so that people can start talking about it more openly and start getting help the way I’ve been able to. What I’m referring to here is self-harm. I did put a trigger warning at the beginning of this blog, but just to re-iterate, I will be discussing it in some depth over the course of the blog, but this won’t be in the form of graphic descriptions of acts of self-harm. Instead, I want to briefly explain what my history of self-harm has been, where I’m at with it at the moment, and then also describe how my relationship with self-harm has changed over the years. I hope this won’t be triggering to anyone who currently self-harms or has done in the past, but if it does cause any problems for you then I’m incredibly sorry, and please don’t keep reading if it’s not helping. My intentions for this post are to help people think beyond their initial, gut reaction to self-harm, and to encourage those who are struggling with it alone to reach out to someone.

I first self-harmed when I was around 13 years old. To be completely frank, I only did it because I became aware that someone at school (not even a friend) had begun ‘cutting’, and I was curious. I did a bit of digging, and found that it was something people did when they were upset. And at that time, my depression was just starting to manifest. I wanted to know if it would help me feel better like it did for other people. Evidently, it did. I don’t have much recollection of my thought processes at that time, but I do know that I continued to self-harm, though relatively infrequently, for the next few years. Then I started sixth form, which was the time when I think I was in the most mental distress over my school years. It got gradually worse until I took an overdose once in an attempt to manage my increasingly intense and distressing feelings, and thus spent a night in hospital. After that, I don’t think I self-harmed for a while- In a way, I feel like the act of taking an overdose wiped the slate clean for me. My mental state settled considerably.

The next time I remember doing it was in my first year of uni, when symptoms of depression and anxiety started to manifest again, for the first time in what I consider to be my ‘adult’ life. I have been using self-harm on and off ever since in an effort to control my emotions, or maybe just as a way to deal with them full stop. I do still currently use self-harm as a coping mechanism, though this is by no means a frequent occurrence, and is definitely becoming less common as of very recently. I find it quite hard to imagine a life without self-harm, because it’s been such a reliable way for me to cope for a long time. At times, I’ve actually felt resentful towards therapists who have encouraged me to stop self-harming, because really, if it keeps me in a state where I’m able to function and carry on from one day to the next, why should I? I almost feel like self-harm is something which belongs to me, in the sense that I am the only one who can control it and decide whether or not it happens. In a world where we really have very little control over a lot of factors, I don’t think it’s surprising that so many people use self-harm as a coping mechanism.

Being that I work in a mental health setting, self-harm is also something that I’m very aware of in a professional capacity. This has been an eye-opening experience for me, as I’ve been able to see self-harm from a totally different perspective. One thing that I’ve picked up on, and battled with the idea of, is the concept of responsibility and choice when it comes to self-harm. Unfortunately, even within the mental health profession, there is stigma surrounding self-harm, and judgements are often made against those who do it. As I mentioned before, self-harm is something which I feel that I make the choice to do to myself. For many professionals (and non-professionals), this makes people who self-harm liable for the consequences of their actions. People who are admitted to A&E with self-harm injuries are treated with disdain and are rebuked for their actions. This is, quite frankly, a disgusting attitude, and so incredibly unhelpful. I do think that self-harm is a choice, but if that person thinks that self-harm is the best or only option for them to be able to carry on existing, or coping, or functioning, then what does that tell you about how they are feeling at that point in time? What does it say about the things they might have experienced to drive them to this point, or about what feelings they must be experiencing at that moment? So how could anyone possibly pass judgement and treat that person poorly for self-harming?

Recently, I’ve started training to work as a helpline volunteer for the charity Self Injury Support (SIS). SIS is a Bristol-based but nationwide charity which looks to support women who self-injure. Being that self-harm and self-injury is something that I have experience of, I wanted to be able to engage with the charity and try to give other people what I feel is most needed to help reduce the need for self-harming- A space to talk about their feelings without fear of judgement, and to unload a little. I’m 3 and a half weeks into a 7 week training course, and in that time, I feel like my relationship with my own self-harming behaviours has changed massively, for the better. For one, just being in an environment where people are speaking freely about self-harm (and mental health) is a breath of fresh air. We have been trained so far on the many possible functions of self-harm and reasons behind self-harming, among other things, and it has provided an opportunity for me to think about my own reasons for using self-harm. In doing so, I feel like I am much more attuned to my own feelings and emotions about it, like how I don’t always hurt myself for the same reason. Sometimes I do it to release a build-up of emotions that I can’t express externally, and reflecting back on some diaries I’ve kept in the past about self-harming, I can see that a lot of the time I need to self-harm before I can cry or talk to someone about how I’m feeling. However, at other times I’ve felt a need to punish myself, which relates to how anxious I often feel, and how I often see myself as being inadequate. In both of these examples, self-harm has allowed me to continue functioning in the face of emotions which I feel are otherwise unmanageable.

I obviously don’t speak for everyone who self-harms. There are so, so many reasons why someone might use self-harm, and so many functions that it might serve, even if the act itself might not seem particularly severe. What is important is that someone who self-harms feels such intense distress at that moment in time that they feel like self-harm is something they need to do. It makes no difference whether you objectively think this is a reasonable reaction or not, and it has everything to do with their subjective experiences. Like I said, self-harm continues to be a taboo subject, despite an improvement in public attitudes towards mental illness (although we definitely still have a long way to go with that!). And I can absolutely understand why- No one wants to imagine another human being choosing to inflict pain on themselves, and potentially put their own life in danger, due to their feelings and experiences. It is extremely uncomfortable to put yourself in those shoes, and to imagine that level of psychological pain. But this really does need to change. My experience of this stigma has been really quite harmful, as it means that after self-harming I often experience feelings of shame, guilt, and worthlessness- Most of which are reasons for me self-harming in the first place! It sustains the cycle of self-harm further, and also makes me feel like I can’t talk openly about it. I hide my scars/self-harm marks when I’m in public, and when questioned about them feel like I have to lie about how I got them. But I know that when I’m in a ‘safe’ space, and can talk openly about self-harm, I feel instantly better. Just knowing that people will be accepting of what I say is a relief. I just wish that this kind of attitude was more common, and that more people had somewhere to go to when they needed space to talk.

I realise this post has been a really long one, so thank you for sticking with it! I’ve never dared to talk openly about this before, because I’ve honestly been scared of what reaction I’ll get. I also know it will be painful for those who care about me to hear that I self-harm. I understand that, and I wish I could change it, but what I want to make clear to everyone is that my self-harm is no one’s fault. No one has ‘failed’ to help me, or be there for me, or has done anything wrong. And in the grand scheme of things, it’s really not the worst thing I could be doing to manage my emotions. Granted, I would definitely like to be able to cope without self-harm, and am working towards it, but it’ll be a slow journey. I just need you to accept me and my reasons for self-harming. I need and deserve to be validated and supported, whether I’ve self-harmed recently, or whether I’ve gone months without it. And this goes for everyone who self-harms- No exceptions. If you know someone who self-harms, or if someone opens up to you about it, please just let them talk. You don’t need to ‘fix’ it. Just let them know that you’ve heard them and that you are still there for them. If you currently use self-harm, I hope that hearing about my own experiences helps you feel less alone. And I hope that you can find a safe space to talk about it.

Thank you for reading!


So, I’d like to update you all on my mental health at the moment. I’m going to try to be as vivid and descriptive as possible, because I’m finding it so, so difficult with all this in my head all the time, and I think it will help if I can explain it to someone else so they have an idea of what I’m experiencing on a day-to-day basis. If you get it, then great! If not, then that’s fine- You’ve done me a massive favour by reading this in the first place and giving me a chance to unload all of this. So whatever you make of this post, thank you for taking the time to read it and helping me on my journey to recovery. ((Whatever the hell that is!))

It’s like I’ve been falling apart recently. But not in a really big, dramatic way. I love cakes and sweet things, so let me use a food-related metaphor for this… I think I’ve just been crumbling away, like how shortbread just kind of falls apart when it’s fresh out the oven, and you pick it up with too firm a grip. I didn’t even notice to start with, because at one point, I was really making progress, and my relapse wasn’t something I wanted to acknowledge. So I have been spending the last month or so just powering forwards, with parts of me crumbling away being left behind as I go. But now when I try to think back to what I’ve been doing and how I’ve been feeling, it’s just a big blur.

A couple of weeks ago I had that light bulb moment when I realised something was wrong. Nothing was exciting any more. I got no pleasure from exercise, from food, from reading. Every single time I sat down to do something, or thought forwards to what I had planned for that day/week, I couldn’t help but wonder what exactly the point was. I try to think about it, but the answer continues to evade me. I’m trying to hold onto something that is turning into smoke and drifting away from me and I can’t do anything to stop it. For a while I’ve been able to ignore that this was happening, but it’s been sitting in the back of my mind, just waiting for the moments when I let my guard down. I stop focussing on my job, or on a task that I’ve managed to find to fill my time, and that terrible feeling just creeps up on me.

I can feel it across my whole body. It’s a tangible, physical thing. A horrible, dark fog, dense and all-encompassing descends on me. My brain is filled with hopelessness, and the fog dampens down my thoughts- I can’t process stimuli like normal- the fog pushes its way into all the gaps in my head and gets in the way. It sits behind my eyes, and presses on my tear ducts. I’m constantly on the brink of tears. This massive weight settles into my chest, and my limbs. I want to stop. I want to sit down, or lie down, and never get up again. My tongue is heavy in my mouth, and talking, responding to people is so hard. The weight in my chest gains substance and squeezes tightly.

How does this translate emotions-wise? It varies, to be honest, and I often feel totally contradictory things. I want to stop being, but I also desperately want to carry on. I feel panic, as I struggle to find meaning in anything, in anyone. I am guilty for feeling such deep despair, when I am surrounded by people who love me. I don’t want anyone to hurt because of me, or feel like they are not enough to make me happy. God, I appreciate you all so much. I feel such strong emotions that they tear my psyche apart, but at the same time, I feel so empty. How is it possible to feel both everything and nothing? I exist apart from the world all of a sudden, and I struggle to link my subjective experience of life to the events that are going on around me. Like the strings connecting me to the world have been cut, and I am desperately trying to reconnect them in time… I don’t know where this feeling of haste comes from. I think it’s just that I need to know I will get better. Again, what is ‘better’? What is ‘recovery’? I am hopeless. I don’t even know myself what will make me feel better in those moments where I’m falling apart, so how could anyone else possibly help me?

I can’t think. I can’t process anything. I am crying, and I have this horrible feeling bubbling up inside me, in my chest. It claws its way up my throat and sits in the roof of my mouth. I need to expel it so badly. I don’t think I can even express this enough, how trapped that feeling is and how strong my desire is to rid myself of it. I have cried, loudly, I have punched things and gone running until my legs ache. It won’t go. It just recedes slowly, until finally I can move again and function, and I go about my daily business. I go to work, or I throw myself into something that encompasses my attention, and slowly, with nothing from me to feed it, that fog draws back into a small space in the back of my head. And I always know it’s there, but at least I can breathe again, and I can carry on in a forward motion.

At this point, I do just want to point out that as horrendous as this all sounds, I’m not in a state where you need to be worried about my safety. I feel a bit nervous, as this whole post is a bit dramatic for my tastes, but it serves a purpose for me, so I am going to go ahead with it. I need people to know how hard it is to carry on sometimes. I realise that’s extremely self-indulgent, but I’m willing to accept that if it eases some of the pressure I live with at the moment.

The frustrating thing is that I don’t feel like this even captures the full spectrum of my emotions! I feel so many other things at the same time when I experience what I’ve tried to verbalise above A mini-crisis I think, would be a decent way of describing it. It might last a few minutes, or it might drag on all evening, from the instant I get in the front door from work until I manage to fall asleep many hours later.

I’m not the only one living with mental health problems by a long, long way. And I’m not even the worst off, by even more. I am also writing about my mental health for them Everyone who is suffering from poor mental health and feels totally overwhelmed by it. It can just totally smother you, until the you the world sees is just the bare bones of you, and you are powerless to fight back.

Be kind to people, because you will never know how much they may or may not be suffering at any moment in time. Please understand that it is so hard to fight against your own mind. Imagine it. You second-guess every passing thought, to try to work out whether you are being ‘rational’ or not. You can’t trust your own judgement.

I do everything I can to maintain ‘good mental health’. I exercise, I eat well. I take my medication, I attend therapy. I am still experiencing the same cycles of being ‘fine’ and being ‘unwell’ as I did before. Not in the same way, but that pattern definitely remains. I feel like this blog is my last chance in a way. Can I heal myself through activism? I really hope so.

Thank you for sticking with me! I hope that for those of you that identify with some of the things I’ve written can find comfort in the fact that you’re not alone.


Getting “better”

I’ve been thinking for a while that I might finally be getting better. I’ve had both low and high intensity cognitive behavioural therapy in the last 6-12 months, which I really learned a lot about myself from, and which enabled me to control my anxiety a bit better. I also have been pacing myself a lot more with my work, and managed to solve some of the issues that had been bothering me on a day-to-day basis, such as finding a new job to replace my old, stressful one. I managed to up my meds with no significant side effects. I have been exercising just like they tell you to do when you’re depressed. I make myself go out and be around people when the last thing I want to do is be sociable. Actually, I’ve been doing just about everything ‘they’ (doctors, psychologists, mental health professionals) say you should be doing to keep yourself happy. And so, I told myself that I must be getting better, because how could I not be when I’ve exhausted all my options? What else is there left to do if I don’t get better from all that?

But, as you may already suspect from my tone in that last paragraph, I am coming round to the idea now that I might not be as okay as I thought I was. I’ve been trying to fight against that thought for months, because honestly, the idea that I might still need more help, or that I still have some ‘getting better’ to do terrifies me! I feel like I’ve run out of solutions treatment-wise. I go back to my doctor for help, but she just tells me that I need to stop over-thinking things, or that sometimes it’s normal to feel certain ways. Maybe I brought that response on myself however… After all, I did admit that I was concerned that I might be making myself feel depressed, and stopping myself from getting better.

I’ve been seeking treatment for my depression/mental health problems for coming up to 7 years now, give or take a few months. So really, that makes it a chronic condition rather than an acute one. And I think when it comes to mental health problems, whether an illness is chronic or acute makes a world of difference, particularly to the way that the patient perceives themselves and their illness, and how accurately they are able to identify changes in behaviour away from what is ‘normal’.

When someone first experiences a ‘depressive episode’, having not ever been clinically depressed before, the changes in their behaviour will be fairly stark and plain to see. Someone might go from being a social butterfly to wanting nothing more than to stay inside the house all day, away from the pressures of being sociable and having to interact with people. Their appetite may either increase or decrease, they may experience sudden weight loss/gain, or they might suddenly find that they either sleep all the time or find it incredibly difficult to sleep at all. It wouldn’t be true to say that everyone can identify a definite change in their personality/behaviour upon encountering a depressive episode, but certainly I think that for the large majority of people, they will be able to complete a questionnaire and provide evidence for a substantial change indicative of depression. For me, I don’t feel like this is the case at all. Maybe to start with I experienced depression in ‘episodes’, where I saw a noticeable change in my motivation, concentration and mood etc. But honesty, nowadays I just feel like I’m consistently not experiencing life like I should be. But it’s been such a long time since before I first encountered depression, I can’t remember what that felt like. Which leads me to wonder: Am I better already, but I’m so used to being depressed that I drag myself back down out of the desire for something familiar? Or am I genuinely still ill? Is my knowledge of psychology hindering my recovery, as I constantly analyse and over-think my cognitions and behaviour?

I suppose the only way to find out is to look at the evidence as objectively as possible, considering these are my own subjective emotions that we’re discussing! Like I mentioned just now, when depression is acute, the difference in mood or behaviour before and after is very severe. You can easily compare the two and know that the low mood you are experiencing is not normal, because your emotions before were so much more positive. However, after 7 years, I sometimes doubt myself. When I’m sitting on the sofa, and I’m trying to motivate myself to get up and do something (such as work on my dissertation or make a phone call), I agonise over whether I can attribute this to my depression, which is known to sap energy and motivation, or if I’m actually just being lazy. How do I tell the difference anymore? When I’m in a class and I’m struggling to concentrate and take in the information that’s being given, is this due to my mental illness too? Experiencing poor concentration is another well-documented symptom of depression (and anxiety, which I have also been dealing with), but maybe I’m just not trying hard enough? I could go on and on like this for all my symptoms… But thinking like this is pretty exhausting, and at the end of it I just want to cry while I wait for someone to come along and just make everything better for me.

To be honest, I’m not sure what I’m getting at here. Really, I think that I must still be unwell. Because the thought that everything might just be my own doing, and that I just need to suck it up and get myself together is devastating. And that can’t be normal. If it’s normal, then I really, really don’t want to be normal at all! I can’t live like that, always doubting myself and trying to deal with the pressure of succeeding and functioning. But equally, the prospect of having to fight my GP for more referrals for therapy is so daunting. I just don’t have the energy to do that. I also don’t particularly want to increase the dose of my medication again. The more drugs I take, the higher the risk of side effects is, and the harder it will be to come off of them eventually. I also have a fear of sinking into apathy, where the only way to get away from my anxiety and depression is to take so many drugs that I feel nothing at all.

I’m so angry that it’s this hard to get help from the NHS for a mental illness. So I haven’t been able to get better from the treatment that they initially provided for me. I also feel like I’m being told that I’m not ill enough to qualify for any more support. So am I being punished for being too ill but also not ill enough at the same time? It’s a worrying thought for me, because I’m certainly not getting better by myself, so the only way to go is down. How sick do I need to be before someone will help? And how can I objectively prove that I am at that point? I can totally see how people with less support from friends and family than I have feel like their options are limited. Desperation can lead people to do very extreme things. All I can say is that I am so, so thankful for my family and friends, and for my extended social circle who I interact with regularly. You guys are my lifeline.

In an ideal world, what I would like is for my GP to refer me to see a mental health professional, who can re-assess my symptoms and make recommendations as to what treatment I should be seeking. I want to know for sure that I have spoken to someone at length about my history of mental illness, and about my current thoughts, feelings and behaviours. I want to be given a correct diagnosis, or at least a more accurate summary of what my difficulties are and where they stem from (the debate about the usefulness of a diagnosis is a totally different ball game), and then what drug treatment and/or talking therapy I might find most useful. People change over 7 years, and I’m no different. I’ve gone from mild depression, to moderate depression, to self-harm and an overdose, to mild depression, to anxiety, and then to anxiety with depression! My mental health, just like my physical health, is in a constant state of flux. I want the care I receive to reflect that.


Well, I’ve been having some down days recently, so I think it’s time I try and get some of those feelings onto paper! Or, onto a computer screen…

One of my biggest challenges to overcome recently has been my anxiety. It kind of crept up on me, because I started off with symptoms of depression, and so I kept focussing on that and attributing any issues I was having at the time to depression. To be honest, it never occurred to me that there might be something else going on. The first time I heard anything about it was when I went to my GP to have a medical record printed off for me, and while I was reading through it I noticed a new diagnosis listed on there- Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD), with depression.

Suddenly, everything made a lot more sense, and although I know there are many who argue against diagnoses, I found it really helpful to have two separate names for my two separate symptoms. It helped me change my way of interpreting my behaviours and thoughts, and it also allowed me to explore and express my anxiety in more detail and depth. Saying that, there is frequently an overlap between the two, and I notice that they often go hand in hand! In my case, I think a fair few of my ‘anxieties’ developed as a way for me to combat the lethargy and despair that I now associate with depression. It was, and to an extent still is, a way for me to cope with depression, and although it was effective in the short term, it has only led to more difficulties in the long term!

I want to try and explain to you how my anxiety affects me on a daily basis, and I think the easiest way for me to do this is probably to break it down into sub-headings of some sort… I’m sorry if this doesn’t make a lot of sense by the way. I promise it often doesn’t make sense to me either!

I find it really hard to relax

I associate relaxing with not working hard enough, and so on my days off, after I’ve slept in, or when I’m taking a lunch break, I feel incredibly guilty. I’m still not 100% sure why I feel the need to work really hard all the time, and needless to say this compulsion has been the subject of many a therapy session! It’s been a joint effort between myself and my therapist to deduce that I seem to have absorbed the expectations placed on people by society and the media to be a ‘good person’. Somehow, I feel like I need to work myself to the point of exhaustion to prove that I’m a good person, which is frustrating, as I certainly don’t define other people as good or bad based on this criteria.

So, I generally always feel on edge, unless I’m in a space where there is a very clear expectation of what I should be doing rather than working- Such as when I went on holiday (although this was still difficult at times), or when I go to my Krav class.

I feel anxiety physically as well as psychologically

It’s that ‘butterflies in your stomach’ feeling, but all the time, x 10. Sometimes x 20.

For a while I had some really nasty physical symptoms, before I realised what was going on and started trying to express my feelings outwardly instead of bottling it all up. I had awful stomach cramps, and mild nausea on and off like, all the time. I developed this weird twitch in my right eye, which would pop up in times of particular stress, and I experienced a horrible twinge across the front of my head (/brain?) too. Then my diet wasn’t great, very on/off eating, so I felt tired all the time and couldn’t concentrate. My sleeping patterns were very disturbed too- Despite being exhausted I find it very difficult to fall asleep at times!

I think sometimes, because anxiety is classed as a ‘psychological’ illness, people forget about the fact that your brain and your body are very much linked. Your mental state can have a profound effect on your physical health, which is yet ANOTHER reason why mental and physical healthcare should be treated equally, by the way. 😉

I feel like I need to apologise all the time

So, I worry a lot, about a lot of different things, and this manifests itself in many ways. For the most part, I keep my worrying private (as unhealthy as it is), but saying ‘sorry’ all the time is something that other people can definitely notice.

There are a few reasons for this, the main one being that I have low self-esteem (to some extent), and so I get pretty convinced that I always do things wrong, and that people probably don’t like me very much. Frustratingly, it’s one of the most resilient ‘maladaptive thoughts’ that I have, so even though I know in my heart of hearts that my friends and family love me, I just can’t shake the fear that I’ll do something wrong and they’ll all leave, or that they don’t really like me at all. It’s like there’s a little voice questioning everything all the time. “They were acting a bit off the last time you said hi. Are you sure they still like you?” Or, my favourite: “You forgot to do something for them that one time, so they probably hate you now.”

So my solution for this is to apologise incessantly, at the slightest mishap, or sometimes just when I’m not sure if I’ve done something wrong, just in case. It makes me feel less anxious to apologise, and it’s very uncomfortable for me when I try and stop, inducing massive amounts of guilt and self-deprecation.

I’m not scared of meeting new people, but I worry about social interactions a lot

This is very much linked to my about point regarding saying ‘sorry’ for everything. Meeting new people is something I’ve always really enjoyed. The ‘me’ without anxiety loves making new friends and meeting new people, but to my utmost frustration, I now suffer a lot for it. I worry about what new people think of me in the same way in which I worry about people I already know deciding they don’t like me for some unknown slight. I also don’t feel like I’m a particularly likeable or interesting person, but that’s a whole different issue! (Or is it?)

Sometimes I get scared out of the blue for no reason at all

This is the part of my anxiety that I understand the least. Thanks to lots of therapy and a psychology degree, I can see quite clearly what thought patterns are causing me trouble, despite the fact that I still find it difficult to combat them. But sometimes, I will be happily going about my day, when suddenly this wave of panic comes over me. It’s not a panic attack- I know what they feel like- but I will suddenly become aware that my body is displaying all the physical symptoms of anxiety. I get butterflies in my stomach, my heart rate goes up, I start shaking. And I also feel really on edge. I’m still trying to work out which comes first, the physical feelings or the psychological feelings, but in any case It can be really exhausting to deal with!

There’s no obvious cause, which sometimes triggers even more anxiety- “Why am I feeling worried? What’s wrong with me?”- And so I generally just have to go about my day feeling super-tense and uncomfortable.

‘Nervous energy’ has taken on a whole new meaning to me

Following on nicely from my previous point, whenever I feel anxious, whether it’s for no good reason at all, or obviously triggered by a stressful situation, I take on a huge amount of ‘nervous energy’. From what I can tell, this is a fairly normal reaction to stress. I remember when I used to do a lot of acting, I would get very fidgety right before I went on stage, as would most of the rest of the cast! However, with me, nervous energy is becoming something which hinders my day to day functioning. It stops me concentrating on work, as my mind flits about from one thing to another, constantly worrying about everything at once. I can almost feel it physically in my hands and arms, in my legs and feet, and in my shoulders and upper back. I can’t sit down for too long as that feeling will build up in my legs until it’s so uncomfortable that I need to get up and pace. Sometimes the energy will transform into frustration, and I start feeling very aggressive and angry. If I’m having a particularly bad day, I end up in tears on the floor punching the nearest thing to me.

So, it’s not so much just ‘nerves’. It’s a horrible uncomfortable itching feeling that will at best just stop me from working productively, and at worst will debilitate me for a time and sometimes lead to me inadvertently hurting myself when I lash out. It depends on how resilient I’m feeling on the day, and what the days leading up to it have been like. I suppose the nervous energy must build up as I experience the things listed above which cause me anxiety, and then culminate in me expelling it all in whatever way I can. It doesn’t always happen like that, as there are coping mechanisms which I can use to defuse the situation. But, despite my training in such coping skills, it can be very hard to implement them yourself when you need them.


I hope that this post helps with your understanding of anxiety, or offers you an alternative account of what anxiety feels like if you suffer from it yourself. Most probably, if you have anxiety and are reading this, then you’ll recognise a lot of the feelings I describe. I’d also like to point out at this time that you can have anxiety and not experience it like I do, or like anyone else does for that matter! Similar to when you catch a cold, you can experience some symptoms but not others, and still be classified as having ‘anxiety’ or ‘depression’. If you have any concerns about your mental health, please visit one of the websites listed below for help and advice. You know yourself best- If something doesn’t feel right, please go speak to your GP or another healthcare professional, or even just someone you trust!


Thank you for reading. 🙂


Mind: http://www.mind.org.uk/

Time to Change: http://www.time-to-change.org.uk/

Rethink Mental Illness: http://www.rethink.org/

Mental Health Foundation: http://www.mentalhealth.org.uk/

Samaritans: http://www.samaritans.org/


TW: Depression, Mental Illness


N.B.: Before I go on, I think it’s important that I address an issue that has recently come to light with me writing these blog entries, and it has to do with the effect they might have on my close friends and family. I realised that friends and family members may read these entries and find out things they didn’t know, or maybe just hear things phrased in a very candid way, and then they might go on to feel guilty somehow, like they should have known how I was feeling. Or maybe that they should have been there more, or been more supportive. To incite these kinds of feelings is not what I intend to do with my blog entries! Please understand that I have always felt fully supported and loved by my friends and family. And I’m so sorry if I write anything that is upsetting or shocking, but I am doing this for me, as a kind of therapeutic release, and also to try and encourage more open and honest conversations about mental health. It is not about placing blame on anyone for not doing enough! In fact, I don’t think there’s anything more that could have been done. When you are in the middle of a depressive episode- and I’m sure those of you who have personal experience of this will back me up here- one of the hardest things to do is pick up the phone and ask for help. It’s not even because I don’t think I will be supported, it’s just that it takes so much energy to do this, and all of my energy at the time is centred on my internal feelings. This probably deserves a whole entry to itself, but I just wanted to make it known before I go on that I blame no-one for my mental illness, and do not feel let down or unloved by anyone close to me in my life. If you read something you’re unhappy with, please let me know. I’ll be happy to talk about it.

Now, onwards!


This week has been hard. Like, really hard. But I’ve definitely learned a lot from it, and something that I’ve been thinking a lot about is self-care.

For me, self-care is essentially the opposite of self-harm, and the absence of it is even a form of self-harm. If you google it, the following definition is given:

“In terms of health maintenance, self-care is any activity of an individual, family, or community, with the intention of improving or restoring health, or treating or preventing disease.”

So what immediately springs to mind are things like washing, eating, drinking, sleeping, taking medicine, exercise etc. etc… And those are absolutely activities which come under the umbrella of ‘self-care’. But it also includes other behaviours that many people do instinctively, like resting when you are ill, and forgiving yourself when you make a mistake, or when something doesn’t go to plan. For a long time, and even now still, self-care has been extremely difficult for me. It is something that comes up in near enough every counselling session I attend, and I feel like it’s at the root of most of my mental health issues.

Somewhere along the line when I was growing up, I got it into my head that I wasn’t good enough. That it was crucial for me to identify as a ‘Good Person’, and for other people to be able to see me as such. I formulated a set of rules and guidelines in my head, as to what constituted a ‘Good Person’, and what I needed to do to be one. Overwhelmingly, this meant I had to put other people before myself at all times. I thought as myself as a martyr, as much as I hate to admit it- I associate this label with self-righteousness for some reason, and this is not a quality a ‘Good Person’ should have.

Self-care was not on my mental checklist for being a ‘Good Person’.

And so for years and years, I overworked myself. I suppressed my own feelings when I thought it might cause people upset. I went out of my way to accommodate for other people’s wishes. And when I made a mistake, I did not forgive myself. I assimilated all the guilt, and all the blame, and I used it as a reason why I was not worthy of self-care. I didn’t feel like I deserved forgiveness, or kindness, or any form of leniency. And unfortunately, this belief became very deeply ingrained in my self-image, and it is something I still struggle with from time to time.

But this week, I have made a conscious effort to be kind to myself, because I haven’t had a great time of it. I went for an interview on Thursday but didn’t get the job, and I instinctively sunk into a dark place where I wasn’t good enough, and that it was all my fault because I should have been working harder. On top of this, I somehow misplaced my passport during a recent house move, but didn’t realise until this week… With two holidays planned in the next 7 days. Too late to get a new one for the first trip planned, and cutting it very close for the other! It had been my intention to use these holidays as a time to indulge in massive amounts of self-care, after working so hard on my MSc dissertation, and for my three part time jobs, where I seemed to be doing work of some sort every day of the week. But in an instant, my plans fell apart. I felt total despair, and cried on and off for days. Then there was the guilt, born from my feeling of having let people down…

It was an awful cocktail of emotions. I was very angry, both at myself and at the world for being so NOT FAIR. I finally decided I might be worthy of some time off work, relaxing with my friends and family, only to have it taken away from me at the last minute. Nothing would ever be okay again.

Except, it will. And thankfully, my loving boyfriend took the time to remind me of this. He looked after me, and sat with me when I was bawling my eyes out- Messy crying, not Hollywood crying (lots of snot). On Friday morning, I woke up with the whole day to myself. I had been dreading it, thinking I would sink further and further into this horrible dark feeling, and then end up damaging myself somehow because I struggle to process and deal with my emotions so often. But to my surprise, I felt much more at peace than I thought possible. I felt tired and ill, and emotionally drained, but suddenly I felt like I might actually be able to deal with life again. I suddenly had the strength to think “This is really shit. But I can get over it. Things will be better”.

And then, I did something even more incredible. I took care of myself.

I felt ill and tired, so I let myself relax on the sofa. I didn’t force myself out for a run, or sit down and write more of my dissertation. I still felt that urge to do something, but every time I managed to justify my time to myself. I deserved this. This was fine. I was worth looking after. I will inevitably make mistakes, as will everyone else, but I will only do myself harm by refusing to forgive myself.

I guess I just needed someone to remind me of that. I can’t thank my boyfriend enough for his time and attention and understanding.

As it happens, I might just scrape that second holiday after all…Fingers crossed. 🙂

It has to begin somewhere!

Trigger warning: Self-harm, depression, anxiety.


Hello. My name is Jess, and I have a mental illness.


Obviously there’s more to me than my diagnosis- anxiety and depression, by the way- but sometimes I feel like it’s so all-encompassing, and that it totally dictates my life. This is why I want to start a blog and share my story with you. I feel like it might help me to reclaim the parts of me that should be defining me, like my values and my goals, rather than letting my mental illness take that all away from me. Part of my problem is that I will ruminate over things for hours and days and weeks, but I want to use this blog as a way to externalise my musings and experiences. I hope that as well as being therapeutic for me, this blog can also teach other people about what it’s like to live with a mental illness, and even also help other people in a similar situation to not feel so alone. I want to start by telling you about my journey in general, and then I hope to be able to discuss some of my thoughts and feelings in future posts with more depth to them.

The first time I can remember being depressed is back when I was in Secondary School. I must have been 14, give or take a year? It just kind of crept in, like when it starts getting dark in the evening, and at first, you don’t really notice it, but then all of a sudden it is pitch black. Something I’ve discussed with mental health professionals and therapists over the years is what I think triggered it, but the simple answer is I can’t really be sure. I’m told it can just happen for no reason at all, but this isn’t very common at all. The favoured theory is that when my relationship with my biological father broke down, I internalised a lot of guilt and responsibility about it and that this was then expressed through depressive symptoms. When I was younger, I very much disliked this theory, and was adamant that I had done the right thing and wasn’t missing him at all, and to an extent this is true. I don’t really feel any attachment to my biological Dad. I certainly didn’t miss out on having a father figure in my life, as my Stepdad was so supportive and loving that I actually feel uncomfortable calling him my ‘stepdad’, as I don’t think of him in that way. So let’s just call him my Dad. But I suppose that I’ve always been quite aware of the way my actions impact upon others, and I was made very aware on several occasions that my biological father and his family thought I was making a mistake, and was being unduly harsh. Being that I was very young at the time, I suppose they initially chose to blame my Mum, but now that I’m an adult and still haven’t reconnected I’m sure there can be no doubt in their minds as to who is responsible for the lack of contact.

In any case, I can certainly see how the guilt and uncertainty during this time would have made me very upset. But what I can’t explain is why this nestled in my mind and has remained there ever since. What’s more, it’s not even the same illness that it used to be. I think this is something that people often don’t realise about mental illness- It’s not a fixed condition, and as the individual grows and learns and develops, so the condition will change with them. Think of it as something very fluid, rather than being a concrete illness. I very much fit the ‘Depression’ symptomology when I was in school. I cried a lot for no reason, I felt angry and upset and this was intensified by me bottling it up after being told I was just hormonal. I discovered the practice of self-harm when a friend started doing it, and after that I dabbled with cutting and scratching and hair pulling as a way to manage my emotions. By this time, I was seeing a school counsellor, but this was a very transient thing and I didn’t ‘click’ very well with the therapist, so it was largely ineffective. I suffered from “mild depressive episodes” for a while (this is how the doctors refer to it on paper), but after a few turbulent experiences, all very standard occurrences for teenagers, my depression intensified and I went to a doctor, begging for help.

I was referred to the Children and Adolescents Mental Health Service (CAMHS), where I was prescribed fluoxetine- more commonly known as Prozac- and a course of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT). My CBT counsellor was a lovely woman, and definitely helped me gain some insight into my condition, which did wonders for me in the long run. However, the medication didn’t agree with me at all. You may be aware of the fact that some antidepressants are dangerous for under 25s to take (I was 17 at the time), as for some reason or another, they can induce thoughts of self-harm and suicide. I can’t remember whether my self-harm increased, but one morning before school I took an overdose of antihistamines. The overdose itself obviously had its own side-effects, such as dizziness and blurred vision, and hallucinations, but it unfortunately also interacted with my fluoxetine. I for some reason didn’t believe the drug would have any effect, and went into school as usual. By the time I arrived in my common room, I could barely walk and was finding it difficult to focus on anything or speak properly. Thankfully, I then panicked in a massive way and told a friend what I had done, and was taken to hospital. No lasting effects, except for an overwhelming sense of guilt when I think about what I put my loved ones through. I’m eternally grateful to them all for supporting me through it though, and for being so wonderfully understanding.

So that was medication out for me. I completed my course of CBT and began to feel better. I turned 18, completed my a-levels, and went to university. I met my boyfriend in the summer before I went to uni and actually ended up going to the one he attended due to me missing out on the grades I needed for my first choice. I wouldn’t change a thing though! Everything was going brilliantly. But then the depression crept back in again, and by the time my first semester at uni had come to a close I was very much struggling with those same symptoms as the ones that I had when I was in school. I cried a lot, and I started self-harming again. I was panicky from time to time with no apparent trigger, and I felt like life had no meaning, and held little enjoyment for me. Eventually, I was put on another antidepressant under the condition that I would keep a very close eye on my thoughts and mood. This worked for a while… Like, maybe a couple of years. And then I got a bit worse again, and went back to see a GP again, and switched my medication, and was put in touch with LIFT, a local NHS provision which aims to provide psychological therapies to people with a mental illness.

By this time, I had developed the anxiety part of my diagnosis too. I think that, in an effort to get away from my melancholy, I filled my life with responsibilities and activities to make sure I wouldn’t get caught with nothing to do but think about my feelings. First I took on a part-time job, then another, then another… I started volunteering too, and decided to embark on a massive fundraising challenge. So I ended up in a very different but equally destructive cycle where I was busy 90% of the time, working or attending uni or exercising while still trying to maintain my relationship with my boyfriend and make time for my friends and family. It was exhausting, and burned myself out on more than one occasion, ending up bedridden for a few days at a time while my body tried to make repairs and refuel. I started worrying all the time about the things I had to do, and the physical symptoms of anxiety, such as stomach cramps and nausea, made themselves known too. I felt on edge all the time, and found it hard to relax in my spare time. Really, this should still be in the present tense to some extent as I’m not totally rid of my preoccupation with work, but this is the area in which I feel I’ve made the most progress. I can attribute this to the therapist from a counselling service in Bristol called Off the Record, who I was put in touch with through the LIFT service.

The hardest thing about talking therapies is the fact that not only do you have to get the type of therapy right, but you also have to be able to bond with your counsellor. They are someone you need to be able to trust and get along with to some extent, and this is something that, before Jon, I never really had. From day one I felt like he just ‘got’ me, and was so accepting of all my feelings that I pretty much just cried with relief. After a total of 16 sessions, with two more to go, I finally feel able to engage in more self-care (like relaxing, and eating/sleeping properly), and have broken that burnout cycle, though I haven’t shaken the anxiety 100%. I have more insight into my thoughts and feelings, and this has had such a positive impact on my life. I am challenging my self-harming habits a bit more, and despite having the occasional relapse, on the whole this behaviour has reduced dramatically.

I suppose the reason I’ve decided to start writing about my mental health is due to my counselling with Jon. I realised that more than anything, just having an outlet where I can express myself is massively helpful, and relieves some of the emotional pressure which builds up as a result of my day-to-day life. Seeing as the root of a lot of my problems is that I don’t seem to be able to deal with these pressures in the way that a mentally healthy person might, and so turn to coping mechanisms such as self-injury to process my emotions, it makes a lot of sense to start blogging. This way I’m externalising my thoughts still, but not in a way which is realistically very unhealthy, even if I’m not doing any lasting damage to myself (apart from the scarring which I’ve acquired over the years).

I’d been having a very good couple of months actually, but over the past week I’ve been slipping back into some of the melancholy that I’m unfortunately so familiar with. Last night was a bit of an eye-opener for me, as I had a very sudden and unexpected ‘emotional explosion’, almost. I cried, and screamed, and hit the walls and the floor, and then took myself out for a walk, during which I’m sure I looked disconcertingly unsettled and upset. I don’t want to experience these feelings anymore. It’s been such a long time, and I’m tired. I don’t want to be subject to my depression or anxiety anymore. I want to give myself a chance to heal, and I hope that through writing, I am able to utilise the information I’ve gained during my recent therapy sessions and improve my mental health.


I haven’t even started to discuss my mental health in the depth that I want, and need, to, so please expect to hear more from me about particular aspects of my story in the future- depending on my work and university commitments of course. Thank you so much for reading this, and I hope it has helped you as much as it has helped me!