Call someone who cares

So I called the Crisis Team last night. I didn't know what else to do, I was trying to keep myself safe. Turns out, even though my GP gave me the number, I'm actually not entitled to call them. It's not a self- or GP-referral service and because I'm not under the care of the CMHT (see many other frustrated posts) I'm not entitled to crisis support.

One Month Before Heartbreak

I became aware of this blog today. In one month the government's consultation on DLA (disability living allowance) is due to end. Many people have contributed stories about how their DLA has made their lives liveable, in some way. This is mine. It's not as dramatic as some people's, I don't receive very much in the great scheme of things, but this small amount keeps me safe.

I have a mental health condition diagnosed as Borderline Personality Disorder. The diagnosis is largely irrelevant; it is characterised by anxiety and depression and I have suffered from those as long as I can remember. Day-to-day, the following things cause me problems:

• I self-harm when I am left alone, in a variety of ways,
• Emotional fatigue causes me to have difficulty concentrating for long periods of time,
• Anxiety sometimes prevents me from leaving the house on time (or at all), and sometimes I need to get the bus for a short distance to compensate for time or get off a busy street,
• I forget to eat, my lack of concentration and low motivation means that I can't cook for myself unsupervised,
• I forget to take my medication, or take it without food so that it makes me ill,
• I don't sleep well; right now I haven't had more than two nights uninterrupted sleep (5 hours or more) in a single week since I started monitoring it in July.

In practice, this means that whilst I am studying (which I am now) I have to live in College and my food is provided usually by the in-house catering. If I can't eat in (if I forget to sign in for meals) I have to buy microwave meals (if I can leave the house to go shopping) or go without. I am lucky that living in College I have a timetable that I can follow and the routine helps me to remember things like eating and taking my medication. If it weren't for my DLA I wouldn't be able to afford this. 

I also need to buy a lot of first-aid kit for self-care. My DLA pays for what I need over-the-counter and allows me to pre-pay for my prescriptions so that I can afford what I need on the NHS. DLA does not entitle anyone to free prescriptions so the rate I receive has to cover my medication. 

When I leave university, I will continue to need this money to pay  for food, and I will need to employ someone to check in on me and make sure I am eating and taking my medication. If - as I anticipate - I start intensive psychological therapies in the months after I leave university, I will also need this small income to supplement my wages as this will compromise my working hours and limit the type of work I can do.

All of that on less than £50 per week.

In a nutshell, my DLA keeps me productive. It kept me in work when I had a crisis in the middle of 2010, saving the government a lot of money in Statutory Sick Pay / Incapacity Benefit / Housing Benefit / etc., and it will enable me to go back to work when my course is over. As someone with a 'hidden' disability, unrelated to mobility, I would probably be one of the 20% who are suddenly ineligible for DLA and if that happens, I honestly don't know what I'll do.

A&E, AAU, DSH and other acronyms

So, last night I had a bit of a crisis. At about 9, I started taking paracetamol tablets. My housemate came home at about 9.15, so I couldn't carry on. I began to get scared, so I stuttered out what had happened and ended up going to our local hospital's A&E unit (Accident and Emergency; ER if you're American). I was seen by a triage nurse at 10:15pm, about 15 minutes after arriving. Triage didn't take long, and the nurse was actually lovely. She went through my medications, was pleased that I'd brought the boxes of paracetamol products I'd been taking, recorded doses, looked at my most recent cuts, etc. Exactly what I would have expected, and really quick. It was really reassuring that she wasn't difficult or judgemental, that would have hurt too much.

After about 3 hours of sitting in a very bright corridor, at about 1:30am (i.e. early this morning), a psych nurse came to speak to me. She asked me all the usual questions; what did I take? how much? how did I feel now? was I upset that I was interrupted, or relieved?, &c. I'll admit that I was less than honest about my motivations; I thought that if I said, "I sat down and calculated what out to be a dangerous dosage and had taken 75% of what I intended; I wasn't annoyed at being interrupted, just startled back to reality," that might well get me a one-way ticket to the psychiatric ward. Besides which, she didn't tell me who she was until we'd gone into the consulting room, so my housemate was in the room.

After all the blood tests, at about 2am, I got taken (by The Most Patronising Nurse in the World, and in a wheelchair of all things) to the AAU (Acute Admissions Unit? not sure), where I proceeded to lie awake until 6am, being occasionally prodded by doctors and asked to repeat until I felt 2 inches high.

I was eventually, after breakfast, allowed to leave. It took a few hours to get my discharge papers and I've just got home.

Fail

So I thought the Plan for today would be enhanced by cutting myself, eating lots of chocolate and having several shots of vodka before work. Apparently not.

Epic fail. I felt sick, silly and fat at work. I have a cut that won't close (actually, I have 2, one on each arm) and that keep getting crap stuck in them and need constant cleaning. And I'm still not ok.

Looking the way I do

I don't think I'll ever get used to looking how I do. To being a bit flabby, and to my multicoloured stripy arms. I'll never get used to being shouted at in the street for being overweight. I'll never get used to the way people stare when I wear a t-shirt. I don't think I'll ever learn how to answer the questions.

And yet, I can't stop doing the very things that make me overweight and that caused the scars. I'm trying very hard to stop and haven't done it for a while but that doesn't mean I don't want to...

What self harm is (and isn't)

One of the more obvious effects of my mental health difficulties is that I self-harm by cutting myself. I have done this since my early teens, for almost ten years now, and the cuts have increased in severity over time. I use the term self-harm to describe this particular behaviour. I know some people find it too vague, "self-harm" could mean any one of a number of things, but it's a term I'm comfortable with.

I believe that self-harm is an addiction. I believe that the reason the wounds get deeper is because, like any other addiction, you begin to need more over time. But I also believe there are some basic fallacies in the world that I want to correct. These are things that have been said either in self-help books, on websites and by well-meaning people to me.

1. "I don't understand. Of course it hurts, isn't it meant to hurt?"
Yes and no. At the time, the endorphin rush and the relief are caused by the pain and the sight of the wound. But the subsequent pain as the wound heals is not an intended consequence, and does make people miserable.


2. "They call themselves 'cutters'."
I honestly read that on the back of a book that was designed to support families and friends of people who self-injure. I have never heard anyone I know (and I know a lot) who self-harms to call themself a 'cutter'. It's a vile term, implying that we have some kind of tribal identity. The reality is that there isn't really a 'we'. Sure, sometimes friends turn to each other for support, sometimes discovering that another friend self-harms can trigger a person to start, but we are not a clan. We do not have a name. We are not 'cutters'.

3. "Your scars are beautiful."
Um, no they're not. I regret them, but they are a part of who I am. Do not assume that I did this for vanity, or to get sexual attention.

4. "Self-harm is just attention seeking behaviour."
Again, it's not. Self-harm is not about getting other people to see the wounds. In fact, most people who self-harm are deeply ashamed of their wounds. We don't display them. If someone trusts you enough to let you see their wounds or their scars, you should respect that.