I started suffering with mental health issues in my early teenage years. There was a lot of stress put of me by my school to succeed in my exams as well as problems within my family. Yes, everyone has exams and everyone has family problems, but they don’t all have depression. This is the main reason why I kept it to myself. I thought it was me just being sad and that I could pull through it. I led myself to believe that me self-harming was just attention seeking. I chickened out of at least three suicide attempts and that solidified the thought in my mind that I was just sad.
It wasn’t until a few years later when my anxieties creeped over me like a cloud that I realised that this wasn’t me being silly. I was getting scared about the smallest of this; my heart would race and I couldn’t breathe. I told my family and they supported me to get the help that I needed.
So I went to the doctors and was put on a waiting list. I waited, and waited, and waited. Anyone that has been on a waiting list in the UK knows that it takes the actual piss. When I finally got an appointment nearly 18 months later, I realised I was having CBT (I still don’t even know what that’s meant to do or achieve) but I went along feeling slightly apprehensive. I had three sessions; the place was closed most of the time and the woman seeing me didn’t seem to care enough. Maybe that’s just the view of a depressed person because it does feel like nobody gives a shit, but I was greeted with the same question every single week. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad has your depression been this week?” How is that meant to help again? Obviously, this form of therapy does work for some people, so I wouldn’t want to put anyone off doing it.
So I went into my second year of university, still feeling like utter crap, but better than I had been a few years prior. It was early in that academic year, however, that I was struck with the tragedy of losing one of my closest friends to suicide. It hit me harder than anything ever had and I found myself back at square one being unable to control my thoughts and feelings. The work load at university began to pile on even more and I began to think how I would be better off dead. It was a hard time and I knew I needed help again.
That’s when I went back to the doctors in April of this year. I was prescribed Fluoxetine which is a form of Prozac used mainly for depression but also for many other illnesses such as anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder and bulimia nervosa. The first few days of me being on this medication were incredibly rocky. I felt low and anxious but I was determined to battle through it to see if it would get any better.
It’s two months since I started taking this medication and I have noticed such a big change in myself. I have begun to take care of myself far more than I ever have before. I have begun to exercise, eat healthily, clean and have noticed my creativity begin to soar more than it ever has. There is the underlying fear that I will go back to square one as soon as I stop taking them, but I’m finally starting to see a light at the end of the tunnel.
Thank you so much for reading and I’ll see you next time x