Hope.

Day of distraction number 4. Having ended with CAMHS and the outreach team I've been attempting to stay very busy indeed, with some success. It is now the end of the week and, as predicted, I am stronger than I was last Sunday evening. I have my wonderful friends to thank for this, although I can't really remember much of the week at all. They have, this week, been so brilliant and supportive and for that I am eternally grateful. I know that I am loved. Despite this, however, I am completely heartbroken. I have had to say goodbye to two people who are, and will continue to be, incredibly important to me and who have helped keep me alive. My world feels desolately empty without them and although I am currently somewhat inebriated, I still find the thought of never being able to confide in them again agonising. They have been the fuel for my fire for months on end and without them my flames are dwindling. Even as I write this, tears are blurring my vision and my heart feels as though it is being ripped from my chest. But they have given me something far greater than comfort. Though I never thought it possible, they have given me hope. I spent so many hours sat in their presence utterly broken, scarred and wretched, yet not once did they doubt that I could have a life worth living. I can no longer see them, yet their hope lives on in my heart. I often believed their hope to be unfounded and yet, now I can no longer know them, I must hold hope for myself. This hope will tussle with my will to self destruct for years to come. They have planted a seed in my heart and they hope that, in time, the seed will flourish and bloom into a magnificent flower. It is now my greatest desire to make them proud of me. The video below, which I spent today making with my amazing friend, describes a little of how I am attempting to cling to this hope of a better life in these dark and difficult hours. I will never cease to be thankful that I met my two incredible therapists, just as I will never cease to miss them. I will take a part of them into every relationship I build for as long as I live. Hope is the stuff of life and we all thrive on it. I hope this video provides those in terrible pain with some hope; my thoughts are with you. Just as they have held hope for me, I hold it for you. I struggle so furiously to survive and I hope that I do not let these people who mean so much to me down. As I conclude this drunken but completely heartfelt soliloquy, I will leave you with an acronym, that despite being somewhat clichéd, is entirely appropriate:

Hope: Hold On, Pain Ends

Endings.

Endings are always hard. They throw up so many emotions, from intense affection to total abandonment. They can make you doubt yourself and your feelings and can make you question your ability to cope with hardship. For me, next week will probably the hardest of my life. I find endings and goodbyes torturous and I am beginning to realise that I am grieving the relationships that have been so helpful to me and, now that I am getting older, have to end. I have to say goodbye to two people who have been instrumental in keeping me alive these last two years. I have relied so much on these relationships- they have helped me to survive my despair and build resilience to my distress. They have shown me that in the future, I could have a life full of happiness, friendship, love, comfort and satisfaction, instead of the turbulent, unstable and utterly miserable life (if you can call it a life) that I have been living for so long. I also have to say goodbye to my school, which used to be my paradise and in more recent months has become my hiding place. The thought of not ever seeing these people again is so painful; it makes me want to die- I do not feel as though I will survive these endings. I am terrified that I will be forgotten and that once I leave, I will cease to exist in their minds, which is a grim thought for me, as I derive comfort from knowing that people are thinking of me. What I have been noticing, however, is that while endings will inevitably be painful and full of raw emotions which sometimes will make me want to destroy myself, they can also be incredibly powerful and helpful in building inner strength and moving on to a better place. For although these relationships have been immensely helpful, life saving in fact, the truth is that I have not recovered and that I seem to be stuck in this rut, and this is where an ending can be important in the healing process. If I do not move on, although these relationships may help me to survive the pain, it can mean that the pain does not go away. It is only when these relationships come to end that I have to learn to stand on my own two feet and move on, to grow and to thrive. It breaks my heart to have to say goodbye to all of these people who have meant everything to me, and although I feel such a terrible loss at these important relationships coming to an end, I know that, unlike genuine grief, the people who mean so much to me are not actually dying; they will survive the ending, as will I, and all people involved will continue to benefit from the relationship for years to come. I will never forget the people who have meant so much to me, and I hope beyond all hope that they will not forget me. Even though the next seven days are going to be agonising for me, I will be a stronger person at the end of next week than I am today. These endings mark a new, hopeful beginning for me, one that may lead to a happy life and that is a tiny ray of hope to hold onto in the darkness of the coming week.

Wonderland.

“We're all mad here. Im mad. You're mad” 

Intriguingly, and somewhat ironically, I have been finding that aspects of my life can be likened to those of the events in the children's fantasy tale of Alice in Wonderland. Alice, having followed an odd looking rabbit concerned about being late, finds herself falling very rapidly down a strange and scary hole,

“Down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.” 

before emerging in a room of strange delicacies that completely alter her body and being faced with a set of doors that she cannot fit through.

While Alice's experiences are a little reminiscent of an acid trip gone wrong, her situation vividly reminds me of my own. I feel as though I'm falling, and each time I think I have hit rock bottom, the ground beneath me crumbles and I continue to fall, and I, like Alice, have no idea how in the world I will get out again. I stare at the person who is supposed to be me in the mirror but my body warps before my very eyes, each day I feel larger and less sure of what I am than before and I loathe what meets my eyes.

“How puzzling all these changes are! I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another.” 

I find myself presented with options for my future, similar to the doors which Alice struggles to get through in the story, but I can never fit through the doorway that could lead to the potential wonderland. So I am stuck in perpetual free fall, utterly lost and bewildered, unable to make a decision about anything and unconsciously doing everything in my power to destroy everything in my life that is good.

“Alice came to a fork in the road. 'Which road do I take?' she asked.

'Where do you want to go?' responded the Cheshire Cat. 

'I don't know,' Alice answered. 

'Then,' said the Cat, 'it doesn't matter.” 

Alice had a wonderland to look forward to, after a terrifying yet exhilarating adventure. This is where the difference in the our situations lies; all I see before me is darkness, pain and death. I cannot see that things will ever get better, or that I have a hope of a life better than this painful existence. And there's nothing wonderful about that.

Weakness.

Having recently written a post on the strength and resilience of humanity, it has struck me that while we all possess immense strength, we are also all incredibly vulnerable. On some days, our ability to survive and to thrive shines out like a beacon of hope in the dark. Yet on others, the black cloud that traps our minds is all consuming, and this cloud leaves us so emotionally drained and sensitive that anything can trigger a breakdown of epic proportions. As one of my therapists once said to me 'It's like having the top layer of your skin removed'. Everything is felt that little bit more acutely, rawly; you have scraped the bottom of your resources jar and you barely have the energy to hold your head up. And it is at this time, our weakest, that calling out to others is vital. So often people withdraw from the world when they can't escape from their own skull, but this only perpetuates the pain. It can often be the hardest thing to do- it can feel humiliating, exhausting, not worth the effort but asking for help will, more often than not, bring you some comfort. It will drag you a little way out of the hole that is being dug around you and it will shine a little light into the gloomy corners of your mind. And no, others won't be able to take the pain away. They won't be able to make everything OK and they may not even be able to comprehend the pain you are in, but in desperate times, even a hug, a cup of tea and a shoulder to cry on can help to begin to heal the raw agony of emotional pain. We cry out for help at our weakest, and humanity will answer this cry, this plea. And that is, in my mind, possibly is humanities greatest strength of all. 

Strength.

Living with a mental illness is all consuming. It drains every drop of energy you have and leaves you feeling hollow, numb and utterly miserable. So often, the hardest thing to do is to carry on living and attempting to function as normal. Sometimes, it seems impossible to do. But I genuinely believe that within all of us lies an almost superhuman strength. It is this strength that drags you out of bed in the mornings and that makes you smile even though you're dying inside. The strength comes from a place no unchallenged human mind can unlock, but in the face of adversity, we discover that we are far stronger than we ever believed possible. It is this strength that has kept you alive thus far, and this strength will continue to pulse through you when life is unbearable. It does not make you feel better or make things easier but rather gives you the ability to work through the hardship with the hope of a life that, one day, may be worth living. The really wonderful thing is that this strength is by no means separate from you as a person. You are the one who is immensely strong and powerful. You are the one who finds the ability to carry on living when you would rather be dead. You are outstanding, beautiful and you have the power to conquer the unbearable pain that for so long has crippled you. And you must remember that you are not alone. Your strength will naturally draw other people to you, and together, you can climb your Everest.