Bullied

I have created a new blog.

Bullied: A Recollection

After a year, my counselling sessions have finally concluded. By the end, I was starting to gain some insight into the causes of my depression, and I fear that I may have only scratched the surface in my sessions. A blog seems like the next best thing.

Leo is still on the waiting list to begin therapy. He was assessed as "severe" in August, but since then there has been no word. He has peaks and troughs, and his medication has been changed more times than I can remember in just this year alone. Right now, he seems to be glad that I am spending this Christmas with him.

I too am taking new antidepressants. The side effects are unpleasant, and the medication I take to counteract these is not always effective. I am expecting my latest appeal against ATOS to go to tribunal in either February or March. Thankfully, Leo was successful in his appeal in October. However, the equal and opposite reaction to this was that the council cut his housing benefit, despite his entitlement to it remaining unchanged. Our landlord is kind, and I am grateful. Many others are not so lucky.

I am now estranged from most of my family. However, my brother currently lives with Leo and I. He is an immense help to us both, although I am not sure if he realises this.

Healing continues to be anything but straightforward.

Life goes on.

Strands 2

One

My new pharmacist is lovely. Yesterday I had a medicine review with him, and he is kind and encouraging. He complemented me not just on my inhaler technique, but also on the effectiveness with which I control my other symptoms. I no longer dread collecting my prescription every month.

Two

Since I began counselling, I have developed a number of new techniques to help me to cope with everyday life. I have a diary to write my thoughts into, so that I don't dwell on them at bedtime. I drink hot chocolate to help me relax. I have a morning schedule and a night-time schedule. I give myself points for every good thing that I do in a day - even something as small as feeding the cats or doing the washing-up. My current high-score is 30.

But most importantly, I have thrown myself into my hobby - crochet. I have started to sell my creations online, and it stops me from feeling useless, even on my bedridden days when nothing else makes sense. There is a book on crochet and depression that I am eager to read when I have the money and the time.

Three

I have started going to gigs again, meeting up with friends and adding old acquaintances on Facebook. I've started to feel that perhaps I may not appear to be such an idiot as I once thought I did. One of my particularly close friends from my university days has a habit of playing Cupid amongst her particular circle of friends, and upon hearing that Leo and I are amicably separated, decided to introduce me to another single friend of hers, believing that we might have a lot in common.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, things did not go well - but not due to my depression or anxiety. He loved the sound of his own voice too much, interrupted me when I finally managed to get a word or two in edgewise, had no regard for my personal space, and seemed genuinely surprised when I wanted neither to kiss him or to go home with him. In fact, the whole experience left me quite upset. Are all men so narcissistic these days?

Leo had been ribbing me for days before the event, but seeing the look on my face upon my return has thankfully silenced him.

Four

In my attempts to re-engage with society, I fear I may have taken on too much. Four blogs, four Facebook pages, two online portals to my crochet business and a social life - inevitably I end up slipping, and neglecting one or more of these duties I have created for myself.  Perhaps I should set up a routine for these things too. I wouldn't want to intimidate myself with an enormous workload, and undo the progress my counsellor and I have made so far.

Appeal

Last month I had my own medical assessment with ATOS. Despite clearly showing my fear and discomfort around people, I was found to be fit for work, and placed in the Work Activity group. I appealed in writing, of course. My counsellor provided me with several copies of a letter to support the appeal - she's good that way. However, I was dismayed to discover that my GP had left the practice I attend, and that I had to discuss my appeal with another doctor.

He was thoroughly unpleasant. There was no bedside manner of which to speak, and he barely made eye contact with me. However, he presented Leo with a near-twenty-minute tirade about governmental policy, ATOS and the DWP, which went straight over my head, both figuratively and literally. He declined to lend his support to my appeal, telling Leo - not I - that my counsellor's letter would be quite enough, and that the decision makers never read the supporting material anyway. When he was quite finished, I asked him about an unrelated blood test. He mumbled something about referring me to haematology at the hospital, and sent us both on our way.

Outside, Leo called him a meat puppet. I called him a sexist meat puppet.

Aside from his poor attitude, I was disturbed by his eagerness to being politics so directly into our - well, his and Leo's - discussion. Whilst it's true that more and more doctors are dealing with patients' appeals against ATOS decisions, is it really prudent for general practitioners to launch into such diatribes in the surgery? We're there for health reasons, not political opinions. A simple "no, you have enough supporting evidence already" would have been perfectly acceptable as a response. Instead, I was left feeling very uncomfortable and considering whether I should move to another surgery to avoid this awful man.

The appeal is still ongoing. The DWP have written to me to say that they have received the appeal and that a decision is imminent. Meanwhile, Leo and I are struggling financially again. Worse, for reasons related to the state of our local mental health service, I have been unable to meet with my counsellor for three weeks. I feel suspended, helpless. Once again, my biggest problems are those beyond my control. Only time will tell.

Counselling

My first counselling session took place on December 5th, nine months to the day since my formal diagnosis. Just that fact alone makes my heart ache. I understand how tough these days are, and that so many people are in the same position I am - adrift in life and suffering as a result - but to make a person who considers suicide daily at least wait for professional help for such a long time seems risky to the point of counter-production. What if events had been worse than they were, and I had found myself unable to cope? How might I have coped without Leo to turn to? It seems that I am alive through sheer luck, and it scares me to think of the variables that might have led to a different situation.

Still, here I am and in the care of my counsellor. She is a very sweet and patient lady, and it is remarkable how much she reminds me of my previous counsellor, separated now by three hundred miles and ten years. They have the same hair colour, dress sense and glasses, and at first sight I felt completely comfortable talking to my current counsellor. She has a southern accent, which also helps - sometimes, even being surrounded by Mancunian voices makes me feel isolated. My previous counsellor was Scottish, but then I am always calmed by Scots voices. Perhaps that is a throwback to my ancient Scottish ancestry - something my new counsellor was very interested to hear about.

I have had three sessions with her so far, and I have surprised myself with the things I have spoken about. It seems as though my sense of self has evaporated amidst my worry for my nearest and dearest, Leo in particular. I love him as fiercely as ever, despite our mutual inability to love romantically rather than platonically, but I was shocked to discover how much his mood impacts upon my own. If Leo's mood is low, I worry about him. If I can do nothing to lift his spirits, I feel useless as a result. Without a job of my own or anyone else around me every moment, his happiness is my only purpose. My counsellor has told me that this is far from strange, as so many of my friends tell me. In the absence of any other job to do, this is good for me - although she tells me that balancing Leo's mood with my own must be hard work indeed.

Then there is the rest of our family to worry about. Both of our fathers are suffering with memory problems. Leo's mother has been diagnosed with Korsakov's syndrome, and does not know him. My parents continue to hang on the brink of divorce. Leo's sister has had awful financial difficulties. My grandmother battles through her health problems, but trying to imagine life without her fills me with dread. My sister Alba is the only one of the three of us siblings without a degree, yet has the best career and is about to buy a house with her partner. I keep having to borrow money from my mother's pension, which causes me great shame. Her poor relationship with Leo continues to put me in the middle of a strained, awkward situation. I have not slept through the night in over a year. There is no respite and no hope that I can see.

My counsellor has given me two sets of homework so far. First, she gave a me a mood diary to keep for a week. It turned out to be one of those rare "good" weeks, with only one bad day. With Christmas nearing, I had a lot to do, and it kept my mood level. My second assignment, however, has been less easy to maintain. She asked me to do one thing a day that I enjoy, which in theory should have been easy. Visiting my parents over the festive period made it almost impossible. Christmas for my family revolves around food and television, and there is often a sense not so much of togetherness as there is of claustrophobia - made all the worse this year by the cluttered and cramped state of the house my grandmother and aunt share, which is where I have spent every Christmas of my life. The gifts I worked so hard to make by hand seemed to disappoint their recipients, and by lunchtime of Christmas Day all I wanted was to run back home to Leo and his dad.

Luckily, Christmas comes but once a year, and home brings enough freedom to do the best I can do for myself. Leo has recently been referred to a psychiatrist himself - not a moment too soon - but he is still my greatest comfort and my best friend. Having someone that understands you completely, even if they cannot always lend you the best support, is a great gift. Having a neutral party to turn to for that support is even greater. It's too early to know whether I feel stronger for it, but the potential is there. I am lucky.