My Mind & Meg

I think it's completely reasonable at this point to assume everyone's 2020 has been utter horse shit, a write off, a flusher of a year. But for me 2020 has been the most challenging, heart-breaking and life changing year yet - and I'm hoping ever. But I haven't written on here in a long time and I think I owe myself a round up of everything that's happened and to also remind myself that despite all the shit I've been through this year, I'm still here and standing and that is something I should be proud of myself for.

Despite my january relapse, my mental health slowly started improving at the start of the year, I got myself a new job I was due to start soon and had started a relationship with a man from nottingham where I frequently visited him, me and my friends had our usual messy night outs and it seemed like this year would be the same as the rest of them. Until of course March, and the first covid lockdown was announced. At the time I was at my boyfriends and unsure what to do for the lockdown, and after only two months of dating we made the decision for me to move in temporarily.

I then started my new job at a nottingham branch, as a residential childcare worker in a childrens home, and I fell in love with it. I loved my job, every incident of name calling, banter with the kids, talking with the other staff, driving around, it kept me going. And then I relapsed, and again.

I'm fairly used to the highs and lows of bpd by now, but this year was something else, one minute i'd be on cloud nine, and the next it would all come crashing down around me, and I'd be back in handcuffs, by the riverside with my boyfriend crying on the phone to my crying family telling them I'd once again tried to end my life, and this cycle continued until September, where I was finally admitted to a psychiatric unit as an informal patient - I luckily escaped a section - and my boyfriend called our relationship to an end.

So much in my life changed this year, I moved cities, I started a new very quickly very serious relationship, I started a new job and my life I had gotten into a safe routine of crumbled and everything was new, a life of masks and fear and social distancing and for the first time in 22 years I was away from my family and making new routines of my own in a new home with a new man. So it's hardly surprising when all these changes started to take a noticeable toll on my mental health and how I dealt with it, and the topic of an autism diagnosis was brought up for the first time since I was 15 when it was first questioned and never resolved, so I finally plucked up the courage and spoke to my doctor about a referral and I'm now awaiting a formal diagnosis. This year has brought out the worst in me, I've had to adapt in ways I didn't think I'd ever have to and deal with things I'd never dealt with before.

And on the 16th July, we lost my beloved grandad Brian. A man that I will miss and think about forever, truly the most wonderful and gentlemanly man I have and will ever meet. Even when you know the death of a loved one is not far off, and we'd known for a long time this was coming, it never gets easier, that long awaited and dreaded phone call comes and they're just gone. Forever. It really really sucks. And I know I'm far from the only person to have lost loved one this year, and to those of you who also have my heart and love goes out to you, it is awful and something nobody wants.

So there I was, heart broken and at my lowest, sat inside a psychiatric ward for the first time being a patient and not a member of staff. It was only two weeks of an admission, but it was one of the worst times of my life. When they told me after a week that they wanted to discharge me a week later with no changes to my meds or care, I was terrified, but then the day before my discharge my doctor pulled me to one side and told me I'd be moving to a supported living unit called Beacon Lodge in nottingham where I would live with 24/7 staff support for 8 weeks. I thought it was just to get me back on my feet, but eventually when I moved to beacon I was told the plan for me was to help me get onto the nottingham council house list and get my own home and start my own life down here with the help of my CPN's and mental health team. This didn't go quite to plan as 11 weeks later I was still living at beacon and still no luck on the council list. but by week 11 I was told I had a flat, but it wouldn't be ready until february and since I couldn't stay at beacon lodge and start my new job (I was dismissed by my old job and had to find something new) I had to move..

and now it's December, and I'm currently living in a homeless shelter. Which sounds pretty dramatic, but it's okay. It's my own self-contained flat, and sure it smells of weed and it's noisy and it was scary at first but it's a roof over my head with a brighter future of my own flat and a new job to look forward to.

So that's where I'm currently at. It's been the longest, winding road of shit storm of a year, but we've made it. I honestly thought this was the year I'd be gone, the year I'd finally do it, and all I can say is, I'm so glad I didn't and I finally got onto the road of help I need. I have two CPNs, regular appointments with a psychiatrist and plans to start therapy in the new year. Life still isn't perfect, I'm pretty lonely down here with no family and friends and a tier 4 to restrict me seeing them anyway, but the future seems a hell of a lot brighter than it did a few months ago, and even thought it's a small improvement, I will gladly take it with both hands.

I know this year has been tough, on everyone. And if you got to end of this post and you've also had a shitty year, just know that you are not alone. Your feelings are valid and please please talk to someone if you are struggling. I know all too well what it feels like to want the world to just stop and keep that bottled up inside, please let it out.

I really genuinely hope 2021 is better. I have to believe it will be or boy are we in trouble. Manifesting a whole lot of love, happiness and all that shit to every single one of you. Keep going and stay strong.

Meg x

"you used to be this confident, 'didn't need no one person'"

Used to be. Because I'm no longer confident, I no longer think I can conquer the world on my own, I no longer know who I am.

Who am i?

I don't recognise myself in the mirror anymore, I don't know who the megan in the reflection is, or who Megan is at all.

I remember laughing, and happy times, and now I don't feel like I'll ever laugh or feel happy again. It might sound dramatic, but that's what mental illness does to you, it drains you of all positive emotions, makes you forget the good times you've had, and think you'll never have them again.

My mental illness has tore me apart for going on ten years now, and I'm tired. I'm tired of feeling down, of feeling depressed, of losing people because I can't contain myself. I've lost the person I thought I would love forever, because of my illness and what it causes me to do and be like, it's changed me into a person I don't even recognise anymore.

I don't want to be angry, or violent, or lash out, or upset anyone. But that's all I'm capable of doing right now, is pushing people away or making them leave because of how I am. And I can't do it anymore but I don't know how to stop it.

When I feel anger, I don't know how to stop it, I don't know it's coming and I can't stop myself to take a breath, I don't remember what I say to people or what I do, I just remember words and then shaking and feeling this fire within me, and I don't know how to make it stop. I don't know how to stop being this angry horrible version of me. I don't want to hurt anyone, or upset anyone. But I can't cope with this feeling, this feeling of someone taking over me, and making me say these things and lash out, that's not me. That's not Megan anymore and I don't know who this person is.

I have moments, brief moments, where I want to live. I want to live my life and be happy and do all the things I want to do, and then they come crashing down to the tune of the voiceless person living in my head who says no, no you can't do any of those things. This person wants to kill me, whether it to put me out of my misery or to harm me I don't know but this is the person behind the suicide attempts, it's not Megan.

Megan wants to live, wants to move out and get dogs and have their own place and work and earn money to travel, spend time with her family, take her niece places, play with her dog. And for brief moments this seems possible.

When I look in the mirror, I see a hollow shell of a person. A girl lost to her mental ill health, a girl lost in the world, unknowing of who to turn to or what to do. But that's not who I want to be anymore, I just don't know how to find her again.

I suppose the whole point of life is to find yourself, but right now it seems a dauntingly hard task. A task I'm not sure where I can start with. I suppose I go to the therapies I'm offered, live each day and learn who I am.

Meg x

So my last post was all about relapsing, so I guess world suicide prevention day came at an apt time. I want to talk today about suicide, and suicidal thoughts. I've written a post about feeling suicidal before which you can catch up on here, but today I want to come back to the topic

Feeling suicidal is so much more than the want to die, sometimes, yeah that's all I can feel, is this overwhelming sense of "I just don't want to be here", but others it's so much more.

It's feeling like you can't be helped anymore, no therapy, no talking, nothing can help this depression, this sense of worthlessness. It's feeling as though your loved ones would be better off, better off without the burden of taking care and worrying about you all the time. It's not being able to move because your limbs feel like lead, just laid in bed feeling helpless and although life is pointless now. It's feeling like nothing, not one thing is worth feeling in this much pain, not seeing your loved ones, nothing that makes you happy is worth the relentless agony that comes with mental ill health.

When most of us say we're feeling suicidal, what that translates to for me, is that I've had enough of feeling this way, of feeling so overwhelmingly shit that I feel like I simply can't go on. It means I've hit rock bottom, and there's no way of bringing me round anymore, I'm lost in the wilderness of my mental illness, unable to find my way back to stability. It means that nothing that brings me even an ounce of happiness compares to the pain I feel just by waking up to another day of tears and sadness and emptiness. It means I want to kill the dark black hole inside of me that tears me apart, and keeps me up at night.

I've felt suicidal on and off for around 4 years now, in the crux of my ill health, when I was first diagnosed with bpd, and I thought my life was over. But I haven't always felt this way. I've had problems with my mental health since I was 12 years old when I was diagnosed with anorexia nervosa, but even then I didn't want to die, I just didn't want to eat and gain weight. The last few years my suicidal thoughts have got me at my lowest, crept into my brain in the dead of night and eaten away at my thoughts, or sometimes they've opened my brain during a normal day, walked right in and made themselves at home.

Suicide attempts are aplenty in my past, but they don't have to be or define my future. Nor does it have to define yours either.

I refuse to be a statistic, I refuse to be a sad story, I refuse to be lost my mind and my illness.

I'm going to fight, and if you're out there struggling like me, I hope you will join me.

Meg x

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I relapsed. A few weeks ago on a monday evening I tried to take my life three times, and not for the first time this year. I was subsequently detained under a section 136 of the mental health act twice in 24 hours, and in total spent around 45 hours sectioned and released back home twice, I'm exhausted still, but I am safe. I am home and trying to get some help - as impossible as that is these days - and trying to move on, but I want to talk about it, so I'm here.

I don't ever share my personal stories for pity, or empathy or attention. I share them because I think we live in a world where the only things people share online are positive stories and good things they're doing, and thats just not real, life isnt that rosy and nice. Life is gritty and horrible sometimes and I think it's time we showed that part of it too.

My life definitely hasn't always been rosy. It's been rocky for a good ten years, but you look at my instagram and my facebook and I look fine, I have a boyfriend, a loving supportive family, a job, a flat and a life. But that doesnt equate to happiness, that doesnt take my demons away, or hide the pain I feel. It masks the realness of real life, the sadness I feel deep down and don't share, and I refuse to live in hiding, in fear of shattering the glass of my online life. The shards are already shattered, I may as well carry on and bring hope to people - that no one is ever alone in their struggles, or the only one to feel this way. No one is beyond help, or unable to find happiness.

Relapse always seems like such a dirty word, you think of relapse and what do you think and feel? For me it's shame, weakness and failure. During my episode, I relapsed on self-harming twice. It had been over 18 months since I last hurt myself so the disappointment in myself was real, but something I need to remember myself is that, healing is not linear. It isn't one straight line graph of you starting at the bottom and going to the top, it's a humongous rollercoaster of ups and downs and blips. But that is okay, if you relapse, you are not a failure, you are not weak, you are struggling.

To struggle is okay, it's normal, it's human. But it means it's time to get help, something I'm slowly realising as i get older. I've always been afraid to ask for help, scared to reach out and be rejected as I usually have by my mental health team. But this time it's different, as my boyfriend said to me the night I came home, it's gone too far now, I've hit rock bottom and I have to ask for help on getting myself back up, and I'm trying.

But for now, it's time to do a whole lot of self-care, a bit of crying, and a lot of recovering. Remember, if you're out there and you're struggling, please reach out, get some help, even if that's in the means of telling a friend how you're feeling. And it's okay to have these feelings too, you're human and your feelings are valid.

Stay safe and stay lovely,

Meg x

Hello again! Today we're talking about unstable self image, the negative and unstable way people with BPD see themselves and how this affects us. To have a stable sense of self you can see yourself as the same person in the past, present and future, and understand who you are.

For those with BPD, it's not as simple. We simply do not know who we are. It's hard to explain, so bare with me through this post. But essentially we are actors, chameleons if you will, constantly changing and adapting to those around us to make the best fit, personality and character for the role. A "normal" person may change who they are, for example, they may be silly and loud with friends, but quiet and serious and professional with colleagues, but for those with BPD this is a much more profound change, we are whole new people, with a whole new set of traits to go with it.

Growing up, I never understood why I couldn't figure out who I was. I feared that simple phrase, "so, tell me a bit about yourself" I didn't know what to say. When prompted in therapies and at school and to write in social media bios, I just couldn't find the words to describe myself, I couldn't think of a single thing I liked, liked to do, who I was, it's like I became this shell of nothingness. I spent a lot of my time growing up longing for something, I didn't even know what it was, but I wanted something that would make me understand the person I was. Now I understand I was looking for a reason to be worthy, a purpose in life.

When I was a teenager, I would copy everything my friends did, the clothes they wore, I bought. The music they liked, I downloaded. The friends they had, were the friends I had. The way they spoke and their mannerisms, were now mine. Everything I did, I did to fit in, to feel "normal". I so wanted to be normal, liked, funny, appreciated. Because secretly in my head, I was fighting a constant battle with my sense of self, of belonging, and with my mental illness. I remember liking books growing up, but my newer friends didn't, so I stopped reading, I started to listen to the same music they did, asked my mum to buy me the clothes they had, I wouldn't ever disagree with their opinions in fears they'd leave me, and so kept quiet.

Now I'm a bit older and understand my illness much more, I have a more stable sense of self. I'm no longer afraid to say to someone "I think you're wrong" or "I disagree" because I have my own opinions and I know them. I know I'm a good person, I know that I like dogs and drawing and writing and that i have a good sense of humour and can be very intelligent depending on the subject (not science pls god no science) . I no longer rely on the people around me to validate my own thoughts and feelings, because I have my own and I am my own person.

I am still a chameleon though, an actor playing a role. Because I have BPD, and that may be how I am for a long time or it may be something I keep working on and learning and growing and grow out of, I don't know. I still look to other people for my way of how to behave, I still get extreme anxiety and have attacks when I'm meant to go somewhere and I don't know what everyone else is wearing, will I wear the wrong thing and be embarrassed? Laughed out of there quicker than I can say panic attack? And I still struggle to define and describe myself to others.

But that's okay, and having an unstable sense of self is okay. I know that I have BPD and that it changes the way a "normal" brain may conceive of everyday things and that's why I react the way I do, I know that sometimes I need reassurance and the approval of others to feel comfortable in being me, and I know that I am a good person and I know I am worthy.

I also know that I am adaptable, I know how to change myself up for new people and new situations and I see this as a positive. My career history and present is with children and adults with mental health issues or learning disabilities and difficulties, and therefore being adaptable is great! I know when I need to adapt my way of speaking and my mannerisms and my professionalism to each and every person and I can adapt who I am to fit in with that person, to build working relationships with people and be onside. It also makes me friendly and approachable to all, I would never want someone to think badly of me so I would never behave so to get that reaction.

I am still learning who I am, but I know that I am worthy and I know I will never stop learning who I am so that's okay. I know what is meaningful and important in my life and that's all that matters. And in time, so will you.

Meg x

It's currently 00:28 on a friday night. Nothing has happened, no one has upset me, no bad things have happened, and yet I'm wide awake on the settee alone sobbing into my phone as I scroll through twitter and open up blogger and try and find the words to explain how I'm feeling. But I can't.

Because as soon as I try and open up to people or write down my feelings, they're stuck, lodged in my throat, trapped and unable to be set free. The words are there in my head a minute ago, I was explaining to myself what was going on and now I'm up and trying to tell someone, they're scrambled up like a jigsaw that I can't fix. No matter how hard I want to fix it, to unscramble the anagrams in my head, to join up the dots and the squiggly lines, that's all they are, shapes and colours where the words should be.

And I cry more, fat sobs streaming down my face, all I want to do is scream and throw my laptop across the room in frustration, because I had the words, they were there in my head I can picture it, but it's muted, the silence deafening.

All I remember, is wanting to feel normal. And I know there's no normal, not really, but I want to feel something that isn't, this. This sadness, this long aching feeling inside my heart, this fuzzy painful stabbing in my brain. I just want it all to stop, to tell the driver "no thanks I've had enough" and get out. But I can't, because this is my brain, my life, my normal. And I hate it, I despise the normality that is the sobbing, the scrambled words and feelings, the silence of explanations I long to have.

Many people compare mental illness to that of screaming into a crowded room and nobody's listening, but to me, it's like telling everyone "oh btw I'm about to scream but you won't hear me" and them saying "ok cool" then screaming intermittently for 22 years, whilst on fire, naked. You see?

The truth is, I'm tired. I'm exhausted by being held captive by my illness, held ransom for happiness by a disorder that says "happiness? 5 minutes only today". I'm tired of a diagnosis that means I'm constantly fighting a battle inside of my head of whether or not I'm worthy of staying alive. Of constantly weighing up the pros and cons of life or death. Because that is my normal. Have an argument with my partner? Kill yourself. Feel sad about something that is totally irrelevant to my everyday life and will pass in a few hours for a normal person? Kill yourself. Feel any emotion at all out of the blue that I wasn't expecting to deal with? Kill yourself.

By now you'd think it would be expected, that I'd know it was coming. But I don't, ever. It's like someone walking down the street with a sign above their head saying "I'm a murderer", who says to you "I'm going to kill you" and then when they stab you, being shocked and surprised they did it anyway. That's what it's like living with BPD. You know full well you will be rocked by mood swings and feel emotions you don't want to feel at any given time, and that you may or may not react in a dramatic way about a minor occurrence, and yet when it happens, you're shocked and appalled that your brain could play you this way again like it did yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.

People wonder and ask me what having BPD means to me, and how it affects me, well this is it. It's essentially a lot of "you should kill yourself" mixed with a lot of crying, many questions and a lot more stupid metaphors about life and how you feel. And that is my reality, my normality and my nightmare. Welcome to my brain.

Meg

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