I know that I've covered this very roughly in previous posts, but I wanted to dedicate an entire post so hopefully you can get to know me a little better. I'm serious about wanting this blog to take off and help a lot of people, and I feel like I can do that much better if my audience knows me a little better. So we'll start from the beginning and find our way to where I am now.

I also want to point out that I’m now in a very mutually supportive relationship, and he’s put up with me being slightly psycho due to everything and I’m grateful for him and the love and support he has given me through the past few months... I feel like the luckiest girl in the world despite all the shit I’m currently going through... so shout out to him. I love you more than words could ever describe.

I do want to pre-warn you that there may be some triggering content in this post. If you're easily triggered in ways of self-harm or suicidal thoughts then I won't be offended if you don't read this post. 😘

When I was in high school my mother and I had a very on and off relationship. We'd argue much more than was ever necessary, and at times I truly felt she was neglecting me and my brother, in ways such as using money my dad gave her for child maintenance for food for her and her new boyfriend that was expensive, and me nor my brother were allowed to touch it, or buying a clarinet that she never played.

During Sixth Form, and the ever-so-stressful time of A-Levels, our relationship just got worse. I started having panic attacks at Sixth Form without even knowing what they were. My friend found me hyperventilating on the floor while revising and asked me why I was having a panic attack. My first thought was thank god there's an explanation because this has been happening too often and I've not known why. I sort of knew what anxiety was, and I knew I was nervous in certain situations but I had no idea what I was feeling had a medical term, I just thought I was shy.

My Step Mum and I went shopping on quite a busy day. She sent me to find something by myself and by the time we found each other again the back of my hand was scratched raw. This is what made my step mum and dad decide I needed to see a doctor, because I shouldn't be sub-consciously hurting myself to distract myself from this nervousness I was feeling, and I shouldn't have been feeling that panicky just because there were a few more people than normal around me. We went to the doctor and I was told I would get a referral. That never happened, and we all just sort of accepted that I had anxiety. It wasn't diagnosed but we were all pretty certain.

At Sixth form things got worse. Everything going down with mum started to make me feel helpless and lost. We lived in the middle of nowhere so it was impossible for me to get away for a couple of hours as I had nowhere to go other than my bedroom. One night I made the decision to use the point of a compass and scratch my wrist. I felt silly, the only reason I did it was to try and make a point to mum about how sad I was, hoping that if she knew I'd intentionally hurt myself she'd actually believe me. She called me a silly cow and that was the end of it, no matter how many times I asked her to take me to the doctors, it never happened until one day in sixth form. I had the biggest panic attack so far, and it quickly turned into a complete mental breakdown. My tutor asked me a few questions and told me to go to the doctor as he thought I was suffering from depression. The scratches on my wrist could have told me that, but I didn't think anything of it. I called mum and told her the Sixth Form wanted me to talk to someone, and eventually it got through to her that I wasn't just playing it up at home for attention.

On the 16th December 2013 I was diagnosed with Anxiety and Clinical Depression. I was referred (properly this time, the first referral was made but never sent off) to the wellbeing team for therapy but told I shouldn't be put on antidepressants because I was only sixteen. For a few months I continued having panic attacks, and continued self-harming not realising what a hole I was digging myself for future years to come where I'd start to rely on it in times of great distress.

Therapy was relatively complicated for me. It started with a phone interview which I had a panic attack before, and as it happened at Sixth Form, everyone was understanding and were able to give me a room to myself to avoid interruptions. This was after having seen the school counsellor a few times to talk things through of course.

I eventually got set up onto this IM style therapy which I thought at the time would be great because I always opened up more if I was talking to someone online, but after a few sessions it quickly got to the point where I could easily shut myself off from it. I decided I didn't want it anymore, and I wanted to try and go through it alone and so I faked a lot of answers on forms and told her that I was feeling much better than I actually was until she told me that she didn't think I needed her anymore.

After that my depression and anxiety kind of took a back seat. I got into a relationship with someone I really liked and it seemed to go really well, apart from him constantly pointing out all my physical insecurities, and then shouting at me when I didn't know how to handle something he'd gone through. I was terrified of telling him that I'd been in therapy and that I'd used to cut myself, and when I eventually told him he just hugged me and I felt so supported, but looking back on it I just think he hugged me to shut me up, because he never actually seemed to care how I felt.

Pretty soon after sixth form finished I moved in with my dad. Through the process of getting therapy he and my step mum learned that I was self harming and I was devastated. I hadn't felt like I'd let anyone down that much before and I was utterly heartbroken. Now, however, things seemed to be going good. I wasn't working yet so I was finding things to do, I was going for walks and taking pictures, I was baking and cooking a lot and actually exercising and going for runs. Then I got my first job.

My anxiety sky-rocketed again. There was something about the job that just didn't sit right with me, I felt all sorts of uncomfortable, and I was aware that it was just me and how I felt, but there was still something about the job I loathed. It got to the point where I started to self harm again. One of the supervisors noticed, and asked me about it, telling me she'd been where I was and that I shouldn't be ashamed to talk about it. I was ashamed. It had been nearly two years since I'd last cut myself and I didn't even really know why I'd started doing it again. I was very heavily supported by a couple of the supervisors there, and I knew that it was all confidential. I felt very safe and that helped me a lot during those times.

For the next two years my self harm was very on and off. Mostly off, and my anxiety had almost dissolved. I was happy, I had money and I had friends. 2016 was a brilliant year filled with music festivals, nights out, and holidays and honestly it was amazing. I'd almost completely forgotten about everything to do with my anxiety and depression. And then the storm broke again. My best friend turned on me for a reason I still don't really understand. She also managed to turn all of my other friends on me, and I relapsed in my self-harm hard. The point of a compass was no longer enough. I wanted to see blood, and I wanted it to be not so much effort as it was with a point so I broke a disposable razor up and used one of the blades.

This was the worst it had ever been. Every night before I went to bed I'd cut more, until there was no more room on the inside of my arm and I started on my thighs. Luckily I was too much of a wimp for them to be too serious but self-harm is still self-harm and it was reckless. I never made sure the blades were sterile, I never cleaned my cuts afterwards, I just sat there and watched them bleed, wiped them with tissue and then went to bed, struggling to get dressed without stinging the next morning. Struggling to shower without stinging and really just struggling to do anything. It didn't stop me though and pretty soon I was on the verge of trying to OD. In my mind I'd lost everything. I didn't know what else to do, and I didn't see a way out. I wanted to stop waking up every morning and being ashamed of who I was, I wanted to stop waking up and not wanting to be alive. And then I thought of my brother. and I broke down and threw everything in the bin (not including the blades).

At this point I was attempting to get back into therapy. My Step Mum had asked if I was self-harming and I suck at lying. She asked to see and was shocked at just how cut up my arm was. Once again I felt immense shame. She and my dad were very supportive in trying to get me better, even coming with me to therapy sessions and asking what they could do to help me stop self-harming. They made me throw my blade out in front of them so they could see it was gone. I still had one I kept secret. I don't know why, it was like a safety net. I knew that just because I didn't have a razor, it wouldn't stop me from hurting myself, and I'd rather do it with something I know I can control rather than something I don't like a knife or placing my hands on a burning stove, although I did that a few times too... nothing that ever left a mark though.

That was it. I hadn't cut myself since the end of 2017 until October last year where the early days of my antidepressants caused a minor blip. It was horrible and after doing it I through the blade in the bin. I'm not that person anymore, and I don't want to fall back into that vicious cycle of self-destruction. My anxiety and depression got bad again last September. My anxiety came with applying for my degree and all of the student loan stuff to go with it. My depression has only recently made a comeback though. I can't say I'm enjoying it, and now I'm actually on antidepressants I'm having even less fun so that's something to talk to my doctor about. I'm starting therapy again just so I can try an figure out what's going on in my head. I'll of course keep you updated.

I'm sorry if this post was slightly triggering. Like I said at the beginning I feel like it's important for you to know a bit more about me, where I've come from and what I've been through. Knowing that I can help because I've been through a lot (a lot for me anyway, I know I'm definitely not the worst off out of everyone in the world).

I'm very nervous to post this to be honest with you. If you've made it this far then I'm grateful... I know it's a long one, but I have a lot to tell and I ramble... a lot. The good news is that my nervous rambling doesn't come out so much when I'm typing. Podcasts however are a different story. (Spoilers...)

Until next time,
-M x

I’m a hypocrite. I fully admit that, and I’m not happy with it. The truth is as much as I preach about therapy and how much I encourage people to go, I’m not so great at accepting that I need it myself.

I just referred myself to wellbeing. It was difficult to do because I’d convinced myself that I could do without it for so long. I can’t. It’s not nice feeling so out of control that you have to bare your soul to a stranger in order to help yourself.

My boyfriend asked me why I didn’t like doing it. I answered honestly; I feel like I’m asking for attention. I feel like by getting help I’m making the problem real, and I can no longer just say it’s just something I’m going through, and that I’ll be better on my own terms in due time. By referring myself for therapy I’m admitting defeat, and admitting I’m weak and sacrificing the ability to deal with my depression on my own.

While this is all true, I’m genuinely a huge advocate for therapy, and I do strongly believe that it shows courage and acceptance (as mentioned in my previous post) to admit that you need help. I’ve never been good at taking my own advice, and I know that’s not exactly a good thing when I run a blog that’s supposed to strongly advocate self-help.

I decided to write this post with the previous post in mind, particularly when I mentioned I should write when I feel shit. I feel like I should be ‘relatable’ in a sense for anyone to take my advice seriously. So yes, I completely understand how difficult it is admitting that you may need help from a professional and yes I do completely empathise with everyone struggling to come to terms with it. No, it’s not going to be easy for me to go into therapy again and completely bare my soul to a stranger about things that I still don’t fully understand about myself but the important thing for us all to remember is that these people you’re talking to want to help.  Why else would they go through all that training?

I want to help people understand the hardships of their mental health. I want to let people reading know that what they might or might not be feeling is normal, and others feel it too. So yes, I will continue on my mission to advocate positive mind-sets, but I also want to aim to make everything seem normal, for people to read things and think ‘thank god I’m not the only one’ even if I risk exposing myself as the only one who does something or feels a certain way about something.

Hope you are all well, and please remember that it’s okay to feel defeated when asking for help, but try to remember that ultimately it’s going to help, and there’s truly nothing wrong with knowing when you can’t handle something by yourself. It shows a certain strength I feel.

Until next time,
-M x

So yesterday I spoke to someone with the hope of getting some friendly advice about how I've been feeling the past couple of months. She asked me if I had an outlet for my depression, and I told her that I did run a blog about promoting the positive state of mind and the idea of self help. She asked me why I stopped. My answer was simply 'I wasn't in the right head space to feel like I could run a blog talking about positivity. I'd feel like I was lying to myself and those who read my blog'. Then she said something that really resonated with me.

She told me that when we're depressed we can sometimes act like a toddler throwing a tantrum thinking something isn't right. We can look at the whole 'fake it 'till you make it' bullshit or we can just accept that we are going through a tough time and get on with our life. She told me to not give up on the blog just because I'm not in a positive state of mind, but to start writing about how I really feel, if nothing else just to prove to others that it's okay to be depressed. It's okay to have dark thoughts and it's okay to have low self-esteem. It's all okay as long as you know and accept the fact that it's temporary. Think of it like a dark cloud over your head. You see it and you think 'ah shit. It's going to rain on me any second' but there's nothing you can do about it, so you accept it. You know it's happening but you know that it will go.

DISCLAIMER: Everything I talk about is based on my experience and my opinions. I'm not saying everyone's the same, I'm simply talking from my own experience.

I don't think embracing your mental health illnesses is the way forward. I feel like by saying you're embracing it, you're welcoming it and inviting it to stay and learning to love it. I don't think this is healthy by any means. Embrace is such a positive word, and should be used for things like constructive criticism or the people you love, not for something that's making you question your very existence. Acceptance is just letting it be what it is. Knowing that it's a thing that's happened or happening and just thinking 'well... okay'. Accepting something bad makes things so much easier to deal with, and I don't think depression, or anxiety should be something you should avoid at all costs.

I've spent much of the past few months putting massive amounts of pressure on myself to get better. I've been ignoring my anxiety and my depression and then beating myself up with I won't let myself do something due to panic attacks or feeling defeated. My depression has got worse and worse simply because I wouldn't accept the fact that I was back to having regular panic attacks, and would end up feeling like I've let myself down if I couldn't do something without having a panic attack. I put pressure on myself because I want to get better. I'm not patient by any means, and when something doesn't go my way, I hate myself for it.

In my opinion, this is why anxiety and depression so often come hand in hand. When you're anxious you stop being able to do things you love, and you start overthinking everything to the point it becomes unbearable and you start to feel low. That's how it was for me anyway, especially this time. I relapsed in October with my self-harm purely because I was fed up of being anxious. That's all it took. Self-harm for me is muscle memory in a way. Because it's been something I've struggled with since I was 16, it's one of those things where I know that it's a definite way for me to release pressure and feel something other than despair for a second. I don't like doing it, but in the midst of a mental breakdown and my face hurts from crying so much, my mind instantly tries to make me feel at ease the best way it knows how.

I don't want to go on too much of a tangent seeing as this is my 'returning' post. I just wanted to make note of some of the things that were said to me yesterday because they really spoke to me. Accepting you're depression, anxiety, bipolar... anything is important. It makes it so much easier to deal with because you can very easily justify the way you're feeling. You have the right to be sad, you have the right to feel low, you have the right to emotions and you have the right to have a reason for all of that. And it's perfectly okay if that reason is simply 'I have depression' or 'I have anxiety'. Those things are there, and there's no point running away from them or trying to ignore them because that's not going to make them disappear, in fact sometimes it might make it worse like it did with me.

I'm aware people have different ways of dealing with their shit. I know some people do get better by just getting on with their lives and ignoring the problem, really embracing the whole 'fake it 'till you make it' state of mind. I respect that, but this is me writing this post and it doesn't work for me. The purpose of this post is to remind people that it's okay to know that depression and anxiety are valid. To know that although neither should form part of your identity, they're there and they should be respected and listened to and recognised.

I'm hoping to be back regularly. I think it might be a good idea for me to start writing posts even if I feel shit because of this conversation I had yesterday. Acceptance is part of recovery in any case, I suppose. Maybe writing when I feel down is a good way to show that it's okay to feel low to anyone reading. The whole idea of this blog is to try and make mental health more talked about after all.

I'll hopefully talk to you all soon..

Until next time,
-M x