How mental health problems affect relationships: "They"re scared that this time you might die"

31 Mart 2017 Cuma

How mental health problems affect relationships: "They"re scared that this time you might die"

Anonymous
Last night I had a dream about my eldest son who’s just turned 11. Because of my mental illness, I have not been able to speak to or see my three boys for eight months now. In the dream I’m hangin’ with my eldest, shooting the breeze as we’ve done many a time, but this time I notice a difference; his voice has broken, and with this realisation my heart broke, too.

This dream is analogous of all those golden moments of childhood I have missed in their lives, that can never be relived, moments that seem even more precious when it comes to my eldest, as he rapidly approaches adolescence. The dream also feels analogous of everything I’ve lost as a result of mental illness; my marriage, career, liberty (sectioned twice), self-respect and societal approval.

What really frightens me about my mental illness is the way it suddenly grabs me and leads me to do things that I, when feeling stable, just would never want to do. Like right now I love my boys and mum so much I cannot believe I’d want to never see them again and devastate them through taking my own life. Yet out of the corner of my eye, I can see the omnipresent scar on my left wrist that is a constant reminder of how my mental health can construct a vast distance between me and my values.

Anonymous, 21
I have bipolar disorder, a highly stigmatised diagnosis. One of the hardest things to deal with is knowing you’re hurting people around you. After taking an overdose, lying in A&E with someone who loves you and feeling the guilt and horror of what you’ve done. They’re scared that this time you might die, but the urge was so strong you couldn’t stop yourself from doing it. Even when you know you are loved, you still wish to die. I have an illness. I wrote this poem in art therapy.

Today you are possible of great things,

Things of beauty, of purpose and of wonder.

Your voice is of importance, your body is of splendour.

Today you are tasked with only being fair to yourself and your soul, and to be fair to yourself and your soul is to be kind.

Kindness is all that you deserve.

Today you are you, and that is a magical thing, no one else will ever be you.

You are strong, you are mesmerising, you are intelligent, you are divine.

Today you are loved, as you should be, and as you always will be.

Anonymous
Go me: a poem about mental health, from a mother’s perspective

I am the world’s greatest mum

My teenage daughter is perfect

Good grades, no shouting, no drinking, no boys, no worries

I’m expert at giving lifts, coordinating activities, supporting vegetarianism, saying no to piercings, organising cultural excursions and understanding UCAS points

I’ve got this covered. Go me!

I am the world’s most understanding mum

I can support this exam stress

Distant, withdrawn, eating less, sleeping more, staying in

I am an expert at finding French tutors, arranging extra physics, breathing exercises, pep talks and staying positive

One of life’s challenges. Go me!

I am the world’s most bewildered mum

I don’t know why this is happening

School dropout, counselling, anger, a handful of pills, some minor cuts

I am expert at managing panic attacks, investigating colleges, negotiating the NHS and weird piercings

But I’m up for this. Go me!

I am the world’s most exhausted mum

I love her to death

Major overdose, psychiatrist, cardiac ward, cutting, minor overdose, more cutting

I am expert at bandaging cuts, hiding razor blades, 999 calls, police statements, social services, riding in ambulances, fighting for support, staying up all night, dispensing pills

But we’re still here and stronger. So go us

Helen, Manchester, 35
Fourteen years ago, I found my flatmate (and close friend) almost unconscious, with an empty bottle of pills next to her bed. I got her to the hospital. I stayed all night, until she was released in the morning. It was horrible. What came next was worse. At the hospital I asked the doctor what I should do the next day. He drew a blank. My other flatmate and I had no idea how to react. We were angry, we blamed her, we thought she was selfish. We treated her like a stranger. I went to my GP, who suggested we focus on ourselves because finals were coming up. Within a week, we just left her – went to our respective homes to study, claiming that we needed peace and quiet away from university.

I’ve never forgiven myself for that response, or forgotten how awful it was when she quietly confronted me about lying to her. In the end we both apologised, cried a lot, and made peace. It took me a few years, though, to fully accept that she wasn’t selfish or to blame. I hope that today’s 21-year-olds already know that, and that their doctors are giving better advice. By removing the stigma around mental health, and by educating people in how to support their friends and family, perhaps we can prevent other people being judged and abandoned.

Anonymous, early 40s