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0 By Nadene
The one thing that a lot of people say about me is that I’m strong. Strong to have overcome as much as I have. Strong enough to carry on looking after my two sons, even though I’m still battling my own demons. I have never been able to get my head around what makes anyone believe any of this. Strong is someone who has managed to return to work. Who has managed to rebuild their life. It’s not someone who has had those chances written off by not one, but two experts, and it’s certainly not someone who depends so much on social media.
Strong is what describes me the least. Evil, totally unlovable and a really shit person, yes, yes, YES! To stand a chance of understanding how I have come to these deep-rooted beliefs, you really need to know a little of what goes around in my head.
No matter what anyone says, I know that I have passed my mental health weaknesses onto both of my sons. It’s been researched and proved that two of the main causes of a lot of mental illnesses are genetics and going through a lot of trauma as a child. My boys have both of these. The latter in bucketloads. I can’t change what’s happened, but I can be around to try to put right the wrongs and minimise any future damage. That’s not strong, it’s clearing up the carnage that I’ve already caused.
I believed I was evil
When I was first in hospital in 2008 with severe PND, it felt like it was all a game. Something I was watching over and taking part in, without it actually involving me. I was in complete control. I knew that what I was doing was very wrong, but I accepted that the evil person before me was actually just me.
I went from one extreme to the other. Good to evil. I remember having to tell every member of staff and both of my psychiatrists just how evil I was. That I needed locking up with the key thrown away. How no amount of medicine would work, because it was just what I had become. Then there were the periods where I believed that I was ill. Again I felt compelled to tell every member of staff what I had discovered. I didn’t want them believing some crazy notion of me really being evil.
These changes in my behaviour became the norm. The staff reached the point where they no longer took any notice of me or my demands to tell the psychiatrists that they were just wasting time and money on treating me. At some point I gave up telling anyone how I felt. Whether it was the good or the evil me that was there. The other patients knew. I even heard them talking about it. No-one else really cared anyway.
They dropped the bombshell
More and more, it felt as if I was just playing along with the game. Overseeing it. Trying to keep the evil in me at bay. I still don’t think it was just a coincidence. I’m sure that the threat of being released made the evil me reappear and made me attempt to take my own life. I had the psychiatrists totally at a loss. None of the combinations of medications had made any real impact on my illness.
That’s when they dropped the bombshell. They wanted to give me Electroconvulsive therapy. They wanted to fry my brain! I refused, but because of the state of my mind, the decision was given to my husband.
I know that the ECT worked. That it saved my life. Yet still to this day I believe that I am evil. That other people have seen it, the ones who have backed out on me. As for the others, they are either pandering to me because of what I am capable of doing, or they pity me for being inflicted with this evil force.
I know that all sounds crazy, but if you know me, you know that I am not. There are many out there who see me as completely normal and even some who don’t think I have an illness at all. My second stay in a mental health unit in 2015 just cemented my beliefs. What I can remember is really sketchy but I know that the evil was present a lot more than before.
I have very few emotions
I’ve been recovering at home for more than three years now. I’m not well enough to work but not poorly enough to be in a mental health unit, although it has been suggested a couple of times in the past. I have very few emotions. I know how I should feel and I feel something inside, but it’s as if I’m just not capable. As if I’m just going through the motions. I often ask myself if I am an active part in my own life. There are so many times where I still feel as though I’m in a game, watching over my character. Making sure that the evil doesn’t show itself again.
It’s hard to explain, but I just feel as though as I’m in a void. Where none of the emotions I say that I feel are actually real. Sometimes I scare myself. I find myself questioning if I actually love anyone or if I’m just going through the motions. If one day the evil will return and everyone will see what I have tried to tell them over and over.
Overthinking
I recently read an article on the fountain of all knowledge, Facebook. It stated ‘People with depression are more focused on themselves and less connected to others’. At the time I read it, I was angry. I wrote a comment stating how much I, and others who I knew, actually went out of their ways to help people. Even when they saw nothing apart from their own dark clouds.
I have a very strong tendency to overthink things, and the above statement was no exception. I’m guilty of letting things play on my mind. Instead of simply running through a scenario, dealing with it and moving on, my head plays it on repeat, at maximum volume. Each time it finds something new to scorn me for. Something that I should have or shouldn’t have said. Something that I did wrong.
Dark thoughts surface
As I often do, I’ve gone off on a complete tangent, but it will all make sense in the end. I hope. Well, as much as my screwed up head ever does to anyone, including me. After having a few days to chew the article over, I could actually see what was meant. I began to imagine what someone was thinking about me sticking my nose in. ‘You’ve already done enough damage!’ ‘When will you learn from your wealth of mistakes that you can’t help everyone?! That some people just wish that you would shut up and leave them alone?!’
Throughout my therapy, I was told that I needed to take time out for myself. To concentrate on my own recovery. That’s fine, but it’s that sort of time when all of my dark thoughts surface more. In fact, the only time that I don’t completely hate myself, is when I’m there for someone else, in whatever capacity. My worst fear is that I’m not there when someone reaches out to me. Although I’m not prepared to go into the details, it’s actually happened before. Fortunately other people were there in time, but it’s made me petrified of it happening again.
Being true to myself
For all of the good work that is being done at the moment, mental illness is still something that a lot of people feel they can’t talk openly about. When you know that the only possible good you can ever do is to be there for others, you want to make the most of that feeling. Who knows, one day it might even make you feel a tiny bit better about yourself?
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A few days ago, someone who I support (well, we support each other these days) apologised for being so negative while I was always full of positive comments and tips. It made me realise that I wasn’t being true to myself, and I guess that’s my reason for writing this. I explained that although I come across as being positive, it wasn’t the case. About how I can give other people advice, but can’t apply that same advice to me. The person kindly offered an ear, but my autopilot response was that I needed to be strong for them.
If I help others, maybe one day it will make me feel better about myself Right??!!
Reproduced with permission, originally posted on skybluenadworldpresscom.wordpress.com
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