Diagnonsense

In my previous two posts I gave you the history of my love life from age 18 to 27. Sadly, romance and sex weren't my main concern during those years, although my liaisons were greatly affected by the primary predicament. So I am going to rewind, and take you back to 2003.

I was 18, in University studying science, or rather not studying it. I did not choose to apply for a science degree, it was unfortunately thrust upon me by my well meaning, but misguided mother. From the first day of the course I struggled; I wish I could tell you it was purely down to the emotional difficulties I was facing at the time, but that would be a lie. I had always struggled with physics and maths, and to this day I still don't understand trigonometry. If I disliked them because I found them too difficult, or I found them difficult because I disliked them I can't say. But either way, I couldn't understand even the basic principles of them. My response to this situation was to avoid it. I skipped lectures, skipped lab work and certainly didn't study. My multiple choice exams were always a game of chance, which meant I regularly failed them.

During the day I attended college, and in the evenings I worked as a data entry clerk. I despised my job, as most people who do data entry do, because it is the most mind numbing task of all time. At home I spent most of my time alone in my room, pretending to study, but really just escaping reality using my trusty VCR player. The atmosphere at home had now reached boiling point, and there were arguments and caustic remarks almost daily. The only way I can describe how it felt in my home at that time is that it was toxic and oppressive. So I spent my day moving from one bad situation to another. I was cutting myself almost everyday just to quiet the noise in my head enough to shuffle along, and drinking far too much in an attempt to dull the ache inside. In short, I was a mess. My mood would swing rapidly during the day, sometimes it could change multiple times in the space of a minute. My black moods would usually last days, happiness mere seconds.

I have no recollection of exactly how it happened, but a peer guidance counselor suggested I be referred to see the on campus psychologist. Up to this point my only experience with mental health professionals was with the psychotherapist I saw prior to my school exams. I can only tell you three things about my first psychologist: she was a woman, she didn't help me in the slightest, and she was in the wrong profession. Please understand, by the time I came to the center to see her I was so beaten down by my own thoughts and feelings that I had no hope for the future. I didn't know what exactly was wrong with me, but I feared that it was going to kill me. I saw this woman several times, told her how I was feeling, what thoughts I had had during the week, my concerns that something was intrinsically damaged. I genuinely wanted her to help me, because at this point I didn't necessarily want to die, I just needed the pain to stop.

If you happen to be a healthcare professional, or are becoming one, or are friends with someone having difficulties, the following is what you should NOT say to a person with depression, or any mental health problems. Actually, nobody should ever say these words to anyone. Ever. But most definitely not to an 18 year old girl who self harms and is suffering

I feel certain you are going to commit suicide, and I don't want to take that journey with you. It would be too upsetting for me.

I was promptly told I could no longer receive counseling and sent on my way.

I can remember sobbing in that woman's office. I remember thinking, 'That voice was right all along, nobody wants to help me, and death is the only way'. From that moment on two things shifted inside me. The first was that suicide turned from something I feared to a viable solution to my problems. The second, and if you've been paying attention you might have already spotted this one, is that I developed a complete mistrust of all mental health professionals. Why? Because I had summoned the strength to confess my sins to someone, I had asked someone for help, someone who's job description is helping people. And I had been rejected. Again. To this day I struggle to put my trust in therapists and psychiatrists. Whenever a new one enters my life I assume they will let me down, and only after a long period of time will I develop any sort of confidence in them. Even then, in the back of my mind, I am always waiting for them to fail me. Or to confirm my worst fears, that I am a lost cause.

There was one other consequence of my removal from the counseling list: I was immediately referred to the psychiatrist. My first psychiatrist, although certainly not the last, and the one who would diagnose me with BPD.