#projectnerdherd

Hi guys.

   This one’s a bit different, maybe a little bit heavy, but given recent events, I feel like it’s important to share. I think everyone knows that on August 11th, Robin Williams committed suicide, and had been suffering with severe depression in the lead up to his untimely death. I want to share this not only with you, dear reader, but also with the group. Only one of them knows exactly what I’ve been through, and the others have a vague idea, but I’ve never spoken about it to them - I always clammed up and shut down when it was mentioned, so I can take my time with this post, get it right, before the entire internet knows. 

   The fact that the topic of mental illness is still a stigma in society really bugs me. Mental illnesses are as important, and as frequent, as physical illnesses, but due to the fact that they aren’t visible, they are more often than not ignored. However, the fact that people try to turn them into a fashion trend distresses me even more. It is so SO important to broadcast that depression IS real and DOES ruin lives, but if they only show people constantly in the public eye, then that isn’t sensible. If people believe that it’s ‘cool’ to have a disorder because [that celebrity] has one, then that’s the wrong way to go. If they showed the number of suicides committed by ordinary people, then the media, the government, and everyone else, would have realised a long time ago that it really is an issue. 

   For as long as I can remember, I haven’t felt truly happy. Sure, there are times when I’m loving life, and I’m loving who I’m with, but there’s always something that brings me back down. I felt like I was at the bottom of a black hole, and there was no way for me to get out. When I was twelve, my mum took me to the doctors, and I was diagnosed with moderate clinical depression. Now, to a twelve year old, that’s freaking terrifying, and I felt so ashamed - like something was wrong with me, like I was to blame. Said doctor couldn’t do anything, and the psychologists wouldn’t see me. After that, things got worse. I became reclusive, and started to self harm - which was the start of five years of hell. My parents found out that I had been cutting myself, and took me back to see my GP. He referred me to a place called CAMHS (Children and Adolescents Mental Health Service) who agreed to make a consultation appointment. After months of waiting, I finally got my initial assessment, and had confirmed what was suspected all along. I didn’t hear anything for months after that, by which time, I cut more often, deeper and more. (I think by this time, I was thirteen and a half.) When I finally got a follow up appointment with a psychiatrist I was fourteen. He decided the best course of action for someone my age would be CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy.) I tried it for a while, and I guess it seemed to work for a while, but I was still self harming. 

   At the beginning of 2012, I started to hear voices, which obviously scared me beyond belief. I felt numb, I thought I was crazy. I got to the point where I was cutting not only my arms, but my legs, stomach and back, just to feel alive. It was an addiction. I was cutting myself everyday, each time doing a little bit more, thinking that I could withstand it. 

   In January 2013, I broke down in school and got sent home sick. That weekend was the first time I was admitted to hospital. The psychiatrist saw me more frequently, and I saw my therapist/counsellor a lot more too. I got put on Prozac a couple of months after, and that was the worst three weeks of my life. I woke up every single night sobbing and shaking and screaming, and my mum had to sleep in my room every night to calm me down when it happened. It was also then that I started experiencing visual hallucinations. The doctor took me off them, and put me on some different anti-depressants that would help me get back into a normal sleep pattern too. In June, I was admitted back into the hospital for the first time I tried to kill myself. They upped my dosage and the number of therapy sessions I was having, but after a while - as usual - the effects started to wear off. I tried going back to school at the start of the new academic year, and within two weeks had already made another attempt to end my life. At the end of September, I had a tricky break up to deal with too, which only contributed to my feeling crappy. So a few months, two suicide attempts and a hospital stay later, I was being seen at least once every week. Then, on November 27th, my grandad died.  It messed me up, I have to be honest. But I coped. I figured that my family had enough pain to deal with, without suffering the loss of another family member. And from then on, I changed my outlook. I decided to deal with the negativity in a non-destructive way. I really did a lot of art in that time, and most of it was put towards my coursework for school. 

   I have been clean for just over ten months now, and I am so glad that every attempt didn’t work, that I didn’t get my wish. Because I can tell you from experience that it DOES get better. It’s not easy, and it’s not something that changes overnight, but it’s worth it. 

  I guess the point of that is that it’s true. Suicide isn’t the answer - it’s a permanent ‘solution’ to issues that are going to get better. Whether they take years, or months. It isn't a quick process. But trust me, eventually, you’ll start to feel happier - like the big black cloud constantly above you it starting to lift. That is the best feeling in the world, because you can feel it. You can feel yourself getting better. And it’s wonderful. 

   So please PLEASE, if you’re depressed, talk to someone. If you’re anxious, or concerned, or just feeling a bit down, let someone know. You can message me anytime on this, or my personal (tumblr.com/waffledemort). I promise I’ll answer ASAP, and nothing is too big or small. 

   Life is precious. Live it, love it. It is what you make of it.