For almost two years I was free! I was well and working as a nurse, playing sports, saving for a deposit on a house, socialising ... even meeting the man of my dreams! I bought a gorgeous pearl white almost new Suzuki Swift, attended church regularly and was part of forming what was to become a close knit young adults praise and worship group.
Life was good, better than I ever thought it could be. I had everything I could have asked for.
And then came Depression. With a capital D.
I didn't know what it was at first - it felt like a dark cloud was creeping over me, slowly but surely. I tried to ignore it, and when that didn't work I made a conscious effort to look after myself really well, engage in activities I enjoyed (even when I had to make myself), connect with others as much as possible, I saw a counsellor through work, used my annual leave ...
But the cloud kept creeping, until I could barely see even a flicker of sunlight anymore. I couldn't rationally make sense of, I felt powerless, lost, panicked, desperate. I could no longer see what the point of living was - each day felt hopeless, a struggle, a battle. As time went on, I stopped looking after myself so well ... I resorted to my old coping mechanism to try and blot out the pain and desperation ... anorexia.
To cut a long story short, I lost weight rapidly, went to the GP, started on an antidepressant, was referred to a counsellor and then to the community mental health service. I became suicidal, kept losing weight, was advised by my GP and the psychiatrist to stop working (which I did), and much to my shame, went on the sickness benefit (I remember the day I walked into WINZ and found myself in line behind one of my patients (I had worked at a low socioeconomic heavily funded medical practice). I wanted the floor to swallow me up.
Before long it was obvious I needed more help. My weight continued to plummet and I was sinking further and further into the clutches of anorexia and depression. I moved into a small flat behind my father's house and hardly saw anyone - I kept the curtains closed and withdrew from the world almost completely - except for when I was out obsessively exercising (which I mostly did on the cross trainer in Dad's garage anyway).
I was offered a funded health professional's bed at Ashburn Clinic - a psychiatric hospital.
http://www.ashburn.co.nz
I didn't want to go, but Mum, Dad and my boyfriend William convinced me there was no other choice. I'd been given enough chances.
And so I went. Packed a back, and there I was. Back at Ashburn for the second time in my life.
I spent Christmas and my birthday there, and six months after arriving was no better. I had to leave. I was scared I would be put under the mental health act due to my low BMI, but I told them I was not staying. After signing a form to say that I was leaving against medical advice and Ashburn would not be held accountable for any 'issues', I left.
That was six weeks ago.
I am now living with my second cousin Paula in Christchurch and attending outpatient appointments at Princess Margaret Hospital.
I think my current state is best expressed in a poem I wrote a couple of days ago:
Gone
Sometimes now
I can barely remember
The me I used to be
The girl with the shining eyes
The effortless laugh
Infectious and free
The energy for life
The will to get up in the morning
The girl who would turn cartwheels
On the lawn
Strive towards her goals
Embrace her passions
Smile at strangers in the street;
Who would sometimes laugh so hard
That no noise came out
And her stomach hurt
Who went to work each day
Ready to bandage wounds,
Dress ulcers, vaccinate young children,
educate and advocate for her patients,
To give all that she could
In knowledge and care
To whoever she might encounter.
Where did she go?
Is she somewhere deep within?
All I feel is hollowness
An empty lifeless cavity
That I don't know how to fill,
I don't know how to get her back.
No comments:
Post a Comment