Category: Mental Health

Posted in Mental Health, Personal Growth

Fear of Going Crazy

Posted on by Millie :)

Two years ago a group of young changemakers, including myself, came together for a discussion. We decided that we would all come dressed as our worst fears. There was one person dressed as a bat, another as a spider; one came as the idea of losing love. I came dressed as the fear of losing my mind. As someone with chronic mental illness, it’s not a fear that feels far away – it’s not a distant possibility that one day I’ll get dementia. It feels very real, very possible, and very close. And I wanted to talk about that here today, because it’s a part of my mental health experience that I haven’t seen reflected in many places.

Me dressed as the fear of losing my mind

I think many people with experience of mental health issues, or big emotions, can relate to the feeling that it’s never going to get better. In times of depression, grief, and heartache our ability to truly envision a future and see the fullness of life becomes warped. It’s a terrible phenomenon that unfortunately has taken many lives. I’ve experienced it myself many times and it is terrifying. But the feeling of going crazy, the fear of it, is something different for me. In intense moments it takes the same inability to see things getting changing and redirects them towards a feeling of a loss of self and loss of reality.

As a mentally ill person, despite owning the idea of being ‘mad’ with great pride, I feel I am constantly running from the idea of being seen as crazy. Which is almost certainly related to the stigma around certain symptoms – namely the less pretty ones, mania, psychosis, irritability, flight of ideas etc; the stigma around the idea of being ‘crazy’. My mental health difficulties are a huge part of my identity – by my own choosing – and yet I still feel a need to mask how they really are lest I lose control over the narrative of my own mental illness. So that’s a part of this fear, it’s not really a fear of losing my mind, but a fear of being seen as crazy and losing autonomy and connection because of it. A deep fear of being misunderstood and unseen.

Yet the real, gnawing fear for me is internal. It is a fear that one day I will become irreversibly changed; I will lose all knowledge of our shared reality and slip entirely into a different one; I will enter an episode and never come out; I will lose myself. It’s ridiculous really, because we are constantly irreversibly changed, and our idea of self is constantly changing. Most likely the fear is rooted in internalised ableism compounded by my experiences of madness.

As Carrie Fisher once said ‘once you’ve lost your mind you don’t know it’s missing’ (that wording may not be right, but that’s the gist). So really the end result that I’m so scared of would actually just be a different way of being. Nothing inherently better or worse about it for me. So what am I really afraid of? Other people’s judgments. A lack of autonomy and care. And perhaps ‘going crazy’ and then reemerging, as would most likely happen in all the scenarios I imagine. Because I have actually lost myself before – when I was drinking I lost sight of who I was. That process of reemerging is deeply, deeply painful so maybe that’s what I’m afraid of. And finally, when I am not in the intense whirlwind of feeling like I’m going crazy, I think what I fear the most is being in that whirlwind again.

Let me attempt to illustrate why the whirlwind is so terrifying. You see, in that place I am two versions of myself at the same time – trapped in a paradox being ripped apart with searing force. One version of myself is the whirlwind. It is the tornado, screaming and tearing through life. The other version of myself stands in the eye of the storm, trying to avoid its path, screaming pointlessly into the spiral to remember who we really are while losing touch with who I am at the same time. Mostly all I can hear is the version that becomes the tornado, but there comes these background thoughts, senses and moments where the version of myself that sees life more clearly breaks through. 

And really it is the background knowledge that something is not right, that there will be consequences, that I am hurting – it is that reminder of who I am that makes me so afraid and so hurt. I know somehow that something is wrong, but I can’t stop it. This paradox creates the fear of going crazy, because I’m trying to figure out what’s real, trying to be less angry, trying to do the right thing and still getting it wrong. The moments when the whirlwind drowns out all sense of self are actually more peaceful, in a strange way.

It’s really a pointless fear. I can do all I can to protect myself and those around me and nothing more. The idea of being judged is useless to me; the internal ableism is something for me to face. But still this fear raises its head every now and then. This year at drama school I became convinced I was ‘disappeared’ – not that I had disappeared, that I was disappeared. I was so far away from myself and yet able to drift through my life and I feared that it would be that way forever. It wasn’t. Most things don’t last forever and that is wonderful. Essentially, if you’re a mentally ill person who shares this fear – hi, you’re not alone! And if you’re not and this sounds to you like I’ve already gone crazy, who knows – our realities are only relative anyway. I choose to set free this fear today and face my future with love and action instead. Sending love and support to you all today xxx

Posted in Advocacy, Mental Health

I Don’t Know What To Do

Posted on by Millie :)

I sometimes call myself a mental health advocate. I’d like to say I am one, but sometimes I feel like I’m not. Because I don’t know what to do. 

We need more awareness, yes, but actual awareness, critical awareness of how we form our views of mental health and the intersectionality of societal issues. I can – to a point – help raise awareness, and I try to. But if I’m honest it feels a bit useless sometimes. I honestly have no idea how to make tangible change. Of course we can write letters and go to protests – but in the current political atmosphere I wonder if it’s doing anything at all; it’s hard to watch the government become what I genuinely believe is more and more fascist and not know a way forward. Then of course we can also make art, have conversations, create peer connections and connect with nature. This is generally what I focus on because it seems achievable, and I really do believe small changes build up and matter greatly. But underneath it all I am at a loss. 

Why am I telling you this? Because I think a lot of us feel helpless. And because I want to explain why I don’t share more actions to take – because I don’t know what actions to take. It’s something I want to focus on more, and I think maybe a good place to start is by sharing openly that I don’t know what to do. It’s easy for us to sit back and do nothing simply because we are unsure of what to do, or because we are afraid. The sense of hopelessness or helplessness is perhaps one of the most pernicious ills we have learnt; it separates us and takes away our power even further. Of course it’s understandable. How the hell do we stop climate change when the overwhelming majority of emissions come from huge corporations? How do we reform the mental health system when most people are unaware of its issues and the bodies in charge aren’t listening? I don’t know. But I think maybe, just maybe, it might start with people working to build communities again; to build connections again. 

I’m an 18 year old who can barely keep their own head above water some days. But I want to help. I want to connect and be a part of change. I want to listen and learn and build. I’m sure in the future I will think differently about some of the things I’ve already said and written; I’m sure I have and will get things wrong, even cause harm through mistakes. And you know what? That’s ok. Because fear of getting it wrong, of being helpless or not having a voice, are not worth staying silent. All we can do is do the best we know how to at the time and stay open to learning.

I don’t know how to begin to face the systematic issues with mental health treatment. I don’t know how to involve everyone in the conversation, how to raise my own voice without speaking over others. I don’t know if there should be no psychiatry at all (because it is absolutely a harmful system), or reform it, or if it is even possible to reform. I don’t know how we can use language differently and how it might help. I don’t know! But I want to find out. I want to listen to all the voices, I want to learn and I want to have a go. Yeah, we’ll probably get things wrong. But we have to try, right? 

If you have any resources, readings, ideas or anything else you’d like to share to help me (and others) grow in our action, please share them in the comments or via the contact page. 

Sending love and support to you all today xxx

Posted in Managing Mental Health, Mental Health, Personal Growth

What Grief Means To Me

Posted on by Millie :)

Grief is something all of us will experience in our lives because death and endings are a part of life. And I suppose that can be a comfort, a way to make the grief make sense, but it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt. However the idea of grief is something many of us associate solely with death; in this last year redefining what grief is for me has helped me to process it and let myself grow. Grief doesn’t just apply to the death of a loved one – it applies to the end of a situation, a relationship, a friendship. 

This post isn’t a deep dive into grief – the stages, the processes, the sharing and healing etc – there are so many wonderful resources out there already for that (although I would encourage anyone interested to also look for creative explorations and presentations of grief in art, theatre, literature etc because it’s so healing). This post is more like me outstretching my hand with my own experiences to tell anyone out there who might happen to stumble across this that it’s ok, I’ve been there too.

In the last year I have grieved a lot. And it hasn’t always been sad – I think most of us know grief isn’t like that. In fact, I didn’t even realise at first that I was grieving; being autistic I just thought I was having a hard time adjusting to change, and I felt a lot of shame around that, the need to just move on quicker. And, ok yeah, I do definitely find change difficult. But noticing and naming the grief has actually set me free a bit. 

In June I lost my home. I left in the morning and I never went back; I had no idea that would be my last time leaving that house. I don’t remember leaving, I don’t remember the last thing I said to that person, the last time my dog came to say hello to me in the morning – because you’re not meant to remember those things. I had almost no reaction for 8 months, and then an intense explosion of anger. Feeling sad about it is still hard. And for a lack of a reaction, I thought I had a lack of grief. But I don’t. It affected my ability to feel safe in the place I am living, always feeling like any moment it could be pulled out from under me, and with that came the grief. That uncertainty was my way through to grief. 

I also left my school, which I considered my home. And this was so hard to grieve because it seemed like everyone else moved on quicker and I was just stuck, but grieving school has been perhaps the most transformative experience of this year. It’s been my path through to expanding my sense of self, world, connection, and love. It also hurts. So if like me you are thinking you’re being too slow to move on from something, please know it is alright. You are allowed to take up space, to feel, and to go on your own journey. Even if it’s a positive step, leaving behind things that mattered so much to us is painful. And we do grieve things, situations and places – not just people. 

I believe the thing about grief is you can’t force it or rush it. The only thing you can do is allow it, without allowing it to consume you. It’s hard but life does carry on. Maybe joy and excitement and purpose won’t look the same as before, but you are allowed to redefine these things. 

This year I have grieved the death of my grandmother; the possibility of a relationship that could have been in the context of a death that will be; and perhaps strangest of all, I have grieved the living. All of these are complicated, all of them come with different challenges and presentations. Sometimes I feel shame because my strongest reactions are about a dog, or a place, rather than the person who has actually died. But really they all mix together in a way too; they link and lace around each other to become an imprint on me and my journey. I’m ok with that. 

Point is – there is not one way to grieve. There is not one situation in which grief appears. And all of us will grieve many many times in our lives. This is your journey to figure out, but not alone; we are connected in our love and our loss, however it finds us. 

Sending so much love and support to you all today xx

Posted in Mental Health

Songs for my Bipolar Experience

Posted on by Millie :)

Music is a really important tool in how I connect to the world; I have music or a podcast playing nearly all the time for sensory reasons. Like with all creative arts, music can help us connect to others, express our experiences, and change or reflect our moods. There are some things about my experience that I feel communicated in songs more deeply than I ever good in words of my own. 

So today I thought I’d share a playlist of sorts with songs that I feel connect with parts of my experience with bipolar disorder. They may be helpful in understanding what it’s like for someone else, or yourself, but they’re also really great songs so I would recommend giving them a listen! But obviously music can be quite powerful in how it makes us feel, so please use your own discretion. Let me know what you think of them in the comments below, and if you relate with any yourselves.

  1. Control by Halsey 

Captures that feeling of dangerous energy that comes along with my experience; the desire and lack of control 

  1. Piano Sonata No.14 in C# minor, Op.27 No.2, Moonlight – Presto (aka. Moonlight Sonata Movement 3)

My favourite version is played by Daniel Barenboim, I think he really conveys the emotion of the music. Such a beautiful piece of music that encapsulates the feeling of (hypo)mania for me, the energy and beauty and pain – I can find all of it in this piece 

  1. Light of Love by Florence and The Machine 

This song resonates with a sense of healing for me, and gives me the power to keep going sometimes. It helps remind me that I am still me inside

  1. The Sounds of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel 

I know it’s become a bit of a meme song but the lyrics and harmonies of this song are truly amazing. I find it resonates with my experience of depression, especially the feeling of slipping back there again 

  1. A Reason to Fight by Disturbed 

I mean the title says it all really. A powerful message of support and willing to stay and fight when it all gets too much 

  1. Both Sides Now by Joni Mitchell 

In my opinion one of the best songs ever written. It has so much love, care, and growth in it and resonates with me differently every time I hear it. It reminds me of how I feel I change and grow through each episode, and the wholeness and seasons of life 

  1. I Miss the Mountains from Next to Normal 

This musical is about a family where the mother has bipolar disorder and this song captures a sentiment I don’t hear talked about very often – that you can actually wish to go back to a time when it was worse. There’s a certain numbness and difficulty in adjusting to being ‘ok’ and a grief of life not lived, and this song really holds that message in a gentle way 

  1. Girl Anachronism by The Dresden Dolls 

This song represents so much of the feelings of (hypo)mania for me, and what that itchy energy is like, not only at the time but also how the illness as a whole makes you feel set apart from the rest of the world sometimes; how it is a huge part of our lives and our identities

  1. A Safe Place to Land by Sara Bareilles 

This song is comforting to me in a lot of situations, especially when I’m overwhelmed or hopeless. It’s full of support and helps me feel held; like it can get better again. It reminds me I’m not alone

  1. listen before i go by Billie Eilish 

Really encapsulates a feeling of hopelessness in depression 

  1. She Used to Be Mine from Waitress 

This song has been so immensely important to me on my journey, especially with addiction recovery (something a lot of people with bipolar struggle with). It holds both grief for who we used to be and a desire to fight and become who we can be. I just love it. 

  1. Quiet from Matilda The Musical 

Again this really carries the sense of what it is like in my brain when mania starts to kick in, thoughts flowing from one to the next so quickly and loudly and how that can bring such anger. But also the calm end to the song captures a part of my experience I can’t even explain but is so very very real, and almost beautiful 

  1. Everybody Hurts by R.E.M

Comforting and well known, I listened to this song on repeat as I was dragging myself out of one of my first depressive episodes 

  1. Sky Full of Song by Florence + the Machine 

Somehow carries a sense of both depression and mania for me – the exhaustion from going and going, pretending to be ok, not knowing you’re not etc etc. It is a song of pause and reconnection to myself 

  1. Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley 

Obviously there are many other versions of this song but the feeling this version gives me is unrivalled. It mirrors that desperation of that desperation in depression for me, without actually making me feel depressed listening to it 

  1. Clown by Emeli Sandé

Feel like it spans a lot of different experiences in life and trying to reckon with them, but for me it also helps process the difficult feelings that come with facing the consequences of things that have happened/ you’ve done in an episode (or in addiction)

If you liked this post, please let me know as I have many other songs that resonate with different parts of my experience and I love sharing them! Sending love and support as always xxx

Posted in Advocacy, Mental Health

Why Do We Pathologize Pain?

Posted on by Millie :)

We’ve come to pathologize emotional pain and human distress. That’s to say, we’ve come to medicalise it – give it labels that make it into a medical problem. And of course this serves a purpose in our society and our systems; I personally am hugely grateful for my mental health diagnoses because they help me understand myself and how I view the world. But the term ‘pathologizing’ goes beyond just medicalising emotions. It defines the problem that ensues from medicalising our emotions. 

According to the Cambridge dictionary, pathologizing means: ‘the act of unfairly or wrongly considering something or someone as the problem, especially a medical problem’. This is something we see in mental health spaces all the time, with very little awareness of it. The way we discuss mental illness is so often through an individual lens. We ignore how the modern world’s expectations affect what we see as disordered – for example a huge criteria for mental illness diagnosis is a lack of productivity. But productivity is defined by societal norms and expectations. We label someone as depressed, saying they have a chemical imbalance while ignoring the fact that they are living in poverty and perhaps if they weren’t their mental health would look very different. At best we say that these external factors are simply contributors and not an essential part of our human experience; we ignore how we define was is disordered or not entirely. 

There’s a million problems with this. It prevents us from trying to build a better world in a more informed way. It isolates sufferers and prevents them from getting the kind of care – like housing, community, less workload – that they actually need. I could go on and on about this (and I do quite often!) but today I want to answer the question – why do we do this?

Well pathologization stems in many ways from medicalisation. I think there’s benefits and issues within this itself, but it’s understandable why we do this. By giving clear criteria for diagnosis in a medical format it would seem we can more easily start a larger number of people getting treatment. Unfortunately this isn’t the case, but in theory this would seem to make that easier. It also allows us to have some kind of framework to understand ourselves and more easily find others who may have a similar experience – it has certainly helped me with this! And in theory it would help others have a doorway to understanding people with a mental illness by looking at it through a medical lens, so they would know how to start approaching the problem. Furthermore it also gives a structure for how we can syphon off funding for mental health care by making it a wholly medical service. All logical and on the surface optimistic reasons to medicalise emotional pain. 

But soon we see the problems come in such as trying to ‘fix’ people to medical standards too rather than to their own standards. We start seeing people as the medical problems rather than as people with diverse experiences. We try to fit people into one route for fixing the issue because that’s easier. Medical problems need medical solutions right? Medication and hospitalisation rather than community and economic support. We see them as scores and issues. And soon we are pathologizing them. The individuals become the problem they present with, and when the one-size-fits-all treatment doesn’t work, we assume it must be the individual’s fault. 

Maybe it’s just a natural progression from medicalisation then? But maybe it’s also a symptom of the way our western society functions as a whole. We are not exactly encouraged to see ourselves in the context of the world around us. We’re told we are individuals and isolated in many ways – so it would make sense that we see our problems as individual problems that need isolated solutions. So simply because of the way we have learned to exist in the world we don’t think to see our emotional distress as interconnected. 

Then of course, as already mentioned, we live in a society driven by productivity at ever increasing speeds. We have an intolerance for difference, for people who need different support or cannot fit themselves into the world’s expectations of them. So we need to label them as disordered rather than face the idea that the way the systems are running isn’t working. It negates society’s responsibility to change and accommodate. But the thing is as the world gets faster, the economy gets worse, pressures get bigger, more and more people are finding themselves with mental health issues. Do you really think this is a coincidence? The world is becoming more and more incompatible with human rhythms of nature, so more people are finding themselves in distress. But also if the expectations shift to demand more of us or different things from us, then whatever behaviour doesn’t fit those expectations ends up being labelled as disordered. 

And maybe it’s fear – we don’t want to face that we share emotions with someone with schizophrenia or bipolar. We don’t want to admit we relate to an autistic person, or can kind of see the sense in what that psychotic person is saying. We are scared that the difference lives in us too, maybe? And again – we have not learnt the skills to be able to conceptualise how others may live differently to us through their perceptions of the world. We have not learnt tolerance, nor we have not learnt to question the status quo – because it would threaten the status quo. 

I think we pathologize pain because it’s the easiest thing to do when everything else seems so overwhelming. But we can begin to change this simply by opening ourselves to compassion; opening ourselves to a different narrative. We are all human and we are allowed to have deeply painful, wonderful, beautiful human experiences. That means sobbing our eyes out or seeing shadows no one else can. Feeling does not make us the problem. 

Hopefully that made some kind of sense, my little brain ramblings on the internet. Sending so much love and support xxx

Posted in Managing Mental Health, Mental Health

Nature and Mental Health

Posted on by Millie :)

I think the connection between nature and mental health is under-utilised. 

There are hundreds of studies out there looking at the proven positive effect time in and connection with nature has on our mental health, but I’ll be talking from a more holistic/ theorised place today. 

I think we have learnt to see ourselves as separate from nature, but the truth is we are part of nature. We breathe the same air as all animals, given to us by trees and plants. We are connected to the same ground as all flowers and vegetables, all fruits and roots. We are nature. We’re nature with opposable thumbs. So of course climate change affects us – not only on an intellectually anxious level, but a deep intrinsically natural level. Of course a sunset or a flight of birds can inspire us on an instinctual level. We don’t need to completely understand it, define it – of course at a scientific level that’s useful. But on an emotional level? I think just leaning into that connection can help set us free. 

The pace of the world we live in is in direct juxtaposition to nature. In the western world at least we run at what I think is an unattainable pace. The capitalistic society is intent on promoting not only individualism but also productivity. And we’ve learnt that productivity is a good word. The model citizen is a productive citizen – this really means blindly following the rules put upon us and always striving for more, at a faster rate. Not only does this harm us individually, but it is a driving cause behind the industries that are contributing most to climate change and destroying the nature we are so deeply connected with. So we are severed from the nature we are a part of, and told to keep busy enough that we never question the system we have become a part of; perhaps more importantly, in order to have the resources to survive we cannot question. We are placed in a deep survival mode, and often forced to be unaware of it. 

The next logical step would be to assume that a person with a mental health issue is individually at fault. A weakness in the mind, a personal problem. It isolates the sufferer further and gives the rest of the world and excuse to keep going as is. The common narrative surrounding mental health awareness continues to ignore, on the whole, how much societal and economic factors are contributors and causes of mental illness – and by extension how a lack of connection with our roots in nature is a contributing factor. It should be made clear I am not advocating for full blown communism or anarchism or anything like that – it’s not like we haven’t seen ample issues when those structures have tried to be deployed in the past! In fact I have very little idea how to face these issues on a wider scale. But I know how to face them on a smaller scale; I know where to start (I think) and maybe that’s enough for now. To start, perhaps we look to the pace of nature; to the connection we inherently have (but so often ignore) with nature and our fellow beings. 

Nature does not rush. It works at exactly the pace it needs to. In fact time itself is a structure we have projected onto the world to help us make sense of it – with very obvious reasons for helping us level our experience with each other. But what the construction of time can tell us is that though we may share hours between us, we can redesign what the contents of an hour should be. To explain: resting for an hour in the grass can be redefined to be just as important as furiously analysing stocks to meet a deadline. We can redefine what productivity means and looks like. Nature rests in winter – its pace changes to match the weather and the temperature, the presence of bees and hibernation of bears. And nature still survives. So by extension, perhaps we can learn to respect our rhythms. To work with the sun, to respect the rain, to rest when we are tired and flow when we are not. We are not machines – we do not have endless energy or an ability to always be running. We are not all designed to sleep and wake at exactly the same times each day. We are nature. Maybe we can learn from it. 

Then of course there is the simple benefit of being among other nature. As mentioned countless studies – and poems and songs and personal experiences in each of our lives – record the boost to our mental health when among nature. Simply taking time to sit under a tree and imagine our own roots connecting, or take a walk in the woods (if that’s possible – everyone should have access to green spaces), or swim in a lake, run through a field, watch the flowers in the breeze or the sea crash to shore. Simply taking the time, even if it is only a minute, to start learning how to just be again – alongside our nature – can have a huge positive impact. It can calm us, make us feel more connected, happier, lighter. 

Oh and by the way, this isn’t new or revolutionary. It’s been strategically forgotten and hidden. Native communities around the world have known this for such a long time; the colonial view of society and mental health has detached us from this. I’m not at all the person to be listening to on this perspective and this history  – but here’s just one article written by Indigenous writer Edson Krenak Naknanuk from Brazil about connection with nature: https://www.culturalsurvival.org/publications/cultural-survival-quarterly/indigenous-peoples-are-essential-rights-nature

As the article explores, a view to see nature as a part of us – something in a reciprocal relationship – is important when looking to solving climate change too. 

Remember – we all breathe the same air; we share a consciousness of being through nature. So why do we seek to intellectualise that connection always? How does that separate us from our connection with freedom of mental health? How can nature support us mentally, as a community and individuals?

Sending so much love and support to you all today xx

P.S. For a related science look at some of these topics I would recommend the book ‘Beyond Biocentrism’ by Robert Lanza and Bob Berman

Posted in Mental Health, neurodiversity

Mania @ 5:15am – A Poem

Posted on by Millie :)

I’ve written a bit before about how important creativity is to me in my mental health journey. I think creativity’s power is often overlooked. It’s expressive, healing, connecting, expanding and freeing. I think sometimes too sharing creative works can present ideas we may not otherwise be able to share. So here’s another one of my poems, written about my experience with mania:

Mania @ 5:15am

I see a girl running in the rain clothes pressed up against her body like an embrace from a lover she’s forgotten or hasn’t yet had it doesn’t matter she is wild and she is free and she is crying tears it could be ecstasy it could be the crashing waves pounding in her soul it could they flood her heart her mind it could be drugs she can’t remember what she was doing BRIGHT there is only now she is running the other people’s eyes burn something like concern or envy she keeps running there’s blood and bruises each drop of rain tastes like gin on her tongue they are every shout she’s ever heard she is drunk on life her feet pounding are like every hit she’s ever endured punching in at work her at home no confines don’t exist she learnt the best tactics she plays the game and never loses she wins by losing every inhibition sense of self it is a mask feet gliding like she’s flying air lifting she’ll never need to breathe again not ever all is in this flight her plight ongoing shriek of breaks on wet tarmac like a shattered plate thrown at the head of an eight year old unsuspecting she’s young all the wisdom of a thousand years old keeps running keep running can’t be caught she’s the leader corruption of every leads the way to BRIGHT hope to know it

life live

Running don’t 

slip.

Posted in Advocacy, autism, Mental Health, neurodiversity, Personal Growth, sobriety, therapy

Hurt by Psychiatry

Posted on by Millie :)

Content warning: ED, psychiatric abuse, suicidal ideation, any mental health topic really

I want to write a really strong and defiant letter. I want to write some crazy, proud, creative theatre piece. I want to write something truly hopeful. And while I do have hope, and I do have gratitude – because it is essential to my survival – I also have a lot of pain. And anger. I can talk openly about so many traumas and just general shitty things that have happened in my life. But the one I’ve never been able to write about, never even been able to get through a conversation about without screaming and crying, is the pain endured under the psychiatric complex. Because they were meant to help me. Time and time and time again I have gone looking for help and time and time and time again I have been turned away with only more hurt. I know help is a brave word. I’m not afraid to say it. But I am afraid that when I say it no one will listen. This is my story of a journey through the mental health system. 

Just a disclaimer, because as a writer on mental health I feel it is my responsibility – if you are in a bad place and looking for professional help, please do not use this as your excuse not to. I do know some people have been greatly helped by the mental health system, and you could be too. This is not intended to invalidate anyone’s good experiences, but rather to say that all of us deserve to have those good experiences. This is simply my story as someone who feels they have slipped through the cracks. If you feel this may affect you negatively I implore you to take the decision not to read any further. 

I first asked for help from the mental health system when I was 12 years old. I was experiencing mood swings and distress that were really bothering me – maybe just normal teenage things, maybe not, but the point is it doesn’t matter. They were bothering me. Anyone who wants help, even just to navigate daily life, should be given it. I was assigned a counsellor from the early intervention team. I didn’t like them, so I asked to change. I was discharged from the service – I took that as a message that if I had an opinion on my care, my care would be withdrawn from me. 

My first contact with CAHMS (child and adolescent mental health services) was due to an eating disorder at 14. My life was being ruled by it – I had complete meltdowns when I couldn’t exercise, was hyper fixated on food all the time, was weak and angry and alone; I was really hurting. They weighed me. They told me I wasn’t a low enough weight. I took that to mean I wasn’t sick enough. Without any regard for how I felt, or how food was ruling my life; without anyone trying to find out anything about my experience they denied me the help I so desperately needed. Suggested possibly a meal plan – with no support to implement it or formulate it. If a teacher hadn’t sat with me at lunch every single day for a year and coached me through it because she’d been there too, I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through it. 

I severely relapsed with my eating behaviours twice more, and I still struggle with some thought patterns and triggers to this day (though I am in a much better place, largely due to recovery in other areas giving me the tools to transfer). But I never felt like I really recovered from it, or had the support I needed. Even 9 months ago that teacher would still notice when my old behaviours around food crept in – even before I did – and help me to recognise and head them off. I am immensely grateful for that… but it wasn’t her job. It was never her job to be the main guidance and support in eating disorder recovery. 

CAHMS did offer me six sessions of group therapy. This was to deal with my overwhelming anxiety – much of it around socialising – and deep depression. They didn’t see it as deep depression. It was. It was really, really dark. I stopped going to any lessons and lost all sense of self and hope. But yeah, six sessions would be enough apparently (obviously not). I freaked out at the thought of group therapy, it was entirely unsuitable for me. Once again I received the message in response that if I had an opinion on my care, I wouldn’t get any care. They wanted to discharge me right then, but my wonderful mum stuck up for me so they offered me three – I repeat THREE – CBT sessions. They were not useful. I was put on a years long waiting list for an autism assessment. I was offered no more support. I continued to struggle. 

My mum’s determination to get me the help I deserved was incredible, and probably the only reason I got any support at all. (My mum is probably reading this, so thanks mum). She found a charity that was amazing in supporting us through my teen years, and funded me to see a private psychiatrist – this would not have been possible without them. However I wouldn’t say that was particularly helpful either. That psychiatrist did diagnose me with autism (side note – the assessment for autism really needs to be changed), anxiety and depression. I am eternally grateful for my autism diagnosis – it truly did change my life knowing I was autistic. But it changed my life because I went away and learnt about it, as did my family. The psychiatrist did not formulate a treatment plan for any of this, or provide any further support. Some medication that didn’t work was all she offered. 

In this time I also saw a few therapists – I didn’t like them, one of them didn’t like me and kinda dumped me. All of them were privately paid for. The subpar care I received was paid for privately – can you imagine how much worse it would have been if we hadn’t been able to afford it?

I know this is all a lot of information, but stick with me here. This journey is important to understand because it is something so so many people face. I slipped through the cracks of this system – even with the privilege of being a white, cisgendered woman. I had it reasonably easy. 

In February 2020 I had what I now recognise to be my first (and most intense) mixed episode. I cannot even put this experience into words but essentially it was all the darkness of depression with all the heightened energy and irritability of mania at the same time. I felt reality slipping away from me and I have never been in such intense distress. Two teachers stayed with me at school hours after school ended to try and keep me safe. They eventually helped me calm down, but I later found out they were so concerned they were about to call an ambulance or the police, as the crisis line wasn’t helping. I went to the GP during this episode begging for help. She prescribed me valium to calm me down, but when I begged her for more support I remember her chastising me for being so emotional because she had other patients waiting. I took that as a message that I still wasn’t sick enough; still wasn’t important enough. 

In March 2020 the private psychiatrist diagnosed me with cyclothymia. We had to pay extra for an emergency appointment. She decided I was now too complicated to be under her care and needed more support so referred me back into the NHS. They did not follow up on her recommendation for more support. By the time they saw me I was a bit calmer so apparently that meant I didn’t need help. In her eyes I was too bad, in their eyes I wasn’t bad enough. So I was left with nothing. This was the trend that would continue for the next three years. 

In September 2020 I wound up in A&E. I was broken and desperate. When the CAHMS crisis person finally arrived she acted annoyed about me being there, annoyed she had to be there, uncaring. She essentially asked ‘if things are so bad then why haven’t you killed yourself yet?’ and sent me home with no support. They didn’t follow up on any support because I calmed down a bit after, so I was no longer considered in crisis when they finally did get in contact (even though they hadn’t helped me when I was in crisis) and because I was drinking at the time. Just so we are all clear – if a young person is drinking as heavily as I was, that is exactly the time they need support. I went to my first AA meeting after I left the hospital that day. And excuse my french but thank fuck I did. I have no idea if I would still be alive otherwise. And having connected with others who have been subjected to inpatient treatment, I am incredibly grateful I did not have to bear that extra trauma. This is how bad the surface level service is – it’s even worse inside. 

After I got sober in July 2021 I was still struggling. I finally got to see a psychiatrist on the NHS in October 2021 because of my mum’s insistent fighting for me. When he asked me what I wanted from the meeting, he chastised my response. He was unclear. He shouted at me, and revoked what I thought I had been diagnosed with in a letter. I was meant to see him again in 10 weeks and he cancelled. I got discharged from CAHMS without them ever asking to talk with me about how I was doing. 

The one professional who has been a saving grace is my therapist. She is autistic herself and very flexible. But again – if I wasn’t able to fund that privately I don’t know where I would be. After my charity funding stopped when I turned 18 I had to take the sessions down to every 2 weeks, even with her sliding scale, which is significantly less helpful. Luckily I’ve also found amazing peer support, especially through AA, and spent a lot of time reflecting and doing my own work, so I’ve managed to build myself a much brighter life. But it’s been hard. And sometimes I really do need some more help – no one should have to do this alone.

I Went back to the NHS this October and had my first ever good meeting with anyone, just someone in my GP clinic. Why? He was honest. He genuinely seemed to care, but there was nothing they could offer me. He explained that as far as the system saw it, I had already been helped.

In late 2022 my mental health really started to decline again. I went back to the NHS this October and had my first ever good meeting with anyone, just someone in my GP clinic. Why? He was honest. He genuinely seemed to care, but there was nothing they could offer me. He explained that as far as the system saw it, I had already been helped. So from October I was searching for a psychiatrist who would see me. 

I was turned down by over 10 private psychiatrists for being too complex, having comorbidities, or my favourite way of putting it: ‘them not being able to offer the support I need at that time’. So I was again too bad for private and not bad enough for the NHS. One of the only people who would see me charged just under £1000 a session. Others said they would consider seeing me, but were booked up until 2024.

Finally in March 2023 – 5 months later – I got to meet with a private psychiatrist. And wow, he was amazing. We had three meetings so we could cover everything. He was kind, listened to me – really listened – and didn’t patronise. He treated me like an adult, and made it clear I would have a say in my care plan and the final report that would be sent to my doctor. I would have a say? I almost thought that wasn’t allowed. I’m still sceptical, it still doesn’t feel real. 

He diagnosed me with Bipolar type 1. Just think about that for a minute – an 18 year old has been dealing with undiagnosed bipolar 1, unsupported, emerging from 12 years old. I have no idea where I would be without the angels placed in my life along the way; without the undying support of my family and friends; without the flexibility of my school. I knew something more was going on, I knew how much pain I was in, and no one in the mental health industry was listening. I was screaming into a void and not even hearing the echoes of my own screams. (A separate issue is that we shouldn’t need labels to validate that level of human distress, which is what it is at its core, but diagnosis can be so validating. Read more about that here). 

I am not in any way saying this one experience erases all the rest. It does not. It absolutely does not. And it doesn’t not mean that psychiatry isn’t built on an oppressive, harmful foundation whose history has been hidden. It is. But it was a little hope given back to me. A relief at the very least. Before I went into that meeting I said ‘I’ll take them just not being actively mean to me’. How sad is that? What a desperately low bar. 

I’m still scared. He has instructed my GP to refer me back to secondary care teams in the NHS, which I still – like always – hope might offer some help. But the main thing offered seems to be medication, which I have some serious and valid concerns about. But I am terrified of raising these concerns or asking about alternatives for fear that a) I will be labelled as disordered and my new diagnosis weaponised against me or b) I will be labelled as non-compliant/ not wanting help enough, and sent away again. I wish I didn’t want help from them, and maybe one day I’ll be able to find a path that avoids dealing with the mental health system altogether. But I’m not there yet. Nor should I have to avoid it. It should be an inclusive, varied, accessible service. It should have community and individualised care. It should have alternative treatments and input from patients. It should see the human condition as a spectrum. But it doesn’t. And being mentally ill makes me scared that if I voice any of this, I will not be taken seriously. How can anyone ever prove that they are sane?

I deserve better. Everyone deserves better; we deserve to know that no matter what we’re going through there will be appropriate support for us. But it’s not there. And this broken system is quite literally killing people. We can’t just say fund the system either, the system needs to change. I need it to change, we all need it to change. 

I think I’m sharing this because the younger version of me wanted desperately to read it from someone else. So the core message is that you are not alone. You are not alone in the hurt psychiatry has caused you. You are allowed to be angry about it, and distrusting of it. You are allowed to choose your own care and your own path – even if others don’t understand it! (And that applies to all paths – mental illness should not be policed). Your pain is valid, completely valid, and I see you. I see you.

Sending love and support to you all today xx

Posted in Advocacy, Mental Health

The Casey Review and What it Means for Mental Health

Posted on by Millie :)

Content Warning: Police misconduct, abuse, and discrimination

This post is a short overview of how the recent Casey Review relates to the mental health system. There are many more implications for the mentally ill and all intersectional issues so I would really encourage you to do some more research into the review and the topic of police misconduct – it affects all of us, especially the most vulnerable.

What is The Casey Review?

The Casey Review is an independent investigation and review of the standards of behaviour and the internal culture of the Met Police in the UK. Baroness Casey was appointed to head up the review in October 2021 after the kidnap and murder of Sarah Everard by a police officer and several other deeply troubling incidents. The final report has just been released (March 2023) and it is a damning condemnation of the Met Police.

What Did The Review Find?

The police were found to be institutionally racist, misogynistic, and homophobic. Specifically that it has failed to protect the public from officers who abuse women; that organisational changes have put women and children at greater risk; and that female officers and staff routinely experience sexism.

Much of what is found in the report isn’t a surprise to the communities who face discrimination and targeting from the police, and also echos what was said in the MacPherson report back in 1999 after the murder of Black teenager Stephen Lawrence. This isn’t a news – it’s a continually pressing issue that cannot continue to be ignored. This isn’t news – it’s a continually pressing issue that cannot continue to be ignored.

What Does it Have to Do with Mental Health?

Mental Illness has been criminalised in this country for a long time. Police play a key role in enforcing the Mental Health Act (which is used to section people against their will). This means their attitude, organisation and behaviour can have a huge direct impact on those of us with perceived mental health difficulties.

As Mind puts it: ‘This matters to us because we know that people with mental health problems are more likely to be victims of crime, more likely to feel that impact more acutely, and less likely to get the support they need’. And yes – people with mental health problems are more likely to be the VICTIMS of a crime, despite continual stigma that we are more likely to perpetrate crime.

One key way this directly impacts mentally ill people and the mental health system is the institutional racsim. Black people are already 5x more likely to be sectioned, and to reach the mental health system through ‘negative’ routes such as police and court. And this is one of the reasons why – the institutional, systematic racism that pervades our society and police. Once within that system Black people are likely to face more trauma and forced control, a lack of appropriate care and understanding. Their distress likely compounded by the racism they face daily anyway, more trauma is created within the system and only compounded further if they also face homophobia and sexism.

The ways the findings of this report impact the mental health of individuals, and the mental health system are myriad. It is directly in opposition to justice, freedom, and healing.

Ways to Help:

  • Sign up to become a Mind campaigner
  • Look for alternatives to institutionalised care that you can support in your area
  • Contact the Met Police and put pressure on them
  • Contact your local police and MP to ask that they review their own behaviour
  • Donate food and supplies to local charities that support your community
  • Raise your voice however feels best for you – maybe you can use art, or song.
  • See this page for a list of further reading looking at the idea of police abolition and how our systems function for a deeper understanding (and a much better look at ways you can help!)
  • There’s not one way to make change, it happens together!
Posted in Advocacy, Managing Mental Health, Mental Health

Reframing Healing

Posted on by Millie :)

We receive a lot of messages, consciously and subconsciously, about what healing is. I have my own opinions, some of which will be evident in this post, but I think one of the most important things to keep in mind is what does healing mean to you? There may be limitations to our ideas of a dream life, because we don’t live in a vacuum, but only you get to decide what your healing actually means and looks like. Unfortunately it’s something that is quite overlooked in a lot of mental health spaces, and we’re not often encouraged to really define it for ourselves. But that doesn’t mean we can’t. 

Personally, an important part in redefining healing for myself has been understanding what I’ve been taught about healing. A lot of what I’ve learnt is to see ‘getting better’ as this hyper-individualistic thing. We’re told that ‘getting better’ is about becoming a productive member of society again, going back to work full time, having more output, and living up to the expectations placed on us. A lot of therapy is often about this idea – it’s about mitigating the factors that get in the way of productivity rather than fostering genuine happiness. The idea of compliance and non-compliance in the mental health system is a huge part of reinforcing this and getting in the way of anyone who needs to stop and question whether this striving for efficiency under societal norms is actually what they need. 

We don’t live in a vacuum, so I think it’s only logical to suggest that we don’t heal in a vacuum either. And yes it is possible to have personal peace without those around you experiencing the same, but that’s not to say our healing is entirely individual. We are connected; we are even a part of nature. When bears hibernate or trees shed their leaves we don’t look at them and say they should be doing more, they should be doing better; we understand that they are in a season of their life. Yet we so often fail to extend this same understanding and grace to ourselves. We are a part of nature too, and so we are connected to those around us and every part of the world around us. It is only logical to think we should lean into this connection and these seasons to find peace. So I would say healing is community. Healing is working together. Not in order to fix or mend one broken individual, but to recognise what in our living, breathing system of life contributed to their pain in the first place, and to heal all of us. I’ve found that when I am held by a community, only then am I able to find my own inner peace. 

We also seem to see healing as this end destination – we arrive at ‘healed’ and then we continue there as before… until maybe we need to be healed again. But I don’t see it like this. Healing is an ongoing, every day process for me. Just like I see myself as a continually ‘recovering’ alcoholic, I also see myself as a continually ‘healing’ person. Partly because there are new challenges to life every day; partly because I have chronic mental illness; and partly because I see healing in a larger sense too, one of societal healing. That can be hard to conceive sometimes, or to not get wrapped up in. But I see it as a source of hope rather than a drain of hope. A source of power. That healing, as an ongoing, everyday practice, also means trying to help others and be connected with their struggles. Trying to learn how we can all work together to do better, to build better infrastructure, to break the chains and patterns of the past, to move forwards.

So what does healing mean to you? Does healing mean connection? Does healing mean going back to the life you had before? Or is that just the easiest life to imagine? Does healing mean productivity, or does it mean inner happiness and peace? What do you need to see that realised? Is healing individual, or collective, or aided by the collective? Is healing a destination or a journey? 

I’m not saying there’s one right way to redefine healing. It is personal in how it manifests in our lives, but the very fact that so many out there are healing and recovering shows that while it is personal, it is not individual. And I think the mental health system needs to recognise that too. 

Sending all of my love and support to you today xxx