When Facebook went quiet

Facebook has good points and bad.

At the moment, for example, I am really enjoying the memories that look back over the years and show what you were writing about.

Since Sunday mine are showing everything apart from the year 2012. There is a reason for this; this time, 3 years ago, was when I was sectioned.

It’s strange thinking about what happened all that time ago. There are clear memories about what it was like and there are also massive voids.

2012 was a rubbish year.

It was a year where my Marriage was officially over; we had tried for some time to be separated and see each other but all this did was cause more problems.

It was a year where, within the separation, money and debt landed straight at my door. All the debt that had been acquired during the marriage came straight to me. Bing recently made unemployed increased the pressure of this.

I barely saw my children. I had a whole day with William each week and I didn’t really have James until May (When he turned 1) This added to the fact that there was a new man taking on the role of “Dad” made me feel like my role as their father was obsolete.

I had started dating but that relationship was volatile, harsh and in truth unhealthy for all involved. We were constantly on and off and games being played.

Then the biggest heartache that could have hit me, did; the passing off my Mum in the August. It was sudden. I lost one of the most constant and loving people in my life. I stood there and watched breathtakingly as paramedics tried to help with no avail. With that I also saw the two men, my Brother and my Dad, who I respect and love for their strength, instantly fall apart around me.

I felt alone and isolated. Everything around me seemed to be falling apart and I had nothing that I could clearly see to ground me. I turned to drink.

One destructive path is enough. I was on it and walking into depths of darkness. I started cutting myself only so I could physically hurt as much as I felt inside. I despised everything about me.  My life just seemed to simply be on repeat: cut, smoke, drink, and pretend to be “ok”.

Friends and family started noticing a change. Something was different about me but for them it just seemed like I was grieving; why would they think differently? I had no known mental health diagnosis only my Muscular Dystrophy. 

The cuts started to get deeper and deeper. The idea that I was alone and then the added fact that I was in pain constantly with my MD made me feel hopeless.

By November it was clear I needed help.

Unknowingly to me it took one more event and I was done. These cuts were going to be the deepest; I didn’t want to be here anymore. Luckily family arrived, I was erratic and making sense didn’t seem relevant. Eventually the crisis team were called and on assessment, and for my own safety, I was sectioned.

A lot of what happened next is a blur; each day seemed to merge into the next. That was until I sat in front of the psychiatric team. We spoke in length about everything that had happen and then finally they said to me:

“You’ve had a Nervous Breakdown. We believe elements of this are due to you having a personality disorder”.

The relief was phenomenal. Every moment they spent explaining the aspects of D.P.D the more and more it made sense. This was me.

They explained that the nervous breakdown is just an indication that I had reached my limit, not that I was going mad; which I felt like I was. There's a limit to us all and there's a limit to how much you can cope with too. Life had just thrown too much at me and subsequently I depleted the strength of being able to cope.

Once the Doctor’s had listed all that I went through within a space of a year it really didn’t seem like a surprise that I was pushed to the limit. Putting all the pieces together had never really occurred to me; each bad event just seemed to be on the back of another.

Their words comforted me though

“You could have broken sooner. You must be strong to have coped with all that you have”

Three years on and I am only a little bit closer to getting treated. What appears to be apparent is that the strength I showed then has stayed with me to carry on to where I am now.

So my Facebook memories may be quiet but my own are not. I can look at the Facebook void and not be ashamed at what happened. The fact that I have spoken about it is still upsetting but it happened and was the start of my Mental Health journey but more importantly the start of who I am today.