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544 Posts
I'm pretty busy these days, and I don't have much time to come on here very often anymore. But I thought I'd write an account of how things got bad, then better, for me; when I was ill I'd always looked forward to the time when I could honestly do this. This is of course simplified and glosses over a lot, but to be honest I can't see anyone especially wanting to read something much longer.
Was never an especially unusual kid. A bit introverted sometimes. Other times mucked about to be the centre of attention. I'd been on all sides of popularity in my time. Was sometimes a little sad, but then I guess that happens to everyone sometimes.
When I hit 15/16 I started getting awful headaches and migraines. Nothing really seemed to help, and sometimes they would recur almost every day. That's probably the time when I first started to get really down, to go out less, to become a little depressed, more often just frustrated. I strove on most of the time, but when it was bad it did affect much of what I did. That got better for a little while. Then, when I was halfway between 17 and 18, it came back again. I wasn't too happy, and a number of other problems - which I can't be arsed to go into - were going on in my life at the time as well. Not good times.
So I thought I'd do some drugs. Not really the wisest idea, but hey, it was a laugh. I'd feel good for a while. We're not talking just weed here: coke, pills, stuff like that.
Then one night I heard that my friend - well, not a close friend, more of an acquaintance - had commited suicide. In spite of that, I didn't seem to think it was a bad idea to do ridiculous amounts of pills on a dark, cold November night, in a field with a bunch of people I didn't know. Not a good move.
I had a bad trip. When I say bad, I mean really bad. It was terrifying, not just a few bad feelings here and there. We're talking hallucinations, paranoia, abject terror...you name the bad emotion, I had it. Again, I don't think I need to go into details. Sometimes I'd wonder if I'd died that night. Later I'd think this was just anxious delusion; but in another sense, it was the truth.
For a week after that I didn't quite feel right. I got better for a while, then worse. Better once again, then worse again - for longer this time. Even the "good" periods didn't feel quite right, though I couldn't pinpoint exactly what was wrong. I knew I had anxiety, and depression; but it seemed so much worse than that. The world seemed like such a "dark" place, things felt weird, I felt weird, it just wasn't quite right.
I plodded on for a while. I had the worst christmas I'd ever had. I stopped going out very often, pretty much stopped socializing outside school altogether. I fell behind in schoolwork. And I never seemed to get better for very long.
Then I found depersonalization/derealization. It seemed to "fit" my symptoms much more than what I'd seen. It seems bizzare now, and I sometimes wonder if I ever properly had it. But it made a great deal of sense at the time.
Fast-forward to February. I was still not so good. In a sense I was even getting worse. It came to my birthday, and I woke up feeling awful. You're supposed to have a great time on your 18th. I was having one of the worst days of my life. In the end, I forced myself to go out and get drunk. I would have felt worse had I stayed in instead.
Things didn't pick up for a while. I even had some nights where I couldn't sleep at all. But then I realized that what I was doing wasn't working. I didn't quite know what would work, but this wasn't it. Sometime around late February, early March, I made the conscious decision not to focus on my symptoms anymore, not to hide away, not to run away, and not to give in and give up.
That was about the time when things got better again. Very slowly, but they did. I forced myself to do stuff. If my symptoms made me feel like I was going insane, I'd fight on anyway. If I felt like I was getting delusional, I'd just plod along.
In time I began to work out what I'd been doing to myself. I began to get more focus, more energy. I'd feel bad from time to time, but I worked on anyway. Doing my exams was the hardest part. I had to spend a long time at home without much social contact, and I had to focus on the work, not on how I felt. I got through it, I got straight As, and I got into the University that I'm at as I type this. Life's not "perfect". Much of the time I feel pretty awful, and I still have bad times a lot. But I get by. It's ok. I'm happy with that, for now.
There's a lot more to say, but it doesn't really need telling. I never used to think I'd recover. In the end, I did. It's not really that complicated; very hard, but not complex. But you need to change, and you need to work through it. It will be far from easy.
One more thing: listen and act upon the advice that Janine, Dreamer, Martin and others give you here. They know what they're talking about.
Never thought I'd say this, but I'm alright now.
Here's to the rest of you saying the same one day,
Monkeydust.
Was never an especially unusual kid. A bit introverted sometimes. Other times mucked about to be the centre of attention. I'd been on all sides of popularity in my time. Was sometimes a little sad, but then I guess that happens to everyone sometimes.
When I hit 15/16 I started getting awful headaches and migraines. Nothing really seemed to help, and sometimes they would recur almost every day. That's probably the time when I first started to get really down, to go out less, to become a little depressed, more often just frustrated. I strove on most of the time, but when it was bad it did affect much of what I did. That got better for a little while. Then, when I was halfway between 17 and 18, it came back again. I wasn't too happy, and a number of other problems - which I can't be arsed to go into - were going on in my life at the time as well. Not good times.
So I thought I'd do some drugs. Not really the wisest idea, but hey, it was a laugh. I'd feel good for a while. We're not talking just weed here: coke, pills, stuff like that.
Then one night I heard that my friend - well, not a close friend, more of an acquaintance - had commited suicide. In spite of that, I didn't seem to think it was a bad idea to do ridiculous amounts of pills on a dark, cold November night, in a field with a bunch of people I didn't know. Not a good move.
I had a bad trip. When I say bad, I mean really bad. It was terrifying, not just a few bad feelings here and there. We're talking hallucinations, paranoia, abject terror...you name the bad emotion, I had it. Again, I don't think I need to go into details. Sometimes I'd wonder if I'd died that night. Later I'd think this was just anxious delusion; but in another sense, it was the truth.
For a week after that I didn't quite feel right. I got better for a while, then worse. Better once again, then worse again - for longer this time. Even the "good" periods didn't feel quite right, though I couldn't pinpoint exactly what was wrong. I knew I had anxiety, and depression; but it seemed so much worse than that. The world seemed like such a "dark" place, things felt weird, I felt weird, it just wasn't quite right.
I plodded on for a while. I had the worst christmas I'd ever had. I stopped going out very often, pretty much stopped socializing outside school altogether. I fell behind in schoolwork. And I never seemed to get better for very long.
Then I found depersonalization/derealization. It seemed to "fit" my symptoms much more than what I'd seen. It seems bizzare now, and I sometimes wonder if I ever properly had it. But it made a great deal of sense at the time.
Fast-forward to February. I was still not so good. In a sense I was even getting worse. It came to my birthday, and I woke up feeling awful. You're supposed to have a great time on your 18th. I was having one of the worst days of my life. In the end, I forced myself to go out and get drunk. I would have felt worse had I stayed in instead.
Things didn't pick up for a while. I even had some nights where I couldn't sleep at all. But then I realized that what I was doing wasn't working. I didn't quite know what would work, but this wasn't it. Sometime around late February, early March, I made the conscious decision not to focus on my symptoms anymore, not to hide away, not to run away, and not to give in and give up.
That was about the time when things got better again. Very slowly, but they did. I forced myself to do stuff. If my symptoms made me feel like I was going insane, I'd fight on anyway. If I felt like I was getting delusional, I'd just plod along.
In time I began to work out what I'd been doing to myself. I began to get more focus, more energy. I'd feel bad from time to time, but I worked on anyway. Doing my exams was the hardest part. I had to spend a long time at home without much social contact, and I had to focus on the work, not on how I felt. I got through it, I got straight As, and I got into the University that I'm at as I type this. Life's not "perfect". Much of the time I feel pretty awful, and I still have bad times a lot. But I get by. It's ok. I'm happy with that, for now.
There's a lot more to say, but it doesn't really need telling. I never used to think I'd recover. In the end, I did. It's not really that complicated; very hard, but not complex. But you need to change, and you need to work through it. It will be far from easy.
One more thing: listen and act upon the advice that Janine, Dreamer, Martin and others give you here. They know what they're talking about.
Never thought I'd say this, but I'm alright now.
Here's to the rest of you saying the same one day,
Monkeydust.
