Five Things That Saved My Life

2017. I think we’ve all had some absolute shockers on the mess we’re currently calling Earth, but 2017 has to unanimously be the most heinous pile of awful the world has ever seen (What an uplifting start, I hear you cry—well, strap yourself in, kiddo, ‘cause it’s a slow burner, this here blog post).

In the year that Donald Trump became arguably the most powerful man on the planet, I had...let’s say an interesting time...

I can’t remember last New Year’s Eve. I wasn’t drunk, just incredibly disoriented. In 2016, I moved 160 miles (this is slightly exaggerated, but grant me this) away to go to university in the dreaded south. My first term went well; I was high on the novelty of independence and sheer shock that I’d actually make it out of my a-levels alive—possibly more on that in a different post. When I came home for Christmas, though, something shifted. I let myself feel just how much I’d missed my home comforts, my wonderful friends who had already carried me through so much, and someone else taking care of me. I dreaded going back. It made the room spin and I hated the seemingly inescapable position I’d put myself in. This probably had something to do with my habit of suppression and refusing to actually deal with my issues, but hey.

Anyway, I went back to uni. It was super hard, but I soldiered on (Go me. Yes, I am a modern day heroine, what can I say?) more out of sheer embarrassment than anything else. Side note here: there is absolutely NOTHING embarrassing about feeling homesick, or deciding to end your degree if you feel that is the right decision for you, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I threw myself into my uni work and tried (possibly not that hard) to make time pass quicker. The novelty had indeed worn off and I was back into some very bad and unhealthy habits. My healthy diet disintegrated and my obsessive hand washing reclaimed its portion in my head. This kind of continued on in the same way throughout my spring/summer term of uni, so I won’t bore you too much with that. You get the idea, buy lots of soap, live off 98 cal kit-kats—what a time to be alive.

Anyway, I passed my first year of uni with a high 2:1, which I’m calling nothing short of miraculous, considering in my French language exam I was so deliriously depressed and ill I couldn’t clear my head enough to work out what ten percent of 250 was for the word count. (I settled on five in the end, to my now amusement) I went home for summer and had a pretty mixed bag there.

I was happier at home. I had my old haunts and lovely anchors in human form, but it was still a summer of heartache (LOL). Unfortunately, away from my fresh start, I was back into the environment where I’d meticulously perfected some incredibly unhealthy coping strategies, except this time I was stopped. Now, I don’t want to go too much into detail about how deep exactly I fell down the rabbit hole because it’s kind of unnecessary and I’m sure it wouldn’t be beneficial knowledge. Suffice it to say far enough that I couldn’t see a way out. But anyway, I did some stupid stuff that was far too reminiscent for one of my absolute best friends and she called me out on it. This was a big one, and comes in at number two on my list.

She told me I needed help, in no uncertain terms, and I knew it. But for some insane reason, I thought it wasn’t bad enough to actually get any until someone else told me to. Another side note here: just get help. It’s absolutely absurd to wait for someone else to allow you to get some. If you’re not well, get help. You have greater value than someone else’s permission, but her words absolutely kicked me into touch, and I will always be grateful for that, and I hope she always knows how much gravity that has.

I believe this was a response to a prayer I said the night before. Like I said, for reasons I’m sure you’ll understand, I don’t really want to go into the details of what was going through my head at that time, but it was dark stuff. The night before my friend gave me a leg up out of my own personal quicksand, I thought I was going to die. This sounds super dramatic. Now, I was physically pretty ill on account of how badly I’d abused my body, but mentally, I was way beyond. I could feel my hands shaking and my heart beating too fast as I prayed to God to please let me out. Please let me go from this, I need you to help me to save myself. This faith in God is number one on my list. It comes in as top because it literally saved my life, not only in this occasion. Prior to this, the faith that someone chose me to be here and loves me enough to never leave me stopped me from making a big commitment. I know that not everybody has this faith, and for those people, I hope you can forgive me for putting this at the top of the list and find comfort in the others, instead.

Another was, of course, therapy. I literally beg anyone who feels like they might need it to get therapy. It’s wonderful. After my reality check, I went to the doctors. It was bizarre, but probably what anyone would expect. The “what seems to be the problem?” question provoked me to burst into tears I’d promised myself not to shed (I’m allowing myself to be a bit indulgent in description here. I was in no way eloquent in that appointment, I assure you). A finally unfiltered summary of the last four years of my life came out surprisingly easily. I was incredibly lucky with my doctor; I love the NHS dearly. He listened to me and, over the next four months, did everything in his power to get me the help I so desperately needed while closely monitoring my (by that point, pretty darn poor) physical health. This was undoubtedly something that massively aided my physical return to health and gave me a huge hand in getting back mentally. So medical help and therapy come in at three on my list. Although I think in the general list for saving lives, they’re number one, so keep that in mind.

In October of this year, I went on a weekend that was aimed at supporting young adults with mental health problems. This is my number four—other people with mental health problems. I’d previously met the most gorgeous girl at a camp who shared a similar history with some similar problems to mine. We cried together and felt an incredible mutual relief that there was someone else who understood and appreciated how complicated everything was and that there was no quick fix, but that it’s okay—we’re still going and trying and that’s amazing. Other people who have similar issues can be a dangerous trigger if they’re in a bad place, unfortunately, but if you’re committed to supporting each other in a healthy way, they can be incredibly liberating, understanding, and encouraging. If you read this, camp girl (that’s your anonymised name, not a weird gay slur) I love you dearly and you continue to help me enormously.

My final number, five, for you maths geeks, is progress. Seeing how many hard things I’ve dragged myself through already was incredibly motivating for me (after I’d had a bit of a perspective change from some therapy). In those sessions, there was a mantra written on the wall: "recovery is a willingness to change," and I truly believe that. We have to be willing to change. The hardest battle is the one in which you convince yourself you are making progress and you can keep going (I promise you you’re already doing great). My own personal mantra is now "the past is not a hole to fall back into, but a foundation on which to build" (use it if you like, but I reserve copyright) (kidding). This mindset to keep making progress and to see every single day that you lived as progress was a huge change for me and one that massively aided me into getting to 2018. It’s also one that I’m going to try my hardest to carry with me even when things aren’t great, because we all deserve to live to see the hard times we go through turn good again. We all deserve to see the "it gets better" everyone promises, we all deserve to be happy again, and I intend to be.

So there you have it; my very long and meandering list. I hope it could be useful to someone else, but if not, it was helpful to me, and I’m currently all about self-care. I hope you all find incredible kindness in hard times and know that, if you need a cheerleader, I’m here (Cheeky bonus here: helping other people is another that grounded and benefited me greatly). So, if you feel like no one should have to listen to you, first off—you’re great anyone would be honoured to listen to you—and second, you’re actually doing them a favour in letting them help someone! Fab. That said, a little disclaimer to reiterate: if you need to talk to someone about serious stuff, therapy is the answer.

This was very rambly and long, so apologies for that, but I wish everyone the happiest of new years and to have all the love you need to make it to the next one.

God bless.