There have been so many occasions when I’ve picked up the phone and tried to ring them, but what actually happens when you pick up the phone? What do you say? What do they say? What happens if I panic and hang up before I am able to talk? What if they think I’m just time wasting and they hang up?
Going to a walk in centre was never really an option for me. There is a Samaritans centre in the city closest to where I live, but I was so ashamed of who I had become I wasn’t able to go there. I was ashamed that I had resorted to cutting and damaging myself because I couldn’t get through the day in any other way. I felt like a freak; everyone else seemed so normal and could cope with things that were thrown at them. And then there was me, falling apart and feeling so low. That was terrifying.
Eventually the first step I took was texting the Samaritans. I can still remember the exact text I sent “I need help. Please.” Within half an hour someone has replied and that one text started a dialogue which lasted a few months and was the kick I needed to get “proper” help.
Lack of belief and confidence in myself was probably the single biggest thing that stopped me getting medical help sooner. The simple truth is I didn’t think that I was worth having help. My GP is lovely; I have so much respect for her. But actually seeing my GP meant overcoming more hurdles. The receptionists scared me. I thought they could see right through me and they were plotting against me and would be calling in the mental health services who would then lock me up. When I made the decision on the morning of one of my appointments that today was the day that I would be honest and admit to what was going on in my head and what I had been doing, I then panicked all day about whether I was making the right decision. I was fortunate in some ways, because I had already been seeing my GP regularly about my hip, so I didn’t need to make the initial appointment and speak to the receptionist on the phone. That wait in the waiting room was agonizing. It was one of the longest waits of my life – I’m not a patient person in normal circumstances and I was so tempted to say “fuck it” and leave. But I didn’t. I sat and waited. I can remember feeling dizzy and thinking my heart was beating abnormally fast. Looking back, as much as I regretted it at the time, I did the right thing in staying and waiting to be seen by my GP.
It isn’t as simple as making a GP appointment and willingly sitting down and telling them everything. It is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It’s been small steps: sending that opening text, admitting everything via text and then realising that I do need help. Sometimes I have moments of thinking that I’ve made a mistake in telling my GP how I feel. But then I remind myself that I’m cutting myself less, yes, I still have days, like Monday when I feel a complete danger to myself, but I was able to do something about it and try and make myself feel safe. At the time, it didn’t feel like a positive step, but sitting here now, I know that had I not touched base with the counseling centre on Monday, I would have cut myself. And as pointed out to me, that could have been fatal. It’s small steps. At times it feels like one step forward and two steps back, but there have been positive steps forward and I’m hoping to keep making those positive steps forward, even if they are tiny.
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