Is This The End?

And this is how a life ends, not with a bang, but on a cold, grey, nothing November Friday when you have just finally had enough. No huge cataclysmic event. No careful planning. No helium, in the end – I lack the money or motivation to procure it.

I thought I would feel something. I don’t. I am beyond feeling. I said I have had enough, which is exactly it. There is only so much pain a person can take until they become numb, already dead inside, a zombie, like a piece of elastic stretched so far, so many times it ceases to be elastic.

I thought I would break in Tesco. The mundanity, Tesco. I felt dizzy. I felt so heavy I could barely force myself to keep walking along the aisles, one step at a time. I nearly screamed. I nearly sat on the floor. I nearly ran into the road outside. I didn’t. I was thinking, these people don’t know – the other shoppers buying Friday night food and drink, the shelf stackers, the checkout woman, the bus driver and other passengers on my way home – they have no idea that I am planning suicide. Why would they? If I had melted down, some kind person would have asked if I was OK, what was wrong, probably the police would have been called, I would have been taken to A&E and the mask would be back on, and I would have had the usual lack of help and been home after however many hours.

It can’t be December. That would mean Christmas and that is the trigger – if I don’t do it now, it would affect Christmas for people I know. I can’t be the spinster aunt without kids or a partner, who never even brings anyone to Christmas dinner, tolerated with pity. Another year can’t have gone by with nothing changing. I don’t have a life. I exist. Why. Literally, why – I eat and eliminate, repeat. I don’t do anything. I take money from the state in the form of benefits.

I don’t do anything. Mental health services think it’s laziness and that I should just decide to get out and do things, meet people, join groups, do a class, volunteer, all the well-meaning suggestions. They don’t understand depression – the crippling fog of inertia that makes you cancel plans and stay in bed instead.

I had an ‘assessment’ by the CMHT a few days ago. The woman was ‘nice’, and it’s always harder when they hide their contempt for you so well behind a cloak of friendliness and helpfulness and care. She very nicely completely fobbed me off. I knew it would not go well when she mentioned Mind in the first two minutes. She doesn’t know what a care co-ordinator would do with me, apparently. They don’t have support workers for whatever reason. It was full of excuses, we don’t have that any more, or we can’t do that because reasons. I should go to Mind and get a private therapist. They will not be helping me. She said I was talking about Christmas – I had said I was dreading it and it was making me suicidal. She said I didn’t have any suicide plans. They put words in my mouth. They don’t hear what I actually say. I feel I am speaking another language. I can scream for help until I’m blue in the face and they will ignore it, minimise and dismiss it, or of course I am being too aggressive. There is no way I can ask. I am silenced.

I started to deteriorate in late August, as I always do, faced with my birthday and then Christmas approaching. I had been discharged by the CMHT in February, very cruelly – psychologists had offered support but suddenly decided I was too bad, too much, the people who had promised they weren’t going anywhere, did. I had been surviving – I never get to happiness or fulfilment or doing anything worthwhile – but went downhill again. I told my support worker (through a housing organisation, SD) this and while initially she was supportive, she grew annoyed and cold. I texted her desperately suicidal and she would not reply or something utterly dismissive like ‘OK, see you *date of appointment*’. I texted her desperately and she replied coldly, ‘Unfortunately if you threaten suicide I will have to call the police’. It is obvious that I did not want to encounter the police. I had to call her and plead for her not to – of course, I then had to deny what I had said and insist I didn’t mean it and was safe, frame myself as just saying things, attention-seeking, manipulative, you know the stereotype. I wasn’t safe. It ended up in confrontations, she got her manager involved, she had just become cold and uncaring – you know when someone has had enough of you, the relationship has died. In the end I left a distressed voicemail late at night. Apparently she felt threatened – I didn’t threaten her, didn’t insult her, was just distressed, but I was punished by a change of support worker and my support being reduced. I was told off for being suicidal as if I was a naughty child and told it will in future be ignored.

I didn’t go to A&E or call the local helpline or the Samaritans. People don’t understand that there is no point. There is nothing mental health services will do, I will be met with the usual dismissiveness. No Samaritan or other well-meaning volunteer, or friend, without mental health knowledge and training can save me, despite the nice, cosy campaigns.

I was taken to A&E by police a few weeks ago now, mid-October. I had contacted a private psychiatrist to enquire about a report for Dignitas. It was either them or SD I assume who called the police. They found helium and a stash of pills and were very concerned. A couple of hours and I was discharged by another ‘nice’ yet breezily patronising and dismissive woman. Helium is very dangerous, apparently. She ‘knew’ I could survive until an appointment with the police mental health guy, two hours later. He didn’t show or contact me. I now realise I assumed he was coming to my home, but he may have thought I was still in A&E.

I have more than one lingering infection, am in constant physical pain from them, and no-one will help. I am still on the ‘evil patients’ scheme at ‘my’ ‘GP’ (I do not feel I have one) and confined to one male GP and a few appointments. He wasn’t interested and didn’t even look, didn’t prescribe medication, just gave me the form for blood tests. I haven’t gone for them. The pain and feeling disgusting, taken over by infection, by parasites, fear that it was spreading and I was not human, took over and I ended up calling 111 a few times. They fobbed me off because ‘it’s ongoing’ ‘go to your GP’. My GP kept refusing to see me again and said they could not take swabs or do anything else, and I couldn’t see anyone but this GP even though I asked justifiably to see a female, putting me in the position of seeming like I was seeking urgent care for something ongoing. I tried to explain the pain was getting worse, making me suicidal, I couldn’t eat (one of the issues is my mouth). As it was making me suicidal, I went to A&E. I saw the liaison person, was directed to physical care by them, must be ‘medically cleared’, told I would see him again after that. The physical doctor prescribed a week’s worth of medication. (It didn’t clear it up but maybe took the edge off a little.) I waited for the psych liaison guy, who spotted me and said he hadn’t been told I was cleared, and his shift was ending but he would make sure I was seen by the next shift. An hour and a half later…I wasn’t listed to be seen. The receptionist informed me of this stonily and refused to help, and when I said I was suicidal just turned to the person behind me in the queue with a ‘can I help you’. They had clearly thought oh her again, wasting our time, we won’t see her. The OOH doctor I finally saw about my mouth told me I just had gingivitis which clearly is not the issue and to go to the dentist. I don’t have one. I am still in agony and struggling to eat.

They keep telling me – go here, do this – not realising the effort, that I am exhausted and dragging myself through existing, feeling as if I weigh a ton, that sometimes I can’t get out of bed or out of the flat. That it’s not that easy to summon up the motivation to even make a phone call. Things happen at a glacial speed if at all. They don’t understand. I don’t even understand, so how are they going to? The simplest things are so difficult. This is a web that I can’t untangle.

I tried PALS. PALS at the hospital are ignoring me. PALS at the mental health trust have previously dismissed my complaints, but I tried anyway. I would be too terrified to open a response anyway. I know how the cold bureaucratic language will hurt, I know that they won’t help but will accuse me and say terrible things about me. I have tweeted both trusts and the Chief Executive of the mental health trust, again, ignored. I had been talking to the ex Chief Executive but she too is ignoring me.

The local complaints advocacy service refused to help me, again, too much, too suicidal, bad.

I have been speaking to a Mind advocate, who seemed to care, but I e-mailed him this afternoon desperately suicidal and he hasn’t answered.

I e-mailed the new support worker at SD, no reply.

I must not be a human. Through all of this I haven’t had one genuinely kind word.

I can’t cope, can’t function. No-one is listening. No-one believes me. I am silenced.

I have burned all my bridges. They think the distressed me isn’t ill but it me all the time, that I am a terrible person. They think I am a criminal. I am. I am evil.

They think I am just lazy and will be too dependent.

I am either seen as some evil bombastic terrible dangerous person, or as a meek little nothing who is a joke.

I am abnormal, different. I was only born as a conduit, a thing for others to take their issues out on.

I had potential. I was called gifted at school, another difference, another thing to be bullied for. I’m not. I was just fairly bright, willing to work hard, eager to please, desperate to achieve. I was told I should be an academic. I wanted to be a doctor, but was too shy, too quiet, lacking confidence – I applied but didn’t get a good reference and messed up the interviews. I wanted to be a clinical psychologist, or a mental health nurse, or a support worker. Now I have no future. I will not get into any of that kind of employment with a criminal record and mental health issues. I won’t meet anyone because I don’t go out but if I did find a partner, it’s likely I wouldn’t be able to have children without medical help and they won’t provide that with that record either, and forget being able to adopt or foster, something I would love to do anyway. People just see evil, abnormal. I could be a good person, if only there weren’t other people in the world.

I cared once. I tried to fit into the world. It doesn’t want me in it.

To waste that potential may be a bad thing to do, but it’s already gone. I am not going to sit on benefits and get old. There is no way out. I can’t undo the things I have done. I can’t be in this pain any more. There is no point of me.

I’m genuinely sorry that people will be affected, but I don’t matter that much to anyone, people will be sad for a bit but survive and move on. I am only an annoyance, tolerated, I have hurt people. I am bad. It is for the best. The world will go on turning. Without me in it. I can’t imagine what it will be like. Of course, how can we know what it’s like to be dead, what happens when we die. I don’t believe in any religion, I don’t think I will be going to heaven or hell, or reincarnated. It’s a very weird concept that I won’t be here and there won’t be a ‘me’ to know ‘what it’s like’. There will just be nothing. It will be peaceful. It will be peaceful. I messed this life up too much, damaged too many things, am staring at a life dirty, in ruins. I’m too broken. It will be peaceful.

Fourth Encounter

Having been terrified  enough of the police. I had been in psychiatric hospital for the first time, survived, and was doing relatively well for a while. I then began to decline again. I was angry one day. I was angry a lot. I would imagine myself glowing incandescent green/yellow like a cartoon person. I had been to my depression support group and to the pub afterwards, and stopped at a convenience store on my way home late at night to get some food. They wouldn’t take my card, but wanted cash only. I was somewhat irritable at this. That’s it (whatever mental health services and police think, or maybe they’re right and I am evil). Two lads queueing behind me started having a go at me, calling me a ‘racist bitch’ (believe me, I wasn’t interested in their ethnicity; I was equal-opportunity angry). They goaded me into a response and a ‘physical fight’ ie them abusing me, laughing at me the whole time, holding their purchase (pizza) up to taunt me, telling me I had AIDS and was a bitch and mental and they should be filming this. I ended up sitting in the street as people walked past, and turned their heads away. That I thought I could take on two men and that I hadn’t just walked away indicated I wasn’t well. I called the police as they had assaulted me. They came. I didn’t want to tell them my name. I heard the officers chatting, laughing and joking to the men – I should have realised a woman wouldn’t be believed against men. They asked me why they had attacked me. I said they were ‘mental’ and an officer mocked ‘Because you’re mental?’ They told me the men had merely been ‘restraining me’. I hadn’t attacked anyone and hadn’t acted out of nowhere. They didn’t believe me, and put on gloves to examine my finger which had been injured by them (in a sprain sense, it wasn’t bleeding) which was nice given I had been accused of having AIDS (I don’t, not that I am stigmatising HIV). I was very distressed but they didn’t care, just coldly told me to go home and drove off, reversing as I stood in the road in front of their car. I felt so traumatised and unsafe I went to A&E, citing the injured finger, which did hurt but wasn’t seriously injured. I knew somewhere I wasn’t mentally well and hadn’t reacted normally but couldn’t find the words, and didn’t want to explain what had happened, as I knew by then that mental health services would interpret it as the evil EUPD witch being chaotic, violent, fighting, what do you expect. It wasn’t normal for me. It was a long, hot summer, in London, I had to cover my self-harm so was always so hot. I tried mindfulness but it was just so stuffy, and it was just an opportunity, allowed to wander, for my mind to go into overdrive with dark thoughts. I ended up in hospital in the end. But well done, men, no doubt ‘nice’ ‘normal’ men with families and friends who thought it was sport to bait a ‘mental’ distressed young woman. Well done. Thanks for the flashbacks years later.



Why? This should be clear by now.

The world doesn’t want me in it.

I guess there is something different about some people, something that marks them out as sensitive, vulnerable. And once someone is marked by bullies and abusers, others sense the blood in the water and so it goes on, that person is repeatedly victimized. Even ‘nice’ people sense it, and react by treating the person in a way they wouldn’t dream of treating anyone else, using the excuse that the person is the problem, they are ‘unkind’, bad, they are the abuser (when they’re not, but we are held to higher standards than anyone else, we are not people and are not allowed to stand up for ourselves, react to cruel treatment or have any feelings at all) so they are not humans deserving of human compassion but evil scum who deserve everything they get. Because no-one is repeatedly abused – people think that can’t happen, we must be the problem. And no, the results of prolonged trauma are not pretty, yes, we can be what seems like awful, nasty people to those who don’t understand and don’t exercise human kindness and empathy – we are damaged people.

Going back to the beginning – there is one place we are made, and that is the family. Home should have been a sanctuary from the bullying at school, but no. Suffice to say, my parents have their own issues. I don’t believe that is not the case for everyone with mental health issues. Verbal/ emotional and occasionally physical abuse began early. My sisters at least had each other, preferring each other and leaving me out, bullying me, can remember them laughing at me failing grade 5 clarinet (yes, I am a useless freak failure at everything) yet of course when I did well in my GCSEs and A-levels that too was wrong and boring, one sister wrote in her French lesson that she only had one sister, the other one. My hair was wrong, my Christmas ‘present’ was to make fun of me having it down but if it was up ‘oooh do you think it looks pretty’ sarcastically and I looked ‘like a posh little mouse’, and I was ordered not to wear a particular T-shirt when her friends came round as she didn’t like it and it was embarrassing (and when I said she would be upset if I said that to her, replied that I never had anyone round). I was mocked for eating, not only the way I did but daring to eat anything at all, was constantly told how fat I was. Anything I wrote was read and mocked. The newspaper I read was wrong. The clothes and music I liked were wrong. And so on. Mother ignored their hurtful remarks, and jumped on me if I dared to say anything back; I expressed my hurt that they preferred each other so clearly, but this was ‘immature and pathetic’. They had in-jokes about me and even mother was in on them. They patronise me grossly now, of course sisters are superior for getting married and reproducing and especially one thinks she is the head of the family for this achievement, she also tried to tell me not to drink when we were out for dinner when I was on leave from hospital (or as she put it, whisper ‘on a unit’ gosh how embarrassing, and it’s clear I am an embarrassment to all of them), I was too stupid to explain maths to the other sister apparently and mother made me explain to her then explained to sister which was so humiliating and belittling, oh and I was gleefully later told I was wrong, and the same was done as adults with how to knit (sister wouldn’t even answer me when I tried to explain to her, yes, I asked if she knew how to cast on and she didn’t even answer – if I did that I would be excoriated for being rude). Humiliating me is something she loved to do. It was announced to the dinner table I had my ‘usual problem communicating with anyone’, she would tell family friends whatever I had done wrong lately. She insisted on brushing my hair at 17, deliberately humiliating me telling me I was like one of hethe nursery children she worked with when I dared try to object, maybe if she had bvothered to advise and help me appropriately, maybe I wasn’t coping with long thick wavy frizzy hair becaue  was depressed. I was excoriated for daring to not realidse I had my period had started and leak (I am probably dyspraxic and struggled to manage this) I was made to feel dirty and diosgusting, Ion holiday I dared find my nose was running while swimming and put my hand up precisely to stop it going into the water but was castigated for my sisters, said sarcastically ‘soirry if I disgust you’ to which she replied ‘yes, you do’.  She shared my personal medical information. My medication was put on public view as I was accused of not taking it which was untrue (why would I not have taken medication that allowed to somewhat resemble a normal person?) – I was accused of being ‘moody’, hmmm maybe that was down to developing mental health issues. I was subject to was constant scrutiny, criticism, correction – I couldn’t do or say anything without being wrong – I tried to say and do nothing at all, be invisible, shrink, but it didn’t work.

I always felt somewhat responsible for my middle sister’s eating disorder. I was always called she in particular would do this (and once said my friends were, too, and then wondered why I looked upset). My mother would call me fat too, yet another one of her criticisms, that I was comfort eating due to my developing depression and anxiety didn’t enter her head, as I am not a person. I was suffering too, alone. I had my first panic attack at some time during sixth form, late at night, I now realize triggered by cold medication that contained caffeine. I didn’t know that’s what it was, didn’t do anything or tell anyone. I tried to explain the medication had made me feel strange the next day, but was laughed at by youngest sister and mother, of course I must be wrong, and stupid. I was made to take more. I didn’t drink caffeine for weeks and still can’t finish a cup of coffee or tea.

I am the joke failure of course, I mentioned S and mother mocked ‘unrequited love’ (untrue, he did have feelings) and youngest sister laughed at me too, at my not wanting to eat Greek food at that time. Of course my feelings could never be returned by anyone, I am a joke, who would want me. The last time I saw them, I hang out with loser stoners apparently and ‘liaise’ (I dared to write this on a job application once and it became a joke) and expected ‘accompanying’ to the station, which I didn’t?! I tried to do a nice thing oh but I am not allowed to, I am snapped at if I do, I am the black sheep so in the family role of useless joke who couldn’t possibly be supportive or offer anything. I am accused of being selfish, of never doing anything for anyone – they don’t ask, wouldn’t let me, as I said, I am useless. They are the ones that shut me out. Of course, whatever birthday or Christmas presents I buy for my niece and nephew are wrong, or they have too much stuff (I do understand families can be inundated with toys and don’t buy loads of stuff or plastic tat, and do reign myself in). Actually the presents I buy for adults are wrong too, I get snarky comments (body butter and sets for example), I thought people show appreciation for present seven if they aren’t thrilled, and have done so with many things myself. If I dared not fall over with gratitude I would be wrong, I fact the present as a teen that was a joke to make fun of me I said something that was taken the wrong way and youngest sister went off upset, and I was evil and insensitive (I would have been mocked for being in a ‘strop’ had I done so but anyone else’s feelings matter, and I was excoriated even though I hadn’t meant to be nasty at all. I am not allowed feelings, my mother has empathy and care for anyone but me, anyone else can be suffering and depressed but I need to get a grip, it’s all in my head, pathetic, stupid, I’m a disaster, a lazy slob, there she goes again, had enough of trying to make her feel better, unleash a barrage of abuse. Oh and I am self-pitying, yes actually infertility is agony and I get to be in pain about it, am abnormal aberration freak and get to feel like that – but not to them. She has never once understood anything I felt, never simply empathised and said ‘that must be difficult’ or something, never listened, no, I don’t deserve that. I am always wrong.

If my sisters say someone has done something to them (for instance, the youngest said a boss at work patronised her) she listens and takes their side, if I dare to I am imagining things or caused the situation (I am always wrong). She didn’t believe I was bullied at school or work, didn’t believe what I said about the appalling way L treated me, didn’t believe I was abused by mental health staff. When I called her devastated that L had ended our so-called relationship, she told me to ‘have some self-respect’ – anyone else’ heartbreak would matter. When I was in a hostel I once accidentally locked myself out late at night (yes I had ordered a pizza, oooh how dare I eat), I had forgotten the key card (the only time in six months there), the hostel was unstaffed at night so I called the emergency phone number given in a notice by reception and asked what to do. I was understandably panicked. This was a homeless hostel. Who knew what predatory males, alcoholics and drug addicts lived there. I had pyjamas and a dressing gown on, nothing but my phone, which I had fortunately taken in case the delivery person couldn’t find the hostel (I had paid online so had no money on me). There was no communal area. I was at no point rude or aggressive – I was polite and apologetic, as you would be. Yes, I became distressed. The staff member who answered the phone got aggressive, castigating me for the late hour and waking him up and his child (if you choose to do a job that involves being on call for emergencies and know you are on call, maybe have a different system that won’t wake others in your household then). He was very reluctant to come out and castigated me that he would have to get a taxi. I didn’t enjoy this, and wasn’t bothering him for fun. I would have been at risk, either from others in the hostel or myself, had I been left out in the hall…I had no way of getting a hotel, and couldn’t have afforded to…I would have ben a risk to myself. I had also been traumatised by nights on the streets before. He finally came out, continuing to be aggressive, to the point he was in my room haranguing me and I felt threatened. I was not given the chance to speak and frankly didn’t feel apologetic after being treated like this. Why should I feel guilty for a simple mistake? It wasn’t as if I could have got a spare key cut. I was actually scared of what he was going to do, and relieved when he had finished and left my room. When he was on reception over the next few days I rushed by, avoiding speaking or eye contact, as I didn’t want yet more berating. As it happened I then moved out. my mother came to help me and this guy accosted us as we carried stuff, and claimed to my mother I had shouted – I hadn’t – ‘threatened suicide’ (I had accurately stated I would be a risk to myself with nowhere safe to spend the night), promised to pay for his taxi (I didn’t), not apologised (see, why should I have after the way he treated me, and I wasn’t allowed to get a word in anyway) and other lies, ‘all for a pizza’ (remember, I had been made to feel fat and mocked for eating). Of course she sided with him and didn’t allow me to speak in my defence, as usual, humiliating me.

I heard her on the phone to another parent saying my middle sister (we were both teens) had been accused of bullying, saying she was so lovely and would never do that. Given the way she treated me, I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. Had I been the one accused (and I never bullied anyone) I would have been castigated and she would have discussed how horrible I am and apologised for my existence.

Ah yes, the way middle sister treated me growing up, yes, I have explained I was constantly wrong and corrected, she was often incredibly nasty and hurtful, I would be so upset that she disliked me so much (privately, no point saying anything, my feelings didn’t matter), it felt like constant psychological attack, I didn’t know when the next barb was coming. Mother and other sister told me off because she felt I was scared of her – honestly, I was. I wasn’t deliberately doing anything but I did feel that way and avoid her. Yet only her side mattered. As usual, mine didn’t.

She claims I never ‘admit to anything’, which is completely untrue, I constantly scrutinise myself – because of this background – and ‘admit’ plenty, even to family although their constant criticising and scrutiny and putting me in the wrong inevitably makes me defensive. She wants me to scrutinise every tiny act and word in case it might inadvertently, horror, upset, harm or slightly inconvenience someone – my existence should be devoted to others, I should be perfect, I am not allowed to have needs. I simply do not matter; other people do. What she wants is for me to be as invisible, unobtrusive and small as possible, never to impact on anyone or have a voice, and if I fail I am bad and berated for it, for everything, always, to be my fault,  for me to bow down and admit I am a terrible person. She thinks she is stronger than me and like it that way. She gets aggressive and angry at me if debating politics, calling me stupid and prejudiced (against the Cameron government) and so on. She talks down to me as if I am useless. She seems to always have a simmering undercurrent of anger at me, and I don’t know why – she will get angry and explode at me, and I hear what a terrible person I am, that she doesn’t love me – yes she has more or less said these things, the.actual.words. – if I improved myself I would make myself more loveable, sorry she can’t be all lovey but she doesn’t feel that way, I should get a life, I am selfish and everyone else thinks so, weird, strange, inconsiderate, self-absorbed. If I freeze up at these attacks due to anxiety and can’t speak it is seen as rudeness or abnormality and mocked, anything I say is wrong and provokes more anger, the way I speak is mocked. I freeze and am paralysed with fear at stressful situations that remind me of times I was exploded at, excoriated for my response, can’t deal with any kind of pressure, someone being angry or distressed, I flash back to making her even more angry and being told my response was useless and pathetic. She has driven dangerously scaring me (once the police followed her and this was my fault, for not seeing her car in the dark or realising she couldn’t stop, I don’t drive, why not stop somewhere that was convenient and let me know). The constant criticism from before I can remember to well, the other day. I am excoriated for crimes such as assuming a computer with no-one at it was not being used, yes my sister had just gone to get a drink or whatever it was but instead of saying ‘actually I was using that and just stepped away for a moment’ like a normal person, to which I would happily have let her resume and probably apologised, she ran to mother to tell tales (we were both young adults at this point) who immediately had a go at me. I overcooked a pizza and was told off and had a go at, then told I ‘had a tantrum’ for daring to be upset. Anyone can make mistakes. Only I am not allowed to and viciously scolded. I am not allowed to do anything but others can. On one occasion we were out for dinner at a Moroccan restaurant and I spilled a bit of sauce on the table, sister told me I was a slob, I was castigated by everyone and accused of ruining the evening, of course by the end of the meal everyone had pretty much spilled some sauce as happens when you have large communal pots of food and serve yourself, but no, I was the one not allowed to do it and excoriated. On that same trip to a country abroad where we lived briefly, mother reduced me to tears because I dared to straighten my hair before bed, had told me she didn’t believe I was being bullied at work and it was me, ‘no wonder she (bully) couldn’t stand me’ at the airport. Middle sister was worshipped for living there (I have travelled but of course it wasn’t as good, to mother, as my sisters’) and for buying everyone dinner (just from a stall). I was harangued to buy a round when I had been about to offer to do so as yes, I was aware it was my turn, and sister sneerily said ‘you’ll get it back, that’s what a round is’, I was merely a little upset because I had been accused of not buying, I misheard what drink sister wanted and panicked as I am always wrong and stupid, mother was standing over me (too stupid even to order drinks I see, although she denied this later) and berated me, apparently the bartender thought I was odd and a normal person would have apologised for getting it wrong and asked if said other drink was OK which is exactly what I did, and the berating went on, I was generally evil. I went to the toilet and self-harmed, the first time I had done so. I was made to feel I didn’t do anything, and sister was wonderful, it was a Christmas trip and as usual the presents I got everyone were wrong, and I was selfish and evil.

Woe betide me if I drop something. They wonder why I am defensive. I wouldn’t dare make the tiniest negative comment about her cooking. I had dreams about her emotional torture in which I just wanted her to not constantly criticise and reassure and she wouldn’t. She does not care how I feel, does not care about me. You don’t say the million hurtful things, behave in that way to someone you love.

Sisters don’t bother with me. They made it clear growing up I was invisible and they weren’t bothered about my existence, preferring each other, and do so now. I have had enough of being made to feel unwanted and pathetic for daring to have wanted a relationship with them, so I gave up bothering. They clearly do not want a relationship with me.

The mother is patronisingly ‘affectionately dismissive’ (Marian Keyes’ term) at best. I am a joke, nothing, little (non-)person of no consequence. She has no sense of boundaries and told anyone (her ‘friends’, other family members) my private information. She sides with anyone but me, would believe I had done anything, rob a bank, murder someone, she clearly thinks I am a terrible person. I don’t matter. I can never be myself with them, am not a person to them, just the role of the stupid freak little thing to be patronised. They will probably laugh at this together.

She insisted I come to live with her when I wasn’t coping in London but kept reminding me how in the way I was, how much I was costing her (I did pay rent and split food), how I didn’t do anything (but when I did it was wrong, see cooking), that I was causing mould by having showers (I wasn’t actually showering much at all, I was too depressed, and if I did I opened the window), and ruining the worktops and so on. As usual, I was wrong and ruined everything just by existing. Yet more guilt, and self-loathing. I got increasingly ill but was just made to feel like an annoyance, finally gave in and texted her late at night (not thinking she would get it until morning) pouring out my distress, that everyone would be better off if I was dead, and just got her storming into the room castigating me for being ‘bloody pathetic’.  She then chucked me out and wasn’t concerned I was basically on the streets.

They won’t believe me until I am gone, like everyone they think I am only out for attention. The mother laughed at me for ‘calling ambulances’ when in crisis, for only taking ‘a few pills’, and made it clear she didn’t take me seriously (and had a phone conversation with L out how horrible and not serious I was). She keeps telling me I ‘blame’ others, should ‘take responsibility’, the people who abused me (police and mental health services) didn’t or it was my fault, I ‘chose’ to leave hospital when I had been discharged oh and ‘for fuck’s sake’ and she was on her way to my sister’s. As usual I didn’t matter. As usual she doesn’t care about me.

The relentless bullying at school, all the way through, in several different schools. I was too short, too shy, dared to like schoolwork, work hard and behave (most of the time) and actually read for leisure. As I said above, I was just a freak, different. The constant verbal abuse, mocking, insults, oh I’m sorry ‘teasing’ to school – I really wish they wouldn’t call it that, teasing is something done in an affectionate way and despite what one idiot teacher thought there was none of that, relentless verbal abuse, insulting, mocking IS bullying and it wears away your self-esteem. Oh there was the putting water in my boots, taking stuff, physical intimidation and the odd sexual remark too. But it’s the constant reminder that you are at best a joke, inadequate, different that really destroy. Partway though Year 10 we moved abroad, and I was merely ostracised at the new ‘nicer’ school. I didn’t know how to make friends, to seem friendly and when you are already convinced you are unlikeable, lacking in self-esteem, you expect to be excluded. I was excluded at sixth form college, too. Even those ‘friends’ I did have realised I was at the bottom of the social hierarchy and treated me accordingly, putting me down. So many teachers noti9ced I was isolated, not one helped. Ah, teachers. I dreaded reports, despite being intelligent – there would be the isolated, too quiet, too shy comments, a couple of teachers claiming to have made efforts to help me they clearly didn’t, it was made clear this was a character flaw. Why a teacher would write that a vulnerable teenage child was ‘aloof’, didn’t have friends, quiet and not offer to help – it wasn’t concern, it was an attack on my personality. One school made the mistake of calling my mother and instead of any concern or help from her, I got a verbal bashing, and the ‘communication problem’ remark at the dinner table. No, school didn’t offer any help. None of them did. I was breaking. I can see now I was depressed and anxious as a teenager. The constant bullying had done its work. Yet as usual, I was the problem, no-one else. At sixth form college, a tutor asked the mother what was wrong with me and of course they had a nice talk about this, which really helped, he then ‘spoke to’ me, yet again I was fundamentally abnormal and flawed and wrong. He even wrote about it in my report which I asked him to please remove as the mother would just have a go at me again, of course he told her this at parents’ evening. I wanted to become a doctor but was told by everyone I was too quiet and shy and didn’t have people skills. The college basically told me they wouldn’t be writing a supportive reference – they said this was being open, but I never did see the reference – I didn’t get in. What a boost for a fragile teenager’s self-esteem. I did do well in my A-levels and went to uni to do something else. This college, ironically, put my photo and a little statement among the ‘high achieving students’ bit of their open evening presentation, which my sister saw as a prospective student – the first I’d heard of it. Yes, they hadn’t bothered to ask or even inform me.

This is only part one, but you see why I have concluded I am a freak and worthless.

You hear of funerals where everyone says nice things about the deceased, but I can’t imagine anyone will have anything good to say about me. I am a useless eater. I could have been something, many things…but I’m not…I am a joke freak, should never have been born at all.




Everyone, sooner or later, turns on me.

My support workers have both done this today.

The first, from another organisation (housing) was very defensive, tick-box and cold. She had cancelled our appointment last week, I said I was upset by that. She had texted one rescheduled date, yesterday, but said today by e-mail. As it was more easily accessible, I checked my texts and went by that. I phoned yesterday when she didn’t turn up and this was uncovered. She was both then and today very insistent on showing me the e-mail in a robotic ‘I wrote x on y date, you replied z’ way. All I wanted was an acknowledgement that she messed up. We’re all fallible, I don’t mind. I was mainly bothered about the cancellation last week which she said was because she didn’t have her phone and wasn’t allowed to visit service users without a phone, but she had texted me to cancel, a couple of hours before e-mailing – so she had her phone?! This is just bizarre. I had written a letter pouring everything out about the uselessness of mental health services, and how desperate and suicidal I am, but just got ‘I’m not trained in mental health’. She has told me off before for expressing suicidality and I told her that I felt told off, not helped, or that she was concerned. The whole thing was very cold and uncaring. I finally got a threat to speak to her manager. She has been making a lot of comments about me moving on, and I said I couldn’t think about that now and am scared and her response was just we talk to everyone about moving on. I said the other support worker wasn’t returning messages and got accused of the messages being abusive! (They were not).  It was so cold. She didn’t once express empathy, sympathy, that she understood I was having a very difficult time. She had an attitude of ‘what do you want me to do?’ and the threat was clear. They want me out of my flat.

Why this utter lack of care whether I live or die? It’s obvious. They have got to her. I know who ‘they’ are, ex-landlord, MOD, police, MH services.

CMHT support worker also turned on me. I missed our last appointment, too unwell, but oh no, bad lazy me ‘Not Engaging’! She has stopped calling me, didn’t call back when I got cut off. She claimed it was not agreed at the last meeting that I would have a care co-ordinator, it wasn’t agreed that she would see me – both of which it was, but they are gaslighting me to make me even more ill. They really do hate me. They are punishing me viciously for daring to complain. She clearly hates me and will have spewed bile and recruited the other support worker, telling her how evil, manipulative, ‘splitting’, hostile, abusive, challenging…every EUPD stereotype and some extra just for me. They think I am evil. They really do.

Well, enough. I can’t fight this. They get to everyone and turn them against me.

They win. I know what I need to do.


That s what my life feels like. Surreal.

I never expected to be so victimised, hated and vilified by mental health services that are supposed to help me.

In the last well year and a bit I have taken several overdoses, and not minor ones, not cries for attention – I genuinely wanted to end my life. I ended up in resus as a cardiac arrest risk after two of these. I lay in the road to get run over. I tried attending A&E when I felt at risk. Every time, I was sent home with no help. The crisis team came once and were rude and hostile, and told me in as many words that they didn’t take me seriously. I booked a room to end my life, the crisis team refused to see me at all. Liaison have called me chronic, just badly behaved, accused me of many things including drinking and ‘not engaging’.

Engage with what?! I was punished for complaining about my care co-ordinator who was lazily dismissive and complacent and didn’t even bother to contact me after the above incidents, and still don’t have another care co-ordinator. No-one followed up my last A&E visit. I have a support worker who is currently sulking that I want more/ different help than she can provide – I don’t need a support worker, I need clinical help – and given their apparent determination to offer me as little as possible and insist ‘there are limits’ because the bad dependent EUPDer always wants everything, I am never confident she will see me at all. In any case, it’s only every 3 weeks or so and it is not what I need.

I am so desperately low that yes, I sometimes miss appointments, and struggle with communicating. You would think that would mean they realised I am unwell and I got more help, not the lazy ‘oh well she’s Not Engaging’, assuming I choose to and can’t be bothered because well, lazy evil EUPDer. I have been to appointments when I can, even if I have to force myself to get up and out, and I have tried to express how I am struggling and desperately suicidal there. This has been dismissed and minimised. I have written to various staff members and taken letters to A&E several times, explaining just how bad things are because I find it much easier to express this in writing. I have been ignored. It is wrong and deeply unfair to accuse me of not seeking and accepting help. And again, if someone is sometimes struggling to communicate and make appointments maybe that means they need more help, maybe ask what is going wrong and try to make it easier – it doesn’t follow in any way that they are being deliberately difficult, are lazy, and need less help! I HAVE tried to explain this (so much for ‘not engaging’ – again, if I wasn’t I wouldn’t bother).

They only see me through their lens of EUPD, they talk AT me, they don’t listen, they have their preconceived ideas of me and won’t change…they refuse to try to help…WHO is ‘not engaging’?!

To be clear. A desperately suicidal person who is making attempts needs a bit more than an occasional support worker. Anyone else would be under the crisis team or in hospital. I am blacklisted.

They are extremely defensive. I feel I have upset them all and done something wrong by complaining.

The complaints people hate me. Their communications have been rude and hostile, blaming me, and they have then ignored me. They have told the ICAS service they will not respond to my complaint.

I have been so gaslighted, I have almost accepted this treatment. They have justified it so much I almost believe them, and it just feeds my deep feelings that I am bad, unacceptable and undeserving.

Looked at objectively, is this acceptable ‘care’? I would be appalled if I saw this happen to anyone else.

They see me with a lens that I am difficult, bad, unco-operative…I just can’t see a way to convince them otherwise, to make them help me. I feel utterly hopeless and powerless, refused help by the system that is supposed to help, that clearly dislikes me. I tried complaining, tried PALS, the CEO, ICAS, I can’t see where else to go and even if I did (MP? PHSO?), I am not sure I would, as I would be scared they would hate me and punish me even more. I don’t have the strength for it.

No wonder I have paranoid thoughts that this is all a conspiracy. The trust do seem to hate me and deliberately be punishing me, destroying me. They can’t genuinely think they are helping? Who does lack of care, criticism and blaming, patronising, ignoring and complacency help? They CAN’T think it does. Or they genuinely think I am a bad dependent attention-seeking EUPDer that will shut up, go away and get a grip if they don’t respond to its silly little tantrums, of course it’s not really suicidal…I’m not sure which is worse.

They are playing with my life.

No wonder I feel beaten down. No wonder I kind of accept that well, I deserve this, as they are telling me I do. I wonder, is this all a sign that the world doesn’t want me in it? I feel my whole life has shown that. This isn’t impulsive or short-lived; I want to be dead. They don’t believe it, and there is clearly no help. Being utterly alone with this desperation is hell.

I don’t think I can survive it. I have tried, despite what they think, so many ‘coping methods’ ‘strategies’ whatever, I have fought. That’s why I am still here, not because of their (non-existent) help, despite them. There is only so long I can do that. Oh, but you are, you’re still here. No longer. I can see what the best – only – option is.


This supposed line is run by my trust, supposedly for people in crisis or needing support out of hours.

All I have had from them is dismissal, invalidation, and condescension.

If I dare say that services have been less than helpful, they are defended. Any thoughts or feelings I state are invalidated. I am not allowed to talk, but talked at, asked inane, irrelevant questions, what did I do today etc. If I have done something, oooh that’s nice, I must be fine! If I didn’t, my fault, I need to do more!

Some time ago, back in the summer, I complained about a staff member. I had been so distressed I was unable to speak. This happens. I don’t call intending to do this, SOMETIMES I JUST. CANNOT. PHYSICALLY. GET. THE WORDS. OUT. Given a little time and no pressure, I will do so. The Samaritans seem to understand this. A mental health helpline seemingly cannot. This staff member said in a very aggressive and impatient tone, ‘Can you speak please’ followed by ‘If you’re not going to speak, don’t bother ringing’. I didn’t bother continuing the call. The manager’s response to my complaint was to call me and say the staff member was ‘lovely’ and she would ‘investigate’ but was away on leave for a few weeks. I got a letter saying the staff member denied saying this (and claimed to have said a nice little spiel that he DID NOT IN ANY WAY) and she was ‘unable to reconcile the two accounts’ implying I was lying. Why I would make this up I do not know. Oh, wait, I am an evil EUPD faking lying evil bitch to them who they want dead.

I try to open up and speak to these people. I do. Sometimes I can’t speak and just hang up. It’s not intended to be a nuisance call. Sometimes I am distressed, and although I am never abusive (I don’t personally insult them or swear etc) I might be um, ranty, not very coherent, angry or in tears. This is human. It is met with discipline, being told to calm down or even hung up on. If you read my post on apparent competence you might understand why I’m either not in a state to speak at all, or sound fine, perfectly calm and composed.

I was in such a state a few days ago that I got home and sat on the floor by the door, unable to even put my shopping away. I called and was told off for ‘shouting’ – I wasn’t. Later I tried again and was unable to speak at all, and the person, instead of encouragement or even checking I was there, just hung up. She is one of the worst in terms of punishing me for being, well, distressed. She hates me. I called back later and asked if she had hung up and she said yes, she had heard shouting so hung up. I HAD BEEN SILENT. But of course I am evil to them, so it must have been me, I must have shouted. She had previously tried to pressure me to go into (occasional voluntary) work that I had said I didn’t feel well enough (but I am not ill to them, just a pain in the behind).

I stated I felt unsafe and had very intrusive thoughts of jumping under a train and she just said ‘You’re not going to do that’. She has reacted in this way before. Sorry I am still alive, obviously that means I’m fine.

I called again last night and was distressed. I called again to try to talk this through when a little calmer and she snapped very aggressively ‘I’m going to report you’. I hung up in absolute shock. I became paranoid she was going to call the police on me (and not out of concern for my safety, she never is as she complacently believes I will never end my life) and left my home in the middle of the night in November to sit on the street, crying. I had to call the Samaritans.

This line is supposed to help, not make me more distressed.

They think I am a pain and evilly maliciously bothering them when I am desperate, suicidal, unwell and just trying to get some support.

They really need urgent education in how to deal with distressed people.


I became increasingly distressed over last weekend. I couldn’t face Monday’s ‘assessment’ (this person has seen me many times, so I have no idea why I am still dragged down there – she only says the same things) for the ‘mood management’ group that is touted as the magic solution to all my ills. Of course a group I wasn’t well enough to engage with, which I was viciously punished for, since when I have had no help…I am told I just need to learn the hallowed ‘coping strategies’ and will then magically not be suicidal, sorry, I mean make non-serious evil borderline EUPD threats because I can’t manage my emotions, silly girl. This person has told me to ‘get an alarm clock’ (gosh, I didn’t think of that in a decade of working full-time, not to mention years of studying before that, duh!); implied I could be bothered to get up on holiday but not for appointments (I went on holiday when doing relatively well, and even then I crashed afterwards); patronisingly said I just didn’t understand EUPD and would be converted ‘as I gained a greater understanding’ in a letter; the same letter she copied to my GP with the details of my evil offending, something they didn’t know about as they have no need to, breaking confidentiality. I was also terrified if I took my medication and slept I wouldn’t wake up for the appointment, and of course, would be punished for ‘not engaging’.

I pointlessly called 111 early on Monday morning, not having slept, and was taken to A&E. Liaison woman approached me almost as soon as I had arrived, told me there was nothing they could do and tried to persuade me to leave, and when I didn’t, told me I ‘usually have a cubicle’ to wait in (I do sometimes, depending on the person allocating I guess) but would have to sit in the waiting room. (A perfect example of the toxic ‘behaviour modification’. EUPDs don’t deserve a cubicle, far too comfortable, they might get dependent. Make coming to A&E less pleasant for them and they will stop bothering us). I was very distressed in the waiting room. No-one helped me. The other people waiting stared at me with judgement. The receptionists laughed at me. The triage nurse told me ‘there are children here’. Don’t be mental, you’ll scare the children.

Liaison woman acknowledged I was distressed in the waiting room. I was in tears (I never usually cry in front of people). Aw, she claimed, she could see how much I was hurting. Empty patronising drivel. She accused me of being angry (bad, bad ANGRY EUPDers). She went into talking at me, telling me off for complaining, oh I know you don’t think you’re being helped but you’re not engaging… She told me they couldn’t do anything there as I had ‘a care plan in the community’ (I really, really don’t). Apparently, ‘talk of suicide’ was a distraction from my real issues. Um…no risk then? Of course, silly me, bad EUPDers are never serious.

I was made an appointment with someone, a duty person I think. I was lectured, of course, you know where I’m going. She told me very accusingly that I smelled of alcohol (I hadn’t changed, only put on jeans and a sweatshirt over my pajamas. Yes, I had been drinking during the night. I was feeling desperate and unable to sleep). She told me to go home, shower and change before my appointment. I was so desperate I couldn’t and ended up self-harming.

The ‘assessment’ appointment was, well, more lecturing, ‘not engaging’, sleeping too late, drinking, etc. I felt I had to plead to be allowed a group I don’t really want but that is the only ‘help’ offered. Oh yes, I was told that despite what was agreed at the meeting (and is in the letter following this meeting), I wouldn’t be getting a care co-ordinator. My being at A&E wasn’t mentioned (behaviour modify, don’t reward the EUPDer with attention!) and when I tried yet again to say I am desperate and suicidal, just got impulsive, intense emotions (neither of which are accurate). I dared to mention I had asked at the meeting for a psychiatric review and this was agreed and was lectured to go with an open mind, they’d just say the same, medication doesn’t help EUPD.

I called the duty person, tried yet again to explain I was suicidal, and got told I was just upset because I wasn’t happy with the ‘assessment’. I explained everything else that is going on and was told, oh I know, but it’s still about today. She said someone would call me to talk about the care co-ordinator or lack thereof. (Needless to say, they haven’t. Support worker was supposed to call me, and hasn’t).

I spent a day trying to get help, and instead of kindness and compassion, was lectured, gaslighted, dismissed – I felt like a naughty schoolgirl. (And yes, liaison woman called me a ‘girl’ – amusingly, minutes after lecturing me that I wasn’t a child). I felt, worse, like utter scum.

That is how they want me to feel. Accepting the EUPD label means admitting you are bad, evil, to the core.

I am not impulsive. I do not just have ‘EUPD moments’ of suicidality. It is constant. And not just in the background – constant agony. It is logical to want to escape that. I feel dead inside anyway. Days, months, years go by, unnoticed. Filled with nothing; just existing. Eating, sleeping. Fighting to remain alive. No more. All waiting will do is delay the inevitable. More meaningless days will go by. I don’t want that.