Not many people, myself included, could imagine the demons that have haunted that 'happy and contented' smile for over half of my life. The truth is - I've never felt the "normal" type of happiness and I've never felt the "normal" type of sadness.
When I was 14 years old, I decided I couldn't take on the Beast, or demon, or whatever the darkness was inside me and tried to end my life. No one expected it, not even myself. Laying in a hospital bed vomiting up paracetamol and on a drip, with constant monitoring, I was once again filled with demons and darkness. I put myself here, it was my fault, I felt like a fake amongst these genuinely sick children. I couldn't even kill myself right, how could I ever do anything in my life right.
Then the aftermath, being discharged, attending appointments and trying to avoid school as much as possible. With the addition of medication and regular appointments, life appeared to go on with periods of what felt like normal happiness.
Fast forward 3 years and I tried to take my own life again, this time I was a seasoned professional at overdosing on over the counter medications, I thought I had cracked it, I thought this is it. I wrote my letters, I laid towels on my bed in case I began to vomit because I didn't want my mummyto have to deal with any mess. I lay in bed and continued to put more and more tablets in my mouth. Feeling almost euphoric that this could be it and I could leave the world having lived to a point where I felt at peace. That was the most beautiful and scary feeling of my life, and it still haunts me...wanting to die because I thought I was finally happy. This time I nearly did succeed, not in killing myself, but in changing my life forever. My mummy sat by my side as a Doctor told her that if my liver function did not improve I would be put on a list for a transplant. Following that, I was admitted to Beechcroft Child and Adolescent Psychiatric Unit in Belfast and spent 3 months "getting better", before I discharged myself, something I have always partially regretted. What ensued after hospital life can only be what I can now define as a manic period. I would either lay in my room or go out drinking for days, spending my wages as soon as they hit my bank account. All the while still taking the medication I was prescribed to treat my depression. Now I wonder was it that very medication that also increased my periods of mania/hypomania?
In September of that year 2010, I decided to study Health and Social Care at tech and things were going relatively well and I had a routine and I enjoyed the course. A couple of months later I fell pregnant which required me to stop my medication and only gave me a further drive to continue. On the 10th January 2011, I had my first scan which I was incredibly excited about, only to be told the baby had no heartbeat. I was over 12 weeks, I was in the "safety" zone trimester wise, how could this happen to me? How could this happen to a 17-year-old? I felt like I was cursed. I had to deliver my dead baby because of this but while this seemed a curse - I got to see my first little baby, I got to fill out post-mortem forms using the title "mother" for the first time, and I got to bury my baby with a place to visit and upkeep as a way of continuing to be a mother.
After "healing" or finding a way to carry on with life through the use of my medication and partying the following summer I fell pregnant again - risk-taking behaviour is both common in depression and in mania. The feelings I felt were so jumbled I don't think there is a way that they can be untangled into anything slightly coherent - I felt everything at once and once again was weaned off my medication. I had the fear put into me that if I slipped up I would lose my child. I already had fear of whether or not I would even be able to deliver a living baby. But for once, something felt like it went right and Lily was born on the 6th May 2012. This child saved my life. Without her, I would have continued to try and harm myself until I achieved success.
Prior to Lily's birth, I found myself in a new relationship, which at that time I was thankful for; a partner to go through pregnancy with, a sidekick to help me raise my daughter - a choice that he made. This relationship was a controlling relationship from the get-go - what easier a person to control that a pregnant 18-year-old who was known to have mental health issues. This relationship continued to get worse with the other person continuing to gain from my insecurities and vulnerabilities and after a few months following Lily's birth I found myself back using both medication and Mental Health Services which I was constantly told by my partner was a weakness and why did I need to take tablets. When Lily was one I decided to go back and start tech over again, falling pregnant during the second year and in spite of the hurdles of living with an abusive, gambling-addicted partner managed to work part-time and finish the course with D*D*D*.
At that time I was just going through the motions of life, I was doing what had to be done. My third pregnancy was incredibly difficult and there were many times when I considered resuming my medication but I wanted my son to be born without having to suffer withdrawal symptoms from anti-depressant medication. The birth of my son was incredibly painful and difficult and having breast-fed Lily for as long as I possibly could before I had to give up I had planned the same for my son, but I couldn't and the morning after his birth when I had my psychiatric assessment I asked if I could be put back on my medication because I was scared of the darkness creeping in. While taking the precautionary measure of medication and regular appointments the birth of Jonah on the 7th June 2015 restored the hope that Lily had brought me upon her birth. I had a family. The one that people dream of - a girl and a boy, a partner (albeit a toxic and destructive one).Following Jonah's birth, the relationship became more volatile and controlling and my decision to go to University to study a Psychology degree caused many arguments as this meant I would be mixing with other people - both male and female. In spite of this, I did start University and adored my course and excelled in my first year. The beginning of my second year I finally grew the strength to end the relationship which meant I was absent from a lot of the second year of my degree due to constant harassment and continued abuse via social media. After 6 months I decided to give it another chance, to have that family that people dream of and I constantly regretted it. Not only had this person verbally and financially abused me for five years he preyed upon my mental health because he knew it was my weakness. I was gaslighted and it was always my fault because I was a "freak, a psycho" etc. I decided to break free again at the beginning of my final year because I knew this toxic, virus of a person would only impact upon my ability to perform academically and my ability to parent my children how I wanted to parent them.
By some force, I managed to complete my final year of university and finished with a First Class Honours Degree in Psychology, through the highs and the lows and the normal emotions of uni life.
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