#MeToo // It's Time to Talk

I’m pretty sure by the title of this blog post, you’re probably aware what the topic is. If not, let me just explain. #MeToo is a hashtag that became popular amongst social media users, both men and women, when talking about their experiences with harassment and abuse. In a way, it is an outlet for those to open up and share without fear of judgement – knowing they’re not the only ones. The main aim, is to spread awareness about how much of an issue it is in the world. I’ve been wanting to write this post for a really long time. I’ve had many internal arguments with myself over it and weighed up the pros and cons. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve been silenced for too long and now that I have the freedom to speak up, I goddamn will.

As a woman who has grown up in this generation, it will come as no surprise to most of you that I have suffered from harassment on a daily basis. Cat calls from men in white vans, unwanted advances from drunk lads in clubs, inappropriate comments from those old enough to be my father. That’s to name a few, and I’m pretty sure it’s all so relatable. Sadly, it’s something I’ve gotten used to. It’s something I expect. Thankfully, I’ve realised now that it is well within my rights as a human being to stand up for myself and voice to those who commit such lewd acts that they are – basically – trash. I used to smile coyly whenever anyone made me feel uncomfortable or made advances on me. Now, I flip them the finger and politely tell them to ‘f*ck off’. Again, something I’m sure many of you can relate to. But, there is one part of my life that has been filled with abuse and harassment and absolute terror. Do you remember when I mentioned that at the beginning of this year, I went through a really tough time? You can see it briefly in this post. It’s also where I say I don’t want to talk about it. It’s time to change that. Now, it’s my time to talk.

It started when I was around 8/9. I can’t put a definite time on it because hey, it was over 10 years ago. But what I can do, and seem to have done very well, is remember very specific instances where I’ve felt terrified, attacked, vulnerable and victimised. When I was 8/9, I started to become scared of living in the family home, going home everyday from school and knowing what was potentially waiting for me. Even to this day, I still don’t understand why it was me. I still sit and think about anything that could possibly point the finger my way. I’ve tortured myself until I couldn’t take it anymore and just fell into a heap on the floor. Why me? I still don’t have the answer, but I know that it’s not the question that needs to be asked. The question is; how does he sleep at night?

I grew up in a house overruled by men, so to speak. Myself and my Mum were the only females living in the family home. There was my Dad (well, technically, my step-dad) who was the big protector of the family. There was Tom, my little big brother as I like to call him. Then, my eldest brother. The abusive, manipulative and nasty piece of work. As I like to call him. So, unless you haven’t guessed already, this is about my brother. Now, I’m not going to name him. Not for his sake, but for mine and my family. So, lets refer to him as ‘J’. If you know me, you may know him. It’s taken all of my willpower to not do this post. The consequences of it, I’m still unsure of. But, after keeping my mouth shut for nearly 2 decades now, there is nothing that can silence the need I have inside to tell you all about it. To raise that awareness. To make you all aware that sometimes – and really, more often than not – the abuse can be a little too close to home. To warn you all, even if someone seems like the nicest person in the world, they can have the darkest motives.

Ok, I’m going to say I was 9, just for my own point of reference. But, I’m not going to start from the beginning. Because the way it all started only came to light in the past year. So, to make this easy to follow, I’m going to do my favourite thing and bullet point. I’m going to touch on as briefly as I can the physical abuse I was subjected to. Ok, here goes…

  • ·         I wanted to spend time with my other brother, Tom, which was always difficult because he shared a room with ‘J’. I went into my brother’s room and sat on Tom’s bed. Tom was playing a video game and I was watching him. ‘J’ made it very clear from the start that he didn’t want me around. I protested with him and tried to stand my ground. Eventually, he dragged me by my legs whilst I kept my fists firmly gripped on Tom’s bed frame. I refused to let go, refused to be handled in such a way. Instead, he started to lift my legs up and down, banging my shins on the metal bedframe every time he forced my legs down. I was 11, he was 15.
  • ·         I was at home, in the living room with my parents and two brothers. We were playing some sort of quiz. I can’t quite remember how it escalated so quickly but before I knew it, ‘J’ grabbed me by the throat and pinned me against the wall. Nobody did anything. I couldn’t breathe. I was 9, he was 13.
  • ·         I was downstairs, arguing with my Mum and Dad. ‘J’ heard what was happening. He came downstairs and proceeded to put me in an arm/headlock. The sort of headlock security learns to restrain someone who is drunk/acting erratically. I pleaded with him to let go off me, I tried to struggle and all he did was whisper in my ear ‘fucking calm down you silly slag’. I dropped my whole body weight until he finally let go. Nobody did anything. I was 17, he was 21.
  • ·         I was upstairs. Tom was no longer living in the family home. I asked ‘J’ if he could turn his TV down. He stood up, beckoned towards me and was not even an inch away from my face. Goading me, saying such awful things. I froze, he pushed, I fell. Nobody did anything. I was 19. He was 23.


Now don’t get me wrong, I know we can argue with our siblings, I used to with Tom. But this was different. ‘J’ terrified me. As well as all of the above and more, I was subjected to emotional abuse on a daily basis. I was called every name under the sun, I kid you not. All from my eldest brother. The person who should have been my number one protector was the one I was most terrified of. I was called a slag, a whore, a pervert, a prostitute, a dirty bitch. You name it. I was told I was going to be killed. I was told that my head was going to get bashed in. I was told that I should never have been born.

Throughout the whole time that all of this was going on, I protested with my parents to help me. To support me. To back my corner. I was met with the same response every single time. ‘Stop winding him up Melissa, you know he’s got an illness’. Oh yeah, disclaimer for you. ‘J’ has Asperger’s Syndrome. The reason I haven’t mentioned it until now is because it is so irrelevant to what I’m going through with you that I didn’t want anyone’s judgement to be clouded. I don’t want ANYONE to think that his behaviour can be excused because he has a mild form of Asperger’s. I don’t want ANYONE to try. What I do want you all to know is that if nothing is done, the abuser walks free and the victim is the one who suffers. I’m living proof of that. Now, let’s fast forward to April 2017. The month that really started to fuck with my head.

I have to be really careful with what I say now. Not because I want to hold back and not because I’m scared of doing so but because as far as I’m aware, it is still an ongoing investigation with the local police. So, I’m going to try my hardest to explain in the best way possible.

In April, I saw something that shook me to the core. I was exposed to behaviour committed by ‘J’ that literally made me feel sick to my stomach. It was something I’ve always deemed one of the worst things a person can participate in. And, it was something I was expecting. I knew, as soon as I saw, that I needed to take action. I reported my brother to the police for the safety of everyone. Whether that be me, my family and his kids. It was the best thing to do for everyone. Although, it wasn’t that simple. When ‘J’ found out that I was the one that reported him, the harassment started. To put a long story short, I received numerous message from ‘J’calming he was going to ruin my life, he knew where I lived, he was coming for me and I was fucked once he got his hands on me. I’m not going to put it lightly. I was absolutely terrified. He knew my address despite me not having contact with him in over a year. So, with encouragement from Burnie, my partner, I reported it. I wasn’t willing to put my life in danger but also the lives of Burnie and his children. It wasn’t just my house, it’s theirs and I didn’t want to risk anything. Cue the chaos.

For nearly 2 months, I was backwards and forwards with the police, TRYING so hard to prove to them the sort of person he was. To back my argument, I told them all about the violent outbursts that took place when I was a child and I revealed to them something I never told anyone. Not even a soul.

The reason I kept it so secret for so long is because I wasn’t 100% sure it happened. It was that faded in my memory that I really had to think whether it was real or a dream. But, something in my gut told me that it did. When I was 8/9, I remember my brother getting into my bed and asking me to kiss him. I obliged, I gave pecks to everyone in my family. I knew something was wrong the minute he stuck his tongue in my mouth. Again, I obliged. ‘J’ always had power over me and he knew that and used it to his advantage. I forgot about it, pretended like it was ok and moved on. Until it became a regular thing, that’s when I knew something wasn’t right. Tom wasn’t making me do this, so why was he? Then, came the moment that I knew in my gut that it was completely unacceptable. He guided my hands to his crotch. I remember immediately batting my hands away and threatened to tell Mum and Dad if he did it again. Then, it never happened again. I was 8/9. He was 12/13. Only now have I made the link with everything else that went on. He was ‘accidently’ walk into my room just as I was returning from the shower. He would never knock and walked on me numerous times when I was undressed. It made my skin crawl, to the point where I made my parents get me a lock for my door. Only then did I feel safe and comfortable in my room. There were signs everywhere, not only did he disrespect my privacy as a young woman, but he also didn’t privatise his actions either. On many occasions, I was exposed to things I shouldn’t have seen, the sort of things teenage boys do very well to keep hidden. I think that’s as much detail as you need.

I always grew up with this faded memory in my mind but never let it affect me as an adult because I actually convinced myself that it didn’t happen. It wasn’t until recent events that I actually decided to open up about it. I was taking a huge risk because I didn’t even know if it was true, but I knew I had to tell them. It wasn’t until I heard back from the police that ‘J’ admitted to everything. Everything. All the things he venomously denied when were growing up. He held his hands up and went ‘Yeah, that happened’. Then, I crumbled.

All them years I thought I was in the wrong. I thought what was going on was normal. I wasn’t in the wrong, I had every right to feel the way I was. It wasn’t normal, it was predatory behaviour. It was harassment. It the biggest eye opener of my whole life. It opened up the floodgates and absolutely everything from my past that I had done so well to keep locked up tight had burst open. What resulted was the worst time in my life in regards to my mental health. Looking back on it, I had a mental breakdown. I was off work for almost 6 weeks. I became an absolute nightmare to be around. I shut myself off from everything and everyone and at one point, contemplated suicide. It was all too much for me, I couldn’t get my head around everything, and I don’t just mean my relationship with ‘J’. Nothing made sense anymore and I fell deep into the biggest hole I’ve ever fallen into. I never faced what happened to me, I was very aloof about it too. It wasn’t until my therapist said to me ‘Melissa, you do realise that what happened to you is one of the most traumatising things anyone can go through? And you act as if it’s nothing. It isn’t. It’s something’.

I’m now on my 9th week of therapy, I haven’t heard or seen of ‘J’ since and I never wish to. I’ve been back at work for nearly 7 weeks now. I’m slowly, trying my damned hardest to get my life back on track. Actually, I’m trying hard to start my life again. Start the life I want to live without the burden of anything on my shoulders anymore. It’s the hardest battle of my life and I know I’m getting there but there’s always something, y’know?

Now some of you reading this know me personally. Some of you don’t. Some of you reading this may know ‘J’. I don’t know, but what I do know is that I want this to be known. I was silenced for over 10 years, not speaking out because I wouldn’t dare speak against family, no matter what they do. But, my god, it is SO important to speak out. If I spoke out those who I knew would listen, things could’ve been different. It’s taken me a hell of a long time to come to terms with a lot of things in my past. I’ve spent so much time torturing myself with questions about what happened, thinking there was something wrong with me. I know now, that I was the victim and in all honesty, I am sick of my name being dragged through the mud by my abuser. Because that’s what he is. He’s not my brother, he was my abuser and I was the victim. The saddest thing about it is no-one else saw it whilst I was growing up, and I could go on all day about everything that’s occurred throughout my childhood but I want you guys to think about it. Think about what might be going on behind closed doors, think about how important it is to step forward and say ‘Yeah, me too’.

Whether it’s a parent, partner, friend, sibling or stranger – abuse is abuse. Harassment is harassment. Either way, it’s not right that they get to walk around living their life and pretending to everyone that they’re the innocent one. It’s not right that they’re manipulating everyone to believe them, manipulating them into thinking they’re a good person. I really hope some good comes from this, and if not, that’s fine too. If I’m going to receive a shitstorm, that’s ok too. I’ve waited too long to speak out and I’ll be damned if that man has anymore power over me. I’ve made it this far now and made a life for myself that I’m proud of. I’m proof that there’s strength there.

Thank you so much if you’ve read all the way through, just that itself means so much. Thank you to everyone who believed me when I spoke out. Thank you to everyone who understood why I kept quiet. Thank you to Burnie, again, for being my constant support and making me see that what happened to me wasn’t deserved. You helped me find the strength inside to speak out and I love you so much. And lastly, but by no means least, thank you to Tom. My little big brother. You were my protector when I needed you and made me realise just what a brother should be. I will never ever blame you for missing the signs because I kept it well hidden, and you shouldn’t either. When you were there, you protected me. You’re what everyone needs in a big brother and you will always be my best friend.

Until next time,

M x

Body Shaming // It's All The Same

Just a disclaimer before we start: I know that this post may anger some - well maybe a lot - of my audience. I mean no harm and really trying to avoid self pity on this matter. Ok, here goes...

I have recently read that when a fat person is body shamed, it sticks with them but when it comes to thin shaming, they can ‘walk away with their thin privilege in tact’. One quote of this article stood out for me and really struck a nerve. ‘And while your internal struggle is real and significant, the point is: You might hate your body, but society doesn't. That’s thin privilege. It was the first time I’d ever heard the phrase thin privilege, so I googled it. And, to be quite frank I was disgusted. So, I've decided to put my experiences and opinions out there. That quote alone pushed me to write this post.

It’s no secret that still, even now, men and women are judged and ridiculed for the way they look. Some would say that there is more understanding and acceptance these days but that doesn’t eliminate the fact that its still happening. In my opinion, thin shaming is something that does get swept under the carpet by society and isn't seen as ‘important’, but I need to talk about it. I need to talk about shaming those who are slim. It’s frowned upon to shame someone who are classed as overweight, and those who are an average size in fact, but what about thin shaming? Why isn't this being seen as just as damaging? Societies norms is one of the biggest issues we all face. Whether we fit, whether we don’t, how we can make sure that we do. The constant pressure that is put on us, especially growing up, can be and is damaging. But at the end of the day, what is ‘normal’? What isn't normal in my eyes is the way fat shaming and thin shaming is seen differently. So, let me tell you about my experience growing up and as an adult.
Growing up, to my family, I was always referred to as ‘boney bum’ and  ‘skinny minny’ to name a few. I always laughed when they called me them and in all honesty, it wasn’t the nicknames or the comments that affected me as a child, it was the fact that I was different. Genetically, all of the females in my family are overweight. It’s something that has always been apparent to me growing up because essentially, I was the only one who wasn’t, I was the polar opposite. I always wondered why I wasn’t like my Mum, my Grandma, my Auntie, my Cousins. I didn’t understand why I was so ‘skinny’ compared to them and it bothered me. I felt sometimes that I wasn’t a part of the family because I looked different physically (facially – I’m the double of my Mum and Grandma so we’re not talking about me thinking I was adopted here haha!) and yes, it was hard to grasp sometimes. I did ask on a few occasions why I was so slim and it is because of my genes. On my Dad’s side. Ah, I thought, so I’m not the odd one out, I just picked up more from the other side. And that was it really as a child – growing up. My family knew I could eat like a horse and not really gain weight and I can understand why some would see this as a good thing. But, it wasn’t until my late teens that the thin shaming really came into play. When I moved out, people didn’t know my eating habits, and I did lose the ‘puppy’ fat I gained throughout puberty. That’s when it started, and it is still happening. Let me just tell you some of the many things that have been said to me regarding my weight.
‘Oh my god, are you even eating?’
‘Melissa, be honest, are you anorexic?’
‘Jesus, where the hell have your boobs gone?’
‘You don’t look healthy, you’ve definitely lost weight’
‘You get skinnier everytime I see you’
‘Oh my god, why/how are you so skinny?’


Note – some. These are only SOME of the things that have been said to me about my weight. Now, to really help anyone understand how thin shaming is on the same spectrum as fat shaming, lets rephrase.
‘Oh my god, what are you even eating?’
‘Melissa, be honest, are you binging?’
‘Jesus, is that why your boobs are so big?’
‘You don’t look healthy, you’ve definitely gained weight’
‘You get fatter everytime I see you’
‘Oh my god, why/how are you so fat?’


This is me trying to get society to see how thin shaming is real, it hurts and it really isn’t different to fat shaming. First off, when people started commenting on how slim I am, I laughed it off. ‘Don’t be daft’ I’d say and just move on. But they became more frequent as I entered my early twenties and that’s when it really started to have an effect on my self confidence and contributed to the way I see myself now.
I’m 5’10, around 9.5 stone and my BMI is perfectly healthy and yet, these comments that I’ve been subjected to have made me question my health. And the worst thing about it, they’re all said by family and friends and I’ve been told I’m too skinny by customers at my old job. All because my genetics mean that I am slim. That’s not my fault. It’s not my fault that I have this body and it’s definitely not my fault that some people feel the need to make comments. I’ve been told that I should take it as a compliment. Why? Take it as a compliment that people think I’m too skinny and I don’t conform to the social norm that you can’t be slim without having some underlying health reason.  Don’t get me wrong, having anxiety and being under huge amounts of stress has affected me physically, and I am well aware of that. I also know that I continue to eat like a horse and completely unable to gain weight. But, then again, why do I feel like I should have to explain myself every time someone comments on my weight?
Because of the comments, I’ve stood in front of the mirror countless times and really thought about my body image. Am I too skinny? Is there something wrong with me? I’ve asked Burnie whether he thinks I’m too thin, I’ve asked my best friend. I’ve questioned the way my body is. A body that I was born in, that I grew up in, that I live with. Slowly, but surely, I started to hate the way I look.
‘Thing privilege’ is where people believe that thin shaming isn’t as damaging because thin people fit into what society deems as an acceptable weight. How ridiculous does that sound? ‘Oh because you fit into the average weight of a person, these comments cannot hurt you lol’… I cannot tell you the amount of times I’ve felt envy towards those who have fuller breasts, hourglass figures and bigger bums. Something I know that bigger women will have felt too. So, tell me the difference?
At the end of the day, we were all born to be different shapes, sizes, weights. Inside is where it matters and its sad that it still has to be said. No matter how you look on the outside, the people we are on the inside is the thing that shines through. Sometimes, we cannot help the way we look, it’s something that you learn to live with and slowly, learn to love. How are we supposed to do that when we’re under constant scrutiny to look a certain way. The sooner people realise that commenting on the way that someone looks – whether it’s criticism or meant as a compliment – can have more of an effect on them than you can ever realise.
It’s not ok to call a person fat, it’s not ok to call a person skinny. It is not ok to comment on how anyone looks - you don't know what they're battling with on the inside.

Until next week, M x

Relationships // The Third Wheel(?)

Having suffered with Anxiety for as long as I can remember, I think it would be fair to say that it has affected every single relationship I've ever had. It’s affected them in good ways – I've formed stronger bond with people through it – and unfortunately, more often than I like to admit, it’s affected my relationships in a negative way. One way or another, my anxiety has been a dull cloud over every aspect of my life.

Knowing me can be, in one word, really frustrating. Don’t get me wrong, I know I will always strive to be the best friend, partner, daughter, sister, auntie that I can be. I will always go out of my way to make sure those I love are cared for and appreciated. But, sometimes, I suck at it. Whilst living at home with my parents, my anxiety caused me to be really isolated. I didn't want to sit with my parents every day and socialise, I didn't want to have to come home everyday and explain what I’d been doing. I was constantly tired, irritable and tense whenever my anxiety was flaring up. This, in a way, made me a nightmare to live with, and it’s still something that happens now. Every time I felt anxious, I’d lock myself up in my room and not want to talk to anyone. My parents had no clue about my anxiety, I kept it very well hidden for a long time and sometimes I think that if they knew, they would've understood my feelings rather than assuming that I was just a ‘moody adolescent’. Now, they know about it. They've seen me having a panic attack a handful of times and they know when to prepare. I know now that I can tell them that I feel a little anxious and that's all I have to do. Let's be honest, your parents can read you better than most.

In terms of friendships, I am really bloody lucky. I have only a handful of friends who have stuck by throughout this whole process and it’s something I will cherish for my whole life. They know about my disorder, they understand and they don’t judge me for it. I feel like I can be completely open and honest with them when it’s bad. Before my anxiety became apparent to anyone, including me, I would cancel plans and make excuses to rearrange. I didn’t want anyone knowing that the reason I couldn't come out was because my anxiety wouldn't let me. I didn’t want to take the risk of my friends knowing because I feared so much that they would judge me, something I've experienced in the past. I thank my lucky starts that I have a small – but very significant – number of true friends who understand me, who get what it feels like for me and don’t hold it against me when I cancel plans because my anxiety is bad. They don't hold it against me when I rant for hours on end about how bloody shit it can get. They push me to better myself, they give me so many words of encouragement and remind me daily that I'm a strong woman. Although, this hasn't always been the case. 

Unfortunately, my anxiety has lost me friendships on many occasions. Most of the time I was ok with it, I saw it that they were doing me a favour – that I didn’t need their toxicity in my life. But, one day, my supposed ‘closest and oldest’ friend decided that my anxiety was a good enough reason to cut all ties. Looking back, it was the best thing she ever did for me. Our friendship had always been extremely up and down but she was one of those where you just got used to the fact that they would always be in your life. But in the moment, it broke my heart. It broke my heart because she used my anxiety as a REASON to not be friends with me anymore and it cut me in two. Not because I was losing her friendship, that was sad yeah, but because I thought my anxiety caused her to walk away. You get moments like  that, where you think it's because of your illness that people walk away, but believe me, it says way more about them than it does about you.


Now I know that being open with my anxiety around those I love is so important. The ones who walk away aren't – and never were – worth your time. At the end of the day, my anxiety is a part of me, whether it’s active or not, and those who cannot accept you for who you are and love you in spite of that, are of no use to you. I'm incredibly lucky now to be surrounded by so many lovely friends who support me, love me and most important of all, accept me the way I am. Whereas, it's a bit more tricky when the relationship you have with your significant other is the one that has been affected the most by your anxiety, something I'm sure those of you in relationships will understand. Let's talk about my relationship with Burnie. My better half. 

Me and B have been together for just over 2 years and have been living together since February this year. Even before we joined forces as a pair, he was made aware of my disorder. B has known me since I was 15 and we became really good friends when I was around 19. My anxiety at the time we were just friends had become to unravel and it was a time in my life where hiding it wasn't as easy as it used to be. I remember the first time I had a panic attack in front of him. We'd been having a few drinks that night with my cousin and I walked into the kitchen, pacing, hyperventilating. I tried my damned hardest to keep it hidden. He and so many others knew me as the fun, bubbly, carefree student and I didn't want anyone see me have an attack. But he was there, straight away, calming me down, telling me to breathe and eventually, I came round. I ended up going home and received a message from him, one that I still remember now, 3 years on. A message of surprise that I suffered with it but more importantly, a message of complete support. And he hasn't stopped supporting me since. 

When we became an item, panic attacks were just a 'thing' that we got used to, something we both endured when it happened and moved on. We never really spoke about it, it did sort of become a taboo subject with us and it was something we could deal with and forget about until the next one. Neither of us really followed any techniques to calm me down because to be honest, they weren't at their worst then. It was a sort of 'let's just ride it out' situation. All we really focused on was getting me through it at moving on. My anxiety and where it stemmed from was never a conversation we had - which came to be a mistake we both made in the first year of our relationship. It wasn't until February this year that my anxiety became the 3rd person in our relationship and the effect really took hold. I didn't want it to be a part of my life, never mind a part of my relationship. But we had to start talking about it, working through it because at this point, I was having a panic attack every day. It started to affect thoughts towards B and what his intentions were. My anxiety was questioning everything.. including my relationship with him. 

If you're not careful, having anxiety can destroy your relationship. Even now, I still think it can but that's just it - that's my anxiety telling me that my anxiety can ruin my relationship. Bit messed up right? I've thought that B was cheating on me, that he didn't really love me, that he was just with me for the sake of it, out of pity. I've thought that B couldn't cope with my anxiety, that he was tired of having to put up with it, that he wanted to escape it as much as I did. I've screamed at him until I had no voice left. He's screamed back in frustration. We've spent hours in silence, we've spent hours talking everything through. All of these reasons - and so many more - could have easily destroyed us if we let it. But we didn't let it because we did what we knew was the best thing for us. It's something that has saved ALL of my relationships with everyone in my life. Something I advise you all to do if your anxiety is having a detrimental effect on your relationships. We communicated. 

I opened up about everything. I laid my soul bare to him, and spoke about things I never wanted anyone to know and he listened - my God did he listen. It felt like therapy in a way. I told him ways to help me during a panic attack, what to do and what not to do. I apologised for all the times I've lashed out at him whilst in the middle of one, I explained to him every single thing that made me feel anxious. I've told him everything about me. Past me. Present me. He's seen me at my happiest, and he's seen me at my absolute lowest. He's picked me up when I was rock bottom, he's reassured me when my anxiety was completely destroying me, he's made me see the world in a completely different way. Then, on the flip side, I've seen the way that this disorder has affected him. I've seen him sob his heart out when my mind tells me I need to go and I try to run away. I've seen the panic in his eyes and know that he really doesn't know what to do. I know that he worries about me all the time and that breaks my heart. I've seen his frustration that I have this disorder, I've seen him get angry that he can't do anything to get rid of it. Only since February have we accepted that my anxiety is a real thing, and it's a part of our lives, just as much as anything else. Even acknowledging that helped up build a plan - a method - to help us battle through it. 

Another factor was of course, his children. It was my biggest fear that they would find out about my anxiety. We have grown over the past two years and become our own dysfunctional family and I have grown to love them as if they're my own, hence why it was so daunting thinking that they would ever find out. Myself and B did our best to keep it from them, to protect them from what I was - what we were - experiencing. I would disappear for an hour when they were around to make sure they wouldn't see me having an attack. I didn't want them to see me that way, to them I was the fun, bubbly and carefree woman who loved their Dad. But, inevitably, it happened. Almost two years into our relationship, I was sat in the tent on our Summer family holiday in Whitby, having a panic attack. Obviously sharing a tent with the kids meant that there was a huge risk that they would realise that I was missing and something wasn't right. I was terrified that they would find out, which just added to the anxiety I was already experiencing. Mid panic attack, I heard Evie crying, B's eldest daughter. That on its own brought me straight out of it. Shit, I don't want this to upset the kids. I brought the eldest three into our side of the tent and explained the best I could to them about my anxiety with a racing heart and shortness of breath. All I can say is how much of a relief it was to finally be honest with them. They understood and proved to me why they're the most caring bunch of kids I've ever met. They all hugged me and reassured me that it was OK. They're kids for god sake and they understood more than some grown adults do. Then, we went outside and watched the stars, like nothing happened. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. To this day and until the day I die, it will always be one of the best nights of my life. 

We've been through so much as a couple in 2 short years. Things that would've broken many, but not us. I don't know why or how I got so lucky to find him, it's something I still can't get me head around. I don't know why he sticks around, why he puts up with it because I'm the first person to admit that I can be a nightmare. But he does and I will always be thankful to have him because really, he's saved my life. 

The most important part of keeping relationships healthy and a place for love and laughter is communication. I can't stress it enough. Through communication, I've kept and somehow managed to evolve my relationships. Through communication, I've bonded and made friends with people I never thought would be in my life. I've learnt to not let my anxiety overflow into my personal relationships. Through the communication, came the understanding. Through understanding, I have found friends for life. Through understanding, I know my family will always support me any way they can. Through understanding, I've found the love of my life who I know will love me for who I am, flaws and all. 

At the end of the day, we all encounter friendships and relationships that just aren't healthy for us and it's usually when they leave your life that you're made aware of it. If there's one tip I could give you all, it's to communicate. Open yourself up to those you think you can trust and if they walk away and decide they can't - more fool them. Honestly, it's their loss, and it's a real shame that some people, even now, can't see past the end of their nose to really love and care for the person and not their mental illness. If they stick around, help you, support you and love you then please hold onto them. They're the people you need to cherish and be there for. One day, they could be your lifeline, they could be the ones who bring you back. Without the love and support of my loved ones, I know for sure I would be a complete shadow of the person I am now. I can't finish this post without crediting Burnie one last time. B, you brought me back to life and I will never forget just how much you do for me. I appreciate you every single day and everyone would do well to have a man like you in their life. You're one of a kind, a rare diamond. I love you more than I could every explain. 

I hope you all enjoyed this post, and if you ever need someone to communicate with, you know where I am!

Until next week, M x

Changes // One Week

A lot can happen in one week. I know that now more than ever. In last weeks post, I wrote about how I still didn't make it into work and I was still waiting to hear from anyone about receiving any sort of help. I know things now that I didn't know last week and I'm more aware of who is there for support and who is there just to bring me down. A lot can happen in one week. 

After publishing my most recent post, I had just come back from the doctors and received another sick note for two weeks which included a 'phased return'. This basically meant that my Dr knew I wasn't still 100% but I did want to make that move to start getting back, so she suggested starting on less hours and building my way up. As well as this, she re-referred me to the mental health services because she wasn't happy with the fact that I had just been abandoned essentially. We'd still not heard anything from anyone for nearly 4 weeks. After the appointment, I felt drained almost(?) I expected to feel optimistic about returning to work and being brought to the attention of the mental health team again, and yet, I felt drained, empty. Looking back, I still don't know why the idea didn't fill me with hope. In all honesty, I was just having one of those days, and that's OK. 

The day after, I was woken up by a phone call. An unknown number. I was told by my Dr to keep an eye out for these as it indicates that it's the NHS. Tired, dazed and rough as hell, I answered the phone to hear a woman tell me she was from the IAPT service for mental health and she had a free space for therapy. Would I be free to start on Monday? I sat bolt upright in my bed and went silent. I had no idea what to say, do or think, I was just so shocked. After saying my name a few times, I came to and was eventually able to tell her that I would take any appointment at any time. We arranged for Monday 9th October. Today. After the phone call, I sat in my bed for about 10 minutes just staring into space, trying to process what just happened. I finally got the phone call I've been waiting months, years, for. My therapy was to start on Monday. After bringing myself round from the shock of how quickly my re-referral went through, I started telling every single loved one in my life. I immediately messaged my boyfriend, Burnie, then my Mum, my Dad, my friends. Everyone was so so happy for me and that made me come back down to earth - or in a way, let the fairies take me - and realise that yeah, this is amazing news. This was the start of my journey back to the person I've always wanted to be. To say I was on cloud nine is the understatement of the year. I felt so optimistic and positive and I was so bloody grateful to be surrounded by so much love and support. But, then again, life always kicks you in the face and that very same day, I went to the lowest I'd felt about my capabilities in a long time. 

In life, there's always curve balls. They can form themselves as lifestyle changes which are completely unpredictable and spontaneous but unfortunately, they can form themselves into people. Don't get me wrong, I'm the first to understand that there is a lot of naivety that surrounds mental health, I was naive about it myself when I first realised that something wasn't quite right. But unfortunately, it can be used against you, used as a reason to point out your flaws and how you're incapable of being the best you can for those you love. It wasn't first time that a lack of understanding of who I am and what my illness is has bitten me in the arse. I had it been used as ammunition against me - an unarmed target - and I'm pretty damn sure it won't be the last. But, it still hurts, and it always will. The whole point of this 'section', is to make it known that no matter how high you are up on that cloud, there is always the potential for something/someone to burst your bubble and send you plummeting right back down. But, believe me, you cannot let it win. I'll make damn sure that whatever curveballs come my way, I'll have a pretty good swing to knock them out again, with a huge support system cheering me on along the way. When your own mental illness is used against you, it makes you question everything you do. You question how you act, how you care and how you love. You've gotta look past that, you have to, because if you don't, them negative thoughts will consume you and bring you right back to square one. Despite the huge potential knock back, I've come through again with the love by my side and the reassurance that I am really trying.

It's Monday the 9th of October. This morning, I completed my second shift back at work and attended my very first counselling session this afternoon. Last Monday, I was sat at home in a bubble of complete despair and wondering if things were ever going to go back to 'normal', whatever that is. Work have welcomed me back with open arms and a great deal of understanding. My therapist seems like a really lovely woman and even though I felt exhausted after, I felt it work in some way. I'll be the first to say that I've still got a HELL of a long way to go, but it's something isn't it? I'm slowly getting back into being full-time at work and my weekly appointments with my therapist is a great thing to look forward to every week, something to pull me through my hard times because my help isn't months away, it's only next week.. 

Progress is everything. Progress is something that takes time and effort and a true knowledge that not everything we get in life is going to come easy. But everything in life will come to you if you're willing to work hard enough to bat away those curve balls and work towards your future, your life. Understanding is everything. Understanding how your own mind works, how others will never see things the way you do and how sometimes, you will find someone who knows how your mind works better than you do. Those are the people you need in your life. 

I just want to say a huge, HUGE thank you to everyone who has shown an interest in my blog. I've been doing this for 3 weeks now and I've received over 1,000 views and countless messages of support and love from friends, strangers, and people who I'd never would've expected to reach out to. This blog is helping me more than anyone will ever know and to know that it's helping some of you means even more than that. So, thank you so much. 

Who knows what post will be coming your way next Monday, but I would love to hear from you if there's anything you want to see. Your input is just as important, you're the ones reading after all! 

Until then, M x


Time // 1 Step Forward, 5 Steps Back

At 9:00 this morning, my sick note ran out. I have spent the past few days gearing myself up to get back into work. Get back into the swing of things, get back to some form of normality... In total, I have had 4 weeks of work so far. 4 weeks of trying to get my act together and really push myself to go back. I had told myself time and time again over the past week that I was ready. I was ready, capable and completely sure of my capabilities. It turns out, I was lying to myself. It's 13:22 on Monday, I'm sat in my living room with a coffee and meaningless daytime TV on in the background and I have never felt more like a failure in my whole life. The one main thing I wanted to achieve, I haven't. I didn't go back to work today. 

As stated in my previous post, I've had a pretty rough few weeks which has resulted in me taking time off work. It's not something I've ever had to do and it didn't sit right with me that I wasn't working. I've been in work ever since I was 15 years old. Don't get me wrong, you're pretty damn lucky these days to be in a job you love, but having a job in the first place is a pretty big deal. Unemployment is something that I'm sure every single person will experience in their lifetime, I for one can vouch for that. So, when I was advised to have this time off, I decided to see it as a period of time where I can rest, get myself back on track and essentially, get my shit together. My work has been nothing but supportive towards me since my time off and they've shown a great deal of understanding that I have never experienced in a work place before. Granted, I've only been at this job for 6 months now, but they've made me feel welcome and understood. But now, I'm scared that my anxiety is going to make me lose something else. My employment status. 

Last night, I had another episode. I've named these moments because it's my way of detaching myself to the events that happen. When I have one of these 'episodes', I can be an absolute nightmare. All that goes through my head is 'everyone is better off without you in their life, so you need to leave'. I get myself into such a state that I become completely hysterical and have an overwhelming feeling that I just need to run. Run away from everything because that's the best way to deal with things, right? Well, no it's not. But like I say, I'm not myself when they happen. I've recently started to become aggressive too which actually terrifies me. I've broken doors, punched walls and completely screamed the place down. The one thing that scares me more than anything is that my anxiety has the capability to do this to me, it can take complete control to the point where anything that anyone is saying to me is complete white noise. It started at 19:34 with a horrible feeling that I was only hindering the lives of those I love and ended at 1:24 this morning when I finally settled into bed and went to sleep. Without Burnie and my cousin, I have no clue how last night would've ended and I would just like to reiterate just how bloody lucky I am to have such a strong support system in my partner, family and friends. 

I woke up this morning at 7:04 with a complete sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. I messaged my manager and explained to her that I couldn't. I can't. Again, she was completely understanding and we've arranged for her to come over and see me. But let me tell you, I have never felt so disappointed in myself. I was so close to going back, to getting back another piece of normality to aid me on my road to recovery. And I failed. Now, I don't want anyone's pity, I know that the only person in control of my destiny is myself and because of that, the only person I have to blame is myself. Yeah, some might think I'm being way too crtitical and yeah, maybe you're right. But this was my main goal for today. Get up, shower, make breakfast, get ready, go to work, come home, cook tea, watch TV, go to bed and repeat. It was my personal goal and I couldn't do it. 

I don't know when I will go to work. I don't know if my job is safe. I don't know how I'm going to get to the point where I can get back to being myself again. I don't know what the future holds for me. I don't know if I'm ever going to get to a point in my life where my anxiety doesn't take complete control over my actions. That and all of the above, terrifies me. I want to beat this, I want my future to be happy, carefree and be in control of my mindset. I want to be able to work. I want to be able to go one single fucking day without my anxiety crippling me. I want to be able to take that one step forward without taking five steps back. I know one day it will come, I know that. When, I don't know, but despite everything, I can't lose hope. That will never be an option for me.

It's 14:04 and I haven't gone to work today. 

M x

Mental Health // Do They Really Care?

I’ve always been an avid writer. Whenever I’m going through a hard time or struggling to voice thoughts in my head, I turn to writing. It just works better than having the thoughts bubbling away and culminating into something that I can avoid. Recently, I’ve been struggling to even put pen to paper and use writing as an escape. I’ve argued with myself about this many times, whether writing a blog post about it was the best idea. I’ve even listed the pro’s and con’s, thought about what I really wanted to get out of this and it all boiled down to one thing. Awareness. That’s all I want, so that’s why I’ve decided to bite the bullet and tell you all about my experience in the hope that it raises awareness, clears my mind and maybe even help some of you. It's not something I've really told to anyone and the only person who knows the full story is the poor sod who has to live with me. My partner, Burnie. 

 If you’ve followed my blog in the past, it has been well documented that I have Generalised Anxiety Disorder. Now, this isn’t a post where I’m going to explain every little detail about it. I only want to talk about my experience over the past 6 months, focusing mainly on the past few weeks. At the end of the day, I can’t sit back and let this slide because in all honesty, I’m infuriated at the treatment – or lack of – that I have received. So, I’m going to start from the very beginning, something Julie Andrews claims is a very good place to start ... and we would all do well to follow that advice.

Around 6 months ago, something happened in my life that has brought back so many demons from my past. Things that I had done very well to sweep under the carpet and claimed that I had ‘dealt’ with it. It's not something I want to disclose over the Internet, not just because it's a very private thing for me, but also because I don't even feel ready to talk about it myself. I've suffered from anxiety as long as I can remember and I always seemed to have a pretty good grasp on it. Don't get me wrong, I've had my bad patches, but I always managed to make it through the other side. Because of the said event that happened, my mental health plummeted and I eventually, hit rock bottom. 

It was a Monday. I woke up and knew straight away that I couldn't go to work and I needed to go. Go where? I had no idea at the time, I just knew I needed to get out. Everything became way too much inside my head and I needed to run. That used to be the best coping mechanism for me but it slowly became the worst thing to do. I got out of bed, got dressed and sat with a cup of coffee and attempted to plan where to go. Burnie text me as he always does every morning, and I told him I didn't make it to work and I had to go. The rest of the day, even now, is a blur. I remember snippets of what happened, I remember Burnie constantly texting and ringing me, I remember getting lost in some woods and then I found myself stood by a bridge. Isolated. I'm not going to go into detail, but I'm sure most of you can assume what was going through my mind. I spent the whole day convincing myself that I was never going to get better, my past would always haunt my future and everyone would be better off if I wasn't around. I had endless panic attacks that eventually sent me over the edge. Because of what I was saying to Burnie and how I was acting, he managed to persuade me to go back to my GP for an emergency appointment. At that point, I'd already given up hope of getting any sort of help. I'd been on a waiting list for months, I'd been to a stress control course, I was passed from counsellor to counsellor as a child. Nothing worked and nothing will. This is where I want you all to really pay attention.

When I went to the emergency appointment, I really didn't want to talk, my mind was still in that 'bad place'. Because of this, again, I can't recall everything that got said although I do remember the GP being very matter of fact and stern with me, so I did admittedly became really wound up by it. He had conversating with Burnie and sgain, he pushed medication on me, something that infuriates me beyond belief, but we'll get to that. The result of the appointment was The Crisis Team being contacted and being told to take time off work. My GP told me that he wasn't comfortable leaving it there and organised for someone to contact me that evening. I didn't even know what The Crisis Team was for and to be honest it was the first time I'd ever heard of them. Now I know that it's a group of people who are called out in a mental health emergency to give you immediate 'help and support' and put you on the right track. I wasn't putting my eggs into one basket, and I'm glad I didn't but I co-operated just because. What else did I have to lose? 

That evening, I got a phone call from a member of the Crisis Team. The first thing they suggested was medication. Again, infuriating. I know deep down that medication will never do me any favours. I know, in myself, that my issues cannot be masked or eased by a pill I take everyday. It's all psychological and it's something that I have been so stubborn about my whole life - I have always refused medication, and I always will. It baffles my mind that even now, in the 21st century, medication is seen as something that solves issues mentally. Don't get me wrong, it's a lifesaver for some people, but you know your mind and body better than anyone right? And over the past 10 years or so, I have become sick and tired of professionals trying to feed me medication and move me along instead of getting me the correct help I need. But anyway, where was I? 

The woman arranged a home visit the next day to which a lady came round in the morning. She asked me about my mood, asked me how I was feeling, asking what I wanted to get out this. Basically, she was building up a 'case'. We spoke about things and it was concluded that 4 things would happen. She would send me for a medical assessment at the hospital to see what medication would benefit me (GRRR!), she would send out leaflets and self help information through the post, she would arrange a psychiatric assessment and finally, come out and see me later on in the week. I haven't seen or heard from this woman since. 

Fast forward to the Thursday, and I was sat in a small room in the hospital speaking to a Psychiatric Specialist. It took 10 minutes of me explaining my situation for him to conclude that I didn't need medication ... HALLE-FUCKING-LUJAH! Finally, I had found a Dr who really understood and heard where I came from. He told me that I needed Psychotherapy and I was to ring IAPT to transfer to my local waiting list. Being told that I didn't need medication because all of my issues could be solved with therapy and he didn't feel comfortable giving me any because of my age ... It was a huge weight lifted. But, the only weight lifted, because this is where it really goes downhill. 

I came home and for the first time in months, I felt slightly optimistic. I felt like maybe things were starting to come together. I rang IAPT to transfer over and join their waiting list for Psychotherapy and let me just say, the woman I spoke to was bloody useless. She had no idea that I was already on the system, that I had been referred and basically shushed me off the phone. I then, feeling super confused, decided to ring the Crisis Team again to get an insight on what was going on, how far they'd got with my treatment, whether they'd organised the psychiatric appointment. I rang on the Saturday and was told that there was nothing on my case record to suggest I had even attended the hospital appointment. There was nothing to suggest that I had been referred to IAPT. The woman I spoke to also wasquite baffled at the fact that I hadn't heard of or seen anyone from their side. I then had to wait until Monday to try and find out what the bloody hell had gone wrong. 

Monday came around, I went back to my doctors (a different one now, as I'd changed location) and asked what was going on. It'd been a week since my 'mental breakdown', if you will and nothing. She was just as oblivious as me. Nothing had come through and there was nothing on my record suggest anything that had happened in the last week. No note to say I was suicidal, not note to say I'd been referred to the Crisis Team, no note to prove my attendance to the mental health department at the hospital, no note to show that I didn't need medication. NOTHING. She instructed me to go home and wait for the phone call from the Crisis Team. I got home, I got the phone call. They discharged me from their service. It was a 56 second conversation which I can still remember now. Baring in mind this is a group of people who are supposed to HELP in a mental health emergency. 
"Hi Melissa, I've looked at your file and your case worker Sue feels it's OK to discharge you from our service. We are aware that you need Psychotherapy and you don't need medication however she feels the Psychiatric assessment isn't necessary as it's only short term and you need long term. We also spoke with the doctor you saw at the hospital and he was unaware that he had to pass the information back onto us. Is this OK?"
IS THIS OK??? Is it OK that I was promised the psychiatric appointment and now it's not happening? It is OK that I've been discharged without being checked upon? Is it OK that literally NOTHING has been done to help me? That no-one knows what the bloody hell they're doing with me? I could have been lower than ever before and they would have been none the wiser. And the saddest part about all of this, is that my first reaction wasn't anger, like it is now. It was more like 'Right OK, well that's that then'.It didn't shock me because I knew. In the meantime, a member of the IAPT team contacted me and left a voice mail. That was 2 weeks ago. I have rung back and left numerous messages. I haven't heard anything, despite the last phone call I had resulted in them telling me someone will be in touch that day. That was a week ago now. 

That Monday was the worst day of my whole life. It's now 4 weeks later and I'm still off work. 4 weeks later and the only thing that has come out of this is that I'm on a waiting list that is 4 months long. Something that was already the case before all of this. I have heard from no-one. I haven't heard from IAPT, the Crisis Team, anybody. And I hate to say it, but I could be dead in a ditch right now and they wouldn't know. These past 4 weeks have been the hardest of my life. I've struggled every single day with my disorder and the complete lack of self esteem that I'm dealing with. I've run away, I've had suicidal thoughts, I've isolated myself and pushed away those I loved. I've been a pretty horrible person to live with (Sorry, B!) and acted in ways that really isn't me. And it isn't. This isn't me, I know I'm still there, but it feels like this illness is really doing it's damned hardest to take over. But I won't let it. I can't let it. 

The whole point of this post is that at the end of the day, I feel abandoned by the NHS. I feel forgotten about. I feel like that I will never get the help I need. My God, there is nowhere NEAR enough funding for Mental Health by the Government and there isn't enough training there either. The lack of communication between ALL of the services I've encountered has been nothing short of clumsy laziness. Here's a fun fact; Burnie found out that to every 100,000 people living in Yorkshire, there is only 5 Psychiatrists. FIVE. How is that OK? It isn't. I cannot tell you how disheartening it is to know that those who are paid to help, aren't. because there isn't enough. Something has to change. 

Thank you so much if you've read all this, I know it's super lengthy. I just want awareness of how we are being constantly failed by the system. Mental Health is way more important than physical health and the sooner the Government and NHS realise that, the better. It's time to speak out about it. Not just about Mental Health, but how - excuse my French - fucking shit the system has become for those who suffer with it. And hell, if I need to be a spokesperson for it, bring it.

I want to say a huge HUGE thank you to all of my friends who have stuck by me and most importantly, my lovely boyfriend Burnie. Without you, I wouldn't be here - still fighting, still going. You have been such an unwavering support and I could never put into words just how much I appreciate and love you.

Right, now I've got that off my chest, hello! I'm back. I've finally decided to give this blogging thing another go and really try to stick to it. Until next time, follow my other social media's and stay tuned. 

All my love, M x