Mental Health & the Police

There is one thing that is very rarely talked about, and this is mental health and the police. I've never wanted to talk about it, because I felt ashamed that I'd even been involved with the police, because I always assumed that people would treat me differently, or even like a criminal. A lot of mentally unwell individuals end up being involved with the police. Before I started to become unwell, which started at around January 2015, I'd never been involved with the police before. I always thought that I'd never have to see them because of my mental health, but I couldn't have been more wrong!

 

The police can be called for a variety of reasons to do with your mental health. A few are:
running away; you may be a danger to yourself if you've run away and have mental health problems. the police will try and find you with the cars, but after a while, if you aren't found, they will get a helicopter and a police dog out.
crises; if you're having a serious mental health crisis, whether you're in the house or outside, the police may be called to try and calm you down. after that, they may contact the street triage team, take you to A&E, or section you.
if you refuse to go to A&E (& you need to); if for some reason an ambulance has been called, this may be due to self harm, an overdose or a suicide attempt, and you refuse to go, the police can be called. if you still refuse when the police arrive, they can forcefully take you to A&E.
if someone is really concerned about you; if a friend, family member or a member of the public is concerned for your welfare, they may ring the police to come and speak to you.

If you're in a public place and the police are concerned about you, they can detain you under section 136 of the Mental Health Act. This means they can take you to a place of safety; hospital, a 136 suite, or a police cell. You can be held for up to 72 hours, and you will be assessed by an AMPH (approved mental health professional) and two doctors. The AMPH will decide whether you need to be admitted to hospital or sent home. In some cases, the police can detain you under section 135 of the Mental Health Act, which is where you can be taken to a place of safety from a private property.

Unfortunately, not all police officers understand about mental health. I've gathered together two different people's experiences with the police, and also mine, which are shown below:

"The way people deal with you in a mental health crisis makes all the difference. Whether it's nurses, mental health professionals, or even the police. Well, mainly the police. I've had countless experiences with the police when in a crisis, normally when feeling suicidal. I've been dragged out my own home, dragged off sea walls, pinned down in hospital beds and so on. A lot of the time police are calm and understanding. They ask what's wrong and ask a couple of questions. Normally I'm then 136'd or if I've taken an overdose they take me to A&E. That's all good and well, when they deal with you like that. They are kind and considerate and do actually care. But sometimes you get the ones who really don't have a clue and push and shove and drag you about. I've been sworn at, shouted at, arrested for assault and wasting police time. When in actual fact when they looked into them both, I wasn't doing that at all. Some police need to learn how to handle mentally ill people in a crisis better, they need more training and guiding with what to do. Personally I'm always scared of the police as they have so much power over you, but honestly when you actually speak to them they are really kind people, they sometimes look beyond the role of being the police. You need kind and caring people to deal with you in a crisis."

"Suffice to say, police have saved my life on countless occasions. I do not think I would be alive today if the police had not got involved with me in times of mental health crises. Policing and mental illness has always been controversial. Not everyone thinks it helps. I can see when it doesn't, when there's an officer that doesn't understand, they think you're being attention seeking, or use excessive force to get you to do something. That can do more bad than good. I have friends who have been traumatised by their encounters with police whilst being ill. But I can think of more times, personally, when the police have been amazing with me. They have sat up all night in A&E with me whilst I've been sick, comforting me and keeping me safe from my own actions. Finding me lost and alone in the middle of a field and convincing me to reach out for help. Just coming round for a chat when someone's called them up, concerned for my welfare. I have been seconds from death and they have saved me so many times. I'll always be grateful for that. I do think police are needed at the moment for mental health patients. There isn't any other alternative out there at the moment."

"During my involvement with the police, I've met some lovely officers. Some have given me good advice, and I've even had 2 police officers visit me every week for a few weeks, just to see how I was. When I've been missing, officers have kept on texting me to try and calm me down, and convince me to reach out for help. Officers like this can be really helpful when you're in a mental health crisis - they make you feel as though someone actually cares. On the other hand, I've also met some police that aren't very nice, don't even try to understand, and make you feel as though you are wasting their time. The nicer police usually take their time to talk to you, to try and understand how you're feeling and what's happened to make you feel that way. I've been detained on a section 136 of the Mental Health Act twice. Both times, the officers I had with me were brilliant. I was told the second time that if I didn't walk in calmly, I'd be handcuffed, dragged in and put in a police cell until I was taken to the 136 suite. I liked how I was given the option, and it gave me time to think. However, some officers don't do this. There have been times where I've been told I'm an attention seeker and there are real emergencies out there. There have been times when I've been sworn at, restrained, thrown into police cars and arrested for wasting police time. Some police use excessive force, which can leave someone feeling traumatised. Police officers need more training in what to do if they are called out to an individual with mental health issues, as kindness can actually save someone's life. There have been times when police have saved my life, by coming out to find me when I've run off and attempted to take my own life. I will always be thankful to the police for helping me, however I'll never be able to forget my bad experiences with them."

The top 2 paragraphs were written by two 18 year old females, who both suffer from mental health problems and have been/currently are in mental health services, and the bottom one was written by me, As you can see, we've all had both good and bad experiences, which are different. I know there's a lot of bad stuff said about the police when they deal with mentally unwell people, and unfortunately it's true. Some officers just don't have the patience, and this can result in using excessive force, and generally making a person feel worse about themselves. However, the police aren't all bad, and there have been times when they've probably saved all 3 of our lives. I speak on behalf of the two other girls included in this post when I say we're all grateful for the nice police officers we've met. However, I think the bad experiences will always be embedded in our minds. Just a reminder of how the police aren't always nice and supportive when it comes to mental health.

So often we become so focused on the finish line that we fail to enjoy the journey. 

Self Harm

Self harm always has been and probably always will be, one of those taboo subjects that everyone hates to talk about. It's always brushed off as nothing, until it escalates to the point where you're ending up in A&E. This is exactly what happened to me, when I first started doing it, everyone put it down as "typical teenage antics", and that it would go away soon. So I started believing it, I started to believe that it was nothing, and it was just a phase I was going through. But it wasn't a phase, self harm is never just a phase. If help isn't sought soon, it can escalate quickly.

This is the last time.
Everytime I would self harm, I'd tell myself this. But I knew I was lying, to myself and everyone around me. Excuses were becoming harder to come up with when people were asking how the cuts had happened. In the end, I just gave up. Self harm is extremely addictive, however some narrow minded people claim that it's done for attention. Not one bit. Most people that self harm try their best to hide it, and unless you're going around showing everyone, then it isn't done for attention. People use self harm for various reasons, but for me, the reasons are listed below:
A release; I needed to do something to cope with the emotional pain inside my head, because it was becoming extremely painful. Self harm became my coping mechanism, something I turned to when my head became too overwhelming.
I deserved it; I felt as though I deserved the pain because I was a bad person. I also felt like everything I came into contact with fell apart, so I felt as though I deserved to punish myself.
I needed to feel something; Sometimes I felt so numb and empty that I didn't feel anything, and it scared me. Self harming meant that I was feeling something, normally to remind me that I'm still alive.

I hate self harm with a burning passion, and I hate that I've let it get this far. If I could go back in time and stop my 13 year old self from doing it, then I really really would. But unfortunately, that's impossible. Every time I do it, I hate it so much. And I tell myself that next time, I'll try harder to fight the urge. It's true, I do try harder. Yet I still end up doing it, and it's now gotten to the point where I've been to A&E that many times to get my arms steri-stripped and bandaged that the psychiatric liaison team know who I am. My arms and legs went from having white scars, only a few of which were visible, to being covered in lumpy and pink scars. Yes, I know they'll fade, but they're always going to be visible. They're now constant reminders of how much I hated myself. Even in the future when I'm better, they're still going to be reminders of my past, and that's something I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for.

My battle with self harm has been long and hard. Sometimes I don't even try to fight the urge, because I don't feel strong enough. But other times, I physically sit on my hands until the urge subsides so I can't do anything. It's a daily struggle. If I go into a shop and buy a pencil sharpener, or razors, the first thing I think of is self harm. Whenever I see someone that has a scar or cut on their arm that's not from self harm, I automatically panic and think that they've self harmed. I can't go to certain places around my area without being reminded of the time I went there and self harmed. Everyday consists of triggers and urges, and I have to fight with myself day in, day out.

If I could give one piece of advice to anyone who self  harms, or who's  thinking about it, it would be this; get help as soon as possible.
Go to your GP, speak to your parents, speak to a teacher, speak to your school counsellor. If I had sought help earlier, then maybe it wouldn't have escalated to the point I'm at now. But the sooner you get help, the more likely you are to recover.

Self harm ruins so many lives, don't let it ruin yours.



I will win. Not immediately, but definitely.

Self soothing & distractions!

When I was in a psychiatric hospital a few months ago, the staff would constantly say to me, "use your distractions!", "try some self soothing", or "make sure to take care of yourself". Every time a staff member told me this, I wanted to scream at them, because I really thought they didn't work. When I'm not feeling very well, I hate self soothing and looking after myself, because I feel like I don't deserve it. As well as this, I also thought distractions were pointless; they don't exactly make things better, or make things go away, do they? It's only when I was discharged from hospital that I started to realise the importance of self soothing and distractions. They don't make mental illnesses go away, but they can help, even if they only make a tiny difference.

So why IS self soothing and distracting yourself important? 
How do they help someone with mental illness?

These are questions that I used to ask myself, and only now that I'm out of hospital have I come to find the answers. They're important life skills, and can help to aid recovery from mental illness. These techniques can be used whenever, whether you're feeling down/struggling, going through a crisis, or even if you're having a good day. In no way whatsoever do they make anything go away, however they can prevent a bad situation from getting even worse.

What are the benefits of self soothing and distractions?

1. You're doing something nice for yourself. So often when we're struggling or not feeling well, we feel like we don't deserve to do something nice for ourselves, or we forget to. Sometimes doing something nice for ourselves can help to lift our mood, even if it's only a tiny biit.

2. You're taking your mind off your current situation. Whether you're in a crisis or just struggling, using self soothing and distraction techniques can help you to forget about the situation you're in for a while. Even though it doesn't make the situation go away, taking your mind off it can sometimes help you to think of better ways to cope with it.

3. You're taking care of yourself. Mental illness can make us feel so low and tired at times, that we completely neglect our personal hygiene. With certain self soothing techniques, such as taking a bath, means you're taking care of yourself. Not only this, but it can help you to relax.

4. You're concentrating on the here and now. Sometimes we can be so caught up in worrying about things that have either happened in the past, or are happening in the future, whether it be a few days, weeks or months, that we forget to concentrate on the current moment. Carrying out self soothing or distraction techniques can help bring us back to the present moment. 

My self soothing & distraction box

For my 18th birthday, a close friend bought me a self soothe/distraction box, which she filled with different things that I can use. Over the days and weeks, I've been adding to it, and it's the first thing I go to when I know I need to look after myself, or use my distractions. It's good to have them all in one place, as it means I can just open the box and choose something, instead of having to look around and find something.

My box looks quite empty at the moment, as there's things I need to add into it, but here's a list of what I usually have in there:

Books; they help me concentrate on something other than my thoughts, and I can lose myself in a book and create a whole new world

Colouring books & pens; they can help distract me from my thoughts and bring me back into the present moment

Bath bombs, Lush bath stuff & Radox bath soak; I use these to self soothe and to make me feel nicer 

Coloured threads; when I'm feeling anxious and irritable, I use these to create bracelets, as it keeps my hands busy and serves as a distraction

Headphones; when the voices get too loud, I grab my headphones, plug them into my iPod, and put my music on as loud as I can stand it

Diary; when things become too much, I turn to my diary - writing has always been one of my main distractions!

Sketchbook, watercolour pads & paints; sketching and painting helps to distract myself from how I'm feeling, and you can never go wrong with art

Tangle toy; when I'm really anxious, having something to keep my hands busy really helps

Soft toy; when I need to feel something that's nice, I have a soft and cuddly toy owl that I hold in my hands or rub up and down my arms

Positive notebook; the day I was discharged from inpatient, some of the patients and staff wrote a positive message in a notebook I'd bought; when I feel down, I go and read through it and it can make me remember why I'm trying my hardest to fight mental illness 

Life is like a book. Some chapters are sad, some happy and some exciting, but if you never turn the next page you will never know what the next chapter holds.

The darkest nights produce the brightest stars

At the start of February 2016, I was admitted to an adolescent psychiatric hospital.

Megan, we are formally detaining you under section 136 of the Mental Health Act.

I just remember the police officer telling me this, and I felt like my whole world had fallen apart. I was taken to a 136 suite in Alnmouth, Morpeth at 10pm. I felt and looked absolutely dreadful, and I was frightened. 1:30am came around, and the two psychiatrists and a AMHP arrived to assess me. One was an adult psychiatrist, and one was a CAMHS psychiatrist. They spoke to me, and after a while they all just looked at each other and nodded in mutual agreement.
Can you let us arrange an ambulance to take you to hospital?
I didn't really have a choice. Because of what had happened over the past week, I knew that if I didn't go as an informal patient, I'd most likely be sectioned. I had to give my all into recovery. I was taken to an adolescent psychiatric hospital in Middlesbrough, called the Newberry Centre at West Lane Hospital. I was transported by a transport ambulance, and I arrived at 3:45am. I'd heard so many horrible things about inpatient units, so I was terrified.

Arriving at the unit

When I arrived at the unit, we rang the doorbell and had to wait for the nurse in charge (NIC) to open it. Because I'd arrived quite late, it was quiet and the patients who weren't on leave were in bed. Me, the AMHP who came with me, and the ambulance driver got taken into one of the family rooms. It was a medium sized room, with comfy chairs. The AMHP explained why I was being admitted, and the NIC asked me a few questions, too. I met the two HCA's that were on nightshift, and one of them showed me around, before the NIC took me to my room. I got a few hours sleep before the on-call doctor came to properly admit me, to ask me some questions and to check my physical obs.

What to take

As my admission wasn't planned, I wasn't able to pack my own things. However, if you're admission is planned, then here's a list of things that you might want to take with you:

Clothes:

underwear

socks

t-shirts (short & long sleeved); we had to have our arms covered if we self harmed

hoodies/jumpers; some units don't allow hoodies so ask beforehand!

jeans/leggings/jogger bottoms

pyjamas

dressing gown

shoes

slippers

coat

Toiletries:

shampoo & conditioner

shower gel

deodorant; my unit allowed sprays, but some units don't so it's best to ask

toothbrush & toothpaste

sanitary towels

soap

razors; in my unit we had to keep all razors in our locked cupboards 

make-up

hairbrush, hair grips & bobbles

Others:
phone, music device (e.g. iPod) & headphones; my unit allowed these however some don't

colouring book & pens 

books 

cuddly toys 

blanket 

positive quotes; to stick on the wall 

stress ball, tangle toys

school work

lined/plain paper

pencils 

diary

The following day

The following morning the staff let me sleep in until dinner time, as it was a weekend and I was the only patient on the ward. I met two of the HCA's and one of the staff nurses, and they were lovely. As the patients started arriving back on the ward, I retreated back to my room. I can honestly say I don't think I've ever been so frightened. My mam came to visit, which just made me feel even worse, because I missed her loads. That day, I met my key nurse, and she was super lovely. She went through everything with me; the routine, who my consultant was, etc. My key nurse urged me to come out of my room, but I felt scared. I wasn't familiar with the routine, I hardly knew any of the staff and I'd only met one patient. After I'd had a shower, another patient came and got me, took me out of my room and into the night lounge to meet everyone else.

Daily routine

The structure of the routine became my rock. Before I was admitted, I lacked structure which contributed a lot to my mental illnesses. At around 8am, a nurse or healthcare assistant would wake you up, telling you to get ready for the morning meeting. If you were on meds, these would also be given to you. If you were like me, you'd get out of bed, get dressed and go and get breakfast. For some other patients, it was "get out of my room!", that was a regular occurrence! Breakfast was between 8am and 8:45am, whenever you managed to get out of bed really. The morning meeting happened at 8:45am in the day lounge. The nurses and HCA's would find me and a few other patients sat, raring to go. I mean, who didn't love getting out of bed to go to a morning meeting that either rarely happened if certain HCA's weren't in, or was late? Anyway, moving on! Education was between 9am and 3pm, with breaks in between. Well, that was the case for the Priory lot. For us few that were with Middlesbrough education, it hardly happened because they didn't bother turning up! On a Monday morning, there was DBT group. DBT group was basically all patients sat in a circle for 2 hours listening to the psychologist talk. On rare occasions, one of us would speak. At noon, it was lunch, which we'd often complain about. Even the kitchen staff complained about it! 1pm it was back to education, and at 3pm when it finished, you'd usually find us in the day lounge watching 1 of 3; Dance Moms, Impractical Jokers or Jeremy Kyle. Between 3pm and 5pm was free time, unless you had appointments with the psychologist, key nurse or nurse consultant, which happened once a week. 5pm was dinner, and there was always an evening activity. Then came the weekend, which meant home leave. Yippee!

My experience

For the month I was there, I had both good and bad memories. Patients came and went, some were in and out in a week or two, some got discharged just before I did, and some I had to leave behind. I became close to a lot of the patients, sometimes they were more helpful than the staff! We all had good memories playing pool, going out on trips, tie dying t-shirts, movie nights, and the list is endless. Despite this, we all had our bad times, which for me included breaking down to the staff and wanting to go home. I have to give it to the staff though, most of them were incredible and really knew how to cheer you up. Like the time there was me and 2 other patients on the ward on a Thursday night; most of the other young people had gone on home leave. One of the nurses and HCA's decided to get the tambourines out. Music time! No, definitely not. I didn't enjoy being chased down the corridor by them with tambourines. It was especially NOT fun when they decided to go outside and bang on the window of the room we were in. Safe to say it ended in a pillow fight! The first place the staff would go to check on me was either the sensory room, or the garden room. I pretty much spent most of my time in them rooms! Especially at night; at around 8pm me and another patient would sit in the garden room chatting and watching the clock, praying that there's good night staff on! Only because we wanted hot chocolates of course.

All in all, my experience in a psychiatric hospital wasn't necessarily a bad one. I met lovely staff, I made lifelong friends, some of whom I'm still in touch with now, and I learnt new skills that I still use now

What did I get from being in a psychiatric hospital?

1. I learnt valuable skills - distractions and mindfulness. Everytime the staff mentioned the word 'distraction' or 'mindful', I wanted to kill them. Mainly because at the time I couldn't see how they would help, but now that I'm out on my own in the world, I can see how useful they've become. In fact, they've become my lifesavers.
2. I met some incredible nurses and HCA's that really made me change my way of thinking. Especially my key nurse, who told me about the 3 Cs - choices, chapters and challenges. Everytime she mentioned it we'd both just burst out laughing. But honestly, those 3 Cs have stuck by me throughout my admission, and even now that I'm discharged.
3. I met patients that made me realise I'm not alone in my struggles. Before I got admitted, I felt so alone, and at times it felt like I was the only one going through it. But now? I realise that I'm not, and the patients really helped me on my journey to recovery.
4. Most importantly, I found myself. I didn't know who I was before this admission, I felt as though I was just going through the motions of life, and not really living. Although I still struggle now, I've found myself more thanks to this admission.

Remember you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think.

Mental illness is NOT a choice

For some reason, many people think that people choose to have a mental illness. Maybe it's because they don't understand, or maybe it's because of their ignorance about mental illness. There are many reasons, some of which I've not even thought about until now. However, telling someone that the illness they have is a choice, is not okay, and I'll never understand the reasons why people think this. Yes, not everyone understands mental illness, or understands what it's like to have one. But this doesn't mean people are allowed to tell others that their illness is a choice; it's not okay.

Over the time that I've been mentally unwell, I've had so many things said to me.
Just smile! Be happy. Stop being anxious. You have no reason to be sad. Just eat. Tell the voices to go away. Just ignore the voices! Why are you so moody all the time? 
This is just a very small portion of what people have previously said to me. When I used to get told all of this, it made me so angry. Why would I choose to be this way? Why would  I choose to be mentally unwell? I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy, and if I could switch my illness off, I'd do it in a flash. So, let me give you an insight into what life is like for me. For those of you that don't know, I suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) and Social Anxiety Disorder. As well as this, I also suffer from auditory and visual hallucinations, paranoia and paranoid beliefs. For the people that don't know what BPD is, it basically causes extreme mood swings, intense emotions, unstable relationships, etc.

I wake up. Great, another day to drag myself through. I lie in bed for at least an hour, contemplating on when I'm going to get up. Just 5 more minutes! However, 5 minutes turns into 10, and then 15, and so on. I hardly have any energy to get up, and I have to drag myself out of bed. I drag myself to the bathroom and run a bath, because I've not washed myself or my hair in a while. Gross, I know, but it's reality of being mentally unwell. Once I'm in the bath I don't have the energy to get back out once I'm washed, so I end up staying in there for too long. When I've summoned the energy to get out and get dressed, I stumble back to my bedroom where I collapse on my bed out  of sheer exhaustion. For someone who is mentally well, all of this would take about 1 hour, maybe an hour and a half at max. For me, all of this takes about 2-3 hours. So I'm all washed and dressed. Now what? I could use my skills and distractions. Painting, reading, mindfulness, going for a walk, writing, and the list is endless. Yet all this just seems too much. On a good day, I'd use some of my distractions. But on a bad day, I just can't be bothered. Then comes the intense emotions of sadness, anger and emptiness. When the intense sadness comes along, I just sit and cry for hours. Intense emptiness results in me sitting somewhere, either the floor or my bed, and just rocking back and forwards. And then there's the intense anger. Oh boy, I dread this emotion. I hate knowing that when it's gone and it's over, it's going to come back, and I dread it. Because once it comes along, I'm verbally aggressive towards other people, I scream, shout, throw things and hurt myself. In the past, this intense anger has resulted in the police being called, and being threatened with an arrest. Once I've calmed down from my intense emotions, I feel guilt and shame. What have I done? How could I hurt other people? And then I feel like I need to hurt myself. I feel so empty that I need to hurt myself to feel something. To feel alive. 9 times out of 10 I end up in A&E or the urgent care centre to get my arms cleaned, steri-stripped and bandaged. Then the questions of "Why did you do it?" come along. I don't know. Maybe it's because I feel numb and empty constantly. Maybe it's because I hate myself. Or maybe it's because it's the only thing that keeps me sane.
Back home I go, without any support. If I'm in A&E, I'm seen by the psych team and sent home, because there isn't anything they can do for me. And that's the worst part, because I feel like I'm screaming out for help, yet no-one will help me. At times, I feel really, really desperate. Once I'm back home I usually feel calmer. I can use some of my distractions and skills, until it gets to night time. The sadness comes again, and it's worse than ever. The voices have been at me all day, and I'm fed up. Why me? Why can't they just leave me alone? Next thing I know, I'm using different methods of self harm, including smacking my head repeatedly off a wall, just to get them to shut up. But it's not just the auditory hallucinations, it's the visual too. And oh Lord are they scary! Imagine hearing and seeing the devil, everywhere you go. If you can't hear him, you can see him, and vice versa. He's constantly laughing and saying things to me, and he even speaks to me in Russian (not that I can understand him). Not only this, but imagine getting into bed at night and just lying there. You can hear a few people pacing up and down your room, mumbling things, talking to each other. These people are known as shadow people; they are literal shadows. They're talking about how they're going to hurt you. As well as pacing up and down your room, you can feel them pulling at your hair, scratching at your skin. It's utterly terrifying, and I've had a lot of people, including professionals, say to me:

Just ignore them.

If I could, I really would. When I'm in bed at night, I pray that the voices, or the shadow people, or the devil, will just kill me there and then. Because that's how terrifying it is. I pray that I don't wake up in the morning, that something happens in the night so I die. Mental illness has made me so desperate that I pray to God to kill me already, to save me from this living hell. It's made me so desperate that I've lost count of how many times the police have had to come to my house, or come out looking for me, to save me. If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't be alive right now.

It's like your drowning, but you can see everyone else around you breathing. 

My struggle with mental illness

When I was younger, I never thought about the concept of having a mental illness. I remember when I was first starting to experience depression, before I was referred to CAMHS (child and adolescent mental health service), and a few of my friends were suggesting the idea of me suffering from depression. I just laughed at them. Me? Have depression? I honestly didn't think I had it, everything that I was doing at that point was completely normal for me. Suicidal ideation and self-harm was my idea of normal. It wasn't until I'd had my first appointment at CAMHS, and I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, that I realised things weren't normal. But how can I have depression? It's just something that people like me don't get diagnosed with. I denied having it, it just couldn't be true.
But it was.
When I was 13/14, I really thought I was at my lowest and things could never get any worse. Oh how wrong I was! But I suppose when you're at that age, you really think things can't get any worse. The bullying and torment that I'd suffered from fellow pupils since primary school had subsided, but that didn't stop the constant thoughts and feelings. It felt like there was a dark cloud hanging over me all the time, I just wasn't happy. Of course around friends and family I'd put on my 'mask'; I'd smile and pretend everything was okay. However, it was far from it. I never realised how detrimental putting on this mask would be, or else I probably wouldn't have done it. Even though I've never really been a big talker, I never spoke about how I was feeling. It got to the point where I was just lying my way through my CAMHS appointments. They started me on fluoxetine, yet after a few months I just stopped taking it. My counsellor didn't know this, I'd been telling her that it had been helping, when it wasn't. I didn't see the point in taking something that wasn't helping, so I stopped. I can't remember if this was before or after I was started on medication, but I remember my first overdose so clearly.
My parents had gone out for the day, and my sister wasn't in the house either. I already hated being in the house alone, but the suicidal thoughts made it so much harder. I didn't tell my mam and dad this though, I didn't want to spoil their day it. It seemed as though I ruined everything. I wasn't going to let that happen this time. Not long after they'd gone out, I searched through the medicine cabinet for any tablets I could find. I took a handful of paracetamol, and then panic set in.
How could I have done this?
I rang an ambulance, and a police officer and an ambulance crew arrived shortly after. My parents arrived soon after they got to the house, too. I was taken to the Royal Victoria Infirmary in Newcastle, where I had a cannula put in and I was kept in the children's ward overnight for observation. In the morning, I was assessed by the mental health team, and discharged with a follow up from CAMHS. I'd scared myself so much by doing it, that I never wanted to do it again; I never wanted to hurt my family like that. I just wish I could have stuck by that.
I hate the fact that I've been in and out of CAMHS since I was 13, and I'm now very close to being 18. I've grown up around mental illness, and sometimes it feels like it's the only thing I've known. As normal as people may think I am, I've not been able to live a happy, normal life. Yes, there have been times when I've felt okay. But these periods of happiness and positivity have never lasted long, and in the end I've always crashed harder than the last time. At the start of 2015, I started to run away from sixth form quite a lot. This was around the time that I'd had an emergency referral back to CAMHS by my GP not long after being discharged. I just couldn't see the point in living anymore. On a lot of occasions when I would leave the school, I'd end up overdosing. I always refused to go to hospital, because I felt like I deserved the hurt and pain I was inflicting upon myself. Everyone was so angry and annoyed with me, but I couldn't control my actions. One time when I was taken back to sixth form, a police officer came to speak to me. He told me that I was hurting everyone around me, and that I was stopping the police from attending real emergencies. That was the word that got to me the most - real. It felt as though my problems were being undermined, and that no-one really cared.

After a while, things slowly got better, and my appointments with my CAMHS psychologist were reduced. In the summer of 2015, my parents split up. This was a huge shock for me, as I thought my family was the type where my parents would be together forever. Clearly this wasn't the case, and it just goes to show how unpredictable life is. Although I put on a brave face and tried to cope with my parents' separation, it felt as though my whole world was falling apart. I had to be the brave one, because everyone else was struggling to come to terms with it. Not only was I having to hide my feelings about the separation, I started to become unwell again. I blamed myself for the separation, I thought if I'd been a better daughter, then none of this would have happened. As a result of this, I started inflicting more pain upon myself, in the form of self harm. I'd been doing this on and off since the age of 13, but now I was starting to carry it out in different forms.
Cutting, burning, pulling my hair out, restricting my food intake, punching myself, banging my head off walls, scratching myself.
I hated myself, I couldn't stand looking at myself in the mirror. Everything seemed to be going downhill again, and even though my appointments with my CAMHS psychologist had been increased again, nothing seemed to be helping. I felt hopeless, and I didn't know what to do anymore. This was when I took my second paracetamol overdose. I hadn't necessarily done it to end my life, it was just one of my impulsive actions. After I'd done it, I rang an ambulance because I realised what I had done. How could I have been so stupid? I was taken to the Royal Victoria Infirmary in Newcastle, where I was made to drink activated charcoal, to try and reverse the damage the paracetamol may have caused. I was seen by the doctor and I was kept in overnight for observation, and discharged the next day.
Nothing seemed to be improving, in fact my mental health was deteriorating. So my psychologist decided to refer me to a more intensive team; ICTS (intensive community treatment service). I was also referred to start Dialectical Behavioural Therapy (DBT), which would consist of 1:1 therapy and group therapy each week. I had my first appointment with two mental health nurses from ICTS, and they seemed really nice. From then on, I had appointments a few times a week with them; sometimes it helped, sometimes it didn't. My mood was all over the place, and from October-November things were really up and down. Most of the time I felt like I was on an emotional rollercoaster. Around the end of November I stopped going to sixth form, and this was when my mental health started to slowly go downhill. Christmas came around, and it was a really hard time. I felt as though I was a burden on my family, and I didn't deserve anything I'd received. I had to put on a brave face and pretend everything was okay, when inside I felt broken. I struggled to eat, and I struggled even more to be happy.

2016. The year everything went wrong. By January, I hadn't been to sixth form in around 2 months. I was hardly eating, I wasn't sleeping properly, I was self harming pretty much every day, I was actively suicidal and I was always hallucinating. Towards the end of January, I decided enough was enough. I couldn't live like this anymore; I couldn't live inside my own mind. I felt as though I was being tortured by my head and the voices, and I just couldn't cope. It was the first time I'd ran away from home, and the euphoria I felt when I got out of the house was insane. I'd planned it out well, and it had worked. Previously to running away I'd taken a staggered paracetamol overdose. I felt on top of the world, everything was going to plan. I honestly didn't think anyone had noticed I'd run away, until the police found me. I was taken back home where I was taken to the Northumbria Specialist Emergency Care Hospital in Cramlington. I had my bloods taken, but despite what the results were, I was started on parvolex, because I'd taken my biggest overdose yet. I felt dreadful, and the drip made me feel so sick. I was kept in overnight and discharged the following day by the mental health team, with plans that I'd be seen by ICTS. However, a few days later I was discharged by ICTS. 

I started constantly running away from home, and I was always involved with the police. I often spoke to ChildLine, who would ring the police because they were concerned about me. The following week after my overdose I ran away and went missing for 11 hours. Running away was one of my biggest impulsions; I felt out of control. But I just couldn't stop myself. My hallucinations were becoming pretty bad, and I ended up running away because of them. Everyone started to become really concerned, because I started to put myself in dangerous situations. At the start of February, I ran away twice within 48 hours and made two serious suicide attempts. Both attempts resulted in a lot of police looking for me, police dogs and police helicopters. After the second attempt, I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital in Middlesbrough, where I stayed for 4 weeks and 3 days. During my stay here, I was diagnosed with emerging Borderline Personality Disorder.

Even though I'm not completely recovered, I'm at a much better place than what I was when I got admitted to hospital. I still have my bad days, however I'm starting to have more positive days. I still have trips to A&E when I'm unwell, but I have loads more skills to use when I'm in crisis. I've found ways of communicating with people to let them know I'm unwell, which can be really useful so I don't go into a crisis. I still have a long way to go, but that's all part of my journey.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.