Progress

Today I went to see a new GP at a new GP surgery. He asked me questions about overdoses and self-harm and all the standard things you get asked when requesting anti-depressants from someone new. And it was seriously joyful to say I haven’t overdosed since November, haven’t had thoughts of doing so for at least 2 months and haven’t self-harmed since February.

I’ve spent a lot of time with friends recently reflecting on how far I’ve come in 18 months but actually I think it’s really been the last 4 months in which the biggest changes have occurred. I’ve been struggling to take credit for this. My friends have been crucial, the pastors at church have been vital and God has given me unreal strength to do this. But I had to take the first step.

I vowed in November that I’d never take another overdose and spent the rest of that evening and the next day crying because I was suddenly so desperate. You know the whole idea of a child so desperately wanting the thing they can’t have then having a tantrum? That was me. However at the same time, I was 24 and living alone miles away from friends; what was stopping me?  Unbelievable willpower because I’d made that vow and didn’t want to let others down.

In February, at my Complex Needs final assessment, the therapist said “in group we’ll work towards stopping you self-harming”. Self-harm was my “secret”, if there’s one thing I’ve felt ashamed about being unwell over the last 10 years, it’s the huge hold self-harm had over my life. I had no intention of ever discussing it in a group. How could I sit there and say “I deserve the pain, but I no longer know why” and “healed scars make me want new open cuts”? After that appointment, I told myself that the night before would be the last time I ever hurt myself. 121 days later and I’m still going. The urges appear once in a while, but I know I’ll never go back.

In this time, I have quit work due to bullying, gone through multiple interviews for an internship at my church and said goodbye to two good friends who are moving away. And I haven’t slipped once. My previous go-to method to cope with changes was to overdose, especially if involved saying goodbye to people. If I try to kill myself, they won’t leave, right? Last week that thought didn’t even cross my mind.

But actually what really made me consider my progress was the fact that I registered with a GP surgery and saw a doctor within 3 weeks of moving to this area. This time last year, it took over 3 months for me to even register, let alone see a GP. The fear of admitting to someone new that I was weak, vulnerable, needed medication was overwhelming. This time I knew I needed to stay stable. This time I knew medication is vital to keep me going. This time I want to keep myself well, to not slip back in to old habits, to keep fighting.

This battle hasn’t been easy in the slightest. I don’t win about 5% of the time, but 95% of the time I do. Day after day I wake up and have to choose again to fight. I have to choose to follow Jesus and not take an easier route. I have to choose life every single day. But it’s worth it: to have amazing memories; to have wonderful friends who well up when you tell them milestones; to have certainty that whatever happens God has a plan; to know that you aren’t alone in the fight; to live, because living is what we were created for.

This day I call the heavens and the earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the Lord your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. For the Lord is your life, and he will give you many years in the land he swore to give to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

Deuteronomy 30 v19-20

Home

I'm sat on my bed, snuggled in my duvet, listening to worship music, and surveying the chaos that my bedroom has become. There is stuff EVERYWHERE. You see, at the end of this week I'm moving house. However I'm not moving house in the conventional sense. I am about to become homeless.

Since leaving my job in March, I haven't been working. To begin with I simply was not well enough. I'm not convinced I'm 100% well enough to be back at work full time or in a high stress environment so have been filling my time with volunteering. Unfortunately volunteering does not bring in an income and because I left my job willingly, I have not been able to claim any benefits. In addition, I thought I'd check out if I would be entitled to housing benefit- because something is better than nothing, right? As has been the story of my life- I am entitled to the bare minimum of housing benefits. £17 a week. Joy! It's similar to the NHS trying to tell me my bursary at uni was £96 a month when my rent was £119 A WEEK.

So yes, I'm moving out of my beautiful house and on to the sofa bed of a dear friend of mine. I have been utterly blessed to have her in my life and I just cannot fathom how much more challenging this would be without her!

Anyway, I should probably get to the point of why I'm typing this. Home. What makes us call somewhere "home"? Yes, I have somewhere to live. Yes, I could live back with my parents. Would I call those places home? Probably not, other than out of habit.

There are lots of cheesy statements relating to what makes a house a home. I don't have to scroll very far down my Instagram or Pinterest feeds to find examples of these. I'm not however sure that I agree with them though. Currently my house is decorated in a very "me" way. While I cannot paint the walls, I have fairy lights hanging, pictures, cute little decorations and Bible verses everywhere. Things that people look at and think "Becca lives here". I don't think, however, that me living in this house, makes it my home. I am taking everything with me- I can put all these things around elsewhere to show people where I live, that doesn't mean I feel at home.

A friend recently went back to her home town for a family wedding. She's very against moving back there when her visa here runs out, but knows she would be able to tolerate it purely because she is surrounded by people who love her, as she is here also. I am inclined to agree. It isn't the building. It isn't the decorations. It's the people who make home feel like home. I know moving back in with my parents won't feel like home. I have 3 very wonderful friends there and I have family there but it's not the same. Here, in this county, I have a support system, I have a church family, I have the best friends and it's familiar. I've lived around here almost 5 years now. The longest I've stayed in one area by choice. I remember walking in to my church back at the end of August 2013 and feeling an overwhelming sense of belonging. No matter how I'm feeling, church is a safe place. It's familiar. It's comforting. I belong.

While I am moving house, I am certainly not leaving home. I will not be homeless, but houseless. My home surrounds me because of the love that is poured out from all the aforementioned sources. It isn't going to be easy not officially having a house, but I know wherever I go, I'll be able to find home. And for that I am thankful.