A week goes incredibly fast when you're busy. It has been 7 days since I moved from the comfort of my own room, in a small place, with one other person and a tortoise for company to a shared room, in a 4 storey house, with 10 other people. I predicted this would be horribly overwhelming and I wouldn't be able to cope and I'd have a meltdown and be desperate to leave and go back to my own safe space. Apparently it's been quite different.
We started with a church event; God's Empowering Presence Day. It was long, and intense. There was lots of worship and seeking the Lord and some of it felt so irrelevant to me. However I started to realise (though it took me a few more days to articulate) that the world was starting to become brighter. The colours more intense. The people less intimidating. Now, don't get me wrong, I still find crowds and unknown people and being out alone at night particularly anxiety provoking, but things seem a bit more real. I've been floating through the world for so long and finally I'm beginning to find my place.
The earlier part of this week was spent meeting people. So many people. I'm so thankful that I know them all because if I had to learn names and offices and job roles and remember what they do for interns then my brain would have exploded. Alongside that, our pastor didn't give us a timetable until late on Monday afternoon. For a girl who likes routine and knowing what is happening, this was incredibly unsettling. But I coped, so much better than I could have expected, because everyone was in the same situation.
Wednesday afternoon was the thing I had been so desperately waiting for. Department time! The wonderful children's pastor took us out for coffee, outlined our job descriptions and talked a little bit more about our responsibilities. I'm going to be leading the weekday 0-5s group. Terrifying but exciting!
And then came our time off. So glorious. I saw 4 of the Oxford colleges with some of the girls, had coffee and cake with friends, cooked for everyone, and went to a house warming party. And it was all so wonderful. So many people commenting just how happy I seem at the moment. There's stuff going on under the surface; today I had a bit of an anxiety meltdown. But it's still so wonderful. And then my best friend today said how happy I looked in my photo and that it's so rare that my genuine smile is captured.
I'm so thankful. Things feel so right, even when it seems difficult. I have to appreciate every good day, because I can never guarantee the next.
This year won't be easy, but it will be worth it. I'm so excited to see how things change!
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight"
-Proverbs 3:5-6
Sunday 20 September 2015
Thursday 10 September 2015
Suicide
Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. I felt like I should blog to mark the occasion, because suicide affects everyone, even if you don't know it yet. It may be you, the person reading this. Please know that there's more to life than whatever you're going through now. It may be someone in your family, a close friend, someone you mentor. They've told you and now you're supporting them. Love them, let them know you're there but please don't sacrifice your own mental health for the sake of another. They want you to be ok too. Finally there's those who don't say a word, who day to day function, you'd never guess. It might be a close friend, a colleague, someone who pretends it is all ok. Give them somewhere safe to talk. I speak from experience when I say it is one of the most terrifying things to tell someone your innermost thoughts.
2 years ago, I posted on Facebook about World Suicide Prevention Day and how anyone could be struggling but we just don't know. I'd taken my first serious overdose as an adult 2 months prior. A lot of people reading that status had no idea just how much I was trying to prevent someone else being in the same position I had been.
I decided I wanted to see what had changed so scrolled through my blog from last year. Honestly, I don't have a clue who the shell of a person was writing those things. I can't put myself in her shoes. I can't even work out what she was going through. How did I get so poorly and slip so easily under the radar? I was destroying myself a bit more every day. No, at that time I wasn't overdosing but I have no idea how I was even getting dressed, going in to work, convincing my manager that it was a blip; telling the CMHT desperately that I didn't want to live any more. I was chronically suicidal and yet, because my mood wasn't declining (how could it?!) they did nothing.
One year later, several referrals to the CMHT, a re-referral to ED services, another round of failed therapy, more medications, an unsupportive job and eventually 8 months of unemployment; I am sat here. In one piece. About to start my latest adventure.
I was empty, there was nothing left of Becca. And yet, I still had friends who loved me; people who spent endless hours telling me it would be ok, that I was beautiful, that I was loved, that God loved me (even when I was a total mess!). They came over to cook for me when I couldn't face cooking, they gave me a safe place to stay for a night when I couldn't trust myself, they turned up on my doorstep when I tried to push them away, they text me just to remind me they were there. I couldn't have done it without them all, nor without God providing for me when I thought I had lost everything. I needed stability in a whirlwind of chaos.
This time last year, I never imagined I would be sat here now. I couldn't see the next hour, let alone the next year. But here I am. I came out the other side. I'm not going to sit here and say everything is ok now. It isn't. I know I still need my medication every single day; no matter what that little voice says. I know that change still sends me spiralling to an extent. I know I'll probably need to end up back in therapy at some point. I know that the little voice gets louder when I'm tired, and when I'm hormonal. But I know there is so much more than taking those pills I crave. So much more than trying to starve myself until I don't exist. Sometimes we need darkness to appreciate the light. Sometimes we have to have moments to remind us how far we've come. I'm dealing with new things. Things I hadn't ever mentioned before. But it's because I'm stronger now. I can cope (just about). It isn't easy but I know it's going to be worth it. God broke me down and rebuilt me once before, He can do it again. I know He will. And this time I need to trust Him, because it will be worth it. Life is so much more worth it than sitting every day hoping this will be my last, hoping that people forget about me, praying that I don't wake up the next day. That's not even existing. Life is for living. Please, if you're hurting, know how loved you are, how valuable your life is, know someone is waiting for you to talk. It's terrifying, but it's worth it. Please. Speak out. No life is ever worth destroying. Hold on. Reach out. I love you.
Finally, I just discovered this blog post. It's haunting. It's beautiful. It has better words than I ever could write. Please read it. Don't be afraid.
2 years ago, I posted on Facebook about World Suicide Prevention Day and how anyone could be struggling but we just don't know. I'd taken my first serious overdose as an adult 2 months prior. A lot of people reading that status had no idea just how much I was trying to prevent someone else being in the same position I had been.
I decided I wanted to see what had changed so scrolled through my blog from last year. Honestly, I don't have a clue who the shell of a person was writing those things. I can't put myself in her shoes. I can't even work out what she was going through. How did I get so poorly and slip so easily under the radar? I was destroying myself a bit more every day. No, at that time I wasn't overdosing but I have no idea how I was even getting dressed, going in to work, convincing my manager that it was a blip; telling the CMHT desperately that I didn't want to live any more. I was chronically suicidal and yet, because my mood wasn't declining (how could it?!) they did nothing.
One year later, several referrals to the CMHT, a re-referral to ED services, another round of failed therapy, more medications, an unsupportive job and eventually 8 months of unemployment; I am sat here. In one piece. About to start my latest adventure.
I was empty, there was nothing left of Becca. And yet, I still had friends who loved me; people who spent endless hours telling me it would be ok, that I was beautiful, that I was loved, that God loved me (even when I was a total mess!). They came over to cook for me when I couldn't face cooking, they gave me a safe place to stay for a night when I couldn't trust myself, they turned up on my doorstep when I tried to push them away, they text me just to remind me they were there. I couldn't have done it without them all, nor without God providing for me when I thought I had lost everything. I needed stability in a whirlwind of chaos.
This time last year, I never imagined I would be sat here now. I couldn't see the next hour, let alone the next year. But here I am. I came out the other side. I'm not going to sit here and say everything is ok now. It isn't. I know I still need my medication every single day; no matter what that little voice says. I know that change still sends me spiralling to an extent. I know I'll probably need to end up back in therapy at some point. I know that the little voice gets louder when I'm tired, and when I'm hormonal. But I know there is so much more than taking those pills I crave. So much more than trying to starve myself until I don't exist. Sometimes we need darkness to appreciate the light. Sometimes we have to have moments to remind us how far we've come. I'm dealing with new things. Things I hadn't ever mentioned before. But it's because I'm stronger now. I can cope (just about). It isn't easy but I know it's going to be worth it. God broke me down and rebuilt me once before, He can do it again. I know He will. And this time I need to trust Him, because it will be worth it. Life is so much more worth it than sitting every day hoping this will be my last, hoping that people forget about me, praying that I don't wake up the next day. That's not even existing. Life is for living. Please, if you're hurting, know how loved you are, how valuable your life is, know someone is waiting for you to talk. It's terrifying, but it's worth it. Please. Speak out. No life is ever worth destroying. Hold on. Reach out. I love you.
Finally, I just discovered this blog post. It's haunting. It's beautiful. It has better words than I ever could write. Please read it. Don't be afraid.
Saturday 5 September 2015
Saying Goodbye...
For some time now I've subconsciously known that this trip to New Jersey, that I've just returned from, would be my last. A couple of weeks prior to departure some things happened (which I am not going to divulge) and I began to admit, out loud, that really this would be my last adventure over there.
We arrived on the Friday. On the Saturday I was having to say the first round of goodbyes. Having spent ages preparing myself to say "this is going to be my last trip for a few years", I omitted that some may ask "why?". And so the first response to this was "I just feel like it's time to move on". In all honesty, that is a truly pathetic reply when saying goodbye to some dear friends who have supported you through some really tough times. Thankfully they didn't ask further questions.
As the week went on, the goodbyes got harder. I'd perfected the answer to "why?" and "I'm never coming back again" had morphed in to "I won't be back for a few years at least"; which is easier to say to people who care deeply.
And then we came to Friday- the day my travel buddy left. Now, there are things she knows about me that not even some of my friends who live round the corner know, and yet still I couldn't find the right words to use to say goodbye. I still haven't managed to give her a reason, but I know she won't ask. She knows I'll volunteer information as needed. She's been wonderful and a very dear friend. I know I'll see her again, I just don't know when.
Saturday, the day I left. The tears had to arrive properly at some point, and once they started they continued to pour down my face as I drove to the airport. The final goodbye was to a family incredibly dear to me. They've rescued me when the town I was in was evacuated because of a hurricane, they've driven me places, introduced me to a new jewellery addiction, never flinched when I've told them of my past, and always been there with an open door and a smile whenever I've been in the area. One of their daughters has Rett Syndrome (find out more here) but that's never stopped our adventures- especially when cake is involved! Over the last few months, as my interest in special needs has waned, my passion for Rett Syndrome research hasn't. If I ever get around to doing some elaborate sponsored event (namely skydiving or abseiling) it will be for NJRSA. This family mean the world to me. And as I hugged them goodbye, one last time, "goodbye" became "see you later" and I prayed that the next time I see them isn't related to illness/disaster.
It isn't often you get to say goodbye, knowing it very well could be the last time you see someone. You say "see you soon!" and then something happens and you never see them again.
I don't have many regrets in life, but one thing I do look back on with sadness is never being able to say goodbye to my uncle while he was still alive. Except it's not true. Because I did have the chance, but routine dictated; he came to say goodbye, I ran away and hid. Who, at the age of 17, changes the habit of a lifetime and suddenly decides to be kind to relatives? Who thinks, at the age of 17, that this will be the last time you see someone to close to you while they're alive? I didn't. I wish I'd cherished the time we had together.
And so, while it now seems crazy to say "goodbye" so sincerely when I'm thinking "maybe in 5 years I'll go back" or "I want them at my wedding", it's because I'm scared that I'll miss my chance to. It's a "just in case" because I love them so much. It would make it to my regret list if I didn't say goodbye when I had the chance. I know it's "see you later" but it scares me to not say "goodbye". It's a silly fear. If I cry and say "goodbye", I don't mean "goodbye" or "see you later", I mean "I love you".
We arrived on the Friday. On the Saturday I was having to say the first round of goodbyes. Having spent ages preparing myself to say "this is going to be my last trip for a few years", I omitted that some may ask "why?". And so the first response to this was "I just feel like it's time to move on". In all honesty, that is a truly pathetic reply when saying goodbye to some dear friends who have supported you through some really tough times. Thankfully they didn't ask further questions.
As the week went on, the goodbyes got harder. I'd perfected the answer to "why?" and "I'm never coming back again" had morphed in to "I won't be back for a few years at least"; which is easier to say to people who care deeply.
And then we came to Friday- the day my travel buddy left. Now, there are things she knows about me that not even some of my friends who live round the corner know, and yet still I couldn't find the right words to use to say goodbye. I still haven't managed to give her a reason, but I know she won't ask. She knows I'll volunteer information as needed. She's been wonderful and a very dear friend. I know I'll see her again, I just don't know when.
Saturday, the day I left. The tears had to arrive properly at some point, and once they started they continued to pour down my face as I drove to the airport. The final goodbye was to a family incredibly dear to me. They've rescued me when the town I was in was evacuated because of a hurricane, they've driven me places, introduced me to a new jewellery addiction, never flinched when I've told them of my past, and always been there with an open door and a smile whenever I've been in the area. One of their daughters has Rett Syndrome (find out more here) but that's never stopped our adventures- especially when cake is involved! Over the last few months, as my interest in special needs has waned, my passion for Rett Syndrome research hasn't. If I ever get around to doing some elaborate sponsored event (namely skydiving or abseiling) it will be for NJRSA. This family mean the world to me. And as I hugged them goodbye, one last time, "goodbye" became "see you later" and I prayed that the next time I see them isn't related to illness/disaster.
It isn't often you get to say goodbye, knowing it very well could be the last time you see someone. You say "see you soon!" and then something happens and you never see them again.
I don't have many regrets in life, but one thing I do look back on with sadness is never being able to say goodbye to my uncle while he was still alive. Except it's not true. Because I did have the chance, but routine dictated; he came to say goodbye, I ran away and hid. Who, at the age of 17, changes the habit of a lifetime and suddenly decides to be kind to relatives? Who thinks, at the age of 17, that this will be the last time you see someone to close to you while they're alive? I didn't. I wish I'd cherished the time we had together.
And so, while it now seems crazy to say "goodbye" so sincerely when I'm thinking "maybe in 5 years I'll go back" or "I want them at my wedding", it's because I'm scared that I'll miss my chance to. It's a "just in case" because I love them so much. It would make it to my regret list if I didn't say goodbye when I had the chance. I know it's "see you later" but it scares me to not say "goodbye". It's a silly fear. If I cry and say "goodbye", I don't mean "goodbye" or "see you later", I mean "I love you".
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