Happiness

Yesterday, I was in the car with my mum, dad and sister. We were discussing all sorts of things and my sister brought up a lot of questions to my Mum and Dad about the who was the best behaved child and other random memories. We were discussing something that I can’t even remember, a memory that we were trying to place in the history of our lives. I threw out an age, “Was I about 14?”, and her response was profound and honest – “No, it was when you were happy.”

It got my mind back onto something I’ve been thinking about for a long time – the idea that I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I can’t recall so many days where I wake up feeling okay and when I don’t, it doesn’t knock me back for weeks. I don’t recall so genuinely content with my life and having legitimate aspirations I can try to achieve. My life isn’t completely ruled by my anxiety but I also know my limits , I know when to push that anxiety and when to leave it. Sitting here writing this I just feel happy. I’ve got the highest grade ever achieved on my college work, I’ve got a job – a fulfilling job that makes me excited to leave the house, and I’ve looked around a University and cannot wait to think about my future there.

I’m genuinely so content that happiness is a realistic possibility everyday. I actually want to leave the house and find myself going crazy if I haven’t left the house before work at 3 o’clock. Now I’ve finished college for the year, I’ve started teaching myself further science because my love of learning is back. I’m comfortable with who I am and I don’t want to hide it, whether that’s emotionally, physically or autistically.

And being so happy just reminds me how grateful I am. Grateful to my family, grateful to my friends, grateful to the medication I take. Grateful that I can live life again when making informed decisions based off my neurotype and my mental health. It’s weird to think that I was so gradually unhappy, but I only noticed it when I experienced the biggest amount of happiness. And that’s why I’m grateful. You can never put things into perspective until you experience something else, and I’m just so glad I can experience this happiness because it means that I will never go back to where it was. It’s too much to lose.

 

A Somewhat Incoherent Ramble About Struggling

We all struggle sometimes – and that’s completely okay. To admit it, is in fact, even better. But that doesn’t make it easy to do so.

Things have been rough. My physical health is not great and, as always, it’s taken a toll on my mental health. Being hypersensitive to pain doesn’t help, either. It’s weird because this time of year is usually when my mental health gets better, but it’s got worse. I know it’s just stress. I’ve got a lot of assignments to do and everything’s become a bit too much. I walked out of college the other week as a way to try and cope, I’ve been getting home from college and laying in a dark room for a while, crying and melting down more often and I’ve ordered a weighted blanket to help me sleep better, if that’s any indication of how things have been going.

My biggest struggle at the moment is feeling that I’ll burnout again. It’s maybe my biggest fear. I can’t go back to feeling scared to leave the house and leaving my bed a couple of times a week. I’m not there. And I won’t let myself be there again. But it doesn’t change the fact I’m scared.

I think there’s something scary about admitting to struggling when you’re autistic. We’re often told that our lives are struggles and protesting against this becomes normal. It’s ridiculous but I fear that people will change their ideas about me if I say I’m struggling. Something about protesting that I don’t need curing and that I’m never going to be ‘normal’ makes me feel like I shouldn’t say that I’m struggling.

And that’s exactly why I should.

Being honest about this is important for me, but not just internally. Admitting to myself that I’m not doing well is difficult, but telling anyone else is harder and I wish it wasn’t. The stigma around mental health and autism is huge, and helps no one, and combining them together feels hard and scary to break. It’s not though. That’s why this post is shorter and less coherent than usual, but hopefully, I’ll be back on it soon.

I’m not completely okay, and that is completely okay.

The Best Advice I’ve Ever Recieved

Social anxiety has been a part of my life for a really long time. Those constant flashbacks to times I said stupid things that make me want to hide forever. The way I’ve sounded like Siri going wrong when I haven’t known what to say. And that the perpetual fear of social situations, that grew to meaning I didn’t want to go anywhere with people. Those were just facts of life.
These days, I take an antidepressant that helps me feel incredibly neutral. From there, I can have emotions that seem more relative to the individual situation. I don’t lie awake at night thinking about the stupid things I said that day, although that’s probably helped by the sleeping medication. I don’t fear people in general because I know that they will talk at some point in our interaction. Overall, being on that medication has changed my life.
Something else, however, has also made a massive difference to my life. Interestingly enough, it wasn’t therapy or a meeting with a psychiatrist. It was one of the many conversations I had with my former school support worker.
She, in all honesty, it’s probably the reason I’m here today as the person that I am. She listened to everything I had to say and took it on board, finding solutions to every problem I had and helping me at the lowest point in my life. She did so much for me that I still think of the way she did things, the way she help me and the things that she said that have made such a difference to my life.
In one of the long conversations that we had discussing everything about my life, diagnosis and problems I encountered she said something that seems to have changed my life. I was telling her how I found people so confusing and how my social anxiety just made me feel so awkward to the point where I hated every word that came out with mouth. Despite the negativity, I believe I mentioned something about my mind racing and forgetting everything I planned to say, every time I tried to talk. Her response changed everything.
She said “It doesn’t matter if you take a moment to breathe and think about what you’re going to say. No one’s going to make fun of you, in fact you’re just proving that you’re thinking through what you’re saying in an intelligent way. It’s a positive thing.”
I’m not exaggerating when I say that this changed everything. The first day of college I was trying to make friends and I was scared about what to say – everything in my mind went blank, so I paused. After a breath, a whole possibility of things to say swirled around in my mind. I chose one and the conversation moved on. In my job interview I was asked a question that made my mind go completely blank, so I paused. The words came back to me and I took a breath. I found something to say that didn’t make me feel like I was being ridiculous, it made me feel confident in the words that I would say. I could probably even go as far as saying that it helped me get the job.
I will never diminish the impact that the medication I take has had on the way I can communicate with the world around me without feeling like I hate myself. But I know it’s not just the medication. Sometimes, words of simple reassurance and basic advice can change the way someone thinks, and in turn, their life.

The Stigma of Medication

Anxiety, with my name in the same sentence, has been a word I’ve heard for a few years now. However, last year, autistic burnout pushed my anxiety to the limit. I became increasingly socially anxious and hit the point where I was scared to leave the house, let alone attend school. I’d tried therapy in the form of CBT and it just made things worse for me. I was eventually referred to a psychiatrist because I was only sleeping a few hours a night. The appointment rolled around and I was given a prescription for melatonin, the natural sleep hormone, to regulate my sleeping habits. At the end of the appointment, something unexpected happened – I was given some information about an antidepressant drug to help my anxiety and, the knock-on impact of it, low mood. I was told to seriously consider it as an option that could improve my life.

I remember walking outside of the appointment, feeling angry. I didn’t need medication to mess with my brain. I didn’t need sorting out. I was fine. My mum and I argued a little. I wasn’t expecting it at all – I went for sleeping medication, nothing to do with my mood.

I was on a beta blocker, at the time, for physical anxiety symptoms, but my psychiatrist told me that they don’t normally prescribe them as they don’t do much in the long run. I was so annoyed that someone could say it wouldn’t do much, when it had already helped me so far. The idea of physically calming me was so far from the idea of something changing my brain.

The drug selected for me was sertraline. It’s an SSRI – a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor. Serotonin is often known as the ‘happy hormone’, thought to be responsible for good moods and positive emotions. An SSRI stops the nerves reabsorbing it, to allow more of it to reach more cells without being absorbed. At the time, I didn’t really understand this and just thought the medication would mess with my brain, not necessarily in a good way.

Time helped me come around to the idea, along with the thought of a school trip weeks away. The school trip would mean I’d be away for 5 days, in another country, taking vast amounts of beta blockers to remain vaguely calm. It was at that point I realised something needed to change. I couldn’t be taking medication that would only calm my heart rate for the rest of my life when the issue – that caused all these physical symptoms – was anxiety. I knew those would be days I couldn’t hide away – something that I thought was fine. I hadn’t realised that I only took one beta blocker a day because I was only going out for a few hours. Sometimes, when you’re at rock bottom, you need a change of perspective to realise how unhealthy things are.  Thus, within a few days, I was taking sertraline.

Around a week later, I woke with uncontrollable shakes in my hands, I couldn’t stop them. I realised not long after that it would have been a side effect. At that point, the medication didn’t have an effect so it seemed so pointless, but as time wore on, I slowly improved. I went on the school trip and was okay. It was such a gradual change but slowly I was noticing I was okay. Every single thing I did wasn’t questioned by the anxiety telling me I couldn’t do it because it would go wrong. I could talk to people again, with some nervousness, but I wasn’t avoiding it completely. I began laugh again, something I hadn’t even noticed was missing. I’d get out of bed. I’d leave the house. I’d be part of my family again, not just someone who stayed in their room all day because that’s what felt safest.

There were times when I wasn’t doing so well again, though. Times where I began to slip into my old habits. This time, however, I had a solution, and my dosage was upped. I’ve been on sertraline over a year now and on the same dosage for quite a while. I’ve got my life back, really.

It took me a while, but I realised something not too long after starting to take medication – it doesn’t matter! I need medication to increase my serotonin levels in the exact same way I take iron tablets to increase my iron levels. It’s simple a measure to allow me to function in a way that other people can do without medication. Mental health care, and it’s the same with physical health, is not a one-solution-for-all.  Everyone is different so their bodies are different and will respond to different measures differently.

And then I realised loads of people take similar medication. So many people of all ages take SSRIs and other similar medications to help their mental health. For some reason, caring for yourself by taking painkillers when you’ve falling over is seen as good while when you metaphorically fall down, and your mental health isn’t great, similar self care is seen bad.

Medication for mental health issues is so stigmatised. In most of the media, therapy is the answer. Within a few sessions, everything is sorted and there’s no looking back. It made me feel almost alien – I needed medication and other people didn’t. Therapy worked for others and it didn’t for me. Antidepressants are always made out to be a big deal. You never see anything casual about it. There’s not a TV show where a character suddenly goes “Oops, I forgot to take my medication, I’ll take it now”. It’s always an issue and not normalised in the slightest. Where are the people saying “I need medication to help me, so what?!”

Sometimes we’re given an alternative and it’s someone saying “I don’t need medication, I’m better than that”, which is really harmful. It brings a level of elitism to mental health discussions, the idea that if you don’t need medication, you’re better than others. Again, different things work for different people and you’re not better than someone for finding something that works for you.

My point here is that despite the stigma and the initial feelings I had (probably caused by said stigma) I take medication for mental health issues and that’s fine. In fact, it’s brilliant, because it allows me to live again, something that seemed impossible.