I have never been one for leaving the house- my home is my safe place. If things get too much I can curl up on the sofa, close the blinds and attempt to regulate my emotions, or, failing that, cry and wait for it to blow over. If I was outside when the panic attack/anxiety bubble strikes, I’d sweat, my whole skin would burn with itch, I’d be paranoid that people are talking about me, laughing or looking at me and then the tears would start.

Before lockdown I finally had my first few sessions of depression and anxiety workshops after self referring myself to the ‘Talking matters’ service in October 2019. People are probably wondering why I went back, seeing as my last post talks about how ridiculous I found CBT, the constant mood rating and the hilarious metaphors for every single feeling possible. Yet, I hit a whole new low and my very lovely best friend persuaded me to go and give it one more try. When they asked me, ‘What do you want to take out of these sessions?’, I almost laughed, ‘I want to stop bloody crying every time I start to feel anxious or low!!’ This has always been my biggest challenge, I have always cried. It is THE most frustrating thing. I can deal with the mood swings, I can deal with most things, but not the uncontrollable crying. I hate people thinking I’m weak because I can’t control it, it is the absolute bane of my life, fuels a lot of my anxiety and gets me into a depressive cycle. I’ve had people call me ‘overly sensitive’ and ‘highly emotional’ all my life because I struggle with my anxiety. I hate the pressure society puts on to us to suppress our emotions, show strength by not ‘reacting’ and generally, listen to loud, aggressive people without so much as flinching. I found a saying a while ago that has become my new mantra: “Maybe I’m not too sensitive, maybe you’re just a d*ckhead?”

I changed my medication last year as I found myself constantly drowning and overwhelmed in the smallest situations. I was replaying anything anyone said to me and was getting obsessed with trying to pick up on underlining horrible things that they might mean. I was in a different type of slump, one where I found myself hiding in the toilets in public places crying, having to leave rooms due to feeling claustrophobic- a new horrible sensation that I had been lucky enough not to have experienced up to that point. I was having panic attacks often and would need my boyfriend, best friend or my lovely mum to go through everything with me, word by word to establish that things weren’t as bad as they seemed and not every single person was out to hurt me. The doctor switched me from Citalopram to Sertraline and I luckily feel a lot clearer and a lot less paranoid.

Like many people in these strange, unsettling times, I have really struggled and have found myself in a boring, repetitive, anxious ridden cycle where I can suddenly spiral over the smallest thing. I recently moved in with my boyfriend, in fact only two days before we were told we couldn’t see loved ones or leave the house unless for the one hour of exercise (that I very much didn’t want to do.) I felt trapped and was constantly worrying about my mental health. My family and friends are such a massive part of my life and my biggest supporters and the thought of not seeing them when I needed them brought on more tears (what a surprise!) I’m extremely lucky that Will, my partner, is an incredible person who always knows exactly what to say and do to avoid the panic attacks and how to pick me up when I go into my bad place. Nearly 4 years later and he still calmly puts the kettle on or gets the wine ready if he senses a meltdown and then we go through everything point by point, him offering me a different explanation or outcome than the cruel, malicious ones in my own head.

Since lockdown I have struggled to leave the house for walks or runs, something that I used to love doing. I feel myself getting anxious and the last thing I want to do is leave my safe space to do exercise or see strangers. With this in mind I have set myself the challenge that I am going to do 300,000 steps in June- aiming to do around 10,000 a day. I will be raising money for MIND charity in a bid to push myself to leave the house, to break down my anxiety barrier and hopefully fall in love with the outdoors again. Here’s hoping!

If you would like to donate, please visit my just giving page: https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/jessica-riddell1

Sat in front of a laptop with cliche music on (one of the mood playlists on spotify), a cup of tea: milk and a sweetener, with one too many candles lit in my new attic room and I can already sense my anxiety bubble getting bigger as I think about how to start this off.

Thinking about it, this is probably the first piece of writing I’ve had to do and actually have had to put some thought in to since graduating from University last May.

When I thought up this idea of writing things down, making it public (even if I only ever sent it to my closest friends) I felt a sense of achievement, a feeling in actual fact that I rarely ever felt. I was proud of myself. Now, typing this, I feel nervous. Silly, I know. But hey, that’s anxiety… the overwhelming feelings of doubt, self disbelief and the horrendous, paranoid worry of failure.

Next to my (now getting cold) cup of tea is my everyday medication: propanolol and citalopram. Finally giving in and agreeing to give medication a go was one of the scariest days of my life. The constant worries from the people closest to me as well as my own scared me : “what happens if you can never get off them? If you get addicted?”, ” maybe give counselling just one more go”, “are you sure you 100% know all the side effects?”. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t be here without those worriers in my life, but medication, for me, was the first decision in a long time that was absolutely right for me and purely me.

I have always had down days, doesn’t everyone? I listened to everyone tell me it was just my hormones, I was just more emotional than others around me, everyone felt like this and of course the “don’t worry it’s just a phase”. For me, it was the phase that never ended. I would have dark, scary feelings that overtook me, It used to swallow all my happiness and make me feel trapped. Then, it was the constant battle, not only was it the little faith I had in myself, it was the constant worry that the people around me hated me, even my family. Did they think I was ugly? that I wasn’t good enough to be around them? Was I good enough to be here? That’s when things got bad. I was 13, year 9 of high school and completely lost within myself. I didn’t show it, I smiled, laughed and was always called the chatty one when my parents spoke to my teachers. Similarly, to the thousands of others that suffer with a mental health illness, I wore the perfect mask.

I finally gave in and went to the doctors. I was nervous, I knew the voice in my head was more serious than I could handle and I knew that it wasn’t normal. A 10 minute chat and a ‘happy’ survey (as I call it) later and I was sent out the door with 3 different leaflets and a prescription for Amitriptyline: an antidepressant.

I was so shocked I didn’t even listen to the Doctor as I left, I just went home, cried and hid the packet in my room in the hope that none of my friends would ever see or know that I was crazy. I hated it, the side effects were awful, I was crying none stop and I was wishing for an end. I stopped taking it and told the doctor it wasn’t for me (looking back now of course I should have gritted my teeth and held it out for the recommended 3 months). But, I held my smile, got through high school, made my best friends for life and tried to suppress the bad feelings as best I could.

In college, It got too much. I was hysteric over the smallest things, I got such bad anxiety that it gave me migraines which I used as an excuse to not go in. I was in a low place. Back to the doctors and another ‘happy’ survey later and I was referred to Warrington psychological services for CBT therapy. Three months later (Which is actually decent in therapy waiting times) and I got my first appointment.

I hated everything about it. I had to write down on a chart, my mood on a scale of 1-10 every single hour of the week for as long as I went to counselling… I went to counselling for 6 bloody months (AND HAD TO RATE MY MOOD EVERY SINGLE HOUR!!!) Not to mention having to draw the correct emoticon next to it to best describe my feelings. I felt stupid. I was sick of having to ‘put my feelings in to a box and float them down the river’, If I had to do one more ‘happy’ survey I was going to combust. I lied to my counsellor in the hope she’d believe I was better. She signed me up for 3 more months.

University is a time of feeling little, lonely and scared, a feeling that not just someone with depression and anxiety has. I don’t claim to have had a bad time at university, not all the time, I met my boyfriend and made friends and loved my life. I went out, had the best times, met new people and found a new lease of life, so when I started to spiral in first year I was even more desperate to push it out of my mind. I confided in close friends that I was suffering and was finally persuaded to go to the doctors after weeks of not attending uni, barely leaving my flat and struggling to get out of bed.

This doctor was different, she sat with me and told me different options, we discussed what was happening in my life and I came out of there with a prescription of Citalopram, this time feeling a lot more confident and hopeful. I won’t bore you with the rest of my life up to now, it has had its terrifying downs and its also had the most incredible highs.

Today, I take two lots of medication: one for the depression and one for the anxiety. I can’t say medication is the answer and that everyone should be on it, or, that it will cure you because, it won’t but bloody hell it helped.

For me, I want to end the stigma and the negative connotations that surround antidepressants, this is not a pity post or one to shock you. I want to remind people that there are services, there are people and if things come to a serious low, there is medication, it isn’t as scary as everyone makes you believe. They can help you. They won’t make you weak. To be honest, they make me, me. Them, along with all the lovely people in my life help me get out of bed every single day and have given me back my ability to be happy, they have reminded me that I can live life without the fear of spiralling. It’s not just the medication. It’s the support I have, my incredible family, friends and boyfriend, who have dealt with all my bad times and have reminded me that there is always sunshine around the corner.

I will never be able to fully explain or even understand my mental health. Through many many years of doctors, medication, love and support I’m now very lucky to be at a place where I feel afloat, rather than the constant days of drowning. Trying to jump through life’s many hoops is one of the worst things a person can endure. Some days, if the only thing you can do is get out of bed and put a clean set of PJ’s on then that, in itself is the most amazing start.

Never be afraid to seek help, you’ll always be more surprised at how many people want to help you. TALK about it- I never realised so many of the people closest to me were going through their own battle and now, I feel less alone. If you ever need a rant, there is always someone (I’m quite good at listening as well as chatting all this waffle). Reach out and ask people how they are, even if you haven’t chatted in a while, you never know how much that could mean.

I have got my life back and I finally feel able to talk about my struggle with mental health. My years of being too scared to tell anyone, too embarrassed for people to know I take medication and now, here I am. Still with depression, still with anxiety, but living, the way I should have been for years.