BACKFLIPS are the thing of talent show dance troopes….the visual motions that make the crowd get excited. When applied to mental health recovery, backflips are what I like to call what other people term ‘relapse episodes’, to make them seem a little less shit than mental health relapse episodes really are.

It should come as no surprise to my regular readers that in the last couple of months my recovery has flip reversed it. I haven’t hid it. I haven’t pretended to be anywhere other than where I’m at, and where I’m at is struggling, more and more by the day. I rang the crisis team earlier. Fortunately they helped and apart from some mild self-harm I escaped from that mood episode unscathed.

This year has been marked by five months of progress, until my bubble got burst by a very unfortunate person who I wish had never ever come into my life. If you’re reading this, congrats 👏👏👏 You got what you wanted. Kudos to you…??

That had a knock on negative effect on several aspects of my life. The wobbles became tremors, which then became earthquakes, and now I’m just on the cusp of the crumbling, breaking and burning stage of impending doom and catastrophe. What’s more, there are a select handful of people who actively want my MH catastrophe to unfold, as reflected by the kinds of bitter people they are.

Their psychology is attempting to fight with mine. Their projections are in combat with my efforts to protect myself from those I’d happily not associate with. And then there are the one or two innocents caught up in the unfortunate crossfire.

Thank fuck for my husband. Thank fuck for unconditional love. Thank fuck for my children. Thank fuck for my genuine sincere friends who I can trust.

I have had my fingers burned lately. My life lesson is, in essence, don’t mix with people who are also psychologically unwell themselves, but less evolved and less insightful and less knowledgeable and less treated and therapised and self-aware than I am.

Many of my friends have mental health difficulties which is why we were initially drawn to each other.

‘The broken hang out with the broken’, seems to be the rule.

I have many friends who are beautifully broken and fragile and vulnerable. I don’t have an issue with that one bit. I really don’t. What I have an issue with are people who admit to being “socially acceptable broken”…but not admitting to be anywhere near as broken as they are.

With stigma barriers reducing, so many people now talk of their depression and anxiety in global and generalised terms. Most people don’t understand their depression though or what exactly fuels their anxiety.  Many people don’t know their issues, triggers, causal factors, maintaining factors, relapse indicators, which are their best coping strategies, and how they can keep themselves well.

The veil of “depression” and “anxiety”….(vague notions that they themselves cannot describe), shroud us, making us all appear to be the same because we are all labelling ourselves the mentally ill and broken same. But we are NOT the same and not all equally broken, insightful, knowledgeable, and empathic.  

I have complex mental health needs and significant interpersonal and emotional deficits. I don’t even TRY and hide them. But you know what?….I’d rather be authentically me than in-authentically someone else.

I’d rather have serious MH challenges that I’m an expert on, than vague but no lesser serious problems that I’m in denial about.

I refuse to live in denial, and I will point out when people I know are. People in denial don’t like their denial being pointed out. It deeply threatens them. 

I am absolutely sick to the back teeth of people who have mental health problems that they openly communicate to me about at significant length, but refuse to seek professional support for. 

I cannot be your paid therapist on demand. I’m not on this earth to talk soothingly to you forever while you refuse to get appropriate help from professionals. Sorry, but I’m not.

I get my help. I have done for 4 years solid. That’s why I understand about mental health.

As much as I’d like to be able to, I cannot be responsible for sorting out all your problems. Are you paying me by the hour?? No-like hell are you….so please don’t expect me to heal you, as well as myself.

I’m sick of people who think they’re too damn special and precious to get professional help.  ‘I’m ill…but not I’ll enough to see a doctor. Instead you can be my (unpaid) therapist. I won’t even ask you if you will….that’s just how it’ll work out.’ (is what happens).

Before I know it, I’m resenting you, and you’re frustrated with me for distancing myself to protect my own emotional buoyancy.

I have backflipped enough to know I can’t be people’s therapist….especially people who absolutely refuse counselling and therapy and doctors appointments and medication and diagnosis :( 

If sorry, but if you have made that adult choice, please don’t expect me to break your fall.

I am NOT the NHS. I am someone trying to deal with my own stuff here, and it’s bloody hard.

I can’t dole out prescriptions. I can’t diagnose you. I can’t be that person who single handedly helps you deal with your childhood issues. That’s what therapists and psychiatrists are trained are paid for. I’m not being paid here. I’m just a blogger who shares my own stuff. 

If I backflip and relapse, me saying NO is absolutely ok. Saying NO MORE is ok. Asserting boundaries is OK. 

I won’t be weighed heavily down by others projections anymore. I’ll cut you loose, get back on my feet and cut those cords of responsibility for anyone beyond my husband, kids, and bestest friends. 

That’s all my survivor’s prerogative. 

SummerSHINES ©

PS. Sorry I had to write that. I’m just getting a bit disillusioned with a great number of very demanding people right now :(

 

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