“The mental health services are the most underfunded sector of this hospital”, the person from the Crisis team told me under my third admission in six months. I’d asked him why there was no help available. Why I was under the Crisis team yet again when there was no plan for me afterwards. He looked at me helplessly.
We see it most days now, on social media, being told to reach out for help if we need it. Admittedly, I’m even guilty of this. Because for a while, there was a time where I believed that reaching out was helpful. And it is helpful. To reach out to a friend or a family member or someone you trust. But where does it go from there? Who do you reach out to after that, who can actually offer more than a hug and a shoulder to cry on (if you’re lucky)?
In my time since my initial mental health diagnosis of bipolar disorder, followed by borderline personality disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder, I have seen a two psychiatrists, two psychologists, and a CBT therapist who gave me reduced rates after I told her I was having to underpay my rent in order to be able to afford it.
I’d been living with obsessive compulsive disorder for a long time, and it got to the point where life was unbearable and I was heavily suicidal. After research, and finding that cognitive behavioural therapy was a good way to manage the illness, I begged multiple people to refer me.
I asked the people at the Crisis team every single time they came. I was told again and again that it would be ‘discussed’ at the next community mental health meeting. I was told someone would be in touch after I was discharged weeks later. Nobody got in touch.
The same thing happened after my second admission. And then the third. I gave up after that, and just tried to read CBT books (which my OCD made very difficult), in order to try to cope.
The people at the Crisis team were nice enough, but they didn’t do anything. They couldn’t do anything. They’re there to make sure you are safe. I had multiple conversations about how this was more complex, how I needed long-term help because interventions weren’t working, and they agreed. But they didn’t know how to give it to me.
Eventually, two years later, after having my first baby, my OCD spiked pretty badly. I was under the perinatal mental health team (which I’ve now been discharged from before my son is even one-year-old), and I kept asking for help. I begged them to refer me for CBT and they finally did it. I was told that I didn’t qualify because I have bipolar disorder, and therefore that would interfere with the therapy. I asked what else I could do; I was desperate. They told me there was nothing else they could do.
I ended up finding a CBT therapist who I couldn’t afford, but paid through an overdraft and through being late on my rent. I knew that I needed the support, and so that’s how I got it.
The CBT therapist was amazing and truly helped, but I’m still dealing with postnatal depression unsupported, on medication that was prescribed by a psychiatrist that is no longer being monitored.
I know that I’m lucky that I even got to see a CBT therapist. It’s not possible for so many. And it’s a luxury that I was able to get an official diagnosis from a psychiatrist. I recognise that that is a luxury. But taking out an overdraft and missing rent day to seek help for your mental health shouldn’t be a luxury.
Even before the Covid-19 pandemic, the mental health services have been massively underfunded with waiting times going up years. And now we’ve reached Crisis point. Yet we’re still told to reach out.
But where to?
There are only so many volunteers at mental health helplines, so many need more specialist help, and we’re not getting it.
I’m tired of being told to speak up and to reach out, because it doesn’t go any further than that. It is a vicious cycle of struggling, opening up, and continuing to struggle.
I’m not saying don’t reach out — do. Do tell someone. Do open up. But what I’m asking is, what comes after that?