One Year On…

I’ve rewritten this post about 4 times in the past week. I’ve got so much to write but cannot find the words to describe exactly what I want to say.

16 months ago I was so low in myself, I put my body through things no one ever should. I was passing myself from man to man just to feel acknowledged and wanted. I wanted to try and convince myself I was loved and happy while abusing myself. 14 months ago I was addicted to taking Ecstasy and Cocaine, I was like a wild animal that had been let out of its cage for the first time. I had no concept on the damage I was causing my body while downing alcohol, creating a lethal concoction that should have killed me. 

Exactly one year ago to this day, my life could have ended. One year ago today, I was determined that my life would stop in its tracks. One year ago, I was put into a Psychiatric Unit for my own safety. I was so angry at the people who helped save my life. I thought of them as being selfish, that they didn’t understand my struggles and how ‘bad’ my life was. I felt such spite towards them for being so evil to make me carry on suffering. I wish that no one becomes as unwell as I was back then, I didn’t even know what the date was for weeks on end. I was signed off work for months because of how erratic my moods had been.

One year on…

I’m now working alongside people who suffer from acute mental health issues and I support them emotionally to make their lives easier. From being an inpatient in a ‘loony bin’ to a mental health support worker working alongside some of the people who helped me out in my time of need really shows just how well someone can recover if given the right help.

Please don’t give up on someone who wants to get better but seems to be stuck in a sink hole… Be there when they need you and stand back when they’re trying to get back on their own two feet. You wouldn’t stop helping a toddler who fell over after taking their first few steps… You’d encourage them to carry on trying. The same principal applies to everyone. 

If Kiwi can cope, so can you.

🙂

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I Could Have Died

​Uploading this is something I didn’t think I would be doing, for the last 12 months I’ve had a horrendous obsession with alcohol. Far beyond someone my age. I’ve been sectioned, arrested twice and taken to Hospital.

I guess you could class this as a form of illness. I’ve tried cutting down on drinking many times over the last year but so much shit happened that it was my main coping mechanism.

I see people talking about how they’ve been gobby to the police or have had a slagging match with the local drunk. But this is a far bigger issue…
Every single time last year I tried taking my life – I was wankered. Alcohol gave me a safety blanket from my feelings so I cared less about my thoughts and actions.

In particular – spirits (Rum, Jäger and Vodka were always my choices).I would mix my drinks heavily on a night out and had a bad habit of ‘blacking out’ midway through the night. I could barely rememeber anything the next day.

I’ve known deep down that I’ve needed to either heavily cut down on alcohol or completely stop drinking for the last year. I’ve just been too coward to do it, the thought of being the boring one on a night out criticising how shit the tacky decor and sticky floor in Popworld is. I wanted to be the party animal, the life of the party I guess you could say.

But I’d always get the wrong attention, it would either be a crowd of people seeing me about to attempt suicide or the police cornering me to try and get me in a meat wagon.

After heavy drinking, I’ve ended up attacking my best friend. My own parents, (there is video footage of this that I may add to this at a later date). Almost screwing up my NHS career because of my stupid addiction to drinking.

Everyone else carries on even through my bollocks, the only person I’m screwing up and putting in jeopardy is myself. It’s hard to think that I’ve abused myself as much as I have at such a young age. I’m not even 21 yet and I could be 6 feet under right now.

I could have lost my life so many times last year but I didn’t so that’s telling me that I need to push on through this battle and win the fight.

The video this is linked to is from New Year just gone (so 8 days ago). I don’t remember anything from the night. As you can hear in the video, my body temperature was 35.7°c, 0.7°c above Hypothermia, if I had fallen below that I could have died easily. 

My heart rate was 124 bpm due to me being so cold. My Oxygen Saturation was 95% which is considered normal. I hit my head 3 times that night, once on a radiator, once on the floor and once suspected on a toilet seat.

I was refusing to go to Hospital, I just wanted to head home and sleep it off. But because I had hit my head, I had concussion so they took me in to Hospital to get checked out. I was asleep as we went into 2017 and ended up with huge lumps all over my head (I looked like the Himalayas!)

To everyone that night who was there for me, I’m so sorry for it all. I also thankyou so much for being there, especially everyone in the video. I’m so grateful of you. 

So we are now in the New Year, I’ve quit smoking, I’m staying sober for 7 months until my 21st and even then I’m only going to have a few on my birthday.

I’m never letting myself become so dependant on alcohol ever again. I almost fucked my life up, I almost ended my life.

My family have almost turned their backs on me a number of times, I’ve destroyed some of my closes friendships from this.

If you’re struggling, please please please don’t get yourself in a position like this. You can get out of this situation, I promise you.

If Kiwi can cope, so can you!

🙂

Being Inside a Psychiatric Unit

I’m going to cut straight to the point – being inside a psychiatric unit as a patient is one of the scariest things that I’ve ever experienced.

This is the first time I’m explaining in detail what happened that night back in March.

The day was March 12th 2016, I’d been out drinking with a few friends to have farewell drinks for a dear friend that had passed away a few days before. The morning of March 13th I’d been detained and sent to the middle of Southampton. My Dad was the person who told the police to detain me, I was completely out of control to the point that even he couldn’t cope with it – and that man can carry a lot of bullshit!

I was in the back of a police van with a police officer, he was purposely twisting my wrist with the handcuffs on to make me wince in agony. I was in such a horrific way and he leant over to me and said “have you got Facebook?”. I was absolutely stunned to think that a man of authority, who was supposed to be caring for me said something as unprofessional as that. 

I got hauled up to Cosham in the back of the van and got transfered to two men in another vehicle. I felt like a fucking ragdoll being passed from pillar to post! 

This officer grabbed me by the shoulders and yanked me out of the van as if I was a fucking quadriplegic. I was then handed over to two Medisec workers.

Two men… again! Fucking great. I was disorientated and scared knowing that I was going to be locked in the back of a car with two men again for atleast another 45 minutes. I had shoved myself right up into the corner of the backseat. I was ripping chunks of my hair out, I was shaking like a leaf. 

Thinking back, it was stupid of them to not check my bag while leaving me handcuff free in the back. I had a pen knife and half a bottle of Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum still on me. Silly people…

We got to Antelope house and they registered me in, by this point it was about half 6 in the morning and I was dying for a cigarette. I ended up going out to smoke with an officer and the psychiatrist. I was stood in this tiny box courtyard that made me feel like I was inside of a prison. The walls were atleast 20-25ft high. 

I remember gazing into the sky and telling myself that I didn’t belong in that place. I wanted to shake myself awake from the bad dream. I started to think it was a dream until I felt cold splats of water hitting the apples of my cheeks. It had started raining and I didn’t have a bloody jacket with me.

I was placed into a white-walled room with peeling paint from floor to roof. I slumped myself onto the ‘mattress’ – I put that in quotations as it was no thicker than a babies changing mat.

I was given a blanket and was set to hit the pillow until one if the Medisec guys popped his head round the door and said “you must be starving, do you want anything to eat?”. I hastily thanked him but politely rejected. 

I was so paranoid that I hid under the blanket while questioning why he’d offered me food. “He’s laced it with Rohipnol… Maybe he’s just innocently asking… NO! He’s definitely laced it with something. Why would he do that!? How has he got a job working with people like me. Who would allow someone like him to offer people food. How putrid!”

Looking back now he was just doing his job, making sure I was as comfortable as I could be in that human ‘kennel’. I resurfaced from under the blanket and started questioning myself more “I’m 19 years old, why the hell am I sat in this box? This is like something out of a thriller movie. I do not belong here, what the fuck lead me to this point? How the fuck have I ended up in this state at such a young age!?”

I couldn’t answer any of my questions and fell into a light sleep, only to be woken 15 minutes later by a short, stocky woman saying that she’d be waking me up every half hour and peering in every 15 minutes to make sure I was still alive. Suicide watch – a bit like Bay Watch but instead of skimpy red swimsuits, it was baggy grey jumpers.
I groaned when she said it but agreed, although now I needed the toilet. So here I was banging on the door to get out so I could pee. I got escorted 2 meters to the bloody toilet cubicle. Like an old Cowboy film – there was a saloon-like door between me peeing and the 3 people keeping an eye on me. I felt like a bloody animal knowing that they could hear me wee! So I started to hum Bohemian Rhapsody really loud to try and drown out the tinkle and one of the guys ended up whistling along.

After I’d washed my hands, the whistler asked me if I had anything in my bag that I shouldn’t have. I had the Rum, the penknife and an empty baggy that had previously had coke in concealed in a little gap in my purse. I told them about the rum and penknife. The guy said that they would have to pour the Rum away, I felt my heart sink. “I only bought that today!..” I said sternly but in a joking manner. “…Do what you need”I continued.

So byebye Rum, hello distraught Ciara.

Anyways, for the next few hours I’m woken up so often that I may aswell have just stayed awake. I got up from the bed and started hearing noises from down the corridor. A woman was screaming and banging the walls, that started World War III in the building! Some guy who sounded about 40 was barking down the corridor telling her to shut up.

I ended up sitting with the people watching me and was even offered a Twix by one of them, bless him. I needed the toilet again but this time, I noticed in the corner of the cubicle a blue bucket with my empty bottle of Rum in it. “Bastards” I thought to myself, “hang on a moment, I could easily smash that and start self harming with it.” 

The second I got out the cubicle I vented my frustration about the bottle being left, especially after knowing why I had been brought in.

The rest of the night is a blur to me now really.

Please do not ever let yourself get so unwell that you have to experience a place like that because I promise you, it’ll fuck your head up more.

If Kiwi can cope, so can you.

🙂

Kiwi Can Cope

This is definitely not the first blog like this and it won’t be the last. I have thought long and hard about how or when to start my own blog – seriously, I’ve been contemplating it for over a year!

I guess I should start with the basics… My nickname is Kiwi and I’m a 20-year-old living on the South Coast of England. I tend to keep my private issues exactly that – private. However, when I was about 14; I had started to notice I wasn’t quite the same as my peers. I tended to isolate myself away from the majority of people I knew. I would always make excuses as to why I couldn’t go out and do things with my friends. I was purposely drawing myself away from any form of social groups.

I started finding comfort in online ‘friends’, only going by a username and a little Avatar with ‘bacon hair’ on Habbo hotel. I found this virtual world a huge escape from the person I hated being in the real world, to the person I could only ever dream about being in the Habbo world.

It was around this time that I began talking to and hanging around with someone far older than myself. At first, I assumed the explicit messages and garish content was flattering – an older male was interested in talking to me. I never took any notice of the messages on how he “wanted to take my virginity” and that “he wanted to make me scream”. I mean hey! I was a 14 year old who hadn’t even had the painters come in yet! What was I to know?

So fast forward a year of this continuous cycle of coversation… My family  (to those who know them can vouch for me), the most open people going – allow this certain male into our home. He saw them as a set of parents and my brother was a brother he’d never had. He finally had the support he had needed after the rough life he’d had.

It’s funny, I remember when I was 14 that a group of kids from the local school had created a Facebook page calling him out as a ‘paedo’. I wrote on every single post on that page saying that he wasn’t and that he was a ‘lovely man’. *shudders*

So we get to Christmas eve eve, stuff happens between us. Completely consensual (although a lot of people will argue that a just turned 15-year-old can’t consent – but whatever… I did). The next day (Christmas eve) I end up going over to his shared house.

I remember thinking “that’s odd – he’s just locked his bedroom door…”. He had also put the key on top of a huge bookshelf/storage shelf – I was about 5’3″ at the time and the ceilings were pretty damn high so there was no chance in hell I was reaching that!

But hey ho, he’s older… he’s interested in me… right? We then agree (again people will disagree that I wasn’t of age to consent) to have sex… within minutes I say that I don’t want to anymore. I say no… this is when things start to get weirder.

He continues, I say it louder assuming he hadn’t heard me… he stops. I get off of the bed to go and get my clothes, I bend down for a split fucking second and again. He starts now against my will to have sex with me. At this point I’m freaking out, “I’ve said no – why does he not understand that?” I then again in the most stern voice I can demand “no, STOP”. The rest is a blur, other than remembering him saying “don’t tell anyone or I’ll get into big trouble” and those cliché words “this will be our secret”.

So that’s the back story in complete detail. 5 people know the full story, including him. Ofcourse though, he denied everything to the police. I was told by the police officer that dealt with my case that ‘he had had a hard enough life that it was and that I shouldn’t make it any worse’. My parents both being witnesses to that bent fucking copper’s words.

Feeling like I had lost complete control, I decided to take the reigns and put in a complaint about the police officer who so disgustingly said that to me. A victim of a crime, being made out to be the bad guy. What a fucking joke!

Fast forward through 8 months of counselling, countless suicide attempts, detainments under the mental health act and so forth.

We hit the present day, I am now taking anti-depressants (for an amalgamation of things). I’ve been diagnosed with 4 different mental health issues and I’m currently in the process of group therapy sessions.

I can’t change my past, but I can definitely make sure my future is 1000 times better.

If Kiwi can cope, so can you.

🙂