Reaching out for help, can be an overwhelming task. Especially when you have tried a million times and haven’t had the best experiences.

The experiences I am about to share with you all, will not only give you a little insight as to why it was hard for me to try again, but also snippets of things I have gone though.

What I want to do though, in future, is to write in detail about all of those things. This is exactly why I started this whole thing. I can now express how I felt in those moments, without worrying about supporting those around me and bottling all my shit up inside.

Okay, so, here we go….

1. When I was in year seven, I started dating my daughter’s father. He then was a year nine. Everything at first was great, your normal teenage love. After almost a year of dating he became the jealous, controlling and physical abuse type.

So at the age of thirteen, I had already found myself in a relationship I tried so desperately not to fall into. Watching my Mum being beaten all of my childhood, I really didn’t want that kind of life for me.

I kept it all to myself, then one day I just needed to tell someone. Someone that didn’t know any of us personally. Someone that should of been professional enough to follow the rules of confidentiality.

I reached out, on my own, to a school counsellor. I told her everything. That night, after school I got the absolute shit kicked out of me because ‘I had gone and told everyone’.

What actually happened was… this school counsellor, after our meeting, went back to the staff room and told all the other teachers. Not realising another student had been put in there for misbehaving and overheard everything. Then said student went and told everyone.

So, at just thirteen years old, I felt that reaching out equals bad things happen.

2. For almost two years I would make my way up to The Royal Children’s Hospital to be with my then, best friend and her daughter. Her daughter and I shared this weird connection, I had never felt before. I loved her like my own.

Long story cut super short, at 21 months of age we lost her. She passed due to complications after a heart transplant and issues with rejection.

I can not even begin to explain briefly on how this whole thing affected me and it’s best I leave it for another day, there’s just so much I need to say. So much.

After some other things happening after that, I went into a downward spiral. Trapped in this big black dark hole, I literally could not stop it. It was like I had no control over my body as it slowly but surely absorbed me.

After a few months, I knew I needed to do something and decided to try seek professional help again. Oh my lordy lord… unfortunately, this one was the worst of all. I’m actually still shocked but don’t you worry, afterwards I told her exactly what I thought… you’ll see.

This service wasn’t free either and she was actually assigned to me through a mental heath plan through my Doctor. She was mentioned as ‘one of the best’. It was $160 per session but Medicare paid for half of that.

This lady, oh my lord… yep, I’m laughing just remembering it. What an absolute twat!

Our first session, well wasn’t too bad except me opening up all the trauma doors for her. Instead of her helping me somewhat close any of them before leaving, I heard all about her life and what she had for lunch. Upon me leaving the doors of painful memories, were still wide open and I remember jumping into my car afterwards and just ugly crying. For days after my depression worsened but I knew I must keep trying…

Our second session, well this is where she started to realllllly piss me off. I too should have bought in a note pad and pen at this point, just to write all her past trauma down.

I heard all about her Dad’s passing and again what she did over the weekend, what wine she drank and even had a spa with her friend. Good for you lady. Good. For. You.

I also found out what meal she ordered at the pub and what pub she went to. At this point I was starting to get a tad frustrated. Just a tad.

In this session I had asked her, when in a bad frame of mind, why do I always impulsively buy a dog. Then said dog shits on my carpet, creates more stressful situations I can’t deal with and then get rid of said dog. This was something I was picked on from everyone I knew. I knew it was not the right thing to keep doing and I definitely seen a pattern in my behaviour. I wanted it to stop. More than anything I wanted answers as to why I was so impulsive at times…

Wanna know what she said? Hahaha ahhhhh.

She said, it’s because I haven’t got one from a shelter yet! Yep, that’s right! She got a dog from a shelter and it’s the best thing she’s ever done. I was told to go and get one from a shelter…. soooo, instead of explaining why I may impulsively turn to purchasing a dog to fill a void, she tells me to be impulsive and buy another dog to fill said void but this time buy one from a shelter…. ‘insert multiple face palms’. Thanks for the help lady!

It didn’t end there, as I was finally opening up about my grief of losing my mates beautiful little lady, she cut me off mid sentence to tell me about her Dads death and how hard it was. She had told me that after he passed, she couldn’t take on any grief patients, because she couldn’t handle hearing other people’s grief. My reply was… ‘ahhhhh yep, that’s exactly where I’m at now’. Although I don’t think she heard me.

I then started talking about one of my biggest regrets. At seventeen, I lost my baby cousin at twelve years old to cancer (another story to be told). As I reached the actual part that has traumatised me for years, she literally cut me off and said ‘before our session ends, I just wanted to share something with you’. She then proceeded to tell me all about her Dads viewing, that she was the only one that wanted to do it, even told me the conversation she had with him as he lay in his coffin. I mean, word for word… even some lyrics from a song.

At this point I was like ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me’.

So for our third and final session. About twenty minutes before it was to start, I sent her a text msg. I very long and detailed msg. I told her to do herself a favour and get some grief counselling, before she dare try help those also dealing with it and much, much more. I told her to please take on everything within the msg and that I will not be paying the cancellation fee not attending my appointment, because she can take our hour long session, to really take in everything I’m saying to her… soak that shit up!

That was the end of that, but this completely turned me off seeking help again.

3. After my sister had gone through years of trauma and a shit relationship. It come to a point where DHS was involved and she was told to move to my Mother’s house with her children. I remember going to see her after it all happened and what I seen, literally killed me inside. Just days ago she was fine, she was her. That day she was not. She was continuously moving, her hands running up and down her legs. Her eyes were buldging out of her head. She even looked different. No it wasn’t drugs, it was a full blown mental breakdown.

Long story cut super short again… for years I tried to get her help. When she was willing there were no beds, when she wasn’t, there were loads of beds… but at that point, there was no damn way she was going to a facility. After her turning to drugs, being a missing person for 3 months, me taking on my nephew and my Mum caring for my niece, her losing her car, wallet and pretty much everything she owned and to top it off, living on the streets of Melbourne.

Finally she made her way home and she was willing to accept help. Of course though, yep, you guessed it…. no help at all. I rang the leader of the Mental Health department and told them they had probably a 24 hour window to do what they need to do, to get her better. They didn’t do shit.

Again she took off, when she did so this time, she took all of the kids Christmas presents with her. Of course my Mum and I again, had to pick up the pieces. Those damn kids deserve the world. Not this crap. Thank you Santa, he had the best day ever.

After she had come back again, my Mum found my sister walking on the strip of grass between two busy roads. We had no idea where she was and to see this was hard for Mum. She was carrying a news paper and using a map she had found on the back, to find a conspiracy theory that our home town had been hiding.

She had gone around to every single old building in our town, writing down dates and possible tunnels leading from one to another.

For FIVE days after that, they still done nothing. I called them everyday telling them what she was doing and that she was not okay. All I kept getting told is it must be drug related. I asked them how it could be, when she has been on a laptop for 5 days straight searching up Hitler and other historical things…

On day five, I called them for the third time and blasted them, ordering them to send the CAT team. I told them of her speaking in German and drawings I had found. Papers with names of demons and referring to them as God. I found a piece of paper with map details of a mine shaft she had dumped a body…. don’t worry it was non existent, I checked!

Long story short, she was put in mental facility and upon arrival is when they finally took us seriously. She had used a board in her room to write things, but once the board was covered she then proceeded to cover the walls. Then and only then, they seen how unwell she really was.

Half way through her stay, she was then diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. Which is schizophrenia and Bipolar together. She also was told she had BPD. She was hearing voices, seeing things, putting smoke butts out on herself, addicted to Ice, wanted to kidnap and harm people and so much more. They new all of that at the very beginning, minus the drug addiction.

So really, if only they took us more seriously in the beginning, got her the help she obviously needed, half of the shit she severely developed wouldn’t have even come about.

It took them two whole years, to get my sister the help she needed. Two whole years. That’s not okay.

The point of sharing all this? Well, to me… I don’t think Mental Illness is taken seriously enough. I don’t think the government put enough effort in to ensuring the resources are available.

They would rather put millions of dollars into a local airport, or an ugly looking sculpture on the side of a highway. They would rather continue building multiple new housing estates, yet not build another hospital or other facilities to keep up with the growth rate of people. To me honestly, that’s just all kinds of fucked up.

My experiences with the Mental Health System hasn’t always been great, because of this, as I seeked help a few weeks ago… I had a full blown panic attack on the way to my very first appointment. I couldn’t breathe and I was fighting back the tears as I entered and greeted the receptionist. It was then, I realised how all of the above had contributed to my fear of getting help.

The outcome though, was better than I expected and for once I was actually asked questions that I was to answer, which then would give me the answers I needed. Never in a million years would I have expected to be diagnosed with Adult ADHD along side my MDD, but it totally makes sense. Remember the impulsive behaviour thing? Yep, finally I had the answer I had asked Mrs I shouldn’t be a psychologist, six years prior.

It takes one minute to be brave. One. To take that first step in the right direction. Sometimes we get the outcome we had been looking for all along, sometimes we do not. What really matters though, is that we keep trying. Mental Health and the road we find ourselves on, really is all about trail and error. We know ourselves enough to know, what is or isn’t working for us. No one knows your body like you do and it’s because of all this, I now, do not keep my mouth shut. I do not just go with the flow. If something isn’t okay, if it’s not working for me, if I pick up on behaviours I see in myself, I speak up.

If you too, are scared, feel something isn’t right, isn’t working or not liking a situation you’ve found yourself in, on the the road to happiness. Speak up! Don’t be afraid to tell it how it is, people aren’t mind readers. Sometimes, whether it be a professional, your partner, even family and friends… if you don’t speak up, how are they to know what’s really going on inside.

I’ve learnt if I really do want to get better, I MUST SPEAK MY TRUTH. I must tell the doctor if my meds aren’t working. I must tell idiots they are indeed idiots and not helping me at all. I must be open and honest to those around me, about the struggles I live with deep inside, so they understand why some days aren’t good ones. I must get all this shit out, to then move and grow from allllll the things I’ve kept inside for too long. The best part of it all… you, you can do that too.

YOU ARE WORTHY OF HAPPINESS!

T x