As part of my new blog series, Face the Fear, I will be interviewing women about how they have faced their fears and what they went through to get to where they are now. *includes trigger warning*
This series is tapping into the minds of incredible women, who have one way or another faced their fears. You can read the original Face the Fear blog post to find out why I wanted to write this and what my own fears are.
Today I’m interviewing B. Rae with her immensely brave story. I would like to state that this story contains triggers for suicide and mental health, if you are at all triggered by this or feel uncomfortable reading this type of content, please do not read any further. It is important to me that my blog is a safe space for you all and this content is not one I usually feature, but I want to share B’s story. If you’d like to follow B, you can find her on Twitter at @braegrosz.
If you are at all effected by any of the content in this post, or feel at risk of suicide yourself, here are helplines you can contact Suicide Prevention Helpline 1-800-273-TALK for the USA and Samaritans 116 123 for the UK.
Tell me a bit about yourself? What do you do, what do you love, where are you from?
I’m an American, currently living in Scotland while studying in the MLitt in Creative Writing program at the University of Aberdeen. In my spare time, I volunteer with English language learners and occasionally act in plays. I love stories, ice cream, tea, trees, and most of all my family, my friends, and my dog.
What is the fear you’re going to be writing about today?
Counselling. Therapy. Talking about my mental health to anyone in general but to mental health professionals in particular. Basically, seeking help…
How long have you had this fear/what made it start to develop?
It’s hard to know the exact beginning – I think elements of the fear had started before I realized – but I guess I’d say that the realization developed after I went to counselling briefly when I was fourteen years old.
I was struggling with, well, a lot of things. But especially suicidal ideation. Going in, I had no idea what to expect, but I expected the cliché couch and a diagnosis accompanied by a prescription. I guessed that either the medication would work, which would mean I really did have something wrong with me, or the medication wouldn’t work, which would confirm my theory that I was all wrong, worthless, and beyond hope.
I had two counsellors. Neither ever asked me a single question about my suicidal thoughts. Neither ever asked me much at all. Neither ever said much. They really didn’t do much other than let me talk, and not knowing what to do, I rambled about random topics until I made myself cry out of pure frustration or time ran out, whichever came first. The thing was – I didn’t know how to talk about my mental health struggles, and I was already venting about most of the issues I did know how to talk about in my journal, in fiction writing, in emails to my best friend. The idea that my parents were paying money for me to do something I did elsewhere and better for free was just fuel for my self-loathing. I put on my best “I’m fine” act and let it be known that I didn’t think I needed counselling anymore.
I was allowed to quit without objections and really without much comment. But I did get a piece of parting advice from each counsellor. One of them told me that when I started thinking negative thoughts, I should make the thoughts go away by telling myself that they were all just in my head. The other told me that it would be better not to get officially diagnosed, because the diagnosis would go on my permanent record. Which meant I went away believing that at least half of all mental health professionals were useless, and that if I ever got diagnosed, the diagnosis would be given to prospective colleges and employers, who would then reject me, thus ruining my life. AND this made me believe that I had to hide any struggles I had with my mental health, so that no one would try to make me go back to counselling.
I learned that seeking help doesn’t mean finding it, so I learned not to seek help.
Fortunately, even though I’d never told anyone how I’d planned to kill myself, by sheer coincidence, I’d lost the means, and no other method seemed a feasible alternative. So, I was feeling relatively safe from myself and consequently, starting to feel more stable. More able to cope.
When/why did you realise you had to face your fear?
For years, after I quit going to counselling, I tried my best and did pretty well. For years, I tried my best and did okay. For years, I tried and at least I was trying. For years, I went through the motions, because I felt like there were people who needed me to be alive.
There were a lot of days that I only got through, because my dog needed me.
And for years, I increasingly isolated myself, trying to make sure that there wouldn’t be people who needed me, that there wouldn’t be people who’d miss me.
I researched methods. I wrote and rewrote a note. I got close to killing myself more than once.
All that time I knew that if I was anyone else – not myself – I’d advise seeking help. I learned so much about mental health and the mental health industry over the years. For anyone else, I’d have tried to be an ally and advocate. But just like at fourteen, I thought that I was worthless and beyond hope. Nothing that I’d learned had quelled my fear of seeking help and not finding it. My fear that I’m all wrong and don’t deserve help.
How did you face your fear?
More accurate to say that I’m facing it. Present tense.
It’s helped that several people I know have shared their struggles with mental health with me. It’s helped, that someone I know and trust has told me about their experience in counselling – specifically and crucially, about liking their counsellor.
It’s also helped that being at university has given me access to free university resources, removing the worry of expense. And being able to make the appointment via email and without needing a referral removed other worries.
I started attending counselling through the university in February. Three appointments, so far, with two different counsellors. I have a fourth appointment scheduled. I still feel… uncertain about the whole thing. Both counsellors have been very nice. They’ve mostly just let me talk, but I’ve isolated myself so much over the past several years that now I need that outlet to vent. The counsellors have occasionally asked me some useful questions too. The most helpful thing, I think, is the way that they chime in with positive reinforcement when I share a good insight or a good habit, because I can’t always tell the good from the bad on my own.
I still don’t have a diagnosis. At my first session, the first counsellor told me that they don’t do that, and the university resources are limited in other ways too. If I want to try to get a diagnosis, I’ll need to go elsewhere. If I decide that counselling is something I want to continue on a long-term basis, I’ll need to go elsewhere. Trying to figure out what the next step is and how to take it is every bit as petrifying to me as taking that first step was.
But I did that. I took the first step. I’ve made a start.
I am touched by B’s story, I’m saddened at what she has been through but it brings me joy to see that she is getting through this. I’m sure many of us have been at extreme’s lows and felt let down by the help we wanted to receive. This story is so strong and I hope anyone struggling from mental health can take something from it.
If you’d like to get involved in this blog series, please email me at beth@booksnest.co.uk and I’ll send you through everything you need.
