Why blog?

Hi! I've started this blog, 'Chest Deep in Quicksand' because that is how I feel most of the time. I've had depression at some level for as long as I can remember and probably before that, and thinking back I've probably had anxiety for that long as well. I was first diagnosed with depression aged 16. The doc flung a prescription for antidepressants at me and I've been taking them in some shape or form ever since. There was no counselling, no proper diagnosis, no warning that I could feel worse for the next few weeks/months, nothing. I was released back into the community and left to deal with life as well as I could. Somehow I made it through to my 30's with just a few blips including 6 weeks in bed after a very nasty incident that I may blog about later. I chopped and changed antidepressants as they stopped working or if I ended up in A&E feeling suicidal. Then I did a very stupid thing and married a complete asshole! An increasingly violent asshole! Eventually he tried to kill me and I managed to get away for good and somehow managed to keep it together for another few years. But something was just not right. I'd pretty much withdrawn from everything and everybody. I started getting physically ill, a lot, and this caused more hassle At work. I was just exhausted constantly, and irritable and pretty angry all the time as well. Then I dissociated completely one night when I had gone out to see a friend before she moved to Manchester. Some hideous bitches tried to take the table we were sitting at and, when we refused to move, started 'accidently' knocking our drinks all over us. That is pretty much all I remember until I woke up in a cell. I'd never been in any police trouble before and had no recollection of what had happened but apparently I tipped a drink over one of the hideous women and when the owner of the club had grabbed me from behind, I'd punched him. Let's just say the next year or so was horrendous but I finally got referred to the mental health system. Sort of. When the court finally sentenced me to community service and a fine and I was free to leave, so did the support. The whole thing really made me feel so much worse. I struggled on for a few more years, working a job I hated and just sleeping the rest of the time and it finally came to a head when I realised that I just wanted to die. As I had been told that if I became suicidal again I should go back to A&E, I did and actually got to see a Dr that seemed to know what she was talking about! I was admitted as a day patient for 2 months and it gave me a bit of breathing space. Unfortunately I returned to work to find that a certain bitch had decided that I was the one she was going to try and bully now. I ignored her mostly but it was difficult. Then I slipped on a wet, tiled floor and broke my ankle....and dissociated again. This time I wouldn't let the ambulance personnel near me and was lashing out and swearing at them apparently. The good thing was that I have no recollection of the pain and came round again in hospital with my ankle in a cast. Again I ended up in court but this time I had a decent lawyer who arranged for me to see a specialist and I finally got to talk to someone for more than 5 minutes. He produced a full report diagnosing me with PTSD. After reading this the judge pretty much asked why I had been put through the court system and only bound me over to keep the peace. But that was another 12+ months of severe stress and it really took its toll, This time I withdrew completely and very rarely went out. I was still seeing a psychiatrist at this point but he just seemed to want to get me off the books as soon as possible. He hadn't read the report by the specialist and when I saw my notes it said I was diagnosed with BPD! BPD....the 'lazy' diagnosis! I asked who had diagnosed this as I hadn't actually spoken to anyone other than the specialist, for more than 5 mins. No real answer was forthcoming. I was signed off as OK (probably because I hadn't attempted suicide for 6 months) and left to go back to my GP. I was re-referred last July (2017) but the only communication I have had since then was a letter asking if I wanted to be taken off the waiting list that I didn't even know I was on! Anyway, that is where I am now, chest deep in quicksand and trying desperately to find some way to feel better. I do find that writing my thoughts down does help to get them out of my head, so hopefully this blog will help to organise my messy mind! Jacks 17/03/18