Whenever a story about suicide or attempted suicide hits the media there is a mix of reactions. There are the people who don’t care, they see the suicidal as an inconvenience. There are those who have been there and understand the despair behind suicide. Then there are those in between. They don’t really mean to be offensive, but they are misinformed and they can’t possibly keep their comments to themselves.
In September last year I received a letter to say that my Disability Support Pension was being reviewed. It was the day that I was dreading and it had come at an already stressful time for my family. I thought that I had missed out on being reviewed, but new measures introduced by the current government meant that I was caught in the net.Receiving this review brought up all of my familiar anxieties about whether or not I deserved the payment. Was I really sick enough? There were people worse off than me surely.
*The following post contains descriptions of self harm. Please ensure you are in a safe place before reading*BANG! BANG! BANG!
“Hands where I can see them inmate.”
She woke with a start, disorientated in the bright fluorescent lights that lined the inside of her cell. She looked towards the small window in her door and saw the sneering face of the guard who had woken her.
I have a controversial confession to make, I don’t always miss my son when I am not spending time with him. For a long time I felt guilty about it because I thought that it proved that I didn’t have a bond with my son. It sounds strange when I write it down, I’m feeling guilty about not feeling guilty.When I organise to have child free time I do it with people who I trust. I know that he is safe when I am not with him and that the people he is spending time with care about his well being. I wouldn’t leave him if they didn’t. So it suddenly occurred to me a couple of years ago, that I didn’t need to feel guilty when he was spending time with other people.
Every person has a different experience of anxiety and how it impacts their life. For a long time I didn’t think that I had anxiety. It wasn’t until I was writing a short story a few years ago, that I realised I did. Reading another post made me see that my anxiety was manifesting itself as anger. I thought I had an anger problem, when I had an anxiety problem.