When I am well, I read my diaries and marvel at how shit I felt, and luckily for me it seems a million miles away. But, sometimes I get reminders of what it is like. I remember once when my ex had a friend staying with him who had got depressed. He was drinking a lot too, which was making him worse, and he had called a friend and said he was going to kill himself. Me and my ex found him in the living room in a state. He told me how he felt, and I burst into tears completely without warning, because it reminded me of the way I had felt when I was at my worst.
I am interested in mental health, I find it quite fascinating. This is probably because of my own experiences with depression, but the subject is quite engaging in itself. I considered this when I thought about what to do for a career. It is quite common, apparently, for people who have had their own problems with mental health to want to do something to help others with the same problems, and some go on to become counselors or study psychology. When I was considering doing nursing, I thought of becoming a mental health nurse. The experience I had with my ex's friend taught me that it might not be such a good idea. Too close to home and too near the bone, to quote The Smiths. So I went for the traditional style 'adult nursing'.
Unfortunately, people do not come in distinct categories. Adults who have medical problems often have mental health problems as well, so it was inevitable that in my job I would come across people with mental health issues, and I didn't find it a problem. I work in A&E, so I often see people at their lowest, when they have just attempted suicide or self harmed. I never get upset though, I use the same professional head as when I witness sad events at work. My natural reaction is to cry at some things, but you can't, so you just carry on and keep up your professional front for the patient and their relatives.
But yesterday, I was looking after a lady who had taken a paracetamol overdose. Paracetamol is very dangerous in overdose, as it can cause the liver to fail and result in a slow and painful death. Luckily, nowadays we can treat it with a drug given intravenously that protects the liver and effectively saves people's lives. The only problem with this drug is that it has to be given over about 21 hours. Its a long time to sit on a hospital trolley, just waiting for the drip to finish. At my worst, I absolutely could not be left with my own thoughts. I had to be distracted all the time, as my thoughts were so upsetting and awful that it would literally drive me mad. So I feel for these patients. This lady was very emotional, sobbing all the time and talking about how she felt. She said,
"I want to disappear, I want to just become nothing"
I was sure I had written the same line in my diary about 50 times over the years, but then she said,
"You could never understand, someone like you, you don't know how I feel"
I was at a loss to know how to reply. I wanted to say that I did, that I'd been to the same place many times, and the reason I knew it would be ok is because I have come back from it.
I don't like telling the patients too much about myself, it feels weird. You can't maintain your professional boundaries. I don't mind telling people where I live, how long I've been a nurse, trivial banalities, but anything more personal feels wrong, and it felt wrong to tell her.
However, I am not sure that was right, should I have told her? It might have helped her, it could have made her realise that she was not the only one, and actually 'someone like me' can be as low as her sometimes. It might have shown her that you can get as low as that and pick yourself up and get a decent job, and hold a position of responsibility.
We'll never know, we can't know what goes on inside her head. At least we know her liver is alright though.
You should have told her about your experience, it does not cost you anything telling people about how you overcame a particular problem, it might be of help to the person.
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