Mental Health

I need to fix my life.

I need to fix my life…

I need to stop overthinking.
I need to stop comparing myself to my friends.
I need to stop taking things so seriously and start living life.
I need to get rid of my negative thoughts
And my constant social paranoia.
I need to continue making appointments with my doctor,
I need to continue taking my antidepressants.
And I need to speak to a counsellor about my problems.
In fact, I need to speak to my friends and family more often.

I need to stop wasting time.
I need to pick up a pen instead of my phone.
I need to pick up a book instead of my PlayStation controller.
I need to cut back on my addictions,
So I can revise for my exams…
…shit. That’s something else I need to do… damn.

I need to change my habits.
I need to breathe.
I need to stop punching walls when I get angry,
Or sad.
I need to remember that it’s okay to cry,
Rather than keep my emotions to myself.

I need to remember that things will should may get better.
I need to push myself out of my comfort zone.
I need to keep my bedroom clean.
I need to keep myself clean.
I need to stay healthy,
By eating, sleeping and drinking enough,
And carry on exercising.

But most of all,
I need to feel loved. Appreciated. Liked. Wanted. You name it.

…I just have no idea where to start.


Cold Turkey.

Serious trigger warning.

I want to talk about something that happened to me a few weeks ago – something which I’m only now mentally prepared and willing to talk about… even on here.

(Just a quick post-edit: I thought I was, but seeing as I found this tough to write, I think it’s fair to assume I’m not. :/)

But beforehand, I want to give you a little bit of a backstory. About a week before Christmas, I went to see my GP, for the last time that year. It was only a ‘check-up’; well, I say that like it was nothing, but to be honest, it was everything because I was struggling. I wasn’t wasn’t feeling the festivities or goodwill, that’s for sure.

As a result, my doctor prescribed me a stronger dose of antidepressants to take (100mg Sertraline – double what I was previously on), and the idea was to go back in four weeks for another appointment.

(…you might be able to see where this is going to go already.)

For the most part, these tablets were effective. Aside from a few “off-days” here and there, I felt great. Happier. More… normal than I’d ever felt. The tablets were working – even after the first week… and the second… and third… and forth…

But then, I ran out of tablets to take. And here were some of the problems that were going through my mind at that point.
1) I couldn’t exactly get an emergency appointment at my doctors’ surgery, and waiting times for appointments are at least three weeks.
2) I turned 19 on the 2nd Jan. Now, for any prescription of tablets in the UK, I could get tablets for free until I turned 19, and then I had to pay for them. However, for someone who doesn’t have a job, I didn’t know how I could pay for them. Sure, I could have asked my parents, but I was too nervous. I’m not very good at asking for things.

And 3), the most challenging obstacle, was that I was terrified. The thought of going to my doctors surgery once, to see my GP (who I’d only spoken to once beforehand, as all the other doctors keep leaving my surgery) and admit that I need help once more just terrified me. Even thinking about it now makes my hands shake.

I know it might sound ridiculous to you, but for me to see my doctor and admit that I have a problem requires serious courage and strength.

So, in the end, I took the decision to do exactly what you’re not supposed to do, which is to stop taking my tablets. And straight away, I started to feel weird. I’d get an occasional tingling sensation on my face. I started getting these periods where I felt like I could run 100m in 5 seconds. I felt physically ill every day. I suffered from migraines. I distanced myself even further away from my friends. My social anxiety increased once more.

But something that rang alarm bells was my dreams – or should I say nightmares? Because that’s what they were. I’d have dreams where I was being locked up in a mental health institution or prison cell and being forced onto a bed by numerous people during a mental breakdown. (There were other dreams too, but I don’t know if I’d be able to talk about them. But it was fucking terrifying).

And after two weeks of feeling like this, I couldn’t do it anymore. I spent my entire day in bed, and when my mum checked up on me, I broke down and told her everything that had been going on.

To be honest, it was a good thing, because after my mental meltdown, my parents contacted my doctor for me, and was able to get me a repeat prescription to prevent this from happening again.

And I’m so thankful because I’m now taking my tablets again, and I feel better! xD


I’m sorry this was such a long post, but it’s just one of these things where you have to share with someone, just to get it off your mind. And more importantly, I suppose I wanted to reiterate this important message:

“Please don’t do what I did.”

– Matt

The definition of insanity. (MH Rant)

Photo credits: @ShiftGraphiX

“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results”

Apparently, this quote originated from the legend that is Albert Einstein; which I highly doubt, seeing as nobody can ever credit him ever saying it. But, if it’s plastered on the Internet enough, it eventually becomes true, right?

(I mean, I could ask him on Twitter – because TIL that @AlbertEinstein is a genuine Twitter account… not sure how someone who died 60 years ago has an active timeline… )

I’m sorry… I’m going off topic again.

But regardless of whoever created this quote – Albert Einstein or Albert from Kettering – I don’t care; I still want to talk about it. Why? Because it sums me up perfectly.

Because all I seem to do is do the exact same thing every day. Isolate myself from my friends and family by staying in my room all day, doing absolutely nothing with my life. Eat, sleep, cry, PlayStation, repeat. I’m just merely existing, at this point. Wasting life away, while I should be having fun – getting paid, getting laid, that kind of thing.

Last week, I had a massive mental breakdown last week, and my mum said to me “Being in this room all of the time – it isn’t a life to live”

I know it’s not. And I really want to change my life.
But I’m stuck. Stuck to doing the exact same thing over and over again. Stuck in the sense of being imprisoned to my bedroom walls.



I’m sorry – I had to get this off my chest.


A Personal Victory Of Mine :)

I might sound like one of those teen diary blogs for this post, but please bear with me for this. What just happened today was honestly amazing.

So a couple of months ago, I was going through some of my old messages on Google Hangouts, where you can chat to whoever you want on there who has a Google+ account (and yes, I still use Google+). And when I was around fourteen, I used to have a lot of conversations with people around the world. Seriously, I would spend more time on there talking to them than my actual friends. However, I stopped after a while because… I just stopped using it.

So just because I was bored one day, I thought I’d go through some of my old messages again. For shits and gigs.

After going through hundreds of ‘Hi’ comments, I eventually came across these old conversations that I had with a girl called Anna, from Maine. I remember when we used to talk to each other practically every single day for a couple of years, and we always used to flirt with each other.

So I hadn’t replied to her in about two/three years, so I thought I would reply with something like ‘hey’ or ‘do you still remember me? :)’ because I just wanted to see if she would ever reply.

Also, with my social anxiety, I thought this would be a great challenge for me, to try and get back in contact with my friend after all of this time. I was really worried at first, as I didn’t think she would ever remember me, or want to talk to me anymore. But after thirty minutes of debating with myself, I sent the message. What’s the worst that could happen?

I will admit, I had completely forgotten about the message after a week. To be honest, it’s been years since we talked and I had honestly thought that she had moved on.

Until today.

I honestly couldn’t believe it – she ACTUALLY replied to me! I was so shocked! I don’t know how she came across the fact that I had messaged her two months ago, but it was a great feeling.

Like, you have to imagine that this was the first time that I had properly spoken to her since about three or four years ago. At that time, I would have been around fourteen, and she would have been twelve or thirteen? It was crazy.

And even after all of this time, it feels like I only spoke to her only a few weeks ago. It was a surreal feeling to experience.

Literally, it couldn’t have gone any better. We started talking about college (or high school in the States), University, what we wanted to do in the future. We even started talking about books, and reminiscing about some of the messages we used to send each other.o

I suppose that this was a personal victory of mine, too. My last couple of months hasn’t been too great, to be honest. My anxiety has got WAY worse, I’ve thought about suicide to the point where it’s become normal, and now I’m still feeling the side effects of my antidepressants. But with this, I can actually feel proud of myself for overcoming my anxiety this one time, and I feel great at the moment because of it :D

And it just goes to show that if I can talk to someone across the globe for the first time in years, why can’t I talk to my friends who I haven’t spoken to in a couple of days? Just something to think about.