Category: medication

An Open Letter to Dr Willis

Ellen Thomas2 Comments

Dear Dr Willis,

I had an appointment at my GP surgery around a month ago, with yourself. It had taken me 4 weeks and 2 desperate phone calls to get the appointment where I saw you. I had made a phone call 5 weeks before my booked appointment and I advised that I felt very unwell, was experiencing symptoms that were causing me to worry for my safety and felt I needed support and an appointment sooner than 5 weeks. I needed to be seen that day. I was advised that “the best (they) could do, (was to) move my appointment to the following Wednesday”, now please bare in mind I had made this phone call on a Tuesday, and had already put the phone call off for 3 days in fear I was wasting everyones time. But alas, please know, I do not place the blame with you, I waited, and I want to give you context. I got worse, before getting slightly better, I felt let down by a system that had literally told me to call if I needed them, I did not wish to sit in A&E and my appointment with yourself the following Wednesday, did eventually come round. I had been keeping a mood diary for the previous 2 weeks in hope this may add weight and sustenance to my case of desperation. I sat in the waiting room clutching it with anticipation.

You were 25 minutes late for our appointment, something which I, again, am not placing blame for, and am incredibly aware of how stretched you are, but I hope you acknowledge. You wore a red waistcoat and purple bow tie. I hope you don’t mind me making reference to your age, but you are a well aged man, and I had initial reservations on first impressions that we may not have a lot in common.

It was, for the most part, Dr Willis, a really positive appointment, I thank you for listening to me, taking me very seriously, referencing my maturity and am so thankful to you for referring me to a psychiatrist. We discussed my medication and you suggestion these were upped. You were really helpful and on board. This letter however, is referencing the last 7 minutes of the appointment. Just as I got up to leave you stopped me “can I ask you something personal?” you questioned; “Could you lose a bit of weight, can I weigh you?” I said to you that I could lose weight and that I have lost a stone and a half in the last 3 months. This didn’t seem to matter to you however, you ignored the comment, proceeded to weigh me and show me my BMI on your computer, to which I replied throughout that I was aware of my exact BMI, having become a little obsessive over my weight recently. You again ignored this and proceeded to reference my weight. I did ask you what my BMI really had to do with my mental health, I exercise regularly, and have lost a significant amount of weight. I was also quick to point out that you should be careful making assumptions, one of my self harm techniques/struggles is that I just stop eating, I didn’t eat for 2 weeks a few months ago. Your response to this was a simple raise of your eyebrow. You persisted to start sentences with “if you were slim…”, I apologise if at this point I became a little blunt in my tone as I posed back to you how you thought that being your version of “slim” would positively effect my severe MH issues. You didn’t respond to this and instead said I should just think about it. I walked out your door, thanking you for your time.

I am writing you this letter because I really want you to know that I did take your advise, I thought about it, I am thinking about it. All the time. I left your appointment feeling distraught, distraught that an appointment that I had been waiting so long for turned into a discussion about my appearance. If I had come to you advising that my weight was negatively affecting my mental health I would understand, but I still don’t. And the fact I was honest in advising that unfortunately I tend to stop eating at times, which I really felt you ignored, left me in complete shock. Can I please ask that you brush up on your knowledge of eating disorders, of anorexia, of the fact that it doesn’t matter your size, it’s a disease of the brain. And can I please tell you that if it were someone else sitting in front of you who was struggling to the point of breaking, you could have tipped them over the edge. Now, I appreciate that it is your role to advocate a healthy lifestyle, you’re a doctor, but what I need you to know is how negatively that very judgemental and ridiculous 7 minutes tore me down. I will see a psychiatrist and continue to seek help for my mental health, but you must acknowledge that a comment like that could cause someone else to never ever want to seek help again. That someone could have been building up for months to seek help, it could have been such a big moment, and ending an appointment like that, could potentially end someone’s road to recovery.

Please know that I have ignored you eventually, that I have risen above your comments, and unfortunately marked you as an old fashioned doctor who I will decline to see again.

I sincerely hope, Doctor, that you are never faced with a period of poor mental health. And that if you are, the medical professionals you see, offer you compassion, respect and listen to everything you’re saying offering impartial and non-judgemental treatment and support. Everyone deserves that.

I want to thank you for your referral letter and let you know that on my recent holiday to Jamaica, I put on just under a stone.

Kind regards Dr Willis, and hang in there.

Ellen on the Edge

The Mask

Ellen Thomas1 Comment

I spoke a couple of months ago about the misinterpreted face of depression. And the frustration I have with it. An extract from the post reads; “It’s easier to smile. It is easier at the time. We all know that. But everything will always catch up with us, it has too. Especially with the weight of a world that is desperate for us to be consistently happy, consistently instagrammable, and consistently consistent. It’s all too much.” And I want to write today about this a bit more. About how I cope or don’t cope or am struggling to cope, and how my coping mechanism can sometimes be… well, The Mask.

I wear a mask, one that (to most people) makes me appear to be strong and capable, cheerful, outgoing, warm. The “nothing bothers me” mask. It continues to smile no matter what is happening to the woman behind it. The mask is a way to hide my bruised self, a way to hide or disguise the feelings that are raw and vulnerable. It is safe. It allows me to attempt perfect control over what people get to see. We all wear it at times. And it’s vital some of the time. In professional settings it’s important to be able to keep some feelings controlled, that’s your job. In a supermarket, we smile and thank the person who serves us, no matter how we are feeling. When your friend needs you, you put everything aside, you put on The Mask for a little while, to help them out. Now, I need you to know that this post is not saying that we should never wear The Mask, sometimes, it’s needed, it’s appropriate. But what we must all be doing, is taking it off. And acknowledging it for what it is, The Mask.

My Mask used to fit me so well — seamlessly even — but in the past couple of years it has started to hurt a little. It feels heavy and no longer seems to fit and holding it up gets to be exhausting and occasionally it starts to slip. What once felt as though it was made from fine china, light and smooth, easy to keep in place, now feels to be roughly crafted from harsh sandpaper — it is heavy and rubs painfully.

I don’t want to wear it all the time anymore, and I am desperately trying to adjust to a life where I only wear it part time, but I am also fighting a feeling of not wanting to burden people with the real feelings I have. Truth is, I have been and am scared. I don’t like to leave the safety of my sanctuary, it frightens me. I am scared of falling apart, every single day, I am horrified at the thought that my mask might drop, without me being able to control when I take it off. I am terrified of being seen, judged or pitied. It strikes fear in my heart to think of falling apart and having people suggest it was a way to get attention, to be noticed.

I know avoidance is considered to be a poor and dangerous coping skill, but despite that, a lot of the time, I just want to be alone. I am lonely, sometimes. But not too often. I am aware of the negative presence I have at the moment. I don’t want to burden people with my presence unless I know that I am going to be able to keep the strong and cheerful me present. I do not want to be a disappointment. And right now, I’m desperately trying to work out… work out how to be me again, I’m putting on The Mask as often as I can. But I’m letting my real self, my depressed self, breathe a bit more. Sometimes I can’t face putting The Mask on just to sit for a meal at my family dinner table, I take it off in the evenings, I am aware of when I have been wearing it too long, and even more aware when it begins to slip.

Now trust me, I’m not about to even contemplate living a mask-free life. Although I suppose that’s what I’m doing with Ellen on the Edge, I don’t find it very difficult to sit behind a keyboard and share my thoughts, and for me, it’s quite therapeutic. But opening up in person, right now… let’s just say, The Mask is still in place.

Keep your mask on if that’s what you feel you need to do. I’m totally with you. But please know that you will need to take it off at some point, your real self needs to breathe. Do what you need to do, darling.

Hang in there.

Ellen on the Edge xx