Give up the booze for a bit

Ellen Thomas4 Comments

Alcohol surrounds everything. It’s surrounded my social life and me since the moment I turned 18. I have very few “tee-total” friends and have spent a lot of my weekends over the past 7 years drinking alcohol. Drinking alcohol is fun, and for me (especially in the past 2 years) it didn’t always end in disaster. There’s dancing on tables, lots of loud singing and screaming, meandering conversations that wound on late into the night, and much laughter. Me and my closest friends are regulars at the millennial English tradition of “Prosecco brunch” where we would in a very classy style, scream at waiters to fill us up faster as we downed glasses of cheap Prosecco. It is great. But there were also the darker repercussions of drinking, I hate feeling out of control, my anxiety and feelings of utter hopelessness come thick and fast when I wake up with a hangover and I was increasingly becoming appreciative of Sunday’s well spent.

Alcohol is a depressant. It’s a fact.

In the months leading up to the breakdown I experienced in August 2019 I was really not enjoying drinking, but was craving the effect of delusion and escapism it gave me from my own thoughts. I began regularly drinking, everyday. I would have a couple of glasses of wine every evening and was finding that, momentarily, this was taking the edge off. And due to its casual nature, went completely unnoticed by anyone close around me. But this edge was only taken off for a very limited time and boy was I paying for it. When I was going out with my friends I was finding it difficult to get “fun drunk” like I had in the past and was feeling like I wanted to go home when I went on nights out.

I realised I might need a break from alcohol following one evening in July, when on a weeknight, I was home alone, and drank a bottle and a half of wine. I was watching a TV programme about mental health and was struggling with the content, and so rather than turning it off, I turned to the bottle in order to numb how much I was relating to the sad and raw reality of the programme. This wasn’t right.

It was the following week that I went to the doctors and described the slippery slope I felt I was on, and that I felt depression was consuming me. I was signed off work and placed on some medication.

Like every other millennial, I’m a google searcher. I google everything, and usually look for the worst case scenario before I stop. I was googling the medication I was on the moment I got it. “Will it make me gain weight”, “Will it make my hair fall out”, “Will it kill me”, and the clincher “Can you drink alcohol”.

I knew what I was looking for with the final question and it wasn’t what I thought I was; “You can continue to drink alcohol while taking sertraline but having the two together might make you very sleepy and unsteady on your feet. … Drinking alcohol every day, or in large amounts, can make your symptoms worse and the sertraline will not get the best chance to act.” This was enough, this was my get out clause, this was the excuse my brain needed to stop. I wasn’t to drink for the next few months, and give the medication the best chance to help me. After that I would see how I felt and may continue to drink, but hopefully I would be more mindful following a break.

What I quickly realised however was that I was relieved, I was relieved because I had an excuse, and I never had had one. I was able to approach the dreaded “don’t you drink?!” question by explaining that it didn’t agree with the medication I was on. My body was thankful for the break and Tesco own brand orange fizzy is a new favourite. But that got me thinking… why the BLOODY hell should I feel the need to have a viable excuse, why should I need an excuse at all. We live in a society which excludes non-drinkers as “boring”. However people don’t often stop to think about the background that may surround this lifestyle choice, the dark and extremely painful past that someone may have with their relationship with alcohol, the despair and the fact it may exasperate an underlying condition. And actually whether it is any of their goddamn business.

I’ve not drank alcohol for 2 months now, whilst this is a choice, I appreciate that I have not occupied spaces that have massively encouraged me to drink and I have no intention of ‘never touching a drop again’, living an openly sober life, or an intention of making it a big deal. I would never insist on sitting and preaching to people about why they should stop and take up a sober trial, least of all, it’s none of my business. But its working for me right now, my mental health is improving at the moment and I feel good. I am increasingly going off the idea of alcohol and would quietly advocate giving it a go, even just for a short period, for your physical and mental health, and your confidence. Our society is so dependant on consuming something to numb reality or give us an altered rose tinted fun experience, that when you stop turning to alcohol, you realise that real life, and feeling raw experiences with nervous clarity, can be just as much of a high as that tequila shot.

Hang in there.

Ellen on the Edge xx

The S word

Ellen Thomas3 Comments

I started hearing voices, voices that were firmly and aggressively telling me to end my life, they were loud and they were clear. They told me how to do it and that I would. I lay in my bed clutching at the quilt staring at one spot on my wall. As long as I had hold of my quilt I was alive, and I was still feeling.

I didn’t want to commit suicide, I never did, and I would shout back at the voices, but I got confused and very tired of shouting back after a day or two, confused about which one was my voice and which one was depression. It was in the early hours in the morning on a Tuesday I believe, it was the early hours when I almost listened fully.

I was glued to my bed, sat cross legged, bolt upright, there was no way I was going to give in. I picked up my phone and dialled 116 123. I was unconvinced at my ability to make it through the night and needed to talk to someone who wasn’t a family member or friend. I waited on the line for around 90 seconds before a soft, female voice answered the phone.

I was choked up. I explained to her that I wasn’t totally sure why I was calling, and that I wasn’t really sure what to do on the phone.

The soft female voice at the end of the line reassured me that I didn’t need to do anything. There was no pressure to say anything. I didn’t have to tell them everything that was going on, but that it might be a nice release. Of course, the specifics of our conversation will need to stay between me and them – that’s the point. But I found myself saying, I don’t know what, but saying. My heart rate came down and the suicidal cloud did start to disperse. The call lasted 13 minutes and we ended the call comfortable that I was able to keep myself safe overnight. The anonymous soft female voice had, to all sense and purposes, saved my life.

Talking about suicidal thoughts and feelings can be incredibly difficult. (Have a read of my blog post “talking is tough”). It’s not easy to open up to others about the difficult things that we’re experiencing. It’s important that we don’t just tell people about our suicidal thoughts once and then stop talking. We need to try and keep talking to those around us, to keep speaking to them about what’s going on for us, and to keep letting them help us. Talking, to anyone, getting words out, can help you to get through these difficult times and to get to a better place where your thoughts will be less overwhelming.

At times I felt like I should ‘just get on with stuff’ or ‘sort myself out’. I didn’t want to burden others, I didn’t want to upset anyone close to me and place any amount of stigma on myself. I said things to myself that I would never dream of saying to others. If a friend was struggling, I would be desperate to want to help them. My loved ones wanted to help me too. And by god, did they. They know who they are.

It’s taken a little while for me to stop having suicidal thoughts, and I was convinced that they would never, fully go. I knew I could, keep myself safe, but they were still there, lingering like a bad smell. I fought every day, every god damn day to think of anything else, I focused on TV programmes and cheese toasties and dungarees. I focused on my mums daily cuddle, that always melted away something, I don’t know what. And eventually, eventually the voices did go, I started thinking about what I wanted to eat in place of my funeral arrangements and started feeling the fresh air rather than the suffocating grasp of depression. I look back and feel so sorry for Ellen who was clinging onto the edge by her absolute fingertips, the Ellen who was so lonely it was actually physically painful, the Ellen who just couldn’t see a way out and didn’t think life could possibly carry on like this. But I am also proud of her, for not feeling any shame for reaching out for help. I feel lucky that I was able to reach out just in time, I felt embarrassed but never ashamed. It’s a critical illness, and it does kill. Suicide is a symptom of depression, it’s just the final one. Please remember that. For many of you, talking out, seeking help and fighting back might just be the strongest thing you ever do.

I was toying with whether to post this piece, it’s rather raw, and very personal, and possibly… a bit much. But its World Mental Health Day today and I have decided that surely it’s time for people to be too much, we have to be, it’s the way we are going to save each other and a way we can all learn, learn to help as well as heal. I know the S word is scary, but we mustn’t call it the S word anymore, we mustn’t be afraid of it, the more we talk about suicide, I honestly believe, and hope, that the less it will consume people to follow through. Ask direct questions if you are worried about someone, don’t be afraid, or worry you will “make them worse” please. Ask them what’s going on if they can answer, keep talking, keep opening up that line of communication. Be worried, but be patient, be firm, be kind, be you. And god damn it, take care of yourself too.

And if you’re in it right now, I am so bloody sorry, I beg you to believe me when I say you will get through this, keep shouting back, keep fighting your way through every single day and know that I’m here and I understand exactly how you feel if you ever need someone to listen. There is always someone who wants to listen. You are not a burden. That hideous, nasty and suffocating feeling will subside, and there are things that are going to make you feel better, I promise, but you’re gonna have to stick around in order to feel them, ok?

Hang in there.

Ellen on the Edge xx