Emily Violett. My Life.

Refilling this on a Sunday night is bittersweet. Not just because of the coating on each pill, but because it symbolises both how far I’ve come and how far I have left to go. On the one hand I’m aware, while popping each pill out of its packaging, that I can’t function without these little guys. That I cannot cope with life, it’s too much, it’s overwhelming and I don’t want to carry on anymore. Each tablet contributes to my life in a way I depend on. That can be a scary realisation. On the other hand I’m reminded that I have control of my own medication again. I’m safe to take charge of it. It’s not a danger for me to have all of these pills within my reach anymore. I’m reminded that I have the power to decide what’s best for me, to know what works and what doesn’t. For a few months I have been taking a low dose antipsychotic, used as a mood stabiliser. I’m not ashamed of that. Unfortunately after three months I decided that the side effects I was having from this med...

This week I met my psychiatrist for the first time. I spent just over an hour with her, talking about everything from childhood, relationships, daily life, my highs, lows, and anything else that has impacted my life and the person I am today. For the most part it was me who talked and her who listened. She asked questions and let me take my answers where I needed to. I felt free to express my honest feelings and experiences without judgement, and honestly, that acceptance was more valuable than I realised. I feel validated. She believed me, she listened and took in what I was saying. She wrote six pages of notes as I talked, she read my previous notes - which stated my only issue as social anxiety with depressive disorder - and as I told her that parts of those records weren’t true to what I had said, I hadn’t listened to by the GP who had written that, and she trusted me. I’m still in kind of in shock at that. I’d begun to build up the idea that healthcare professionals saw w...