Love Among Mental Illness

You've all heard it, right? Gaslighting, love bombing, ghosting... but I don't know about you, but I don't hear much about people experiencing mental health issues whilst being in a relationship. Not many people speak up about it.

But I want to change that and share some experiences with you. Who am I? I'm Emily or, as I prefer, Eríka. I turned eighteen back in June. I dye my hair a lot, play video games, the usual. Not many people realise my struggles with depression, social anxiety, and trichotillomania, apart from, of course, partners, whether past or present. That's something you have to share with them, when you're ready of course. But it is so much more than just words to describe the different illnesses.

I want to tell you about someone called Max (name changed), an ex of mine. I met him in a messy time I suppose. It wasn't long after I had come out of hospital for an overdose that I met him on Tinder (scandalous). We decided to meet after his constant messages to me. He was actually very sweet and good-looking, too. Before meeting him I ended up having a small anxiety attack, but I waved it off that I'd be fine. Sure enough, within about 15 minutes, my heart rate slowed from 115bpm to 80bpm. I got off the bus, confused as to where he was.

"I see you."

I hadn't a clue where he was, but he popped up behind me. We went to Costa, each got a drink, and went and bought snacks. We got the bus back to mine, where we chatted for ages and ate junk food, and then we went to my bathroom. He dyed half of my hair for me, a kind of galaxy array of purple and blues. It was really pretty.

He stayed over. I didn't sleep with him. But I liked him a lot.

A few days later, I travelled to Derby to meet an online friend. While I was there he said he had something to ask me. I stopped by his local train station on my way back home. We went and sat by a lake, and he eventually got around to asking me to be his girlfriend.

Throughout it all, we went on walks, met his friends, stayed in, went to the cinema—normal things for a couple. He did, however, tell me he loved me within a week of the relationship. Essentially, he love-bombed me. Mentally, I wasn't great at the time; I guess he tricked me into believing I felt the same towards him. But I didn't think it was unusual. I was stupid. The last time I saw him we had gone to see It in the cinema. That was a Sunday.

On the Tuesday after, he asked how I was. I said I wasn't doing so great.

"What now?"

I told him I was worried about my housing situation. I was very scared and under the illusion I would once again be homeless. He asked if I wanted him to go. I said it was up to him.

The next day I saw my support worker—she just checks in every now and then to see how I am with housing, and how I'm doing myself. She reassured me that I wouldn't be homeless. That got rid of my worries almost instantly. But after I had gone back to my room, back to browsing on my phone, after telling Max that I was worrying for nothing, I felt overwhelmingly anxious. Something was wrong. I guess my first clue was him not seeing my reply to his "do you want me to go?" last night. Then I saw he had changed his profile picture from a photo of us to him and his brother. At about 5 PM, I get a message from him.

"Sorry this isn't working i wish the best for you"

It took a while to sink in. Then the realisation slapped me in the heart. He had blocked me on everything.

He loved me, right? I couldn't have been more wrong.

But you see, things like make people like me struggle. I was ready to go now. I had been betrayed and damaged so many times. Life hated me. At about 7 PM, I'd just fallen to the ground throwing up outside a hospital after my friend drove me there. I couldn't walk without throwing up. I manage to climb into a wheelchair he brought me, and I just sat there, vomit dripping from my mouth into a tub. The taste of paracetamol is overwhelming. But I didn't care. I'm wheeled into A&E and left there. I couldn't blame him. I went round his house after swallowing 69 paracetamol tablets—34.5 grams, if we want to be specific. We were going to go see Blade Runner with his Dad. But after I started to feel all dizzy, I told him what I'd done.

I'd bought all these pills after coming home from my previous overdose. It was surprisingly easy to do. I bought two packets at one store, two packets in another, then stashed them with any other paracetamol I could find. I had felt so lost, empty, and ultimately ready to die, and I ended up taking all of those pills with one can of 7Up. I had researched the side effects of paracetamol, what a lethal dosage would be. I was convinced that it took 24 hours for them to start affecting me. If I'd known that they'd start affecting me from 6 PM I would have stayed home. I'm glad I didn't.

As I was put into a bed in the hospital, I was told that if I left I would be reported missing. I chuckled to myself. I couldn't even move without puking my guts up. And then I just laid there. Nurses kept giving me fresh sick bowls until they forgot to give me another. I almost choked on my vomit.

I lay there, and I kept hoping that I'd die. I wanted nothing more. I put my trust into someone that broke it. The world was solely against me. All it did was put me in horrible circumstances.

I had to recall that evening's event to a few staff. At about 12 AM, I got put into my own room, and I just went to sleep. I had nothing else to do.

At 3 AM, I got woken by a paediatrician who I recounted my story to. But, at the same time, I was having minor panic attacks. I kept gagging as my stomach tried to force back up whatever contents were left in there, entirely failing as there was no fluid left in there. But, between these gags, I struggled to breathe. It's only now I realise it was panic attacks.

I got moved between wards a lot. At one point, I met a really lovely nurse I sat and chatted with for a while. She told me about how she struggled sometimes, too. She was really sweet. I had two friends visit me, bless their hearts, as well as my Dad. He bought me some squash so that the nurses would stop nagging me to drink.

The nights were the worst, though. I couldn't sleep at all. I just cried. I wished I had died. And the reality of Max leaving made my chest ache with pain. I stayed in the hospital for six nights. The hospital sent me home in a taxi at the end of it. They needed the beds. When I got home, I had loads of packages. All of them containing a costume I had made up for a Halloween party Max's sister was having. I ended up staying at my Dad's that night. I found out a few days later that I'd been kicked out because they couldn't support me. I went out a lot at this point, mainly drinking and smoking, trying to heal.

Started up Tinder again. The lot.

Fast forward to Valentine's Day, 2018. I met Jayden (name changed) off of Tinder. I was still in a very dark place. I craved love more than before. I needed to find someone to help repair me. I did.

He was this awkwardly cute guy, four years older than me and in his final year of studying animation at university. We clicked immediately. I showed him Lord of the Rings memes. He spoke about video games. I really liked him. We ended up going out to buy vodka to try and make ourselves less awkward. I wanted it so I could get the courage to kiss him. And I did.

We're still together, and I'm a week away from moving in with him. I'm happier than ever. It has of course been a struggle due to my illnesses. I'd often snap at him, ignore him, go quiet, got suicidal thoughts, too, convinced he'd leave me. But he has stuck through all of my mood swings and everything, and I couldn't be happier.

It is so hard to maintain a relationship at times because of all the thoughts that constantly go through my head. What if he hates me? What if he's cheating on me? Does he love me? Why does he love me?

But that's OK. It's a process. You can absolutely love someone when you can't love yourself. But you can do it—love yourself, I mean. I'm starting to. It's taken 18 years, but that's OK. I love myself for being strong through it all. I love all my scars. I love that I met Jayden.