After having a two to three year period of having really good mental health, I was totally shocked when I found myself back in a similar situation to the one I'd been in 6 years earlier. After a couple of agonising months enduring a messy break-up with my boyfriend of over three-years I lasted only four months before I found myself with a razor in my hand.
The very next day I bit the bullet and went immediately to see my GP. The surgery I attended was a massive surgery with around 12 GPs working there. It was a bit of a lottery who you'd end up seeing but to my absolute luck I ended up seeing a wonderful doctor, Dr Basra. I didn't know at the time but he went on to be one of my closest allies at university, supporting me on a weekly basis, writing countless letters to my head of department and personal tutor explaining why my work was so behind. I remember waiting very very nervously in the large waiting room for my name to be called. When I went in to see him he asked me a series of questions to determine the range of symptoms I was experiencing. I walked away from the surgery for the first time in my life feeling that someone had taken things seriously without over-dramatizing the situation.
Over the next week I read the literature I'd been giving regarding anti-depressants. It was something I wasn't overly keen on, but feeling like I did I'd have probably shaved my head if I thought it would make a blind bit of difference. I kept things well and truly hidden from all six of my housemates at that stage apart from one, Ali. The following week, Valentine's day 2007, I returned to see Dr Basra and he prescribed Paroxetine. That evening, as I had done the previous Valentine's day I cooked a big pasta feast for me and my other friends who were without plans. Nobody had a clue that my arms were sliced up and I'd just been prescribed anti-depressants.
After a few weeks it became harder and harder to hide it. I'd stopped sleeping and would often be red-eyed from crying. One morning, after a particularly bad nights sleep, I talked to each of my housemates individually as they came down at their various times and ate breakfast. They were all very supportive, and a little shocked, as I'd always been the life and soul of the party. I felt utterly embarassed admitting how much I was struggling. I remember hiding my face under a fleecy blanket I'd got wrapped around me to keep warm. I didn't go into much detail, just that I'd had problems when I was younger and that I was feeling a bit down. It was all they needed to know. Over the following months I did end up talking more to another housemate, Joe, who was training to be a doctor. I didn't mention a thing to my parents, although our relationship was very positive.
Sadly I didn't get on with Paroxetine (Paxil). It made me feel sick and dizzy. If I'd have known that most of the anti-depressants would have various side effects I'd have probably stuck with it a bit longer but after around ten days I was switched to Venlafaxine (Effexor). This made my insomnia worse and so I was finally prescribed Temazepam (Restoril), after several weeks of hardly sleeping. I got some relief from Venlafaxine, but on a routine visit to see Dr Basra I had to see an alternative doctor, who took my blood pressure and stopped my prescription there and then as my blood pressure was too high.
I then endured around five months of fluoxetine (Prozac). That made me feel like I was being jolted with a few volts of electricity roughly every fifteen seconds. It had absolutely no effect on my mood.
Alongside the medical treatment I'd been referred for university counseling. I found this somewhat helpful, and after switching counsellors a few times I was able to build up a good relationship with a nice man called David.
After returning from the summer break in a worse state than I'd been in six months earlier and having not seen Dr Basra for around six weeks, he decided the time had come for me to be referred to a psychiatrist. I was a little distressed by this. It's not a nice feeling knowing you've reached a point where you need to see a psychiatrist.
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