A place for my head

What was taken from me

I feel like a lot of my miserable posts seem to get more views, probably because it’s intriguing watching someone battle through something that’s rarely discussed or even experienced. How many of you have gone through complete anhedonia before? Where you’re unable to feel not even anger or sadness, you’re purely numb and it isn’t related to depression either, it’s purely down to something in your brain going completely wrong. Neurotransmitters being reduced and chemicals being altered to the point it can’t keep up.

I’ve been wanting to write this post for a few weeks now, about what I can sit back and say I’ve lost. All thanks to one person in 2020 who decided they knew my brain and body better than me, who thought they knew what I needed, which was to force me onto medication as she followed this belief that all people with PTSD need to be medicated. She didn’t phrase it in a careful way either, because back then she directly told me that “this is why you need to be on meds, because you’re messed up in there!”

At the time, she was using me for money. I was vulnerable back then and was eager to try and fix my life, we’re talking about undiagnosed C-PTSD and dissociative identity disorder, situational mutism, an internet addiction which had robbed me throughout my time being depressed. I’m not depressed anymore, but it was something I was hoping to overcome. I wanted to access treatment and was taking baby steps, so she played on this and pretended to be a trauma counsellor despite not being educated in this area. Desperation makes you blind and I wish that when she began to do this, I was smart enough to turn her away.

I wish I was also smart enough to have listened to my gut feelings when they told me that if I took the antidepressant, things would change. The sense of dread was so visible, it felt like someone was directly in front of me begging me to not do it. However, her words played in my mind and the pressure was too much. I knew medication wasn’t working and that it would never replace trauma therapy, I knew that even while on it, I will still have the same outlook on life and that my environment will remain the same.

This is what people need to understand, that it doesn’t matter how many meds you add to a patient’s medicine cabinet, because environment plays a bigger role than the emotions they’re experiencing. Now going back to my original topic, thanks to me listening to this specific person my life had changed drastically and even after an entire 14 months off being away from psych meds, there are still things which haven’t returned to baseline. I have spent a lot of time avoiding the fact there are parts of me that are still lost out there, or at least only come back a little, and sometimes I have these moments where I think “WHY DID YOU TAKE THIS FROM ME!?”

It is a sick joke, the way medication and wrong decisions can drastically change your life. Ideally, I should have simply listened to my gut feeling and not have taken it and then relaxed, knowing that I’ve made the right decision. Or in a different universe, I would’ve taken the tablets, they would’ve kicked in and have done nothing – no damage, just leaving me the exact same way. So what had been taken away from me? I’ll turn it into a list.

My ability to feel complex emotions: before 2020, I often was seen as a complex person to the point others would find it hard to approach me. Which isn’t easy to manage when you’re someone who is easy-going, interested in talking about everything and is a good listener; you could’ve spoken to me about spiders and I would be happy. Anyway, the type of emotions I’d feel used to completely submerge me to the point it would overtake other things. I used to feel many things at once, I was very emotional and receptive. Emotions such as love, turmoil, excitement – okay these sound pretty basic, but I can’t remember what love feels like. I can vaguely remember feeling so happy at times that I’d end up bouncing on my toes, squealing happily, feeling my heart race and this rush of energy going through me that makes me want to do anything. I remember when people used to compliment me, I’d become very shy, my mind would become blank and I’d find myself keeling over and unable to speak because it was overwhelming. Then the ability to become entwined with the atmosphere, you know how it feels like when it’s cold outside, it’s dark out, the skies are clear and you can see the stars and hear the faint sound of traffic and you might be sitting there with a book or a hot drink… that kind of depth I can’t feel anymore. She took my depth, those pills took my depth.
My ability to empathise with others: now there are two types of empathy out there, one of them involves being able to feel your own emotions and understand on a logical sense how certain things may make others feel. In fact, this is seen in autistic people who are often misunderstood as not being empathetic because they have a hard time putting themselves in the shoes of others or being able to sense. I can no longer sense your emotions or the vibe of a room, if you’re very stressed out I won’t be able to feel that stress, if you’re experiencing embarrassment because of something I’ve personally said… I won’t be able to feel it. Whatever has happened in my brain, has resulted in this. Now the other type of empathy is being able to sense those emotions, you can pick up on vibes, and even the smallest changes in someone’s emotions if you are that sensitive. For people who only exhibit the first kind of empathy, what some might do (or what I currently do) is that if someone’s going through a bad time or feels frustrated by something I had personally done, I’d have to put myself in their shoes by imagining myself in their situation and THEN… ONLY THEN… would I be able to feel what they feel. I guess when I wrote about autistic people having a hard time putting themselves in the shoes of others, that I meant being able to automatically do so without having to sit back and think. What area of my brain is even effected at this point, I would never know, but if I had the money I’d like for someone to perform tests on me and help me pinpoint what part of me has altered. How can empathy be altered in this way?

What hurts the most about this is that I possessed the skill to become a high-class psychologist as the smallest changes in emotion, I’d be able to pick up on instantly. I would be able to pick up on what exactly someone’s inner dilemma is and be able to help construct a help plan based on their own needs. Now I’m going to be studying psychology this year, and I don’t have that level of awareness anymore…

My drive: this may be TMI to some readers here, if so please don’t feel ashamed to quit out of this post or scroll past, however this is one thing that causes me some emotional pain too. For some reason, the intensity has gone and I can’t easily see people in that way, specifically my current partner. This ties heavily into emotions as I had been longing for a relationship for a while now, before any of this happened, I had hoped so much for a person to love me the same way I would love them, someone to share my heart with. My ability to care for another was another thing that kept me going, I enjoyed being able to put smiles on people’s faces, I lived to help others and care for them. The emotions I’d feel while finding myself daydreaming were so strong and vivid, if it was a substance it would be hard to bottle. I pictured my first time to be something that would help set my soul free, a way to really connect and finally let go off whatever had been hurting inside. However even now in a 2 year long relationship, I find myself quietly waiting and longing for this to happen, to express myself fully… and there is heartbreak in knowing that antidepressants had done this to me, robbed yet another thing that made me, me.
Speaking of drive, my ability to drive: ironically, when professionals began to try and interfere and walk over me, I had finally gathered the strength to admit to my parents the full severity of my internet addiction and how it had robbed years of my life. I was wanting to get better, and finding a speech and language therapist was supposed to be a part of this, learning how to drive was a part of this, enrolling in night school was a part of this, being ready to go up on stage and do a talk on Situational Mutism and how best to help children in school was meant to be a turning point for me as well. I was only a month into being 21, a month… and she took it from me. I was learning how to drive because I knew it wouldn’t just help with my independence but also benefit my mum who had no choice than to rely on my dad a lot. He lives far away from us and works full-time, so the only times she could take my little sister swimming or do a big food shop or visit places outside of our hometown was to either rely on my dad or public transport, but I could do so much more. Halfway through only to be robbed. Even now, I am still not physically well enough to get back into a car and learn.
Playing clarinet: this is smaller compared to the others and can wait, but it goes to show what parts of my brain were damaged in the storm. Back in 2020, I asked my parents to help me regain my passion for clarinet playing back, as I used to spend countless hours practicing as a child and even played in a few performances at school. I hadn’t touched it for 7 years by then and so they found one with a bunch of books and a stand, amazing! I had a spare that was given to my little sister and I began to try and teach her how to play songs with me, during the pandemic I’d find myself sat by the radio on the kitchen counter and play along to random tunes. I was really good at playing by ear and whatever genre you wanted, I’d be able to do that… on a clarinet. Even Slipknot. I remember playing Christmas carols for my gran the last Christmas I’d ever feel normal and return to that month a lot, I still remember it like it was yesterday, the cold air, driving through the night with my instrument, Christmas lights everywhere, pigging out on junk food, one random guy appeared in the middle of the road out of nowhere and startled me and my dad, walking around this Christmas tree market after sipping on mulled wine. Nowadays when I try to play clarinet I can only manage to play for a few minutes before I can no longer recall how the song sounds, my head goes blank, I become dizzy and nothing’s fun anymore. There’s a brass band local to me somewhere, I often wonder if I’ll ever play there… all because “this is why you need to be medicated, you have PTSD!”
My ability to draw: this one is slowly coming back, but as a child I used to scatter tons and tons of drawings and little comic strips all over the floor. I used to have a bright and interesting imagination… in 2015 I slowly began to lost the ability, it’s like my brain couldn’t stick to one drawing style anymore, shapes were wrong, my perception was off. The culprit was antidepressants, I didn’t know at the time, I often past by the drawings of others like a person walking past an old place they used to visit before it got demolished or watching their old friends go about their life while they’re forgotten. I was born to be creative and express through art and writing… why steal this from me?
My ability to story tell: I used to spend ages playing the Sims… it carries a lot of nostalgia. I used to spend hours creating little stories, perfecting characters, just simply using my imagination. Nowadays it isn’t like that anymore, antidepressants don’t just numb the pain and help put a weak plaster on a festering wound, they chip away at other little things to… things that bring you joy. Writing this list is sure making me depressed!
Drinking coffee: I quietly envy those who can drink as many cups as they like. I wish that I could also waste my money on iced coffees in the summer like a lot of other people. I wish I could experience the same buzz you can get to help quell the lack of sleep… but this was robbed from me in 2016 when I started Sertraline. I remember when my dad used to take me to the store with him to get some bargains and he’d buy me a cheap energy drink, it was the highlight of my night as a child. Despite all of these things being unhealthy, the main point is that my body could metabolise these things correctly as it was unharmed. In my natural state, I should be able to consume caffeine. The closest I got to ever restoring this was in 2019 when I’d quit antidepressants and didn’t have any side effects, I was free and my body was healing, this was supposed to be my chosen path one that I picked with my own mental health history in mind. On my 21st birthday I remember having one or two cups of coffee, and finished off a whole bottle of prosecco. Why introduce a drug that would have the opposite effect and negatively impact things?
Feeling tiredness in the morning: this one is a small, weird one as most of the time people don’t like waking up and feeling uncomfortable. However when looking back at what is my natural state, I was one of these people who’d wake up and then proceed to feel exhausted for an hour or two afterwards, falling back to sleep at the breakfast table, claiming that I’ll wake up and then be found 30 minutes later asleep again, feel grouchy as I clutch my cup of tea and hope that nobody speaks to me. To many, this might sound like an inconvenience, why would you want to feel uncomfortable? But for me, it’s a small trait that reminds me of me.

And this concludes this list of things that people around me get to experience, but thanks to what the medication did to my body and head I can’t do without a lot of strain and weird reactions. Now this isn’t to say that I’m not slowly recovering, if you compare my earliest posts to what I’m able to achieve now, you’d safely say that I am beginning to resemble a person… instead of a walking, talking illness. But there are parts of me that I fear won’t ever restore, today I sometimes find myself reflecting on my past life and realising that that isn’t me anymore. Those really brief but intense emotions, the depth, the little quirks that can’t be fully expressed the way they once was. The way I’d simply be. It’s like my timeline got chopped into two and I’m trying to connect two halves.

Mundane memories like me standing in the carpark one cold evening as everyone’s waiting for me to get into the car after going to this little college award ceremony and begging to go chip shop. Looking all cheery as my mum takes a photo of me holding this certificate in this crammed little space near my gran, as someone swings a door open and it almost hits me. Going to Warwick Castle and getting food poisoning from the very fancy Christmas banquet they set out, curling up on the floor of the disabled bathroom and doing my best not to vomit afterwards as I find myself scrambling towards another bathroom moments later and seeing some couple judge the heck out of me for retching. Going to these little gatherings with the local girl’s brigade group who I volunteered with – it’s moments like these that I didn’t expect my future self to look back on with a sense of loss, I was so carefree back then… I was so different.

I often wonder if I’ll ever get back to that place, it’s only at month 12 that I started to be able to manage these depressing thoughts better than I used to.

An update, since we’re now in 2022!

When I began this blog, I wanted it to be a resource for mental health advice and a place for you to read about some weird autistic person’s thoughts. It will be that place eventually, because after being emotionally numb for 2 years, I am now recovering.

Yes, after 2 years my brain is beginning to produce its own dopamine again and balancing out the chemicals. I want to explain how this happened, because it’s pure luck which got me here. I don’t think I can replicate this again.

So, in 2021 I began to properly attempt tapering. One pattern I noticed in myself, is that on the weeks I’d be reckless and give up taking antidepressants for a week, I would notice a gradual change in my ability to connect with the world. I would start being more hyperactive, gaining some sense of awareness, that I wasn’t just trapped in this dissociative trance where I was going through the motions without a single reaction.

If I squinted hard enough, it seemed like I was capable of enjoying a few things…

But then sadly, the withdrawal effects start kicking in as it’s dangerous to go cold turkey, so devastatingly I had to return to an empty head and heart. The awareness and enjoyment fading once again. My partner took note of this and one day, he made a suggestion that changed a lot of things for me. Previously thinking there would be no way out, I started having hope (or logical hope, since I was emotionally flat) that if I stopped antidepressants, maybe, just maybe, my emotions might begin to come back. If I did it properly this time and followed a tapering schedule from surviving antidepressants (one of the BEST places for those who are needing support for withdrawal syndrome or seeking information to better help their loved one).

Because going through a withdrawal cold turkey strips you off any hope for recovery. It can worsen symptoms you’re already dealing with. If you think being emotionally numb on antidepressants hurts, a protracted withdrawal will worsen it to the point being conscious feels like a prison sentence.

So I tried, 5% cut and after the first week, my brain couldn’t handle it. I remember this irritability washing over me and I started having delusions of being evil. I kept feeling the urge to snap at my partner and had mentally fought with myself over how awful it is to have these thoughts, that I should be ashamed and did my best to keep my lips sealed! Then one night, I was sat at the dinner table and suddenly I dissociated. I couldn’t eat anything. I couldn’t move. The following day I gave in and had to restart the antidepressants.

The next trial was on a 1% cut, maybe my body was extra sensitive and needed the smallest decrease. However the same happened and I was left scared that I’d never escape the medication.

i continued the meds and searched for answers, meanwhile my partner began to feel doubtful of the method I was using. He wanted to put his trust in the doctors, as every person is different, and despite the 5% decrease method seeming like the safest option, there are people who CAN come off medication following the GPs advice. So he began to express this to me, and so I decided maybe I should redirect my trust elsewhere.

I cut down a quarter of my pill, held for a month, noticed a pattern in stabilisation. I then cut down to halfway, stabilised. Eventually I reached a point where there were no side effects, and jumped off altogether. Since February 11th I’ve been off Sertraline.

Since March 28th of this year, I’ve been slowing regaining awareness. And yes. I can feel happiness. I can care. It’s all coming back to me.

What I love the most out of this, is how the timeline has reconnected itself. These last 2 years have been a blur, I’ve never fully connected with anything that I’ve done, I was never given the choice to do my own thing or to express my ideas. I wasn’t spiritually whole. So my memories where I was spiritually whole and my authentic self were all in 2019 and backwards. I’d replay those memories in my head over and over and over. Wanting desperately to continue from that point. Now I can look back at those memories, look at tonight, and reattach the timeline.

But I have to confess, despite all of the positivity above, there have been a few hurdles which have popped up after dealing with anhedonia for so long. Things I didn’t expect, but now can’t believe how I didn’t see this coming. When I was numb, because I couldn’t feel anything, I was under the belief that I was free from harm. Sure, at the time people said cruel words, I’ve experienced traumatic things, been involved with hostile individuals. However because my short term memory and sense of perception was thrown aside, well, it was easy to forget about these instances. Things were hazy.

But now I’m sat here and despite the wonder and joy I can now feel, there is a lot to process and my heart can’t help but break me down into tears like a vulnerable child. There’s a lot of “why’s” involved, yet my main heartache is how I didn’t make sure I was safe during these unpredictable times. I couldn’t communicate with others properly, I couldn’t give out empathy as much, or make ties. Half of 2020, I was very detached from reality, felt like I was going to die, was terrorised by such severe insomnia at night, mania, heart palpitations, confusion, LOTS of confusion.

The last thing I should’ve done was to contact old friends from the past, thinking we would have reconnected. You shouldn’t let yourself get kicked in the shins twice. I’ve been through a LOT of traumatic stuff in 2020/2021. Too much traumatic stuff.

When you’re anhedonic, it can most definitely be a smooth recovery and a time to make big transformations. However it can cause so much negative memories to come back which you now need to process and heal from.

I am not fully back from antidepressant withdrawal. It is NOWHERE near as devastating as it was in 2020 or during those tapering attempts. Yet there are symptoms that are rearing their ugly heads, and it has been disabling lately. This is usually about obsessive thoughts, delusions, deep depressive spells, paranoia. Stuff that I didn’t have prior to antidepressants. It happens every month and this has been my biggest spell lately.

It’s scary going through it, but even more so when you’re starting to recover from this delusional spell and notice you’re feeling okay again. But are you REALLY okay? You start to second guess yourself. You’re constantly on edge wondering if you’re out of the dark or if it’s going to come back. You can’t get out of bed or do any fun activity, because WHAT IF IT COMES BACK TO GRAB YOU AGAIN? It’s such a shift in personality and reality, it’s hard to get used to.

Anyway, this is my latest update and a massive step. Thanks for reading my blog and for being with me during the times where I was ranting and raving. Writing about those experiences helped me to make sense of them.

Praising L-Theanine and the probable closure of this blog

Okay, when I made this blog my intentions were for it to be a diary about my mental health and how it influences my daily life. Not just to rant off, but to give valuable insight which may help those. Whether someone who struggles from a certain condition themselves, or an aspiring worker in the mental health field.

However, because of becoming anhedonic, I have lost the plot and am unable to write what my heart desires. I can’t follow a set plan for this blog and confused on why people have chosen to follow me. It intrigues me. There’s nothing here, not really.

Someday I may have to close down this blog or go inactive; as if I recover this could be a haunting trip down memory lane. To remind me to do better in life and not be afraid to smile.

So what’s my update on my brain this time? Well, I’ve got to book myself in for a blood test, one to test my prolactin as I’ve had a few symptoms like mixing up words and worse memory. The only thing that’s stopping me, is that I’m anxious about taking unfamiliar bus routes, and that’s my only way to get there and home… to be honest, the going home bit worries me more.

I have future plans about purchasing a private MRI on my brain, as I have become tired of chasing around doctors. It’s just easier and I want to make sure the swelling has gone down. Then this week, I’m going to try tapering off my Sertraline again. Last month I tried, it made me irritable and slightly delusional. Not as bad as when I went cold-turkey, but NO THANKS.

As for the L-Theanine, well, last weekend I spent at my partner’s. He’s always had a thing about trying supplements and vitamins, says they’re very good for gut health et cetera. Lately he’s been trying to get his energy drink addiction under control, so has found out about energy powders. Apparently they’re healthier?

The one he got was Ntropic energy, and surprisingly when I tried it, my head’s felt way more refreshed and I was able to focus easier! We played a complex card game, which required tons of planning (Magic The Gathering). For the first time I could play it and crushed him to the ground! But that isn’t all. According to what I’ve learned online, one ingredient in that drink, L-Theanine is good at raising dopamine and serotonin levels. It helps does something related to GABA in the brain, too.

It even reduces anxiety! Way more than Sertraline does to me… in fact I’ve had less anxiety in college the other day and it was astonishing! Even talking with situational mutism was easier! And emotions. Well, anhedonia is caused by low dopamine (or at least that’s one of the causes). So I’ve been feeling a bit more, caring a bit more, and feeling some warming Christmas spirit like a shot of warmed Mulled Wine.

However the energy drink has a crap ton of caffeine in, I keep getting the jitters and felt wired the other day, so I’m going to experiment with L-Theanine without any additives or caffeine. The brand I got was from focussupplements.co.uk. Not advertising, just if anyone’s curious I mentioned it.

Anyway. If my head gets better, this blog may have a redo or just get

Coping methods

Sometimes we aren’t all born with the superhuman confidence others have. Sometimes we might not even blend in magically with our surroundings like others. Because me and you, we’re either socially awkward, paranoid, depressed…

I have Complex PTSD. This means being outside gives me tons of triggers, so I often wish there was a way to make things COMFORTABLE FOR ONCE!

Well, lately I’ve been kicking myself up the butt, and have experienced briefly with ways for a paranoid socially awkward soul like myself to cope in public.

And that is by being ignorant. No, not ignorant as in cuntish. But the literal sense. I am working on blending into my environment, but blocking others out. When I block out, I erase the triggers surrounding me. All there is, when I walk up the road, is me and nobody else. My own personal bubble!

So far, it has worked wonders. I have been able to walk down the street, with my head held high, feeling less anxious. I have been able to study shelves in a shop, look over people’s heads within a queue, and I have practically become one with my environment.

Because I am not looking at people in the eyes, I am lessening my awareness, the way I’d easily ignore someone I don’t like. Yet this isn’t favourable or unfavorable, I’m just neutral. So people don’t pick up on my anxious aura much, and I can smile.

Now that you know about my personal cope. Let me list a few other helpful ones at the top of my head!

Pretending everyone is a part of your dream. That you’re dreaming. Because when you’re dreaming, who cares what any of those people think? You’re bold and capable in dreams! You can be motherfucking royalty! So try this method today.

Realising we’re all the same awkward, revolting people who cry an end up snotting all over ourselves during flu season. None of us are perfect and we’re struggling to stay awake during the day. So if you remember this, it makes your anxiety less awkward.

Going deep into your thoughts and acknowledging that we are animals, but capable of vocalising our thoughts in multiple languages, and can drive a car. C’mon. Don’t you feel more relaxed knowing we’re just a strange bunch of creatures on this planet?

The Negative Method. You’re worthless. I’m worthless. Everyone’s worthless. We’re just low IQ apes, aliens are smarter than us. Who cares what anyone thinks anymore? We’re doomed as a species.

And that is the bunch of coping mechanisms I have gathered up, hope they work. Take care, my dear readers ❤️

sertraline journey continued

Pharmacists, I’m never going to feel a drop of shame when you have to swap my current meds for a brand which works. A lot of us antidepressant takers have to self-advocate and medicate, creating batches of groups online where we do our OWN discoveries and polls because none of you have a shred of sympathy for us.

Brain meds are different than painkillers. You can’t compare the two. One causes sexual dysfunction, emotional numbness and suicidal thoughts. The other doesn’t.

I don’t cry a single tear, over watching you slave away to get a better brand of Sertraline in stock. Mental health is just as important as physical, feel the warmth in your heart that comes from saving another’s life. Not the cold hard cash in your wallet.

Recently I was forced to take a new brand of Sertraline, one that does NOT agree with me. Suicidal thoughts, mania, and increasing depression. It ceases if I miss my dose. However, I found a brand of Sertraline that has SIMILAR INGREDIENTS to MedReich (the only brand which worked wonders).

That’s the main pill. The real deal. The purest form of Sertraline out there. Pzifer!

But to obtain it? I have to deal with pettiness and excuses. The pharmacy says the GP has to write for a new brand. The GP says the pharmacy can only do it. The GP then changes their tone and says they can’t because mental health is not an urgent concern.

Y’all should be ashamed of yourselves. And I will continue to push for the Pzifer, so I can happily stabilise… AGAIN (thanks Crescent for foiling my plans), taper off and never have to deal with this awful stuff again. Then celebrate with booze. And fulfill my amazing partner’s every single wish, live a carefree life, it’ll be good.

Right, back onto persuading the doctor.

Fighting the good fight

So, this year I entered college to try for my GCSEs. This would be my 4th attempt, since the colleges in my previous county grossly let me down. Imagine going into class and feel like you’re reliving a PTSD flashback. You’re continuously on edge, frozen up, trembling and hating yourself to the fullest.

The best part about how my PTSD effects me, is that once I’m frozen up, it becomes impossible to grab that much needed ruler or lift my head to look at what lesson plan we have. All hope of getting my work done is gone, and my attempts of getting help failed.

My previous town was one of the most judgemental places ever. So many had the same mindset, being dismissive and careless towards anyone who had complex needs. If you weren’t a normal student, don’t expect any proper Education Care Plan or counselling to be in place.

In college, whenever I tried to express that I wasn’t shy and it was situational mutism preventing me from feeling comfortable. The tutor condescendingly told me to try harder or that I’d miraculously grow out of it. Oh, honey. I have been suffering from this DEBILITATING condition since childhood, no amount of waiting will change that.

I’m very self-aware and hold a great amount of insight into what troubles me. I have read a large amount of information on what situational mutism is, so when I tried bringing this up to the tutors, I made sure to use a relatable explanation on what it felt like, and made it clear over and over how it isn’t shyness.

Nobody would listen, so my CPTSD continued to flare up and I’d walk out of every lesson feeling broken. However… since moving miles away from that screwed up town, my education has turned around for the better!

The tutors surprised me when I mentioned the situational mutism for the first time. My English tutor took me aside and asked how I’d want her to help explain this to the class, so nobody gets the wrong idea. Um. Wow. How many YEARS have I spent asking the tutors in my previous colleges to do the same for me, and all of them treated me like a shy little freak? And this college accomplished it on the first day!

For the first time, the tutors gave me access to a method of communication that doesn’t leave me frozen stiff to my seat, isolated and trapped in my own head. The students don’t laugh at or mock me for using either a whiteboard or mobile to communicate. I’ve got this app which makes text big, placed up on a funky background, and saves sentences for later use.

For any reader who struggles with mutism, or any condition that makes it harder to verbalise your thoughts. I recommend the following app: https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.suspedeal.makeitbig

And for those using Apple products: https://apps.apple.com/us/app/make-it-big/id479282584

Thanks to the above methods, I’ve found it so much easier to be confident. When you can talk, you’re able to show your personality to others, people are less likely to assume things about you, and if anyone insults you… you just need to type out a witty comeback. Which is MUCH better than sitting there mute and giving others the false inpression that you’re a hollow shell!

The other day, I was able to initiate contact with two other students for the first time. I have NEVER been able to engage in conversation before, as when you’re mute others naturally leave you out. It’s how people work. A “quiet person” makes them uncomfortable, so they avoid them like the plague.

This made me feel confident and on top of the world. Thanks to this, whenever I walk into class there’s already people who know me, the real me. It’s amazing how a long-term issue I faced in my previous county, was easily halted with some understanding and compassion. To make it even better, the college has supplied me with a support worker in class, I’ve got counselling sessions being set up, and a place to eat lunch without being isolated in a small room.

Can’t wait to post my GCSE certificates on here in the future! Until then.

How anhedonia influences my gender identity

Hello, for those who haven’t visited my blog before. I am a 22 year old autistic person, who is dealing with a condition known as anhedonia. What this means for me is, since March 23rd of last year, I have been living in a colourless world without stimulation. My brain, for a vague reason, has been unable to produce happiness chemicals, or even power up its’ fight or fight system properly. I have not felt love, happiness, peace, anger, anxiety, dread… instead for over a year I’ve been living like a robot.

Emotions make us all, without emotion it’s hard to keep memories and even have an identity. And this is what this post is about today, my gender identity. Oh, my gender identity – my sense of self. It’s been hard to achieve over the years, and for many I’ve been silently hurled up in my room, jotting down thoughts, emotions and opinions. Scrutinising myself, over and over. I wanted to know who I was!

Back in 2015, at the age of 16, I found myself in an emotional crisis over myself. Whether that was internal or because of external issues, I was questioning my gender identity. And we all sometimes do it, question ourselves, whether it’s our romantic orientation or if we’re trans. However most teens find themselves very quick, and questions like that fade off or are answered. But mine? Well, it plagued me into adulthood.

It began with clothes. Boys clothes, girls clothes – why did I prefer to wear boys clothes more than girls? Was I a tomboy? It extended past that, my hair got cut short, and people often mistook me for a boy. It gave me joy in my heart, when an elderly man shook my hand and called me “young lad”. That joy, I wanted it to last, and so within that year I began to identify as male. Well, after discovering the trans umbrella and identities such as genderfluid et cetera.

When I came out as male and changed my name, the anxiety and confusion I felt lifted. Within the light of public places, I was more confident than ever. This continued… until the day I began to have doubts.

Now, I was confident. Confident in my new name, confident in how others treated me socially, and confident in the way I presented. In a lot of ways, I was a transgender male. However, sometimes there would be little parts of me that would cause doubt. The way I didn’t feel as much discomfort as some, the way sometimes I wouldn’t mind my anatomy, the way it felt like my impression of myself sometimes fluctuated. Once I finally met my gender therapist, these thoughts only ever increased.

Now imagine being comfortable with your gender identity for years, you have changed your name via deed poll, you have dreamt of top surgery and starting hormones. But then suddenly your heart does a 180… and this is the beginning of my spiral into scrutinising myself.

Diary entries were written up and a majority of them went like this…

In between the time, being confused and seeing the gender clinic, I would begin to search for answers online. When it came to the gender clinic appointments, since 2015 I was out and living as male full-time, and had changed my name via deed poll. It was serious business, so when I finally entered those doors, it felt like a commitment I had to make despite my doubts. 3 years on an NHS waiting list is a very long time, it felt like if I turned away from my plans, everything would be thrown into every patients’ faces.

The advice I got online only baffled me further, I had people telling me to quit pursuing hormones and to get therapy, but then I had others telling me the worries would pass once I’m on testosterone. Getting therapy was not a choice though, since asking the gender clinic, they told me any mental health issues can’t be provided by them. This is one thing CAMHS wrongly gave me hope about, the service told me once I visit the GIC they’ll give me all the mental health support I need.

Now you may be wondering, why didn’t I ask my gender therapist for advice? After a few sessions, she no longer showed up, and no other sessions were put in place. Then I had the gender clinician, who I made the biggest mistake ever with… at the time of my appointment, there was tons of theories about how autism is causing teens and kids to believe they’re trans. This theory was running amuck in the GIC and I mentioned my Asperger’s to him, since then he treated me like a child and was distrustful of me.

My other form of support gone. Online I was still heavily desperate for answers, and eventually I found a clutch of some type. The transmedicalists. Now there are two sides of the community, the tucutes and transmedicalists. This is not discourse I want to go into on here, but I’m using it to explain the story. Online I found posts stating, “you need dysphoria to be trans”, “being nonbinary isn’t real”, “if you don’t tick boxes XYZ, you’re not trans”, and “if you have doubts, you’re not trans”. The main viewpoint all of this encompasses is the fact that, if you’re not transgender or taking it seriously or identify as any other gender, you’re making a mockery of the community. Even stealing resources if you dare go into a gender clinic while not binary trans or certain!

I didn’t want to make a mockery, or identify as a different gender, or anything as such. I shoved aside questioning my gender further, took the fact I had dysphoria as a key point, and began to take everything seriously. I had to do this right, take hormones, get top surgery, and be the man I always was meant to be.

Hormone therapy eventually began, and on the first month I felt ecstatic. Finally! FINALLY I TOOK THE GEL, AND MY CONFIDENCE WAS THROUGH THE ROOF! No more having to wear shirts in the pool, no more high pitched girly voice, no more misgendering if I wear feminine clothes, and MOST IMPORTANTLY if I take hormones I get top surgery. At the time, the one thing that caused me tons of dysphoria, was having a feminine chest. The gender clinic told me that, if I ever wanted top surgery, I’d have to take testosterone for a year. Throwing nonbinary individuals under the bus.

But back to the testosterone, for that entire month I was ecstatic and believed this was the right choice, and this continued… until I increased my dose and began having negative effects. Numbness, I couldn’t feel anything. No love, excitement, or connection to people. I was numbed down. The next thing? Mania! I kept going manic and couldn’t calm down, racing thoughts and sleeplessness. This wasn’t right and I was questioning if this was because of reverse dysphoria, that testosterone wasn’t meant for my body.

I wanted to mention this to the gender clinic, but without a gender therapist and a clinician who hated autistic kids. I was alone and had to sort this out myself. Another month passed, I increased the dose again and felt even more disturbed. I searched online and got ridiculed online, I phoned up this Transgender Helpline and got patronised for my choices, and eventually quit hormones altogether… with nobody in the gender clinic aware. The blood tests required to check my hormone levels came up, and I was reluctant to go. My male hormones were lowered and there was a big risk of getting kicked out. I was still under the impression they’d give me mental health support, I HAD to stay.

Gender confusion returned and I began to contemplate my journey so far. I took testosterone and it helped for a while, until the side effects took over. Yet, was I really happy about the changes? The low voice, the fat redistribution, everything. It felt a lot more comfortable than seeing myself as a woman though, during my time off hormones, I tried getting used to my biological gender again. I thought if I could convince myself…

I tried dressing femininely and wearing some eyeliner like I used to while identifying as male, but for some reason instead of being fun it felt uncomfortable and upsetting. I tried scrapping gender expectations and roles, dressed how I wanted (masculine or feminine) and enjoy life that way. It didn’t work… not even dressing full of masculine worked, because I was still aware of being female, that that side didn’t change.

But when I started to throw in the towel and see myself as male again, it felt better. I was less dysphoric, more comfortable wearing feminine clothes, and having a binder worked! So… what the actual HECK was going on? Why was I dysphoric on testosterone if I was clearly a man? Why couldn’t I just get over myself and resume hormones!? I’m RUINING MY LIFE AND WASTING MY TIME.

Stressed out and finding myself hurdled up in my room with the lights off… I decided to go back to the gender clinic, to try and get some help for real this time. Too late, they found out I was not taking hormones as prescribed and refused to get my blood tests done. I was (in their own words) “far too mentally ill and should come back once you’re better”. Removed from the register and told to come back in 3 years. NHS doesn’t provide easily accessible mental health care for adults. I was still dysphoric and needed a specialist, but they refused to help me.

This may sound stupid and probably dangerous, but I found my old hormone prescription. Still in date, half a canister left. Began to use it alone, took an even LOWER dose, and surprisingly it didn’t fuck me up! Meanwhile my GP got concerned, accused me of buying hormones online and doing DIY (unaware of my old prescription). Dad helped me find a private gender clinic, we found out we were able to afford it (only just), and got testosterone from there. For 11 months I was on it, was more confident and comfortable again, no dysphoria whatsoever and thought this was it. I am now myself and can live.

March 23rd 2020, I became numb as you’re all aware and certainly annoyed of hearing. The testosterone gel, I feel contributed to this in a way, as over time my dose increased and of course reflecting on how much the gel numbed me on my first trial. I stopped in July 2020, as my insomnia was not fading off and I was getting sicker. I needed a rest and so this felt like the appropriate choice. After July, I began to once again reflect on my decisions. While on testosterone, despite enjoying the flat chest and more masculine features, I didn’t feel comfortable with the voice drops. Not because they weren’t good, but because it was permanent. It was ALL permanent. Unlike dressing masculine and deciding how long to present that way for, or choosing to talk in a higher or lower octave, this was unchangeable.

And for the first time, I had an epiphany. Going back to my gender identity, at the time I sat down and opened up to my parents for the first time about my discomfort around gender roles and women in general. That as a child, nobody allowed me to dress neutral without severe ridicule. In schools, the kids were stereotypically male or female, small town caught in a 1950s mindset. It was a shock and disgrace to my peers that I had short hair and “looked like a boy”. From there, I decided to be gender nonconforming while remaining my ordinary self. And this suited me just fine… until this year, when my anhedonia was slightly alleviated and I could feel a little more than usual (thanks to Cabergoline).

Dysphoria crept back, I began dreaming about removing my breasts and being flat chested. Enjoyed the idea of drawing on a fake beard, acting masculine sometimes, etc. Started to feel squeamish seeing myself as a gender nonconforming woman, and refused to call myself by my birthname. I started to look back at my opinions about nonbinary identities. The worries I had about making a mockery of others. The gender clinic, in a way, pressuring me to take hormones as I wouldn’t be allowed top surgery otherwise. Thinking there was no other choice.

I decided within this year to begin acknowledging myself as nonbinary, as the term I kept mentioning vaguely throughout those diary entries, over and over without realising I already knew who I was. They/them, I began to adopt and use. And once again, I was comfortable, as I know now that my dysphoria is allowed to fluctuate, as does my presentation, and it doesn’t make me wrong or confused.

So how does all this tie into how anhedonia influences my gender identity? Well, thanks to anhedonia, I’m not as dysphoric as much. So as of now, I don’t feel much dysphoria around my chest and shrug my shoulders over being referred to as a woman, or others using she/her pronouns towards me. But I know, once the anhedonia budges and I can be my complete self again, and reconnect to the world around me and inside of my soul and mind? This dysphoria is coming back with a vengeance and once again I’ll be back to my genderless self!

It’s very frustrating as most days I feel like I’m lying to myself, an imposter, because of the fact my dysphoria has faded and so my identity has shifted. It feels like I’m putting on an act, and that I’m stood in a cramped room whenever I answer to female pronouns or dress femininely. It should be a blessing, yet I know I’m not my true self this way.

Strangers

Last week, I had an experience as some followers may have read about. An argument broke out between me and others on Reddit, simply because I tried to explain myself. It was a brutal argument, but that’s not what I am writing for today. There was one Redditor who got in a huff with me, she attacked me verbally – but out of all her words, one line stood out to me the most, and that was “we’re strangers, I don’t know your life and you don’t know mine. I should block you”.

Now, this has made me think real hard. I’m someone who does not see humanity the same way as others, maybe due to my Asperger’s or naivety. My social rules are all different compared to others, so when I heard that very line, it didn’t register in my heart. Just why are we strangers? How can a person be so closed off, that even when everything’s safe and there are no risks to life, that we can’t still engage in normal conversation?

Whenever I pass the people around me, I don’t see strangers, instead they are friends and family members to someone else. What are friends if not strangers first?

When I see the behaviour of those around me, their interactions with unknown people are like a skittish rabbit trying to sneak past a bunch of foxes. The rabbit sees them, knows it needs to get to safety – maybe this isn’t the best analogy but you should get what I’m saying. And these reactions, the skittishness and unnecessary coldness towards others, it almost brings a tear to my eye.

People speak of such things as community and world peace, that we’ve all got one another; that we’re all human, and yet we isolate others and treat those around us as NPCs and worth nothing. This means it’s so much easier to take your frustrations out on a stranger, or make rude comments for your own amusement. However, I’m stuck here dreaming of a world where we do not function that way, where we’ve got some form of acknowledgement for one another. I wonder if we would behave the same if rules didn’t exist in social clubs and events.

Maybe this is drivel; maybe I over think, I don’t know.

EDIT: I want to smile at people, but it’s wrong. I want to skip in the rain in public, but it’s wrong. I want to make smalltalk with the sad or frustrated looking person in the corner, but it’s wrong. I want to wave at someone I pass by down the street, but it’s wrong. I want to give a stranger a compliment on their unique outfit or their stylish hair, but it’s wrong. I want to offer a homeless person some money and sit beside them for a while, just to give them some company, but it’s wrong.

It’s wrong to do these things to people you don’t know. It’s wrong to interact with strangers.

An experience…

Last night, I was browsing one of my favourite subreddits. r/CPTSD – a support site for those who are dealing with trauma, to find others who can relate and offer advice to. Because C-PTSD is so misunderstood, this meant I felt comfortable in this environment.

Lately I’ve been trying to boost my confidence levels and undo the tiniest bit of damage to my development, that was my inability to stand up for myself. Like a lot of people with PTSD, we can be overly sensitive to the emotions of others. We may fear confrontation and see it as an alleyway to danger.

This is what leads some of us into dark crevices, where it’s hard to leave an abusive relationship, or distance ourselves from family members. Some may be eager to please, as a defense mechanism in itself – you get the idea now.

So I’ve been recently learning how to do the complete opposite of this, whenever someone has upset me, instead of profusely apologising for being a waste of space and letting it slide. That I become brave enough to say, “this hurt; why did you say/do this?”

I have even tried to be brave enough, to let others know how I feel when it comes to friendship. Throughout my life, I have been unlucky enough to experience too many one-sided friendships. You know the kind where you’re left to question things, feel like a burden, and have to hold it up yourself? These people were so quick to call me their “friend”, and over the years I had to cruelly learn that this term is just a friendly expression.

I wanted to learn how to express to others, that we’re friends on my terms. That things need to be mutual and they need to prove it. Because of everything written in the above paragraph.

Because at the time, I was feeling the need to emotionally decompress about how difficult it is to set boundaries, I posted this to r/CPTSD.

The responses I got shattered me. Firstly, one person began to question if I had “issues” handling other’s opinions. This made me feel like they were patronising me, so I tried to be brave, and said something along the lines of “please don’t patronise me”. Someone then jumped onto my back, expressing that they weren’t patronising and my comment was wrong.

At this point, my adrenaline had shot up. I was feeling unsteady and fearful of what other types of comments may surface. Another user popped up, they began to suggest that my idea of boundaries was cruel. That my friends didn’t deserve this type of treatment, ignoring my explanation of how these “friends” treated me.

I was startled and on the verge of tears, I sink myself back into the comment section, and tried to explain in detail how these friends hurt me. The backstabbing I’ve experienced. The memories that haunt.

Then another user jumped on my back, expressing how my idea of how others treat me was based on delusions and suggested that I need a therapist. As another symptom of PTSD, someone can be hypervigilant. This means they can detect the emotions of others strongly, that they’re more aware of changes in tone, and can pay close attention to facial expressions.

I know what I saw, heard, felt. So I returned, trying to once again explain to the commentor that it wasn’t in my head and that my reactions were just. The commentor didn’t like this and began to throw verbal punches, expressing that I’m delusional and that I was full of hostility. Despite being behind the screen, crying my eyes out and hyperventilating as my body shook.

To trim the story down, I got inboxed by commentors saying I was triggering their PTSD. One of them called me a “control freak” and threw revolting comments at me. The thread was reported, the admin accused me of being passive aggressive, and I was left to cry my eyes out, spend until 3am awake as I was hurting far too much and had to call the Samaritans.

That is the story of why I’m agoraphobic, scared of people, and struggle to smile most days…

Open your eyes, please?

Most mental health problems, aren’t just caused by chemical imbalances. I’m under the impression that therapists use this reason, as it’s owned and marketed by the pharmaceutical company. I would like you to sit back and imagine the world now, if antidepressants weren’t possible. Would the “chemical imbalance” theory be popular?

If we look beyond chemical imbalances, and hear the voices of the depressed and traumatised, soon the reasons behind their deterioration becomes clear. That reason lies in the people who reside on this Earth and their attitudes; their ignorance. But what does therapy actually do to resolve this? Absolutely nothing, because mental illness still exists and so many give up on therapy and end their lives.

A therapist shouldn’t just dish out pills and assume the issue lies within that person, because this is ignorance and does not change humanity’s opinions. Instead they should be prioritising listening to the mentally sick and taking notes of their environment, upbringing, socialisation, place in society, etc. They should compile all this information up, and find strategies related to this individual’s life. For the therapist to accept that these problems are linked to the client’s environment, and to accept that things are beyond their control, would be a massive milestone in benefitting mental health today.

If I were presented with a patient who is being harassed constantly, who may have a deformity or whose mental illness makes them a good target for others to boost their ego, I’d come up with ways to help the patient cope. To help them see themselves as a good person, despite the actions of others. To help find ways for them to remain safe and stable.

It’s like with the diagnosis PTSD/C-PTSD. We are not simply born with the trauma, cause and affect are playing rough. Repetitive trauma, caused by the actions of those who are simply able to get away with harming another, can result in a persistent change to that person’s mind and emotions. It is caused by the way we treat one another on this Earth!

Yet therapists are so quick to reduce this to an internal problem, they’re so quick to treat it like a broken ankle… however mental illness is more complicated than an actual illness. In fact, perhaps mental illness isn’t an illness at all, but a rational result to a repetitive series of mistreatment and pain?

Maybe it’s time to separate the illness from mental health.