LET’S GET ONE thing straight.

I’m not generally one to get involved in/complain about/campaign for or against any political or governmental issues, mainly because I prefer not to take sides in a lot of things that cause needless arguments, tension and negativity to arise.
But I cannot let this slide.

If seeking help with a mental illness concern is ‘half the battle’, then why does it feel like literally every doctor, consultant or specialist I see is leaving me, as Micheal Harding so aptly coined recently, ‘Hanging With the Elephant’ – my days spent waiting on a response or follow-up blending in together and leaving my head and thoughts reeling?

To tell you the honest truth, at this stage, I’d nearly prefer to be lying on a trolley somewhere. At least then my struggle would be visible.

Waiting at home for a phone call

I have been off work on sick-leave for the past three weeks as I wait to hear of a bed or place of some sort becoming available in one of our mental health institutions. Having been referred on by my GP to St Patrick’s Hospital in James’ Street, and also (on subsequent request) to their Sandyford Clinic, then to the St Edmundsbury Dean Clinic in Lucan, and to Lois Bridges in Sutton in an effort to gain a place somewhere as quickly as possible and to finally scale this impenetrable mountain of muddled mentality, I have been met with nothing but dead ends and ‘possible assessment dates’ that stretch as far as ‘mid-June, at the earliest’.

This has left me fairly idle, as you can imagine, waiting at home for a phone call or some sort of news or advice as to the best way to approach my problem and to make the necessary steps to move forward. I have been advised not to return to work, for fear of the anxiety-levels associated with my illness being re-triggered and worsening my condition, yet this lack of stimulation or purpose during the day has only succeeded in deepening the pool of uncertainty and addled thoughts that tag along so considerately with any mental illness, especially one involving a history of depression.

No help, no options

On their distribution of a consultancy or ficticious date when some sort of semi-professional may or may not be available to speak with me and assess my level of mental distress (through a stethoscope, no doubt), not one institution has offered an alternate option or even plan, advice or guideline with which I can begin to help myself in the meantime. Given the general dissatisfaction with their waiting times and place allocation anyway, this added lack of concern to cover their tracks as they ‘process assessments’ is in itself shocking.

Because of the nature of my illness, this lax response has led to me feeling as if it has been glossed over not only by the health sector, but by many friends, colleagues and family members who seem to be under the impression that I am merely ‘not trying hard enough’, to get help or even ‘letting my condition worsen’ without any consideration for the various serious consquences that could possibly arise should I leave it any longer to seek treatment.

But that’s the thing. I am seeking treatment. I am trying. And that in itself is ‘half the battle’, according to most of the self-help and spiritual mental wellness websites and teachings I’ve been overdosing online on in an effort to do something for the past few weeks to improve my situation alone. Because there doesn’t seem to be anything else available to actually aid my progress. Any progress I have made has been entirely alone and of my own doing.

How do I help myself?

I was told by one institution, to whom I’d been referred over a fortnight previously, that ‘there may be an available bed in late May’. Given that two months is an awfully long time in the ebb and flow of any illness, who is to say that my issues will not have significantly improved (or worsened) by then, rendering the initial assessment (finally made this week) invalid or inaccurate, and thus initiating a programme of treatment entirely unsuited to whatever mental state I may find myself to be in by then?

I most certainly do not intend to remain as I am at the moment until such an option becomes available, and so my question is this… how do I help myself?

Why, in spite of all the ‘mental health awareness’ campaigns that we have publicised recently, is this all-important and supposedly ‘available’ treatment still so elusive?

I am aware of my illness now, yes. That in itself was a huge step to take, to accept.

I am prepared to seek help – yet another vital step I have taken, and done so to the extent of my abilities.

My disorder has become bigger than me

Why now does it feel like these steps I am taking are leading me nowhere, and that I’ve overshot this next one – putting my foot out in search of a piece of floor that doesn’t actually exist in the darkness ahead? The fact that I’ve taken the time out to successfully complete this letter/article/piece of tripe, or whatever you consider it, writing it is reason enough to believe I’m serious about recovery – I haven’t been able to concentrate so hard on something for weeks.

All I’m asking for is a bit of help with something that has been broadcast to me as being readily treatable. The endless mantras to “reach out”, and “please talk” have been heeded. The social media presence has grown larger, and gained a huge amount of (highly necessary) attention for mental illness. Stigma towards it has decreased, and a smaller number of people are being ridiculed for being open about their suffering. Yet my eating disorder has become bigger than me, and still there is nowhere left for me to turn to seek help.

I have done all I can until ‘mid-June’, and have now been left to combat this demon alone, aided only by my (albeit extensive) knowledge of internet courses and mindfulness websites that I’ve stumbled upon myself in the empty hours of this endless searching.

Surely there is something that can be done?

The author wishes to remain anonymous.