I’m sat here writing this on an empty beach as the sun is shining down on me. I think I’ve found my happy place, which at the moment has been very hard to locate.

I thought I was doing well mentally. I’d been to the doctors a few months ago to discuss whether I could start to come off my antidepressants over the summer and he was happy for me to do so.

However, fast forward to the present, and my mental health has taken a nose dive once again. You’d think by now I would be able to recognise when the depression slowly starts to creep up on me. Unfortunately, that isn’t the case. For weeks now, I haven’t been feeling like myself — I just put it down to lack of sleep and stress from work. Until one night last week, the sadness and depression just engulfed me like a giant wave sweeping over my entire body. I couldn’t see a way out.

I laid in bed with tears pouring down my face, my mind frantically racing, telling me that I should end it all. Taunting me that there is only one way out. All the while, another voice in my head is telling me that if I hurt myself, it will make all the pain go away. In the end, I must have passed out from exhaustion and woke up a couple of hours later to the sound of my alarm screaming at me to get up and get ready for work.

I knew I shouldn’t have gone to work the next day, but I didn’t want to be alone, and I had no idea where else to go. I didn’t want my family worrying about me again, as we’d been in this same situation nearly two years ago. Looking back over the past couple of weeks, I should have gotten help sooner. But at that moment in time, I’d convinced myself that I was ok. So I went into work, my head pounding and puffy-eyed (still crying), and wrote down on a sticky note for my colleague that I needed help.

All the right people got involved, including my parents. The doctor upped the strength of my meds, gave me some pills to help me sleep, and signed me off of work. It’s a massive blow when you’ve told yourself that you’re getting better, to then being back where you started at the beginning of this long journey.

I’m not good at verbalising my feelings or needs, hence why I started my blog. I think it’s time for me to start writing again and open up about everything that’s going on. But for now, I’m going to be catching up on some much-needed sleep and trying to keep myself busy.

I’m not OK, but I will be with time. Thank you to those people around me for being patient and supporting me through this.

Like many, I have been lucky enough to experience both relationships and being single. The two have their perks which I’m sure we’ve all encountered. The feeling of comfort and happiness while in a relationship. The certainty of having someone to call your own along with having your best friend by your side through every adventure. Then to have the pleasure of being single; taking time to embrace who you are and learning to live your best life without any relationship weight on your shoulders.

However, as lovely as all that sounds in your head, in reality, things can be very different. We all know that relationships have their stresses, but for someone with chronic illnesses, a relationship can potentially cause more emotional and physical stress than anticipated. The same can occur when you’re single and looking to get into a relationship.

Having chronic illnesses means that there are a lot of anxieties around having or finding a partner. As an individual who suffers from chronic illnesses, I couldn’t help but let my anxieties take over while being in relationships. I would often feel like a burden to my partners because I was unable to keep up with them physically. More importantly, the feeling of guilt and helplessness that they were having to care for me on my bad days. The worry that they would get bored and want to be with someone who didn’t have all these issues.

Nonetheless, being single and wanting to be in a relationship causes a lot of fear as well as anxiety. Being in this position currently, I’m constantly worried that if I tell a potential partner about my history of mental and physical illnesses that they will be put off. The fear that I’m broken or not good enough for anyone because I have these limitations. I’m almost scared that people will decline a relationship with me, and pick someone who is ‘normal’ and doesn’t have all the extra baggage.

I think it’s very rare to come across an individual who has empathy and understanding towards those with chronic illnesses. To find someone who is willing to ride this emotional and physical rollercoaster of illness with us, holding our hand every step of the way. Being our lover, friend, motivation and occasional caregiver. But most essential giving us reassurance that we are not a burden or alone, and changing our outlook on relationships.

On this day (26th September) last year, I reached out to my parents and reluctantly offloaded all the suicidal thoughts that were suffocating me. It was single-handedly the hardest thing I’ve had to do. How do I tell the people that bought me into this world, raised me and gave me the happiest life that I no longer want to be alive? How do I tell them without breaking their hearts, or reassure them that it’s not their fault?

Well, I did it. After months of those how and what if questions circling my head, it all just came pouring out. A year on, and only now are the answers to those questions racing through my mind. Do my parents blame themselves sometimes for how low I can get or have been? Does it hurt them to see me lost in the thoughts of my clouded mind? I can only hope that this isn’t the case, and they know that depression is a disease that cannot be self-controlled, despite me learning to conquer it daily.

Three hundred and sixty-five days. That’s how many days have passed since I spoke up about my mental state. That’s 365 days more than I anticipated I could get through. I didn’t think I’d be around to see Christmas last year, yet here we are a year on and I know for definite I’ll be here to see this year out too. That in itself is an achievement for me.

People are always asking me, “are you better now?”. That is such a hard question to respond to because I don’t know if I’ll ever be better. Nor do I know if I’ll ever go back to the place I was in a year ago. But I do know that I’m not there now, and I’m surviving which is all anyone can ask of me. Nonetheless, I’ve recently been receiving such positive comments and praise from some people. I feel almost weightless when they express that they’re proud of me or can see a physical/mental change in me that I don’t notice myself.

There are still days where I can feel the sadness engulfing me, causing me to withdraw from people and things around me. However, this past year has been about finding ways to keep positive and outweigh the bad days. I gradually started back at work building up a routine. Now I’ve even increased my hours, but still making sure that I’m not pushing myself too far. I’ve cut out people from my life who were having a negative impact and started surrounding myself with those who encourage, support and love me unconditionally.

I still have such a long way to go before I even consider lowering the dosage on my antidepressants and coming off them completely. Despite this, I’m proud of myself for carrying on and how far I’ve come. It hasn’t been the easiest of journeys, and I don’t think I would have been able to get to where I am today if it wasn’t for my family and friends being so understanding and supporting me every step of the way.

Depression is always going to be a part of me, whether I choose to let it beat me again or not is the real challenge.

A year on, I made it. I’ve survived, I’m proud.

Many people believe that Fibro can only develop when someone is middle-aged or elderly. That is in fact not true. There are thousands of people who have been affected by the condition since childhood or their teenage years, yet went undiagnosed due to how difficult it can be to fit the diagnosis criteria.

Fibromyalgia affects every person in many different ways. Some may experience more symptoms than others, however, that doesn’t mean to say that the other person doesn’t have it just as bad.
This blog is a little insight into how Fibro affects my life on a daily basis and the struggles I face.

A typical day with Fibro.

I dread hearing my alarm clock going off in the morning. It can take me at least 10 minutes for my body to process that it needs to start moving. I’ll sit on the edge of my bed, my entire body stiff and swollen. The sheer touch of my feet on the floor makes me want to cry with how painful it feels. Then comes showering — which is a task in itself, as standing is not something my body wants to be doing first thing in the morning.

Getting dressed and making myself look presentable is always very frustrating, especially as my hands are so swollen that I can’t even do up my buttons or brush my hair. Having to endure feeling like I’ve failed every morning makes me wonder why I ever got out of bed in the first place.

Eating breakfast or any meal for that matter can be quite difficult as I really struggle to use a normal knife, fork, and spoon. I do have specially designed cutlery which does make holding them that little easier. However, sometimes my hands are that sore I can’t even cut my own food.

I then take a cocktail of pain meds before I head off to work to try and get me through the day. Being at work all day makes my body tired and in more pain. When I get home from work I want nothing more than to get into bed and sleep. But unfortunately, sleep is not my best friend and I rarely get any. Throughout the night the pain in my body will become so intense that I won’t be able to lie, sit or stand to alleviate it. If I’m lucky I might manage to get a few hours of sleep, but then the alarm clock goes off and I have to repeat the cycle all over again.

If I’m having a flare-up day and the pain is particularly bad, I won’t even be able to get out of bed and that’ll be my day done. I can’t move, I can’t sleep, I don’t want to eat and I don’t want to talk. All I can do is cry. The brain fog will set in, and I don’t remember what I’m doing or what I was thinking about. It completely consumes me. This can go on for several days before I’m able to get myself out of bed and back to a ‘normal’ state.

This is my life; this is what I have to go through every day. Sometimes I think is this all really worth it, being and living this way. But there is a part of me that has hope, that one day there will be something to reduce the pain. That I won’t have to take 20 pills a day or have to worry about not being able to make it through each day. Or that myself and others who are suffering, in the same way, can live our lives the way we want to without being controlled by pain.

Fibromyalgia is real. It may be an invisible illness, but it still very much exists and affects so many people around the world. Unfortunately, there is no cure. No amount of drugs, exercise, dietary changes or positive thinking is ever going to cure us. This is a part of who we are, and we need to share our experiences and struggles with those closest to us so they can help us with our journey. That’s the first step, recognising that we need a little more help than most and having our loved ones support us.

Anxiety is present in many peoples lives, affecting every one of us in different ways. Some of us may feel worried about sitting an exam or having a job interview. During times like these, feeling nervous is perfectly normal.
However, some people find it hard to control their worries. The feelings of anxiety are more constant and can affect all aspects of our daily lives.

For me, anxiety takes control over most of my thoughts. It causes me to overthink every little detail without warning. I don’t understand why it happens. I know that it’s all in my head, yet I can’t seem to make it stop.

Having POTS, Fibromyalgia, EDS — Hypermobility Type and depression causes a lot of anxiety. I’m forever worrying that people might be looking at me or passing comments when I’m limping because of the pain. When I do feel anxious because I’m trying to cover up the pain, I can get myself so worked up that I end up worsening my conditions. I get all panicked, which causes my heart rate to elevate, become very light headed and lose my breath. The anxiety causes me to make myself check whether or not I’ve taken my meds several times throughout the day, even though I know I’ve taken them. On the outside, no one tends to see that this is happening, but on the inside, it feels like there is a heavy weight on my chest as if I’m drowning.

Sometimes I know when I’m feeling anxious — I know what can trigger it. For example, I could be out shopping or going for a meal and I would start to feel very conscious that people are looking at me. I know they’re probably not, but in my head, they may be judging me on my appearance, the way I talk, walk or eat. As a result of that, I won’t really make eye contact with anyone because I get too worried about what my thoughts are telling me.

Other times, I’ll get anxious if I know I have to talk to someone on the phone or in person. I’ll have to prepare what I’m going to say in my head before I say it out loud because I get so worried and paranoid that I’ll say the wrong thing and get my words muddled up.

I find it hard to talk to people, even if it’s someone I know because I worry that they may not actually like me. Of course, I know that they like me! But I have a tendency to overthink that maybe they’re just being friendly to be polite.

Overthinking will often keep me awake at night. I’ll think of things that happened during that day, things I said or should have said but didn’t. Even things that may have happened weeks or months ago, that I know I can’t do anything about.

However, sometimes I won’t be able to figure out what’s causing my anxiety. This week has been a perfect example. I’ve had a horrible feeling looming over me. I’ve been very tense and quite teary, over nothing in particular but I can’t for the life of me figure out what’s wrong. Why or what I’m worried about is really eating me up. It’s a hideous feeling.

Depression and anxiety go hand in hand together. It’s a never-ending cycle of not having the energy to care about anything because of the depression, yet frantically panicking too much about everything due to the anxiety.

Having anxiety affects everyone in so many different ways. Some people have learned coping strategies to help reduce their fears when their anxiety is high, and there are others who are still learning.

Anxiety — it’s all in my head. That right there is what people need to understand. It’s not me being silly, it’s because of what my head is telling me that’s causing me to over analyse everything. I’m still learning how to keep it under control, just like many others out there who are suffering.

I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome — Hypermobility Type which is a genetic connective tissue disorder. Having this condition means that the collagen in my body is faulty. It causes my ligaments to become too stretchy and makes my joints come out of place and injure easily.

With the joint subluxations and dislocations, comes severe widespread pain throughout my entire body. I have several supports to help with my hips, knees and shoulders from ‘popping’ out of place. I even have finger splints to ensure that my fingers don’t overextend. It’s all well and good having these aids, but I rarely get to use them as my hands and joints swell up on a daily basis, making it very difficult for me to put them on.

Every day varies when you have EDS. On a ‘good’ day, I may only have a few joints that will sublux, but I will still experience pain in most of my joints. When my hips or shoulders pop out, they tend to manoeuvre themselves back into the socket. I’ve gotten so used to it, the pain doesn’t phase me anymore when it happens. Days like this are my ‘normal’, I’ve learned to cope with it.

On a ‘bad’ day, things can go from bad to worse. Some days I struggle to get out of bed; my entire body feels as if it’s been hit by a train, travelling at full speed. Every inch of me throbs and aches. All my senses become heightened — loud noises make my body tense up, light burns my eyes, and even the touch of my clothes on my skin feels like someone is holding a flame against me. Sleeping is impossible when I’m in this extent of pain. No amount of medication will ease it, so I have to just wait for it to calm down; which could take a couple of days before I can fully move again. Days like this make me dread ever waking up in the first place.

I don’t remember what it feels like to be pain-free, as I’ve been in constant pain for the past 10 years. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t having to dose myself up with 12–14 pills a day, just to be able to function. Having EDS has been a part of me for such a long time now, and it will only continue to cause me pain for the rest of my life. Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome — Hypermobility Type is my ‘normal’.

Please read up on the condition, gain understanding and educate those who have never heard of it before. Let’s spread awareness!

Back in September, I was diagnosed with depression. I knew there was definitely something not quite right going on in my head way before I got diagnosed, but I told myself that it would pass and I would be able to deal with it just like I was dealing with my three chronic illnesses. Little did I know, that what was going on in my head would soon take over my life completely.

I would get myself into a state every now and again, dwelling on the thought that all my illnesses were limiting my quality of life. Or that I was missing out on ‘normal’ every day to day things that people around me were able to do. Those thoughts have always been in my head since I was very young. However, last year the thoughts in my head started to become more intense.

The widespread pain all over my body due to my conditions was becoming too much and I didn’t know what to do, or how to cope with it. For a few months, I had these racing thoughts and voices in my head telling me that no amount of medication was going to ease the pain because I was already taking an immense amount of pain relief drugs. So the only real way I was going to get the pain to stop, was to end it myself. I literally saw no other options, and the more I thought about it the more it seemed like the only way I would finally be pain-free.

This went on for a few more weeks. I was having horrific suicidal thoughts about how I would end my life; so many different ways I could do it. I knew that thinking like this really wasn’t healthy, but I thought if I kept it to myself like I did with everything else, it would be less difficult than having to explain to my parents what on earth was going on in my head. Plus, I’m a very closed book when it comes to my emotions. I tend to bottle everything up until I can’t keep it in anymore, and even then I can’t physically get the words out of my mouth so I have to write everything down.

Eventually that’s exactly what happened. One evening, everything that had been going round in circles in my head for the last few months all came spilling out on a piece of scrap paper. Part of me knew that telling my mum was the right thing to do, but the other part of me was filled with dread as I knew that what she was about to read would absolutely crush her.

I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders once she’d read it. However, I was unsure of how she was going to help me and my situation. Literally the next morning, we booked an appointment to see my doctor and I was petrified to have to explain everything again to him. I walked into his room, and I just burst into tears. No words would come out of my mouth, I felt like such a failure.

I was given an anti-depressant to try and help with the low moods and suicidal thoughts. The doctor told me to see how I get on with them and that I should start to notice an improvement in a month or so. Nothing was changing and I was still feeling really down. I was unaware that I was shutting myself off from those around me. I wasn’t talking or eating, I’d shut myself away in my room and was constantly sleeping to make the thoughts go away.

The doctor upped the dosage on my meds to see if that would make things better. After a couple of months, I did start to feel a difference — only slightly, but there was definitely a difference. I was talking a bit more, and starting to eat a little more than I had been. In total, I had four months off work due to my depression. I just couldn’t face being around anyone.

However, I’ve been on the meds for seven months and have back to work full time for two months which is such an achievement for me! I’m feeling a lot happier in myself, I’ve made some new lifestyle changes and I’m well on the way to recovery.

Depression is always going to be a part of me, I’m always going to have days when I’m down but I know now that I have so many people around me that I can turn to. I’m not anywhere near ready to come off the meds as of yet, but eventually I’ll get there.

If you’re ever doubting life and you feel that the only way out is to end things — talk to someone, find the correct help from medical professionals. You may feel like you’re alone, but there is always someone out there who loves you and will do their best to try and help you through the hard times. Things will get better. Maybe not right away, but it will take time and you have to believe in yourself.

There is very little knowledge and understanding of this life-altering condition, even amongst medical professions. It can take some people many years to even get a diagnosis.

I’m one of the lucky ones who finally got a diagnosis back in 2015, however it was a challenge to get there.
It started when I came home from work one day. I noticed I had developed uncontrollable shaking in my hands. I didn’t really think anything of it and carried on my day to day things as normal. After a few weeks or so, the continuous shaking hadn’t stopped. I booked myself an appointment with the doctor to see if they could tell me what was going on. They told me that it was due to anxiety and that I should try and make some lifestyle changes to ensure that I wasn’t under any stress at work etc.

A few more weeks had passed, and it was still happening. As well as the shaking, I was now getting very strong pains in my chest and dizziness which would often reduce me to tears. I saw a different doctor and this time I pleaded that it wasn’t due to anxiety and that I needed answers as to what was going on with my body. My doctor did all the appropriate tests - checked my breathing, blood pressure and heart rate etc. He looked a little concerned and said that my blood pressure was quite low and my heart was racing rather quickly. I had to then keep a record of my heart rate over the next couple of weeks and come back with what I had recorded.

I was shocked at how fast my heart was beating, even when I was sat doing nothing. It was recording anywhere between 110 beats per minute, to 136 bpm whether I was standing, sitting or laying down. (The average resting heart rate of an adult is usually between 60 and 80 bpm). I was quickly referred to see a cardiologist. Again, I had to have lots of tests done to see what was going on. I was backward and forwards to several different hospitals over the next few weeks, having to be wired up to a heart monitor, ECGs, ultrasounds and something called the Tilt Table Test.

The Tilt Table Test was by far the worst test I’d underwent. I felt like I was on the teacup ride at Disneyland, but without the fun! The doctor was testing to see how my heart rate reacted in different postural positions, so he would tilt me up and down until he’d gathered the sufficient information. Every time I was tilted up, I would get a dreadful rushing sensation from my head down to my feet that make me feel nauseous and dizzy

- almost like I was going to pass out. He then said four of the longest and most complicated words I’d ever heard — Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome.

Little did I know that this condition would change my life completely.

I myself know exactly how it feels to have comments and presumptions made about my illnesses. I have three chronic illnesses, and yes, all of them are invisible. 10 years, I have been living with people insisting they know more about my conditions than I do. 10 years, I have been living with people passing looks and comments while I’m out shopping or out for meals etc. 10 years of people telling me to ‘man up’ and ‘get on with it’. Comments like that have a real mental affect on those who are suffering with invisible conditions.

Having EDS-Hypermobility Type, POTS and Fibromyalgia means that every day I have wide spread excruciating pain all over my body and every day is different. The thing that most people find hard to come to terms with, is that one day I could be unable to get out of bed or walk because the pain is too much. Then a few days later, I’ll be up and walking and trying to carry on as normal. When people make comments like “but you were fine yesterday” or “it can’t be that bad”, I almost want to show them what it’s like for me on a high pain day — for them to see that sometimes I can’t get up and shower, or put clothes on, or even sit up as the pain is so distressing. They only see me when I’m up and about. I’ll still be in pain when they see me, but I’m very good at masking my pain. I’ll put a smile on, or I’ll try not to make my limp that noticeable while I’m in a public place. That’s what they see, and I think that’s what makes it hard for them to understand.

Discrimination. It needs to stop! Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there. So the next time you pass a comment about myself or anyone using a disabled toilet, think about the reasons why we are.Think, that maybe the reason we’re using it is because the normal toilets are up a flight of stairs which we’re unable to walk up.

Think, the next time you tut or huff at someone for walking to slow in front of you. It may be because they’re in too much pain to walk at an ‘acceptable’ pace.

Please, that’s all you have to do. Think before you say something that will effect someone with an invisible illness.