I am a smiler. Through the good the bad and the completely depressing, I always try and smile. It’s somewhat weird. I find comfort in comedy and use this as a coping method for most things in life. When my Dad was dying in hospital, I found it easier to joke with my family and laugh through the tears then just sob through the tears.
This is how I am dealing with everything that is going on at the moment as well. My Mum that has dementia and is dying, my physical health and upcoming operation, my relationships, my mental health, my life. I smile; hoping no one will see through it.

I really believe there comes a point in everyone’s life where they think “Fuck this, I cannot do this anymore.” Right now I am struggling to know when I can do this. What area of my life can I let slip? Work? Home? Friends? Physical Health? Mental Health? I can’t really let any of them go. But I am holding on with my fingertips to keep my shit together.

Collectively everyone I talk to always says the same thing – “But you are coping so well” I know I am. I have no other choice. I cant break, because if I do. I don’t know how I will pull myself together again.

Call me a pessimist.

But behind this happy go lucky smiler. There is a proper pessimist. I am prepared for the very worst case scenario possible. Just in case it does become a reality. Because that is my life, so far. Quit tragic isn’t it. (I laughed as I wrote that.)

But in all seriousness, this is serious. It is all over the media at the moment. Look at the recent case of the late Chester Bennington. People with severe mental health conditions and manic depression. Living day to day life, to everyone else coping really well. But to then do something unthinkable to themselves. Committing suicide…

Thankfully, I am not at that point. I’m certain of that. I want to live. But I have been there before. I have tried to kill myself. I have been so low that I thought I had no other way out. And it is a scary prospect that my mental health, because of other contributing factors could slip that low that I end up back in that scenario.

I remember so clearly, the day I first tried to kill myself. It was the first day of year 8, I was 11 years old. I was horrendously bullied at school and I was completely alone at times. I felt like I had no one. I had been cutting myself for a while and been referred to see a Psychiatrist, I was on medication and everyone was trying to work out what the hell was wrong with me.

But that day I remember; everyone had been laughing at me in French class because I couldn’t remember the word for something and I was getting upset I remember the teacher pushing and pushing and I just broke down. It was horrendous. I had counselling after school and then I went home.

I literally remember this event like it happened last week, not 15 years ago.

I waited till after dinner. Then went to my bedroom with boxes of paracetamol and some of my Mum’s vodka. I proceeded to take all of the pills, there was about 70. I waited. Then a girl I would talk to about my problems, phoned me to check I was okay. I panicked and told her what I had done. She told my Mum and the ambulance was called. The rest is a massive blur, because I was fucked. My body was drunk and reacting with the drugs I had taken. I spent a week in general and was released after an assessment at the Priory. They deemed me mentally okay to go home and suggested I confronted the bullies.

Like that worked well.

The second time was worse. Much worse. I had no one now. People thought I was a freak, even the parents thought I was trouble. The few friends I had stopped being there for me. The bullying got worse and I just remember this one day waiting for my “friends” outside Blockbusters on my own, for hours. Then the bus drove past with them all on it, laughing and pointing at me. Horrible. What had I done that was so deserving of this cruelty? I didn’t know then and I wont know now. These children, who are now adults will probably never know the damage they caused.

But I tried, I tried to be positive. I smiled when I needed to and it was still not enough. This rut I couldn’t get out of. I was 12 and I nearly succeeded in killing myself. If it wasn’t but for my little brother, I remember him screaming to my Mum “she’s done it again” and my Mum came running into the room to find me slumped on my bed.. An ambulance was called and I was rushed to hospital where they were concerned. I had taken a lot of drugs and my stomach was pumped. I spent a further week attached to drips in general hospital to be faced with another assessment at the Priory.

This time I didn’t leave for six months. During my stay I attempted a further 3 times to commit suicide by overdose.
On my departure I was formally diagnosed at the age of 12 with Type 1 Bipolar. Something I honestly still find hard to get my head around. But this explains a lot. I am fortunate enough to have this diagnosis. Before this I was just a messed up attention seeker to some. When actually I was a young girl fighting true demons, inside my head and in front of my face.

Mental health is not something people talk about so openly with each other. Suicide, and suicidal thinking – no one talks about. It’s World Mental Health Day next week, did you even know that?

Where is the prevention and help for Mental Health. We need to start at home. This is something we should discuss over the dinner table, no one should ever feel like they can’t tell someone they are sad or don’t feel worthy. If we start at home we can avoid the stigma as we all know some people are so quick to brand and judge. But without a full insight. When actually there is a full encyclopaedia of words to describe someone with Mental Health difficulties.

When looking at me and my life, you wouldn’t even know I have Type 1 Bipolar. Yes partly because I hide it well. and because I have never wanted to use it as an excuse or a reason behind my behaviour. Also because I am medicated and take full responsibility for taking a hold of my diagnosis and managing it.
Not everyone is in the same boat as me. Not everyone has what I have. I understand that. But everyone should have someone, and no one should feel ashamed of something they can’t control having.

I am lucky now, I have a world of friends. Each one in their own way supports me and my bipolar and my dark times. They let me talk about how I feel. Not one of my true friends has ever made me feel ashamed for having a melt down. Lord knows I have had a few. My friendships have survived manic moments and months. Depressed and dark times and I think everyone should have somewhere to turn.

Every single person in those pictures has seen me during a time I haven’t been at my best. Whether they knew it or not. Or whether they chose to ignore the stigma and just help their friend I don’t know. But I do know that I am damn lucky!

Lets make sure everyone is lucky enough to have someone, no matter who they are. All you have to do is use three words and listen.

“We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided.”
Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Being Becka x

Music is a massive part of my life and I have a few songs that get me through the dark times for different reasons, one song that always gets me and when I saw the artist live and he sung this song I just burst into tears and said this is it – this is how I feel. It was City and Colour – Sleeping Sickness