Diagnosis

So on Monday, after a few tears, shaken heads, cursing, crying, shaking and sweating I finally was given a diagnosis, by far it was one of the most challenging things I have ever had to do.
To talk and be scrutinized on every word you are saying, for someone to sit and pick your thoughts apart bit by bit, and knowing that you only have one option if you want this to all change and get better, and that is to tell the truth (the whole truth).

For the past ten years I have been trying to kid myself into thinking that I am perfectly fine and coping with it alone, and brave facing it as such. Until a few weeks ago when I completely lost the plot and a good friend sat me down and told me enough was enough and I need to speak to someone....
I didnt like that very much but being brash i decided to see my GP. After lots of negotiating i finally agreed for her to refer me to the Mental Health Team - who believe me to have Borderline Personality Disorder.
This diagnosis has made no difference to me at all because at the end of it whether it has a name or not I am still the same person with the same difficulties, and I am still the same person who hates counsellors, who hates therapy, talking therapies and everything that surrounds them.
Yet as the psychy person said ' there isnt a magic pill to make it all go away, and talking therapy is the only way forward'
As she gave me the number and has since left me to book it - ha that is another step that I've got to take - unwillingly. I hate talking, i dont even talk to my friends so why anyone thinks that i would talk to a stranger... Who Knows. But hey lets watch this space.....

"One day you'll look back"

Thought most of my secondary school and sixth form years I had the same English teacher. He was a cracking teacher and the kids always had a tonne of respect for him.

For some reason I found blokes a lot easier to talk to than women, they didn't do the sensitive sausage bit. They just saw it as it was and said what they needed to - no Nampy pampy shit.

It was my first year of 6th when I was caught behind at the end of a lesson clearing away my millions of coloured pencil labelling words in Keats 'Lamia' when all of a sudden I accidentally fell into a deep and meaningful conversation.

Completely opened up to my English teacher who previously I had barely passed the time of day with other than corrections here and there.

I will never forget how he sat there, took a deep breathe in and said "One day, you will look back on all of this - every single detail and realise that it has been completely worth it. It may take twenty years but you will"

Simple just like that short and sweet, he was a good guy, and for that I will always remember him! 

I have my psych assessment on Monday - fill in lads of questionnaires about things that you would have thought completely unnecessary... But alas I did filled it all in truthfully too- and posted it back.

I'm just waiting for my crazy bitch label now. I'm paranoid about saying the wrong thing. I'm a perfectly logical normal functioning 21 year old - or so I like to project to strangers of this world.... 

Wish me luck, I think I'm going to need it....