I am sympathetic -empathetic even to people who are going through a shit time, Self medicating , their life is falling apart.

After all, I’ve been there myself.

Is it better to have money when you are mentally ill or to be poor when you are mentally ill?

In my experiences, having money when I was growing up meant Social services could be bought off.

Abuse could  still find its way into my bedroom at night and no one ever knew. My tantrums and odd behaviour were put down to being spoiled.

Broken noses and teeth could be fixed with a credit card. Broken ornaments could be replaced.

I grew up in an adult world. I was just like all these young toddlers/children who get   taken along to family  parties.

Left to find something to do while all the adults  soak up the atmosphere   alcohol -insert drug of choice here and catch up.

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I was that child and teenager who would lift myself up onto the wall, to peer over the garden and confirm that the smell of  the pure Ganja was indeed  coming from certain  family  members smoking it.

DON’T DO DRUGS DAISY! 

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Indeed, Daddy oh!

I was that kid who had access to all the money I wanted. I was a full on rave bunny by the time I was 12. My quirks and eccentric behaviour were put up with because I could access places other young kids couldn’t.

We all wanted to grow up quickly.

I was the girl who could pay off a doctor for a prescription for sleeping meds ( from  rohypnol,-Clotiapine ,  or prescription diet medication- even when  I was under weight.

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People put up with me for longer than they maybe wouldn’t have if I had less to offer them.

I was praised and looked up to and accepted when I had a full time job. I could be off my head on coke or whatever drug at work the next day and be accepted because I was still “holding” down my 9-5 job.

It didn’t matter that I was swallowing 100 laxatives a day and up most of the night shitting on the wc to stop any weight from getting too comfy. I looked professional and played my part well.

I’ve always been on and off the rails from as young as I can remember. Family members could see their failures in me and rejected me.

Some may of seen themselves in me -20-30 years later -and still fucking up exactly  in the ‘teenage off the rails’ way I had taken to coping.

 The only difference- they were now adults. I didn’t make them look good.

It got to the point where I couldn’t work. Not because I wasn’t good at my job. A  psychiatrist  decided I was unwell. 40 kilograms in weight and displaying signs of psychosis.

Sectioned under the mental health act- indefinitely and  for multiple times.

I wasn’t allowed to work. I didn’t get better for a long time. I didn’t make it back to work when I wanted to .

When people’s friends found out that at some point in my life I was surviving  on benefits. Suddenly  people avoided me.  Friends started “unfriending me”. I was pushed out. I wasn’t living in private accommodation any longer.

People couldn’t understand how I had the audacity  to self medicate on tax payers money.  Their hard earned money.

How dare I use their money to get high and have a good time!

I don’t think I set out  to have a good time when I was using drugs, drinking frequently or over-dosing because it wasn’t ever fun.

The eccentric ,  bodacious , crazy arty party  girl  had become a “benefit sponger”.

Look at her!

How dare she use government money to try and solve her problems!

I still acted like the person with money because that  was just how I was brought up to (mis) behave…..

‘Never think about if money will run out- It won’t. Money never runs out’ mentality. 

 I still  had a home to live in ,rent to pay, bills to pay. A cat to feed.

The thing with mental illness is it comes in waves. Not everyone is alike.

I have  family members who look me up and down and  at me and the way I dress or the way I am and go

“how dare she think she is one of us or even better than us”

“We own a home. It is our right to  find any loophole in the system to make sure we don’t have to pay MORE taxes to the government -Our hard earned money and lifestyles curbed for the few elite.”

OH BOY,

Here comes’ Miss I’m  still ill but coping’   and I want a job now.

So I apply  for jobs  -lots of them . I have worked out what I need to be earning to  pay the bills and be just okay.

Firstly, there are no jobs out there who will pay someone who declares they have had “issues” in their life.

It doesn’t matter that I have more Good days than Bad days. I have a wide gap in my employment history.

Oh yeah I took a really long Gap year travelling the asylums up and down the countryside.

Hello potential  employer .

I’m well now. It ‘s been a hell of a ride – I’m committed to work hard . Please hire me. I won’t let you down. I know I have xyz mental /physical health diagnosis but I can work.

Let’s just say – I haven’t been so lucky .

People say

“just get a job-  clean – anything!”

I say I would gladly clean out  your shitty toilets if they paid the bills.

I say it is madness that I am asked to just accept any job -even if it makes me more   poor than I am now. Yes, because that is really going to help in the long run . (heavy sarcasm)

No money=

 no money to pay the bills or eat =

stress =

poor mental health=

back to square one.

I don’t sit on my arse watching whatever reality  T.V show and whatever people associate with people  who receive some kind of benefit.

How on earth can she afford to get married?

I work hard and

I prioritise.

I don’t drink. smoke Marlboro cigs or any ( Okay I do vape),  buy any new clothes or do up the house because I want to get married.

So, any extra money that is left over from paying the rent and bills goes to my dream wedding.

“That’s the girl… the one that had her daughter taken off her.” ( like some Greek chorus )

“Scum… don’t want to be associated  with her. No human being is going to tarnish my reputation.”  

Oh, of course , your reputation…. remember that night when you … it’s cool. I’m sworn to secrecy,friend. 

I learnt very early in life that money and who you know goes a long way to getting what you want.

No, I wasn’t lucky enough to have the head of social services be my mother or a family relative.

Far from it.

I was on paper, in black and white –

a drug addict ,

with anorexia with Bipolar ,

in a violent relationship , refused to leave it.

I lived in a council house and drank and smoked when I was visibly  pregnant.

 One abortion down .

Then

One tragic night- .

I got caught drinking excessively    with my ex and my 12 week old daughter in my home.

I had no right to be hollering and screaming and fighting because I didn’t have the money to pay someone off to hush it all up.

Remember folks people who are not on benefits don’t fight and have any issues in their lives.

I had no money to pay off my big mistake.

So my girl was taken  off me and before that I had a chance to wake up from my partied out hangover..

Plans were being made to have my daughter adopted.

When professionals met me it was like

 I didn’t talk like the regular folk.

WHO THE HELL DOES SHE THINK SHE IS?

“Oh Daisy, don’t go hoovering the house on my account.”

I’m not Bitch . I like to keep a clean home. I don’t have a maid so I do it myself  if that is okay with you ‘Miss I have just graduated from university and am in charge of keeping societies children safe from all harm’

“How dare that girl  study and want to make a better life for herself!”

“I’m going to knock her down a few pegs .”

People get pretty fucking scared when black and white don’t match the face and the rest of it.

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You may think I am crazy to say this but for all the mistakes the social services made .

I thank them .

 I had to answer to someone and re-define my boundaries and decide what and who was more important.

I got my girl back because I wanted her back enough to change.

I got to know who was at the top , who had the leverage and I worked with them. No money changed hands.

Don’t get me wrong it wasn’t always all above board. Paperwork wasn’t done when it should have been. We don’t talk about it when it is in both parties’ best interests.

I found out the loopholes in the system and used them to get my baby back.

The same loop holes they used to take my daughter off me.

It’s a tit for tat world we live in.

People wonder why I don’t take her out to parties or want her around people who have been drinking.

“THAT GIRL NEVER GOES OUT” 

(money goes on bills, food, ballet and tap fees and, all things wedding-y at this point in time)

I don’t want anything to possess the innocence that is my daughter.

I won’t let her be around people who may have a grudge with me and say things about me that they have no business saying .

I get it, the shoes on the other foot. You may have the money to buy yourself out of your own dilemmas – but you are not coming in with your alcohol tainted scent and using my daughter as teddy bear to hold,

to make you feel better.

Nobody is allowed to take my daughters energy and innocence to appease the shit they are  currently wading in.

I empathise  with you but no one is going to ruin the miracle that is my daughter.

I don’t drink  in my home or much (I will be drinking on my hen do – make no mistake) because I know what it can do to me and how scary I can come across to an adult never mind a child.

My daughter is as close to  perfect as one can get.

She is that child who picks up her rubbish and throws it in the bin.

She is that child who gets upset if I  haven’t given her ‘the heads up’ that I am going out to work or go to “school” the night before.

She has been brought up with a strict routine and boundaries.

Routine and boundaries are everything.

I know I had a bit of a blow out when the care order was lifted.

Finally freedom!

I soon learnt how fucking productive that is.

This is what works for me and my family.

It’s just the way it has played out.

I am not judging you and how you manage your life –

Whatever works for you – do it.

I’m aware of life in a way I have never ever been and I have responsibility.

I can have my fantasies.

I can play them out.

In fact I have done.

I am a human who is forever making mistakes.

I’m also a human who is finally learning from them.

I got ill. Big deal!

I didn’t know how to help myself or manage myself or my life.

Luckily I got to an age( 34 if you want to know-) where I know what all sides of the fence feel like and I have become me –

What you see is what you get.

One thing I do know is just because you can’t see what is going on in other peoples homes   or minds- doesn’t mean nothing is happening,

or even something.

If someone is displaying signs they are not coping ,no amount of money will fix that. In my experience  it has made things worse.

I appreciate who I have in my life now. Once a person is gone that is it.

You can go to all the seance- reading nights you want.

LIFE is important and what you do with your life.

So is it better to be stigmatised when I was rich or when I was poor?

I don’t fucking know – I was ill.

It was easier not to see stigma when I was ill. I do still have my moments when I  get angry at the people who used me when I was unwell -but those days are gone.

 I fought hard to get to the peace I found in me. I don’t hide my story.

I know someone who hates me for whatever reason.

I also  know this person cries every night to have the life they had before, it had been so cruelly  extinguished.

I feel for this person. I don’t go

Ha! Now you know what it’s like!

I go fuck that is a pretty shit hand

It is what it is.

We play our hand with the cards we pick up.

This is what life has moulded me into.