Tag: family

An Intense Fear of Abandonment

All relationships are conditional to some degree. It’s undeniable.

Relationships (and I don’t just mean love/sex ones, I mean friendships, family etc.) all hinge on something that can switch it from good to bad.

Perhaps the thing it hinges on is whether your best mate shags your ex, or if you forget to do something for someone, or if you become a sex worker.

What makes me uncomfortable and kind of pissed, is when someone I considered a close friend let our friendship hinge on my mental ill health.

I know that sometimes mental health problems can end friendships, and they can certainly strain them.

I have an anxiety disorder (it was more specifically social but I’ve recovered from that a bit, only for it to become more of a general anxiety disorder). I’ve also suffered from depression in the past.

My social anxiety disorder (SAD) was essentially centred around social rejection. I am/was so intensely afraid of abandonment and rejection that it made it very difficult for me to form friendships because I lack an ability to trust people. I mean, to an extent I can, but trusting people is extremely hard for me. I don’t really know why. Things happened in the past that intensified it, but did not cause it- I cannot pinpoint a time when this inability to trust began.

Anyways, because I have such difficulty forming friendships, and I mean proper ones, not the kind where you just say hi in the street. At present, I would say I have maybe 3 close friends. That sounds pretty normal, but then apart from that I don’t really have a huge number of friends. I have people I am nice to and who are nice back, though really it doesn’t matter to me whether they’re in my life or not. I can cope.

So you can probably imagine what a massive effect it has on me when one of the very small group of people I actually feel comfortable with decides that being friends with me is too much effort.

To be fair, last autumn/winter (from about October-December, so maybe 10 weeks total), I had an extraordinarily hard time with my mental health. I’d become convinced I was evil and dangerous, and I was in a constant state of fear of the world and myself. I was terrified that I was going to harm someone or myself. Reality and the world in my head blurred a little, and things I would not normally believe, things that remained strictly in my daydreams, became darker and had more power over me. It was a very scary time. This friend, who at the time I considered my best friend (although I don’t know if that’s really something you have at 19 but whatever) at first tried to look out for me, but, as they’d recently gotten into a new relationship, became increasingly unavailable.

And then my friend committed suicide, and everything exploded. I wasn’t able to really eat or sleep for a good 2 weeks, I was having anxiety attacks a few times daily and a few panic attacks a week. I dissociated almost constantly- I knew I wasn’t real, that I was part of some mighty creature’s game, or part of a book. I wasn’t able to see my boyfriend much either, who’d normally be there for me, as the dead boy’s closest friends at home were even worse than I was.

I felt completely alone. I’d been convinced my friend would abandon me, and when I needed him most, they did. When I asked them if they would mind hanging out and watching a happy film with me or something, two nights after the boy died, they told me that they’d rather leave me to it and hang out with their partner.

This was the first time in my life that I’d actually been able to be open about my grief. In the past, I have put up a steely facade, and tried to be a crutch for the people I’d decided deserved to grieve more than me (which was everyone), and this time, because I was learning to accept my emotions more, I actually let myself feel it. I didn’t really know how to deal with it, but I knew I needed the friends I trusted and cared for the most to help support me. And although the others did as best they could, my closest friend was just so… Distant. They seemed to find it so easy to leave me on my own to cope with a huge trauma, so they could go and watch a film in bed with their partner.

When I came back to myself a bit, as in being able to sleep a bit more and eat a bit better, I was furious. This person had always said to me we’d always be friends, they’d always be there for me, and they hadn’t been. I’d fallen off the cliff completely, and there were no footholds or handholds to climb back up. It felt like I had no support system.

And then the fighting began. Rather than actually talking to them, I’d crush it down inside, primarily because I thought if I told them how I was actually feeling they’d move further from me, abandon me more. It felt like if I was anymore alone I was going to die. That’s not an exaggeration, my mental health was in such a state that I thought I was going to die from it. Not kill myself- just shut down completely.

But that amount of anger can’t be crushed for long. Soon it began to explode out, at the smallest things. Eventually, it became directed towards their partner, who, in reality, had done nothing wrong, and had actively encouraged my friend to spend time with me and be with me through that really horrible period.

As I had done in the past during times of such extreme anger, I cut the partner off completely. I removed them from all my social media, and, as best as I could, avoided them. I behaved standoffishly when they were about, keeping my sentences to monosyllables, keeping my door locked so they knew I didn’t want them near me.

As I was falling apart inside, my shields, which I had so recently learned to let down, went right back up. I still talked to most of my friends, but emotionally I was back to where I was from about 2010-2015. I was cold and numb.

My severing of ties caused more tension in the friendship, but things calmed down because I felt that by doing that I had removed anger.

The Christmas holidays came, and we were all apart for 4 weeks. I went home and recuperated (and also a wisdom tooth came in which was not pleasant, didn’t enjoy Christmas dinner as much because my whole face hurt) and when I came back my mental state, though it wasn’t perfect, had greatly improved. I decided to keep my distance a bit, because, although most of what I did was reaction and response, rather than attacking, I had, at times, been unfair.

I apologised to my friend, and their partner, and did my best to make amends.

And was met with a wall. I tried to talk to them about stuff, accepting that we’d both been dicks, and instead I was ripped to shreds. They didn’t understand how much they had hurt me, and instead tore into me. I apologised over and over, and meant it each and every time, for the stuff I’d done and said, but not once could they bring themselves to say sorry, or accept that anyone but me had done anything wrong.

In the end, I got so tired of feeling like I was the only one who had to make amends, I started distancing myself from them. They had become so prone to lashing out at me that I felt as though I couldn’t say or do anything, literally anything, around them without it being wrong. The steps I’d made in improving my mental state were quickly reversing. I once again was starting to feel as though I was a great evil.

I had my other close friend, but because she is so extraverted, and so sociable, I am used to her not being as available. I couldn’t see my boyfriend as much as I’d have liked either.

It was at this point I did something I thought I never would: I reconnected with my best friend from high school, who I’d battled with over something petty (that’d gotten blown out of proportion by other people sticking their oars in) and hadn’t spoken to in 2 years.

I once again had support, and it was beginning to feel more like I had people I could turn to. I was sad because this person had faded out of my life mostly, like Homer in the hedge (google it), but I was mostly just glad that I felt like I had true friends again.

The only issue was that I was supposed to be living with that person next uni year. We hadn’t said much beyond “hi” for weeks. I didn’t want them in my life at all anymore, because it had become so detrimental to my mental health. I had grown stronger again, and though I was terrified of fighting again, I knew I couldn’t sign the lease for the new flat with the way things were. Because the way they’d been making me feel… I didn’t want to have to deal with that for another year. I’d rather they just got out and stayed out.

My other flatmate, my extraverted friend, had become more of a confidante in this time, and she encouraged me to talk to them. And then eventually half forced me into it, because I was beating about the bush.

I told them that we needed to talk asap. I told them that if they didn’t talk to me then I would not be living with them next year. So they agreed.

I was so distressed about it that at times in the conversation I had to tell them to stop talking because I physically felt like I was about to throw up. When they came into my room to talk, I was shaking like a leaf, felt feverish and dizzy. It was like the beginnings of a panic attack. It took all my strength of will to stop it becoming a full blown panic attack.

I kept calm though. When they started to raise their voice I very carefully asked them to keep it a bit more relaxed. I sat and took it as they unreservedly lay into me (although it was mostly at very calm tones, but it was still aggressive). I tried my best to respond in the calmest manner I could.

I did cry.

I cried because I was distressed. I cried because it felt like this was the final chance to make things better. I cried because I felt like if I said anything at all then they’d walk out of my life forever. I cried because of the things they were saying.

By the end of it though… Things weren’t good, but they were a little better. They hugged me. Which was nice.

Now though, I don’t feel as though I can ever truly trust them again. My extravert flatmate had a nice way of putting it- “there are a few people in our lives that we know, if we were taken in by the police, and phoned them, that they would do anything to help. We both thought he was one of those people, but maybe that’s not so” (she also felt as though he could not be relied on as much anymore). Maybe, superficial friends is all we can ever be. I don’t think I can ever let them know what’s really going on my head, or trust them to be there for me when I need them, because I know it will happen again. They are talking to me and acting as though everything is fine, but it’s not. And I just don’t know how we can ever get close to returning to how we used to be.

I get that when people get into horrendous mental states it can be hard at times to support them. But it’s not okay to just walk away from them at the first sign of trouble, which is exactly what happened. I know that I did become pretty awful. The primary reason for that, though, was because I felt alone, and by avoiding me and abandoning me further, I ended up feeling completely terrified and isolated.

When people say that your mental health is your responsibility, it really pisses me off. It’s simply not true. It is your responsibility to seek help, but then it also becomes the responsibility of the healthcare professionals looking after you. Friends and family are responsible for, essentially, loving and supporting you. Not being there to fix you and pick up all your pieces, but to stand by you and help you to be strong, till you can be strong on your own again.

It is extremely difficult to make it through serious mental issues alone. Trust me, I’ve tried. You need a support system there for you, so when things are at their hardest, you have someone there give you a helping hand. Not do it all for you, but just help.

This is honestly all how I feel and how I view the events that occurred. Obviously more stuff happened inside my head, that I would prefer not to discuss at the moment, because I still struggle to think about it. Maybe at some point, I’ll feel better about talking about it, but right now the wounds are still raw.



I Need to Speak

There are many things I need to say, but I can’t. I am ready to say them, but I can’t make the words come out of my mouth. I need to say the things and have them validated.

I can’t say them on here, in case someone from home sees them.

I can’t say them to my counsellor, in case she tells me they’re not real, because they are. I know she wouldn’t, but I’m scared she will.

Most of all I have so much I have to tell my Mum. I had so much difficulty talking to her about my mental health issues in the past, things that’ve plagued me for years, and was only just able to start telling her last year. I don’t know how to tell her these things. I know I need to, but I’m afraid they’ll hurt her, and I’m afraid that telling her will hurt me. I can talk freely to my friends about them, and it doesn’t affect me, but it wouldn’t be the same with my Mum.

I feel like I am trying to swim through treacle at the moment, by not approaching these issues properly I am stopping myself from moving forwards. But how can I approach them when I have this absolute fear that I will be told they’re not there, when I know they are.

It is impossible.


Labelling Things

I know it’s 2am and I know I should be finishing my 500-word reflection (sorry Tommy!), but this feels more pressing right now (I’m good at prioritising!).

Today, kids, we’re going to talk about labelling things!

I’m actually going to talk about 2 forms of labelling that are pretty important in my life in one way or another. No I’m not talking about labelling jars and Tupperware tubs of food.

The first is one I’ve noticed recently, and it’s starting to piss me off. I am 20. My world is centred around categorisation it seems. I’m 2 years out of high school and I still have that mindset a little bit. Everyone had their groups. People could be defined, and to an extent put into boxes. Sometimes they were in multiple boxes, but everyone shared boxes. My Dad lately has taken issue with this. It’s not like we have major fights, it’s just subtle picking, “Oh you just love to put people in boxes Erin”- that sort of sarky nonsense.

Categorising people helps me to understand the world better, and it makes me feel safer and more secure. If I everyone is in boxes, it means there is some sort of order/sense/control to it all, and that makes me feel calmer. The world is chaotic, and stresses me out, and if I can separate people into boxes, it makes me feel a little more relaxed. It’s not even by ethnicity or religion, but things like whether a group of girls all wear floral prints (we had that in school, I called them the Florals), whether people are sci-fi nerds or fantasy nerds or both or neither, whether they are obnoxious and demand attention, or whether they are quiet and perhaps more interesting and require further investigation.

I need to put things in order in my brain to feel okay. Sometimes it leaks into the outside world, like my need to put things in alphabetical order (not just books and CDs, but sometimes the cleaning products at work) or how the other day I needed to move a chair slightly so that it was in line with a picture on the wall (my Dad got a bit annoyed with that as well, but he left me to it). Small things to make things a bit more sensible. This is probably related to my anxiety, which leads me to the second point!

The second is, as usual with me, to do with mental health. I have an anxiety disorder. I have done since I was about 13, but I’ve been pretty high anxiety since I moved to Scotland. Which I will discuss more in depth in another post, it’s too much for one thing.

I have a bit of an obsession with the NHS website. I love it. It has so much information about all the illnesses I might have. I know, I know- looking up symptoms is a very stupid thing to do. I don’t do it so much now, but a few years back it became a huge focus in my life.

When my issue with anxiety first started rearing it’s ugly head, I didn’t really understand what was going on. All I really understood was that I was unable to eat when other people were around, I couldn’t talk to people except my closest 5(ish) friends and I couldn’t phone people. Those were the main problems.

As these problems began to develop, my Grandad got cancer for the second time, and it was terminal. It was an extremely traumatic time. Not only was there the upset of him being ill, but I felt this intense need to be the strong one in my family. I wanted to protect everyone else from the pain they were going through, so I forced a lot of my emotions down. I cut myself off from them. I became numb, and this ebbed like the tide over the years, sometimes I am completely numb, and sometimes I feel all too much. I suppose I had some form of depression, I don’t know.

I knew that something was wrong, I just didn’t know what. I started trawling the NHS site for answers- was I schizophrenic? Probably not. Bipolar? Nope. I eventually came across the page on “Generalised Anxiety Disorder”. A lot of the symptoms fit, physical and mental, but I didn’t feel I had anxiety over tons of things, just things in a social context.

And you’ll never guess what!

The NHS had a page on “Social Anxiety Disorder” as well, and that fit me to a T. I needed someone to tell me for sure though. I knew it was stupid to diagnose myself. But as I was only about 14/15 at the time, I didn’t really know who to talk to about it.

I tried to gently discuss it with my Mum, a few times. Mainly the stuff about food. She was completely rational, and told me that nobody was concerned about what I was eating. I completely understand why she didn’t see that I was having problems as bad as I did, because, with my Grandad being sick, I had learned to hide things pretty well.

So things, as they tend to, got worse. I trust my Mum absolutely, so I guess because she didn’t see I had a problem, I thought I was making it up. Eventually it became clear I was not, and I got help with it. I am so glad I did as well, because I have come on leaps and bounds. Once someone told me that what I was experiencing was a social anxiety disorder, and that I didn’t need to feel this way all the time, I was able to start to get better. I learned techniques on how to deal with it. How to stop the feelings of anxiety before they got out of hand.

When it comes to mental health, I think sticking labels on illnesses is extremely important, because it means people know how they need to heal. It made it a whole lot easier for me. I suffered for years, and now I can do things I never though I would. The other day I did a presentation in front of about 100 people. 2 years ago I would’ve struggled to do it in front of 4. I can phone people now (I still can’t phone hairdressers though). Most importantly, I am able to eat around people. That was my biggest problem. I still sometimes get a tad nervous with it, but I’ve learnt to ignore it better.

Sometimes labels aren’t okay, like when you label a whole group of people as evil because of a small group who do evil things, or like earlier when my Dad labelled all scousers as being “unable to stop talking,” and a wee bit arrogant (mm yeah Dad, flipped the coin there didn’t I!), or how everyone labels vegans as the scum of the Earth who can’t stop preaching, when in fact I’m yet to meet anyone that fits that stereotype. The scouser thing isn’t a major issue really, but when you categorise literally thousands of people in such a critical way it’s not fair.

But as I said, labels can be important. They can tell us whether the white granules are sugar or salt (perhaps the most important label), what kind of help we need when we’re ill, in school who we’re more likely to get on with and who we’re not, and whether or not a bottle contains poison.


P.S Here are some links, the NHS ones are to the pages I looked at about anxiety, it’s a great site, just use it cautiously. One time I decided I had throat cancer. I did not. There’s also one for ChildLine, I’m afraid I don’t know what the adult equivalent is, but they’re great. They don’t just do phone counselling stuff, you can also send them private messages on the website, which was obviously a lot easier for me!





Ladybird Book of Trains, and Robot Wars

I’ve been doing much thinking today. I started thinking about how there were many things that I was interested in when I was wee, that nowadays my parents assume my brother loved. It makes me kind of sad, it’s silly but it does.

Like how my Mum is always talking about how much my brother loved the Ladybird Book of Trains, when actually that was me, and he refused to open it because he was scared of the Tay Bridge disaster page. Or how it was my brother that they talked to first about Robot Wars returning, when it had been me that was a bit obsessed when I was little (he was only about 2, so he probably wouldn’t have paid much attention), and it was one of the few things that me and my Dad had actually really connected over, and it just makes me a little bit sad really. Can’t really explain why, it just does.

I’m going to get back to my essay now, aiming for 500 words tonight and I’m at 177.



I need to write as fast as possible while the dreams are still in my head. There were 3 very vivid ones, one is similar to one I’ve had before.

In the first, I was in my old halls of residence, but the old kitchen from my home was there and had just been left yellow with the table all these years. My Dad, my brother and I were talking. i was trying to say something but he kept cutting me off. So I said,

“You’re not listening.” so he retorted with,

“I’m not satisfied.”

We both said this over and over, and I ended up screaming at his shoulder,

“YOU’RE. NOT. LISTENING!” He was obviously frustrated, but I was sort of amused, because to be honest when I yell I can drown anyone out. My brother was giggling the whole time. More happened in this one, but that is what I remember.

I was in halls of residence, but they were super cool and kind of Scandinavian style. A friend from home also lived there and we were watching a film. A shih tzu came into the room with a note that said The Company was coming. Then, a load of people started to come in. I went back to my room, where my Dad and brother were and they said they were leaving. I don’t think I replied. After they’d gone, an emo/rocker guy who was part of the company and apparently my boyfriend came into my room and started snogging me. The someone came him and told him he needed to work. He whipped a machete type thing out (no idea where it came from) and it was covered in bloody slime stuff, a bit like in the 2005 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory when Wonka calls the giant wasp thing. He started to lick the stuff off the machete and the guy was like,

“Oh you’re having some food I’ll go.” Then my boyfriend left with his machete and so I went to the bathroom. It was so nice in there, like really white and airy. One of the women from the company came up to me and said,

“You’re needed. Follow me.” so I did. She took me down a flight of stairs hidden in the bathroom.

When we got to the bottom my boyfriend was there just sorted of grinning and bouncing a wee bit, and my friend was dead or something, that bits a bit blurry. It was really cool down there. like low ceiling but awesome lighting.

Then the head of the company showed herself, she was a skinny Chinese woman but with quite a broad face. I got out my bow and quiver of arrows, which apparently had been there the whole time. It was like white and the arrows had different coloured tips and were sort of holographic (there was a lot of holographic stuff in the company and I blame the group project). I started shooting at the people from the company, and I ran into a massive room that had big pillar things. The weren’t typical pillars, I’ll draw them so you get the idea.


There were loads like that and they were sort of black web things with little lights on them. The floors and the ceiling were like mood lights changing colour the whole time but always quite dark, and the walls were just big long mirrors, like a ballet studio.

I ran through it and kept shooting, but more and more were coming and I couldn’t hold them off. Then I fell through the floor, and out into the world.

I was by the Loch at home (Loch Fyne), but it had no water in it, a bit like when you set the ocean level to 1 in Minecraft. I got into this submarine thing, and started driving through the emptied Loch, looking at all the cool stuff. I was looking for something, though I didn’t find out until the 3rd dream because my alarm went off.

In the 3rd dream, I was with Mr. Tweedy, from Chicken Run, and we were watching the chickens. Then I went outside and talked to the chickens (note, chickens are evil. Their eyes are evil and they creep me out and they stole my lunch when I was 5). They told me they were regularly divided into 2 groups based on hats they were given and were not allowed to communicate with the other group. Then the company came and told me I needed to come with them. I did, and they took me back to Loch Fyne, where we found a small crack at the bottom of the loch. Cool holographic light was shining through. We went down into it, and found the portal we’d been searching for, and a room filled with beautiful lighting. Then I woke again and I will never know what happened.