My mental health

Our mental health isn’t something many people think of. 
They see our grief. Our tears. Some may see our flashes of anger. But our inner turmoil is hidden. Our pain and guilt and emptiness unseen except by those in the same horrendous place.

I saw my GP and told him I was struggling.  
To accept. To sleep. To eat. To process. 
He booked me in to see the surgery mental health nurse whilst waiting for counselling. 
She was incredible. A true unsung hero. 
She let me ramble and snot-cry. 
Because I had said I only wanted face to face counselling there was quite a wait of a few months. I thought I would have lost control by then!  
I had mentioned that I was finding throwing paint at paper in a vain attempt at art, trying to see an image in amongst all the splodges, a little therapeutic. As in my mind was occupied with something other than trying to comprehend that my beautiful Valen was not in the kitchen. 
So the nurse and GP got me in to see an Art Therapist. One to one, face to face for 8 weeks. 

The first 3 weeks was mostly tears and unanswerable questions. 
From week 4 we started to express my feelings in paint and doodles. 
I got to cry without frightening anyone. To talk about my guilt. To tell someone that I had not tried CPR, but everyone assumed I had. To tell a stranger how I couldn’t cope. 
To talk about my beautiful Valen. Our lost hopes, dreams, future. 
In a safe environment. 

Because I went the art therapy route, at The St Elizabeth Hospice, (even though Valen never got to the stage of needing them) I was seen within 4 weeks of the referral. 
If I had waited for conventional counselling it would have been 26 weeks.

Can you speak to your GP to explore different routes?

Hi Aunty Debs, I am worried about you. Have you got anyone that could come and stay with you for a bit ? Kate. Xxx