Lost in the Sea of CAMHS

A loch...

Apparently people are looking at this blog… if you are one of these people then feel free to leave a comment. I’m quite nice.

I’m off to York on Wednesday to try and find a dress for the year 11 ball. It should be an interesting experience, mainly because though I love clothes and dresses and other such girly stuff I can’t stand fashion.  So whilst the other girls in my year are having spray tans and squeezing into something shiny and skin-tight, I’ll be going in my Pagan best. We’ll have to wait and see how that turns out.

Anyway, it struck me as I was sitting reading various blog posts from other people that I’m sixteen- and that by most people’s standards, I’m young.

I suspect that the reason why I haven’t been offered any medications or given any kind of diagnosis is my age. It’s not healthy to lump a child with a big label and a bag of pills… or is it? I mean, I’m not saying that the reason why I seem to have been totally looked over is solely down to my age. Another contributing factor has to be the way that I act. My main defence mechanism is to try and downplay things and act normal- I don’t think that’s exactly helped the situation. The thing with the NHS… oh god, I’m about to go off on one of those horrible the NHS is crap, it’s destroying my life rants that seem to plague every person in the British Isles- anyway, what I was going to say was that the mental health people in this country don’t seem to give a damn unless you’re going to kill yourself. The point that I think I’m trying to make is that I feel like I’ve lost in the system a little, sort of pushed out into the ocean in a boat with a motor that only sparks to life when I’m about to get into trouble. I don’t need that, a couple of weeks ago I sat down in a GP’s surgery and looked a doctor in the eye and told her quite resignedly that yes I was feeling better, but that I was going to go down again, and that one day I wasn’t going to come back. The problem is that we can deal with things bit by bit, we can pull me back from the edge again and again but they’re leaving it longer and longer to actually do so. One day they’re going to be too late.

Some days Wren feels lost at sea.

Listening to: My mum making tea downstairs and a random bird that just flew past my window.

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