The Teenage Years.

First Job.

Off I went with my GCSEs under my belt, and applied for a few jobs. At this point I had emetophobia. A fear of being sick. I was afraid to apply for jobs where I would be 'stuck' somewhere. I was receiving counselling via the GP surgery, and remember saying to the counsellor that I was afraid to work and commit to something, incase I was sick. An example I gave, was of working at a till in a supermarket, and needing to be sick, but not being able to leave my till. The counsellor, as helpful as ever, said it didn't matter. Just be sick into a carrier bag, and not to worry about what people thought.

For someone suffering totally irrational fears, such as the miniscule probability of being sick in front of someone and being 'trapped' by my till, that was as helpful as shovelling the snow whilst its still snowing. Needless to say, I ended the 6 weeks counselling session no better than I was before I started it.

I applied for, and got a job working in a sports wear outlet. It was a warehouse type place, that was only open to the public who had a membership card at weekends. During the week, the shop floor was closed, and we worked collecting deliveries and arranging the stock. There were four of us who worked full time during the week, and about 12 at the weekend. We were all of a similar age. All school leavers or college students.

My anxiety and panic seemed to reduce to almost nothing at this point. I was made supervisor, paid £4.10 an hour, which made me think I was mega rich, and I just plodded on through life.

After I had been working there for about three months, there was a new employee. I walked down the steps from the stockroom, and saw my line manager showing a scrawny looking kid around. He was cocky. He was over confident. He was everything I hate about someone.

Within a couple of weeks, we were best friends. He only worked at weekends, but after work every day, we would hit the pub, and spend all of our wages in one hit. We'd walk the streets together for hours, we'd sneak in to each others houses and sleep on the floor of each others rooms, we'd chat on the phone for hours. At work, we were always split up because we talked too much and the line managers wanted us to work, not talk to each other. We did everything together as the very best of friends. At this point, my anxiety was non existent. It seemed to just diminish into nothing. I put it down to leaving the stress of school behind. I was now in an adult environment, with autonomy and responsibility. I wasn't under strict school rules, and I didn't have to face assemblies or sports halls.

After a little while of working, I met someone who was totally inappropriate for me. I see that now. I now feel that I was taken advantage of. I still had low self esteem and self confidence, and as soon as someone showed me a bit of attention, I fell for it like a sucker. He was 23 years older than me. Not attractive in the slightest. And as I soon found out, was controlling, manipulative and obsessive.

My parents disapproved highly of the relationship, as any parent would. But I defied them, stupidly, and soon I had to leave home.

He took me about 150 miles away, to the south coast of England where he had family, and surprise surprise, before I knew it, I was pregnant. I hated my life down south. He would go out every day and take the door key, so I couldn't go out because if I did, I would be locked out. I lived in a damp, mouldy, dingy basement flat on Hastings sea front.

The anxiety slowly started to creep back. I started to struggle going in to supermarkets. If I did have to go in, I was unable to go towards the back of the store. I would dash in, grab what I needed, then dash out.

I didn't speak to my parents or family for six months, which was difficult as we had always been a very close family before that. I didn't have their phone numbers, and missed them terribly.

One night, after an argument, I locked myself in the bathroom, and contacted a relative and asked for my sisters phone number. He was banging on the door, trying to break it down to get in I phoned my sister, who was 15 at the time, but she didn't answer. My mum eventually rang back, and promptly phoned the police when she heard what was going on.

That was the start of rebuilding the relationship with my family. I confessed my pregnancy to my mum, and arrangements were soon made to get me moved back to my hometown.

I was still with 'inappropriate guy', and he came with me. I trained and tubed my way back to my hometown, with no issues whatsoever. I even drove back down to Hastings via London, to collect my things. The anxiety surrounded supermarkets and cinemas at this point. That was all.

I lived in a homeless hostel for six months. Relationships between my parents built back up slowly but surely, and after a very long, very difficult labour, I had a baby boy. I was 18.

I moved into a top floor flat, and then on to a house about five minutes from my parents. Being a parent myself was difficult, but it seemed to keep my anxiety at bay, as it was completely off radar for well over a year.

Now I was back in my hometown, I realised that I started to miss Lew, my best friend from work. He was devastated when I left. He begged me not to go. As I was leaving, he professed his love for me. But at the time, he had left it too late. My parents wanted me out of the house, and I didn't see him as anything more than a best friend.

I wrote him a letter, enclosing my phone number, and I soon received a text asking 'what do you want?'. It was awkward chatting at first, but soon we were back talking like we used to over text messages.

Things with 'inappropriate guy' were going from bad to worse. Within 6 months of having the boychild, I was pregnant again. Following an argument, he took a knife to the house and destroyed everything. Slashing through the beds, sofas, the baby's toys and pram, he smashed everything that was breakable, shredded my maternity notes, and generally ruined the entire house.

That was it. The end of that.

I went on to have a little girl after an incredibly quick labour.  I mention this, as it is pertinent to issues I had in future years. At 7pm I couldn't quite decide if I was in labour or not. Despite already having one child, I was still only young and naïve, and didn't really have much of a clue about anything. At 7.30pm I called the midwife, who I knew well, and asked her to pop over. She only lived around the corner, so instead of going up to hospital, she came to the house. She confirmed, yes, I was in labour, and we had to get to the hospital. She said she will follow us up in her car, but if I felt I needed to push, to pull over and she would stop too. I phoned my mum who was to be with me for the birth, and she literally ran from her house to mine in record time.

I got to the hospital at 8pm, I had a baby in my arms at 8.15pm. I didn't know what hit me at the time. The pain, the fear, the panic, the speed of it all knocked me sideways a little bit. Everyone was commenting on how pleased I must have been, to have had such a quick labour. But I didn't feel pleased. I didn't know what hit me.

I went off home with my baby girl, and there I was. A mother of two at 19.

Again, thinking back, there wasn't much in the way of panic or anxiety at this point. No more than normal when you have two babies on your hands anyway. I think I was kept so busy, I didn't have time to panic about anything.

The months passed. Lew and I were still in text contact. One evening, my best friend suggested that I ask him if he fancied meeting up. He was at a little pub in the next town, with some friends at a birthday party, and asked if we fancied going there. So, with my parents babysitting, we jumped in her crappy little Peugeot 205, and off we went.

And it was just like old times. We got on brilliantly. It was so strange meeting up again. Not much had changed for him. He was still scrawny, he was still cocky.

We arranged a 'date night'. He'd come round with a movie, we'd order a takeaway, and just have a great evening.

Soon, he moved in. We were a couple. We were still best friends, and now in a relationship. It wasn't perfect, not by a long shot, but I was happy.

I got a job as a health care assistant at the hospital. He stayed at home playing the xbox all day with the kids. He smoked marijuana. A lot. And seemed to be spending money quicker than I could earn it.

I worked on the 'bank' at the hospital as an HCA. Id put down my availability and where I would like to work, and they'd phone when shifts were available, which was virtually every day.

Again, anxiety was minimal, but I noticed some little traits that made me realise I wasn't 'cured' from it.

If I'd arranged the day before to go into work and be on a certain ward, and I got there and was sent to another ward due to shortages, I became anxious. I couldn't deal with it. I was suspended briefly when I arrived on my scheduled ward, only to be told I was being sent somewhere else. It was to a ward I had only ever worked on once, and didn't like it for whatever reason. Instead of going to that ward, I left the hospital and went home.

I explained what had happened when the manager of the 'bank' nurses phoned, and my suspension was lifted, but I was told not to do it again. If I was told to go to a different ward, I was to go.

I found my niche on the stroke rehabilitation ward. It was somewhere I never thought I would like, but I was booked to work on my regular elderly care ward, when the stroke rehab ward was short staffed and I was sent there. I walked as slowly as possible to the ward, really not wanting to go there. I thought of feigning illness, or finding an excuse I could give them so that I could go home, instead of working on a ward I had no interest or experience of working on.

Well, I'm glad I didn't. I loved the stroke rehab ward. And that was me. I booked to work on there everyday, and didn't go back to elderly care, which I thought I enjoyed.

I don't know what it was about the rehab ward that I enjoyed so much. There were patients of all ages on there, all in varying degrees of health and fitness following having a stroke. I loved it.

Yet...everytime  I went to, or from work, I would pass the maternity department. I had been in there when I had the kids obviously. But I used to walk past thinking 'one day, I am going to work there'.

It had been my ambition since school to become a midwife. But I was held back, by the fact that there were no midwifery courses that were run near to home, and I couldn't travel to go to university. Despite living a pretty much normal life as far as the panic and anxiety goes, I was still holding myself back in some areas, such as not feeling able to go to university, and still struggling if I rocked up at work and they'd changed my regular ward.

Soon, I was pregnant. That pregnancy led to a whole host of problems and issues that can only really be described in the next blog, as I think it needs an entire page dedicated to it. It was a turning point in my mental health, and one which I will discuss in detail in the next post.

This post doesn't talk much about my panic and anxiety problems, but I wanted to cover my late teenage and early adulthood years, as I think there are little snippets that I will eventually delve into in more detail in future posts. Its just a bit of background, and I hope it will set the scene for future posts.

Take care of you.
Kirsty.