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Posted on April 28, 2012

I totally forgot to say! I’ve started disappearing again. I’d forgotten how easy it is, when you keep busy. I start a new job on Monday, and I can’t wait to watch the weight drop off. I’ve always got a vague number I need to lose in my head (a stone), and I’m hoping that this time I can actually maintain it. I’d love to have dropped it by my birthday, that’d be peachy. When I was 14 I was sectioned under the mental health act with regards to a diagnosis of anorexia nervosa. After in-patient treatment on the NHS, I was released 7 months later. Three years later, after an initial gain, then a steady loss to less than my original admission weight, I was sectioned again, aged 17, for a further 8 months. This covered both in-patient (for which I was admitted to a private hospital) and out-patient treatment. I am now 21. I was discharged a few weeks before I started University, aged 18. Since then my weight has rapidly crept up. I am now around 8 st 5lbs. The holy grail for me, my “happy weight” has always been 6st 7lbs. I think this is the weight I look best at, and it is also the weight I feel most comfortable at. You’d think then, that I’d be nearer to it. During my first and second years, I had a complicated relationship with food. I purged daily and monitored my calorie intake strictly. In my first year, I suffered from rather strong depression, yet I would wake at 5am every morning to perform an hour of calisethenics, which were duly noted in my diary, along with that morning’s weight, and the food I consumed the day before.  In my second year, I kept up the purging, but relaxed my control over my eating. I gained a stone. I thought I was happy. Well…as happy as I had ever been. In my third year, I lived with my current flatmate in a 2 bedroom flat. I purged when he was out, and kept up my calisethenics. That year I cut my wrist and required 8 stitches. I went to my home city for 3 months of out-patient treatment for chronic depression. Still, my weight crept up. I remember, aged 15, lying in the bath, tapping my bony fingers along my ribs like a xylophone, in time to the songs on the radio. For every time my belly gave a low rumbling growl of hunger, I awarded myself a pint of weak squash, to be consumed in 5 minutes. I could feel my stomach physically tightening as every day passed.  Some days were hard. There were the days I’d sit at the table with my brother and mother, staring down at the buttery mash I’d been given, and my mouth would water uncontrollably. I’d spoon it into my mouth, greedily, commenting through mouthfuls on whatever dull news story was blaring from the television, before spitting it into an opaque Lucozade bottle, to be rinsed into the bathroom sink as soon as the plates were cleared. My flatmate knows about my past eating issues, he’s lived with me for 3 years, it’d be hard for him not too. I don’t think he knows, however, how much I miss it. For the life of me, I just can’t seem to get back into that state of mind. I look down at my belly in the shower, I grab it and twist it when I lie in bed. I am four stone heavier than my first admission weight. I am fat. I can pull it, push it, grab it. Yet however much I balk at the sight of my naked body, (the sight of which is saved solely for the rare one-night stand I inflict upon myself to prove somebody still wants me), I can’t seem to relinquish the self-control I once had in abundance. It feels like I’ve used up my quota. I don’t speak to anyone from my treatment days, it was generally discouraged, yet I wonder how many other ex-in patients feel the same? 

I totally forgot to say! I’ve started disappearing again.

I’d forgotten how easy it is, when you keep busy. I start a new job on Monday, and I can’t wait to watch the weight drop off. I’ve always got a vague number I need to lose in my head (a stone), and I’m hoping that this time I can actually maintain it.

I’d love to have dropped it by my birthday, that’d be peachy.

When I was 14 I was sectioned under the mental health act with regards to a diagnosis of anorexia nervosa. After in-patient treatment on the NHS, I was released 7 months later. Three years later, after an initial gain, then a steady loss to less than my original admission weight, I was sectioned again, aged 17, for a further 8 months. This covered both in-patient (for which I was admitted to a private hospital) and out-patient treatment.

I am now 21. I was discharged a few weeks before I started University, aged 18. Since then my weight has rapidly crept up. I am now around 8 st 5lbs. The holy grail for me, my “happy weight” has always been 6st 7lbs. I think this is the weight I look best at, and it is also the weight I feel most comfortable at.

You’d think then, that I’d be nearer to it.

During my first and second years, I had a complicated relationship with food. I purged daily and monitored my calorie intake strictly. In my first year, I suffered from rather strong depression, yet I would wake at 5am every morning to perform an hour of calisethenics, which were duly noted in my diary, along with that morning’s weight, and the food I consumed the day before. 

In my second year, I kept up the purging, but relaxed my control over my eating. I gained a stone. I thought I was happy. Well…as happy as I had ever been.

In my third year, I lived with my current flatmate in a 2 bedroom flat. I purged when he was out, and kept up my calisethenics. That year I cut my wrist and required 8 stitches. I went to my home city for 3 months of out-patient treatment for chronic depression. Still, my weight crept up.

I remember, aged 15, lying in the bath, tapping my bony fingers along my ribs like a xylophone, in time to the songs on the radio. For every time my belly gave a low rumbling growl of hunger, I awarded myself a pint of weak squash, to be consumed in 5 minutes. I could feel my stomach physically tightening as every day passed. 

Some days were hard. There were the days I’d sit at the table with my brother and mother, staring down at the buttery mash I’d been given, and my mouth would water uncontrollably. I’d spoon it into my mouth, greedily, commenting through mouthfuls on whatever dull news story was blaring from the television, before spitting it into an opaque Lucozade bottle, to be rinsed into the bathroom sink as soon as the plates were cleared.

My flatmate knows about my past eating issues, he’s lived with me for 3 years, it’d be hard for him not too. I don’t think he knows, however, how much I miss it. For the life of me, I just can’t seem to get back into that state of mind. I look down at my belly in the shower, I grab it and twist it when I lie in bed. I am four stone heavier than my first admission weight. I am fat. I can pull it, push it, grab it. Yet however much I balk at the sight of my naked body, (the sight of which is saved solely for the rare one-night stand I inflict upon myself to prove somebody still wants me), I can’t seem to relinquish the self-control I once had in abundance.

It feels like I’ve used up my quota.

I don’t speak to anyone from my treatment days, it was generally discouraged, yet I wonder how many other ex-in patients feel the same? 

(Source: scarymum, via petersposito)

1,153 notes

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Posted on April 27, 2012

Since my post yesterday I’ve been stuck in a pit of self-pity. I can’t shake the feeling that literally no-one likes me. I’m meant to be going out tonight, without my flatmate (for some of it) which is a first for me.  I just can’t imagine that anyone wants me there. God I bore myself thinking about things like this. You know how big the internet is, right? How there’s a page for absolutely everything, endless avenues for learning and discovery etc? Sometimes I just sit staring at Google. For hours. I think this says a lot about me. I’m nearly 22. I remember when I was about 7 or 8 I imagined my 20s to be some big adventure. It never occurred to me I’d be able to count my friends on one hand. Which isn’t to say I don’t love my friend, I do, so much. I literally don’t know how I’d function without him. I’m constantly waiting for things to go wrong. For good things to turn bad. For the next knife in the back. It’s ridiculous. I don’t even know why I post these, really. I think it’s for something to do, more than anything. Maybe I am self-obsessed. How can someone not be self-obsessed though? You SHOULD be obsessed with yourself, surely? I don’t know. I don’t know anything, really. I used to be so clever. I was very advanced, academically, until I was about 14. Which is just brilliant because 14 is the age you start studying for GCSEs. 14 was the age I went mental. I don’t mean “omg you’re so mental”, no, I was sectioned.  Since then, I can barely read a page of a book without getting distracted, or my mind wandering. I’ve gotten stupid, I can feel it. I used to feel physically sharp when someone asked me a question, now my brain goes to candyfloss as soon as I’m asked so much as the time. Shit. Right now I’m drinking by myself in my room, listening to the Vengaboys. We like to party, we like, we like, to party.

Since my post yesterday I’ve been stuck in a pit of self-pity.

I can’t shake the feeling that literally no-one likes me. I’m meant to be going out tonight, without my flatmate (for some of it) which is a first for me. 

I just can’t imagine that anyone wants me there. God I bore myself thinking about things like this. You know how big the internet is, right? How there’s a page for absolutely everything, endless avenues for learning and discovery etc? Sometimes I just sit staring at Google. For hours. I think this says a lot about me.

I’m nearly 22. I remember when I was about 7 or 8 I imagined my 20s to be some big adventure. It never occurred to me I’d be able to count my friends on one hand. Which isn’t to say I don’t love my friend, I do, so much. I literally don’t know how I’d function without him.

I’m constantly waiting for things to go wrong. For good things to turn bad. For the next knife in the back. It’s ridiculous.

I don’t even know why I post these, really. I think it’s for something to do, more than anything. Maybe I am self-obsessed. How can someone not be self-obsessed though? You SHOULD be obsessed with yourself, surely? I don’t know. I don’t know anything, really.

I used to be so clever. I was very advanced, academically, until I was about 14. Which is just brilliant because 14 is the age you start studying for GCSEs. 14 was the age I went mental. I don’t mean “omg you’re so mental”, no, I was sectioned. 

Since then, I can barely read a page of a book without getting distracted, or my mind wandering. I’ve gotten stupid, I can feel it. I used to feel physically sharp when someone asked me a question, now my brain goes to candyfloss as soon as I’m asked so much as the time. Shit.

Right now I’m drinking by myself in my room, listening to the Vengaboys.

We like to party, we like, we like, to party.

(Source: lilmissmonroe, via andrewfabulous1)

57 notes

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Posted on April 26, 2012

It takes one little thing to set me off. It’s ironic, earlier today it hit me and I thought “wow, I haven’t thought about suicide or cutting for ages!” I think it’s been around three weeks? This is huge for me. So, it’s a few hours later, and here I am, furious, upset, anxious, over something that normal people wouldn’t give a thought to. It’s set me off thinking about everything else that is wrong with my life at the moment. Why do thoughts do that? Why are they like dominoes? One bad thing, knocks on to the next, and before you know it, you’re flat out. I hate thinking like this. I hate feeling like this. I’ve got so much uni work to do, far too much to able to do in the time I have left before hand in, yet I’ve spent most of the last few weeks doing nothing. Whereas before I used to get twitchy if I didn’t leave the house every day, I physically dread going outside. I had to go to the cash point five minutes down the road today, and it took a good few hours to work up to it.  I feel so alone. I think I’ve said before, that I only really have one friend? Well earlier in the week we made plans to see another friend. It got to the day, and she flaked. Well, I texted her asking what time to meet, she texted me back saying she’d let me know, then nothing. That was on Tuesday.  And today, I’m stuck in this ball of feeling lied to and like I’m some annoying little fly buzzing around everyone’s heads. Which I really probably am. I’m a very needy person. I don’t even know what to do about it either. I’ve kind of gotten to the point where I feel like whenever something good happens, I pin all my hopes on it, and just totally ignore the fact that fundamentally, I’m really unhappy. 

It takes one little thing to set me off.

It’s ironic, earlier today it hit me and I thought “wow, I haven’t thought about suicide or cutting for ages!” I think it’s been around three weeks? This is huge for me.

So, it’s a few hours later, and here I am, furious, upset, anxious, over something that normal people wouldn’t give a thought to. It’s set me off thinking about everything else that is wrong with my life at the moment. Why do thoughts do that? Why are they like dominoes? One bad thing, knocks on to the next, and before you know it, you’re flat out.

I hate thinking like this. I hate feeling like this. I’ve got so much uni work to do, far too much to able to do in the time I have left before hand in, yet I’ve spent most of the last few weeks doing nothing. Whereas before I used to get twitchy if I didn’t leave the house every day, I physically dread going outside. I had to go to the cash point five minutes down the road today, and it took a good few hours to work up to it. 

I feel so alone. I think I’ve said before, that I only really have one friend? Well earlier in the week we made plans to see another friend. It got to the day, and she flaked. Well, I texted her asking what time to meet, she texted me back saying she’d let me know, then nothing. That was on Tuesday. 

And today, I’m stuck in this ball of feeling lied to and like I’m some annoying little fly buzzing around everyone’s heads. Which I really probably am. I’m a very needy person.

I don’t even know what to do about it either. I’ve kind of gotten to the point where I feel like whenever something good happens, I pin all my hopes on it, and just totally ignore the fact that fundamentally, I’m really unhappy. 

(Source: uglys0ul, via hunting-b-o-n-e-s)

1,726 notes

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Posted on April 17, 2012

Things have been, on paper, going a lot better for me recently. As always though, I’m about to fuck things up by being a crazy person. I can’t even write what is happening anonymously, in case someone I know reads it (even though I can’t think of anyone who would care particularly) Anyway, something is happening and it is the one thing that I know my reaction to is just definitely not normal. It never used to be like this, it’s something that’s grown and increased steadily into bordering on a phobia. It brings out the absolute worst in me - crashing moods, obsession, secrecy, and all the fun and associated games that come with it. It also highlights my own feelings of inadequacy, worthlessness and general self-loathing. (oh haaaay!) The worst bit is, despite knowing that my reaction is definitely a by-product of being Borderline, that makes absolutely no difference to how I feel. I know I am going to spend the next however long unable to sleep, constantly thinking about it,  to the point where I’ll feel physically sick, I’ll sweat, and be literally unable to focus on anything other than running possible scenarios out in my head.  It’s so awful because I know it’s only going to get worse, and as much as I try as hard as I can to rationalise my behaviour and talk myself down from being ridiculous, it never, EVER works, because of course, that would be easy…

Things have been, on paper, going a lot better for me recently.

As always though, I’m about to fuck things up by being a crazy person.

I can’t even write what is happening anonymously, in case someone I know reads it (even though I can’t think of anyone who would care particularly)

Anyway, something is happening and it is the one thing that I know my reaction to is just definitely not normal. It never used to be like this, it’s something that’s grown and increased steadily into bordering on a phobia. It brings out the absolute worst in me - crashing moods, obsession, secrecy, and all the fun and associated games that come with it. It also highlights my own feelings of inadequacy, worthlessness and general self-loathing. (oh haaaay!)

The worst bit is, despite knowing that my reaction is definitely a by-product of being Borderline, that makes absolutely no difference to how I feel. I know I am going to spend the next however long unable to sleep, constantly thinking about it,  to the point where I’ll feel physically sick, I’ll sweat, and be literally unable to focus on anything other than running possible scenarios out in my head. 

It’s so awful because I know it’s only going to get worse, and as much as I try as hard as I can to rationalise my behaviour and talk myself down from being ridiculous, it never, EVER works, because of course, that would be easy…

(Source: witchesandslippersandhoods, via bloodofapoet)

1,186 notes

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Posted on April 14, 2012

I am a girl I am shorter than 5’4. I have many scars. I wish my hair was a different color. I have friends who have never seen my natural hair color. I have a tattoo. I want a tattoo. I am self-conscious about my body. I’ve been told I’m attractive by a complete stranger. I have more than 2 piercings. I have a piercing in a place other than my ears I’ve sworn at my parents. I have freckles. I’ve run away from home. I have a sibling less than one year old. I want to have kids someday.  I’m in school. I’ve lost a child. I have a job. I’ve fallen asleep at work/school. I always do/did my homework. I’ve missed a week or more of school. I failed more than 1 class last year. I’ve stolen something from my job. I’ve slipped out a “lol” in a spoken conversation. Disney movies still make me cry. I’ve peed from laughing. I’ve snorted while laughing I’ve cried from laughing so hard. I’ve glued my hand to something. I’ve had my pants rip in public. I was born with a disease/impairment. I’ve broken a bone. I’ve gotten stitches/staples. I’ve had my tonsils removed. I’ve sat in a doctor’s office/emergency room with a friend. I’ve had my wisdom teeth removed. I had a serious surgery. I’ve had chicken pox. I’ve had measles. I’ve driven over 200 miles in one day. I’ve been on a plane. I’ve gotten lost in my city. I’ve seen a shooting star. I’ve wished on a shooting star. I’ve seen a meteor shower. I’ve gone out in public in my pajamas. I’ve pushed all the buttons on an elevator. I’ve kicked a guy where it hurts. I’ve been to a casino. I’ve been skydiving. I’ve gone skinny dipping. I’ve played spin the bottle. I’ve drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour. I’ve crashed a car. I’ve been skiing. I’ve been in a play. I’ve caught a snowflake on my tongue. I’ve seen the Northern lights. I’ve sat on a roof top at night. I’ve played chicken. I’ve played a prank on someone I’ve ridden in a taxi. I’ve seen Rocky Horror Picture Show. I’ve eaten sushi. I’ve been snowboarding. I’m single I’m in a “it’s complicated” relationship. I’m in a relationship. I’m engaged. I’m married. I’ve gone on a blind date. I’ve been the dumped more than the dumper. I miss someone right now. I have a fear of abandonment. I’ve had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back I’ve told someone I loved them when I didn’t. I’ve told someone I didn’t love them when I did. I’ve kept something from a past relationship. I’ve had a crush on a teacher. I’ve been kissed in the rain. I’ve hugged a stranger. I have kissed a stranger. I’ve done something I promised someone else I wouldn’t. I’ve done something I promised myself I wouldn’t. I’ve snuck out of my house. I have lied to my parents about where I am. I am keeping a secret from the world. I’ve cheated while playing a game. I’ve cheated on a test. I’ve ran a red light. I’ve been suspended from school. I’ve witnessed a crime. I’ve been arrested. I’ve passed out from drinking. I have passed out drunk at least once in the past 6 months. I’ve smoked. I’ve smoked weed. I’ve taken painkillers when I didn’t need them. I’ve popped E. I’ve inhaled Nitrous. I’ve done hard drugs. I have cough drops when I’m not sick. I can take 3 pills at a time no problem. I have been diagnosed with depression. I have been diagnosed with one or more anxiety disorders. I’ve taken an anti-depressant. I’ve slept an entire day I’ve hurt myself on purpose. I’ve woken up crying. I’m afraid of dying.  I hate funerals. I’ve seen someone dying. Someone close to me has committed suicide. I’ve attempted suicide. I’ve written a eulogy for myself.

  • I am a girl
  • I am shorter than 5’4.
  • I have many scars.
  • I wish my hair was a different color.
  • I have friends who have never seen my natural hair color.
  • I have a tattoo.
  • I want a tattoo.
  • I am self-conscious about my body.
  • I’ve been told I’m attractive by a complete stranger.
  • I have more than 2 piercings.
  • I have a piercing in a place other than my ears
  • I’ve sworn at my parents.
  • I have freckles.
  • I’ve run away from home.
  • I have a sibling less than one year old.
  • I want to have kids someday. 
  • I’m in school.
  • I’ve lost a child.
  • I have a job.
  • I’ve fallen asleep at work/school.
  • I always do/did my homework.
  • I’ve missed a week or more of school.
  • I failed more than 1 class last year.
  • I’ve stolen something from my job.
  • I’ve slipped out a “lol” in a spoken conversation.
  • Disney movies still make me cry.
  • I’ve peed from laughing.
  • I’ve snorted while laughing
  • I’ve cried from laughing so hard.
  • I’ve glued my hand to something.
  • I’ve had my pants rip in public.
  • I was born with a disease/impairment.
  • I’ve broken a bone.
  • I’ve gotten stitches/staples.
  • I’ve had my tonsils removed.
  • I’ve sat in a doctor’s office/emergency room with a friend.
  • I’ve had my wisdom teeth removed.
  • I had a serious surgery.
  • I’ve had chicken pox.
  • I’ve had measles.
  • I’ve driven over 200 miles in one day.
  • I’ve been on a plane.
  • I’ve gotten lost in my city.
  • I’ve seen a shooting star.
  • I’ve wished on a shooting star.
  • I’ve seen a meteor shower.
  • I’ve gone out in public in my pajamas.
  • I’ve pushed all the buttons on an elevator.
  • I’ve kicked a guy where it hurts.
  • I’ve been to a casino.
  • I’ve been skydiving.
  • I’ve gone skinny dipping.
  • I’ve played spin the bottle.
  • I’ve drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour.
  • I’ve crashed a car.
  • I’ve been skiing.
  • I’ve been in a play.
  • I’ve caught a snowflake on my tongue.
  • I’ve seen the Northern lights.
  • I’ve sat on a roof top at night.
  • I’ve played chicken.
  • I’ve played a prank on someone
  • I’ve ridden in a taxi.
  • I’ve seen Rocky Horror Picture Show.
  • I’ve eaten sushi.
  • I’ve been snowboarding.
  • I’m single
  • I’m in a “it’s complicated” relationship.
  • I’m in a relationship.
  • I’m engaged.
  • I’m married.
  • I’ve gone on a blind date.
  • I’ve been the dumped more than the dumper.
  • I miss someone right now.
  • I have a fear of abandonment.
  • I’ve had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back
  • I’ve told someone I loved them when I didn’t.
  • I’ve told someone I didn’t love them when I did.
  • I’ve kept something from a past relationship.
  • I’ve had a crush on a teacher.
  • I’ve been kissed in the rain.
  • I’ve hugged a stranger.
  • I have kissed a stranger.
  • I’ve done something I promised someone else I wouldn’t.
  • I’ve done something I promised myself I wouldn’t.
  • I’ve snuck out of my house.
  • I have lied to my parents about where I am.
  • I am keeping a secret from the world.
  • I’ve cheated while playing a game.
  • I’ve cheated on a test.
  • I’ve ran a red light.
  • I’ve been suspended from school.
  • I’ve witnessed a crime.
  • I’ve been arrested.
  • I’ve passed out from drinking.
  • I have passed out drunk at least once in the past 6 months.
  • I’ve smoked.
  • I’ve smoked weed.
  • I’ve taken painkillers when I didn’t need them.
  • I’ve popped E.
  • I’ve inhaled Nitrous.
  • I’ve done hard drugs.
  • I have cough drops when I’m not sick.
  • I can take 3 pills at a time no problem.
  • I have been diagnosed with depression.
  • I have been diagnosed with one or more anxiety disorders.
  • I’ve taken an anti-depressant.
  • I’ve slept an entire day
  • I’ve hurt myself on purpose.
  • I’ve woken up crying.
  • I’m afraid of dying. 
  • I hate funerals.
  • I’ve seen someone dying.
  • Someone close to me has committed suicide.
  • I’ve attempted suicide.
  • I’ve written a eulogy for myself.

(Source: fuckkelly, via respiring)

98,685 notes

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Posted on March 29, 2012

A very long time ago I gave myself a deadline. If my life hadn’t gotten significantly better by this deadline, I would kill myself. My previous suicide attempts have been spontaneous, this forward planning is an entirely new concept for me but it will mean an 100% success rate. My life did get better. I came out of Treatment and went to University and I felt hopeful about my life and my future. Last year, after three years of breakdowns, both public and private, and a lot of things in between I felt I had no choice but to issue another deadline. My 22nd birthday. New year, new start, right? I figured, hey eight months is long enough to turn things around. So far this year my brother has attempted suicide twice, a few incidents have left me feeling more alone than I even thought possible, I’m hurtling towards failing university, my attempts at a career or anything resembling one have failed and the icing on the cake, I was raped. I’ve not really talked to anyone except the police about it. I can’t say it out loud. I told my best friend, well, I texted him what happened and said I didn’t ever want to talk about it. It’s been nearly a month now, and after weeks of breaking down in tears at work, I was sacked. The flashbacks are less frequent now and I’m starting to sleep through the night again. But I don’t think l can ever have sex again. I’ve done a lot of reading and apparently it’s very common to blame yourself. I’d been told before in a jokey way “one of these days, wearing something like that, you’re going to get raped”. Turns out it’s not so funny when it happens. I went home to my mother’s house as soon as I left the police station, I didn’t tell her what was wrong because my mother can’t handle anything “real”. She’s got enough of her own issues and I don’t like talking about things anyway. I just told her I needed to stay the night. I cried in the bath for about four hours, the water was freezing and I was so shrivelled it hurt. A month on and I still think about it every day. I don’t know what to do. I can’t change that it happened. I’m actually really surprised I didn’t try and kill myself after it happened. I had plenty of opportunity, I was in a car park, there was broken glass everywhere, literally I could’ve had my pick of methods. But I went into complete auto-pilot and I think I’ve kind of been stuck like that ever since.  I definitely won’t do anything until my deadline is up. I need to give this a shot. Four months to go. It’s not looking good.

A very long time ago I gave myself a deadline. If my life hadn’t gotten significantly better by this deadline, I would kill myself.

My previous suicide attempts have been spontaneous, this forward planning is an entirely new concept for me but it will mean an 100% success rate.

My life did get better. I came out of Treatment and went to University and I felt hopeful about my life and my future.

Last year, after three years of breakdowns, both public and private, and a lot of things in between I felt I had no choice but to issue another deadline. My 22nd birthday.

New year, new start, right? I figured, hey eight months is long enough to turn things around.

So far this year my brother has attempted suicide twice, a few incidents have left me feeling more alone than I even thought possible, I’m hurtling towards failing university, my attempts at a career or anything resembling one have failed and the icing on the cake, I was raped.

I’ve not really talked to anyone except the police about it. I can’t say it out loud. I told my best friend, well, I texted him what happened and said I didn’t ever want to talk about it. It’s been nearly a month now, and after weeks of breaking down in tears at work, I was sacked. The flashbacks are less frequent now and I’m starting to sleep through the night again. But I don’t think l can ever have sex again.

I’ve done a lot of reading and apparently it’s very common to blame yourself. I’d been told before in a jokey way “one of these days, wearing something like that, you’re going to get raped”. Turns out it’s not so funny when it happens.

I went home to my mother’s house as soon as I left the police station, I didn’t tell her what was wrong because my mother can’t handle anything “real”. She’s got enough of her own issues and I don’t like talking about things anyway. I just told her I needed to stay the night. I cried in the bath for about four hours, the water was freezing and I was so shrivelled it hurt.

A month on and I still think about it every day. I don’t know what to do. I can’t change that it happened. I’m actually really surprised I didn’t try and kill myself after it happened. I had plenty of opportunity, I was in a car park, there was broken glass everywhere, literally I could’ve had my pick of methods. But I went into complete auto-pilot and I think I’ve kind of been stuck like that ever since. 

I definitely won’t do anything until my deadline is up. I need to give this a shot. Four months to go. It’s not looking good.

(Source: cordif0rm)

333 notes

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Posted on March 29, 2012

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders fourth edition, DSM IV-TR, a widely used manual for diagnosing mental disorders, defines borderline personality disorder (in Axis II Cluster B) as: A pervasive pattern of instability of interpersonal relationships, self-image and affects, as well as marked impulsivity, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five (or more) of the following: Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment.Note:Do not include suicidal or self-injuring behavior covered in Criterion 5 A pattern of unstable and intenseinterpersonal relationshipscharacterized by alternating between extremes ofidealization and devaluation. Identitydisturbance: markedly and persistently unstableself-imageorsense of self. Impulsivityin at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g.,promiscuous sex, excessive spending,eating disorders,binge eating,substance abuse,reckless driving).Note:Do not include suicidal or self-injuring behavior covered in Criterion 5 Recurrentsuicidal behavior, gestures, threats orself-injuring behaviorsuch as cutting, interfering with the healing of scars (excoriation) or picking at oneself. Affectiveinstability due to a marked reactivity ofmood(e.g., intense episodicdysphoria, irritability oranxietyusually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days). Chronic feelings ofemptiness Inappropriateangeror difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights). Transient,stress-relatedparanoidideation,delusionsor severedissociativesymptoms My life.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders fourth edition, DSM IV-TR, a widely used manual for diagnosing mental disorders, defines borderline personality disorder (in Axis II Cluster B) as:

A pervasive pattern of instability of interpersonal relationships, self-image and affects, as well as marked impulsivity, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five (or more) of the following:

  1. Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment.Note:Do not include suicidal or self-injuring behavior covered in Criterion 5
  2. A pattern of unstable and intenseinterpersonal relationshipscharacterized by alternating between extremes ofidealization and devaluation.
  3. Identitydisturbance: markedly and persistently unstableself-imageorsense of self.
  4. Impulsivityin at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g.,promiscuous sex, excessive spending,eating disorders,binge eating,substance abuse,reckless driving).Note:Do not include suicidal or self-injuring behavior covered in Criterion 5
  5. Recurrentsuicidal behavior, gestures, threats orself-injuring behaviorsuch as cutting, interfering with the healing of scars (excoriation) or picking at oneself.
  6. Affectiveinstability due to a marked reactivity ofmood(e.g., intense episodicdysphoria, irritability oranxietyusually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days).
  7. Chronic feelings ofemptiness
  8. Inappropriateangeror difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights).
  9. Transient,stress-relatedparanoidideation,delusionsor severedissociativesymptoms

My life.

(Source: modellove)

291 notes

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Posted on March 28, 2012

“I think you’re narcissistic” “Any time anyone says anything that goes against you, you totally shut down” “See, you’re doing it now” My only actual friend in the world, ladies and gentlemen.  Narcissistic is one thing I really thought I would never be called. I instantly felt like complete fucking shit. Straight after he said that, I googled what exactly ‘narcissism’ entails.  An obvious self-focus in interpersonal exchanges  Problems in sustaining satisfying relationships - thank you A lack of psychological awareness - um, I think the fact that I’ve been in some form of treatment for mental health issues since I was eight years old probably renders this one obsolete Difficulty with empathy - This one particularly upset me as I try as hard as I can to be there for the friend who said I was narcissistic. Apparently I’m not trying hard enough. Problems distinguishing the self from others Hypersensitivity to any insults or imagined insults - Doesn’t everyone do this? Vulnerability to shame rather than guilt - Shame was one of the cornerstones of my upbringing, so this one is probably true Haughty body language - I don’t agree with this Flattery towards people who admire and affirm them - I don’t agree with this Detesting those who do not admire them - I don’t agree with this Using other people without considering the cost of doing so - This I find downright insulting Pretending to be more important than they really are - and this Bragging (subtly but persistently) and exaggerating their achievements - and this Claiming to be an “expert” at many things - and this Inability to view the world from the perspective of other people Denial of remorse and gratitude - This one really upsets me I think what’s upset me most about this, is that the majority I don’t agree with. And for the person I thought knew me best in the world to think that this does describe me really hurts. When people say things like that to me, or yeah, in general when anyone says something that “goes against me” I do shut down. Because generally I can’t deal with it. I have a hard time hearing negative things about myself. I thought everyone did. The only difference between me and apparently ‘normal’ people, is that I shut down because I’m either trying to resist the urge to cut myself or to cry or to start thinking about how shit my life is. That’s how I am. Earlier this year I got diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. Something which came as a shock, but the more I read up on it (I’m a big fan of reading up) the more it made total sense. What I really object to about the diagnosis though is the wording. ‘Personality disorder’ immediately paints a picture of, for a better word, a psycho. BPD can be strongly linked to childhood neglect or abuse, something I did experience (albeit thankfully not sexual.) So, on paper, it’s “not my fault” that I’m the way I am. I don’t think you can tell a baby how to deal with things. Throughout my life I have had a lot of bad experiences. And to be honest, I think I deal with things really fucking well considering some of the things that have happened to me. I think the fact that I still wake up every day is a fucking miracle sometimes. Is that narcissistic?

“I think you’re narcissistic”

“Any time anyone says anything that goes against you, you totally shut down”

“See, you’re doing it now”

My only actual friend in the world, ladies and gentlemen. 

Narcissistic is one thing I really thought I would never be called. I instantly felt like complete fucking shit. Straight after he said that, I googled what exactly ‘narcissism’ entails. 

  • An obvious self-focus in interpersonal exchanges 
  • Problems in sustaining satisfying relationships - thank you
  • A lack of psychological awareness - um, I think the fact that I’ve been in some form of treatment for mental health issues since I was eight years old probably renders this one obsolete
  • Difficulty with empathy - This one particularly upset me as I try as hard as I can to be there for the friend who said I was narcissistic. Apparently I’m not trying hard enough.
  • Problems distinguishing the self from others
  • Hypersensitivity to any insults or imagined insults - Doesn’t everyone do this?
  • Vulnerability to shame rather than guilt - Shame was one of the cornerstones of my upbringing, so this one is probably true
  • Haughty body language - I don’t agree with this
  • Flattery towards people who admire and affirm them - I don’t agree with this
  • Detesting those who do not admire them - I don’t agree with this
  • Using other people without considering the cost of doing so - This I find downright insulting
  • Pretending to be more important than they really are - and this
  • Bragging (subtly but persistently) and exaggerating their achievements - and this
  • Claiming to be an “expert” at many things - and this
  • Inability to view the world from the perspective of other people
  • Denial of remorse and gratitude - This one really upsets me

I think what’s upset me most about this, is that the majority I don’t agree with. And for the person I thought knew me best in the world to think that this does describe me really hurts.

When people say things like that to me, or yeah, in general when anyone says something that “goes against me” I do shut down. Because generally I can’t deal with it. I have a hard time hearing negative things about myself. I thought everyone did. The only difference between me and apparently ‘normal’ people, is that I shut down because I’m either trying to resist the urge to cut myself or to cry or to start thinking about how shit my life is. That’s how I am.

Earlier this year I got diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. Something which came as a shock, but the more I read up on it (I’m a big fan of reading up) the more it made total sense. What I really object to about the diagnosis though is the wording. ‘Personality disorder’ immediately paints a picture of, for a better word, a psycho. BPD can be strongly linked to childhood neglect or abuse, something I did experience (albeit thankfully not sexual.) So, on paper, it’s “not my fault” that I’m the way I am. I don’t think you can tell a baby how to deal with things.

Throughout my life I have had a lot of bad experiences. And to be honest, I think I deal with things really fucking well considering some of the things that have happened to me. I think the fact that I still wake up every day is a fucking miracle sometimes. Is that narcissistic?

2 notes

Posted on March 24, 2012

I can’t make eye contact. I can’t say the right things. I can’t. I’m not working.

My unbridled lack of talent and ambition has reached a head recently. Dreams that I’ve had since I was much younger, and had been taking definite steps towards, have fallen by the wayside. I’m twisted with jealousy at any one else achieving what they want to do, but when it comes to myself not only do I not even know what the Hell to do with myself, but I can’t seem to make myself care about this.

The only thing I can oh so assuredly do is fuck things up. I can do it better than anyone, but I really can’t do much else. 

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Posted on November 28, 2011

“An eating disorder is not usually a phase, and it is not necessarily indicative of madness. It is quite maddening, granted, not only for the loved ones of the eating disordered person but also for the person herself. It is, at the most basic level, a bundle of deadly contradictions: a desire for power that strips you of all power. A gesture of strength that divests you of all strength. A wish to prove that you need nothing, that you have no human hungers, which turns on itself and becomes a searing need for the hunger itself. It is an attempt to find an identity, but ultimately it strips you of any sense of yourself, save the sorry identity of “sick.” It is a grotesque mockery of cultural standards of beauty that winds up mocking no one more than you. It is a protest against cultural stereotypes of women that in the end makes you seem the weakest, the most needy and neurotic of all women. It is the thing you believe is keeping you safe, alive, contained—and in the end, of course, you find it’s doing quite the opposite. These contradictions begin to split a person in two. Body and mind fall apart from each other, and it is in this fissure that an eating disorder may flourish, in the silence that surrounds this confusion that an eating disorder may fester and thrive.”

“An eating disorder is not usually a phase, and it is not necessarily indicative of madness. It is quite maddening, granted, not only for the loved ones of the eating disordered person but also for the person herself. It is, at the most basic level, a bundle of deadly contradictions: a desire for power that strips you of all power. A gesture of strength that divests you of all strength. A wish to prove that you need nothing, that you have no human hungers, which turns on itself and becomes a searing need for the hunger itself. It is an attempt to find an identity, but ultimately it strips you of any sense of yourself, save the sorry identity of “sick.” It is a grotesque mockery of cultural standards of beauty that winds up mocking no one more than you. It is a protest against cultural stereotypes of women that in the end makes you seem the weakest, the most needy and neurotic of all women. It is the thing you believe is keeping you safe, alive, contained—and in the end, of course, you find it’s doing quite the opposite. These contradictions begin to split a person in two. Body and mind fall apart from each other, and it is in this fissure that an eating disorder may flourish, in the silence that surrounds this confusion that an eating disorder may fester and thrive.”

1 note

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