Friday, 23 September 2011

You can't take the sky from me

I still get so upset when I read negaitve BPD related articles/comments/conversations, and that just makes me feel more of a useless, hideous piece of shit. I get angry, I get sad, I get defensive, I'm tired of it. Why do I fight it? Because a part of me sees through the bullshit, believes that having this condition doesn't make me a worthless, terrible human being, believes that I am more than a bunch of 'character traits' and 'self-destructive and impulsive' behaviours.

I am more than that. Dear God, I am desperate to be more than that.

Anyway, I've moved back to Leicester... I'm not convinced that I like it, scared of having flatmates I don't know, paranoid, anxious, same old shit. Scared of going back to studying, scared my brain's rotted, that I'm not up to it. I know that it's completely normal though so I'm not letting it get to me as much as I would if it was out of context. I am scared, but that's okay, right?

Generely though, I'm feeling a bit better. I haven't self-harmed at all in 6 days which I know isn't very much but it still feels like a big deal to me, and I'm going to throw out my lighter and blades, and I'm going to the nurse every day to get my burns treated.

The meds have all kicked in again which means everything's a little (okay, quite a lot) less chaotic.

I've been thinking a lot about my last counselling session and how talking about it doesn't seem so terrible now, I feel more comfortable, less like my skin is crawling... It's taken 6 months to get to this point and now I have one session left. I don't know what I'll do after that. Go back to never talking about it. Not thinking about it. What do I do next?

Saturday, 17 September 2011

Without these pills you're let loose

I've missed two doses of meds (by accident) and my mood has crashed, I feel irrationally angry and upset, I really want to hurt myself, just completely all over the place... I was up and then smack back down again.

I take the meds willingly, I believe that they help, and them every so often I forget and things fall through so quickly, in less than a day, things are terrible...

Is it going to be like this forever? Will I be popping this amount of pills forever? Seroquel, Mirtazapine, Lamictal, Seroxat, Haldol, sometimes Zopiclone, sometimes Diazapam...

Am I over-medicated?

But if I go to pieces like this after two fucking doses then what else do I have? What choice...

Body revelations

I like drinking cocktails and eating pizza after midnight without thinking about it. Yes, things aren't perfect, my weight isn't perfect, my body image isn't perfect, my relationship with food isn't perfect, I have moments when I feel like I would give up everything to be at my sickest again, but I have more moments when I want to life the rest of my life without going there again. I am even starting to accept the fact that I might have to stay at a high weight for a while, that I may have to learn to be okay with being this size forever, that I may never lose weight again...

I'm fat, but so what? It's not going to kill me.

Sunday, 11 September 2011

Farewell the tranquil mind; farewell content!

Out of the blue my counseller told me that we only have three sessions left. I only started talking about the rapes last week. How am I meant to deal with all of this on my own. I feel so awful. Like I shouldn't have talked. Like now I've told them 'my story' they don't think it was bad enough to get their support. Like they think I'm an attention-seeking liar. A slut. Slut slut drunken slut. I knew all along that it was time limited. That I only had six months. But it's taken me nearly all of that to get to a place where I can talk and now it's all over.

That night I got very, very drunk and saw people coming out of the tele, thankfully I was with a friend who understands and calmed me down enough to go to sleep.

Yesterday I slept the whole day feeling more depressed and anxious than I've done since before the hospital.

Inside I'm not coping, outside I am fighting to keep it all together.

I feel lost. So lost.

Sunday, 4 September 2011


I am really, really feeling in a bad way right now.

I don't think I should carry on with counselling. I don't think that I have the right to hurt over things that were essentially all my own fault. I don't think that I have the right to think of myself as anything but a filthy slut.

I am trying to calm down. To relax. To distract. I got out my DBT stuff earlier I was feeling that bad and desperate. I can't put it into practise right now. It just feels impossible. I feel impossible. I want a hug but I don't want to be touched. I want to be told that it's not my fault but I want to believe that it is and that I deserved it. I don't know which is harder, blaming myself and the complete hatred and disgust that comes with it, or thinking that maybe it wasn't my fault and that it is okay for me to be hurting and talking about it. I would give anything to be told that I am okay and safe and not to blame, but at the same time it's the last thing I want to hear.

Saturday, 3 September 2011

False face must hide what the false heart doth know

Yesterday, I told my counseller about the rapes.

Today, I feel fucking hideous. My skin is crawling. I want to take it all back. I want to deny it. I want to pretend everything is fine. I don't feel valid enough. Because I knew my 'attacker', because I was indoors, 'amongst friends', because I didn't get bruised and beaten, because I can't remember all the details, because I didn't lock the door, because I didn't scream, because I didn't run, because I didn't fight back...

I just numbed it out. My body froze. My head went off somewhere else. I can't connect myself to it. I feel like I'm in the middle of a play, a fantasy, a lie...

Friday, 2 September 2011

You speak an infinite deal of nothing

I told my counseller everything about the rapes.

I feel scared and vulnerable, shaking a lot, I don't know what to do with myself now, I'm shocked at how much I said, I feel like there is nothing left to say, I've said it all, so should I even go back? I don't think I can cope with these emotions and memories now that I've shared them, it feels better but so much worse at the same time, that doesn't make any sense...

My consultant wasn't even there so I saw someone else who gave me a couple of Diazepam for 'emergencies' and reckons I should have a CPA meeting at some point. The thing is I will never see him again so I'm not sure if it will happen. The new consultant should have started by next appointment coz it's in eight weeks and apparantly she's a woman which I am really hoping is true. I can stay on all my meds until then, and then I'll see what happens... If they keep working then I hope that'll be enough, and if they don't work then I won't want to keep taking them anyway. I don't like taking so many meds, but it does help and being off them was horrible. I need to feel a lot stronger before I can go off them and with uni starting I don't want to risk anything. I just want things to stay level and get some kind of therapy involved.

I feel positive and in control, yet at the same time completely open and raw.

Thursday, 1 September 2011

By that sin fell the angels

I've been in IP for 8 days for suicidal ideation and depression.

I got out on Tuesday and still feeling pretty rough, my parents aren't too happy about it, actually they're a bit more than that, we have had some massive rows about it, they reckon I needed to stay in longer and maybe they're right, but I had to leave, it was driving me insane and starting to really get to me I was so bored. I don't cope very well with being bored. It makes me restless and anxious.

There was no therapy at all, no groups, no activities, and the nurses didn't even bother to talk things through with you, they didn't even give you the right meds half the time. Yes, I was physically safe, but I didn't feel in the least bit supported.

The consultant there took me off half of my meds which I am still pissed off about, despite me asking more than once to go back on them because I was feeling so anxious without them, and the bugs have come back, and the fact that I won't see him again, apparantly I am 'too young' to be 'dependent' on such strong medication. I'm going to see my actual psych in Leicester on Friday and I'm going to ask him to put me back on everything. Hopefully, he'll do it. I don't feel so good without them. It feels like I've just gone backwards in that sense... I went straight to the GP yesterday and asked for my full pescription back so fuck them, I know I'm doing the opposite of what they wanted but I'm taking them and I feel better for it, I can't cope with the bugs, I'm sure my actual consultant can see my point of view instead of a psych I saw once and will never see again.

I have this nagging feeling that it was talking in counselling the day before that kind of kicked me whilst I was already down, I need to somehow work out a way to do it that isn't going to leave me feeling so vulnerable.

I guess the summer is virtually over now, so maybe I can really get things back together. It's not really that simple though, is it? Even without the summer and the memories and flashbacks, even when things are on a level, there are some days it's okay, and I'm okay about it, and them some days my skin is fucking crawling, I don't want anyone to look at me, anyone to touch me. I really don't think talking about it is going to work, because I am trying my hardest and the words aren't coming out. All I said last time was that I got myself into situations where I was drunk in strangers houses, that was it, that's hardly anything, and it still tipped me over the edge.

The more I think about it, the more I go over it, scramble around for the details that aren't there, the more I hate myself and blame myself, or hate and blame everybody else, that can't be healthy, right? There are nights where I beg for the past to change itself, you would think that I would beg for it never to have happened, right? But you're wrong. I don't wish for that. I wish that it had been more 'real'. More like the rapes you see in films. Weird men who look like rapists and a dark, deserted park, or walking home from the bus. They never show anything else, do they? It doesn't happen indoors. In a house. With people you know. People you may start kissing, or kissed the week before, because you're too drunk and too weak and feel too fucking awful about yourself to stop them.

I have rape counselling tomorrow... How will I cope? Will I be able to go at all?