To my younger self

Dear 17 year old me,

I know that you want to hate yourself for what happened. I know that blaming yourself is easier than facing up to the fact that you were powerless and not in control. I know that you think that you caused all of his problems, that he wouldn't have ended up being the person that he was without you but it's not true. You can't turn someone into an alcoholic. He bought your drinks. He encouraged you to be like him.

I know that you think that there are things you could have done that night to prevent what happened, but you can't go back and change what you didn't do, you can't go back and make yourself sober, you can't go back and lock the door, you can't go back and make yourself less vulberable. You couldn't have predicted what was going to happen and you can't beat yourself up because of that.

You were really unwell. You existed on booze. You were physically and emotionally weak. That doesn't mean that you were to blame, either. It's not your fault that you were sick and that by being sick you maybe weren't able to protect yourself as much as someone who was well. Maybe if you were in the same position now things would be different but you can't live your life thinking of what might have been. You can only be who you were at the time and being sick isn't an excuse for someone to hurt you.

Rape can happen to anyone, anywhere. It doesn't matter if you know the attacker or not. Did you know that most victimes know their attacker beforehand? Being friends with someone, even being their ex-girlfriend, doesn't make any difference. It can happen at night or in the middle of the day. It can happen in a park or a car. It can happen in your own house. It can happen in your friend's house.

What happened to you was real and you're allowed to be upset about it, you're even allowed to be angry about it, you're allowed to hate him, you're allowed to be scared, you're allowed to forgive yourself for all the thing you did or didn't do, you're allowed to speak out.

Someone told me once that keeping this stuff inside was infectious, that it poisoned you, and that it would eventually leak out. You can't put the lid back on the can. You can't run away from it just because it's painful.

It's time to stop blaming yourself. No-one is going to tell you to forgive and forget but if you talk to someone about it then maybe you can start to make some sense of it all and try to move on but you have to give talking about it a shot. Do you really think that it will make you feel worse than you do already? The only way is up.

I know that you feel guilty. That you feel that what happened wasn't 'that serious' and that you're making things up but think about it, why would you do that? Why would you be hurting over something that didn't happen? The question isn't was it real, because it's real to you, the question is what you do about it.

The only person that is going to call you a liar is you.

It's time to stop blaming yourself. You don't have to be a victim. You can be a survivor.

It won't hurt this much forever.

This too shall pass

I feel bad that I haven't done anything for EDAW 2012. It kind of crept up on me what with being in the hospital and my headspace being a bit fucked. Just know that I haven't forgotted about it or that I can't be bothered. Know that it's possible to recover. Know that an eating disorder will never allow you to find peace with your body or soul. Know that you're not alone. Know that 'this too shall pass'.

I've been in recovery from anorexia for nearly three years. I go through periods where I don't struggle at all, where my behaviours and thoughts are normal, and I feel like I would never relapse, and then I go through periods where I feel vulnerable and it's all I can think about and sometimes the behaviours come back. The difference now is that I can stop a bad day from turning into a bad week. I can pull myself out of it before it gets to that point. I know my eating disorder really well and I know how and when it can sneak up on me, so I can prepare myself for the rough times. I still have to watch myself, though, and keep myself in check. There are things that I can't do, like diet or exercise, and I'm only just starting to realise that and accept it.

I continue to struggle with binging and purging, and I remain at an 'obese' weight because I haven't yet worked out a way to lose the weight and stay healthy. If that means that for now I have to 'settle' at being 'fat' then so be it. I am trying to live with that.

My eating disorder is something that I will fight for the rest of my life, definately, and sometimes it's something that I have to fight on a daily basis, but sometimes it's not and I try to hold onto those times.

Ward round went well. I'm still struggling with who the psychiatrist is and how it connects to my anorexia and thoughts and how I used to be, but it's not unbearable and I think I'm dealing with it as best as I can. I'm on leave again until Wednesday and then the week after hopefully looking at being completely discharged. My new CPN was there and she seems really nice, she's going to come and see me on Tuesday. Obviously, it's too early to say anything but first impressions were good.

Today is a month since I drank bleach and I haven't self-injured/poisoned since then. I haven't drank since then, either.

Despite the memories and non-memories she brings up, and the fact that she tried to section me back when I was seriously starving myself, and that I ended up in the EDU for three months, I've actually started to like and respect her and I kind of wish she could be my community psych but she only does inpatient.

I couldn't talk about the anxiety I'm going through, the room was full of so many people and what I really needed was a 1:1 session where I could feel okay to say what I wanted to say but I know that's the nature of ward rounds and that hopefully I can bring it up when I see my CPN.

They've put me back on Paroxetine, or atleast they are giving me enough tablets to take every day instead of every other day so I'm assuming that I'm meant to take them every day. I'm fairly happy if that's the case. It helps with the panic attacks. I don't think I'm going to go back on Haloperidol but I might ask for a Seroquel increase at some point if the shadows get really bad or the bugs come back. Despite the fact that I don't really talk to anyone about the bugs and shadows but I haven't taken it in a couple of weeks and at first I really noticed it but now not so much. It's sort of sorted itself out.

She thinks that my medication needs a serious review and that if she was in charge of my care long term she would make some changes but because she's not, she's going to leave it to the community consultant to sort out. I don't know how I feel about that. I hate changes to meds. I feel like I've been through it so many times and now I would just like to stick with what I've got, even if something else might work better, which I know is a crap attitude but coming off something and then starting something else is just so shitty.

So pretty much a good day.

You are a dream among the sharks

Yesterday, I saw the psychiatrist that I used to see back in 2005 when I was severely anorexic and she didn't recognise me because 'I looked so different' and it's all I can think about that now I am overweight she was probably thinking that I've let myself go completely and that I'm disgusting. I have changed so much and it scares me to think how far away I am from being anorexic and a little part of me gets jealous at the old me and wants that life back. I wasn't expecting to see her and so I wasn't prepared for it. I can't connect myself with my past, I don't know if it's my brain protecting me or something, but it's like so much of my memory of being at my sickest is blank or confused and I can't cope when I'm confrotnted with it.

I need to be honest. I think I fucked up my therapy assesment. I wasn't able to talk about the rape. He kept asking me what I wanted to get out of therapy and what I thought triggered me but I just couldn't say it. It was in my head but it wouldn't come out. I just said stuff that happened in the past, he asked if it was physical or sexual and I just said sexual but that was it. Now I'm scared I won't get therapy because I fucked up. I've told so many people recently, why was it so fucking hard yesterday to mention it? I'm really panicing about it.

I don't know if I'm doing as well as I am pretending to do. I am feeling really anxious. The shadows are there but I can't talk about them because I can't explain them. I don't want to be in the hospital. It was breaking me. I feel safe at home because I am so scared from the infection that I know I won't cut myself but last night I had really bad urges and I couldn't sleep. I'm not suicidal. I want to live. I really want to live.

I'm okay I'm okay I'm okay. I have to be. I'm not going back to the ward. I have to be okay. I am. I am. I am.

Anyway, I wrote a poem...

The First Time

His eyes are like winter

I didn't notice until
we'd already kissed
a heavy awkward
kiss

There was no warmth
in his mouth
I waited, silently,
hardly daring to breathe
waiting, for heat to strike

Our hands touched
softly at first
then tightly
gripping until
it hurt

I can't breath

The air between us
is poison, a sweet poison
that's tasteless and toxic

Can you feel his touch?

Fingers bent and ugly
inhuman, a tongue
like a snake

I try to escape

My legs disconnect
from my body, my brain
shouting run, my heart
beating out the pattern
of my feet

A shadow appears
out of nowhere,
touching me,
holding me
back

I can't move

Every muscle
screams in
agony

Weeping
without tears

I try to move
again

His hands
pull my hair

Reach for
my throat

I gag

He whispers to me
I love you

I can feel the weight
of his love
on my chest

Feel the weight
of his body
crushing my
bones

I try to scream
but another
cold kiss
and I'm
silent
again

I wait

Hardly daring to breath

I take it like a man

I count

One

Two

Three

He falls asleep
at 4AM

I shiver on the floor
half naked

I smell of vodka
and sweat

I try to move
my legs

I try to reach
the door

I try to
run away

You can't say I didn't try

Where you end and I begin

So, I guess I should update...

I've been in hospital. I went to A&E in a state, decided I needed to be admitted to psych but there were no beds so I had to stay in the A&E ward until one became available, I was there a couple of days and I caught chicken pox so couldn't be moved because of infectiousness and then I got Septicemia in one of my cuts so I was hooked up to drips and things. I had to wait until I was medically fit before I could move to psych and I moved last Saturday.

The psychiatrist is the one that I saw in the summer the last time I was in there, the same twat who takes me off half my meds, nurses that won't give out PRN's until you're literally in pieces.

Friday night I had a fight with another patient, threw a tray of tea everywhere, cried a lot, swore a lot, and so they thought it would be good if I came home for the weekend to get a 'break' from it all.

It's not a supportive enviroment, people are trying to piss people off, or telling tales, it's driving me mad!

I feel a lot better in myself, I don't feel suicidal and the Septicemia thing has really scared me away from self harming. I don't want to do it ever again. My anxiety is really high and I'm seeing shadows but I don't want to bring it up because I don't want to stay on that ward a second longer. I'd rather bring it up with my own psych.

I have a therapy assesment tomorrow with my old therapist. I'm scared but hopeful.