Tag Archives: self-esteem


So I haven’t written much on my blog lately. In all honesty, it’s because I’m having quite a difficult time right now. My emotions are everywhere, I can’t keep up with eating because I have no money for food half the time. I wound up in hospital after yet another overdose. There are things going on within my family that are really difficult, a lot of which involve my brother, and when he goes, who is there to help me? My brother is my safe place. In mindfulness and meditation more generally, thinking of a safe place to try to calm your mind is thinking of a safe location. For me, that’s alone, in a mac, with bare feet and legs, writing in my diary on a stoney beach, somewhere in England, during a storm. The rain and wind whipping up my hair and the sea, whipping against my skin. That’s just in my mind. In reality, it’s Joe. He ‘s there for me always and when he melts down, I melt down even more.

I’ve been actively suicidal for about a week, cutting holes in my body, drinking, taking drugs, etc.. I’ve been falling apart. It’s partly to do with my attitudes towards sex, which is entirely fucked. Being sexually abused for years makes you feel like you are nothing unless you are fucking someone, I sleep around and it means I exist. If I didn’t, I’m nothing. Logically, I know it’s isn’t true, but emotionally, I don’t. However, if I can make myself that image first, no one can do it for me. Another thing is that I’m poor. So poor I can’t keep up with my friends. And now I think I feel jealousy and fear towards them. I’m losing them. I can’t go to their birthdays and no one ever seems to enjoy my company. I feel like all my friends are gone and all think I’m a lazy waster with no ambition or hope. I’m jealous because they are better than me, and I’m scared because I’m losing them. I feel completely isolated. I’m also starting to get back into uni, and that in itself is hard. Working on my MA again is a lot for my brain to take in. It’s doable, but just hard. And my motivation is low because use every time I think about my life, I want to die. I’m not safe.

So obviously, because this makes all the sense, I decided I could have no friends and everyone had to go away because they all hate me and I need help and needed to shout really loudly so that everyone would come and help me. So I blocked all my friends on Facebook, and anyone that linked us, so they’d all think I’d run off dramatically. This, by the way, is a ridiculous idea. Telling everyone to fuck off doesn’t get you attention, it’s gets people fucking off. Just praying someone realises that what I’m doing means I need help is believing in blind faith alone. I don’t have blind faith in anything else in the world, just about how to ask for help. So shout and scream and text people to tell them I’m leaving and telling everyone they hurt me, or just plain blocking (which they don’t notice anyway). Rationally, this is ridiculous.

The thing is, I think I’m ok when I know what I need. I ask, and it’s fine. Now though, I don’t know what I need. I don’t know what will help. I know I can’t mind read, but that means that anyone could lie. Everyone could hide whatever they want from me. That’s why, however an obvious choice this may be, my super power would be mind reading. Not knowing is the hardest, and sometimes all people can do is listen to me tell them their wrong until I run out of steam. Then I need people to sit with me and watch silly television till I fall asleep, just so I’m safe. I don’t really know how to articulate my emotions and I’m kinda sure that no one can fix them but me. Sucks right?

So on Friday, I cried a lot, threatened to kill myself and wound up with friends who couldn’t fix it because how can they?

Which all kinda leads to my point – dependance and attachment in BPD. I think that a common part of BPD includes unhealthy attachments to people. You need them and their attention more than anyone else does, or at least on some subconscious level you do. You need them to belong to you in a sense. You don’t want to own them, but for them to be yours. For them to invite you to everything, for them to contact you the most, for them to be there when you need and never pick someone over you. It’s ridiculous and irrational, but I think it’s true. All I can say is what’s true for me, but I constantly feel like people are like mice or something. I’m always trying to keep them in my shoebox, but they are always trying to escape.

So you cry for help in any way you know how. Whether that’s sitting alone, self-harming, hoping that maybe someone will help, but then hiding it anyway so the whole affair was futile; screaming at people about how much you hate them and ruin their lives (again, futile); or hurling stuff around, breaking things and ripping things to shreds (notice the futility? It’s a pattern).

Forming healthy relationships is hard for me, and maybe it’s hard for other people with BPD. I don’t know. I can’t speak for everyone. What I can say that I’m not sure any of my relationships are healthy. I adore or despise people. I will listen to someone tell me they need space, then fall to the floor and literally beg, holding on to their legs. I’ve covered rooms in blood so that people will stay. I’ve also ignored people, glared at them, never explaining why. I will sit alone for weeks because I hate everyone. The middle ground doesn’t really exist for me and I think it exists for everyone else. The part where not everyone is your best friend or your worst enemy. I know that exists, just I don’t know how to access it. So I cry a lot and cut myself to shit and take overdoses which wind up with me in hospital. Maybe I should have paid more attention in interpersonal effectiveness skills groups.

Right now, people are hard and I need them and I need them to not judge me for getting fat and ugly or being a waste of space or living on benefits. I need them to understand me in a way that I don’t. I suck at understanding myself and I suck at listening to others opinions. I need a lot of opposing ideas to come together and make sense out of who and what I am. I need to be more than obsolete. I need to stop being a moody cunt, but let’s not lie, that’s never going to happen.

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Filed under bad day, Benefits, bpd, coping strategies, fuck, general, Hospital, life, Mental health, self harm, Welfare

the worst month of my life.

I wrote this in October 2013, so it’s a bit backdated, but I guess it gives a quick overview of where I’ve been and, my mental health history for anyone that might read this and not want to track back and starts to show how I got where I am I guess. Hopefully it’s not too self indulgent.

Ok so maybe this isn’t quite the worst month of my life, but it’s definitely top five. I think it’s actually quite hard to tell sometimes just what was the worst thing ever, especially in the moment. Loads of things are awful. Bereavement sucks. Being dumped sucks. Not having enough money to buy the shower gel you really wanted sucks. Maybe when you’re really old and looking back at your life you work it out. All I know is that this month has been monumentally tragic, even in comparison to a lot of my other awful times. It’s almost laughable, if it wasn’t me, In this post, I’m going to explain why.

Within the month of October 2013, I’ve been dumped by a boy I loved (who had the emotional maturity of a grapefruit), who I then got back together with for a total of four days, only to be dumped again and have him steal my pitiful amount of money. I then made that fantastic choice of fucking him, just to let him tell me how much I suck and how crazy and sad I am. Followed by him leaving the country. My housing situation is tenuous I think. Some major disagreements with the family led to me living with said boy, which has now left me living half with my family, which is difficult for them as much as for me, and living half with a drug dealer who can set me up with some tasks when I’m more than my average broke. Being broke should go on this list, but that’s pretty much a permanent. My treatment has increased – I’m now, I’m in treatment for mental health problems almost every day and I’m being offered NHS funded private rehab for at least three months. All of which means I have to face the highly likely prospect of taking yet another year out of finishing the one year masters degree I’m already in my fourth year of. Even so, I’m still barely coming to terms with the fact that I have something labelled “complex needs” by essentially all health and social care workers. This is not exactly how I imagined my life would be at 24.

Getting where I am right now has been a painfully long process. In reality, everyone’s life is just a painfully long process from birth to wherever they are now I guess. I could start my story in childhood, which my therapist says probably was invalidating and hindered my emotional development or some next drama, but it’s not important. I had a nothing but lovely childhood. My conscious awareness of some sort of emotional issue probably started in my teens. At around 13, I started drinking, smoking, getting high, liking boys and self-harming. Self-harm at that point wasn’t weird. My friends all did it too, I just took it further, and never really stopped. I think looking back, I probably was a little more nervous and a little unhappier than my peers, but at the time I wasn’t emotionally capable of looking outside my own world and hindsight is often a fallacy. I got good at self-harming, and even better at hiding it.

By 15, no one talked about it, but I still did. I also started having panic attacks all the time. I went to my GP and got my first mental health diagnosis – depression and panic disorder. Off I went to some fairly dull and pointless counselling, which may have been great if I’d engaged with it, but at 15, how many people can be fucked?

I got through college with a lot of cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, self-harm and boys. I got through it well and did really quite good considering, but that life had its toll. Too many nights of too much excess in clubs I was definitely too young to be in led to me completely crashing emotionally. Just before my exams. I spent weeks in bed, ran away to Yorkshire, spent more weeks in bed and was dragged to my GP again. Again, the diagnosis was depression. This time I was prescribed Prozac (and later citalopram), told to go to the surgery counsellor and sent on my way.

I didn’t go to the counsellor. Instead, I ran off to Bristol for university. My first year of uni was properly batshit cray. Antidepressants, a change in contraceptive pill, dropping all my hobbies and friends and family to enter the horror of finding new hobbies and friends was all a little much. My self-harm and generally crazy behaviours went into overdrive and behind closed doors (but in front of my unfortunate, but ultimately a prick new boyfriend), I became the most dramatic crazy person ever. Inefficiently executed suicide attempts, blood and sharpie markers all over me and my dorm, running away, cold showers with all my clothes still on, half a litre of vodka each night, drugs wherever I could find them. It was messy, but with no follow up from my GP, it all went unnoticed. 

When I finally cold turkey gave up the antidepressants at the end of summer, I was fucking miserable and doing seriously terrible at uni. I hated myself, I felt like a failure and I didn’t know what to do. Lucky for me, I quickly found losing weight. I focused myself on to eating healthy and going to the gym and found something I was good at. I was bloody fantastic at losing weight. It made me feel good. It made me feel proud. It made me feel in control (finally). So I did that, and I dropped self-harm, got substantially less trashed, was able to focus on university and slowly became more and more focused on losing weight. That went on for the next three years and I ended up seriously underweight and trapped in anorexia, obsessing over food and exercise. Still, I did good at uni and I graduated well, so started and MA.

Halfway through my MA, I became so critically ill that, after being shipped around various primary care therapy services, I was referred to a specialist eating disorders unit (EDU) and started actually getting treatment. I was so unwell, my uni boyfriend from Bristol wound up dumping me and we spent the next year and a half breaking up. Turns out he was an abusive bastard and I couldn’t see it. Years of domestic from someone I loved is pretty hard to deal with if you don’t have an eating disorder to escape from it.

For a while, I was still too unwell with anorexia to really noticed what it was providing me, so I was still focused and obsessed enough to complete all my taught units in my MA, but by my last assignment (two years after starting my MA), I was almost out of treatment with my EDU, emotionally disastrous, self-harming everyday, on and off of antipsychotics and mood stabilisers, back on antidepressants and in and out of hospital for stitches, glue and lethal overdoses (I’d got smarter since I was last like this, so way more efficient. Intelligence isn’t always a good thing). It was around this time my EDU diagnosed me with borderline personality disorder and referred me to my local Community Mental Health Team (CMHT). By this point, I was too ill to even contemplate a dissertation so decided to defer my assessment.

This last year, I’ve been in dialectical behavioural therapy (DBT – specialist therapy for people with borderline), but I’ve also been honing my alcohol and Valium misuse to block out all my difficult thoughts and emotions, and topping them off with whatever other substances head my way. I went into another relationship with yet another person who doesn’t know how to treat their partner and wound up homeless, scarred, broke and an addict. I hadn’t realised I was an addict until a few weeks ago when I was told. I thought I was going to be able to finish my degree this year, have some time off and hopefully start a PGCE and I was finally letting myself get some hope that I might be able to catch up to my peers and actually set up some sort of life I can be proud of. That’s suddenly looking less likely right now. I’m now in a drug and alcohol treatment program 3-4 days a week, individual DBT once a week, group. DBT once a week, my day programme key worker once a fortnight, my Community Drug and Alcohol Team (CDAT) case worker once a fortnight, my Community Recovery Team (CRT – previously my CMHT) psychiatrist once a month and my CRT social worker at some point and some amount. And you know I might be in rehab in a few months.

So here I am. Worst. Month. Ever. I’m actually pretty fucking unhappy right now, but I’m sure that’s not exactly hard to guess. Apparently (according to mental health workers), I suffer ‘severe and enduring’ mental health problems, I’m ‘high risk’ of serious injury, physical illness or death, I’m ‘low functioning’ and have a limited ability to independently thrive within mainstream society and I have ‘complex needs.’ I guess I have got a kinda complex case – you can tell by the amount of people involved in my care (it’s got to the point where it’s overwhelming and confusing).

Still, I’m smart, articulate and jokes, plus try so hard to be nice to people. For some unknown reason, I fully believe this pessimist shit sells me short. I don’t want to be in treatment or care or whatever all my life. I think I’ve got potential. I’ve got through a lot and still have a load more to do, but maybe I can be more then all these unhelpful labels.

Anyway, I’ve blogged before, mostly about my recovery from anorexia. I didn’t realise it’d get more complicated after that and I let a lot of my real life friends read it. I’m not all that sure about sharing addiction and self harm problems with my real life friends yet is a good idea, but I don’t like hiding away. I found it really helpful blogging though, and I think maybe blogging more would be useful still. It might not be though. Or maybe I’ll be too high to look at it. We’ll see I guess.

If you got this far, thank you for reading. Wish me luck.


Filed under Addiction, bad day, bpd, CDAT, CMHT, eating disorder, fuck, general, Housing, HTT, life, Mental health, NHS, rant, rubbish, self harm, therapy, university

what i’ll be thinking about this valentine’s day.

There are a few blog posts I want to do. I want to put up the skills I’m learning in DBT, I want to look at some of the stuff I’m doing to actually try and stuff, but for now I’m going to talk about relationships and BPD because that’s what’s on my mind. This is a bare long post. Sorry.

The Internet is literally full of people giving their opinions on dating people with BPD. Most of these opinions are pretty fucking negative. There are websites devoted to “How to tell if you’re dating a crazy, borderline girl”, why you should never get involved with someone with BPD (it’s been suggested that we have no empathy and are actually evil), and even a “How to train your borderline” site for those stupid enough to take us on. Apparently we make bad girlfriends, boyfriends, fiancés, husbands, wives, partners, whatever really.

Now, I really fucking hate the internet sometimes. It seems to be full of guys that hate that they got dumped, seeking revenge by writing out how their ex “must have BPD”, but at the same time, some of the hateful articles out their do have some elements of truth I guess, and that’s what makes me really upset.

I’m starting a new relationship right now. I have no real expectation of where it will go. I like Gym some ridiculous amount. He makes me laugh and tells me nice things and is very silly and jumps around my bedroom with me and thinks it’s a good idea to take leftover drugs at 4am because its lolz and I find him bare attractive and its all kinda good right now. I didn’t want to like him. I was looking for an easy fuck. I was ready to inevitably feel a bit rubbish or decide that maybe he liked me too much and run off. In the end though, he won me over. And it was all him – he kept asking me out in a joke/serious way until I eventually got annoyed at him and gave in. We are not the world’s most romantic couple, but we’ll do.

The problems come in when I think about how I relate to him. I knew exactly how to get him to want me and on some level and I do believe I kinda manipulated him to catch him in some sort of web of my spider-evilness. I don’t know how much of it is premeditated because it doesn’t feel like some sort of plan, but sometimes it feels that way. It feels like it’s a mixture of the perfect amount of filth, the perfect amount of nonchalance, the perfect amount of emotional distancing. It’s about being physically attainable, but mentally cut off. You show the right amount of flesh and the right amount of guarded psychological distress and you’re in. Its basically shouting, “I’m emotionally vulnerable, will sleep with you and expect nothing in return.” I think a lot of guys don’t expect that. I’m really upfront and confident in what I’m doing and men seem drawn to it, often because they secretly think that they can break through all the emotional defenses and maybe get to know you. You make yourself super buff so you know and they know your fucking desirable, then you feed them a slight bit of emotional drama and suddenly they’re interested. It like they good “hot AND deep…. Shit she’s different and worth knowing.” Men can be very predictable.

What makes me sad is this is what they say in all these helpful “How to spot a borderline” articles. At first, we manipulate you with sex and being damaged.  I don’t exactly do it on purpose, but at the same time, it is kinda what I do. I don’t think, “here, have this calculated amount of my drama”, but instead I try to hide the drama as much as I can. Unfortunately, a body covered in scars (old and new), regular psychiatric appointments and having mental health workers visit you daily can sometimes make hiding it hard. And I don’t look like a stereotypical sket either. I wear DMs almost everyday, cut up t-shirts, and long sleeves, it’s just I also wear a lot of eyeliner, lipstick, tacky jewellery, shorts or little skirts and have my belly out. I look obvious and I like to think it makes it seem like I’m hot, but don’t give a fuck. It might not though. And that’s just how I dress for everyone. Saying that though, every time I go out is an opportunity to meet a boy so that’s not saying much. Still, I dress with getting men in mind so I guess that this is me behaving seductively. I feel like a right idiot writing this. I don’t think I’m necessarily super attractive or anything; I just work what I’ve got.

Apparently, this sort of behavior is common in people with BPD. As a group, it seems both people writing for and against dating someone with BPD, sexuality and seduction are apparently something we do well. I don’t know if I do it well, but I know I can be a tad… inappropriate (?) to get a man’s attention. You can read a lot about how people with BPD use overt sexuality to get what they want. It’s a validation thing. It doesn’t really matter if you even like someone, they just have to want you to validate that you are attractive because they would sleep with you. You crave the validation that you can be attractive and people would want to be around you in some way, so you pick the easiest way to seek validation from people you don’t know – look shit hot and flirt like a motherfucker. When you’re turned down, you feel like fucking nothing, but most of the time you get at least some positive attention. I really hate that I do this because really, it can make you feel worthless in the long run, and also it’s gross and also it makes me a bit of a bad feminist. I disagree entirely with the idea that anyone’s worth is based on his or her levels of physical attractiveness in the eyes of others, but I apply it to myself anyway. I wish I actually didn’t give a fuck rather than sculpting an image like I don’t.

My next phase of starting a relationship is one you don’t see on the sites warning you away from people with BPD. It’s the “SHIT! RUN!” phase. You start to actually like someone and worse of all, they start to like you back. Except they don’t like you back because you suck so much and all they actually want to do is hurt you. Liking people is something that comes naturally to me. I actually pretty much like everyone, especially when they’re new. There are rules to like people (obviously). Like, if they are someone else’s (because yes, people are kinda possessions in my mind), then you can’t get too close because they’ll always be someone they like more and you’ll always be inferior so are likely to want more than they can give because other people are in the way, so you distance yourself because they can’t like you enough. You don’t want to get caught out liking someone who hates you, so you let them lead to start with. You don’t start conversations, text first or call people because they probably hate you and would find it annoying. Sometimes, when you get really caught up in someone, you break this rule with disastrous consequences. You break it when you at your most agitated, say and do thinks you regret and punish yourself for doing it later, then resolve to deliberately stay out of that persons way even more so you can’t be vulnerable. You have to take the stance that they probably don’t like you, so you protect yourself by being proactive and deciding to not like them first. This is how I make friends and to be honest, it doesn’t work very well. It takes a lot of effort to get me to loosen my grip on the rules, and generally a lot of time. In this phase, you have to be prepared to run the fuck away from people. At all points, you have to have an escape route planned. If someone actually likes you, they’re lying so you have to run. If you actually like someone, you’re vulnerable and you have to run.

I actually find myself asking people, after years of knowing them, if we can be friends now. This more often then not shocks people a little as they thought we were already friends. I however, thought they hated me the whole time.

The next phase is what I think of as the test phase. It’s not tests you plan or want to give (in fact, I try really hard to avoid them because I think they make me a bad person), but once you like someone enough and start to believe that maybe they like you, they start to play on your brain. When you get distressed, you want them to fix it, but you have no idea how to ask or what it is that needs fixing, so you start acting out. It seems pretty common for people to have an increase in BPD behaviours when starting a new relationship and I don’t think this is because we’re all horrible and manipulative. For me, it’s just I want to get someone to understand how much I hurt and to believe someone cares, so self-harming and other impulsive behaviours start escalating, and you start pulling people in to help you. It’s those blood all over you, pills across the floor, in need of hospital attention moments. If someone helps you, then maybe for a little while you think they understand, care and that maybe they can fill whatever it is that is missing. So you act out more, desperate for someone to understand and then fix you. They can’t fix you, but you hope anyway. It’s kinda like you’re testing them – seeing how far you can push someone to know they care. In the moment though, what you’re thinking is “shit. I’m vulnerable because I like someone and they hate me and I got everything wrong. Best do something to feel better. Well now I need help so I’m going to involve the first person to pop into my brain. Of course that’s the new person I’ve been upset about. Now they’re coming to my rescue. Maybe they care.” It’s a temporary release from the constant stress of not knowing for sure if someone likes you.

There’s also the obsessional, idealization phase. This one’s on those horrible websites too. The new person seems to do everything right and they quickly become the centre of your world, so you treat the accordingly. You shower them with everything positive you have to give, not for some manipulative, mean way, but because that’s how you genuinely feel. There is nothing they can do to change the fact that they are amazing, even if they really fuck up and you know that. They get all your attention, all your thoughts, all your time. You change your whole identity to fit with them, which of course doesn’t make a difference because you don’t have a real identity anyway and they are so perfect that you want to steal their identity for yourself. You start to rely on them because they are so different from people that have come before and they can give you everything you need and will save you from yourself because they have the answer to the unknown question that’s been bothering you your entire life. Apparently, this makes people feel wanted and special and is all part of the evil borderline’s plan to ruin someone’s life by luring them in through being nice.

This is me and Gym. I think this is an appropriate picture because I look like I completely adore him. I’m mostly putting it up to show off my new hair though. (He doesn’t always dress like that by the way – fancy dress party).

This is me and Gym. I think this is an appropriate picture because I look like I completely adore him. I’m mostly putting it up to show off my new hair though as the only pictures I have of it are with him blah. (He doesn’t always dress like that by the way – fancy dress party).

But like everything, this phase ends too. This is kinda where I think I am right now – that place where things start to change, inbetween the two phases. Every little thing is a sign that the other person hates you and wants to hurt you. I think it’s to do with beliefs. If you fully believe that you are awful, then you fully believe your can’t be liked. Everything becomes an attack. Youget over it because the other person does something lovely or you forget about it or whatever, and suddenly, you start to feel happy and comfy again and it’s all good. Again, it’s not even thought about, it’s just how you feel at the time. It’s constantly being on the look out for slights against you that prove your own opinions of yourself. When you get signs, everything is over; when you don’t, everything seems perfect. You’re always waiting for those signs that they’re going to hurt you though, and it’s better if you can push them away before they that happens. You avoid the future abandonment by pushing away the person who might abandon you. Then they prove they’re not going anyway and you stop pushing.

Today was a bad day for Gym and me if you hadn’t guessed yet. I got upset because he woke up unhappy and therefore he was bored of me. Yesterday, I decided he didn’t actually want to sleep with me enough so he thought I was ugly. The two thoughts together wound up in me telling him I’m considering breaking up with him because he is done with me and won’t admit it to me yet. Obviously, he responded by saying I’m an idiot and he really like me and thinks I’m super hot, but I didn’t believe him and we had this massive talk where he decided I have to just try and talk to him more about my worries rather than ruminate on them till they get too big. Maybe then I’ll trust him. Although I don’t think that’ll work, I eventually agreed to try because I actually like him and didn’t want to upset him. It was ok for a while… until I was trying to explain why I was sad again because I felt like I was ruining his day because I made him an omlette, but it was too big and he got too full. Yes, this really upset me because I ruined everything and he hated me. He told me he didn’t want to have the same conversation again because it was just long and went round in loops. I took that to mean he finds me boring so asked him to leave. As he was walking to the front door, I started raging, which he heard so came back. It went down hill from there. I was shouting and swearing and hitting myself in the head and crying and telling him how much I was failing and how much of a cunt I am and how I just fuck everything up and how much he hates me. I went on and on till he got super angry at me and started shouting “I just want a normal girlfriend. I want a girlfriend that can trust me and doesn’t tell me to leave when she’s upset and actually believes I want to be near her.” Even in his anger, he’s kinda nice. He was shouting “Why do you just think you suck at everything? You could do so much. You’re so smart, but you don’t think you can do anything when you could do anything. It makes me so angry.” The normal thing stung though. He hates it when I get worked up because he thinks I just shut down and make it difficult for him. I don’t know if I do, but still. Then he got really angry because I wouldn’t tell him I wanted to see him. I never ask to see him. Ever. He has to make the call to see me. He told me over and over to give him a straight answer, but all I could say was “There is no right answer. If I say yes, then I’m pressuring you to see me. If I say no, then I’m not giving you the attention you might want.” Eventually I just said no because it was easier than actually saying I wanted to see him. I’m vulnerable if I admit I want to see him, plus the prospect that I might become a burden is something that I’m so scared of, I’d rather not see him at all. Again, he was pissed because he just wanted me to be able to tell him I want to see him to show I care. Got that wrong as well I guess. I then asked Gym if he thought I was cut out for being in a relationship, to which he responded, “No one likes to hear this, but I just don’t think you’re trying hard enough. You’re doing everything right, just not enough.” Again, I freaked out. That just means I’m doing it wrong because I’m actually trying really hard, but it’s just not enough because I’m not enough and I suck etc.

So yer, I’ve been really worried about how BPD affects my ability to form healthy relationships. The Therapist told met trust issues are part and parcel of BPD. On top of that, a lot of this stuff seems pretty standard as far as the internet tells me. However, that doesn’t make it easier. All the information I find seems to say it is possible to have a relationship with someone with BPD, but it’s hard work. I don’t want to be hard work. I don’t want to be difficult. I want to be worth it and it just seems like I’m not. In a lot of ways, I’m beginning to think that maybe I just shouldn’t be in a relationship. Possibly ever. I’m upsetting someone I care about because I don’t know how to trust him, assume and look for the worst and have so little self-worth I can’t imagine that he even likes me. It upsets him. I find it difficult to understand why because it’s not like I don’t like him. I duno. I’m just worried I’m broken in some fundamental way that makes this all impossible. It doesn’t help that he really doesn’t understand BPD and thinks I don’t actually have it. I’m just really scared if I don’t shape up quickly, he’ll leave because I can’t give be a satisfying, “normal” girlfriend and he just has a bad time with me. I don’t know how to be different, but if I don’t learn how, I’ll probably be alone forever. I’m fucking up something good because I can’t hack being alive. Urgh.

Happy Valentine’s I guess.


Filed under bad day, bpd, coping strategies, fuck, life, rant, recovery, rubbish


There’s a really annoying boy in my bed right now. The sort of boy that turns up at 6am, drunk, to tell you he misses you then ask you to be his “plus one” at his work Christmas party. I think this is a little bit ridiculous. I mean, its not entirely his fault seeing as I’m totally buff and super amazing, but still, why can’t people fucking chill? Seeing as I haven’t slept at all and he is now sleeping like a really tired, hungover person, I thought I’d catch up on some blogging.

To be honest, I’ve not been blogging much recently, in the reading and posting capacity. It’s mostly because I’m actually doing ok right now. I have my moments, but I’m spending a lot of time with my friends, boys, the Fam, at uni etc. so I am actually busy. I’ve gone from never busy to often busy. And I’m enjoying it. I really like my friends at the moment, a few in particular, and I’m getting my confidence on again so I’m actually talking to people. People are so good. Sometimes you forget, but remembering again is fun.

I’m still under the HTT, which I guess is good because I still have my unstable moments, especially when there’s any contact with the Ex. I literally cannot hack him. He completely ruins anything that makes me feel happy. I know that sounds dark, but he makes me feel so horrible. Like, I spoke to him the other day and ended up crying in Tottenham Court Road, spending £30 on stationary and buying darker hair dye purely because he likes my hair lighter, then getting home, crying, dying my hair and painting my nails black because I was angry and shouting at everyone I spoke to and self injuring. That boy has a lot to answer for when it comes to my mood. He fucks me up so much I swear. And I hate that I miss him. Cunt. And generally I’m not so rude about people. Well I am, but in a lolz way, not a serious way. This is a serious way. Still, he’s fading and I have people shaped distractions.

There is good news though. I’ve finally been seen by my new psychologist. It’s sad because I’m going to have to say goodbye to my super nang therapist who I love and actually sometimes trust, to be replaced by some next woman I don’t even know. The Psychologist is still seeing me weekly right now, but probably not for long. He wants me to write him a goodbye letter, and he will write me one and then we’ll read them to each other. All sounds a little bit too cringe for me really. I’m not sure I’m up to that challenge. I guess I’ll have to give it a go, but I so badly don’t want to :(. Plus I don’t want to say goodbye to the Psychologist because I love him so much. I hate it when people go. I’ll probably cry and look like a dick, but what can you do? I have to be ok moving on to some new therapist who might suck out and I might hate and might be really horrible. I hope she’s not, but who the fuck knows? Soon there’ll be a new the Psychologist and I just have to deal with it.

Still, this change means I no longer have to attend stupid coping stupid skills group. I hated coping skills group so much it’s ridiculous. Seriously. All the way in fucking Essex. So much travel for so little gain I swear. Plus I didn’t like the facilitator that much because she was too loud and in your face and the people in the group we’re all a lot older than me and no where near as logical and scientific thinking, so what I told them didn’t really resonate and vice versa. I don’t say that like their thinking was bad, it just wasn’t at all like mine and it made it hard to feel comfortable. Maybe that’s just me trying to rationalise my own prangs, but it is how I feel. It’s fine though because I never have to go again, which is a huge fucking relief.

But anyway, I still haven’t finished being assessed by IMPART yet. Apparently there’s only one left, but who the fuck knows really. There have been so many assessments you couldn’t imagine. In the whole process, I gained another diagnosis – panic disorder. Gotta catch ’em all in NHS mental health service. Really annoying, but I guess I already had it and now it just has a name.

I’ve been pretty open about my mental health with the sleeping boy seeing as I can’t go out in the dark by myself and he lives about 2 mins from my psychiatric hospital, but he has some pretty wafty ideas about mental health. He’s anti-medications and thinks that treatment doesn’t work and talking therapies fuck you up more and you shouldn’t have them. I didn’t really want to smash his opinions down with scientific research, statistics and generally knowing what I’m talking about because he’s only 20 and I didn’t want to be rude, but I’m sorry what the fuck? Suicide is the biggest killer of men under 25, anorexia the biggest killer of women under 25, people with psychotic disorders really fucking need their medications to stay stable, as do many people with other problems. It really bugs me. I spend so much of my life surrounded by people who either do or try to understand mental health, I forget sometimes how much people opinions can differ and be based on negative stereotypes. Still, at least he’s not rude about my mental health which I appreciate and he does try to get it. Jeez I’m such an over-sharer. He is a bed teef though, which makes him supes annoying.

Blah anyway I’m babbling away, losing my point. Standard though. This is what happens when you don’t plan your blog posts properly. I really should get some sort of structure to my blog. Except I can’t be fucked really. Maybe I’ll do it sometime. It really doesn’t help that I literally haven’t slept at all. No amount of sedatives stops insomnia anymore. Annoying.

The most important thing to mention in this post is the absolute brilliance that is ADVENT!!!! Which means advent calendars and lots of alcohol and festive spirit and mince pies and fun times and everyone is happy and it’s my favourite time of year. I love December. I love Christmas. I love winter. So much. I’m so excited and hyped all the time. Yesterday, me and almost all my S named ladies went to the Southbank Winter Festival to drink mulled wine for advent and it was so fun. Plus really pretty. The Southbank looks beautiful and festive. There’s this igloo outside the Hayward gallery which is literally so cute and pretty. And a bicycle powered light up tree. And so much good food. I had the world’s tastiest lamb burger with harissa and garlic mayo and it was so good. It might not actually have been the worlds best – that may well be the mulled wine and festive cheer talking. It was really good though. So good I could literally smell how bad my breath was and didn’t even care. I ended up getting pretty drunk, but not too drunk. Siblets on the other hand…. Well…

So anyway, I should probably try sleep if I can. Plus this massively horrible, seriously racist and really fucking irritating woman just showed up at my door (unannounced) and I have to rescue the Ma from her because none of us can stand her. Daughterly duty and all.

Here’s the igloo:

20121202-223324.jpgAnd inside the igloo:20121202-223549.jpg

And a festive London Eye:




Filed under bpd, coping strategies, general, home treatment team, IMPART, NHS, recovery, shopping, therapy, university

best of the worst.

So I had a kinda eventful weekend. It was really bad, but also pretty hilarious.

I think I finally shook the Ex. Too much drama, too much baggage, too much of a cunt. Ok so I did lose my cool quite a bit. I was mean and spiteful and a bit of a cunt, but to be fair, when someone else has been such a persistent cunt to you, sometimes it’s called for. Ok so I raged, but I also apologised for raging. And to be fair, raging was better than the original option which involved crying on the grass after I left therapy in the hospital grounds then deciding to kill myself whilst crying all the way home. Then curling up in a ball on my floor crying some more. Eventually I found the Ma, called the HTT and ended up calling him to rage. I threw things, told him I hated him and that he’s a son of a bitch and that I’m brilliant and he’ll fucking regret how he’s treated me and in a few weeks he’ll realise just how much he’s lost and he’ll feel alone and I’ll be glad because I have people who love me and he has no one and should fuck off and die. Not my proudest moment. To be fair though, I don’t generally bitch about him on this blog so now at least I feel like I can be more honest because I don’t have much to lose.

Then my friends who I’d said vague words to whilst in tears turned up and made it better. By making it better I mean sit with me and make me laugh and tell me I’m loved then convince me the pub was a good idea and I got far far too drunk. Drunk enough for there to be information which cannot even be blogged. Some of it can be blogged though. I don’t remember all of it but there were a few boys, some let downs, others I’m texting and planning drinks with. I think the best way to feel good about finally cutting a boy lose is to get with someone new so that’s the plan. Rebound is always fun.

So for the past couple of days I’ve been distracting myself from one drama by creating new levels of drama and lolz around me. In a few days it’ll hit me that I’ve actually really ended something, but hopefully this next* man I’m texting will be a decent enough distraction to get me through the week. Plus I think he might be pretty. I can’t entirely remember. He had piercings I think. Maybe…? Worst possible scenario – whole thing falls through or he’s a dick, but I don’t lose anything from that seeing as I don’t know him. Except maybe my self-esteem, but to be fair that’s pretty battered already so I can’t see how I could lose that much. I also have the crazy prang part of me which constantly believes everyone is planning some horrible joke against me and that’s always scary in situations you’re not in 100% control of. I duno. Possibly stupid, possibly brilliant idea. I often walk the fine like between awful and amazing. Best of the worst = motto of my life. I am bad people.

I did apologise to the Ex and told him I didn’t want him to die or be alone forever, but I still hate him and never want to speak to him again and he will regret being a dick forever because he won’t find anyone better than me. That might not be nice, but it’s an improvement and I lose the guilt of being such a bitch whilst having another chance to be a bit of an avenging angel. Ok so I might still be a bitch, but a little less bad. I don’t want to be a horrible person, but I do want to be horrible in this scenario and I kinda have the right to be. There is a line between being horrible and being a horrible person though. Have to stay on the right side of that line though. I don’t have any urge to be close to that line though.

So basically, I’m a terrible, entirely hilarious, awful person. So goes my life. Comedy, tragedy and a distinct lack of learning from history.

I just need to keep myself together for a little while. If I can keep myself significantly distracted then I’ll be ok. To be fair, it hasn’t really hit me yet that I think I actually might never speak to the Ex again. It’s really hard for me to process, but that’ll settle in a few weeks as I get used to it I hope. I hate hate hate it when people go and it’s going to be amazingly hard once it really sinks in, but it’s been coming for ages. We’ve been half-broken up since February, getting more distant, then closer, then more distant over and over. I can’t keep myself in that situation because a) he’s a bit of a prick and b) it’s such an unstable relationship that it makes me more unstable, which puts me at higher risk to myself. I make it sound like it was all me, but it wasn’t. I was just so much of a dick afterwards that I made it as impossible as I could to keep anything up. Else I probably would. This is what the Psychologist likes to say is “frantic efforts to avoid abandonment” but I’m not sure I believe him. I just don’t like it when people go to the extent I find it impossible to rid myself of dickheads like the Ex. Right now I’m just trying to purge my life of rubbish people. Hard fucking work.

Distraction is key. Incredibly so. I feel on the brink of falling apart, but as long as I keep myself as occupied as physically possible, I’ll be ok. Plus distraction can be pretty fun. I know distraction and avoidance might not be a way to work through an issue, but they are ways to put it off until it eventually goes away. Or you have therapy. Or you eventually crack. I don’t know what the outcome of this will happen, but it’ll be one of the other.

The line between brilliant and disgusting only gets progressively more blurred as you get older I think. At some point, I’m going to have to get wholesome. I still want a wholesome life with all the baking and stability and a-line dresses and flowers and calm nights, but instead, I seem to choose to be a mess. I’ll get wholesome soon though, just not today. Another day. It’s gonna happen just watch.

In total other news, I fell head first into a wall today. This happens to me twice a year at least. Also, even nice banks like Co-Op are totally rubbish at sorting out there lives. Valium withdrawal makes me feel horrific every day and finally, gingerbread muffins from Costa are so disgusting they made me and the Ma feel really sick. Such high hopes, but the biggest disappointment.

I’m adding this because in a pretty lolz way, it kinda describes my weekend. Too many in jokes in my life.

* I realised as I read through this that some people might not get this. It’s next as in “some next girl” or “any next man” – so basically a randomer. I really don’t know how far this particular bit of slang has spread and I don’t generally bother explaining my expressions, but I realised someone could read it and think next as in the one after the last one. Don’t mean that. I use far too much slang, but people do eventually get used to it or lived in east London as a teen.

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Filed under general, HTT, IMPART, life, recovery, rubbish, therapy

phone and rubbish times and lots and lots of babbling about geeky rubbish.

Saturday 3rd November 2012

I caved and joined the masses of people with iPhones. I was gonna get a GS3, but then once the iPad happened, the inevitable just followed. I’ve been an android girl since the first Samsung Galaxy, a Samsung girl for years before that. It’s weird when you change phone brands. It’s less comfy, but the prospect of everything just syncing nicely and hooking up to my iTunes made me too much sense. Most of the Internet think the SG3 is better because its more customisable, with a bigger screen and a better battery life. To be fair, the battery life thing is a big pro, but I don’t want to watch anything on a tiny screen anyway – I have a T.V., a desktop, a laptop and an iPad for that. Plus the iPhone 5 is just prettier anyway. The memory thing is a big pro for android phones more generally (SD card options), but I never filled my S2, but with cloud technology, my iPad and the ease of backing up onto iTunes on my laptop, it doesn’t really matter. Plus I have a 160GB iPod classic so music space is no issue for me. I think the GS3 is kinda butterz personally, but it’s all opinion I guess. Plus I like the smaller screen because its easier to use, and the display is better. Widgets and GO! Themes etc. are pretty much useless, clunky and annoying on android, so I never went for the customisable thing really. That’s what happens when you make apps to match multiple phone brands. I also watched a lot of YouTube videos showing how the iPhone is actually faster, regardless of what tech specs suggest. And it fairs better in the drop test. I am a geek about things like this. A massive geek.

So I guess this is me welcoming the apple era of my life. Maybe just a year or so.

I realise I’m probably boring you with this post, but suck it because I am.

See, I’m close to perfecting myself with gadgets, which seems silly, but it’s how I feel anyway. With my 4th generation iPad, iPhone 5, DSLR camera, iPod classic and normal digital camera, I’m only my slim PS3 and new telly (Christmas list init), 3DS and digital Polaroid camera away from being content in my gadget world. With my brother’s Sainsburys discount reaching 20% around Christmas, this will all happen soon I hope. With new glasses, great eyeshadow and aces hair, I feel like I might reach some sort of amazing level of being brilliant. I probably won’t though. Some other amazing thing will turn up that I’ll need to be amazing or I’ll realise it didn’t make me amazing. Goes either way really.

I’m making this out to be a jolly post, but today was dramatastic. My S2 broke yesterday, but my upgrade date was the 5th, so O2 said they’d put it on the system that I could get an upgrade now. They didn’t. I almost signed up to orange because they have quite good deals, but for no reason I think that orange is a nerdy network. Then, thinking my upgrade date had been changed, I called Carphone Warehouse to order an iPhone on O2 as they’re deals are cheaper and I should have been able to upgrade through them and then have a phone within 10 days rather than 28. O2 hadn’t sorted it though, so I called them again and after a few hours on hold, was told the department had closed and I had to wait till this morning. I woke up at 8am today to call them as I knew there was one white 16GB iPhone within ten miles from my house in a Carphone Warehouse. The woman said that Carphone Warehouse could call O2 to get the upgrade clearance. I was there by 9am to get this phone, but the store manager was like “there’s nothing we can do for a few days.” Determined not to lose out on a phone for a month or something, I called O2 again and they did actually upgrade the system that they’d said they’d upgraded the night before and actually could get the phone. The account is in the Dad’s name though, so he had to be there. This process took over an hour and yes I did win in the end, but the Pa sacrificed his running club run because it took so long. It didn’t feel like a win. It felt like a loss because it was at the expense of someone else’s happiness. I felt sad and guilty and cried a little.

The next layer of drama to add to the day was sorting out my application for the London only “you’re so mental you need to travel for free” pass. I’m too poor for stamps right now (especially because I’m changing banks and can’t go into my overdraft), so I basically decided to walk my dog to this business park place I had to post it to so I could post it myself. This took an hour, considering all the time I spent looking for a letter box on top of walking. There was no letter box, but there was an annoying post box right next to it which I couldn’t put the bloody thing in without a stamp.

One of the joys of walking to Walthamstow is the absolute abundance of shit phone shops selling badly made phone covers that are probably the least ethical thing in the world. I’ve already ordered some hilarious iPhone covers on amazon, but I don’t know when they’ll show up and I managed to haggle a deal of £2.50 for a cover and screen protector. I also got to go to the 99p Store and get three cans of Diet Coke for 99p. Apart from that, the mission was useless. And by the end of it, it started getting dark and I started freaking out.

PTSD is a bitch. I literally cannot hack the dark when I’m outside. I’m mostly ok indoors, as long as I have my fairy lights or lamp for sleeping, but outside darkness is the worse. You are not safe in the dark. No one cares about you in the dark. You’re alone and vulnerable. Then came the panic and the flashbacks and the really shit time going as fast as I can and calling the Pa to come and rescue me in his car so I would be safe again. It was bloody horrible.

Still, at least I have an iPhone, and the Ma used her stamps and told me I was silly for not asking, then posted it for me, and I have a really cheap phone cover. It’s not hilarious and covered in horrible plastic jewels, but don’t worry – that’s on it’s way.

So now all I have to do is fix myself into a normal looking human being. I look proper rough today. I’m tired and ill and feel skanky and stressed, but some friends have just come back from India so I should really go pub. I’ll have to scam drinks off people and maybe get my parents to lend me some money, but that could work out I guess. We’ll see. It’s just till I can actually use my overdraft again, and that’ll be soon. Plus like, in a week or something, my ESA will come through.

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Filed under bad day, life, PTSD, shopping


Last night I utterly failed to sleep until way after my parents had left for work. Lots of smoking and lots of Valium didn’t even help. I’m going to try again tonight though in the hope of greater success. To be honest, I think I’ll be less successful.

Sometimes people really hurt you. I got really hurt today. All I wanted was for someone to care for me, but that isn’t what I got. Instead, I was told repeatedly that I’m not worth talking to unless I do what I’m told, when I’m told. I’m told that because I didn’t answer the phone yesterday, that I’m not worth talking to (as you’re aware, yesterday was mad busy for me. I wasn’t by my phone at the time of the call, but I did text and ring back and apologise. Not good enough though). I’m told that if I don’t let a boy stay the night, it helps add to the fact that I’m not worth caring about (due to a lot of stresses, I’ve been trying to keep myself as stable as possible by removing potential triggers for destructive behaviours for a whole week. And yes it has only been a week). This all added up to it not being worth caring about how my appointments went yesterday.

I ended up completely breaking down. The Brother got really angry and called the person back to tell them that it’s not ok to treat me like this as I’m not in a healthy enough position to deal with it and sometimes, I need a little compassion. He doesn’t always want to try to keep me safe when I’m hurting. This inevitably led to further arguments, being made to feel that being upset means that then person should give up on trying to be nice to anyone and that they may never talk to me again. The Brother wants to fuck him up.

I ended up breaking down further. I thrashed at myself and cried and bit myself then just curled up in a ball and rolled a cigarette. I made a promise to myself that if I still wanted to die after that cigarette, I’d die. I felt like my insides are made of dirt and that I get everything wrong even though I try to do the right thing and that I’m toxic and poison the people around me into hating themselves and giving up on life. I really do try to do the right thing. It’s hard to know what the right thing to do is sometimes. All I am is dirt on the inside.

I finished my cigarette and called one of my top five people. I still intended to die, but I needed someone to hear my insides scream and try to understand. He was at my house within minutes. I sat with my head in his lap and told him I’m dirt and nothing and toxic. I wasn’t making much sense at this point, but he listened. He then helped to calm me down. We stumbled animals online for a little bit and then I was more about to talk to him about what was happening and how I felt because I’d calmed. We laid in bed and hugged and talked about silly things and he reassured me and I felt a lot more cared for. It was nice because he kinda proved that some people think I’m worth caring for. He doesn’t really understand some of my reasonings behind my actions and feelings, but he listened and didn’t make me feel like he just thought I was being stupid. He was just nice. Sometimes a person can help restore a little faith in the world just by being nice. I have all the thanks and all the love. He dropped his plans to help me and in the process, he really did. Today, I might love him and the Brother most of all people in the world.

I still feel like shit and I’m not sure I can cope with it, but I’ve got some vodka and too much Valium and lots to smoke and I’m hoping that’ll be enough to see me through till morning. If not, I hope I can at least stay on top of things enough to remember I can always call the crisis team or get the Brother to help me. I want to get through till I can call the Psychologist without winding up cutting myself or worse.

I’m really sad and I’m really angry. I’m angry at how I’m being treated. I hate being made to feel worthless. I hate being made to feel so fucking objectified. I hate that I can literally ask someone to just tell me they care about me and they can’t even do it. This makes me so fucking angry it’s ridiculous. Angry at myself for letting someone hurt me like that. Angry at myself for caring. Angry that anyone thinks that’s an ok way to treat people.

I’m sad because I am worthless. I am only an object. I’m not worth caring about. I’m sad that this is all I deserve. I’m sad that I can never get anything right. I’m sad because I might lose someone and I can’t let that happen.

I don’t know how to fix this right now. I don’t know what I can do to make them care about me. I don’t know how to make anyone care about me. I know that in the long run, I’ll give them everything I have, regardless of if I want to or not because I need them to stay more than anything else. People only stay if you give up your needs or put yourself in hospital. It’s either making yourself into the person they like, or risking your life. Right now, I feel so fucking lost and so fucking empty that either of those options makes sense right now. I just have to get to 9am though. 7 hours.

What makes it worse is that he’s deciding whether he wants to know me anymore. I’m just in limbo. I can’t be perfect for him if I’m in limbo – I can only be perfect if he sees. I can only put my needs on hold if he’s there to let me and he might never be again.

I was having a reasonably nice day as well (well more like afternoon). Me and the Ma went shopping and I got false eyelashes and silly Halloween things and a boom check flannel pj shirt. I joked around with the Fam for a while and walked my puppy. I was feeling positive and it was all just shattered in one phone call. The world is fucking falling apart. I fucking hate everyone sometimes. Most people just fuck you up and it’s not worth it. I just want to hide. Except I can’t if I’m going to prove how fucking irresistible and brilliant and worthy I am. I have to put on that person and fix everything I broke.

I don’t see sleep happening any time soon…


Filed under bad day, bpd, rant


Today, I have an excruciating eye. I couldn’t sleep last night because it was so bad. Out of not where, my right eye started really hurting and now it’s red and swollen and sore. I don’t think it’s conjunctivitis because I’ve had that before and your eye goes all gunky, but it isn’t this time. It’s just really really painful. I saw my G.P. about it and he’s given me some drops and told me to go to A&E about it tomorrow morning when the eye unit opens because he thinks I scratched the cornea. Gah! It’s really horrid. It made today especially stressful, extra specially because I had a hair appointment and horrible pain eye with lots of hair in it is worse than just the eye on its own. Still, my hair is pretty.

So anyway, where are we at? I had a psych. appointment yesterday at the CMHT. I love my psychiatrist there. He’s so aces and not at all up himself like other psychiatrists I’ve seen. We talked about my upcoming assessment and he was really good about it. Again, another person who thinks that IMPART will take me on no sweat, though I’m still terrified obvs. The most important thing we talked about was my serious diazepam dependence though. He’s upping my prescription to help to ween me off it slowly rather than me lying and cheating in order to get enough to feed my habit. Now I’m prescribed 30mg a day which is better. I can’t sleep without at least 15mg, and the rest I munch throughout the day. Now there’s a real effort and plan to get me off it by lowering my dosage by 5mg every two weeks which is probably good.

I sometimes think I take too much medication. My pharmacist keeps a little log of what I take and when so that they don’t accidentally give me some combo that’ll fuck me up or be really ineffective because I’m such a regular. Right now, I have seven prescriptions in my name. Fucking hell. It makes me feel like one of those little old women with their pill boxes. I’m thinking of getting a pill box now though because they seem pretty useful. At least then I’d know remember what I’d taken and missed each day. Way too many meds.

Anyway, seeing my psychiatrist was surprisingly good, but I’d been anxious about yesterday for a whole host of reasons for a while now so I simply cracked and displaced that anxiety with consumer excitement. On Monday, I decided I was going to buy a tablet. I then spent hours and hours researching tablets on the Internet. I settled on a Samsung one, but in the end I couldn’t go to sleep I was so excited. I managed about 2 hours before waking up again at six in the morning with excitement. Only to research more and change my mind about the tablet I was getting obvs. Seriously, I haven’t been that excited in ages. It was like christmas or something. Purely uncontainable, childlike, overly agitated, adrenaline fuelled excitement. I felt kinda out of control. Tuesday involved a lot of running and jumping and skipping and tripping and dancing and singing and all sorts of ridiculousness. After my psych. appointment, I basically ran to get the bus to the big Sainsbury’s to pick up my new iPad 3 (my brother works in Sainsbury’s so I used his discount. I didn’t go that far in such a random direction for no reason don’t worry). I am now the proud owner of an iPad (late to the party I know), which I’m using to type this out because it’s exciting and fun and new. I’ve got so many apps you wouldn’t believe. And also, I finally get to play this Infinity Blade my brother has been harping on about. It is actually pretty fun though. That is, until your eye starts to get stabbing pains. Fucking eyes. Seriously, what the fuck?

I have so many nerves right now its ridiculous. I’m so close to being out of stress city though so hopefully I’ll calm down soon. At least the diazepam should help. Plus it should also mean less heavy reliance on other drugs to chill me the fuck out. I hate emotions. Hate hate hate them. So much. I self medicate to keep myself stable when actually, that’s a really shit idea. It’s just that if I’m completely sober, my brain starts whizzing about to all these annoying places and I get caught up in thoughts and start to get increasingly destructive and end up doing damage and increasingly becoming a danger to myself. It’s a problem for me. Except it’s crap because if your brain is constantly fried, you can’t do much else. It becomes a toss up between fried brain or fighting off suicidal thoughts. I’m really hoping that once I’m through stress city it’ll be ok. At least I have Ben Goldacre and my new iPad to distract myself. Hopefully they’ll work and I’ll be ok. At least when my eye gets better. Tomorrow I’ll probably spam the Internet with many A&E waiting room posts. Gosh you lucky people. You get to read along with me moaning.

This whole post has been a whole lot of not talking about what bothers me most today. You’d think it was my eye, but it isn’t. It’s more to do with being a massive prick and having such changeable moods and not knowing how to predict myself and upsetting people and not wanting to be a let down, but I’m not really sure how to modify all this though. The CMHT psychiatrist guy says therapy with IMPART will help, but that doesn’t stop me from being a prick right now. Ack! I’m being cryptic so I’m going to stop now. Stupid girl.

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Filed under bpd, CMHT, life, recovery, shopping

“just facing facts – your face isn’t right.”

I don’t have all that many pictures from when I was really ill, which I think is good. All of the pictures from when I was at my absolute worst involve sunglasses or being miserable so they aren’t particularly useful for this effort. Plus they are all actually really horrible. My face really shouldn’t have that little fat on it. It’s not very nice.

I did manage to find one that although isn’t the worst time, I was definitely restricting and pretty unwell. I was happy in that moment though I think. I was on a weekend away, drinking pretentious cocktails with the Boy that I loved and I was glad. This is actually a really good picture from that time period. I might not be healthy, but jeez, I don’t look half as bad as I do in some of the others. Probably because I’m genuinely feeling ok, and also it’s an ok angle, I’d eaten a big dinner and I’m not in my glasses. This is me smiling.

This was taken indoors. You wouldn’t think that with those layers on.

This next one is a picture of me today. I was laughing a lot and having a nice time. I’m pretty sad most of the time,  but I was enjoying myself at this moment. I’d just figured out the mode on my camera that takes loads of pictures really quickly and I was pulling faces at it to see how my face moved in picture form. Most of the pictures are awful, but it was totally fun and I got some happy looking ones because I was laughing in between gurns. I got my smiling widget one in the same set. This is me smiling today.


Neither of these pictures are particularly nice and I really don’t like my face, but that isn’t the point of this exercise. I figured that all the people who it would actually matter to me what they thought of my face have already seen my face lots and lots of times with and without make up, dirty, whilst I’m so trashed I can’t see, the morning after etc. The rest of you can think what you like and chances are, I’ll never have to deal with it. I don’t feel uglier then all of you because I don’t know what most of you look like and I don’t think I need to impress any of you seeing as you’re mostly girls and I don’t fancy any of you. Trust me as well, I do really see the flaws so don’t think I’m so stupid I haven’t noticed. I wanted to pick some that were kinda similar to each other give the right idea, but in doing so I lost a bit of possible dramatic effect from putting up some hideous, no make-up, gaunt face. Also, I don’t really like dwelling on the worst and most emaciated I have looked. I hope you see what I mean anyway.

I think that there’s a whole lot of worry about appearance in recovery, and when you’re really sick as well. At least for me there was. I don’t think my restriction was purely to be thin because I think very much that not eating and exercising calms me down a lot and makes the world easier to manage for a bit, but I thought of my weight loss in terms of aesthetic. I could recognise I wasn’t objectively large, but still felt I’d look better smaller. It’s made weight gain pretty awful and I cannot stand my body on most days, but it’s gets less important I think and it affects me less as I get used to just being this size.

Recovery has wrecked my skin something rotten and it still flakes, but I went to my G.P. and Epiduo seems to be doing the trick with keeping the spots away. My beauty regime of Cetaphil face wash and SPF 15 moisturiser in the day, Clinique City Block SPF 40 if it’s sunny, followed by Ultrabland to cleanse, followed by Vanishing Cream at night have made my skin less dry than it would be otherwise, and my Laura Mercier oil free tinted moisturiser SPF 20 makes my skin look almost normal.

With acne and body image and all that rubbish, it’s easy to forget that actually, my face looks a hell of a lot better now. My cheeks and all full and round and pink and I look less tired and drawn. All things considered, that probably makes me look better regardless of how horrid my skin is and how fat I feel. I look healthier and happier and just generally nicer. I moan about my body and face, but my face is definitely nicer than it was the last few years regardless of the spots, and that’s the first thing people notice anyway.

Plus also, I’ve really got to get over the fact I don’t want anyone to see my face so I thought it might help a little bit. Shove my face in your throats in the hope that it’ll make it easier for me to actually see some of you.

I should stop focusing on every part of me I think is worse and start looking at what’s better. I’m going to have positive body image if it kills me I swear.


Filed under life, recovery


It’s really blood cold this morning. I’m really shivery actually. I might put on another jumper. Why is it so cold? It’s almost July! So annoying. So so annoying. Miserable weather right now. I like the cold, but I don’t like the cold when we’ve turned out heating off for summer.

So I was going to do this epic post, but I changed my mind. It’s pretty hard to talk about and I think maybe it’s not so bad or whatever and I changed my mind. Ah well. Instead I’m going to post something really great. Imma talk about my body.

I read all these posts from all these people who are like “my eating disorder has nothing to do with my body shape”, but mine totally does. I always feel like I should mention that to the real life people who read this seeing as they might not know of the elusive non-fat phobic anorexia sufferer and I don’t want to generalize and promote inaccurate stereotypes. Anyway, there’s a lot of other things that come into play when restriction gets going for sure. It’s calming, addictive, numbing etc., but I wanted to be small for sure. At first I wanted to lose the extra weight I put on during first year. I lost that, and more, really quickly, and by that point I was too scared to eat normally. I did actually think I looked great at that point, but I was so scared to gain it back that I just kept losing. A lot of my eating disorder is purely about being scared to gain weight back. At one point, I really didn’t want to lose more weight so every time I reached a certain pound, I’d make a point of eating bare Ciao burger and loads of chocolate and crisps, but as soon as it got a couple of pound up, I’d freak the fuck out and under eat again. It wasn’t till I started to notice real problems in my relationship with the Ex that I actively decided that I needed to be tiny. I needed to be the small one. In my mind, he thought small was pretty and therefore I needed to be smaller than every other girl because that was better and he’d like me more. He didn’t think small was pretty and told me I looked scary and I pushed him away more, but still I believed the eating disorder logic. I was still losing weight at this point so I don’t think it actually changed all that much physcially, but this was when I really decided that it looked best being small. I wanted bigger thigh gaps and more bones because those things were beautiful. Existing on as little as possible and resisting all food was the ideal.

Nowadays when I see really tiny lady pictures, I think about how hard it must be for them. I think about the pressure sores and digestive issues and flaky skin and head hair loss/body hair gain paradox and think it is actually the least fun and totally not at all glamorous. You don’t hear about the pressure sores. Pressure sores are really ugly.  If you done have enough fat covering your bones, pressure sores are inevitable. It doesn’t change the fact that I very much look at tiny people and think that they have fabz bodies and want them even now and hate my own body for not looking like that. What can I say? I’m most definitely fat-phobic and the media does affect my body image in a negative way and that’s just the way it is. My body has never reached the standards of attractive thrown in my face all the time and I hate it for that. There isn’t much I can do about it because it’s genetic, but it makes me sad. I hold my weight in stomach and thighs, but never in my bum. I’ve never needed a bra, regardless of whether I’m overweight or underweight. I have broad shoulders and slim hips with little waist definition. I have chunky arms though for sure. These things are always the same, regardless of body weight. Except for my waist. I get a waist when I’m really underweight. And my stomach does actually get flat when my BMI is so low I start collapsing all the time. Sustaining that was destroying me though.  Basically, I’m destined to have this awful body.

Things do change though.

Stop the press guys – I’ve actually got a waist! I know right? What the fuck? I’ve never had a waist. I’m tubular. Not anymore because I’m all waisted. I don’t even know when this happened but it’s pretty great. Maybe I did always have a waist all along. Or maybe my body shape has changed a bit in the last few years. It’s not like, the world’s most prominent waist, but there is definite waist going on in my life right now. I noticed it yesterday. I know this going to sound super arrogant, but I actually think that crop tops suit me because then I actually notice my waist. They cut just across the waist line, highlighting the definition in that area. Wearing stupid clothes throughout recovery may just pay off because I looked in the mirror and thought “actually, you look alright. You’re belly isn’t too big and you have all this waist happening and you look good in that crop top” which wouldn’t of happened if I’d been covering up. My body is entirely not defined. I try to think of it as soft instead of fat, but that can be hard. There is no muscle definition there though really. But soft is actually pretty on other people so if I think that enough maybe it’ll be pretty on me.

Bodies in recovery change a hella lot. In general, your body preferentially lays down fat over muscle tissue, but that fat is then used as energy sources for muscle growth over time. That time is different for everyone, but it’s often over a year for the full redistribution of body tissue. Most people also preferentially lay fat down in their stomach, though it does eventually start going everywhere else. I know that for ages, I had bony back, chest, arms and legs with a big ol’ preggerz belly. Now though, I do have fat on all my body areas so although I’m not convinced my stomach will ever change seeing as it’s always been big and round, it does look a little bit less weird. All those people who tell you body image does improve in recovery are right though. It fully does improve. I may well hate my belly and waist again in an hour, but in general, the trend in body image is upwards. Even though my thighs most definitely have no gap. And lets not lie, it’s definitely better when you can’t see your spine through your clothes. My belly sticks out all grose, but I am actually slightly woman shaped. I’m hoping that’s a good thing. I don’t know if it’s redistributing or what, but it could definitely be worse.

I still have a lot of body hang ups. Like a lot a lot. But my body is so much happier now than it’s been in so long and that’s worth celebrating. I may not be the small one and my stomach may not be at what I see as ideal, but I had that ideal and I was having a rubbish time so I think it’s better. I think a lot of people in recovery start or continue to hide their bodies away with lots of shame that it’s changed and got bigger and all of that malarky. Not everyone because some people definitely believe that more body weight looks better as they are non-fat phobic AN sufferers, but everyone else maybe. I don’t actually think that’s all good though. I think you actually have to look at your body a little bit, and dress to show it off. You have to spend time getting to know it in order to get used to it and that unfortunately involves getting out of sweats and baggy t-shirts sometimes. So I’m going to be ok with my belly and my new-found waist. And you know what else, I’m going to embrace it. Judge it as you like, it’s mine and I’m going to be bloody well proud of my recovery body.

This is my belly and waist yesterday night. After a full day of food and absolutely no exercise. I think that maybe, it’s not so bad.

(ps. check out my number one favorite body part – my belly button! Seriously, it’s so perfectly round! And also you can’t see the bottom so it looks like a never-ending pit. I really love my belly button so much. This is why it has escaped piercing so long :D).


Filed under life, recovery