Happy New Year

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Happy New Year to you all. I hope you all saw the new year in with friends and family. I saw the new year in alone this time, it’s been a while since I have done that, but it was okay.

It’s been a while since I have posted here. It’s been a while since I’ve really bothered talking to many people. I’m not really sure why that is, I think about doing it, saying hi, nudging, inquiring how people are, but then I always come back to what is the point? I’m better off quiet I think. I thought very hard about shutting this site down and my facebook pages too, but then I know that those who support me need somewhere, and so I don’t do it. Perhaps there would be some way to fade into the shadows and not be seen, to just be there and observe, so that people could forget me.

I realise how depressing this post might sound, I’m not really depressed. Just fighting and tired from it. Fighting to eat or not eat. I can’t make my mind up which I want to do. Today is a not eat day. I ate so much over Christmas. I fight to keep my OCD down, from it’s torturous voice. That one is winning at the moment. I’m back at university on Monday and I’m afraid. The voice of my BPD confirms to me when I look in the mirror, why no one is around. Self-harm is winning. Three days of the new year, three days of self harm. At least my PTSD has been a little more under control recently. So many things to fight.

I wonder if when I see the next new year in, my father will be here. I’ll be surprised if he is. His cancer has progressed, although that doesn’t seem to stop him in his ways. My own stupidity on Christmas day saw that I turned my back on him, I didn’t think, it allowed him to grab my head and ram it down twice into the roof of the kiddies play house. Then he tried to kick me, but I moved and his foot only just brushed passed me. Some lessons I really need to learn.

I wish all my friends peace and happiness this year.

Take Care.

 

Vanish

Everyday feels like I am running through mud with my eyes closed and going backwards when really I should be going forwards, yet I see no point in it. The most I can do is stop and try to breathe. I wish somehow I could lift the ache inside my chest. I feel so much like a fraud living through every day. I go to university and sit in my lectures and I look normal. I look like everyone else, yet I am not. Every move I make is thought out. Every door I open, I don’t touch. I feel like I’m living in some kind of bubble that any moment is going to be invaded by I don’t even know what.

My mind is so crazy. No one knew today as I sat with a couple of class mates in the canteen and declared, no, I’m not hungry, I had a huge breakfast that I was lying. My stomach inside was starving. The smell of the soup from my friend’s tray, or the look for the chilli on the plate opposite me was like torture, but still I sat and did not eat. The stupid echo’s in my mind. Sometimes I wish they would just shut the hell up and get lost. I cannot eat, I don’t deserve too. It’s like having a voice on my shoulder, every time I go for food it starts with the names and the reminders and I just walk away defeated again.

I wish it would vanish.

I wish I could vanish.

It was my birthday a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t expect anything off my father as usual. He hasn’t bothered for 36 years, what would make 37 any different? But of course still there was that hope that never goes away. Maybe this year will be different, but it isn’t. He did message me a couple of days after, to tell me that he forgot. What kind of father forgets his child’s birthday? No matter how old they are. Why tell me? Why point out how useless you are and always have been. Is forgetting some kind of excuse? Doesn’t he realise it makes him look bad rather than excusing it? tumblr_lctztxzXNK1qcqnroo1_400

I get mad at myself when I have anger at him. He had a heart attack and what if he dies? It wasn’t so long ago. I broke down when I was told, but I realise the reason I broke down wasn’t because I was afraid of losing my father, I wasn’t scared that he might die. What I was upset about was, he might die and never make amends. He might die and never say he’s sorry. He might die and never realise he is actually my father.

I realise I’m waiting for the impossible and I don’t know how to let go of that hope that keeps breaking my heart.

Please Turn My Life Switch Off

 

There was a man once; he was in so much agony from his illness, when he died, while that was sad, it was also a relief. His suffering was over, his eyes closed and for the first time in a long while, he looked truly at peace.

He’d spent so long fighting. He had taken all the drugs and treatments going and fought with every breath he had just to get through the day and the pain he suffered. He held on every minute of his life, even though, some days the pain was so excruciating, he would curl up on the floor crying, begging someone to please take it away and no one could. 1385972_257464541068177_1105653773_n

Occasionally the pain was so bad, he couldn’t even speak or think, all he could do was roll around in silent agony, waiting for sleep to take him and the torture to stop, just for a slight reprieve, but those reprieves weren’t long. The pain would be back, it would keep him awake through the night and he would lie in the darkness, alone, with no one who could make it better.

What a tragic, horrible way for someone to have to live, that death is the only mercy. Often we would say, this person is in a better place now, their suffering is over. And yes, while the family is upset for their loss and they would give anything to have this man back, they never want to watch someone have to live in such a way again. It is a sight that they will probably never get over.

Perhaps you think this man had cancer, HIV/AIDS or some other kind of debilitating cruel illness.

What if this was inside?

Why do people’s view change? Mental pain is just as bad as physical pain. The suffering is the same.

I see so many posts on suicide today and this last week. In September it was national suicide prevention day. Sometimes I think those posts should be labelled, keep the person alive to suffer day.

People who commit suicide are sometimes called selfish or a coward, but go back and read the above. Imagine keeping that inside and smiling outside.

I talked to a friend last night and tried to explain how it is for me. That from the moment I open my eyes, to the moment they close again, I am in such pain inside, a pain so deep and big I can’t even find the words to explain it. I wish there was a way to show people, but I there isn’t. Every moment of every day it hurts. Sometimes sleep doesn’t even let me escape and I am woken with nightmares and suffering.

As I explained this to my friend, I wish with every part of me that I could make it all go away. I wished that I could go back to a time when I was a teenager and make it over then, when it wouldn’t matter to the people it would now. I wished so hard it felt as if I could almost make it real, but I can’t.

And I know, many will tell me to look at what I have to live for, all the good things in my life, but tell that to the man above. Whatever illness you thought he had.

 

I know what I have to live for. That is why I am here typing this, because I can never give to my children the pain of losing me, but it doesn’t mean tomorrow I won’t think or fantasise about being able to turn my life switch off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Haha, you’re mentally ill.

Today I asked a deaf man to listen to this great song and then I laughed when he couldn’t hear it, I also asked all my friends on my facebook to laugh too. Then I put something too high up and asked a crippled man to reach it down, it was so damn funny when he couldn’t (please note I didn’t really). Sounds horrendous doesn’t it? Yet this is how I feel when I see such stupid things as the picture I have posted at the side. I hope it creates a good laugh, and then I hope those who laugh realise how cruel that is. This illness is an illness, it is serious and debilitating and certainly not a joke. It makes me sad when I see such ignorance. 1379856_10200784363384001_904517282_n

Perhaps you want to tell me to lighten up, it’s just a joke. Have a laugh. Take it easy?

I saw on an Asperger’s awareness site a post saying put OCD on your profile for a laugh. I was disgusted, not just at that, but for something that raises awareness for an illness, can belittle another one in such a way.

Today I reach day eight of not eating. This is due to my OCD, maybe it’s funny. Maybe I should be laughing.  For me it’s a nightmare. For me I am living with a crazy person inside my head who is so afraid to eat.

I bought a coffee this morning, pretty simple thing, but for me, I try not to watch the person serving, because I know if I do, I find a reason not to drink it and to pour, probably a perfectly good coffee away. I nearly did that today when I saw the young girl pig up my cup from the top. What if her hands were dirty? That’s what my mind started at, and then onwards it went to the many disastrous things that could happen if I drank that coffee.

Sometimes I am rebellious, it is like my OCD is a separate person to me, I havre to do things to annoy it. Like put my cup to my mouth and take a sip and then laugh at my OCD as it clutched its evil little head, because now it was too late, any form of harm or germ in that cup was in my mouth, so I might as well drink it all.

I saw this also today in a group, Obsessive Compulsive Cosmetics. What an awful name. Perhaps they will instruct as that poster said, Nike, to make running shoes for the paraplegic.

Today

Today, I woke this morning after a slightly difficult night. Half an hour into sleep and I woke thinking the bad man was there again, if someone asked me to swear on it, I’d be almost positive he had been standing right there, watching and waiting. I kept waking because I could feel his hand on my back.

Today I self harmed as well. I’ve been doing well. I think it’s been a good two weeks since the last time. Just yesterday I had mentioned it and then this morning I gave in and ruined it.

Today as I saw the traffic lights turn from green to amber and a truck coming the other way, for a split second I thought to chance it. I thought about how that truck could end it for me. For a split second I almost pulled out in front of the truck, because it had the right answer.

Today I helped my granddaughter when she started choking at the dinner table and her face went read as she couldn’t breathe. I picked her up, bent her over and forced her food out, causing her to vomit, but for those few seconds, when everything slowed down, I had fear in my heart.

Today marks day five of not eating. I keep trying to, but I can’t do it. I eat small bits instead, but not enough to satisfy the hunger I need to feel. I deserve it. I deserve to feel the hunger.

Today I sit on my bathroom floor with the door locked, typing this instead of self harming some more.

Today I wish I could feel normal.

Maybe tomorrow is pointless.

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OCD I hate you

OCD I hate you. I do today. I’m tired of it. Tired of thinking about every little detail of everything I do in order to keep myself safe.

My OCD is going downhill these last few weeks, months really, I guess I get the odd days reprieve, when I feel strong and yeah, I can take my OCD on and beat it, but for the rest of the time, I’m running up hill, through muddy water.

I went to the supermarket today, nothing odd about that of course. They have mince pies for sale, my favourite thing. Its like someone bringing me Christmas early. I stared at them and stared at them and a million things went thought my head because they didn’t feel ‘right’ to buy. Not right as in its too early, but right for me, the one with OCD, where everything is controlled by what feels right and what doesn’t. So I left them. Went off into the supermarket to get what I wanted, but those damn mince pies played on my mind because I really wanted them. They really, really are one of my favourite things. I could taste them. I could imagine them. And god the thought just made me want to eat one in that moment, but then I thought, I can do this.

So I walked back to the front of the supermarket where they are and thought, it’s just my OCD talking. There’s no real danger. It’s just this thing I have. I can get them and I can eat them and I will be fine.

I Look at them, pick them up, imagine eating them and then it starts again, that stupid voice that’s plagued me all week long. What if it’s this packet. What if it’s this box. What if they make you sick. You don’t know who’s touched them, you didn’t see them get made. What if you’re sick at university tomorrow and you can’t get away?

I put the mince pies down and walked away. I wish this illness would go away. I wish I could just be like other people and buy something and eat it and not think what if.

It’s been a week like this. In a way I guess its good I can go a while without eating and it doesn’t bother me so much, because while I am at university at the moment, I can’t eat. I find my old fears coming up. Fears of a child, what if I get sick? What if I am sick in the wrong place?

I know my mother isn’t here and no one is going to beat me for getting ill on the rare chance it did happen, but still, when I go to take food, I am, just too afraid.

Silence

It’s funny how, after finishing a book and releasing it, I always feel quiet. Not that I don’t have things to say, just that I have said a lot and I feel guilty. I feel immense guilt at telling the world about my parents, as if I have betrayed them. It makes me even more quiet than normal; this of course gives me time to think. Not just about my writing, but many things.

A friend who will ignore me in a desperate time, yet issue cruel words when I  give up and walk away, or the father who offers me many things, only to take them away when I reach to take them. Now reprimands me, when he offers, and I say no. photo(1)

I seem to be learning many lessons, but for every lesson I learn, comes another consequence.

Each day is a fight.

One day in the last couple of weeks, I don’t know what day it actually was, I sat in my car, just pulled up and looked out at the river in front of me, a place I like to go and spend time. I felt like I was ready to jump. I couldn’t for one thing, think of a good enough reason why I shouldn’t end it right there and then.

I knew I couldn’t because of my children, but it left me pleading inside someone to help me and make me go away, because in that moment, I just couldn’t stand the pain of many things, things that I will never understand.

The only thing at the moment, that is letting me breathe, are the days I give in and self-harm. Yet as much as I self-harm, I can’t dig in deep enough. I daren’t even try, because what I am fighting with at the moment, is the child that doesn’t want to be here anymore, because he took his heart out, and realises it is broken.

Goodbye Teddy

Goodbye Teddy

Smile and Pretend to be Normal

Sometimes I feel like I’m always fighting something, like there’s no peace in my head. I’m sure often I give people the idea that maybe I am never happy, which I am of course, just like anyone else. I can find joy in the little things like walking my granddaughter along the stream not far from us, through all the trees and things she has yet to discover and name. It’s so wonderful to watch her sometimes with the innocence she has of a two year old.

 She points to the water and looks up at me with that face, she smiles and says “wet” and I nod and say yes it is wet. Then she points to her feet and says “shoes” and I know she wants to go paddling, so I take her hand and we do. These are the little things I can find my peace in.

 Inside though, it’s different. My mind is panicking about everything. When did I last eat? Is it going to come back out, every mouthful I take has the potential to make me sick, and as I’m eating I remember, what if this time? So I put my food down, throw it away and try to decide if the rumble in my stomach is hunger or illness. The more I think about it the worse I feel. What if I get sick?

 I’ve washed my hands so much thy feel sore and dry, the skin on them feels tight. I stand trying to think, are they clean enough? Did I touch something bad? Did I wash them properly? As I stand I don’t even notice I’m clawing at my scalp or my arms and I don’t realise that I’m bleeding, scratch marks run down my arms, my scalp feels like it burns from where I’ve grazed the top of the skin off in my absent minded scratching frenzy. funny-quote-pretend-to-be-normal

 I try to hide the noises I make in my throat, feeling each sound and when I can’t I do it again, making me sound like I’m clicking. Numbers fight with symmetry and I’m breathing through my nose just to feel the scratch.

 1 – time, it’s not enough.

2 – it’s a division of four

3 – Yes I like three, that’s my number, but it’s not even.

4 – I can’t even think about resting there. Four is bad. Four is terrible. Something bad will happen if I leave it at four. Four makes him come. Bu he can’t and I’m big. He’s gone.

5 – No, not right, like three it’s not even.

6 – Six is good. No link to four, divided by three and it’s even. But Six is divided by three  to get two, two is part of four.

Stop it!!! I try to tell myself.

 Stop it.

Stop it.

Breathe.

 I look down at the water and try to focus on my granddaughter, but I see my reflection. My reflection. No it isn’t, it’s someone vaguely familiar, not my face, just something the same. I see the badness there. There reasons for the bad things.

 No wonder people do bad things to you, I say in my head. You’re pathetic and stupid. How can anyone care? Look at you, look how stupid you are.

 I wish you would die. I wish I could kill you. I wish I could die. Just to make the madness go away. I hate how I feel.

 I look away, back at my granddaughter. She smiles at me and stamps her feet making splashes. She reminds me why I can’t end it.

 I smile at her. Smile and pretend that I’m normal.

Blame once again, pondering thoughts.

20130809-215759.jpgBlame is one of those things I keep coming back to. I think I have it right in my head and then it’s gone again. But it’s an essential part of my healing so I keep fighting to see it how everyone else does and not through my eyes.
Guilt and blame seem to go hand in hand with each other. Guilt by association is an odd idea though, but it makes a lot of sense. Have you been at school and some people are talking, but you all get told off and sometimes all end up in detention? Or even more serious things, such as if you were with someone that burgled a house, even though you don’t go in, don’t smash anything or steal, you are still guilty by association.

Children are taught when an authority figure tells them off they listen. It’s something that’s there from such a young age. When children have friends over and that friend does something wrong, the child is told off by the parent, not the friend. They become guilty by association also. So what if the child is being abused?

They may know the abuse is wrong, but they don’t tell, some never tell because they feel the guilt.

No one would ever have believed me with my father. Not a single person. On the outside he was a good man. He helped people. Polite, well spoken, intelligent with a nice house, children etc. Yet there was this secret he and I had.

Isn’t it natural that if a child and parent are doing something bad and wrong together, the child feels guilty? Not because they should, but because the adult has tricked them and pinned some of the guilt on them to retain silence.

Motherly Walls and Brick Hugs

I was reading something today about hugging, not general hugging, but actually the way people use hugging in therapy for Autistic children, it can seem quite a bullying technique. It made me think however, about how my dad used to force hugs on me, not the friendly fatherly kind, but the kind that pulled me close to him because he had an erection and he thought it was amusing to tease me in such a way so that I was squirming to get away from him in case he did something.

I don’t think I ever got a real hug from my parents. When I am looking to blame myself for childhood events, often people tell me that children crave affection and that they need love and hugs. This is one of those things I’ve tried to understand, because with my parents and their abuse, sometimes I went to my dad. When I have said this before I have been told that it was because I was starved of affection and it was the only way I could get any. I’ve never really believed that was the reason. I don’t remember being starved for affection, I know I didn’t get any, I just don’t remember thinking yep I want a hug, so I’ll go and let my dad sexually abuse me.

Today though whilst reading about this hugging therapy and that children need hugs for whatever reason, perhaps it’s just because I am nearing the end of Dear Teddy 3.5, but suddenly I remembered a child that would hug a wall or the door frames. At night when I didn’t feel very well I would hug myself up against the wall and cry and try to get some comfort from it. At school when no one could see me I would lean against the cold bricks and hug them too, putting my small fingers into the gaps between the bricks and closing my eyes, or when my mother couldn’t see me and I was in the dining room once again having been punished for whatever I had done, I would hug the wall between that room and the kitchen. Concrete_wall

I realise I actually still do it now. When I am sad or upset I lean against the wall so the side of my face touches, I stand so that the frame of the door fits against my shoulder and I can lean my head against it. It’s always been soothing me. My children ask what I am doing when I have stopped hallway down the stairs and I’m just leaning against the post.

I guess I don’t remember being starved for affection because I found a way to replace it. The wall.