Desperate Times, Normal Measures – A Poem

Eclipses decorate her flesh in a myriad mess of alluring urges and sorrowful representation of sadness and denial - suppression she says - and painfully visceral confrontation. Disproportionate coping mechanisms and trickling stains and raindrops without an umbrella or a bandage or any real predisposition to stop. What is life, when life is black, when… Continue reading Desperate Times, Normal Measures – A Poem

Hatred

It's been a tough few weeks. It's been a very tough few weeks. The suicidal thoughts have returned, just as strong as before. I hate this. It's something I repeat to the friends I reach out to, over and over and over: I hate this.  I hate not knowing myself, I hate that I can't seem… Continue reading Hatred

I don’t want things to be different, just worse

I'm struggling at the moment, lately, still, always, of course I am, because what else would I be doing if I wasn't struggling? The depression is back with a vengeance, anxiety tells me I'm going to die every time I catch public transport, suicidal ideation has been bad, self harm urges have been bad, the… Continue reading I don’t want things to be different, just worse

Step Into The Waves, Not To Come Back Out

I say that things are rough a lot, but things are rough at the moment. Not in the usual way either. Things are rough in a new way and I don't like it. The urge to self-harm has become a desire to hurt myself, driven by a sense of failure and need for punishment. The… Continue reading Step Into The Waves, Not To Come Back Out

The Art of Opening Up (and of lying)

They say it's an act, as if opening up is purely an action and nothing else. They say 'just' open up, as if it's easy in the first place, like 'just' starting the car, or 'just' cleaning the kitchen. It's not an act. It's an art. Acting would be the way I lie to everyone… Continue reading The Art of Opening Up (and of lying)

Eggs For Breakfast

My eating disorder, who I named Ana, (even once my diagnosis became bulimia) took a lot of things from me. She took my memories, she stole precious experiences, friendship, smiles and joy. She took energy, warmth, strength, focus, self-worth, concentration and control - the irony of that last one is not lost on me. She… Continue reading Eggs For Breakfast

Reasons to Recover

I was thinking about my eating disorder, as I do, as I always do. I was ruminating, remembering the sensations of anorexia. I remember, even as I try to forget, to force the images from my mind, the memories of bony reflections. I try to forget these tainted memories, the lies that Ana feeds me,… Continue reading Reasons to Recover

The Thing About the Future

The future can be likened to many things, some of them literal and some metaphorical. Sometimes it seems that the future is a butterfly fluttering away in the distance, always visible but never reachable. Maybe it’s more of a stone, rolling down a hill and gaining more and more momentum until it’s an unstoppable force.… Continue reading The Thing About the Future

Being Diagnosed as Bipolar

The first time I asked myself if I might be bipolar, I was sixteen. I remember the day vividly. I was being driven home from the gym by my mum, and I was in tears. Normally my dad does the driving. I asked why she had picked me up. Apparently, I had broken yet another… Continue reading Being Diagnosed as Bipolar

Waves

Think of what it feel like to drown: the water covering your head, entering your throat and nose, trickling into every possible entrance, smothering, choking, burning. Imagine the panic that bubbles beneath the surface, the terror that streams from your stomach to your chest and up out of your soul through tensed shoulders and a… Continue reading Waves