I've seen a few people in the mental health blogosphere describe the process of leaving a therapist a bit like Nanny McPhee: When you don't want them, but need them, they must stay, and when you want them, but no longer need them, then they must go. This is not necessarily true. I am not… Continue reading A New Therapy Path
There. Just there. A little more to the left. Shift slightly upwards. There. Did you see that? I can count every rib. Wait. No, there's some missing. There's too many missing. There. Just. there. A little to the right, a little to the left. The light is in the wrong place now, and I've lost… Continue reading She’s creeping in
I need to draw to calm my anxiety, but I'm shaking so badly I can't hold a pencil steady. I need to stop shaking because it's freaking people out, but I'm so agitated I can't stop. I need to look after myself, but a worthless person places all others' needs above their own. I need… Continue reading These are not my only needs
To be perfectly honest, I have been under such a firm hold of dissociation that I can't remember whether I already wrote about this or not. Just before my nineteenth birthday, I almost killed myself. As in, the only reason I am alive today is because of one person who believes in me enough and… Continue reading The Family Effect
I'm going to tell you a story: There once was a girl who was slightly insane, with eyes so bright they matched her brain. She had no troubles of what the day might bring, and when it was silent she would secretly sing. There is still a girl who is more or less sane, but behind… Continue reading Chapter Zero: A Brief History of My Time with Mental Illness
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
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
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
When I was younger, before all the bad shit happened (read: anorexia followed by years of intense bullying which only reaffirmed that if I was just thinner, things would be better) I thought depression was purely episodic. I thought it only occurred during grief after a death, that it was a really intense sadness that hung… Continue reading Chronic Depression, My Old Friend
I was trying to think of a metaphor I could use to describe depression. There's an obvious problem, with it being utterly indescribable. All this bullshit about clouds that rain only over you, and darkness that doesn't recede, isn't really wrong, but it doesn't fully capture the essence of depression. Which, just to eliminate the… Continue reading My Depression Has No Metaphor
People say that suicide is selfish. And sure, they're right - it is selfish to leave behind bereft family and friends who you cannot support, who will never know your last words and last thoughts, and constantly question if they could have helped, if they could have done more. Keeping me alive is also selfish.… Continue reading Suicide Doesn’t Seem Selfish To Me
The first time I attended yoga I was fifteen years old. I was the youngest person in the class by at least ten years. I started to practice yoga amidst eating disorder recovery, as I attempted to leave behind excessive exercising, and build strength instead. Strong not skinny is my greatest mantra. And it really… Continue reading Strong Not Skinny: Lifting Weights in Eating Disorder Recovery
They're strangely aesthetically pleasing. In 2017, I was admitted to three separate psych wards, for a total of six weeks. It might not seem like a lot, and sure I had 46 weeks of non-psych ward living, but these were my first three trips to the ER, and first three admissions to hospital for any… Continue reading Sketches From a Psychiatric Ward
There were many things I have told myself I would never do. I never thought I would let myself gain weight, but I have been physically recovered from anorexia for two years now. I never thought I would self harm, but now I have a body covered in the scars of my self-destruction. I never… Continue reading Returning from the irreversible
It's me, your anxious little bundle of stress. The anxiety has been so real recently. Yesterday, I freaked out because the new tattoo I have (it's so pretty!) is healing kind of weird and I thought I'd ruined it because I had exposed it to the sun a little bit, and what if it was… Continue reading Smol anxious stress bundle
Tonight should have been a binge night. See, everything was going well until I successively broke three of Ana's most important rules: Eating after breakfast before I was hungry Eating a non-lunch food for lunch (in this case, leftover veggie nachos) Baking, and eating not one, but two muffins, again before I was hungry. It was looking… Continue reading A Small Win – in your face Ana!
Not sleeping. Not eating properly. Discovering alcohol. Which, as it turns out, makes me 1) not sleep, and 2) suppresses my appetite. So it's both a problem (because I'm more exhausted than ever) and a solution (because I don't want to eat anyway). Self-harming to punish myself for not eating properly and discovering alcohol. My… Continue reading Some Struggles of Late
Alcohol. In that single word I can see all of the mistakes I've made in under a month. I have been sober my entire life, despite growing up in a town with a heavy drinking culture, despite desperately wanting to fit in at university where it seems damaging your liver remains the best way to… Continue reading Whoops, guess what I discovered?
For a little while know, I've known that conventional seating isn't my thing. In a bit of a weird way. I just don't like chairs. I much prefer sitting on the floor. I don't know if it's because they symbolise waiting rooms and classrooms and doctor's rooms and rooms of other people I've somehow irritated… Continue reading I’m officially scared of chairs
When I was in high school, I went through several severe stressors all at roughly the same time. First, I was already suffering from anorexia nervosa, which isn't exactly a great way to kick things off. Then I was bullied incessantly. And by incessantly, well fuck. I was physically and verbally abused every single day, from 8… Continue reading That thing I never talk about
This phrase we've accumulated: it's okay not to be okay, has taken a unique turn in the general shittiness of my life. I've discovered that feeling okay, that feeling content, less depressed, more energetic, anything that goes beyond the usual neurotic distress, very quickly makes me not okay. I find it uncomfortable to the point… Continue reading Feeling okay makes me not okay
More noticeably than ever have I been noticing the pull of polarisation that BPD brings. It comes with an anxious tremor, and a silliness fringing on hypomania, and impulsivity and outrageousness. But it also comes with dark thoughts and dark urges and the lure of punishments desecrated across my skin. Tonight I have experienced every… Continue reading Earlier.