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 suicidal thoughts have gone from passive to active and the recklessness is building; I walk as near to the road as possible, I cycle and run at night, I cut deeper and in new and different places to see where it’s easiest to cause the most damage. I think about taking a handful of pills. A bottle of alcohol. A jump into the ocean. I would love to die in the ocean. I grew up beside the beach, and the ocean is my true home. If I were to commit suicide, I would do it there.

I want sand between my toes, or maybe I’ll press my naked body into the damp instead. I’ll lay in the darkness under the stars, the beach will be deserted and I will consider all the reasons to go. All the mistakes. The burden. The despair and pain and memories. The pain that is yet to come. The pain it would take to heal if I were to get past this. I want waves to tickle my fingertips and caress my hair, I want the sea breeze to stroke my neck. I’ll take a sip of something toxic, something tasteful, because if I’m going to drink, I better make it worth it, and I’ll get drunk. I’ll slip beneath the waves. I’ll dive down deep, and I’ll stay there.

I won’t come back out.

I’ve come so close this past week. More than once.

I keep telling the people who ask that I don’t have a plan, but reading over that, it seems like maybe I do. I do have a plan. I do want to die. If I was offered an out, then I would take it. And if God doesn’t forgive me for that, and suicide is the sin that exempts me from Heaven, despite sending his Son and our salvation, then that’s okay. Maybe Sheol is where I belong. I always thought it was a strange word anyway – it reminded me of the beach. Sheol. Shoal. Shell. Sea.

I belong in the sea. What would be better I wonder, to OD on the sand, or drunk-dive into the depths? Which would be fatal?

Fuck. When I swear, it’s a sign that I am unable to express my true feelings. Swearing is just another coping mechanism, designed more to hurt those around me than myself. To keep people at a distance. I’m fucked, I say, utterly fucked.

Things are not going well. I wish I still lived close enough to the beach that I could jump out my window or the back door and run barefoot along the bitumen to the sand dunes, and slide down to the tide-line. It would make this so much easier. I wish I didn’t waste the opportunity of living so close to nature and not seizing it more, because I spent a lot of my childhood anorexic, and the ocean made me hypothermic.

I wish I were dead. I wish I was strong enough to die. I wish for so many things. I wish anorexia had killed me. I wish I could throw up, because even I know that laxatives and exercise aren’t ‘real’ forms of purging. I wish I had the courage to drink and get drunk. The courage to swallow. To OD. To step into the waves, and to not come back out.

Binge Eating Aftermath 2

i wish i had died i wish i had died i wish i had died i should have let anorexia kill me i wish i was dead i want to die

They say to use coping phrases, that feeling full is not the same as being fat, but it is, I’m full to the point of feeling sick, I’m full because I’m fat, I binge because I’m fat, binging makes me fat and keeps me fat and I’m always going to be fat. They say to use opposite action, because these emotions do not align with the facts of my situation but they do: I’m disgusting and so I feel disgust – I disgust myself. They say to meditate, because it will calm the mind and body and soothe the soul and is a form of self care, but I don’t want to emerge from my bed, from my depressive shell – I don’t want to face reality.

thin people are perfect people thin people are perfect people thin people are perfect people i will never be perfect if i am not thin i am worth nothing if i am not thin

I am worth nothing. My worth is inversely proportional to a number on the scale. The number is massive, it is a number that horrifies Ana, that horrifies me. It is a number we never thought we would allow ourselves to reach.

where are your bones thin people have bones and thin people are perfect people i need to be thin if i am to be perfect i need to be perfect i must be perfect where are your bones where are your bones stupid girl where are your bones she cried

These thoughts are disordered. I know that. This stream of consciousness, this emotional purging – it doesn’t make the thoughts go away. Just like it doesn’t change the calories I consumed, too many to even count, too much that I can’t even remember what exactly I ate. I like to think that writing helps, but I’m not sure of the truth of that. It helps me manipulate people, I guess. Helps me manipulate myself into thinking I need to manipulate people to better shimmy into the BPD box. I had a close friend, one of the first I revealed my borderline personality diagnosis to, tell me that the doctors are wrong. That I can’t possibly be a borderline because borderlines are manipulative and awful creatures, and they don’t have friends, and I have friends, therefore I cannot be a borderline. I ignored this comment. But the words stung, and have subtly weaved their way into my days, into my blog posts, poisoning the people I’ve met and scaring those who know me in real life, as more than a name and a gross photo. I’m being manipulative because borderlines are supposed to be manipulative and acting like a “proper” borderline will help people realise my diagnosis is accurate. Which is essentially the very definition of manipulative. I am a shell of a person, endlessly adopting traits that I shed like skins. A chameleon.

I think I need to quit my job. Bakery + bulimia does not go so well together. Not well at all. I actually slipped the B-word (bulimia) into a conversation with my parents the other day –  I was met with silence. If I was thinner they would have believed me (although, they never noticed the anorexia, so perhaps not), they would have believed the scars are a sign of true pain, the exhaustion is a symptom of emotional unrest, the three jobs I work to pay for seemingly endless appointments I attend that I need but don’t see the benefit of, and feel guilty over because I’m wasting my paychecks on tears and misguided guidance instead of spending it on getting drunk like I’m supposed to as a struggling student, except I’m not (financially) struggling, and I don’t drink alcohol, and I probably never will. I have never been drunk.

I’m rambling.

I should stop that. But my brain is foggy from the sugar.

These thoughts are disordered, but recognising that won’t change them, nor the fact that tomorrow I will restrict and I will exercise and I will punish myself in any way I know how, and rely on bad coping mechanisms and add to the messy collection of scars that adorns my wrists and thighs like some sort of deranged art series in various stages of decay.

All I can do is pray, even if God isn’t listening tonight. I hope He is. I hope He hears me. If suicide is a sin, does suicide exclude me from His kingdom?

I need things to be different. But I’m scared. I can’t remember not having an eating disorder. My childhood was anorexia, my adolescence bulimia. I’m scared for what it would mean to lose another part of me, to lose Ana. I need her. She needs me. We have a somewhat strained symbiotic relationship.

 

Goodnight. I wish it was goodbye. But I’ll be here tomorrow. I will. Probably.

Bible Quotes That Deeply Resonate with My Depression (and other illnesses too)

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves those crushed in spirit” – Psalm 34:18

“Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ” – Galatians 6:2

“The Lord is a stronghold for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble” – Psalm 9:9

“Pray without ceasing” – Thessalonians 5:17

“Therefore, if food makes my brother stumble, I will never eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble” – 1 Corinthians 8:13

“But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” – Romans 5:8

“Suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and our hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love to us has been poured into our hearts through the holy spirit” – Romans 5:3-5

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” – John 1:4-5

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope” – Jeremiah 29:11

“O Lord my God, I cried to you for help, and you have healed me” – Psalms 30:2 

“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” – Romans 12:21