Tag Archive | Lost

Exhausted

Tomorrow sees the end of almost 6 months of holidays. I go back to uni, but not only that, I’m starting a new uni. New people, new classes, new teachers, new campus. New. Different. Unknown. I’ve been arsing around all night trying to put things on my desk just the way I like them. Nothing seems to be in the right spot. Not quite sitting right. Not quite how it should be. Trouble is, I have no idea what I want it to be like. I’ve given up for tonight. I’m writing this post, sending an email, taking a shower and crawling into bed where I’ll fool myself into thinking I can lie there with the blankets over my head and pretend this week didn’t exist at all. It’s Monday and I’m already tired of it.

Today I spent the day putting all my thoughts and energy onto someone else. Focusing on them, helping them, making sure they’re okay. Giving someone else all my love and attention. Holding their hand and doing what needs to be done to make sure they’ve got all the support they need. Helping to hold the safety net beneath them, or even to hold them up as they tentatively make their way across the tightrope that is recovery.

Now, I feel like I need… Something. Anything to detract from the lingering thoughts in the back of my mind. Anything to distract me from the suffocating black pushing its way into my head. The depression has set in harder than ever the last two-three weeks. I’ve been overwhelmed by all the appointments, the hassle of organising uni, the fear that a friend is struggling and I’m not going to be able to do enough to help them. This is where I throw myself into everything that opens up and fill my diary with commitments and activities. This is where I try to pretend that I can handle it. This is where I bite off more than I can chew.

The incessant nagging voice in my head at the moment is becoming unbearable. Screaming constantly at me, reminding me how fat and disgusting I am. Just in case I’m likely to forget. Which I’m not. Especially not when I seem to be constantly surrounded by reflective fucking surfaces. Reminding me that I’m not worthy of this position at uni, or my treatment team’s time. That I’m pathetic and worthless and useless and vile. That I’m selfish and greedy. That it’d be better if I fucked right off. So would everyone around me. I wish She would just FUCK OFF! It’s draining enough to get through the day without the constant chatter. I’m beyond terrified about starting at this new uni tomorrow.

Uni aside, this week is a big one as it is. I have my second appointment with the eating disorders service at a hospital near by. I’m scared of what this appointment will involve. My last one saw me leave in tears and being unable to recall what I did between leaving the office and making my way home. I’ve only partially disclosed to them my history of sexual assault. I’ve not told them who the perpetrator was. I haven’t told them the full extent of the effects it’s had on me. I’ve only mentioned it briefly before changing the subject. I’m not looking forward to that conversation at all. This time though I’m going to have someone come along for support before and after the appointment. Apart from that I’ve got to see my psychologist and GP. I’ve got to function like a normal person and drag my fat arse out of the house every day to avoid getting myself stuck in the trap I create when I isolate myself.

All I want at the moment is for everything to stop feeling so stifling and suffocating. For it to stop feeling like I’m dragging my feet through quick sand every day. For the dark to be lifted and the heavy black to subside. For things to be less of an effort and more of an experience. For life to come naturally and become exciting and interesting. For the pain, not only mine but that of my darling friends, to ease and things to become a little easier. I can’t help but feel pure fury at the universe for being so cruel. I want to be in control again.

I’m exhausted with needing to pretend all the time.

I’m exhausted.

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Hand Me The Match So I Can Bring Back My Flame!

Once again, my body has decided to play the insomnia game. I fell asleep at some stupidly early hour last night and now that my body has decided it’s had enough sleep, I’m wide awake and ready to get through another day. 6 hours early.

Things aren’t making much of an improvement in my head. Everything is still too dark and busy for me to be able to work out what I want. I can’t focus on anything for too long. My exam yesterday was tiring, too tiring. 100 questions and two hours. I left within the first half hour. I found myself reading the same question over, and over, and over, and over again. Not taking anything in, just skimming the words. “Fuck it, I’ll just choose C”. Needless to say there were a lot of C’s on my response paper and I’ll be surprised if I pass that exam. I don’t need to pass the exam to pass the unit, I just need enough marks to get 50% in the whole unit (including assessment marks). Hopefully I managed that.

My Foundation Studies in Mental Health Nursing exam wont be as easy though. We need to obtain 50% in the exam to pass the unit, regardless of our assessment marks. There’s so much to remember for that exam, and given my memory lately I really don’t like my chances. Then the following Saturday is our physiology exam. We only need 50% in the unit for that class as well, but seeing as I fucked around with that unit all semester I pretty much need to pass the exam to make it up. Some where in between we have a case study on Anorexia Nervosa due. I’ve offered to write it as my partner has all her exams within the next few days where as mine are spread out, it’s really not fair on her to be writing a case study when she has an exam the next day.

I’m sitting at my desk at the moment, with a huge cup of hot chocolate and my Mental Health notes next to me. I’ve been trying to focus on them long enough to at least summarise the notes in the hope that SOMETHING will stick, even if that’s all the study I get done.

I do have special consideration for the marking of these exams, but I don’t want to have to rely on it. I want to be able to pass by my self. P’s get degrees, I keep telling myself. I just need a pass so I can put these units away and focus on me for the next few months.

I keep dreaming stupid dreams that play on my mind all day. Memory Dreams or dreams that are totally ridiculous but the memory of them sparks flash backs to days where I was so small – too small – too vulnerable and too scared to change anything. Memories like this should spark a flame in me to fight, right? Trigger something within me that makes me want to change the world, to fight for justice and safety? To fight for myself? It doesn’t. All I want to do it to curl up and hide, willing the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Instead of me feeling empowered to fight, I find myself feeling more vulnerable, more scared and even more incapable of protecting myself.

There’s been a string of events recently that instantly remind me of how helpless and vulnerable I feel. The man groping me in the shopping centre, the dirty drunken idiot rubbing his hands all over me at Thirsty Merc, the man following me home in his car. Each time I feel less and less able to fight, less and less willing to care.  “I’m convinced,” I told my psychologist, “I have a flashing neon sign on my head telling every dirty fucker in the world to come and have a go at me, just to see if they can get any further than he ever did.”

“Not a flashing sign. But people can pick up on when someone is feeling vulnerable. You’re so used to shrinking into yourself and hiding, which has been your survival mechanism for so long, that people can pick up on that and see that you’re scared, that you’re probably not as likely to fight back as someone who walks with their head high, shoulders back and chest strong. I know that confidence is within you, I know that fight is there – I’ve seen it, just after your overdose. We need to light that candle again and get your fire back.”

Some one hand me a fucking match because I’m sick of feeling like a sick, tired, weak, scared and helpless little 8 year old who has no where to go and nothing to do but accept the inevitable.  There used to be a flame within me, that even I could see, that flared up when someone tried to mess with me. It’s been extinguished now. It’s long gone out and the wick cold, the wax has set and the candle looks inanimate and lifeless once again.

Productive Procrastination

I’m currently procrastinating and doing a damn good job at it. I’ve actually been consciously procrastinating all day. From the moment I got out of bed, knowing I had an assignment to do and one of my units to complete by tomorrow, I planned a million things I could do instead of doing those assignments. I started off by cleaning my house, rearranging my bedroom and tidying the kitchen/lounge. I swept the drive way and moved my car. Then I sat down for a few minutes trying to make myself do some of my work. It didn’t last any longer than half an hour, then I was back inside setting up my play station and installing Sims 3 on my computer. Then I  played sing star. Cooked lunch. Played Sims. Then I sat in the sun and read for hours. Played solitaire (with actual cards, not on the computer), more sims, cooked toast and did 3 loads of washing.

You’d think after all that I’d have achieved nothing today, right? Nope. Wrong. Somehow, in between all of that I did actually manage to complete that unit and write half of my assignment. Without even realising yet when I sit down to make an effort on my work, I achieve nothing. How does this work? The. Most. Productive. Procrastination. Ever!

I have an appointment with the psychiatrist tomorrow, Quite frankly – I’m shitting myself. I don’t want to relay my history. All over again. I don’t want to be in a room with a guy I don’t know. I don’t really want to hear what he has to say (A.k.a. – the truth).

I’m still not sleeping very well. In an attempt to stop feeling so claustrophobic at night I’ve pushed two single beds together to give myself room to stretch out. I still struggle to get to sleep, then wake 3 or 4 times and then as 3am rolls around, I’m wide awake and spend the next few hours waiting for a decent hour to get out of bed. I still feel totally and utterly encapsulated by the smothering blackness. I still feel like everything is too much of an effort.

My anxiety has been increasing gradually over the last few days. It’s reached a point tonight where my chest feels so constricted I want to vomit and my legs feel like I’m on a boat. My head is racing, hands shaking. The only thing I can think of that could be causing this anxiety is tomorrow’s appointment and if that’s what it is – this is a completely ridiculously over the top reaction, MissL!!!

I’m counting down the days until this semester is over. I wish it was done right now, I don’t have the energy or motivation to do these exams or stupid clinical placement. I don’t have the energy to give a shit about my degree right now, all I want is sleep and some degree of peace and calm. Is that too much to ask?

 

Monster

I’m feeling a bit like She’s grabbed hold of me tonight and wont let me go, no matter how hard I kick and scream. My head is rushing with thoughts of “You’re a fat, worthless, disgusting piece of shit”, “You gluttonous fucking cow, who do you think you are? Wake up to yourself! You’ll never lose weight when you’re being such a pig!” I just want to start banging shit and screaming. I want to tell Her to get the fuck out of my head. She’s threatening and scary tonight. She’s punishing me ’cause the scales were up at my dietetics appointment this morning. She’s showing me who’s in control. Apparently, no matter how hard I try, it seems She is – and may always be.

Right now I’m in the middle of a ‘I-fucking-hate-the-world-and-just-want-to-run-away-so-I’ll-clean-instead” rampage on my house. I feel like I have too much stuff. Way too much. Everything is clutter. I feel anxious. I feel like there is stuff that I don’t deserve. I’m going through my wardrobe. Bags of clothes are going to Vinnies. My kitchen is the last place I’ll clean. I’m scared that if I go in there I’ll end up bingeing and eating myself out of house and home.

All through my dietetics appointment this morning my heart and head were racing. “You and I need to come up with a 7day meal plan” R said. “You can very well do that, but there’s no fucking way we’re eating it!” She replied, almost pushing me to say exactly the same out loud. Every time R asked me a question She screamed at me to be careful what I said. “Don’t you dare tell her the truth. You know what will happen if you do!” So I stayed quiet. Again. Why is it that I hate Her so much, but I’m so scared of Her? Why is it that I still cling so strongly to Her, even though I know I’m only doing more harm than good?

It’s like an addiction. Kind of like being addicted to nicotine, I guess. You know it’s harmful, you know it’s not good for your body, but you’re addicted to the high you feel when you have a cigarette, or in my case when the number on the scales drops. I guess that’s how She works. Showing me how good it feels if I just do what She says. Rewarding me just a little bit, then pushing me to work a little bit harder. I’m scared of Her, like I’m scared of the monster under my bed, but I’m so terrified that if I let Her go, I wont know what to do.

Hurt

There’s a little pang of hurt sitting in the pit of my stomach tonight. Today (actually, yesterday – it’s 0030 am!), was my beautiful niece’s 15th birthday. Saturday will see my gorgeous nephew celebrate his 12th birthday. I called V for her birthday this morning, tears running down my cheeks, I wished her a happy birthday and told her I loved her. I’ll do the same with C on Saturday for his birthday. They’re growing up, and I’m scared that because of me, because of what I’ve done to my relationship with my sister, I’m going to miss out on some of that growing up. I’m hurt because I still haven’t heard from her. I’ve apologised (when I’ve not understood what I was saying sorry for), I’ve been civil, wished her a happy birthday, but yet I still haven’t got a “How’re you going?” or a “I’m here if you need me.”

I’ve gone through the past few months, battling this illness, having it almost kill me, and all I’ve wanted is to know that she cares and that she’s there for me.

I just want my big sister to support me. I want to hear or see her name without getting a sinking feeling in my stomach knowing that I’m the one that’s managed to destroy yet another relationship. I want her to call me. I want things to be okay with us. I don’t want the shit I’ve done to stop me seeing my sister and stop me from watching the kids grow up. I don’t know what else to do.

I Want To Be Beautiful

I don’t feel worthy any more. I don’t feel like I deserve any special treatment. I refuse to apply for special consideration for uni exams coming up and assessments cause I don’t feel like I deserve it. I don’t feel like ME any more. I feel disgusting. Worthless. Pathetic. Lazy. Weak. I’m trying so hard. I was naive stupid enough to think that things would keep moving forward both recovery and uni wise. Instead it’s just gone backwards. Now, She’s so strong I can barely hear myself think. She’s fighting back. She knows I’m trying to live my life without Her and She’s showing me how much better I can be with Her in it. She has all new rules. She controls so much more than food now. She controls my actions, my thoughts, my moods, my meals. She’s not happy that I have a meal plan. She’s not happy that I choose to defy her and attempt to follow it, so She’s creating all these new rules. She’s getting harder and harder to resist. I don’t want to fight with Her any more. I want Her to be my friend again. I want to do what She says. I want to be beautiful.

I used to be happy. I used to play netball, laugh, smile and have fun. I used to be content with how things were. There was always self consciousness around my body shape and weight, but I wasn’t obsessed. I wasn’t thinking about it every waking second of the day. I could walk to the shops without having my heart in my throat. I used to be able to look in the mirror without wanting to cry, I used to be able to start my day without weighing myself first, choosing which rules apply to the day depending on the number on that little screen. I know I have amazing friends, I love them and I know they love me. I know I have a great family. I know I have a roof over my head, food in my fridge and (most of the time) money in my bank account. I know things in my life could be much, much worse but when I look in the mirror, I’m disgusted and ashamed. All I want to do is cry. I want to feel beautiful, She keeps telling me how and I think I’m getting closer, but every time I get close to the finish line, She pushes it back a little bit further – a challenge, a twist, a test. She says it’ll make me stronger. Prettier. Worthier. Better.

“I was so unique 
Now I feel skin deep 
I count on the make-up to cover it all 
Crying myself to sleep cause I cannot keep their attention 
I thought I could be strong 
But it’s killing me 

Does someone hear my cry? 
I’m dying for new life 

I want to be beautiful 
Make you stand in awe 
Look inside my heart, 
and be amazed 
I want to hear you say 
Who I am is quite enough 
Just want to be worthy of love 
And beautiful 

Sometimes I wish I was someone other than me 
Fighting to make the mirror happy 
Trying to find whatever is missing 
Won’t you help me back to glory “

Night-time blues

Why are the nights the hardest? It seems that as soon as the sun goes down and the last of the light disappears over the horizon, darkness falls upon not only the earth, but my mind as well. My body becomes heavy, I get a sinking feeling in my chest, I feel like I could burst into tears any minute and everything just seems ‘blah’. Today was a fantastic day, I was grateful for every second of it, I laughed effortlessly, I smiled and I felt okay. Now, I just want to curl up in bed and pretend the world doesn’t exist. Nothing has happened to set off my bad mood, no one has said anything.  I’m tired, so very tired. Both physically and emotionally.

I hate that my days are so up and down, like a rollercoaster. I hate that waking up is torture, then things slowly improve as the day goes on and then come crashing back down in the evenings, plummeting towards the hellish depths of despair, falling deeper every second until I drag my tired, weary head to bed and drift off into a fitful sleep full of nightmares and realms far scarier than real life.

I have a big week this week, I’m hoping it will be a welcome distraction. Mum is still here with me, and that’s amazing. I love having her here, but having no work and barely any other commitments through the day, I’m still left with a lot of thinking time, which seems to be bad for my emotional state. I’ll be glad for therapy this week. It feels weird to admit it, but now that I’ve changed therapists I actually look forward to my sessions. I know that I can talk to her and express what’s on my mind. I feel comfortable in her office, and her whiteboard technique lets me see how thought processes can be triggered. She’s always welcoming and she seems to be willing to listen, where as my other therapist had a horrible habit of checking his watch every five minutes and I felt like I was wasting his time.

It feels kind of weird too, that it’s a week since I took the overdose. It seems like time has gone so fast and the days all blur into one, but at the same time, it feels like last Saturday night didn’t happen at all (a result of wishful thinking, I’d like to believe). I guess tonight I’ve been doing a lot of ‘what if?’ thinking. What if things didn’t work out the way they did last weekend? What if I wasn’t here to be able to experience this? What if I didn’t do it at all? Would things be different? Would they be better? Worse?

I just really want things to start to change. I’m sick of this emotional ‘up & down’ all the time. I’m sick of always feeling so tired and I’m sick of feeling dependant on other people. While I LOVE having mum here and spending time with her, I hate that the reason she is here now is to make sure I’m safe from myself, that I’d fallen so far into Her grasp that I needed someone else to look after me for a while. I hate that I have to have acute care call me every few days to make sure I’m still alive. I hate that people feel as though they need to walk on eggshells around me. I hate that I’ve brought all this on myself.