Monday, 13 May 2019

Reality / Recovery Reprise

Sometimes recovery is too hard.

There have been so many days where I wake up and I don't want to eat. Not because I'm not hungry, but because I wish I wasn't hungry. There are days where I am so anxious I don't think I can physically move. There are days that I feel like I need something to cope with the overwhelming feelings that are being shot at me for no apparent reason.

I have days where I don't want to recover. I have days where I am absolutely convinced that the life of sadness, binge eating and self-harm are the ways forward. I am convinced sometimes that I will always be the girl I was when I was younger, hurting my body in one way shape or form because I wanted to be anything but what I was.

I still do. I still want to be someone else. I still want a body and a mind that I feel happy living in. I will catch a look at my scars often when in public places and hate myself for doing that to my body, especially knowing that other people can see it too.

I'm getting there. I know I am on a road to recovery. I have bad days, so many bad days, but I rarely relapse anymore, regardless of how much I feel the need to sometimes. Some days the trickle of water on an empty stomach is a better feeling than eating, but I now make sure I eat anyway regardless of how much I may not want to.

Recovery is hard.

I know that saying that is almost the equivalent of me saying oxygen is important for breathing. But when I was younger, I used to believe that one day, when I wanted to, I could just stop. I could just stop being sad. I could stop harming myself. I could stop forcing myself to go hungry. But I couldn't stop. I wanted to heal and I wanted to heal overnight. Instead, it's been countless years and I am still in the process of healing.

And I don't think I will ever fully heal. I think there will always be a part of me that I could never completely fix. There will always be a part of me that every now and then will emerge and I will want to relapse. But I won't. I'll want to, but I won't. Thats what recovery is to me. I'm not expecting recovery to stop the intrusive thoughts and I'm expecting days where I cannot deal with them. As I continue to get better, I continue to learn that recovery to me is about not being free of the pain, but learning to push through it. It's still something I am struggling to cope with. But I'll get there.

Sometimes recovery is hard. Mainly because true recovery is something I may never to truly be able to achieve. But with each day, I do better. And that for me, is enough.

Sunday, 5 May 2019

Being Alive / Notes from July 8th


Being alive feels impossible again.

I know, wanting to die is selfish. I've heard it all before. You've told me how there are people terminally ill who are praying for one more day of existing and there are people in the middle of wars not knowing if today is the day they are killed and i know people are dying every day and you don't want me to add to that list.

But when all you know is wanting to die, sometimes you clutch onto that feeling. You clutch it tight like its all you have left because sometimes thats what it feels like. It feels like all you have is the fact that yesterday you wanted to die but you didn't, like you didnt the day before then and each day from each month from each year from the first time. 

Sometimes I go through days by remembering I survived yesterday. Sometimes the only reason I can live to tomorrow is because I lived to today. 

It's hard wanting to die but not having a reason. I don't even really want to die I just don't want to feel like this anymore. I don't even know what this feeling is. I feel like I'm lost, like I'm walking around an empty room without any way out. 

Everything is fine. But I don't feel fine.


Friday, 3 May 2019

Because I Am

I have been unable to find any words to sum up how I'm feeling. I haven't written in a while because I am unable to say how I am feeling.

I don't want to be alive.

But it's okay.

Because I am.

Monday, 8 April 2019

Forgive Myself

I didn't want to forgive myself for relapsing.

I wanted to punish myself even more than I already was. Every time I relapse I feel like I'm going backwards, even though relapse is rare for me now.

But this time, I wouldn't forgive myself.

And it spiralled.

It became more than a self harm relapse, it turned into a making myself sick, unable to move and being near suicidal relapse. It's been months since I truly wanted to die. It's been years since I made myself sick. But I didn't want to forgive myself. I instead wanted to hurt myself more, and this was the only way I knew how.

I'm only just starting to stabilise again.

I'm only just remembering how much further I am than I was months and years ago.

I'm doing better.

I just need to remember to forgive myself. It's easier said than done, but I'll get there one day.

Monday, 1 April 2019

maybe

tonight everything is alot.

tonight it feels like everything is going to go to shit again.

tonight my brain is in overdrive.

today was fine. i had a good day. but suddenly it wasn't, suddenly it was an impossible one. 

suddenly i didnt want today to be a day.

today everything felt heavy

maybe i'll always have bad days where the heaviness seems unbearable. but as cheesy as it sounds, maybe the good days will make it worth getting through the bad ones

Tuesday, 12 March 2019

Today

Today I'm not afraid to say that I'm struggling.

In the past I have denied it, both inwardly and outwardly, that I wasn't doing great because I used to think that me admitting that would make me feel worse. I used to believe if I admitted I was sad or stressed or anxious then I would become more sad, stressed and anxious. I used to tell myself that if I even thought about the fact that sometimes I couldn't make myself eat then I would continue to do that.

What I know now, but didn't then, is that the first and most important step to feeling okay again is to admit you aren't. The most important step to having it in me to eat again is to admit to myself that I'm not.

You can't solve a problem by ignoring it. Ignoring it doesn't make the problem go away, it makes it spiral out of control.

Today I stress cut my hair.

Yesterday I couldn't sleep because I was anxious.

Two days ago I couldn't eat lunch.

Three days ago I burst out crying because I felt so overwhelmed.

Today I am anxious. I'm so fucking anxious. Today I'm overwhelmed, I'm stressed, I have so many thoughts I can't think straight. Today I can't stop fidgiting and tapping. Today I can't see anything but stress and sadness.

But that's okay.

Because today I'm trying. Today I'm not giving up. Today I'm admitting has been a struggle.

I need to say I'm struggling. And I am.

But there is no progression without steps back.

That is something I'm still trying to learn.

Saturday, 23 February 2019

Okay / Not Okay

I thought I was doing okay, but really I'm far from it.

This last week has just been a blur. I don't feel like I lived it, I feel like I fell asleep last Friday and still haven't woken up. 

My anxiety has been so fucking uncontrollable the last week, that on Monday I had a panic attack leaving my bedroom to brush my teeth. Tuesday I couldn't stop sad eating and I cried trying to eat breakfast and lunch on Wednesday. On Thursday I didn't want anything but to relapse and on Friday I had to come home because I couldn't bare anything to do with uni. 

I have no idea why everything is so hard this week. Why everything this entire year has felt like I've had to do it with the weight of the world on my back. I've had panic attacks every night for the last 2 weeks, some worse than others, because laying down in bed gives me anxiety and I have no idea why. I have no idea about anything and it actually terrifies me.

I've been clean again 41 days. I haven't had major issues with eating in months. My sleeping pattern is getting on track. 

On the most part, I've been okay. But the more okay I get, the worse my anxiety gets. It's almost like now I'm doing better with everything else, the worse I'm actually getting. It's like everything else was a coping mechanism for how fucking anxious I am, and now I've rid myself of that I have nothing to hide it.

I'm writing all of this right now whilst holding back tears. I know I'll publish this, shut off my laptop and go to sleep. I'll publish this, think thats a weight off my shoulder and hope that tomorrow things are better. But I'm not convinced it will. I don't see myself getting better. I don't see me being able to live a life where I don't have to repress every anxious and intrusive thought in my mind. 

I'm trying to be better, I just don't know if I can.