Leaps and Bounds

It has been several months since I have opened my blog, even more so starting a new post. This is not for a lack of things to say, but a lack of a way to say it.

I am in a very weird place of recovery at the moment, one that I am finding it hard to put into words. I don't have enough to put into words but I have enough that the feelings are still overwhelming to contain, when I feel them. I think thats the main thing, it's not the feelings themselves that have changed - it's the frequency of them. 

I think back on the person I was a few years ago, and the progress I perceive myself to have made is leaps and bounds beyond anything I ever thought I could achieve. I have changed so much from the girl who could barely eat a meal a day, self harmed almost daily, mentally struggling with her sexual identity and was struggling to find a reason to stay alive. I wish I could say that girl had completely vanished, but I would be lying to myself if I did.

I rarely have bad days anymore, but I have many moments within my day where everything is difficult. Just today, I woke up feeling anxious (which thankfully alleviated after 10 minutes) and this evening I spent hours trying to get myself to eat something. The difference between me now and a few years ago is that now I actually will eat if I try and stop myself originally. Me now will get out of bed if I'm feeling anxious or sad, to carry on as normal to get the feelings to pass. Me now will think about relapse but I rarely come close to doing it.

I wish I could pinpoint the moment my mental health difficulty started to turn into recovery. I wish I knew how or even why I have managed to find myself in a place where I can put my hand on my heart and outright call this recovery. I am fortunate enough that I am in a happier, stronger place and that I am not constantly overwhelmed with feelings I cannot and do not want to comprehend.

I used to tell myself that I was going to be unhappy forever. I know that isn't true. But I also know that this will never completely go away. I think accepting to myself that reaching the "true" recovery, that I have wanted to reach for so many years, is never going to be something I will reach has helped me continue. Part of me will always have a second thought when I eat, will still feel anxious all the time, will still want to shut herself off from the entire world and the part of me that simply does not want to exist. Accepting that has allowed me to continue working towards recovery.

After all these years, I think I can finally say I am doing the best I have been since I was a suicidal 11 year old, feeling lost and alone. I am doing well, and I will continue to do so with each passing day. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

Grief, pt 4.

The more I write about grief, the more I start to understand it. Not that I will every really understand it, but it helps me realise the way I deal with it.

The day marking a year after my uncle died, I was a complete mess. As you'd expect, it was a really upsetting day that made me face the fact that I'd have to deal with many more years of the same upset on this one day.

Today, on the one year anniversary of my nan's passing, everything felt weirdly normal. I didn't feel overly upset, I didn't feel really anything out of my everyday feelings. It was a normal day relatively. I was at home, went shopping, chilled with my parents, ate dinner and then hung out with some friends. The only abnormal part about my day was going to the crematorium for a bit, to the spot where her ashes were scattered.

I wasn't upset at all today, and I am upset at myself because of that.

I've had such a horrible year dealing with my nan's death, but on the one day of the year, the day she was born and the day that she also died, I felt nothing. The one day I'm almost allowed to be upset, and everything was absolutely normal. Normal. Why am I allowed to feel fine today? Why does grief decide it doesn't want to play a part in my life today?

The more I think I understand about grief, the less I actually do.

Trying

I'm trying.

I'm trying so damn hard.

Sometimes trying isn't enough.

I'm trying to get through this.

I'm trying.

2:32, 12:10, 2:01, 2:32, 2:34.

At 2.32am I burst into tears.

I had just calmed down enough from my fourth panic attack in 48 hours and couldn't control my feelings. I had no idea what was wrong, I couldn't breathe, I spent the whole time screaming in my head about how this all would be better if I wasn't alive. I don't know why I've had 6 panic attacks like this since the 5th of January, but I think its fair to say I'm having a bad mental health week.

Everything recently has been okay. Like, really okay. The last panic attack I'd had was the start of December when I was drunk, overwhelmed and arguing with someone. I calmed down and carried on as normal the next day because everything was okay. I finished term on a high, went back to work and settled in extremely easier than I thought I was going to. I was enjoying life, I was enjoying everything and was happy for the first time over a whole Christmas period in a while.

Tonight I had a night off. I started thinking about going back to uni. About the unstarted essay I have due in a few days, about the masses amount of work I have to do next term. How my whole degree kinda rides on this next term. I started thinking about going back to university and how much anxiety that seemed to give me was overwhelming. At 12:10am I burst out crying. I stopped being able to breathe, I was shaking, restless and panicking like I'd never done so before. I didn't want to be alive. I wanted to relapse. Everything was impossible and I didn't want it to happen.

I calmed down and ended up thinking about how much everything was moving so fast. How so much is happening in these few months and I didn't want it to. I started thinking about how well I have been doing and how I was so ready to ruin that. I've been clean since November 1st, haven't had genuine thoughts about wanting everything to end in months and even my anxiety felt like it had gotten better. Tonight and the nights before felt like all of this was ruined.

At 2:01am I had my second panic attack. All these thoughts were too much. I sat wondering if this is it. Is this how my life is going to be? Will my mental health ever improve? Everything from earlier and more was circling my head, but I eventually calmed down. I was so overwhelmed with so many things that I couldn't make a definitive list.

At 2:32am I burst into tears.

At 2:24 I said to myself this is it. When I go back to uni, I'm going to the doctors and I'm going to talk about my mental health. I'm going to talk about the fact that doing so many things gives me crippling anxiety no matter how basic. I'm going to talk about the fact sleep for me is near impossible most of the time. I'm going to talk about the fact that I seem to be unable to shake the sad.

I've made so much progress on my own, but it's time to get help, and hopefully find the way to progress even further.