So lately things have been interesting- the old black dog has been back for the last month or so, it likes to slacken off when I have company but comes back with vengeance the moment I’m left alone. I’ve been struggling a lot with self-injury and preventing any relapses… it hasn’t been easy but I’m sat here now and can say that it’s been ten months since I last hurt myself, so I’m winning for the moment.
The one thing that’s kind of pissing me off at the moment is the fact that the only thing I’ve never had a problem with- food- is becoming a huge issue. I’ve been comfort eating massively for the last couple of weeks, I literally cannot stop eating- I’ve just come up from the kitchen where I’ve been stood eating ham from the packet. I’m a tiny, small stomached little girl and yet I’m somehow managing to eat what feels like my own weight in food every day- and I’m worried that it’s starting to show.
I feel dead inside, it feels like there’s nothing left and all I can see when I close my eyes are train tracks… I’m not suicidal, I don’t want to die, but the world is going to end. I know it’s going to end… it’s going to explode into a huge ball of fire and flames and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. I’m going to die soon- I don’t want to, and I’m not going to do anything that will set me on a course to, or put me in danger, but I don’t have a choice in this. The gate-keepers have decided that my time is up and they’re coming for me.
This is the always hilarious moment where you’re not sure whether I’m being delusional or Pagan… haha. I’d put my money on the former.
I’m living in this strange dream-world again… I don’t know whether to go to the doctors, I bet they’ll give me antidepressants or something, but I used to be so against medication of any sort. I don’t know when I stopped caring- to be honest I care about so little these days, I just can’t breathe any more. It’s taking everything I have to keep on caring about my appearance, let alone anything else.
I’ve been so snappy lately- always angry at people. I like to joke to Romeo that I only lose my temper about once every century, but that’s been reduced to nonsense recently. I’ve been managed to lose my rag about once a day for the last month or so, I just get so angry all the time and I can’t bear it.
Lately I’ve been starting to realise what stigma means. It doesn’t mean being thrown in a dungeon with other wall-lickers, or being forced into a lobotomy; it means the naked fear in your old friend’s eyes when she finds you hallucinating. It means the long, awkward pauses in conversation where people don’t know what to say, it’s when people give you pathetically easy tasks or ignore you or seem unable to make eye contact with you… it’s when they hug everyone else and not you… it’s when they won’t be alone with you.
It’s only been hitting me recently- plus the practical limitations of this thing, something that I have to think seriously about now I’m coming up to leaving home- so I mentioned it to Callum and Cee, I mentioned how many doors are closed to me, how hard I’m finding it, etc…
They responded by telling me that it would open doors for me (“Look at *insert famous mentalist*, she’s so successful!”) and that everything’s actually fine because “Mind have a new advert! I’ll send you the link!”
… So I may have gotten a little pissed off…
Thankfully the conversation turned to a mutual friend who has problems with her eating and I was left to sit and seethe in silence. I was hurt and insulted and angry at the way they pushed my concerns to one-side and refused to listen to the valid points I was trying to make. I never talk about my mentalism, so when I do I expect a sympathetic audience, rather than one that tries to pathetically sweep my problems under the carpet.
What really pissed me off was the way that they presumed to know better than me what it’s like to live with a mental illness. Neither of them have ever had any mental health problems (as far as I’m aware) and yet they acted like they were experts.
I know what I’m facing, and I know what I live with- when I talk about it I want people to realise that, not offer me a pathetic platitude because they don’t know what else to say. I’m bloody sick of being treated like a child- I’m the only one who knows what it’s like to live inside my head and I’d appreciate it if people actually realised that.
I need to start eating sensibly, clean my room (seriously, it’s a crap-heap) dress properly, do my hair and make-up and then maybe I’ll start caring about my life again… if I don’t then it might be time to think about the pills.
I really don’t know any more.
’til next time,