This week saw the long awaited addition of nude open toe heels to my wardrobe. Note i buy and have a collection of heels but last wore a pair in 2006. Problems man. I also finally downloaded like my fave
and most played song in hair salons across the capital-Yori Yori by Bracket.
I am avoiding a return to hospital just now. But I wanted to tell you about my second week out of hospital. After the bridge incident I spent four weeks in hospital. One week in an official, anti-septic smelling place the remaining three in something called a crisis house- on paper it still counts as a hospital. When you go into care your priority is always to get out and go home, you feel trapped-at first. But the dangerous part is where you get used to being looked after. How to go home and wake up, take a shower, medicate yourself and wash the dishes without reminders. How also to get used to your own company again. How to talk yourself out of a dangerous situation. How to rationalise that taking a bunch of pillls will not end your problems or in fact how to rationalise that it mind in fact end your problems but also all the good things too if you die. How to do this for youself. I have not yet mastered it, I'm not close. This week I still took a bunch of pills, passed out for a day or two. To me that was the best idea going at the time. That was I am not sure which day- but at the beginning of the week.
On Thursday I was playing with knives again, I called a few friends, one came over and sat with me for a while. I told her the truth that alot of the time what first makes me low is something as silly as this wierd unkindess towards me someone exhibits and that I wasn't raised that way and that I don't understand why I link my self worth directly to man. Those girls that throw themselves off a bridge because of people- well I'm that girl and I'm ashamed of it.
Last night -Friday I went to church and found that I didn't want to ask God for forgiveness because I am used to hurting myself and I have no intention of stopping. Later in the evenning I wanted to walk. To just walk and then at the right moment walk into oncoming traffic. I'm 22, half-educated and it should be clear that this is perhaps a bad idea. Yet often when I go underground or walk on the pavement I have to resist the urge to throw myself onto the tracks or jump in front of a lorry. Naturally travelling can make me nervous sometimes- but I've felt like this for so long it seems normal. And to be honest what stops me is the fact that I will hurt the driver more than the fact that the action would likely result in my death. I honestly don't think I will die and if i do i think it will be a pleasant experience, that I'm special in some way, super even. The temptation is worse than Lindt D'or chocolate. I can never expect or want people to fully understand but I really think these things are good ideas and so I spend alot of time being scared. Scared and standing still in the middle of the pavement, sometimes crying and making strangers wonder just what I've been drinking. Scared of voices and people in my mind that tell me that these are good ideas and that the rest of you are in fact against me. I met a man and walked with him for a while in the direction of Muswell Hill, we parted company when we started talking about drugs because I was on the verge of accepting some of his, I met two young men and walked back down to my area with them. A friend came and got me, you know because walking with strangers in the middle of the night is supposed to be a bad thing. They were really good people and helped me and looked after me until a friend came and got me to take me back home. They told me to ask questions and ask Allah. My friend prayed for me but that my spirit didn't like it. Sorry I scratched you when you were praying for me. I remember I felt safe and fell asleep.
Today, Saturday I woke up and started drinking- i don't particularly like the taste of alcohol nor can I tolerate it well, but I started and I carried on. I missed my support group because of it and carried a bottle of Vodka around in my bag all day as a safety net. I tidied my flat, got angry, scratched myself until i could see blood and went to the gym.
This week I broke a promise to a friend. I had promised not to hurt myself for 365 days. I broke it one day 1.
I want to walk. Walk anywhere, walk far away- away from myself.
This has been my second week out of hospital. This is normal.
Saturday, 15 May 2010
Monday, 3 May 2010
Truthful Trudie
I hate what has happened to me, it makes me scream in pain at times or cry for hours until my eyes are swollen and I am tired. But the thing about being depressed is that lonliness is both your enemy and your friend. I cry about it but I know that my lonliness never leaves me and is always close at hand and so I let it in and I even feel sick about how I ENJOY my pain. This is the thruth and this post is about truths I find hard to explore but must.
I could pretend that I am purely a victim and that this mean depression and its friends have attacked me, that it is to blame for all my flaws, I could pass the buck. I mean with friends I do joke that 'Hey I'm crazy, I'm allowed' when I indulge in nonsense behaviour. But hearing a friend talk about someone she knew that suffered from bi-polar as being ' just actually a bitch', I worry. Which part is me, which part is the depression, am I all psychotic or are there bits of me that are me, as I have always been.
After four years it's hard to know. Who am I? Am I depressed first and a young woman second? I have been hearing voices and hallucinating over the last few months, I feel there is a force that is bringing something really bad to me. I question where I am in my head, because there are lots of voices shouting very loudly, none of them sounding like me. Where is the me people tell me about, the one they used to know. Does she exist or has she changed? Why is she slower? Why has her mind changed? Did I always screw up this much? Have I always been bad with time or did it start when the effort of getting up became too much. I care about your time but know I had to psyche myself up to come out and see you because to me the outside world can be so scary, I think you are all looking at me and can all see what a mess this is or that there is something black on my back, really, like that clicking black insect Catherine Tate had when she was the Doctor's helper. It's on my back. Was I always this self-involved or do I have to be self- involved to will myself to live each day. Do I drain my friends and family through my behaviour? Did I always eat the wrong food or did the size 18(yes I have lost a little weight) happen when the emotional eating began? Have I always been bad at relationships and clingy or does it happen when I worry about being left behind (whole other story). Have I always been angry, sad and lonely? I often get asked when did I start feeling this way, the truth is I cannot remember NOT feeling this way.
The good thing is that I am finding out some pretty cool stuff about myself too. Stuff that wasn't always there. So maybe I am a bit of a bitch, who isn't, I’m a bit/alot depressed, I have my fair dose of crazy mixed in-again who doesn't, 1 in 9 people hear voices, and I do obsess. But I am also here. I love my family and friends, I know too much about clothes, I have a good brain, a heart that tries, I make a mean batch of cupcakes. I fall in love too easily but I fall in love. There is a God up there that is refusing to let me go and therefore I must be something special- like you all. Maybe through all this I might turn out to be a better version of myself, and through this I will find who I am. Let's hope this is the case or it's alot of effort and heartache for nothing lol but NOT lol really.
X
Wish us luck. This week Trudie is looking for the SHOE. That special shoe that was made and meant to be on my foot. You understand? If you don't you never will.
I could pretend that I am purely a victim and that this mean depression and its friends have attacked me, that it is to blame for all my flaws, I could pass the buck. I mean with friends I do joke that 'Hey I'm crazy, I'm allowed' when I indulge in nonsense behaviour. But hearing a friend talk about someone she knew that suffered from bi-polar as being ' just actually a bitch', I worry. Which part is me, which part is the depression, am I all psychotic or are there bits of me that are me, as I have always been.
After four years it's hard to know. Who am I? Am I depressed first and a young woman second? I have been hearing voices and hallucinating over the last few months, I feel there is a force that is bringing something really bad to me. I question where I am in my head, because there are lots of voices shouting very loudly, none of them sounding like me. Where is the me people tell me about, the one they used to know. Does she exist or has she changed? Why is she slower? Why has her mind changed? Did I always screw up this much? Have I always been bad with time or did it start when the effort of getting up became too much. I care about your time but know I had to psyche myself up to come out and see you because to me the outside world can be so scary, I think you are all looking at me and can all see what a mess this is or that there is something black on my back, really, like that clicking black insect Catherine Tate had when she was the Doctor's helper. It's on my back. Was I always this self-involved or do I have to be self- involved to will myself to live each day. Do I drain my friends and family through my behaviour? Did I always eat the wrong food or did the size 18(yes I have lost a little weight) happen when the emotional eating began? Have I always been bad at relationships and clingy or does it happen when I worry about being left behind (whole other story). Have I always been angry, sad and lonely? I often get asked when did I start feeling this way, the truth is I cannot remember NOT feeling this way.
The good thing is that I am finding out some pretty cool stuff about myself too. Stuff that wasn't always there. So maybe I am a bit of a bitch, who isn't, I’m a bit/alot depressed, I have my fair dose of crazy mixed in-again who doesn't, 1 in 9 people hear voices, and I do obsess. But I am also here. I love my family and friends, I know too much about clothes, I have a good brain, a heart that tries, I make a mean batch of cupcakes. I fall in love too easily but I fall in love. There is a God up there that is refusing to let me go and therefore I must be something special- like you all. Maybe through all this I might turn out to be a better version of myself, and through this I will find who I am. Let's hope this is the case or it's alot of effort and heartache for nothing lol but NOT lol really.
X
Wish us luck. This week Trudie is looking for the SHOE. That special shoe that was made and meant to be on my foot. You understand? If you don't you never will.
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
Mirrored Megan
My behaviour is erratic so it follows that my posts are likely to be too. For the last two weeks I havn't had words, I am still lacking them. For example when people ask 'WHY' I did and do what I do, well, which explanation do they want, there are so many yet at the same time none, many reasons, no reasons. Do I hate my family and friends, not at all. I love them alot but it's true you cannot live FOR other people, you have to want it yourself and I spend most days wanting not to. Mind this is not a cry for help post, I will die- pun intended- before my last communication on this earth is through an online message. The fact that I am writing means I feel better and that I am am slowly winning my battle with an anti-pyschotic from hell. Never ever get depressed but if you do never, ever allow them to put you on Ariprizole. I won't bother to look up it's spelling if you take it you will know the one I mean, if even the nurses and doctors cannot pronounce or spell it, why expect me too. I could go downstairs and ask but well Ariprizole makes you really, really tired. It also means I cannot concentrate on anything not even ENDERS for more than three minutes. Even Gossip Girl was a struggle to follow. That's when you know it's bad.
I had a conversation with a lady I secretly call my Special Irish Lady, a middle age woman who I will call Rachel. She told me I reminded her of herself 20 years ago when she first got ill, angry, unsure about what to think of myself for being unwell and thinking it will never end. She said she could tell I don't like myself at the moment. From other people this pisses me off to such a level, especially when they say 'you need to love yourself', but from Rachel it didn't- she looked at me as if she was looking at a brown version of herself and she understood. An interesting thing she said was that she doesn't consider herself ill, rather that she has a condition, and that I must find my own definition of what is going on in my body and mind rather. Doctors and nurses need lablels to be able to treat me, to write out prescriptions but what do I need in order to stop being angry. What do you need when you are feeling unwell mentally or physically to stop feeling angry. I mean besides God, that is a given.
I had a conversation with a lady I secretly call my Special Irish Lady, a middle age woman who I will call Rachel. She told me I reminded her of herself 20 years ago when she first got ill, angry, unsure about what to think of myself for being unwell and thinking it will never end. She said she could tell I don't like myself at the moment. From other people this pisses me off to such a level, especially when they say 'you need to love yourself', but from Rachel it didn't- she looked at me as if she was looking at a brown version of herself and she understood. An interesting thing she said was that she doesn't consider herself ill, rather that she has a condition, and that I must find my own definition of what is going on in my body and mind rather. Doctors and nurses need lablels to be able to treat me, to write out prescriptions but what do I need in order to stop being angry. What do you need when you are feeling unwell mentally or physically to stop feeling angry. I mean besides God, that is a given.
Leaving Lucie
Two Fridays ago I made a plan to leave. I had been feeling frenzied- a kind of bad energy that sometimes actually speaks to me, for a day or two already, then low mood and lonliness entered the picture and it makes a lethal combination especially when believing you are invincible is added to the mix. So all these things were swimming around my head when I decided to leave my home and unlike most people making thier way to work, (people who even though they know they are going to have a shitty day still get up and carry on) I made my way to Westminster Bridge- the easiest to get to. A young Italian man tried it on and I had to tell him that mate ' This is not the time or place'. I mean, who starts a relationship before jumping off a bridge? Not even I am that crazy;).
Obviously I am still here. I have still been here after each attempt since 2007 when I first began self-harming and trying to end my life. I honestly am not sure if i want to live but there is enough doubt to make it so that I am over familiar with paracetamol.
Obviously I am still here. I have still been here after each attempt since 2007 when I first began self-harming and trying to end my life. I honestly am not sure if i want to live but there is enough doubt to make it so that I am over familiar with paracetamol.
Sunday, 21 March 2010
Problem Polly
Sometimes I won't write, I wouldn't know how to say what I feel without assaulting myself about how self- indulgent it sounds . And being surrounded by people that remind me a blog is a full time job and something to get stressed out about, I feel that it is hopeless, that whatever I am hoping to find by writing about this will never surface. Last week I felt odd I didn't use any words. My entry wasn't even a word it was a dash. But the dash was important. I could post it and see that yes I am actually here. It is not that episodes are necessarily out of body experiences but that my spirit gave up so long ago that I am not here fully, there is a body that tires at the thought of having to wake up for fifty years if that is how long God wants it to be here. Many people look forward to a long and full life and like the old ladies on the ward I woke up in after my first overdose, want to breathe every breath and make it last longer. The funny thing is that I say this on the assumption that someone is actually reading and would mind. I am still feeling odd so I will list today.
This week people have told me that:
'It may take 10 years' (IT is getting better. Not being able to time/control my recovery is more than annoying and inconvenient.)
'You are young' (I am turning 22 but I already feel like I am being left behind and it makes me angry)
'I will never hate you' (the worst thing you can do as a woman it seems is have issues, I have them and they have scared a person before and I guess I was/am waiting for this person to hate me)
'If you like to paint, paint, if you like to write songs, write songs- it's ok, maybe it is time to be you,'
'You need to love yourself'
'Thank-you'
That a beautiful person has a rare and life threatening disease
That possibly I may not see someone I love alot for a while and that I may have no choice in the matter
That a friend is leaving
This week I told myself that
It's long ting and logic has no place in the issue. I also do not want to share head space. This in reference to a boy: I have been told to pray about it. I don't know if I want to spirit a relationship into my life. And I don't think boy in question would appreciate being spirited.
That I can leave a place that meant a lot to me
That I don't have any certificates to validate me at the moment and that maybe measuring my worth by achievements is not working for me
That I am angry
That it is going to be hard to live with myself for the next few months knowing all the things that are happening to people around me, that someone so beautiful who wants their life may lose it and I, I don't want mine much of the time.
That I am scared, that IT is happening, will happen and when it happens that will be the end. But ask me what IT is and you will find I cannot tell you. IT is always there though.
X
This week people have told me that:
'It may take 10 years' (IT is getting better. Not being able to time/control my recovery is more than annoying and inconvenient.)
'You are young' (I am turning 22 but I already feel like I am being left behind and it makes me angry)
'I will never hate you' (the worst thing you can do as a woman it seems is have issues, I have them and they have scared a person before and I guess I was/am waiting for this person to hate me)
'If you like to paint, paint, if you like to write songs, write songs- it's ok, maybe it is time to be you,'
'You need to love yourself'
'Thank-you'
That a beautiful person has a rare and life threatening disease
That possibly I may not see someone I love alot for a while and that I may have no choice in the matter
That a friend is leaving
This week I told myself that
It's long ting and logic has no place in the issue. I also do not want to share head space. This in reference to a boy: I have been told to pray about it. I don't know if I want to spirit a relationship into my life. And I don't think boy in question would appreciate being spirited.
That I can leave a place that meant a lot to me
That I don't have any certificates to validate me at the moment and that maybe measuring my worth by achievements is not working for me
That I am angry
That it is going to be hard to live with myself for the next few months knowing all the things that are happening to people around me, that someone so beautiful who wants their life may lose it and I, I don't want mine much of the time.
That I am scared, that IT is happening, will happen and when it happens that will be the end. But ask me what IT is and you will find I cannot tell you. IT is always there though.
X
Friday, 5 March 2010
Thursday, 25 February 2010
Smiling Susie
Susie, I think if I were named Susan I would in fact find any short versions/nicknames of this particular name very annoying. So Susie's presence will be brief today. It is not a personality I am accustomed to anyway.
So today I am smiling because- just because. Usually when I smile it's an 'imbecile who doesn't get the joke until it is too late or just doesn't get it at all but is attempting to appear to get it' smile. Today is simply amusement.
Things that have contributed to this rares state of being are
-The Gilmore Girls
-Listening to some poor guy attempt(he refused my help-poor fool) to pronounce my name.
-A man on the bus trying to convince me that I am in fact Igbo(am not even from anywhere near Nigeria). When this was a non-starter on the conversation front he went in for the kill.
I am taking a drink from my bottle of Volvic water and he says 'You know when on the bus if you are eating or drinking something you should ask the person sitting next to you if they mind'. Upon realising that he was serious and taking the new, cool signs on buses too seriously I asked if he minded. His response 'Not if you are going to be feeding it to me too'. This was a come-on, a chirpse- if like me you were at first simply puzzled.
I had to laugh.
Signing off
Smiling Susie looking forward to what I am told will be the glummest Skins episode of the series yet. I know - I'm too old for it.
So today I am smiling because- just because. Usually when I smile it's an 'imbecile who doesn't get the joke until it is too late or just doesn't get it at all but is attempting to appear to get it' smile. Today is simply amusement.
Things that have contributed to this rares state of being are
-The Gilmore Girls
-Listening to some poor guy attempt(he refused my help-poor fool) to pronounce my name.
-A man on the bus trying to convince me that I am in fact Igbo(am not even from anywhere near Nigeria). When this was a non-starter on the conversation front he went in for the kill.
I am taking a drink from my bottle of Volvic water and he says 'You know when on the bus if you are eating or drinking something you should ask the person sitting next to you if they mind'. Upon realising that he was serious and taking the new, cool signs on buses too seriously I asked if he minded. His response 'Not if you are going to be feeding it to me too'. This was a come-on, a chirpse- if like me you were at first simply puzzled.
I had to laugh.
Signing off
Smiling Susie looking forward to what I am told will be the glummest Skins episode of the series yet. I know - I'm too old for it.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
Lacking Lucie -last 3,4 days
Starting the day with a total lack of personality, not even sufficient positive energy for unnecessary alliteration. After some terrible news on Friday I dug a hole in the hole that is my home- (it's a basement flat not a wise choice for a depressed person- living in the dark and stuff) and stayed there, after purchasing some Fuschia lipstick to make myself feel better that is. I will never successfully wear it- who does?!!! But somehow I just felt a degree less low knowing I was in possesion of crazy bright lippy. I don't even wear the stuff in general. My sister who comes to see me once a week to make sure I am still in existence, remind me to do laundry and to make sure that I have actual contact with another human being passed through on Saturday. Made my week.
One of the re-current issues in my breakdown was, for the first time since her death, asking for my mother. When I say asking I mean demanding that she 'bloody well come here', and in very unstable moments attempting to hang myself with my best bra in order to join her if she was persisting in being so stubborn and not appearing. I miss that bra- you know when you find 'that' bra, the one that actually fits your width AND your breadth, that you can actually run in without being slapped in the face by your 'assets'. The hospital staff confiscated it from me and I haven't seen it since, *my poor Freya. Confiscated Items is a post in itself. Anyway this sister is the closest thing I have to a mum - sadly that is not enough for me. I know it is taking my belief in the make-believe too far but I really do just want my mum, the older I get the more I want her. Even if still had the damn bra I wouldn't fit it now-what with gaining all the weight I reckon my boobs weigh a couple of kg's each now. Not cool. The only thing that supports me now is what some girls in high-school used to call an 'industrial' strength bra- at least four hooks, per line of hooks, maybe twelve in total.
So Monday morning arrived and filled with positivity I stepped outside with plans to attend a sports group and have an Efficient Errand Elfie day. I got to the place, turned back and taking a final look at the rain and grey took the decision to stay indoors for the rest of the day. -East Enders was particularly good Bradley's death feeding my gloom monster very nicely. And perhaps because of my mood Glee just didn't do much for me. Either that or the absence of the real and fantastically abhorrent Sue Sylvester meant it was just blah. I think that glumness of a day yestersay must be what the slushy facials on Glee feel like.
Sleep didn't happen last night so at 3am decided to actually do something useful and prepared for an 'opportunity' I have been given. If I make the meeting things could turn out quite well- work wise. And I feel better for it. I am not fooled though. If I was to actually participate in my day I would be done by 9pm by which time well....... Luckily the last part of my day involves writing, writing where my negative thoughts can actually turn into something positive and productive. I notice that even though this is a personal blog there are way too many 'I's in this here post.
Lacking Lucie
x
Signing off wondering why I have just talked about my bra situation and watching an old episode of Ugly Betty(one with Lucie Lui) and thinking that Hilda should 'neva eva eva' put in another weave again- those tracks are visible from space! Watching Ugly Betty eating some cereal and being ready for the day. Let's hope I actually live it.
* A Freya for any random gent that may come across this blog is a bra, a fantastic bra- this is something to know. With the whole Valentine's aftermath still in full force for some I suggest following my 'other' (there are rather alot of us) sister's steps. She avoided disappointment by arranging a trip to Bravissimo(a proper, proper bra store that doesn't punish you for having bigger boobs and where I got the 'best bra') with her boyfriend. She got several pretty, useful gifts and he got a stress free day. Win, win. I am actually happy I don't have a boyfriend anf avoided all that Valentine's Day nonsense....................DeNile is flowing, and flowing fast:) :(!
One of the re-current issues in my breakdown was, for the first time since her death, asking for my mother. When I say asking I mean demanding that she 'bloody well come here', and in very unstable moments attempting to hang myself with my best bra in order to join her if she was persisting in being so stubborn and not appearing. I miss that bra- you know when you find 'that' bra, the one that actually fits your width AND your breadth, that you can actually run in without being slapped in the face by your 'assets'. The hospital staff confiscated it from me and I haven't seen it since, *my poor Freya. Confiscated Items is a post in itself. Anyway this sister is the closest thing I have to a mum - sadly that is not enough for me. I know it is taking my belief in the make-believe too far but I really do just want my mum, the older I get the more I want her. Even if still had the damn bra I wouldn't fit it now-what with gaining all the weight I reckon my boobs weigh a couple of kg's each now. Not cool. The only thing that supports me now is what some girls in high-school used to call an 'industrial' strength bra- at least four hooks, per line of hooks, maybe twelve in total.
So Monday morning arrived and filled with positivity I stepped outside with plans to attend a sports group and have an Efficient Errand Elfie day. I got to the place, turned back and taking a final look at the rain and grey took the decision to stay indoors for the rest of the day. -East Enders was particularly good Bradley's death feeding my gloom monster very nicely. And perhaps because of my mood Glee just didn't do much for me. Either that or the absence of the real and fantastically abhorrent Sue Sylvester meant it was just blah. I think that glumness of a day yestersay must be what the slushy facials on Glee feel like.
Sleep didn't happen last night so at 3am decided to actually do something useful and prepared for an 'opportunity' I have been given. If I make the meeting things could turn out quite well- work wise. And I feel better for it. I am not fooled though. If I was to actually participate in my day I would be done by 9pm by which time well....... Luckily the last part of my day involves writing, writing where my negative thoughts can actually turn into something positive and productive. I notice that even though this is a personal blog there are way too many 'I's in this here post.
Lacking Lucie
x
Signing off wondering why I have just talked about my bra situation and watching an old episode of Ugly Betty(one with Lucie Lui) and thinking that Hilda should 'neva eva eva' put in another weave again- those tracks are visible from space! Watching Ugly Betty eating some cereal and being ready for the day. Let's hope I actually live it.
* A Freya for any random gent that may come across this blog is a bra, a fantastic bra- this is something to know. With the whole Valentine's aftermath still in full force for some I suggest following my 'other' (there are rather alot of us) sister's steps. She avoided disappointment by arranging a trip to Bravissimo(a proper, proper bra store that doesn't punish you for having bigger boobs and where I got the 'best bra') with her boyfriend. She got several pretty, useful gifts and he got a stress free day. Win, win. I am actually happy I don't have a boyfriend anf avoided all that Valentine's Day nonsense....................DeNile is flowing, and flowing fast:) :(!
Thursday, 18 February 2010
Separates Suzie
And so whilst I will be bussing my way to Primark and Evans- split my last pair of tights and need new water retaining boots-yes retaining, I began my day by taking a look at Mrs. Beckham's new line of dresses. Beautiful-were I yet (am 21) the type of woman able to afford such items I would buy the lot -primarily because they have that perfect glam in the office and then glam at high profile dinner look- no need to change. They would go perfectly with my naive picture of what working life will be like when I 'make it' in whichever career I pursue should I even 'make it' to being able to do simple things like waking up, taking a shower, getting dressed and going outside each day. Dress-wise especially liking this one http://style.uk.msn.com/media/fashion-week/photos.aspx?cp-documentid=152168882&page=1 and have in my imagination purchased it in a sexy 22. Monopoly cash mayn! Ballin!!!
Moving on.
Speaking of clothes- yes I dare to, I was wondering how I would operate this blog. I have been told to start blogging but I know I can only possibly do so consistently about things two things. They are my mental health and my physical health. Oh yes clothes, so three( if I am honest am a bit dread to attempt a so called fashion blog- murky, deep water that no one will see you drowning in). Should I be brave enough to, as an emotionally vulnerable person, let it all (the issues) hang out as much as my stomach does over my size twenty-two jeans for possible readers to poke and poke and poke? And do I separate the issues? Write about psychosis and obesity then finish off a post about my current thoughts on returning to self harm with my thoughts on Henry Holland's new tee's? http://www.c-t-f-o.blogspot.com/ Do you like as much as me? Thinking I want one- because there is Not Alot Going On here on in here *points at own head. Will just casually slip the man an email *bourrit. Because that is how the world works right?:) If I separate the blogs - one for the colours and materials I love looking at, one about my sixteen-stone self it would probably confirm trends of thinking I need to deviate from. Thinking that because I shop Primarni (as Department of Slender Shopping budget I am not in a position to ‘invest’) that there is ONE shop in the whole of Oxford Street that has my size in general, that I don't deserve to involve myself in garments being worn by women more than eight sizes smaller than me. The balance between being ph/fat and fabulous because Iweigh what I weigh atm and yet realising that I need to be healthy again eludes me. I love clothes, but truly, except once a year when it's a special issue or the current plus size celeb du jour (only one is allowed at the time) is jaz matazzing around in colours- I don't feel like I exist. And in life sometimes I wish to not exist. I am aware that last statement is a no-no in the whole positive outlook thing many others have sussed or indeed pretend to. And to other people the statement is indulgent.
Possessing so much self-loahting yet self involved enough to write a blog about myself-interesting. Well to me at least.
So shant be separating vents, useless information off loading, listing.
To end- an admission of the fact that at 3am I took myself to the offie(i don't sleep most nights and eat emotionally from 10pm onwards, this is where sleeping pills are good and I need to get more from the Doc later- go to sleep at a decent time just so I don't eat). It is a 24 hours offie and my father will tell me that moving to central London will be the main cause of my continued weight gain. The walk to the shops from his house is a bit much for a lazy 'un like me and everything in his endz closes around 5pm. Anyway that would be his oppinion. I purchased and consumed at an alarming rate:-
-500ml of Haagen Daz- cookies and cream
-a box of Magdelens
-a Terry's Chocolate orange
The aim is to sort of name-(obviously my real name is not blackbirdie in real life, it is in fact longer and quite perplexing for people to pronounce) and shame myself. If I know that I and anyone in the world can see this in writing.................
As per my Cynical Cindy post I am not beating myself up for yesterday being what can only be described as a bad day re: positive thinking. I did not leave the house during daylight hours. How to explain? I am scared and begin to cry, laugh hysterically or meditate out loud when out and about these days. Except at 3am - I am pretty comfortable going out when no one is around- just wish I did exciting things that people do at these times. I will tell myself off about the food-that was just bad.
After writing this I feel brave enough to go out- maybe I can push myself to two hours outside today- the doctor refuses to come to my house. He does not want to enable my reclusive behaviour.
Ladies gents- have a *burriful day.
Separates Suzie.
X
* I am just in the mood for some West coast ( African) lingo. One of few things guaranteed to make me smile.
Moving on.
Speaking of clothes- yes I dare to, I was wondering how I would operate this blog. I have been told to start blogging but I know I can only possibly do so consistently about things two things. They are my mental health and my physical health. Oh yes clothes, so three( if I am honest am a bit dread to attempt a so called fashion blog- murky, deep water that no one will see you drowning in). Should I be brave enough to, as an emotionally vulnerable person, let it all (the issues) hang out as much as my stomach does over my size twenty-two jeans for possible readers to poke and poke and poke? And do I separate the issues? Write about psychosis and obesity then finish off a post about my current thoughts on returning to self harm with my thoughts on Henry Holland's new tee's? http://www.c-t-f-o.blogspot.com/ Do you like as much as me? Thinking I want one- because there is Not Alot Going On here on in here *points at own head. Will just casually slip the man an email *bourrit. Because that is how the world works right?:) If I separate the blogs - one for the colours and materials I love looking at, one about my sixteen-stone self it would probably confirm trends of thinking I need to deviate from. Thinking that because I shop Primarni (as Department of Slender Shopping budget I am not in a position to ‘invest’) that there is ONE shop in the whole of Oxford Street that has my size in general, that I don't deserve to involve myself in garments being worn by women more than eight sizes smaller than me. The balance between being ph/fat and fabulous because Iweigh what I weigh atm and yet realising that I need to be healthy again eludes me. I love clothes, but truly, except once a year when it's a special issue or the current plus size celeb du jour (only one is allowed at the time) is jaz matazzing around in colours- I don't feel like I exist. And in life sometimes I wish to not exist. I am aware that last statement is a no-no in the whole positive outlook thing many others have sussed or indeed pretend to. And to other people the statement is indulgent.
Possessing so much self-loahting yet self involved enough to write a blog about myself-interesting. Well to me at least.
So shant be separating vents, useless information off loading, listing.
To end- an admission of the fact that at 3am I took myself to the offie(i don't sleep most nights and eat emotionally from 10pm onwards, this is where sleeping pills are good and I need to get more from the Doc later- go to sleep at a decent time just so I don't eat). It is a 24 hours offie and my father will tell me that moving to central London will be the main cause of my continued weight gain. The walk to the shops from his house is a bit much for a lazy 'un like me and everything in his endz closes around 5pm. Anyway that would be his oppinion. I purchased and consumed at an alarming rate:-
-500ml of Haagen Daz- cookies and cream
-a box of Magdelens
-a Terry's Chocolate orange
The aim is to sort of name-(obviously my real name is not blackbirdie in real life, it is in fact longer and quite perplexing for people to pronounce) and shame myself. If I know that I and anyone in the world can see this in writing.................
As per my Cynical Cindy post I am not beating myself up for yesterday being what can only be described as a bad day re: positive thinking. I did not leave the house during daylight hours. How to explain? I am scared and begin to cry, laugh hysterically or meditate out loud when out and about these days. Except at 3am - I am pretty comfortable going out when no one is around- just wish I did exciting things that people do at these times. I will tell myself off about the food-that was just bad.
After writing this I feel brave enough to go out- maybe I can push myself to two hours outside today- the doctor refuses to come to my house. He does not want to enable my reclusive behaviour.
Ladies gents- have a *burriful day.
Separates Suzie.
X
* I am just in the mood for some West coast ( African) lingo. One of few things guaranteed to make me smile.
Monday, 15 February 2010
Hmmm so this first entry has prevented me going to the 24-hour offie and buying a bit of brown substance packaged in foil.
Day: Starting out black- naturally, because it is 4.30 am. But deciding on venturing out into the yellow or at the least grey of the outside world for the first time in three days.
Mood: Cynical Cindy drowning in a sea of Positive Pollys and wondering how they do it in this weather.
Cynicism can be dull. The truth is despite my diagnosis implying I live in shades of grey, my blogging moniker and well the colour of the actual thing, I am curious about yellow and other bright colours too. I often look at the more ‘having it together people’ the woman wearing that shocking pink lipstick or the lady carrying the yellow bag and wonder what chemical in their brain is operating more efficiently than in mine and what colour is it? What is making it so that they can be more functional about say money, education, work and love than me? Maybe it's the my preferred emotional palette.
Yes I'm curious about cheerier shades in my head but i'm scared to take it a step further and use them in my everyday life because i am scared of feeling good/happy, guilty even and that maybe bright just doesn't go with who i think i am. Bits of black run into everything i do. I find all my moods flow more messily into one another than i would like and than is healthy and i decide to stick to the darker end of the spectrum because then i can't be disappointed with the result. But the truth is i am living in long term disappointment. It is a seriously uninspiring colour.
In money, education and in the long term career do i need to reward myself whether with a gold star in my little yellow budgeting book or a new pair of red shoes for finishing a bit of work- cheap and cheerful shoes mind, probably second hand, I’m Department of Slender Shopping budget. And then not feel GUILTY about saying ‘well done to me’, move on to the next thing? Do i need to stop stifling laughs. apologising for any sign of good mood? It seems the more I refuse to acknowledge the seemingly simple but ‘huge for me things’ I achieve I find myself buying more and more consolation prizes and these are almost always prizes edging closer to Obese Olga¬ ok i’m already mildly obese but if current habits continue...... These consolation prizes don’t seem to vary an awful lot in colour- brown, yellow, white- you get the idea. Do i need to re-gurtitate the mantras in glossy magazines that i love to read and write my goals and positive phrases on flurescent post-it notes and place them strategically? Or do i stick to what i know, despondency. Cindy sayso yes because it- bad feeling is what i know well. Maybe though i will stop worrying now try and sleep a few hours and wake up a Colourful Celia after writing this entry.
To avoid B.S and pretending that today is the day my life changes i could just try a Celia outlook, try to be at least a shade brighter than yesterday and see if it hurts me.
At the same time if i wake up to find Cindy and her cynicism in residence maybe i won't beat myself up either. Depression as i am experiencing it seems to stop.start more than my dad's puce green puegot 405 used to. That is a lot.
Cindy
*Gold star for realising that obviously all of you Positive Polly’s out there work hard for your yellow outlooks. Or that for some of you the dress may be a lovely lime but inside there is a little bit of grey mixing about in your emotional palette and i should never imagine it is easy for you. Hope we all have the best days possible.
Mood: Cynical Cindy drowning in a sea of Positive Pollys and wondering how they do it in this weather.
Cynicism can be dull. The truth is despite my diagnosis implying I live in shades of grey, my blogging moniker and well the colour of the actual thing, I am curious about yellow and other bright colours too. I often look at the more ‘having it together people’ the woman wearing that shocking pink lipstick or the lady carrying the yellow bag and wonder what chemical in their brain is operating more efficiently than in mine and what colour is it? What is making it so that they can be more functional about say money, education, work and love than me? Maybe it's the my preferred emotional palette.
Yes I'm curious about cheerier shades in my head but i'm scared to take it a step further and use them in my everyday life because i am scared of feeling good/happy, guilty even and that maybe bright just doesn't go with who i think i am. Bits of black run into everything i do. I find all my moods flow more messily into one another than i would like and than is healthy and i decide to stick to the darker end of the spectrum because then i can't be disappointed with the result. But the truth is i am living in long term disappointment. It is a seriously uninspiring colour.
In money, education and in the long term career do i need to reward myself whether with a gold star in my little yellow budgeting book or a new pair of red shoes for finishing a bit of work- cheap and cheerful shoes mind, probably second hand, I’m Department of Slender Shopping budget. And then not feel GUILTY about saying ‘well done to me’, move on to the next thing? Do i need to stop stifling laughs. apologising for any sign of good mood? It seems the more I refuse to acknowledge the seemingly simple but ‘huge for me things’ I achieve I find myself buying more and more consolation prizes and these are almost always prizes edging closer to Obese Olga¬ ok i’m already mildly obese but if current habits continue...... These consolation prizes don’t seem to vary an awful lot in colour- brown, yellow, white- you get the idea. Do i need to re-gurtitate the mantras in glossy magazines that i love to read and write my goals and positive phrases on flurescent post-it notes and place them strategically? Or do i stick to what i know, despondency. Cindy sayso yes because it- bad feeling is what i know well. Maybe though i will stop worrying now try and sleep a few hours and wake up a Colourful Celia after writing this entry.
To avoid B.S and pretending that today is the day my life changes i could just try a Celia outlook, try to be at least a shade brighter than yesterday and see if it hurts me.
At the same time if i wake up to find Cindy and her cynicism in residence maybe i won't beat myself up either. Depression as i am experiencing it seems to stop.start more than my dad's puce green puegot 405 used to. That is a lot.
Cindy
*Gold star for realising that obviously all of you Positive Polly’s out there work hard for your yellow outlooks. Or that for some of you the dress may be a lovely lime but inside there is a little bit of grey mixing about in your emotional palette and i should never imagine it is easy for you. Hope we all have the best days possible.
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