Category Archives: Recovery posts

Where to find lightbulb answers for lightbulb questions?

How can we help you? You are loved.

My husband

I’m going to the source of my labelled diagnoses to find a way to answer this question.

Not to look for a reason to blame why I am like  I am, but so I can ask the right questions to help myself get better.

How can we help you?

Okay. The brain goes dead. How I help myself?

Set small goals for the bigger goals  I want to achieve?

What do I want to achieve?

  • A new carpet.

  • I want to clean the blinds,

  • I want to go through my drawers and  Bee’s drawers to organise our space better.

  • We need a new cupboard.

  • I want to get in the festive spirit.

  • Bring the big T.V.  downstairs.

  • I’m worried about Tatiana’s  ( my cat’s) cough.

  • I don’t want to be a FUCK UP!
  • I need to connect more with my mom and family.

 

All achievable unless its a “bad” day.

Write a list to Santa?  ( my inner Santa)

Being self-destructive is tough (sarcasm & truth).

Not as tough as being an 8-year-old child who doesn’t understand why her mother pushes her away. She is also scared to make her cry or hurt my feelings.

 Not as tough as having an endoscopy and no sedation. Having people talk about going for a pint after work while they look at your bowel.

Not as tough as being alone, having a panic attack & waking up in a hospital alone at 87.

I’m so quick to forget about the mermaids tail & a dog that can do anything ticking off Santa’s Christmas list.

I’m so quick to dismiss time.

Or is that just me looking up my own anus again?

Fluent in assholism

.

How can I save my relationships before its too late?

Am I going through the motions as my husband asked?

A firm NO  takes up all the room in my cognitive region.

Before I answer I think again about if I’m just going through the motions…

Today I am going to look up the definition of  ‘going through the motions

PHRASE

If you say that someone is going through the motions, you think they are only saying or doing something because it is expected of them without being interested, enthusiastic, or sympathetic.

Well, of course, I am going through the motions. That is part of the problem.

Get up, eat, clean, sleep, fill my day.

It’s not because I don’t care. I don’t think about the consequences or I forget the pain associated with the consequences.  Or I think about how to get away from feeling a failure in the now.

Note to self: Don’t do things that will make you feel shit about yourself

It’s not that hard to do, Is it?

Maybe I hesitated before answering my husband because I asked myself if the way I am and response makes me a narcissist.

Well, of course, I am. I have spent many years trying to look good, be the thinnest, the most pretty the cleverest etc…

I know I am not & will never be all the above-mentioned thoughts.

What did that mean for me as an adult with Chronic Anorexia?

I don’t take millions of pictures of myself and think I’m better than other people. When I have judged others I try to look at the shitty things I have done or said in my life to humble myself… I am demanding. I can be selfish. I don’t think I am the best. I want to be the best I can be.

Do I live in a fantasy world?

I have done. I do live in a world where I am the object of desire/ importance to get away from who I see in the mirror, who I feel I have become measured by what I have achieved psychically/emotionally/materially. I use sleep as a defence mechanism to not have to deal with the person I am today. My perception of me.

I know what is real and isn’t unless my thoughts about weight and shame invade my inner world.

I have to wake up from my slumber eventually.  Then I convince myself that the only thing that will make me good & empowered is by proving to people I have the money to buy shit that isn’t worth it.

I put a value on what I pay for & how I want it to be packaged.

I don’t feel I need constant praise from others to keep my ego in check. I do feel I need to give myself praise and try & love myself so that I can come across as a person with feelings, warmth & love.

I do struggle to show my emotions. Perhaps its the way my face moves, or because I don’t lie about how I feel or because I’m shit at pretending to be over the moon about something when I am feeling anything but amazing.

When I’m in a toxic phase I guess I do feel that the world should stop for me. It’s unrealistic to think that the world does. I have to check myself. I need to live more outside of my head than in it.

 

I don’t try to exploit people maliciously for my own gain without feeling shame nor the ability to empathise.  I know how manipulative I can be & I have to check myself a lot to try & not be too manipulative. I do sometimes forget how it must feel like to another person to be taken advantage of.

I don’t think I am a person who enjoys belittling others to prop up my own ego. I hate gossip, I can use patronising language & behaviour if I feel threatened. I don’t enjoy making others feel less than I feel.

I want people to be happy & I want people to know that I can be a source of happiness too.

Maybe I am going through the motions but we all do!

If I said: yes, I’m going through the motions

then that would mean that I am a narcissist!

And according to Google: Narcissists can’t love their own children!

What?

I already feel I lack traits that a normal mother gives her child.

Or because of my eating disorder, I have traits of a “vulnerable” narcissist.

If I look indifferent I am also afraid of being abandoned so I try to prepare myself for that moment.

Most of my relationships are unstable -with my mom. daughter partners etc… I can go from having a high opinion of myself to having zero worth in myself in a matter of hours.

I do need to work on my self-image & habits to self-harm.

I have many diagnoses -I need to use what I know about myself to make a positive change.

I want my daughter to love me in 20 years time.

I’m not a child any longer. I want to be better than I am now.

 

To those who called me “Crazy”

*REPOSTED THIS-I had only been blogging for a couple of months when I published this.  (19/09/2015)

WOAH! Okay. So not only am I co-facilitating an Anti-stigma mental health workshop in October but I have agreed to stand up-publicly-not behind the comfy boundary of my room and blog. I have been asked to speak about my own issues related to mental health and any discrimination I may have felt. I  expected to have thousands of examples on this topic.

I couldn’t stop asking myself the question throughout my day to day activities today. I actually had to lie down (so dramatic) for an hour. I decided I have felt it happen to me.  When I have thoughts fired at me by myself and I can’t get anything constructive done in my day to day life, I usually exercise, do some cleaning, get out, spend time with my daughter, read or sleep. Sleep helps the thoughts to give me a break and some mindful silence.

Here we go. I am using this post as a soundboard.

I don’t have a presentation to give, all organised and ready at a click of a button. That is not my style. So, on that note, I’m just gonna talk and talk and see what comes out.

 Okay so, I was born in South Africa. I had a colourful upbringing. Lots of drama. I have done a lot of talking therapy and going to psychologists to not go too deep into my past. I have dealt with a lot of my issues from my upbringing. What I would like to point out is: I was always insecure. I had a lot of tantrums as a toddler and crazy dreams. Arguments and conflict are themes that stand out. The smell of  Mandrax, weed  and alcohol is always part of every experience. My Mom and Dad divorced when I was 2 years old.

My mom got remarried to an ex-boyfriend who had just come out of doing his conscription. My Dad got remarried to his current wife — my step Mom. I don’t recall seeing my dad and stepmom until I was about 8-10 years old. I’m not sure why and I don’t hold a grudge.

My Mom struggled with her mental health for years and years. I don’t think her being in violent abusive situations helped ease the stress. When I was about 5 years old my mother found  blood on my underwear. I think my ex step father sexually  used me. We left him and our cat Muffet, in the middle of the night to go and live with my Aunt. My Mom was desperate to give me a secure home and we finally found a two bedroom apartment to live in.

Things  and people I remember from that time

  • I remember coming home from school one day and not being allowed in the apartment.

  • I remember a letter I had written to the caretaker of the flats. Something along the lines of ‘please don’t make us homeless’ . I’m a pretty shitty persuader haha…

  •  Me always walking home on my own because my nanny was late

  •  Eating SMASH and loads of ketchup

  • My annoying cousin/brother who was exactly the adjective I described. He was a total pain in the arse!

  • I remember Mom suntanning in the complex swimming pool.

We went to live in my Gran’s home and I was intolerable. I wouldn’t go to school. I was always throwing tantrums. I lived outside my own boundaries. I connected with no-one but my Mom. My Mom’s mental health was getting worse and my Gran had her own issues to deal with. There was a phone call and a few words exchanged. A car drive. Headlights,  me half asleep under a duvet.  Destination: Nan’s house.

Woohoo! Nan = party time.

Mom was crying the entire weekend. What on earth was going on? On a Sunday Mom came into Nan’s room. She said some words. ‘I love you’ was threaded and sewn into the sentence many times.  I looked into her eyes and saw my own fear. My Nan was designated distracter of the day. I put two and two together and I ran to the window and saw my Mom’s car bonnet driving down the cobblestones.

I spoke regularly with my Mom. There are a lot of gaps in my memory of this time.

Travelling and living in Miami back and forth-back and forth. I went back and forth to andfrom Mom’s home to my  Nan’s home. Two people who love me making the best out of a shitty situation.

I made a close set of friends and a family who adopted me as one of their own and they provided me with all the normal childhood milestones and experiences.  Skateboarding, inventing stuff to do, getting money to get soft serve ice cream with a flake, body boarding at the beach , movies, music, lots of laughter and lots of love.I never knew how destructive I was until I took a major overdose (12 years old),after a disagreement with my Nan. I ended up overdosing on all her vitamins, so my wee was super colourful for a bit.

I ask myself over and over why did I turn to drugs and starving myself? Who wants that kind of label hanging over them? I turned to drugs and it was social and a laugh to begin with until I craved more and more. My Mom was diagnosed with   “Manic depression” and tried to maintain a full-time job. My Nan was working full time.

My Dad and my step mom and my half sister moved next door to us and worked full time. Why didn’t I move in with him?  We did — once. My Dad with me and my step mom with my step sister and then my half sister. It didn’t work out. I was getting more and more out of control.

The rave scene wasn’t enough. I went through most of my life from 9 years old to 16 years old as blind as a bat.  I needed heavy prescription glasses or contacts. I couldn’t see shit.  I don’t know what people thought. I thought about that a lot. The fact I couldn’t see properly. I decided to make decisions from a different source and those sources were my thoughts and misplaced emotions..

I found myself driven to go down the whole rebellion route. I didn’t stop. My Mom came to live with me in Durban when I was 15 years old.

I had been to 4 rehabs for my eating disorder and drug taking thus far. I had been ordered by the court to‘ the land of the forgotten and damned‘ in ,Magalies  Oord.

There is a story how that came to be but not in this post.  It was in the middle of nowhere. I ended up running away several times.

 One night we waited until ‘lights out’ and we took our mattresses and threw them over the sides of the barbed wire fence and ran to freedom. We nearly boarded a plane to go to Port Saint Johns but we got caught as we were about to board the plane. I was sent back to Magalies Oord for an indefinite time. I got out in three months with a crack habit because the ‘ counsellor’ looking after me( along with three other under 18-year-olds) had got sacked. She in retaliation decided to release us from hell and the fucking daily wars with the peacocks.

They were like Odysseus’ sirens, except you knew from the start you did not want to listen to them because they did drive a person mad. There must be hundreds of Peacock graves n Magalies Oord. That I am sure of.

The recreational drug taker became a 30 pill per day Mandrax addict who only left the house to go and score other drugs. I got myself into a lot of shit. It would take too long to explain. By this stage, I seemed to be following a path with bright blinking arrows pointing the other way in which I  was heading. My friends left. They couldn’t help me.

I met a medley of characters: Dirty cops.

“Privileged” crack users.

Cocaine may be seen as the acceptable drug to take but for them and for me it wasn’t enough. I would go many weeks missing with bizarre people(the road travelled is indeed a fucken trippy one-drug addict or not).  Diamond Smugglers. Mercenaries. I had a few longer stays in rehabs and hospitals. I became not only an illegal drug taker but I had been diagnosed with Anorexia-a bad heart and a Unhealthy mind.

I experienced stigma from my friends and family members.

There were 4 people who still saw some kind of hope in me. My Gran, My Mom, My Grandpa and my Nan. I moved and entered England as disgracefully as possible.  I went cold turkey and had a major seizure. I carried on with the eating disorder – My entire English family had never come across someone like me. They did not and still do not understand me. No loss to me but one to my Nan. I only would make an effort for my Nan.

My grandad was diagnosed with Cancer round about the same time- and My Mom and Gran and then me all moved to France. I was drinking at least one bottle of champagne a day.  I got so drunk I stole some of my Grandads morphine tablets. I lived gutter low morals with a mismatched luxurious lifestyle.  I eventually came back to England and started full-time work.

I had boyfriends and friends but I didn’t let people get too close. The more my mental health deteriorated the more reclusive I became. I ended up resigning from a travel career I loved because I allowed Anorexia to get into my head.

BOOM!

Multiple lengthy stays in Eating Disorder clinics. I tried to be ‘normal’. In 2007  I decided to enrol in a local college and get some kind of stability and life back. I had been out (of an 11-month stint in an ED clinic in York) for less than a week and signed up to a foundation degree in Acting. I didn’t know how to communicate with any of my peers.

I would tremble when I spoke because I hadn’t spoken to people — normally: for so long. I withdrew. I managed one term. I got a distinction for my classical acting and then ended back in hospital again for another 7-month stint in Cheadle.

A few of us girls went for a day out as a privilege to Blackpool for good behaviour and consistent weight gain.   I was  still too ill  but one of the nurses said to me ‘ Ignore them-they are ignorant.’

I asked her what she meant. Apparently, a group of people passed us on the street and were taking the piss out of me and how I looked and being human, I guess. I didn’t let it bother me.

I left Cheadle and went back to college to carry on with my studies and then CRASH BOOM BANG I got involved with ‘he who shall not be named‘-I’m not going into to it too much at this point in time. Long story short. Shitty relationship. Bruises. Overdoses. Alcohol. Concerned people at college and then indifference. I didn’t see what they saw. Hindsight’s a bitch. I suppose I felt discriminated then.I do feel that every time I have felt judged or side carted it has been for a justified reason.

Then I was put through another challenging test of giving birth to a child and having that child taken from me and then having three years of lengthy legal proceedings to get her back.

 THIS WAS WHERE I FELT THE MOST STIGMA.

Professionals need to be aware of mental health. What I saw happening in the courts and in the social service meetings shocks me even to this day. I’m not perfect but I was asking people to help me and my daughter. I did everything possible to get my baby girl back. She was taken from me on the 13/12/2011 at 12 weeks old due to a horrific accusation fuelled by hate and jealousy.

I finally got her back 16 months later under a care order. Social services and I shared parental responsibility. I’ve never felt more helpless and discriminated in a system that professes to help people with troubles.  I cut ties in the relationship with the ex for good.

My anxiety levels came down naturally from being in my own home and feeling safe and I naturally didn’t need to misuse drink anymore. I didn’t need to overdose. I did need to get my baby back. She should have come back to my care much earlier than she did.

They threw Domestic violence at me.

Alcohol misuse. ( I did a hair strand test that came out negative to alcoholism).

Drug use.  Clean.

My past- my family.

One psychiatrist came out with this gem ‘ the past is a great indicator for future behaviour’ .. Doctor, Let me prove you wrong.

I did. They moved the obstacle when and as many times as possible. They did not want to lose this case and take responsibility for where they had gone wrong.

We were one day away from going to a 12-day court hearing and I told my legal team to annihilate them. As it already was they were charged by the court to pay money from their penny fund for their ineptitude in our case.

6/7  social workers and many arguments with the independent reviewing officer and having a black storm cloud over my head we went back to court and the care order was revoked on 6/05/2015.

They sung my praises in court. I was advised by my legal team to address the judge myself. I was more than capable and I didn’t need anyone to speak for me.

This is why I started to use  all my  extra time into mental health charities and working with them on issues like a stigma. This issue within the government and institutions need to change. I want to show parents and carers how they can find a voice and what they can do to gain them some leverage against social services. How to work with them as a team.  I know where to signpost troubled parents. It doesn’t stop there.

I have so many people I am in touch with to work on projects for people with mental health issues in the pipeline. I get to use my creativity and my writing. I’m excited and kind of shitting myself at the same time. I don’t know what I am going to say at this workshop.

I do know one thing if I said no to talking I would have strengthened the stigma barrier for people with mental health issues.

I am not perfect. I still have days when I get it wrong. I do use different coping mechanisms to help me more than the older safer and not so helpful ones. I can finally truly feel what it means to be control of my destiny.

 

Don’t let life keep you bitter

Don’t let life, and how other people treat you let you become bitter. Don’t expect people who keep the same company to be on the same level as you. Be a good person.

Remain honest, full of heart and genuine

You do not owe anything to anyone who chooses to disrespect you or your values.

Remember – we all have our own way of coming to a conclusive thought or opinion. We are human and we feel and it’s okay to talk about our feelings and thoughts.

People are influenced by the company they keep (an observation).

Protect yourself, keep yourself safe -especially when you are a person who has a lot of empathy ,and time for others.

Let other people talk, critique, gossip about you. It doesn’t matter what people do or don’t say who aren’t in your life.

Remember who you are.

We learn everyday of our life.

Stay around people who ask how you are, who care, who stick up for you. Forget about those who don’t.

Give people the benefit of the doubt but don’t ever allow anyone to disrespect you or bring you down.Or make you feel that your values are being disregarded.

Don’t hate. Let people find their own path.

Lessons I’ve learned lately. Opinion is not always the truth. I can’t be responsible for what a person understands.

Copyrighted Natasha bodley

Blood makes noise

I had nothing prepared to blog about in my mind. Again – I thought. No inspiration to type anything.

I’m finding out my inspiration comes from reading your posts!

So thank you.

Today I want to thank Annette @ Annettes place  – post on childhood scars and her using the daily prompt. 

Her child hood scars remind me of my own scars.

One scar I have is huge – it almost wraps all the way around my upper wrist -it is 2-3 cm wide.  Indented, It reminds me of a dried up river.

The cause?

Domestic violence.

Before I continue…

Domestic abuse & Toxic relationships

Rape -NO means NO.

I’m going to state the obvious here.

Domestic violence is a relationship fucks about with your mental health, whether you love the person or not.

 

Toxic relationships have usually tipped me over into using shitty coping mechanisms like drinking too much, taking drugs, overdosing and not managing my medication or my eating disorder and Bipolar.

So back to the blood river scar.

One night- no

Another night of heavy drinking and arguing, I found me in a house -not mine- that looked like a slaughterhouse. all dirty browns. There was a rusty scent of blood impossible to ignore.

Every time I inhaled, the scent would drip down the back of my throat like a  tap -I could taste it too.

I  had mixed copious amounts of alcohol with my medication and all I remember is trying to push my ex away with my left hand ( I am left-handed) , he grabbed my arm and I struggled back.

BLACKOUT

 

 An image.

An arm.

 

 a massive shard of re-enforced window glass- barbered-   poking out of my right arm.

 

Another image.

the back of my exes legs and back running up the stairs.

PANIC 

BLOOD

DRINK

VODKA

WHERE IS THE ORANGE JUICE?

WHERE IS THE GLASS?

WHERE IS MY EX?

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

PANIC 

PANIC

An arm coated thick with blood. I wear it like an accessory

Blood makes noise.

I hear screaming.

Mine.

Ex reappears and tries to grab me.

I try to run away.

PANIC 

BLOOD

DRIP

I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE.

Why is my ex naked? 

In the middle of the street?

Rolling on the floor with me- trying to muffle my screams with his hand. Trying to stop me from running away...

BLOOD

MIND FUCKERY at its best.

“Look what you have done…” ex says.

6 hours later – location:  hospital.

The doctor asks to speak with me in private. My ex doesn’t want to leave my side.

I don’t say anythingquack quack! quack quack! quack quack!   the word on a loop…

 

“What happened?”  he wants to know.

“We don’t know. We were drinking. I can’t remember. It was an accident.” my ex speaks for us.

My head bows down,it almost appears as if I am nodding. I can’t quite remember.

What I do remember feels like I have made it up, it is so detached from my mind and emotions. It is about as close to me as Pluto or Saturn.

3 days in hospital my ex never left my side.

Not even to go home to wash or brush his teeth.

I wasn’t alone- my mother was with us too.

I was high on morphine for the pain.

Why didn’t they operate sooner? 

Did they want to monitor me? 

The situation? 

Us? 

three days later…  I’m being wheeled on the hospital bed- away from the stale, coughing ward…

“countback with me from 10,” says the anaesthetist.

10 , 9 ,8 ……

BLACKOUT

 

“1”. my eyes burst open. I gasp a breath. It is  like I’ve been living in a home made  sac filled with  half shallow water and half air .

 Disorientated.

What happened?

I look down at the art work the surgeon has done.

No more blood .

re stuffed  re patched, re covered ,

by a micro surgic  hand.

Discharged.

Back to the carnival freak show.

I enter his home – a massacre.

Dry blood everywhere.

Smell.

Bleach.

Sound.

Scrubbing brushes.

Stubborn blood. 

If only it could  serve as a reminder of what actually happened that night.

“I don’t remember” the ex says.

How can he and I not know?

Every time I look at my scar I am reminded of the chaos that was my life for 4 years.

This scar says –

mutilation.

despair.

secrets.

emotions numbed.

detachment.

silence.

silence-1.jpg

This scar reminds me to NEVER be silent in the name of so called love or a sense of loyalty to one who  claimed to   love me so much he would do anything to keep me.

http://www.vevo.com/watch/suzanne-vega/blood-makes-noise/USIV20300313

When I left him, I did not take his threats seriously.

 What he did next gave serious  competition  with the scar I see .

That everyone can see.

Toxic relationships result in severe loss – sometimes that means your life.

Think  carefully about what and who your life may include.

I was re born again on the 06/05/2015.

The day the court ordered social services out of my life.

The day that my ex turned his back on me,  is they day I realised I had been  holding my breath for years.

I had forgotten how to breath.  I might have been dead- a wanderer.

06/05/2015 -I remembered not only how to breathe  again but why.

Life -not just my own but that who is of me.

Life is precious

Life is my responsibility

resumption_by_jorgeremmy-d3drxy2.png

I still get to choose

Quick catch up on my life.

 Some of you may know that I had a bit of a blip with my eating disorder in the New year. I stopped eating for a month and became ill and obviously dropped weight, which wrecked chaos in my mind. I started getting panic attacks every time I thought about eating.

Anorexia’s voice managed to find the speakers I had hidden and   turned up the volume. Hate the death metal  music genre. It was terrifying. Where did it come from ? I mean, I ended 2015 on a high. So much to look ahead too with my

volunteering

 the eating disorder support and recovery group

my wedding in 12 weeks!

Saving up to go to Orlando

My pyschatirist who has known me for 10 years and was on leave at the time I was in melt down mode. I saw a different psychiatrist to ask for a medication change. The medication has helped a lot.

What hasn’t shifted is the sadness and the spark I have lost and that doesn’t seem to want to come back from harming myself for that month.

Today I am going to see Doctor J. I’m nervous as hell. I do use a variety of coping  skills and medication is one of them. I’m scared he will change my medication. I don’t know why I have this perpetual fear of my medication being taken off me?

Especially ,the ones that help me with my anxiety and sleep.

One day I want to be rid of all these medications but I need them for a while longer.  I have managed to keep a stable weight -19 bmi. shwee im eye….

 I’m  beyond fatigued of of this illness!

I won’t it to get off my chaise longue and fuck off. Leave it’s wiry bits of fur so I can suck them up with my vacuum and empty the contents in the trash.

Usually, my fears are unfounded.

Writing is another coping skill of mine.

I write this not in the hope that someone will think it is an epic piece of writing. You can  think this if you wish. I won’t say no to that thought 😀

 When I write, exercise ,eat, get out, read and take my medications -the combination is what works for me.

So this is the purpose of my post to relieve the sadness and anxiety –

If you have read up to this point –

REMEMBER

It is okay to  have doubt and feel unbalanced. Having a blip doesn’t have to mean the end of the world.

I am back on track.

I do want point out as a ‘mental note’ to myself and  for whoever is reading this:

is to consider how long it is taking to shift my mood and for my confidence  to come back .  Acknowledging this  might help me from not falling from such a high height if/when the next time my illness comes to stare me down in a dusty old town  – hands ready to draw the gun faster than me.

There can only be one cowboy in this town.

 So, Mental illness, if I am going to have a cowboy in my life I am going to choose who that cowboy will be and I choose this dude

1167059452-woody-quotes-toy-story-6811

(IMAGE AND GIF  SOURCED FROM GOOGLE IMAGES)

WRAP -OFFICIAL PROMO VIMEO

I have been quiet on the WRAP  front – wellness recovery action plan. Only for the reason I knew this testimonial video would be available for YOU and others who want to take their life in their hands and have a plan for if it all goes down the toilet.  Eeeugh!

WRAP TESTIMONIAL PROMO VIMEO

Anyway, here it is. I think it will have more of a powerful effect on those of you who do decide to watch it. Instead of me waffling about it over 12 weeks on camera. If you want to to do WRAP and are not in a physical place close to where I live. You can still do it via my WRAP page. No costs – for free.  Or you can go to the founder of Mary Ellan Copeland and pay for the various material (if it is not free) that can be found on this website. It all about you. It is all about what you want to get out of it.

I have found out so much about myself and what I am like, what I enjoy, what makes me happy, what keeps me well, what works, what doesn’t work, what I want people in my life to do if I have a meltdown.

 

The ‘if you need a new perspective’ post

So, I ended 2015 in a state of stupefied drunk despair. Regretting every action I committed on New years eve. Just over one month has passed. I’ve kept far away from the alcohol. I had my dip with my Anorexia. February life has started to pick up where I left it in December. 

Waving my hands in the air like I just don’t care! 

I’m gaining my self-confidence back. My diary is filling up – idle hands all that jazz. The wedding is coming together. I’m am delighted and a tad ‘on edge’ at the same time. 

Positive people are gravitating toward me again. To say I have to peel myself from the roof is an understatement. Lionel Richie and me are busting out some moves on the ceiling. Oh yeah, baby. Has anyone ever seen him being interviewed? He is such a dick head! There is no way someone like him could write such beautiful songs. Who remembers ‘Ballerina girl’ ? Google him in an interview and then you will get it.

 

 I am doing my -co-production awareness training workshop on the 16/02. All of these workshops brings me closer to getting the Eating disorder recovery group up and running. As a person in active recovery from an Eating disorder, to be able to realise this and watch it germinate and blossom like a flower 😀 and be a huge part of the process off it-is like -not being God- no, I am not Kanye Wet ( Yes, I will keep that last spelling error) delusional.  It’s more self-validating. What I mean by that is, it shows I am on a good path. A well-lit path. Like this dude. There is light in my hands I am responsible for keeping that light going and I am in charge of where I end up. Does that make sense? 

 I’ve recently posted some seriously depressing posts and I will continue to share my past with you; but their needs to be some writing room to rollick in the present. I need to  feel the quiver of fluttering,

the beating of butterfly wings, reminding myself I am indeed alive and have purpose. I think my posts need a bit of balance. I don’t know if I am the only person -I suspect I  am not. I sometimes finish writing posts that send me lunging backwards to my past and I am reaching out for the Diazepam- I can have full-blown panic attack.

The cure?    ( Great band. wrong context- or is it?)

Stop writing Daisy. 

No! I won’t!

I have a purpose.

I am a human being.

 I have a story to tell.

A past, a me right now and a bright and vibrant future.

Without me trying to get all Disney ‘Lion King’ on you  (cue African music that makes the heart swell); I believe our lives and experiences are full circles. Sometimes you are at the top and then inevitably you need to go round that circle. Of course, there will be many times when you are at the bottom. I always say

‘Look for the silver lining’.

 

That is my way of saying: I and you will come full circle again (eventually) . We all will get to the top of that circle of life again. The only thing I can’t tell predict is how long it will take to come full circle.

I have this belief, that if I use my time at the bottom of the circle, productively and push ahead and not do too much damage interfering with the flow. Then, I won’t slow down the time scale it takes to get back to the top again. I need to learn the lesson, feel the pain or whatever happens but I must move on. Easy words to type. Harder to put in action. However, it is possible. 

Possible is all  I  need to hold onto and go and do great things.. 

To get off the whole philosophy bandwagon. My man and his rumbustious friends 😉 are coming round to ours for ‘SUPER BOWL 2016’ night. It is a tradition in our home. I don’t want to watch a bunch of dudes watching another bunch  of dudes ‘tackling’ and touching up one another. I DO want to know who is doing half time this year. 

I don’t know if anyone saw Katy Perry and her foam mascot sharks last year?  

PURE COMEDY GOLD

So here is to a fresh new week. (Great shit is happening. Everything is coming together, not at the pace or even exactly how I plan it to go, but that’s cool with me. Stuff is getting done! 

My mantra, I have used for a few months now is working. Mantras work!  Mine is:

‘I am a success in everything I do’ –

I’m fulfilling my thoughts- the ‘mini-like prayers’ that I tell myself. Find one that resonates with you. It works! I am the most analytical person I know – I wouldn’t lie to you .

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Time to buzz off and get reading some of your awesome blogs and thoughts. Word reader is a bit crap. I don’t ever get to see all the posts that I follow. I don’t know if anyone else has the same problem but I will read as many as I can. 

blg-sz-family-reading-time-2-js-hslda-blog

Namaste, Soca, peace, light and love until next time.

Bored with Anorexia

I don’t know if I am the only person who thinks this: but I hate it when I want to type something and I can’t think of a single thing to type. I’v posted so much about my Anorexia, I am bored with it. It is not 100% bored with me.  I am back up to a normal weight. I finally have more energy to work out. It’s one of my greatest coping mechanisms. I need to do it every day but I don’t go on for hours at a time. I really want to help people who are struggling and give them tips on how I manage and how I carry on fighting.

  • I have a great psychiatrist and C.P.N.  – I didn’t think he was so great when he sectioned me but he understands my addictive nature and understands that me wanting to stop the benzos needs to come from me. I am an all or nothing girl. I went from 100 laxatives a day in 2009 to nothing the next day. I haven’t looked back.I stopped smoking cigs in Feb 2015 (admittedly I vape now-still better than all the crap in cigs) 

  • I have my husband to be who doesn’t smoke, drink or take drugs. He is always telling me how beautiful and sexy I am. He tells me he loves me several times a day. I found a true rare diamond.. I had  to sink very low in the ocean with male fish to find him. well we kind of found each other. He is my own blue diamond salvaged from the titanic. He has broken through the ice berg that is my façade and I am finally me again. A better version.

  • I don’t abuse my medication any more. No crazy overdoses. No drugs and at the moment I have given up drinking until my wedding in June.

  • I have a daughter. She is my world. I  want more children. I don’t want the cycle of self harm to continue.

  • I have more respect for others and most importantly for myself. 

  • I have responsibilities 

  • My blog is another of my coping mechanisms. It’s great to connect with others and to have people follow me. What a compliment and a confidence boost.

  • I’ve realised that being real and looking natural and not superficial is more beautiful than any model in a magazine. Celebs you can keep your job! I’ve got to that point where my facebook profile is of me when I just woke up. Birds nest hair, sleep still in my .eyes. I still see some beauty in that picture.  

These changes have slowly built me up to be the character I am today. I know in my recent posts I have been bigging myself up. But who else is going to pat me on the back? 

Exactly,

Faking it until I make it has helped me be more positive – I recommend mantras – they can be so powerful. 

I sound like I have a perfect life. I don’t. I’m poor money wise. I have a small council home and make the best of what I have. I have ruined my teeth due to my illness and drug-taking. I still have to weigh myself twice a day. I have a Dad and a sister and two nieces who live in Africa and I don’t have any kind of relationship with him. I can’t go back in time and show my granddad who I am today. I find it hard to cry. I have thoughts of am I putting on weight? and I panic.  I still have safe and unsafe foods. There are a lot of materialistic things I desire, clothes etc.. 

But, most importantly I have my family and friends and I can’t put a value on them. I know I am getting older and so are the people I love and care about. Death and illness seem closer and I don’t want to lose anyone. I have already lost my aunt to cancer in Feb 2015

I don’t know how to end this post but I wish I knew exactly what can change a persons mind set. I wish people didn’t have to suffer.

 

My insanity dilemna

So, here I am. Eating again. I know the scales are going to up. I’m scared. I don’t want to go up to 65 kilos again. I’m bartering with my Anorexic Dinosaur- old, gargantuan and frightening. I got my wish. I am on diazepam and the novelty of taking it has died already.

There is no magic pill. Yes, these little pills are meant to be ‘mothers little helpers’ but I have built up such a tolerance to pills that it seems like they don’t work.

I have a lengthy list of what I take:

  • Fluoxetine 60 mg

  • quetiapine  600 mg

  • Lamotrigine 300 mg

  • diazepam 20 mg

  • Lorazepam 2.5 mg

  • Nitrazepam 15 mg

Today I took my morning dose and for the first time in a long time I felt melancholy about how I rely on so much medication. I get so forgetful -I am terrified of getting dementia from all these pills. I’ve been on medication since I was 14 years old. I’m going to be 35 this year. I want to be FREE of these pills but I am addicted to them. There we are, I said it: I am a legal drug- taking  junkie. That’s what is boils down to. I’m not going to lie, I am down and out. I feel like a failure today. I can’t even leave the house. I’m letting my daughter and my partner down. It’s sunny in the U.K.! What a perfect opportunity to bask in the sunlight and be a family and go to the park. No, I’m way too morose and in my comfort zone.

What about the volunteering you ask ? The eating disorder recovery support  group I am setting up. Where has that passion gone? That drive and lust to live with purpose?

I don’t have a clue. But, I am going to get it back. I’m going to start enjoying exercise again. Eating what I want- feeling proud of my body. Be happy again. Happiness comes from inside- where are you hiding? WHERE?

I can’t spend my days sleeping away like I have been pricked by some poisonous needle. I need to wake up  from my nebulous slumber and face and accept that the  figures on the scale are not what makes up the whole sum  of me. How crazy is it that I get so upset over a weight increase of 1-2 kilo’s? I want to be free again. I love food. I do!  I want my life back. Reclaim it. It is mine. I will not be prisoner of my mind any longer. No, no ,no.

I want to feel attractive again. I want to be free to rise to the dizzy  heights of success.

NO MORE SELF-SABOTAGE. I feel like this post is not worthy of publishing but I must write first and foremost for myself.

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BEHIND THE MASK EXIBITION- my experience

I suppose I, as a writer  can be ignorant and forget how empowering and therapeutic being able to write is and how  creative it  is. This is is something that every woman should be able to access. I saw the results of the works of creativity in every face at ‘Behind the mask’ exhibition this today

The exhibition was led by a passionate presentation by the  highly charismatic Sharon Marsden from verd de gris

I spent most of my time in tears. All masks shed to connect with British white and British Muslim woman through the medium of   poetry, their personal words and singing.  Yes, what a strange bonding power it is to want to join in and sing with strangers.

All connected by our desire to be unburdened, it released even me from my cage. Today, I flew high and found my voice intermingled amongst a collective . I didn’t need to say a word. Someone already had and I identified completely.  I had a taste of the 12-week journey these highly courageous women have been through. It reminds me of my own journey in life as a woman. I’m not alone. We are not alone. As painful as some of these emotions were to witness and experience,the exhibition left on a high – I was carried away with a powerful gust of optimism and newfound courage to carry on in my own journey in life.

All faiths, all ages, all complex woman with the desire to be free from pain and to be free to show their real face and not wait for the words of acceptance .  The message I took away is this:

This is me! take me or leave. I will not hide behind any more masks for you or anyone.

Here is my crane symbol to remind me that I too can be that bird that ‘flies to the heavens’

The crane is a popular symbol in Asian culture, and the practice of folding paper cranes for good fortune, healing, happiness, and success was popularized by Sadako Sasaki, a young victim of the radiation from the Hiroshima disaster. Chains of paper cranes, often numbering a thousand in total, are given as offerings at temples and shrines. The crane is also perceived as a bird capable of flying to the very heavens, and is said to have borne spirits of the deceased there upon its back. In ancient China, the crane was used as the symbol of highest-ranking officials.
Read more at http://www.beliefnet.com/Wellness/Environment/Galleries/A-Spiritual-Field-Guide-to-Birds.aspx?p=6#JvmBs22BfFs8PL8B.99

 

 

 

Caged Bird Excerpt

BY MAYA ANGELOU

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill

of things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill

for the caged bird

sings of freedom.

Female empowerment is continuing well into 2016.    NEW RECRUITS NEEDED FOR THE NEXT BEHIND THE MASK COMING SOON!

I have also been moved to boldly upload my first video blog. What better inspiration than to speak with female empowerment.  Seven minutes long but no apologies for what comes from the heart.

An empowered first video blog of Daisyinthewillows

 

Self Sabotage

What is my definition of crazy ? self sabotage.

 

I am finally in the loop- getting ready to put all my experience into helping others and guess what? My brain decides it is a good time to cut back on food, obsess over 0.53 grams and some. My brain gets a buzz from seeing the numbers fall. My partner thinks I look sexy as hell. Doesn’t he see I have lost nearly 7 kilos in three weeks? How is that possible?

I know it is no real weight loss, I am well versed in this Nervosa.

I just don’t get it. 8 years since my last hospital admission. I have a child. I am getting married. I have a BA with honours in the Arts and the humanities. I like myself. I like my personality. I think I’m a good looking girl because of my flaws – the gap in my teeth makes me attractive.

My passion in the volunteer sector has raised my profile 100 % fold. I thought getting a first in ‘creative writing’ couldn’t top any other success. It topped the epic success with my Anorexic history.

Everything that I have done in the past four years has been a success. I’ve made it. I’m in the inner circle. I have been ordained and been given permission and guidance to help others wanting support in their recovery in their own Eating disorders. I have four months, if that, to get my shit together. Anorexia has decided to toy with me.

Here is my theory on what  I think: for most of my life I felt I was only really successful with Anorexia.  Now I finally have the key to freedom and success in ways I never dreamed possible and the bones of Anorexia’s success have resurrected from the grave and have started to rattle my skeleton to the core. I have stopped eating. Well, I’m severely restricted my eating. The misery of hunger is what drives me to type. When I am not hungry and not eating I am winning! What?

 Why am I self sabotaging myself? 

Someone told me once that some people are so afraid of success they run away from it.

No. I am not going to be the one that runs away any more. This weed- me – Daisy needs to get away from the pansies and to turn my face to the sun and bloom again. 

I just have to figure out how…