I am scared.
I haven't felt this scared in a really long time.
Have you ever stood on the edge of a cliff? A high cliff, with wind rushing past you and waves crashing beneath you. Wasn't there part of you that wanted to jump? A curiosity of how it would feel, a sudden realisation of how easy it would be to end your own life.
This is how I feel. Only the curiosity is now an overwhelming desire, and I am nowhere near the cliff.
This morning I didn't want to get out of bed. Not through laziness. Not through sadness. Just through the fear of not knowing what I would do if I did.
It sounds melodramatic but I genuinely am scared of myself.
Girl.x
Wednesday, 13 May 2009
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
I almost forgot...
Also I'm going to the Doctors tonight.
I'm really not looking forward to it, as I'm going to arrange when I can have a horrible procedure. It's a medieval-sounding invasive thing that will determine whether the termination I had 18 months ago has in fact damaged me to the extent that I can no longer have children.
I don't know what I will do if I can't.
I don't think I could live with myself knowing that I voluntarily terminated the one opporunity I had.
I guess I'll cross that bridge, etc...
Girl.x
I'm really not looking forward to it, as I'm going to arrange when I can have a horrible procedure. It's a medieval-sounding invasive thing that will determine whether the termination I had 18 months ago has in fact damaged me to the extent that I can no longer have children.
I don't know what I will do if I can't.
I don't think I could live with myself knowing that I voluntarily terminated the one opporunity I had.
I guess I'll cross that bridge, etc...
Girl.x
A Day Of Drugs & Religion...
Good Afternoon,
Although I use the term very loosely.
For the last few weeks I've been heaving my way through one of my occassional 'bad patches'. I am a diagnosed Borderline (Google It), and although I am entirely against a lot of psychiatric diagnoses (I have previously put my thoughts and behaviours down to a creative nature) it is something I really do tick all the boxes for.
I can go for several months with no particularly disruptive symptoms and during these months, I am my usual outgoing, confidient, intelligent self.
However, the cycle invariably reaches a point where all my symptoms lash out at once. At these times, I become very withdrawn and my behaviour becomes irrational and irresponsible. I find myself crippled with extremely severe depression, and completely overwhelmed with massively intense mood swings, going from extremes of emotions in a matter of minutes.
So right now, I'm having a bit of a hard time of it. In the past, I've dealt with these phases through self-destructive episodes. Obviously, I understand that this is not a healthy way of coping, but I have found it useful sometimes to hit 'Rock Bottom' before I can draw the line and say 'enough is enough'. What I mean is, when I find I have lost my job, boyfriend, friends and anything else of any worth to me, I have to stop and say 'Right, this can't get any worse, I've got to try and get better now.'
But 'Rock Bottom' isn't really a viable place for me to go right now.
I don't know. I'm rambling.
Have you ever been afraid to move from one place, one position, because you're so scared of yourself? Last night I felt so out of control I was scared even to breathe, because I didn't know what I would do to myself.
Girl.x
Although I use the term very loosely.
For the last few weeks I've been heaving my way through one of my occassional 'bad patches'. I am a diagnosed Borderline (Google It), and although I am entirely against a lot of psychiatric diagnoses (I have previously put my thoughts and behaviours down to a creative nature) it is something I really do tick all the boxes for.
I can go for several months with no particularly disruptive symptoms and during these months, I am my usual outgoing, confidient, intelligent self.
However, the cycle invariably reaches a point where all my symptoms lash out at once. At these times, I become very withdrawn and my behaviour becomes irrational and irresponsible. I find myself crippled with extremely severe depression, and completely overwhelmed with massively intense mood swings, going from extremes of emotions in a matter of minutes.
So right now, I'm having a bit of a hard time of it. In the past, I've dealt with these phases through self-destructive episodes. Obviously, I understand that this is not a healthy way of coping, but I have found it useful sometimes to hit 'Rock Bottom' before I can draw the line and say 'enough is enough'. What I mean is, when I find I have lost my job, boyfriend, friends and anything else of any worth to me, I have to stop and say 'Right, this can't get any worse, I've got to try and get better now.'
But 'Rock Bottom' isn't really a viable place for me to go right now.
I don't know. I'm rambling.
Have you ever been afraid to move from one place, one position, because you're so scared of yourself? Last night I felt so out of control I was scared even to breathe, because I didn't know what I would do to myself.
Girl.x
Sunday, 10 May 2009
And so I arrive...
Good Afternoon...
Sundays cause me a great deal of concern.
4pm on a Sunday Afternoon is, without doubt, the single most depressing time period in any given week. A state of uncertain limbo descends upon the household at this time.
Technically, it is still the weekend, and so we feel a sense of guilt if we do not force ourselves into making steps towards somehow enjoying ourselves. Every second between Friday afternoon and Monday Morning is unfathomably precious, obviously.
And yet, we know we can't do anything genuinely exciting or pleasurable; like getting blind drunk and crashing a transvestite party, or sticking our passports, wellies and large amount of something hallucinagenic in a bag and setting out on a voyage of discovery; because we have no choice but to hop back on the merry-go-round (which I envisage as a grey, broken one on an industrial estate in Slough) and go back to being the horrendously middle-class, sensible individuals our tragically mundane day-jobs demand us to be.
Sundays challenge the very fabric of my mental health. Stitch by tiny stitch, Sunday Afternoon starts to unravel my sanity, as the desperately miserable realisation dawns on me that tomorrow I will become, yet again an ordinary, boring person leaving my detached home on its well-presented estate at the same time as every middle-aged accountant with 2.4 children and a silver Mondeo across the entire country.
I may have spent my weekend riding Elephants in Thailand, I could have performed at the O2 Arena, discovered a cure for cancer AND found a tenner in my coat pocket, but none of that matters because come Monday Morning I am the disembodied robot-voice helping countless overweight women find their nearest Diet class, and absolutely nothing more.
I'll write again tomorrow, you caught me at a bad time.
Girl.x
Nb: Incidentally, this weekend I drank too much Becks, watched Britain's Got Talent and treated myself to a BigMac.
Sundays cause me a great deal of concern.
4pm on a Sunday Afternoon is, without doubt, the single most depressing time period in any given week. A state of uncertain limbo descends upon the household at this time.
Technically, it is still the weekend, and so we feel a sense of guilt if we do not force ourselves into making steps towards somehow enjoying ourselves. Every second between Friday afternoon and Monday Morning is unfathomably precious, obviously.
And yet, we know we can't do anything genuinely exciting or pleasurable; like getting blind drunk and crashing a transvestite party, or sticking our passports, wellies and large amount of something hallucinagenic in a bag and setting out on a voyage of discovery; because we have no choice but to hop back on the merry-go-round (which I envisage as a grey, broken one on an industrial estate in Slough) and go back to being the horrendously middle-class, sensible individuals our tragically mundane day-jobs demand us to be.
Sundays challenge the very fabric of my mental health. Stitch by tiny stitch, Sunday Afternoon starts to unravel my sanity, as the desperately miserable realisation dawns on me that tomorrow I will become, yet again an ordinary, boring person leaving my detached home on its well-presented estate at the same time as every middle-aged accountant with 2.4 children and a silver Mondeo across the entire country.
I may have spent my weekend riding Elephants in Thailand, I could have performed at the O2 Arena, discovered a cure for cancer AND found a tenner in my coat pocket, but none of that matters because come Monday Morning I am the disembodied robot-voice helping countless overweight women find their nearest Diet class, and absolutely nothing more.
I'll write again tomorrow, you caught me at a bad time.
Girl.x
Nb: Incidentally, this weekend I drank too much Becks, watched Britain's Got Talent and treated myself to a BigMac.
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