Hello again

It has been a long while since I last blogged here. I suppose I should update my about page with the changes, and I will but…for now. I just need a place to rage against the universe again.

I am doing much better generally, but paradoxically, this means that when I am hit with a depressive episode like I am now, it hits harder. I am a mom now, I don’t have the luxury of time to heal. As if we ever really heal from the bastard that is a mental illness anyway. Life is busy and there are so many things that are pulling at me. I don’t know which I can pull down. It all feels so heavy, just like the Linkin Park song, and well, it’s not exactly reassuring to be strongly identifying with lyrics of someone who lost their battle with depression.

But still, I will fight. I will continue. I will not give up. I will try to communicate that when I ask for a cup of tea, I am saying: I am vulnerable, I don’t feel safe. Please give me some reassurance that I am worthy of my place in the world. I know it is a lot to ask of a cup of tea, but those are the messages that tea carries for me. The promise of safety. A link to the world…a connection to say “Hang on”. Don’t give up.

I know that this will pass. But here and now, it sucks!



Hanging on

Right now, I am battling. I don’t know why, or even if there is a reason for this battle at all. And I feel like a pathetic whinger for putting this out there. For not pulling my socks up and carrying on. But right now I cannot just carry on. My urge to self harm has always been limited. I binge occassionally, and I don’t eat that healthily. Once upon a time I used to pinch myself but when I realized it was self-harming I stopped. But for the past couple of days I have had the urge to hurt myself.

Partly, I think I have had this urge as a way to feel real, to take my mind off the shadowy thoughts running through the back of my mind. To silence the voices that tell me that I am worthless, stupid and pathetic.

I know I am not…but knowing and feeling are not the same.

In Neverwhere, by Neil Gaiman, there is a scene where Richard is in a railway station and is fighting for his sanity, fighting to not hurt himself, and right now I take a great deal of solace in that. In finding the courage to just hang onto the bead in my pocket moment by moment and just not give up. Even if it means that I don’t have the energy to do anything else.

I hope that my loved ones will understand and forgive me this weakness, the fact that this week I have not been able to keep my promises that this week all I have been able to do is hang on and make sure I don’t give up on me and hope. That I just put one foot in front of the other as exhausting as it is.


I found my rapist on Facebook last night, he is using a common nickname for his name. Stalking through his public posts, I was able to figure out that he has not really changed, and probably believed that it was his right to continue having sex with me even after I had said no. The thing is, looking at all of his behaviour, I am able to say, perhaps he has not changed, but I have.

I have survived to be so much stronger than that. Of course, I carry some scars still, I always will.

But, I remember when I was in primary school with a young girl who had been badly burned as a child, and who had scars on her face thinking that they were beautiful…a wonderful pattern of lines that were completely unique. Of course, I was oblivious to the pain that had caused the scars, but the scars did not cause the pain. The scars represent having come through.

Letting Go

Oh dear god, I have no idea where to start writing this. I am just not coping right now. I don’t know where this resistance is coming from. I want to break free. I have no idea how to though. I am falling back onto habits that don’t help me.

I want to become financially independent.

I want to have super-sexy arms.

I want to be able to run a 9 minute mile. And do a 5 k in under 30 minutes.

I want to be able to prove the people who have made me doubt myself wrong.

I want to be confident.

I want to believe in myself.

I am managing to work out every day, but I need to do more. I need to start bringing it on a work side to.

I am just feeling really over-whelmed right now. I am feeling like an inadequate little kid with a disappointed mother in the background saying you are useless, worthless, not good enough.

I want to make good choices. I don’t want to eat a giant packet of niknaks all by myself and then crawl into bed crying. I want to stop feeling all of this pain. I remember being numb and part of me feels that it is better to be numb but I don’t want to be numb. I don’t want to sabotage my weight loss efforts I am getting close to my first goal of 65kg…but I am hurting myself and I don’t know how to stop.


At the moment the only thing that is allowing me to have some semblance of normality, of sanity is keeping everything tightly wound. So tightly wound that it is unhealthy. Cracks are beginning to show…I’m irritable. I’m scared. I’m scared of the darkness inside my head. The liar inside telling me that I’m worhtless and that everyone else things that I’m stupid. That I’m incapable of loving being loved.

The darkness it creeps up on you. You have no real idea that it’s tide has turned until suddenly out of the blue it looms over you. Cold, dark, miserable. Engulfing you and silencing you.

I know there is light out there somewhere and I know that I need to let myself feel numb. Because for me when I’m depressed I don’t really feel down…I feel numb. Using the word feel is incorrect because it implies that there is far more sensation than there actually is.

Today’s depression is probably more hormonal and stress induced than anything else. But just because I know why it’s here doesn’t make it go away.

16 August 2012

I battled to sleep last night. We turned in around 11 and I read until about midnight, but it took me about an hour to get up to sleep. Then at about quarter to four one of our dogs decided to wake us up and then it took me until five a.m. to give up and take a sleeping tablet.
There is something my subconscious is trying to tell me. Something about hidden and unexpected treasures being stolen and returned. Something about an adventure. But I’m just not able to figure it all out.

Anxiety is a bitch but since the psychiatrist has doubled my dose of meds I seem to be less on edge…but the flip side is the side effects are back. Dry-mouth and headaches with a side order of nausea.
I’ve figured out that an “objective” indicator of how depressed I am is my interest in the fish. It seems to be a good scale and I’m keeping track of my mood on a site prescribed by my doc.
Not looking forward to tomorrow, it’s my mum’s birthday.